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My name is ‘Show Girl.’ I’m 23 years old, 5’5″ tall, 115 pounds, and my measurements are 36C-21-34. I’m a natural blonde, with blue eyes and I’m into sexy talking and sexy ideas.

Actually, MY fantasy is to be on a stage with a lot of people watching me dance naked. In my fantasy, the guys hoot and holler, making very lewd and suggestive remarks about what they’d like to do to me in bed. I dance alone for a while, shaking my tits in their faces, or bending over in front of them close enough for them to try to lick my pussy. They all chicken out at the last minute though, and this makes be bolder and hotter the longer I dance.

I have in mind one of those semi-round stages, with a short, straight runway straight out from the stage. I start out dressed in a skirt and blouse, and quickly lose my clothes to stand completely nude before everyone.

While I’m dancing, my pussy gets wetter and wetter, and I feel my pussy cream mixing with the sweat that covers me from dancing under the hot lights. Faces are blurred beyond the edge of the stage, but the men are all intent on checking out my body. As I dance, I get more and more suggestive about what I want. I’ll lay on my back with my legs spread and rock my hips as though I was being fucked hard and fast. Then I roll over and spread my legs and thrust back, showing everyone my wet pussy and sexy ass. This I do with a nice looking guy of about 27 sitting at the edge of the stage. I shove my ass and cunt almost in his face several times. When I get up and dance by him, I can see a thick bulge in his lap, and I know he’s hot for me.

Finally, I see a pretty woman about my age sitting at the edge of the runway with her boyfriend across the table from her. I dance down towards her and lay on my stomach, pressing my large breasts against the floor. I look her in the eye and run my tongue across my lips sensuously, then flick my tongue up and down, showing her I’d like to eat her pussy too. To my surprise, she gives me an air-kiss, and runs her tongue around her lips too.

Excited, I sit up and spread my legs wide, with my ass at the edge of the stage, gyrating my hips lewdly right in front of her. I’m daring her to show me. Then she leans forward, and I hear the crowd hush. Her tongue lightly licks my soaking pussy, and she runs it over my clit, taking me closer to a climax. She leans back and fingers my vagina, and then licks my cream from her fingers, smiling up at me.

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She stumbled out of bed to answer the shrilling phone, still half asleep. She barked her shins on a pile of notebooks on the floor. Across the room, her roommate groaned and rolled over in her sleep. She hurried a bit more to get the phone before waking her roommate up.

“Hello?” she asked sleepily.

“Morning,” came the reply. She recognized the voice of her master immediately.

“Hello, sir,” she said, and her voice had a much more submissive tone. “Why did you call me?” She wished she was at his apartment. So much better, to lie with him and awake with her small hands bound in a bondage belt, with the warmth of his body nearby and having the excuse of fetters to allow her to lie in bed.

“I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me. Also, I want you to wear a skirt today. Above the knee, I think. And your stockings and garter belt.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out after English. You can wear flats if you want, but bring your heels along in a bag. Oh, and if you wear underwear, it has to be something that comes off easily. Wear your silk ones with the bows.”

“OK, sir,” she said, wondering inside what he meant. She would be glad in an hour for having eaten, but right now she wanted more than anything to crawl back into bed and sleep. She had half an hour before class. But she obeyed, wondering why all the while.

He was no more tractable at breakfast. He allowed her to get three bowls of Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it was junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only answered, “You’ll find out after English.”

English. Short Story Writing, specifically. The last class she had on Fridays, the only one she had with him. So many times, that had been the last thing she did before spending a weekend in erotic submission to him. The simple thought made her belly turn over.

The whole day she was unable to keep her mind off it. What did he have planned? A weekend of submission? Maybe. But that was hardly uncommon. So why all the secrecy? And why the costuming? In classes, she found herself writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes. She tapped her feet incessantly and waited for the class to end. She supposed people were looking at her. She didn’t care.

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When I met Jon he was just past chubby, melted down into a lithe boy who was starting to show signs of man. He was a young man the way a colt is part gangly animal and part magical apparition. He wore his awkwardness like a beetle wears its shell, to cover up the soft inside.

He was my highschool friend. He sometimes flirted with me, just to practice. I watched him hesitating on the cusp of growing up. If he had been more self-assured I would have been smitten, and if I had been any more self-assured I’d have taken him — easy, the way his hormones were trembling and threatening to spill over, like water from a glass. But I was not the one he chose for his first affair.

Mr. White had just been hired to teach at the highschool. He was on a three-year contract, and that was all the longer he would stay, because teachers like him are never hired back. He must have interviewed in his one regular suit — he’d never have gotten the job dressed the way he usually did, in old, old clothes, antique three-piece suits and wire-rimmed glasses and a watch and chain. He was hired to teach drama, of course — that’s probably why they let him slip by — and English.

He looked English, actually, like a headmaster at a shabby third cousin of Eton. He had bright, lavishly-lashed eyes and a mustache that curled. No one in our remote little town had never seen anything like him. He was like a time traveler who had taken a very wrong stop. He could not have been expected to have anything in common with a bunch of ranchers’ sons and daughters. Nevertheless a few of us had determined that we were not going to be hicks. We were over him like flies on honey.

Jon was skittish around Mr. White from the start, manic even. For about a week he joined the other boys, raving about what a fruit and a faggot the new teacher was. But by the end of the second week of school he had arranged to join three extracurricular clubs — the Thespians, the school paper, and a modern novel study group — so he could be near him.

On any given day Jon could be found before class, after class, and often at lunch in Mr.White’s room. I knew that because I was in the habit of dropping by at those times myself. Of all the students who clustered around the new teacher, I was the closest to understanding just why he seemed so odd. He was so completely different from any other man I’d ever known, in his eccentricity so sweet and strange, that of course I began cruising him almost right away. I was just learning that having sex with a person could teach me things about them and about myself, and I was sure Mr. White was a wealth of things I wanted to know.

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Sex always seemed to be a contest for Lisa and Trey, a competition of imagination or stamina or daring or flexibility. Who could do what, where, how, the most?

To him she seemed to be a dream come true. An attractive older woman with no apparent inhibitions who floated into his life three or four times a year and then disappeared with out a trace. He suspected that she was a celebrity of some sort and that added spice to an already hot relationship.

He seemed like a child to her. A well-hung, sexually talented child who drew astonishing responses from her body. She enjoyed the relationship. There was something inexplicably delicious about playing the role of a “woman of mystery.”

They walked hand in hand through the intermittent drizzle into the nearly-deserted city zoo. Her full breasts bounced gently beneath the fabric of her lavender blouse which was tucked into a long flowing skirt beneath which she wore nothing at all. She was already wet with anticipation. “Where’s the aviary?”

He grinned, “What’s the hurry? Don’t you want to see the wild animals?”

“Only one, dear. Only one.” They took the path up the hill and entered the net-covered aviary. The gravel path wound through dense foliage in which all manner of brightly colored birds perched. There were concrete benches set back into the foliage at irregular intervals along the path.

This had been an excellent choice. There was no one around and even the normally raucous birds were somewhat subdued by the rain.

He chose a bench midway along the path and sat facing the direction of the entrance, then pulled her to stand before him and raised her skirt. He stroked the wiry red-brown curls that framed her pussy, ran a finger lightly over her long inner lips which protruded slightly, a deep rosy pink and slippery wet.

She lifted her leg, putting one foot on the bench beside him and reached down and pulled her inner lips wide apart, opening herself to his eyes and fingers and mouth. She felt his warm hands cupping her ass and then the sweet shock as velvet met velvet, his tongue moved tenderly around and over her clit and he sucked at it gently.

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Jennifer was a frosh at Jefferson College, and so far she liked it a lot. As she walked down toward the gym, she smiled to herself at the California weather. It was nothing like the weather in Alaska. Here it was, the middle of February, and she could walk around in shorts without worrying about freezing to death. Others complained that it was cold and told her she was a nut for wearing shorts. Obviously they didn’t come from Alaska like she did. To her, the crisp chill in the air was more refreshing than it was chilling, and she knew that after running around the track a few times, she would actually be hot.

Jennifer liked to run; it was a good way to keep in shape, and it was a good way to daydream while still being productive. She was a good student and very responsible, and this was her way to escape the constant academic pressures she put upon herself. She could jog around the track a few times, letting her body do the work while her mind wandered onto other things. Others wouldn’t believe her, but running relaxed her. (Her roommate thought she was crazy, but then again, Jenny’s roommate was a plump girl who looked like she had never exercised a day in her life.)

Jenny was wearing a tank top and a loose fitting pair of shorts. Underneath the shorts, she wore a pair of those tight-fitting bike pants, made of the stretchy black material. This was mostly to keep her warm, and to keep her decent. Plus, whenever she ran in panties, they got all drenched in her sweat and basically became too disgusting to wear. Similarly, under her tanktop, Jenny wore a tightfitting elastic top over her breasts. The reason for this was that she hated the feeling of running in the discomfort of a bra, and if she wore nothing, she bounced, and that became painful after awhile.

Jenny was happy with her body, unlike most women, and this happiness gave her a very visible confidence. This confidence almost did more to make her attractive than her actual physical appearance. Jenny had dark hair and tan skin, and a nice smile. When she had first arrived on campus, men had swarmed around her, mostly frat guys checking out the new women, but Jenny had made it through without acquiring any boyfriends. She was not one that had to have a boyfriend; on the whole, she preferred not to, as they took up a lot of time and never seemed to be much worth it. She didn’t need the time-drain. Yes, Jenny would only settle for a boyfriend that she actually loved, and the frat guys soon gave up on her, disgusted, and moved to other prey.

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