Dance (Patreon)

So much for open relationships. Mary Jane hadn’t even been officially dating Peter when he popped the question; now they were at T minus two days. She had no doubt he would expect them to be exclusive once the ring was on her finger. For that matter, she was almost thirty. A married celebrity dancing until dawn was not a good look. So she put on the tiara and let her friends drag her from bar to bar and club to club, saying goodbye to the single life. She didn’t regret it, not really. Lately the party girl thing had clearly been a façade—as much as she’d once tried to convince herself, it wasn’t her, and she could feel the separation between her two selves growing and growing. She wanted to fall asleep cuddling and drink warm cups of tea while wearing sweaters, all stuff she’d once disdained, and she wanted it with Peter.

But she wanted to give the party girl a decent sendoff too. After all, Peter had known what he was getting into when he married her. 

The stripper was everything Peter wasn’t. Tall, bulgingly built, with dangerous-looking tattoos and a bristling beard. He caught her eye as he danced along with the rest of the Magic Mikes—some sixth sense of Mary Jane’s that told her when someone would be a good lay. She’d have to stop listening to that after the wedding. But for now…

She asked for a private dance and he took her to a backroom, a hall of booths closed in by curtains. From the low, muffled groans not quite covered up by the pulsing music, much more took place here than just lapdances. As he led her to his assigned booth, she flashed him her most dangerous look. Whatever instructions he had for dealing with the clientele, it pushed right past that and got him hard.

The curtain swept closed behind them. They were alone, partitioned off to the bare minimum from any number of other lustful couplings with the same idea. The dancer looked at her closer outside of the strobelights and smoke of the rest of the club. “Aren’t you…”

“No names,” Mary Jane said as her mouth closed on his. He knew enough to let her set the pace, and the feel of his submission as she pushed him down to the bench seating made Mary Jane want him more than ever. His hands fondled her breasts, warmth filling her, radiating out from his strange hands. He started undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“You call yourself a stripper?” Mary Jane asked, pulling away to do it herself. Working away each button to a gyration of her hips, a circling dance of her beautiful body. “Let me show you how it’s done…”

Facing him again, she slipped the blouse off to expose her naked breasts. He came to her, his mouth enclosing her nipple, and Mary Jane shoved out her chest to give him room to kiss it as much as she wanted.

He caught the slowly rising nipple between his teeth, gnawing it to increase its tender sensitivity before sucking on it hard to both hurt and soothe. Mary Jane was soon moaning and writhing in joy, the stripper taking what seemed like her entire breast into his mouth, jaw muscles straining to capture as much of the marshmallowy flesh as he could.

And still he was hungry for more, his tongue digging into the very tip of Mary Jane’s breast. The little cap of her nipple seemed to squeal with pleasure every time it felt his tongue. His hands moved all over Mary Jane, undressing, delving, squeezing. He found her naked sex, and his cock strained and huffed to find how wet it was inside her skirt. His member screamed to enter the well of her pussy. He needed to free it or he’d die.

Mary Jane pulled his thong away, letting his erection spring out. He did the rest, crouching down, slipping his arms under her knees, and then lifting her off her feet so her calves were on his shoulders. With a drive forward, Mary Jane was bent double, her cunt totally open to him. As if he were doing a push-up on the wall that he had jammed MJ against, the dancer dropped his body into hers. Mary Jane cried out as his cock found her sex, her voice joining a chorus of other women being pleased, satisfied—fucked.

The man trapped her between his body and the wall, both equally hard. Her knees pressing against her breasts, Mary Jane was fully penetrated, moaning with pleasure as she felt all of his manhood surge inside her. Having her own knees pressing into her chest made it difficult to breathe and she couldn’t move at all, trapped in this wrestling hold that Peter would never dare perform on her. She wanted to wiggle and thrash about, but she didn’t want to as well. She wanted him to keep going. She wanted to be fucked just like every other horny slut he’d ever had.

After giving her a few strokes, the man stopped. Mary Jane smiled in smug self-satisfaction—that was all he could take without coming. She felt oddly relieved; Peter could fuck her for an hour without thinking of baseball. It was good to know that she’d made such a wise choice: trading woefully inconsistent novelty for a good thing over and over again. But also, she wanted to be fucked. Not later, not on her honeymoon suite, now. She slapped her hands against the stripper’s chest, urging him to get back to work. 

He pulled away, Mary Jane gasping as the relaxed pressure let her breathe freely again—then he charged into her, spearing long and deep into her pussy. Mary Jane outright grunted, feeling fresh lust like rising flames licking through her. He kept going, sensing she was nearing her climax, wanting to join her in orgasmic bliss. The embers became a blazing bonfire inside Mary Jane as he thrust into her, crushing her against the wall. And for a moment, that was all she needed: no love, no security, just the roughness of a rock-hard length of cock being driven into her.

“Keep going! Keep fucking me! Hnn! You’re the last man who’s ever gonna… fucking touch me… yes… after this—oohhh!!—I’m off-fucking-limits!”

And as if those words had brought her more pleasure than this anonymous fuck ever could, Mary Jane felt herself peak, grimacing and groaning as her body froze in pure release. He was still pounding into her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, just flowed like a river in the spring thaw, everything in her loose, unobstructed, the pleasure that had filled her now pouring out through a cunt that seemed much too small. She squealed as her bliss left her, running down her thighs warm and fragrant, like perfume had been spritzed between her legs.

“That’s enough,” Mary Jane said happily, luxuriating in the relief. The man was still going, still straining for his release, but Mary Jane thumped the heels of her hands against his broad chest. “Hey, Frankenstein, job’s done.”

He stopped moving, confused, and she pushed him away again, dropping down onto her feet. She picked her blouse up and put it back on.

“That was fun, but I’m not marrying you, so guess who doesn’t have to get off?” Then she gave him a dazzling smile, almost but not quite melting his anger. “Besides, if I were just another creampie, you’d forget me sooner or later. When are you ever going to forget getting a chance at this?”

She left the booth, hearing him pulling his prick behind her. Mary Jane knew it wouldn’t be the last time he thought about her as he did that.