Vanishing Point Ch. 01 page 2

Tai glided down the pole in defiance of gravity's relentless force to crouch like a feline stalking its dinner, as she surveyed the men who encircled her. They had her surrounded, but she was the hunter and they were the prey. They would think otherwise, but Jean knew where the balance of power really lay. It was between Tai's legs, that smooth, bare magically wet pink sliver of flesh that captured men's souls and left them so vulnerable and defenseless.

Jean watched avidly as Tai knelt and opened her legs and rubbed her pussy with her fingers inside the tiny triangle of green silk that covered her nakedness. She moved from one rapt and sweaty-palmed man to the next one, crawling on her hands and knees with her tits swaying seductively and her heavily lidded eyes curtained by her mane of long, russet-gold hair. Jean had her skirt pulled up and her fingers were rubbing her own slit while she savored Tai's performance.

One after the other, Tai took each man and seduced him into the fantasy she created with her presence. She drew their faces in between her thighs to see and smell and almost-taste her pussy while they slid the money under the edge of her cunt-covering, hoping against hope to actually touch that most-sacred flesh, the centerpiece of their dreams for many nights to come.

And once they'd paid for the privilege, Tai would pull her fingers out from behind her g-string and touch the man's face. She had every one of them in the palm of her pussy-scented hand. It was a magnificent and breathtakingly sensual performance. Just like always. Tai was the best there was, no question about it.

Jean's right hand was inside her now five-button-undone shirt, cupping her breast and lifting it out of the shallow cup of her bra and playing with her nipple while she watched Tai work her magic on the men ringing the stage. She knew the protocol well – one dollar gave you a caress behind the ear, a handful of bills would garner a touch to the cheek, and a five or a ten would give the man a taste of Tai's fingers after a fresh dip into her pussy.

After circumnavigating the stage and emptying her money into the little wicker basket she kept next to the pole, Tai stood up and began to masturbate and play with her nipples for the last song of her set. By the fourth bar of the song, her g-string was gone and the men were each given a full-frontal peek at the lush wetness she cultivated for their pleasure. The climactic ending of the song had Tai on her knees again, simulating a wrenching orgasm as she fingered her cunt. She was kneeling in front of the man who had given her the biggest tip. She was fucking for him, but her eyes were on Jean.

Jean's fingers were thrusting in and out of her cunt in time with what Tai was doing on stage. Here in the darkened corner behind the bar no one could see what she was doing – nobody except for Alice, the green-haired little hardbody fuckpuppet of a bartender. And Alice knew all about Jean and Tai.

Jean tossed back the rest of her drink and Alice promptly refilled it, and poured a glass of merlot for Tai, too. Alice knew that Tai would be sitting next to Jean in a minute – that is, if she wasn't immediately dragged off to the VIP room for a private couch dance with one of her stage patrons. And even if she was taken away, she would be here next to Jean in due time.

As Tai writhed on stage, pretending to come, Jean had the fingers of one hand pinching her clit while she gripped the edge of the bar with the other to hold herself steady. Tai's orgasm was faked – but Jean's was real.

When she did step down from the stage, Tai was indeed captured by an overweight man with poorly fitting clothes that might have been stylish twenty years ago. She flashed a wry smile at Jean over her shoulder as she was led away. She would be back, as soon as she had drained his wallet. Sometimes, when she really wanted to get away from someone with a minimum of time and fuss, she would grind on his lap and furtively stroke his cock while she straddled him and rubbed her tits against his face. More often than not, the poor man would come in his pants and then hurry to leave, crimson-faced and trying to hide the dark wet stain on the front of his pants.

Ten minutes later, Tai's man was scurrying for the men's room and she was sauntering back towards the bar. When she was screened by the bar and no one but Jean and Alice could see, Tai stopped to finger her pussy and open the front of the little black satin fuck-me dress that she wore when she was not on stage. Then she was on the stool next to Jean, with her legs on either side of Jean's.

"Hi, darling. I'm glad you're here," Tai whispered in Jean's ear as she placed her hand over Jean's inside her shirt. "I think you should take off that bra, sweetheart," she added as she squeezed.

Jean blushed, and lowered her head. "All right," she said, huskily, as she glanced around to see if anyone besides Alice had seen. She didn't want Tai to get in trouble with the club's manager. "OK. I love it when you touch me like that, you know." She started to rise to go to the restroom.

"No – I want you to do it right here," Tai demanded. She put her hand on Jean's arm to gently push her back onto her stool. "Go on, do it. Do it for me, now."

Jean slowly unbuttoned another two buttons on her shirt and she reached inside to pull down the straps off her shoulders and to open the clasp between the cups to ease it off her breasts. A minute and a few contortions later, Jean's lacy white half-cup bra was draped across the top of the bar.

"There, done" Jean said. "For you," she added unnecessarily. Jean reached for her glass, but Tai got there first, her fingertips massaging the rim. Jean put her hand on top of Tai's and she stroked the back of the dancer's hand while Tai coated Jean's drinking cup with her pussy cream.

"I've got something to show you," Jean offered, after Tai had permitted her to run her tongue around the rim of the glass and down her shot of Tai-laced liqueur. "Here, look at this." She handed the letter from Fantasia to Tai, and watched her eyes move along the elegant lines of calligraphy as she deciphered the words.

"Wow, this is so cool," Tai exclaimed. "It sounds so nice. What a lucky chance."

"I don't think so," Jean replied. She went on to explain her theory that Fantasia was trying to woo her away from Anything Goes and that this was their way of seducing her away from the comfortable if unexciting existence she lived at the salon where she had worked for the past two years.

"I want to dance for you," Tai offered. "To celebrate, and because I need to have you now." She angled her head towards one of the private rooms. "Let's go."

Jean followed Tai, hand in hand as they threaded their way through the tables to the other side of the room. All of the men stared and salivated at the sight of the two of them. It wasn't every night that they got to see a woman getting a private show from one of the dancers.

Tai and Jean danced and touched and kissed and made love in the tiny dark room with the cracked leather couch and the mirrors on the walls that reflected the now-naked Tai's gorgeous body draped over the partially dressed Jean Bujold in the flickering candle light. They had to hold themselves back for a deliciously agonizing couple of minutes when one of the bouncers came sniffing around looking for evidence of the few carnal pleasures that were beyond the boundaries of propriety at Club eXtreme. But as soon as he was gone, their fingers re-entered each others' pussies and they nibbled and kissed each others lips and nipples until Jean pulled Tai down on top of her and they orgasmed together in a passionate embrace, their mouths pressed together and sharing the air in their lungs while their fingers gently fucked each other's cunts.

It was heaven.

And when they untangled themselves from each other, it was time for Jean to return to her tiny apartment and to turn on her computer and her vibrator. The triangle had been traversed, and now it was time to begin again.

Opening The Door

"Yes?"

Jean held her invitation in her hand. Why did she feel so nervous? Was it because the female voice who had answered the telephone had uttered that single word of acknowledgement and had then waited for Jean to announce her purpose? That wasn't at all what she had expected. At Anything Goes, you had to answer the phone by the third ring and you had to say the salon's name and your own and you had to sound cheerful and professional, and…

And this woman's voice had none of that. The way she had said "yes?" embodied mystery and unspecified purpose and a depth that resonated deep within the pit of Jean's stomach. She wasn't sure how long she had breathed into the mouthpiece before she found the words and the courage to speak her purpose.

"Hello. Is this, um, Fantasia?"

"Yes, this is Fantasia. Hello, Jean Bujold. We've been waiting for you to call."

More confusion. Jean took a deep breath and gripped the handset tight. "Yes, um, yes, this is Jean Bujold. How did you know…?"

"Caller-ID, Jean. Nothing magic, really," the woman's voice said. "We've been expecting you."

"But how did you know my telephone number?"

"We knew your address, Jean, so why not your telephone number?"

"Oh, yes, I see. I guess so."

"Are you ready to make your appointment for you introductory visit to Fantasia? We have an opening this Thursday. How does ten o'clock sound, Jean?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so," Jean replied. "Thursday's my day off." It seemed as if she was always a few seconds behind this coolly efficient voice, and unable to catch up to her.

"Excellent. We shall put you down for ten. Please be prompt. We have so much to introduce you to, and so much to accomplish. We'll see you on Thursday, at ten, then."

"Don't you want to ask me about what I would like to have done?" Jean asked. There, she had gotten out in front with that.

"You are going to receive an introduction to all of our services, Jean. Everything that we offer. And we are quite sure you are going to have a wonderful time with us."

"Um, OK, I guess. I was thinking of a body wax and manicure and pedicure and a bit of an evening-out of my hair. And a massage. I would really love a massage."

"We know, Jean. And yes, you'll receive those services. And more. Be assured that we will take good care of you. Now I must go and attend to another guest, Jean. We'll see you on Thursday. Oh – and there are no second chances, or rainchecks, Jean. If you are not here promptly at ten o'clock, our offer expires. There can be no rescheduling."

"I understand. I'll be there. I promise."

"We know, Jean. We have confidence that we have made the correct selection. You are the right one, Jean. Goodbye."

"Goodbye…" Jean said to the dial tone that buzzed in her ear.

Releasing Tension

It was dark outside now, the lights across the cityscape beginning to come on as the million souls who surrounded her came home and turned on the lights and cooked dinner and read the newspaper and played with their children.

Jean turned to her computer, and her vibrator. It was time to fuck. She was online a few minutes later, waiting for her porn-writer muse to come online and infect her mind with some new wicked twists of imaginative indecencies. She waited until his greeting popped up to spread her legs and start rubbing the gleaming silver tip of her tool against her cunt.

Good evening, Jean. Have you been a good girl today?

Jean twisted the base of the silver spear and felt it rumble to life in her hand. Her cunt was already wet, before the cool metal even touched her flesh. Jean pulled her t-shirt off and pinched her nipples to make them hard.

Yes, I've been a good girl. And I'm so very wet right now…

Counting Down the Hours

Jean awoke with a start. Thursday had arrived with agonizing slowness. All week long, she had been living in a fog, moving along her well-worn path between her apartment and the salon and Club eXtreme. The structure and repetition of her well-ordered life helped to mitigate the rampant and unrestrained fantasies she lived in her dreams. Dreams of being wooed and courted and showered with attention to entice her away from the ordinariness of Anything Goes to what must be a fabulously luxurious and top-flight salon experience at Fantasia. Her vibrator had been sorely tested, and her clit throbbed incessantly.

Even Tai noticed the difference. Jean's appetite for her lover's body took her to new extremes. She had bought Tai a gift – all wrapped up in a pretty little box with an emerald green ribbon to match the color of the dancer's eyes. Tai had opened it while she sat on Jean's lap in one of the private rooms, while they recovered their composure after an especially intense, conjoined orgasm.

She had squealed with delight when she saw Jean had given her. She held it up and kissed it and turned it on. Then she handed the tiny, finger-sized vibrator to Jean so she could suck it into her own mouth and then ease it into Tai's slippery-wet pussy. Jean had cupped her hand over Tai's smooth, wet mons and had felt Tai's cunt contract around the gently pulsing shaft while she stroked her clit to another orgasm. Then they had returned to the main room, with their moist fingers entwined, when the DJ had announced that Tai was the next one due up on stage.

She had danced for Jean, and the men who paid her, and this time Tai's on-stage orgasm had been very real. And afterwards they had sat at the bar with the vibe still purring inside her and they spent the next hour kissing and touching and talking about Jean's dreams and about how she hoped that Thursday would be a turning point in her life.

The prospects seemed almost limitless to Jean now. There was no way that she would remain the same, after Thursday. Never before had she been singled out for anything, and now she was going to be the center of attention. Queen for a day – or, better yet, the Princess. She was Cinderella, being readied for her entrance at the King's ball. And Thursday at Fantasia had been arranged by her Fairy Godmother.

Crossing the Threshold

Jean's heart was beating a thousand times a minute when she opened the frosted glass Art Deco-styled door and entered the world of Fantasia. Contrary to her expectations, the salon occupied a suite of rooms on the second floor of a handsome, turn-of-the-century brownstone building in an exclusive residential enclave tucked away behind the leafy green park on the other side of the commercial district.

She had ascended the gleaming oak stairs to the second floor from the elegantly appointed, yet dimly lit, foyer with exaggerated slowness. She didn't want to be out of breath when she arrived. Jean counted the steps as she ascended towards the softly illuminated rectangle of sculpted glass at the top of the stairs. Nineteen steps – an unusual number.

The triad of nude women who posed on the glass door were breathtakingly sensual. One was in profile, kneeling with her head bowed. The second woman stood facing the kneeling girl with a hand placed on her head, while her other arm extended behind her to curl around the narrow waist of the third woman, who stood facing the viewer with a serpent coiled around her ankles and her arms extended above her head. The combination of the unabashed nudity of the models and the artistry with which their bodies were frozen in the etched glass made for a stunning entryway. One that in a more visible setting would likely result in someone being arrested for indecency, but here – in the hushed silence of this quiet building – seemed timeless and perfect.

Inside Fantasia, on the other side of the three nude women posing on the glass, Jean's first view of the salon was equally unexpected. Instead of a working salon with rows of chairs and women seated in them in various stages of being undone and redone while they were attended to by the salon staff, Jean saw – a reception lounge.

A petite Oriental girl dressed in a simple, red silk slip-dress sat behind a small glass table with her hands folded in her lap. When the eddying air from the opened door moved a few wisps of her long straight hair against her face, she opened her eyes and looked up at Jean, and smiled.

"Welcome to Fantasia, Jean Bujold," she said in a soft voice. "Please sit down," she added as she gestured towards the sumptuous velvet-draped couches and love seats in the empty room.

"How did you know who I was?" Jean asked as she sank into a deeply cushioned, peach-colored love seat.

The woman smiled. "It is ten o'clock and you are here. Who else could you be?" she said quietly. "Please wait here. I will get you some tea." And then the girl disappeared behind a screen.

Jean looked around the room. It's hushed silence felt strange. How could a salon be so empty, even on a Thursday morning? Her eyes ranged around the room, studying the furnishings and trying to decipher what kind of place Fantasia really was.

The absence of magazines on the gleaming glass table in front of her love seat was puzzling. There wasn't a salon on the planet without a half a year or more of well-used Peoples and Vogues and Cosmopolitans lying about. But was more intriguing was the artwork on the walls. Every salon she had ever been in had large artsy photos of women with dramatically styled hairdos hanging on the walls. Fantasia had framed photographs on the walls, too, and of women; but they weren't there as a come-on for a new hairstyle. They seemed more focused on the women's bodies and – well, they were far more sensual and sexy than they were examples of a salon's craft work.

The one that captivated Jean the most was a near life-sized photograph of a woman, taken from her waist to her feet. She was standing in profile to the camera and she was wearing elegant, old-fashioned black stockings with a band of lace at the top, and with her feet squeezed into a pair of five-inch heeled ankle-strap sandals. She wasn't wearing any panties, either. Her hand – the one closest to the camera - was on her ass, her azure-blue fingernails, pressed deeply into the curve of her cheek. Her other hand held a bouquet of flowers – blue and yellow irises – in front of her pussy.

But what really made the photograph exotic was the other woman. She had long, flowing, jet black hair and she was wearing a blue and yellow corset that was laced breathtakingly tight and that lifted her breasts up and had them almost spilling over the top and with a teasing hint of her areolas and nipples peeking out. She, too, was bare from the waist down, save for a pair of daffodil-yellow lace-up ankle boots with impossibly long spike heels. The corseted woman was kneeling, with her hands clasped behind her back. She too was holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Hers were blood-red roses, though, and you could see where the thorns had pricked her hands.

But what really sent Jean over the edge was in how the kneeling woman was leaning forward and biting and tearing off a petal from one of the irises that the standing woman held in front of her pussy.

"Here is your tea, Jean Bujold."

Jean turned away from the stunning display of sensuality, and turned her attention to the girl in the red silk dress. The girl knelt down in front of the glass table and she placed a nearly translucent porcelain cup filled with steaming, fragrant tea on the table in front of Jean.

"Please drink it all. It will help you to relax," the girl added.

Jean picked up the cup and held it under her nose. "It smells wonderful. What kind of tea is it?"

"It is our own special Fantasia blend, of teas and herbs."

"Mmmm, yes, it is good," Jean said after she dipped her tongue into the orange-dark beverage and took her first sip. "Very good," she added after taking a second taste.

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Submitted by : Anonymous
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