Title: THE STILLY NIGHT
Author: R.Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
Fandoms: StarTrek, Xena, The Pretender
Code: F/F and so forth.
Rating: NC-17. You betch.
Summary: Once upon in a time in a land far far away called Kansas City, Missouri, there was this wondrous magical titty bar called "The Treasure Chest". In it was a Beautiful Leggy Princess called Miss Parker with a bod that was totally smokin'. This Tall Beautiful Princess spent her days and nights shaking her luscious booty and hoping a Handsome Prince would ride up in his Ferrari and take her away from all that. It turned out to be a Lexus and it didn't quite work out the way she had hoped.
How is Miss Parker today? Just peachy. She answers with a "What?", of course.
First Disclaimer: Paramount owns Trek. I would worship them as they deserve but for two problems: Virgins are heck to find these days and my Eternally Greedy Open Mouth of Perpetual Flames Of Ba'Al is down due to gas pipeline problems. And yes, I've paid my bill on time. I tell my neighbors that my Temple of Moloch is just an extra-fancy barbecue with frills. Ba'al is Mighty. Ba'al is Good. Ba'al doesn't run a show on Sunday TV.
Second Disclaimer: "The Pretender" and its characters belong to MTM or Fox. I'm just playing with the characters and I'll put them back like new when I'm done. Please don't sue.
Third Disclaimer: MCA/Universal owns Xena. When I get my Idol of Moloch operating again I'll throw in an extra virgin just for them. Gabrielle and Xena would make nifty High Priestesses for Ba'al, dontcha think? Add class to my backyard barbecue. Especially in gauzy see-through Holy Robes. Yeah.
Legalities: This story mine under Berne Law, but it may be archived, if asked. 8,000 words, July, 2003.
Send all comments to: cousindream@aol.com Flamers may be sent to Dick Cheney. Rating NC-17 is for varied sexual stuff that offends Fox News and other Republicans. Underage people must not read this. Nor may those residing in a locale or country that says smut is illegal. Actually this is a lesbian love story, but folk in America have difficulty differentiating between sin and love.
by R. Schultz
What? I'm still at the "Treasure Chest." Where else can I go? In this economy and national state of mind no one wants to hire a female with an Anthropology degree with a History secondary degree. I should have been a Business Major. But the guys with the dream of an MBA were all such selfish assholes. So now I'm fulfilling the promise of upward mobility. The American Dream.
I move my butt up and down, so I'm mobile. I dance with a few square centimeters of cloth barely covering my delightful groin and wiggle everything else at the cheapskate men. Their American dream, not mine. All of me is delightful. Especially my groin. This is a matter of faith. It is a non-negotiable item.
At least now Neelix gives us better music to dance to. The Boss Lady had us gals give lists of music singles to our DJ, and he was instructed in no uncertain terms to play from the lists.
Almost Showtime. A top and a mini-skirt and my G-string over my panty hose. Nose bleed platforms to walk on. We all work with those ridiculous high-heeled shoes on. Men think they make us feminine. That's the theory. Last piece of costume is the toothy smile I paint on. I understand the girls at Disney World have the same problem. Having to smile sweet for moronic jerks and barbaric offspring.
Tasha Yar strokes my arm as she heads for the back. She asked me one afternoon if I'd ever thought of rubbing my pretty little groin in her face? More polite words than those, but essentially that. At least she thinks I have a pretty groin.
As I reach for the rail of the stairs, Kira halts me and smiles at me. Her dance is done, for now. She gives me a nice kiss. It feels nice getting a kiss from Kira. She likes me and she'd like to sex me and it doesn't bother me. I don't have to ask her if she thinks I have a delightful groin.
I still feel funny playing grab-ass with Kira on stage, but the men all lap up the almost-lesbian stuff. I like Kira. She dances nice and kisses great. She makes me tingle. I've got routines now where Kira and me, or some one or two of the other gals, we rub butts to bellies and touch real naughty.
If our bouncer, Chakotay, signals no cops are on the premises, we can caress each other's nipples and lick skin. Or even suck each other's nipples. This time Kira grabs my butt cheeks, and a few males cheer. Males cheer when they're in groups, or hammered. Otherwise they give you these damned perpetual unsettling stares.
I like it when Kira or Ezri Dax spike for my hand or mouth. I like Ezri Dax's big nipples between my teeth. It feels even better when the other dancers caress me back. I guess that means I'm getting Bi. Or am Bi. There are worst things.
"And here she is folks, our answer to the Bolshoi Ballet, our reply to Radio City Music Hall, our own Princess of those Guilty Pleasures, our charming and lovely Andrea, flashing the greatest legs in Kansas City and all points west. Let's all give a big round of applause to Andrea, our devastating Miss Perfect!"
My stage name. Backstage I like to use our real names. Everyone calls me Miss Parker. Use of real names indicates, probably, that we're real to each other. Anyways, I climb the stairs and smile and listen to Neelix.
Slow night. The DJ gives me "Marmalade" for my opener. I love the song, great thing to dance to, I can flash all of me with this beat. At one time I'd have liked to cover our DJ, Neelix, with burning lighter fluid. But that was before my run-in with my brother, and me getting friendly with our Boss Lady.
"Marmalade" is great. I can put myself in Happy Dancer mode and move in perfect synch to the music. I say to myself; "Hey, guys! Look at those perfect long legs, these hard-nippled tits, this soft belly. Imagine this gold G-string falling off me and you get to see my perfect pussy all hot, puffy and ready.
"Now imagine you ain't never gonna get it, guys."
I'm a trained dancer. I studied gymnastics growing up. Daddy wanted all his women to be graceful. I was a cheer-leader for one pathetic year at St. Esteven's. I jog and I row on the machine, and at the Fitness Club I can bench press sixty kilos easy. I'm pretty, I hold an Anthropology degree, I can put my ankles behind my ears and I've made love to a Movie Star. So what am I doing here? I need the money. Just like in that ridiculous Demi Moore film, "Striptease". I gotta support me and my kid.
Which means pretty soon I'm down to a G-string which is so small I have to shave and trim my groin every other morning so my hairs don't show. I shave myself in front of my bathroom mirror. There's enough narcissus in me that I usually use fingers and Cocoa butter on myself afterwards. Otherwise trimming myself close is so depressing. Not that I mind a bald pussy. But it's the idea that I have to do this for a few measly dollars tips.
Sure, the dollars add up, and the bouncer keep me from getting seriously groped by the stupid drunks who think a fucking dollar bill gives them the right to stick dirty fingers in me.
No way, Jose. I do think about some of the gals, though. Not all of them, but some. How it'd feel for me to fondle one of them where it counts. For them to sex me. It makes me feel funny, contemplating a woman as a lover. Especially after I dance with Kira, Xena, or her girlfriend Gabrielle. Great build on Gabby, love that red-blond hair. Lots of times I come off that damned small stage with my body in high hot gear and ready to go rape somebody. Those two, with Kira and Ezri, are serious wanting this tall leggy brunette.
I have a wide choice of women if I ever go that way. There's the Boss Lady, Janeway. With or without that big intimidating blond of hers. Annika always works nights where the tips are better. Afternoon sucks.
The waitress Kes whispered in my ear once what she'd like to do to me. Innocent virginal-looking Kes. Belle Anna, Birgit, she's the oldest gal here, Tasha Yar.
Annika Hansen has just come in. She stands and lets her eyes adjust to the low level of light. Big Aryan Poster Girl. Lean, full body, perpetually horny, her and Janeway. Annika has a slight New England accent I love. The pair would like a threefer. So would my fellow dancers Gabrielle and Xena.
I feel strange and stupid always saying no to those sincere offers. Like what's wrong with me for not doing women? Everyone else seems to be doing it.
Maybe it's inevitable I'll try that lesbian stuff someday. Again. I've done it before, but it wasn't my idea and I didn't get much from it.
But it wasn't a totally bad memory. With the right woman... Maybe. It's in the back of my mind that I'll let some gal do me and it'll be fun this time. Gotta be more fun than doing the men I've known.
Maybe not so back of my mind.
But it makes me feel off-key in my stomach thinking of things like that. Not sick, just funny. Gabrielle catches me staring at her naked bod sometimes and she preens for me. Or Kira. Kira wants me to shave her pussy bald for her. Kira is beautiful and it was a shock one night to hear two drunks cataloguing her many body faults. Kira has a little bigger ass than most, bigger thighs, her breasts are smaller than mine. She's older than me, the next oldest girl who dances on that stage. She's also beautiful, broken nose and all.
Men just see how well the dancers compare to unreal Miller Beer commercial girls. Fuck men and their attitudes.
There's always Annika. The images cross my mind of how I'd look in bed with a woman. With a specific woman. Like Xena. Or Annika. How it'd feel. Overwhelming. Safe. Fun.
What she'd taste like. Right now I know I like to touch women. And I think about what Kira or Ezri would feel like as lovers. Hot and yet patient. Exciting. I guess that means I'm Bi.
Yet, after the life I've led, I want my loves to be serious. I don't want just sex. I can get sex off a door knob.
I want the Full Monty. Love. Romance. Courtship. Roses and chocolates and dancing in the moonlight, in the Stilly Night. Letters smelling of flowers and hope chests of good linens. I want it all. Not just more of what I've had. What I've had doesn't bear remembering. I'm still a romantic. I want love.
Probably never going to get it. Not now. We live with the choices we make.
The big difference is now I'm trying hard as hell to visualize some woman being my One True Love. Unfortunately I can't quite do it yet. And that approach is too cold-blooded.
Love should be sudden and overwhelming and... And lots of things.
Better concentrate on my dancing. Keep that smile on. Look interested in the men staring at my delightful crotch. Not bored. Annika stands there, watching me. She licks her tongue for me. At me. Inviting me.
I have to close my eyes and quiver. The image flashed across my mind of her and Janeway all over my body like a hot wind. All that pink sweaty nudity and heat and musk. Jeez!
I stumble through my next dance and regain my senses in time to watch something rare enough to be a pleasant novelty occur. Three women entered the bar.
They were obviously a mutual support group. Practically welded to each other. It was after six in the evening, and I pegged them as professionals getting off of work and doing something naughty they'd all been contemplating over coffee break.
I give a little wave, and the redhead waves back. Very Gaelic. The church schools were full of Irish girls like her. Great smile. Older. Older can be... What did that song sing? A sure hand.
Also a Nisei. Scared to death, Oriental flat face, but sorta endearing because she's not a nasty girl. A lot endearing.
The prize was the one who was half-blind in the darkness and accidentally wound up by the stage rail. Curls right down to her shoulder blades, dark hair, mesmerized by the sight of my nearly naked body moving obscenely not a yard away from her.
Jeez! She's cute!
She stares at my groin and I sit down so my feet can come off the stage. I spread 'em for the classy woman. Then I make my feet caress her arms at the same time I beckon her closer with a finger.
She might be a cop, but I gotta do this.
I lean forward, bend my head, tilt her chin up with my hand and kiss her. I can see her hands waving idiotically in the air, but she doesn't break the kiss. She tastes -- she tastes -- God she tastes good! She tastes warm and wet and alive and exciting and her lips are quivering and she barely meets my tongue tip with hers. I'm the one that suddenly backs away. Nothing held her to me but necessity.
For a few seconds I sit and she stands and it feels momentous.
My set of dances is over and Gabrielle is on and she's helping me to my feet. She's fussing over me and says something I don't hear and the woman with all those curls is being guided backward by the Redhead and the Nisei. She collapses in her chair.
In a second I can navigate and we do a rehearsed schtick where I follow Gabrielle around with my hands glued to her sweet soft ass. She fake swats at me, but I ignore her, of course. We dance in unison as Shania Twain swears she's gonna get some lucky person. This is a fun song, it's easy to move to.
Gabby sheds her top early, because I take it off her without dislocating her shoulder, and we duo around the brass pole. Gabrielle doesn't know for sure why I'm making myself part of her set, but she's game. I see Xena in the back by the kitchen clapping a little enthusiasm into the non-existent crowd. Chakotay has turned his back, which means it's on our heads.
We get dirty. I mean serious dirty. I put my longer legs between hers and we rub groins on thighs. Gabby's face melts a little as we synchronize our movements to the beat of Shania Twain.
I think I'm having sex on stage with Gabby. She licks my throat. I shut my eyes to enjoy the licking and kissing. Gabby bends to lick the hollow of my throat. She's a girl who seriously likes kissing throats. I have teased her by asking if her Mama was Count Dracula.
I'm playing for the gals in the table. Fuck the men. I pray all three are totally hypnotized by our little non-orgy.
I move to break the clinch and Gabby puts a steel grip on my arm so hard it hurts. I am not to break contact yet. Gabby is really red hot flushed in her face and it comes to me she is really doing herself on my thigh. Her ankle is tight against her butt and she is grinding herself on me with all the determination and heat of a meteor striking earth.
We have to break. But she's panting loud enough for me to hear over Shania Twain and her eyes are boring holes in my head. If I had... If... Oh shit. I break back.
I look at her funny and she mouths the words "Tease!" and "Bitch" at me, but she's got a funny half smile on her kisser. She forgives me.
The idea of sexing a woman isn't just an academic deliberation any more. Gabby had been ready to throw her long red-blond hair around my face and ride me for a good come, customers or not. I have a hot patch on my thigh where she'd rubbed her G-string. It felt like a hot poker had been there. The heat was still traveling up my belly and concentrating in my clit. I didn't even want to think about whether I was wet. I didn't need to.
End of dance. I beat a quick retreat to the dressing room. Xena is waiting for me.
"What the hell happened out there?" she wasn't the only one wondering, and I told her so. Faced with my confusion she pulled up a chair and started making sense of things. She wasn't mad, she wasn't jealous, she was simply surprised. When she realized I was also, she started chuckling.
"Have you just joined the League of Lady Lovers, Parker? I think. Did you like Gabby? She's one hot number, isn't she? Listen, later on, if it's okay with my Babe, would you like to hit up Denny's and we'll talk? All three of us? Just talk. I think it's time."
Right then Gabrielle came in, her breasts swinging like they were going to beat her to death and she panted over to me, hands on her hips.
"I'm going to presume the way you left me high and dry, or wet, rather, what you did was an accident. Not planned. Right? But that was a shitty thing to do, get me worked up and then pull out." Gabrielle was held by a suddenly standing Xena.
Gabby accepted Xena's hug and kiss in her hair. Calm began to flow over her face. "I guess I forgive you, missy. For now. Okay? But you owe me one. You really owe me one." She turned to haul Xena in her wake.
"Come with me, Darlin', I've some unfinished business to take care of and you're elected." Xena smiled funny, raised her eyebrows at me, and let Gabrielle pull her into the back where the office was.
Jeez, she was whipped too. She could break Gabrielle in half if she had to, and she was whipped. Maybe being whipped isn't all that bad.
Two minutes later Janeway and Annika are in the middle of the dressing room and she asked me; "Gabby says I should ask you. Why did she just kick me and Anni out of my own office? I mean, I know why, really, that's obvious. Woman was wriggling out of her panty hose before I could get up out of my chair. But what happened?"
"We locked loins," I admitted. "Serious like. Real serious. I got a little carried away." In a very low voice. Sound level was low enough back here that Janeway heard me clearly.
Boss Lady was mad enough to swat me. She turned her back on me and Annika folded her in for a little calming and patting. When she turned back to face me she was still unhappy.
"I put a lot of money into this place, and I don't like it being jeopardized unnecessarily.
"Capisch? You use that word a lot. Capisch?
"You know what we can get away with here, and what the line is. You know we can do even less when Police might be snooping around or in the crowd.
"You also know, Miss Straight, and maybe I should get rid of that nickname, that if you want to get friendly with one of my girls you can always borrow the office, like Gabby and Xena just did.
"But out there you can go just so far.
"Capisch?"
"Capisch," I said in as clear a voice as I could manage while chewing on a mouthful of crow.
"Good," Janeway said. "I shan't need to have this conversation with you again, now will I?" With that the ass-chewing was over. With that Janeway leaned closer to me.
"Just between you and me I wish I could have seen it. It must have been quite a sight.
"But don't do it out there." Annika then whispered something into Boss lady's ear. Then she leered at me.
"If you want to, you could always drag Gabby back into the office for repeats," Annika offered.
"Sweetheart and I could critique your performance and probably give you some pointers. Would you like that?" Boss Lady had a seriously nasty mind. Also, first time I ever heard Annika referred to with that particular word. I didn't respond to the offer because I wasn't entirely sure what my answer would be.
"You think on it", she managed a tight smile. "Now change for your next set and get your delightful buns out there and make the customers deliriously happy."
My wish exactly. Especially the three new female customers.
After each set we would come out again in our G-string and skin and did a little personal dance for the audience. Usually of only a few seconds duration, and we'd let the customer feel a little female flesh. Nothing intimate, but a discreet rubbing of the butt or hips was customary. When we felt positive towards one of the guys we let them do a little more, but nothing gross.
We earn our dollar tips.
Tasha was onstage, flaunting her tight young body, shaking her short-haired head in rhythm to the insistent beat of Matchbox. She also was fascinated by our female guests.
I definitely had eyes only for the gals, but obediently made my way around the room, smiling and letting a little petting take place. One solitary very old guy was out spending a little pension money. As he was in a corner, I could mask my movements with a little body movement and let him suck on my nipples. Both of them. I may belong to the Smallapples club, but I've never known anyone to turn me down if I offered them a lick or kiss there. Put the old fart in a daze, that was for sure.
I was glistening and spiking by the time I got back to the door area and the small wall table with the three women behind it. Unfortunately Kira was working the cute one for a tip when I got there. So I asked the Redhead if she wanted a dance. She did. Her face was hot to the touch when I caressed it.
I liked her. She was deliberately treading on dangerous ground and she knew it. She tried to suck on my nips and I quick pulled back, wagging a finger no at her. I leaned close to her so I could be heard over Wallflower and "Three Marlena's" sad musical complaints.
"You can't touch," I told her. "It's against the law."
She got such a crest-fallen look I felt instantly sorry for her. I kept dancing, knowing every pair of eyes in the place was on me and Kira working the female customers.
My body hid the long caress she gave my butt, so that was okay. I signaled to Kes to come over and when I did, I told her to block the view. She leaned over to supposedly talk to the shy Oriental gal between the redhead and the one with all the curls. At which point I told the Redhead to kiss them if she wanted.
Woman damned near turned me inside out she sucked so hard on my nips. Eventually I backed away before it became glaringly obvious what she was doing. I just got Boss Lady mad at me once. No need to try for two in a row.
Red couldn't give me a tip because her hands were shaking too hard for her to put a bill in my G-string. She managed to pull a five out of a tiny pile in the middle of the table, and waved me to take it.
Nice tip. But that wasn't why I did it.
Kira and I switched places, but we paused as the tall Oriental girl wriggled out from behind the table and went up to the stage. Tasha was being friendly at an older stocky Hispanic, and she didn't notice the black-haired gal for a few seconds. Tasha rose to her full-hipped blond height and she went to the Oriental. Sheryl Crow was rasping out her plaint about Steve McQueen as Tasha centered herself and advanced to her next dollar tip.
Tasha was the song of the moment, and she moved like a sweet melody spoken softly in a cathedral nave. Normally Tasha wasn't a gal with very graceful moves. But now? I'd never seen her move so easily and seductively.
Once at the railing first thing she did was crouch and open her arms to the tall raven-haired woman. The Oriental bent a little closer and Tasha caressed her into a kiss, a real one, a long one, the kind of one where when you break you're hearing distant summer thunder.
In a state of shock the lean Asiatic one stumbled back to her table. She was still clutching the dollar bill. It didn't matter, not really. When she sat down she jerked back upright and scooted to the stage, and just left the dollar bill there.
We watched Tasha return and pick up the buck, sniffing it, licking it. Then folding it neatly and sticking it down the front of her panty hose and G-string. Tasha put that dollar next to her genuine-blond pussy. Where it might have been getting quite damp.
I had to turn back to the curly-haired brunette. I had to. That or stumble to my knees.
Back to the new female customer. Perfect face. Love those curls, I ran my fingers through them, trying not to seriously damage her 'do. I never even asked if she wanted a dance. She just kept skittering her eyes all over creation except when fixating on my Smallapples. Still wet looking and goddamned hard enough to cause my breath to catch.
I glanced over to Kira who was smiling to beat the band as the Redhead's hands firmly enjoyed Kira's nice big soft ass. The Oriental leaned over to help jiggle an ass cheek, and burst out giggling as she did so. Probably her first -- what? First time she ever held a woman's buttcheek in a vaguely dykey way.
I turned, wiggled my rear, remembering to keep dancing. Hoping.
Hope fulfilled. Curls began touching my rear end, her motions becoming real investigative jiggling almost immediately. She liked the luxury grade merchandise.
Her entire face smiled when I jiggled my breasts at her. She was tempted to kiss my nipples, but she looked sideways and I knew Chakotay was watching us. She made to give me a tip, and she fumbled around, not knowing how to do the usual and put it in my G-string waistband. I took the bill from her and folded it four times for her, returning it to her beautiful fingers. Then as she looked puzzled at me I carefully used both thumbs to pull my panty hose and G-string away from my lower belly.
Innocent darling, she still didn't have it figured out. Therefore I helped guide her fingers into my waistband, down across my belly, to where her nails were touching my short trimmed body fur. She jerked, but I kept a solid hold on her hand, keeping it in my crotch. She finally relinquished the bill. Just in time. Chakotay came wandering by, keeping an eye out for the kinds of lascivious sin that could get us all busted by the local law.
He suggested I go in back a little and cool off. Kira followed me in a minute. Once in back we both talked about the women, mile a minute. Kira talked up the redhead with phrases such as "great cheekbones!" "Her touch sent shivers down my spine." "I think she's dead cute, don't you?" And etc.
Mine was in a similar vein. Excepting I talked of how I'd like to lose myself in all those dark curls and didn't she have a sweet little laugh and I wonder if she's married. At which point Kira held my hand while she said both her Redhead and my Curls had been wearing gold bands on their ring fingers.
We had to sit down for that one. That or fall down. We both had the hots for married women. A half-hour ago I might have still been straight, but this was a blow.
We suddenly looked at each other with revelation in our eyes.
"I don't much give a great flying fuck," I said. "I want to know that lady better. And you?"
"Like whatshisname said; "Damn the torpedo planes and full speed ahead!""
Torpedoes, actually mines. Farragut. Mobile Bay, Civil War.
Whathell. Damn the torpedo planes and full speed ahead!
We had the sense to wait for Tasha Yar to come back after the finish of her set. Belle Anna sashayed out there between us. Time to work the audience. She IS the only one who can make the Oldies perfect. "My Sharonna" blared out and she was already in fourth gear by the time she was going up the stairs. Girl is sooooo positive she has the greatest little body at the "Treasure Chest". She sure as hell moves like there is no one in existence, excepting Dick Cheney and young children, who wouldn't give their right nut for a night with her. Since I turned gay forty minutes ago, she does look perfectly delectable. Poisonous in excess, maybe, but tasty.
Kira and I waited until the first lines of "Spill The Wine" were coming up before we came out again, making a beeline for the three women. Our women. Fuck the wedding rings, full speed ahead!
Kira had the bright idea of displacing the Oriental gal and sitting between Curls and the Redhead. I sat down and gave Curly Hair my most dazzling smile. I sat down my purse, officially making this table my 'pit stop', and pulled out cigarettes and Bic lighter. I had it lit and drawing in my first good one before Curly Hair waved a hand in my direction. Trying to wave the smoke away.
Intelligent me. She minds my smoking. Quickly my cigarette is snubbed out.
She's embarrassed. She says something about not being her place, I think. I pat her hand and shake my head, it was no problemo. Next thing I know we're holding hands. Young hands, I trace the veins in back with the fingers of my other hand, she's sweaty, I can feel the quivers, she's excited by holding hands.
So am I. I think I've fallen in lust.
Xena was back on stage, in her over-the-top brass bra and full-tilt faux-Hoplite skirt. Obviously her and Gabrielle have taken care of needful business. Xena has big brass balls. Takes a lot of brass to turn pseudo-archaic Attic into an erotic statement. Also takes a lot of brass to turn Bowie's erratic "Cat People" into an erotic dance. Xena did real dance somewhere, she has the moves.
Once I saw her twist her G-string into a line with her labia spilling out on either side, then dance that way. Janeway would have had a fit if she'd seen it. All the men had a fit too. Lot of tease in that big dyke.
Speaking of tease, here comes Janeway now. She pointedly beelines to us and smiles and charms and reminds us that it's against the law for us dancers to date the customers. Meaning any customers, including female ones.
Curly Haired was a little embarrassed, but I got hold of her hand again and held it.
Her name was Deanna, and she thought my name was pretty, and I asked her how long she could stay here and keep me company before her husband expected her home?
She was confused before realizing I meant her wedding band. Then she leaned close and said she was divorced and she wore the ring to fend off men seeking a date.
Yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus.
I did three more sets before Janeway let me go home early for the night. Janeway was not happy. Especially when she lost two more of her dancers for the night. She had to call in Uhura, Birgit, and Tepol to fill in. The Dax sisters didn't answer their phone.
Three dancers?
Kira connected with Redhead and Tasha began spending a HELL of a lot of time in the ladies john with the Asiatic gal. Me? I was offered a meeting in the local Denny's and we could go on from there.
Circus must have come to town, as the bad joke goes, 'cause I just got lucky.
I was hurriedly throwing on my street clothes when Annika breezed back after her set. She backed me up against the dressing table, hand on my hips, big grin curving her face.
"So now you do women," she leered, "I thought I'd take the opportunity to let you know Kathryn and I would love to investigate your newfound capabilities. Together or singly."
She licked my ear lobe before whispering; "Do you know what fisting is? I see you do. Also, unlike a man, I never have any trouble getting it up."
Persistent must be Annika's middle name. I sweat, shuddered and got out of there fast before I started responding to her other more insistent caresses. I also now know Gabrielle isn't the only woman at "Treasure Chests" who can lick throats better than Count Dracula.
Scotty and Tom Paris were waiting for me at the door. No dancer ever leaves "Treasure Chests" alone. We always get an escort out to our cars, and they wait until we've driven out of the parking lot. Scotty liberated this big old Issue .45 auto when he left the Fleet, and he always has it in his waistband when we go out. Especially for me and especially since my run-in with dear brother Jarod.
Deanna was waiting for me when I got out the door. Scotty reminded me about the law saying dancers don't date customers, and then restricted himself to frowning and looking disapproving. Tom Paris leered. He wanted to watch us strip and get down to it, right out here in the parking lot.
We kissed, and she filled me with her tongue after some tentative sparring. I loved the feel of her alive in my mouth, finding my teeth and breath. We then nervously held each other, ignored the two men still watching, and she told me I didn't say which Denny's I meant to meet her in. We went over to the L street one because the other women were to meet us there. First I knew this was to be a group meet, but then the mutual support group wasn't dead yet.
She followed me, and we parked alongside each other, eyeing each other as we met in front of the hood of my old Oldsmobile. We found each other again, her hands busy and then flying off like agitated sparrows. She disregarded all my warnings about where we were. "I want more," she insisted. She brushed my lips with nervous fingers, then brushed my mouth with her own.
I was suspended between heaven and a hard place. Deanna touched my neck softly, then faster and faster.
"I want you," she whispered. "I want to please you." Her hands were on my hips, forcing me closer to her. Her knees parted me and I arced my body into the welcome of her legs. I heard groaning, and knew it was me finding pleasure. I felt softness and knew it was this lovely woman in my arms. I writhed luxuriously against that shape, slave to my heat and the enjoyment of the moment. I remembered nothing like this when I had been with a man. The bones of my hands were breaking as I found her breasts beneath her suit coat. Deanna turned me into fire and curves and ice and distant chants heard in a transept.
My tongue found the perfumed sweep of her neck, the lingering dry orange of her shampoo, the small earrings of pearl. I could not stop, but did so anyways. I had to. We had to leave here. Then she said we had to tell the others something, anything, before we could leave.
Inside we found one of the waitresses reminding Tasha and the Asiatic this was a public place. The black-haired girl was indeed a Nisei, Hoshi Sato by name. She was giggling almost non-stop. Maybe it was because Tasha had her hand stuck in Hoshi's slacks between her panties and her backside. The young blond had a flushed face on her worthy of a cartoon showing a veddy British John Bull.
We were making our apologies when Kira came in with the third member of the support group. Redhead's name was Crusher, Beverly Howard Crusher. Her lipstick was on Kira's face in a few places and Beverly was busily wiping it off, or trying to.
None of us wanted to sit around for a few hours, drink coffee, share a Danish cut into smaller pieces, show family snapshots and get to be good friends. Some other time, we all promised. Right now we had other fish to fry.
I vaguely wondered if we were each of us these three straight girls first woman. Mentally said yes, smiled to think of what a voyage of discovery I hoped, hoped, hoped, lay ahead of me tonight. Deanna suggested we go her place.
I followed her Lexus there, discovering I had to over-compensate in my driving due to nerves. If I was a man I'd have had a steel hard-on the whole way. I'd begin masturbating with one hand, then have to stop so I didn't rack myself up on some roadside post.
It was a long drive. She lived in a real house with a real yard with a real three-car garage. She dropped the keys four times, because I couldn't stop finding her with my desperate hands.
Inside I forced her against a table and found the buttons on her coat, even as she began forcing my sweater over my head. I had to stop while Deanna found the snaps of my bra and made a literally gladsome cry in the night. She fastened on my nipples as if she were a starving baby and I knew what real pleasure was. Deanna adored my breasts. I had a feeling mine were the first she'd ever grasped as a lover. I was honored and delirious and crying out loud from the piercing agony.
I needed skin, and I needed it now. Just like in a bad novel I knew I must have tore some of the buttons off Deanna's muslin blouse. Feasting in the sweaty curves of her breast as soon as I unhooked her front-clasp bra.
I had to get us out of this kitchen. She followed me, crying something incoherent as I discovered another room, one with a carpet. She swung me around and I rediscovered her warm lips. I reveled in the sensuous caress of her warm rapid breath on my cheek before she began to search the line of my chin with her tongue.
Her kiss on my throat was the light white feather of God blessing the penitent with the touch of forgiveness. Her hands found the softest part of my breasts, the tender swells of their bottoms. A place that no man knows of. She gave them the benediction of her tongue and the Sacrament of her lingering finger tips, light as the penance given a babe confessing her first sins.
I sang Ave Maria with my senses as her hands found my waistbands and rolled my clothes down my hips, her hands the scourge, the flail that brought fire to my mind and turned me blind. Her fingers found me and parted me. She found the chalice of my body and stirred it with magical gestures.
My eyes went black, my mind whipped into whiteness and I found unexpected unity on her hand. I looked high into Heaven and wet my face with tears as she entered me. I cried out my revelation and slowly collapsed to the carpet.
I could do nothing but know. I could see nothing but hear. In my ears flowed the Mantra that Deanna crooned as she stripped my body bare and helpless. As a trusting child I sprawled my legs apart for her, and was awarded with the savor and spice of her hot breath on my hurting clit.
She took it in her mouth and I was a pilgrim come to the sacred relics I had never thought to reach. My pain was profound, my journey come to an end.
For long minutes we lay together. Somewhere Deanna had lost all her remaining clothes, and I knew the comfort and refuge of warm naked female skin next to mine, soft as a silken cloth.
"I think I just had a religious experience," I told her.
Deanna's naked body awakened in me an ecstatic joy as she fit her perfection to my own tingling form. The choir of my body sang a murmur of anticipation's she fitted her body to it's quarry, her breasts taunting mine, her belly melded to mine.
I am woman, I am invincible. I gotta get us to bed.
"Bed," I murmur.
"No need," she teased. "It's marvelous right where I am. I could stay right here for the rest of the night."
She grew serious as I held her face for another kiss. Deanna moved on me in increments of hundredth-centimeters, tingling me alive as our perfect fit altered. Our mouths opened for the other's tongue and Deanna carefully licked my lower lip from side to side. She did the same service to my upper lip, and then finally forced my lips to part like the Red Sea before the journeying Moses of her tongue.
But it was I who was coming to the promised land. My hands became agitated upon the hips and skin, the delicate flowing ass that twitched as I explored her swells ... and her divides. I placed both hands into the parting of her there, spreading her and fondling her warm living darkness and mystery. Heat spread from belly to breasts and groin as Deanna arched and insistently rubbed her hairy groin into my belly. My pussy grew hotter as I raised my lower body to improve the sensual contact.
"Bed," I repeated. Rejoicing in the feel of warm woman flowing over me and with me as I rolled us to our sides. Now it was Deanna who purred in contentment as I spread her body with my hands and gave her the touches I must give or die from the lack.
She grabbed my head as I found the festive weave of her sweetest fur. My fingers found the seat of her and she forced me to kiss her hard. The heel of my palm rubbed and ravaged her gratifyingly warm and moist flesh, my mind sparkling with flashes of distant strobe lights as I discovered how beautiful a woman was, her glorious pussy, wet, needing, giving, soft, wanting, how she felt to my needles-and-pins hand.
Her mouth was cruel this time, insistent, hurting, demanding. My fingers curved to follow the path of her and enter her dark clasping, spasming, insistent secret. She broke our kiss to whimper like a beaten animal, my fingers shaking to be milked by her desperate cuntal muscles. I felt the rush of wetness, the liquid reward of her joy on my two fingers, the sound of my palm slapping repeatedly against her dripping groin becoming a chant of golden joy.
I kissed my way down her helpless figure, her breasts flowing under my tongue and teeth. I hurried to the forest of her femininity, to inhale and taste the kinky haired shelter awaiting me.
Deanna was delicious, her aroma beckoned me and overwhelmed me. My teeth hurt her by pulling at her hairs there, and I gently disengaged myself and slid further between her legs.
Her taste was sweet brine, a mixture of oil and old waste. As I licked her she became a pure honey, flavoring my tongue and mouth with her ambrosial wetness.
Ambrosia. What you can do with a good college education.
I sucked in her entire clit now, nibbling it as I pulled it from her body. Deanna convulsed, cried out in sharp puppy yaps as her legs rose into the air. She clasped her hands tightly on my head, but did not pull me closer. Her flow increased, and I lapped faster, striving to drink all of her sweetness down.
Deanna began whispering "Please," and "Enough", and I let my efforts taper off, finishing with a trio of long loving swipes that covered her with my love from heinie to fur. I delighted anew in that incredible brush adorning her tender Mons. The scent of her was heaven itself.
"I love you," I said. Wait for the morrow before trying to understand whether this was an affair or something much more serious. Lying there with her ankles crossed over my back, it certainly felt real enough.
"I know," she said, a smile strong in her tone. "I love you too." Maybe tomorrow would bring an re-assessment for her too. But we can only time travel into the future a second at a time. We must leave tomorrow until tomorrow comes.
"Bed," she said. Wriggling herself into me, making motions to rise. Crippled as ancient crones, we rolled erect. Her hand fastened onto mine and the words "bedroom" and "upstairs" pleased my ears.
Along the way I fell down. Tripped actually.
Deanna scooped up a bundle of unhappy animate dark fur and apologized to us both. She had a cat. His name was Nicky Brown.
No problem, provided I didn't commit hari-kari stumbling over him again. I was divided in my urges to throttle the animal and gather it to my naked bosom and pet it. Later. I had other things to pet this night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Somewhere during the course of this splendiferous night we'd exhausted each other to the point where we fell asleep. I awoke to the sanctuary of her arms still enfolding me. I awoke to the insistent shrill of a phone which I shall crush into ten thousand tiny pieces. Later, when Deanna isn't watching.
My refuge rose up and answered the call. She found the edge of the bed, sat on it, and turned on a light.
There was a problem, an emergency. She barked a few quick instructions, asked questions, demanded information, nodded her head in long silences before stating more demands.
Suddenly she was erect and throwing clean clothes on her beautiful body.
"Wwhhhaaa..." I managed to stumble a few words more out.
I was erect and helped her clasp her bra on. I felt a loss to see them hidden from view again. In a minute she was dressed and dragging confused naked me downstairs.
We kissed between our cars, and she fitted herself into her Lexus.
"Stay here," she asked. "Please. I'll try to hurry back, but I'll give you a call if I can't." Her look was pleading. We kissed again.
"GODDAMN!" she suddenly cursed. "Nicky Brown has escaped again! I left the damned door open.
"Listen, if he comes around, would you let him back in?"
"Deanna, sweetheart," I asked, "where are you going?"
"The hospital," she replied. "You get involved with a Doctor and this is some of the Collateral Damage you acquire. Sudden calls in the obscene morning."
As she drove off in the pitch darkness, I said to myself; "My girlfriend is a Doctor." I wondered what do I do now? Not knowing the best answer I took the alternative one of telling me I should get back to bed.
In the upstairs bedroom john a towel was carefully laid out next to the sink. On the towel were six lovely and diverse vibrators and dildos. They'd been cleaned and were drying.
Back to bed. I smiled into the approaching clouds of sleep as I anticipated using each and every one of those toys on Deanna.