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Rachel Kramer Bussel - First-Timers.docx
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Sugar Daddy

I. Elise Bland

By the time I hit thirty, I had performed many lewd acts, yet had never done a strip tease. It's not that I hadn't thought about stripping. The chintzy glamour of the strip club sounded like fun—flashy costumes, cool shoes, seduction, and the worship of countless adoring fans. Even the thought of money turned me on. However, stripping was only one of my many role-play fantasies. Always in search of an escape from my drab life as a graduate student and teacher, I got myself into plenty of trouble on the weekends with the local leather women. Although I had spent much time naked at parties with my wild friends, it was a long time before I found someone to strip for.

My first "customer" was my girlfriend, Alex. She was a fancy butch with porcelain skin and chic black hair that she sculpted into a retro ducktail. Alex and I first met at a women's BDSM seminar. She stared me down with her dark blue eyes. Without even knowing what she would ask of me, I immediately said "yes," so we dated and played for a couple of months. Before long, she had even talked me into submitting to her in public, but in a challenging new way.

"There's a party coming up," she told me one afternoon. "Do you want to play?"

"Sure. What do you have in mind this time?" I asked.

"I want you to strip for me," she said, tugging the edges of my tank top upwards to reveal the border of my ragged old jog bra. "I know how you like to show off."

It was true. In spite of my occasional shyness, I loved to flaunt my wares when coaxed properly. Play parties (BDSM parties at which safe, consensual power exchange takes place) proved to be a great escape from my mundane scholastic life. I soon found I could do whatever I wanted under the guise of "kink." I had been a bondage slut in black latex, a dominant bitch with a penchant for clothespins, a rebellious Catholic schoolgirl, a sadistic schoolmarm, and even a damsel in distress kidnapped by roving lady pirates.

"So, what do you say?" Alex asked, fiddling with the elastic of my jog bra to release my breasts. "Will you strip for me?"

"I don't know," I stuttered. "I can't dance."

"Of course you can. I've seen you out grinding around on the dance floor. Believe me, you know exactly what you're doing."

"But I'd be too embarrassed," I pleaded.

"It's never stopped you before," she told me. "You can be my private dancer and I'll be your sugar daddy."

It was hard to say no to Alex. She was scorching hot, and there was never a doubt that I would have a good time playing with her, no matter how intimidating the game. However, I wasn't kidding about my dance skills. I really didn't know how to dance, but if I was going to be performing in public for my new sugar daddy, I had to learn. Luckily, years of academic training had taught me to tackle all problems with research and practicum, so I rushed to the nearest video store and rented some educational dance films: Flashdance, Striptease, and Showgirls. For an entire week, I gyrated alone in my bedroom wearing nothing but a thong and painfully high heels. After a glass of wine or two, I started to look pretty good to myself in the mirror, but once I was clear-headed, the charm wore off. I was left to face one tragic fact; as an exotic dancer, I sucked. I was not a smooth-moving vixen, but rather, a limp-legged newborn calf staggering around on its hooves for the very first time.

There was simply no getting out of my dance date, though. Alex was beside herself with excitement. All week long, she had been bombarding me with crude, yet titillating, e-mails: "So, baby, are you going to show me your tits? Can I see your pussy? How about a blow job in the VIP room? What are you doing after work? Do you date customers? How much for a private dance at my place?"

The night of the party, Alex showed up at my door as a suave Mafioso stud in a baggy zoot suit, pocket watch chain hanging down her leg, and exaggerated bulge in her slacks. She was the ultimate sugar daddy in both attitude and attire. I also dressed the part in extreme heels and a slinky black spandex number with a red thong. We headed off to the party to wow our friends with a kinky role-play scene: the desperate I*11-do-anything-for-a-dollar stripper bares all for the handsome, corrupt customer.

When we arrived at the party, not much was happening yet. We bypassed the snack table, avoiding an extremely dry discussion of electro play.

"I hate leather parties where people just stand around and eat," I complained. "Nobody's even naked yet!"

"Well, then let's get this party started," she said, leading me into the den.

Most of the partygoers were relaxing in the adjacent living room when Alex sneakily popped a CD into the player. She settled into a puffy reclining chair and waited for me to start my show. Soon, seductive melodies crept throughout the house, piquing the curiosity of the guests. The music was my signal to dance, or at least to make some attempt to move gracefully. Alex sat before me with her legs spread wide apart, her hand resting presumptuously on her crotch. I stepped nervously from side to side, swaying my hips and running my hands through my hair, hoping to look cool and seductive. Her dark, sculpted eyebrows followed my every awkward move.

Although I felt more gawky than sexy, Alex's intense gaze turned me on and kept me going. She was a total fantasy—too attractive to be a strip club customer. Where was the legendary beer belly? The tequila breath? The expensive yet tasteless golf wear? My beautiful sugar daddy had both class and style. Although she could almost pass as a real man from afar, up close Alex maintained a certain delicacy. Her face was devoid of prickly man hair, her lips firm and painted. I soon began to forget my stage fright. I made a few turns, grinding my ass around and trying not to stumble in my new diva shoes. With one knee propped up on Alex's thigh, I lifted my skirt up to give her a peak at my new red thong. She pressed her long white teeth together and growled softly. She was trying to act tough, but I knew that she was really moaning out of hunger for me. Suddenly I had a moment of clarity; even though she was my "daddy," the one in control of the supposed money and power, I was the one who had the ability to tease, and to say no if the price wasn't right. With newfound confidence, I executed my trick once again. I lifted my skirt and, this time, ran one finger underneath my T-back and into my wet pussy. I leaned over her, only inches from her anxious mouth, and licked off all the juices.

"Hands off," she said, leaning up to grab the fabric covering my breasts. "That's mine." Alex pulled me into a kiss in an attempt to keep me in line.

"No, you take your hands of. This stuff is mine!" I shoved her back into the chair and she obeyed. From that moment on, I knew the erotic force was with me. I was riding on a power surge—both mine and hers.

I was still nervous because Alex wasn't the only one watching me. Women in various costumes and fetish wear had begun to bleed into the room to check out our scene. We had amassed quite an audience.

"Take it off!" yelled a tattooed dyke in a leather cowboy hat. My time had finally come. There was no getting out of it now. I pulled my top down, but with lingering hesitation. Even though everybody at the party had already seen me naked—hundreds of times, it seemed—I still felt self-conscious. Nudity was not the issue. Performing was. I was jittery, and the gawking audience was only making matters worse. I wished I were in a roomful of strangers because I would have been much more relaxed.

I tried moving my body more quickly so nobody would notice my trembling, but dancing faster only made me look convulsive. My large breasts flip-flopped with a mind of their own as I teetered around on my heels. I had definitely lost my groove. The fluid, decisive moves of the dancers I had seen in videos now seemed virtually impossible. My stripper power was slipping away from me before I even had time to bask in it.

"I dance so much better in private," I told Alex.

"What are you talking about? You're doing great," she reassured me, coming out of role for a second. "They're totally into it, and so am I." I looked around at the roomful of transfixed leather women. Alex was right. They were into it, and they were easy to please. I could do no wrong. After all, I was topless and in high heels, and I was making a perverse spectacle of myself. No one dared complain.

"Let's put on a show," Alex whispered to me as I arched my back onto her chest. I was becoming more comfortable, so I was ready to ham it up a little. I knelt down and ran my cheek along her open thigh. Her long, graceful legs flexed under my every touch. She was magnificent, masculine, yet ultimately feminine. From my spot on the floor, I eyed the harsh bulge framed by her muscular legs. Alex smirked at me from above and unzipped her pants. Out popped my very favorite dildo, the purple curved one with ridges that I loved to suck and ride.

"Big enough for you?" she asked loudly enough for the onlookers to hear. Then she grabbed the scruff of my neck and pulled my head into her crotch. The crowd went wild, bombarding us with catcalls. My ear pressed against the stiff rubber device. More hoots and hollers flew past us. When she released me, my dance truly began. I pulled out all the stops. I performed a butt grind on her cock, a body slide down her chest, and even teased her with a mini hand job. Every so often, I'd catch a glimpse of onlookers—a butch in a black motorcycle cap with stern, crossed arms or an ex-girlfriend in a shiny new collar. I flashed a giddy smile at my friends. Alex noticed right away that I was distracted.

"Get back to work," she said, blowing me a haughty kiss. "I'm paying good money for this dance." She pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket and dangled it between her legs. The money floated magically above her oh-so-manly toy.

"Show me what you'll do for this, baby girl."

We hadn't negotiated exchanging money during our scene, but I wasn't complaining. In fact, the cash made the role play even more perverse. I loved it. She was my girlfriend. She fucked me, but she was going to pay me, too. It was sick and twisted, and maybe even a little too humiliating for everyday life, but I didn't care. I was a graduate student, swimming in student loans, and teaching spoiled brats at the university for mere pennies. That twenty-dollar bill would soon find a new home in my three-dollar Wal-Mart thong. Even more bizarre, the money turned me on. For once, I could have my sweet cake and eat it too. Maybe there really was something to the whole sugar daddy arrangement. Power exchange, money exchange, what did I have to lose?

I dropped to my hands and knees and targeted her with my eyes. Suddenly, I wasn't trembling anymore. I knew exactly what to do. Channeling the slick moves of a famished feline, I crawled towards the prize between Alex's legs. The smell of green freedom filled my flaring nostrils. To get closer the prey, I inched up her thighs and straight to the source. It was mine. I opened my mouth, ran my tongue up the shaft of her cock, and prepared to take in a mouthful of silicone. She moaned in anticipation and foolishly relaxed the hand holding the money. Before the cash could escape, my flashing canines nabbed it. With the money hanging out of my mouth like a wounded duck, I leapt into Alex's lap, straddled her hips, and dry-humped her bare toy for the grand finale. The partygoers broke into applause as Alex spanked my butt to the beat of the music. I shook my head around in exaggerated sexual frenzy to finish off the show.

Once the song was over and the ruckus had died down, Alex held out her hand towards me. "OK, I need my twenty back," she said blankly.

"Hey, no fair!" I protested. "I earned that money fair and square."

"Honey, I'm broke, too. You know that," she said as she loosened her necktie. "This was all a game." She kissed me to make up for my disappointment, smearing her red butch lipstick across my sweaty chin. She was right. It was a game, and a very exciting one at that. Nevertheless, I wanted that money. It had come and gone all too quickly.

"Alright, Daddy Warbucks," I said, grabbing her tie. "You want your measly twenty back so bad? You're going to have to work for it, extra hard." With that, I pulled her on top of me in the recliner and yanked my cheap red thong to one side. "It's my turn to be the sugar daddy." I guided her head down in between my legs and felt her hot, strong mouth pressing deep into my pussy. She knew all the tricks to getting me off fast, sometimes even too fast. I held her hair with one hand, and with the other I gripped my twenty dollar bill with all my might. She had only been sucking my clit for a minute and I was already on the verge of orgasm.

"You're cheating!" I squealed. "I don't want to come yet! Stop!" But it was too late. My heels dug into the floor as she worked every last bit of cum out of my body. This time, my twenty dollars was gone for good.

For a moment, I wished I were a millionaire, but at least I had my kinky sugar daddy to entertain me.

"Okay," Alex said, leaning back, stroking her cock, which was still out of her trousers. "Give me that twenty and maybe I'll find another way for you to earn it back."

The games had officially begun and I sure wasn't going to lose. I pounced on her and got to "work" immediately. That money bought us hours of stripping, role play, oral services, shoe worship, and raunchy sex. We passed the twenty dollars back and forth for a year until our relationship dwindled down and Alex moved away. I still have the bill, and she is welcome to come back and get it anytime, so long as she provides me with some more of that good sugar daddy sugar.

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