maxclub
01-02-2008, 10:27 PM
Hi All,
Here is an older story that I really like!
The Brazilian
As I drove to work, one Friday morning, I observed a vehicle broken down in the fast lane. A woman standing outside at the drivers’ door had her back to me. I pulled behind the stricken vehicle and put my emergency flashers on. As I shut the door to my pick up truck she turned around. Walking towards her, she looked familiar, I tried to place where I had seen or met her. She smiled, it was a dazzling smile from a beautiful face, and I was mesmerized. “You need help?” I asked. Her reply was curious, “No but you do.” I had met her before, she was a stripper at a local “Gentleman’s Club” and she had danced for me. We had a drink or two together, she danced on the table and I had tipped her generously, then departed. I hadn’t gone back. It was amazing to me that she actually remembered me in particular. After I had helped getting her vehicle started she told me that she was working at a different club and wanted me to stop by to see her. She said she would buy me a drink in thanks for my assistance with her car.
On the way home from work I stopped at the club where she worked, “Diamond Dolls”, located in Pompano Beach, Florida. My eyes had to adjust to the darkness of the interior and I was only able to use the lights from the stage to find my way to the bar. Finding a seat in the back corner of the bar I ordered a Stoli and Diet Coke, (a.k.a. a Black Bitch). Less than the time to order my friend sat down on the barstool next to me. Thanking me again for my assistance and producing money to purchase the drink.
She told me she was from Brazil, had been in the United States for three years and was going to school at night. I looked at her while she was talking, noticing the delicate features of her face, the animation and joy of her eyes. I asked her with a smile, “how old are you?” She replied, “twenty-three.” Doing some quick math in my head, I was twelve years her senior. “Cradle robber” ran through my head five times before I could speak. “Out of all the guys’ you have met what was it that made an impression on you, that would make you remember me from a brief meeting?” She told me it was what I had said to her. She had never heard the word masochistic before and had to find her translation dictionary from English to Portuguese. “It means loves pain,” she said, “you told me you were masochistic and I wasn’t sure what you had said, you left before I could get back to your table.” So we talked about that, the conversation took my mind away from our age difference.
She told me that she liked that I was a masochist, she was the opposite, and she liked giving pain. “Do you mind,” unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt, “I would like to try something.” She reached into my shirt with her hand to my nipple. Grabbing it with her thumb and index finger, she pulled on it three or four times. It became erect, so did another portion of my anatomy. Once the nipple became hard she brought the fingernails of her thumb and index finger to clasp the tip of the nipple. We stared into each other’s eyes as she started pinching the nipple with her fingernails. She brought her face close, “You will have to tell me you give up, because I will not stop, I will take the nipple home with me.” She whispered, “I am not joking.” Between the pain and the beauty of the inflictor I was lost and sexually energized. My mind was fogged, my penis was hard and I wanted to give her anything she requested. “That is completely up to you. If you want it take it now.” She didn’t, she held that pressure moving back away from my ear. My eyes were watering the nails had dug in breaking the skin. “You like?” she asked with a smile. All I could do was nod my head in agreement. She released the nipple causing a surge of pain as the blood rushed back; she turned towards the bar. There was a long period of silence between us until she ordered herself a drink. Turning towards me again she asked if there was anywhere else I liked to have pain. I stood and turned my body towards her. I placed my hand on the crotch of my pants and she smiled asking me to sit down again.
We talked for an hour or two, not about what had happened, but about our lives. This was in between drinks and her turn on stage. She was so limber and it was the first time I had actually looked at her beautiful naked body. She returned from a dance and asked if I would mind rubbing her feet. I told her it was fine with me. She was still standing; she grabbed my barstool and swiveled me to face hers. She sat on her barstool and swiveled towards me. “Take my boots and socks off,” she said as she raised her legs and placed her feet in my lap. I complied, and started giving her feet a massage. Her eyes were darting around the club as if she were looking for someone. I turned to see what or who she was looking for and felt her right foot leave my hand. She put it in my crotch and started to apply pressure.
I turned to look at her finding that smile again on her face. I kept massaging her left foot with both hands drawing it up and over her right foot to hide where and what it was doing. She brought her knees up and motioned with her right hand to come closer to her. I went to stand to move my barstool closer; she almost kicked me over with the foot near my crotch. She brought her feet down, leaned close to me and whispered, “move your ass forward in the stool I want your balls hanging over the edge.” I did what she asked and she used her bare feet to arrange my penis out of the way. She placed her right foot on my thigh and brought her left foot up to my chest, “rub” was all she said. As I started to massage her foot she lowered her right to the crotch of my pants, searching out with her toes my hanging testicles. She placed her toes above my testicles and applied pressure thus trapping the testicles between her foot and the flat edge of the barstool, and then she rolled the ball of her foot to where she could easily bring pressure on them. “Let’s see if you have the same resolve here as you had up there on your nipple.” She had stated this in a fairly audible tone much to my surprise, but all things have to have a reason. She had said it to get the barmaids attention as the barmaid had listened to part of our conversations as she was pouring drinks. My friend started to apply pressure to my testicles with the ball of her foot and said, “order us another drink while I give you what you need.” It was difficult to speak with the immediate pressure she applied. I looked at the Barmaid, she was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, “Need something?” the Barmaid asked. My friend had cupped my testicles between her toes and the ball of her foot, she applied more force. “A Stoli and Diet, … and … a … drink for the lady … please.” The please came out as a gasp, there was more pressure applied, my eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of their sockets. I looked at the smiling face of the beautiful creature who was crushing my testicles against an unforgiving barstool. “You should know what I’m drinking and I told you my name, … Jim.” I thought my testicles were going to rupture, tears started to run down my face, I looked back at the Barmaid and gasped between clinched teeth, “A Chablis for Miss Monica.” “O.K.”, the Barmaid responded, “Jim.” It was more of a platitude statement than a; I understand or I get it for you. (It came across as All right, or Way to go.) Monica released the pressure, dropped her feet and turned towards the bar. Silent again until the glass of wine came. Turning towards me she looked into my eyes as if seeing through into my soul, “You may call me Domina, and we are going to get along famously. I will need a phone number or someway to stay in touch.” I handed her my business card, and wrote every number I could remember on the back.
:pbbbbblt:
Here is an older story that I really like!
The Brazilian
As I drove to work, one Friday morning, I observed a vehicle broken down in the fast lane. A woman standing outside at the drivers’ door had her back to me. I pulled behind the stricken vehicle and put my emergency flashers on. As I shut the door to my pick up truck she turned around. Walking towards her, she looked familiar, I tried to place where I had seen or met her. She smiled, it was a dazzling smile from a beautiful face, and I was mesmerized. “You need help?” I asked. Her reply was curious, “No but you do.” I had met her before, she was a stripper at a local “Gentleman’s Club” and she had danced for me. We had a drink or two together, she danced on the table and I had tipped her generously, then departed. I hadn’t gone back. It was amazing to me that she actually remembered me in particular. After I had helped getting her vehicle started she told me that she was working at a different club and wanted me to stop by to see her. She said she would buy me a drink in thanks for my assistance with her car.
On the way home from work I stopped at the club where she worked, “Diamond Dolls”, located in Pompano Beach, Florida. My eyes had to adjust to the darkness of the interior and I was only able to use the lights from the stage to find my way to the bar. Finding a seat in the back corner of the bar I ordered a Stoli and Diet Coke, (a.k.a. a Black Bitch). Less than the time to order my friend sat down on the barstool next to me. Thanking me again for my assistance and producing money to purchase the drink.
She told me she was from Brazil, had been in the United States for three years and was going to school at night. I looked at her while she was talking, noticing the delicate features of her face, the animation and joy of her eyes. I asked her with a smile, “how old are you?” She replied, “twenty-three.” Doing some quick math in my head, I was twelve years her senior. “Cradle robber” ran through my head five times before I could speak. “Out of all the guys’ you have met what was it that made an impression on you, that would make you remember me from a brief meeting?” She told me it was what I had said to her. She had never heard the word masochistic before and had to find her translation dictionary from English to Portuguese. “It means loves pain,” she said, “you told me you were masochistic and I wasn’t sure what you had said, you left before I could get back to your table.” So we talked about that, the conversation took my mind away from our age difference.
She told me that she liked that I was a masochist, she was the opposite, and she liked giving pain. “Do you mind,” unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt, “I would like to try something.” She reached into my shirt with her hand to my nipple. Grabbing it with her thumb and index finger, she pulled on it three or four times. It became erect, so did another portion of my anatomy. Once the nipple became hard she brought the fingernails of her thumb and index finger to clasp the tip of the nipple. We stared into each other’s eyes as she started pinching the nipple with her fingernails. She brought her face close, “You will have to tell me you give up, because I will not stop, I will take the nipple home with me.” She whispered, “I am not joking.” Between the pain and the beauty of the inflictor I was lost and sexually energized. My mind was fogged, my penis was hard and I wanted to give her anything she requested. “That is completely up to you. If you want it take it now.” She didn’t, she held that pressure moving back away from my ear. My eyes were watering the nails had dug in breaking the skin. “You like?” she asked with a smile. All I could do was nod my head in agreement. She released the nipple causing a surge of pain as the blood rushed back; she turned towards the bar. There was a long period of silence between us until she ordered herself a drink. Turning towards me again she asked if there was anywhere else I liked to have pain. I stood and turned my body towards her. I placed my hand on the crotch of my pants and she smiled asking me to sit down again.
We talked for an hour or two, not about what had happened, but about our lives. This was in between drinks and her turn on stage. She was so limber and it was the first time I had actually looked at her beautiful naked body. She returned from a dance and asked if I would mind rubbing her feet. I told her it was fine with me. She was still standing; she grabbed my barstool and swiveled me to face hers. She sat on her barstool and swiveled towards me. “Take my boots and socks off,” she said as she raised her legs and placed her feet in my lap. I complied, and started giving her feet a massage. Her eyes were darting around the club as if she were looking for someone. I turned to see what or who she was looking for and felt her right foot leave my hand. She put it in my crotch and started to apply pressure.
I turned to look at her finding that smile again on her face. I kept massaging her left foot with both hands drawing it up and over her right foot to hide where and what it was doing. She brought her knees up and motioned with her right hand to come closer to her. I went to stand to move my barstool closer; she almost kicked me over with the foot near my crotch. She brought her feet down, leaned close to me and whispered, “move your ass forward in the stool I want your balls hanging over the edge.” I did what she asked and she used her bare feet to arrange my penis out of the way. She placed her right foot on my thigh and brought her left foot up to my chest, “rub” was all she said. As I started to massage her foot she lowered her right to the crotch of my pants, searching out with her toes my hanging testicles. She placed her toes above my testicles and applied pressure thus trapping the testicles between her foot and the flat edge of the barstool, and then she rolled the ball of her foot to where she could easily bring pressure on them. “Let’s see if you have the same resolve here as you had up there on your nipple.” She had stated this in a fairly audible tone much to my surprise, but all things have to have a reason. She had said it to get the barmaids attention as the barmaid had listened to part of our conversations as she was pouring drinks. My friend started to apply pressure to my testicles with the ball of her foot and said, “order us another drink while I give you what you need.” It was difficult to speak with the immediate pressure she applied. I looked at the Barmaid, she was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, “Need something?” the Barmaid asked. My friend had cupped my testicles between her toes and the ball of her foot, she applied more force. “A Stoli and Diet, … and … a … drink for the lady … please.” The please came out as a gasp, there was more pressure applied, my eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of their sockets. I looked at the smiling face of the beautiful creature who was crushing my testicles against an unforgiving barstool. “You should know what I’m drinking and I told you my name, … Jim.” I thought my testicles were going to rupture, tears started to run down my face, I looked back at the Barmaid and gasped between clinched teeth, “A Chablis for Miss Monica.” “O.K.”, the Barmaid responded, “Jim.” It was more of a platitude statement than a; I understand or I get it for you. (It came across as All right, or Way to go.) Monica released the pressure, dropped her feet and turned towards the bar. Silent again until the glass of wine came. Turning towards me she looked into my eyes as if seeing through into my soul, “You may call me Domina, and we are going to get along famously. I will need a phone number or someway to stay in touch.” I handed her my business card, and wrote every number I could remember on the back.
:pbbbbblt: