Joe Hannon had never seen anyone like her.
Business had taken Joe to New York and Chicago, to Atlanta and New Orleans.
He’d been to the cabaret in Munich. He’d even been to the place Carol Doda
had made famous years ago in San Francisco’s North Beach and a few of the
lap dancing spots in Florida. But he’d never seen anyone like Misty.
He thought back to when he’d seen her at Sexe Spectacle on Sainte Catherine
Street. He’d ended up buying an hour’s worth of table dances.
Misty had a beautiful face, with a girl-next-door freshness. Short dark brown
hair. Brown eyes. Perfect body. Her on stage routine was exceptional. She
started out wearing a business suit. Of course, there was no blouse under the
jacket, allowing just a hint of the tops of her breasts to show. The skirt
was just a bit too short, but it was almost appropriate for business.
Almost. And when she began to dance, oh yes, she was special.
It was the contrasts that got to him. The innocent face, the business suit,
and then those moves. The skirt slid up, revealing that she wore nothing
underneath. She began to unbutton the jacket, again giving the appearance
that there was nothing underneath. He’d never look at a woman in a dark blue
business suit the same way again.
What really blew him away was the ring in her left nipple.
Even as she danced naked at his table, writhing sensuously in front of him,
small, perfect breasts inches from his face, she had a pretty innocence that
made the nipple ring all the more erotic.
It was the ultimate fantasy. The sweet girl you grew up with, or worked with,
but, who underneath was total eroticism. Wild and kinky. Every man’s
fantasy. Well, his fantasy, anyway.
As she danced, they talked. Gee you have a great body, he had told her. Thank
you she had said, and he realized how stupid he must have sounded. She must
hear that a hundred times every night. So he tried to make a joke of it,
saying that just in case no one had told her that before, he thought she
might like to know. She laughed her sweet innocent laugh.
Then, he’d taken the conversation to another level. Asked her if she got
turned on when she danced. No, she tried not to think about it. Asked her how
the ring in her nipple felt. It hurt getting it pierced, but now it felt
good, a constant stimulation. Asked her if it felt good to have her nipple
licked with the ring in it. Teasing, inches from, his face, she had licked
it, and said…hmmm…yessss. Then, she had licked the other one, and
said…hmmm… that’s good , too… but different.
He asked if the ring was a symbol of submission. Maybe, she said.
He asked if she was dominant, and kept men as sex slaves. Maybe, she said. He
was sure she could if she wanted to.
And her hour was up. She slipped the jacket on covering her nakedness, and
she was gone. He remembered thinking that her smile as she left was more
friendly than usual.
Dancers didn’t date customers, he knew. If they did they were probably
prostitutes, and he wanted no part of that. Joe did okay after all. He was
recently divorced, but still pretty well off financially, and at forty six,
still looked good, still in great shape from squash, mountain biking,
skiing. No, he didn’t need it that way.
But Misty was special. And he was intrigued.
So it really surprised him when the next day, at the food court in the
underground les Promenades de la Cathedrale, as he escaped from his meetings
to do some shopping and grab a quick bite, as he sought a table with his
tray of shrimp and rice from Tiki Ming, there she was, sitting alone.
Mind if I sit here, he’d asked.
Free country, she’d said, and smiled. He wasn’t sure if she recognized him.
Hi Misty, he’d said. Hello, she’d answered.
And they’d talked It surprised him to see her alone in a food court at an
underground mall. She was alone. She had been on the road for six weeks, and
would be for six more weeks. More money that way. But, surprisingly,
lonely. Lots of attention, but the wrong kind. Lonely.
He was a traveler, too. Lonely, too She didn’t go on till 10. How about
dinner for two lonely travelers before the show?
And so, they’d had dinner at Milos. The best Greek salad in North America.
The best Chilean sea bass anywhere. They talked about life on the road. She
was a graduate of Boston College. Economics. And she’d learned enough to know
that she could pay back her student loans and save money for graduate school
a lot faster by dancing. She’d been dancing for a year and a half. Why the
nipple ring? That was a secret.
She had insisted on paying. She made more than he did, she said, half joking.
Dancers form Boston College did better than investment bankers from Harvard.
Or maybe not. Anne-Marie Toscani, her credit card said.
And so, later that night, he’d ended up in his room at the wonderfully
romantic Hotel de la Montagne, naked in his bed, waiting for Anne Marie
Toscani to emerge from the bathroom, naked with her nipple ring, to dance for
him, drive him wild, make him her sex slave, or be his sex slave, or whatever
else her wild desires might be.
And Anne Marie, Misty, emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and
walked to the bed, dropped the towel on the floor and slid into bed next to
him.
“Joe, please hold me. I’m so lonely.”
And Joe held her, stroking her neck and her face and her back as they lay
naked together.
Again, they talked. No, she really wasn’t going to go to graduate school, the
money from dancing was just too good to give up. Yes, she did like dancing.
At least some of the time. Most of the men were nice enough, but some made
her feel really bad about what she was doing. As for traveling, well, she
could probably stay somewhere permanently. Maybe New York or Orlando. Why
did she travel, really? At first, it seemed like fun, but now it just seemed
lonely.
Joe held her and listened for a long time, just stroking her neck and kissing
her cheek. Eventually, his kisses moved to her neck, then to her throat and
finally her lips. When their lips touched, Joe felt his body respond. When
their tongues touched, he felt his hardness grow, pressing against her.
“Hmmm,” she said as they kissed, and she began to respond, to move
sensuously against him.
His kisses moved from her lips to her throat to her breast as he moved on top
of her. His tongue found her left nipple as he entered her, and moved slowly
inside her. “Oh yesss,” she cried.
With long smooth strokes he made love to her, slid deep inside her then
slowly withdrew until just the head was inside her, stretching her, then
slowly moved deep inside again. He felt her heat build, felt the wet ripples
of her passion squeeze him. Anne Marie moaned softly when she climaxed, and
her passion ignited his. As he exploded quietly inside her, she moaned
softly again.
Incredible.
Spent, they held each other. “Thank you, Joe,” she said.
Joe smiled at her. Anne Marie Toscani was a mystery. He wanted to know
everything about this woman.
“That was what I needed so much, Joe. For so long I’ve wanted to be loved
gently, sweetly. That has been my fantasy as I’ve danced for strangers in one
town after another, playing to their fantasies.” She kissed him softly on
the lips. “But next time… next time I will be your fantasy… dance for
you, tease you… be anything you want me to be.”
She kissed him again. A hard, deep kiss. Probing, tasting, teasing.
Promising…