Club 42

by Joanna Angel

  Melody and I sat in the back of the Camry, which was driving .00001 miles an hour in Times Square rush-hour traffic. “We probably could have walked to Brooklyn faster than this,” I said, breaking the moment of silence.

  “Oh, yeah, well, I take a car home from work so I can just have a few minutes alone to ... you know . . . decompress. Also, it’s not EXACTLY a good idea to get on the subway with that much cash.”

  Oh yes. I’d forgotten how rich I was.

  “As soon as I walk through my door, I’m taking care of a nine-year-old. Melody disappears and Elizabeth comes to life, with coloring books and crayons and Girl Scout cookies.”

  I couldn’t even begin to process the complexity of being a single mother, let alone a mother and a stripper. Suddenly my conundrum of wondering whether I should tell my not-boyfriend about my day seemed pretty insignificant.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted your alone time,” I said.

  “A free car ride home is worth more than my alone time,” she said with a smile.

  “Well thank you,” I said, “for all your help today . . . Elizabeth?”

  “Oh no. Elizabeth isn’t ready to come out yet. You can call me Melody for the rest of the car ride,” she said.

  “OH! Really?” I smiled devilishly. “Can I get a quick lap dance then before Melody disappears?”

  “Fuck you,” she said, and we both laughed. As our laughter died down, she put her hand on my hand. It was oddly comforting, and part of me never wanted this car ride to end. Another part of me, the old me, really wanted it to end because I could only imagine what the surge pricing would be like if it went on forever.

  I walked into my apartment. It was crazy to think that the last time I’d been in this apartment, I’d had no idea what a lap dance was. Rob was in a pair of black boxers, sitting on my couch playing video games with my roommate, Jessie. There were several boxes of Papa John’s pizza, half-smoked joints, lighters, ashes, half-empty ramekins of ranch dressing, and that mysterious garlic butter sauce that only Papa John’s offers, all strewn about my coffee table. I had a lot of questions about this current situation, and here were just a few: Why was Rob still here? Why would anyone eat Papa John’s at any point earlier than 4:00 in the morning? And, perhaps most importantly, when did we get an Xbox?

  “Hey babe,” Rob said, barely shifting his head. He was staring at the screen, controlling a character in a full suit of armor who was running through a field, setting everything and everyone on fire with a torch.

  “Hi guys!” I said. Jessie didn’t respond—she was fully engrossed in the game. Her character was a sexy ninja warrior, with a giant sword in her hands, wearing a skintight spandex suit laced up with crisscrossed red straps. I couldn’t help thinking to myself: that would be a terrible stripper outfit. She’d never be able to get that thing off.

  I awkwardly stood in my own kitchen, which was less than a foot away from the living room.

  “Babe! I went to Joe’s and picked up my Xbox! Surprise!” He lifted a partially smoked joint from the table and smoked it down to the very end. I was impressed with how he multitasked: playing the game, saying hello to me, and not burning himself all at once.

  I noticed a duffel bag near the couch that was unzipped, with men’s socks and stained white T-shirts spilling out of it. In the court of “it’s complicated” relationship law, is it worse to not tell your partner you’re a stripper, or worse to not tell your partner you moved in?

  They put their controllers down and each grabbed a slice of pizza from different pizza boxes. Apparently, this stoned operation had inspired them to cater this experience with their own pizza buffet, where they could sample all of Papa John’s finest, tapas-style. I took this brief intermission to go through my living room—walking in front of the TV to get to my bedroom. I wanted to stash away my stripper evidence while I had the chance.

  I went into my room, threw my Trader Joe’s grocery bag in a drawer, took off my sweaty garments, and lay in my bed, naked. I’d spent a good portion of my day naked, but now I felt like I was truly naked. Rob came in my room. Or was this our room now? He stood at the foot of my bed with an adorable goofy grin on his face, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. His shoulder-length black hair and his muscular body were illuminated by the evening sun peering through the window, and he was . . . holding a box of pizza with four cold slices, a side of garlic butter sauce, and a bunch of leftover crusts inside of it.

  “I saved you some,” he said. He was just so goofy and handsome that somehow the cold pizza from my least favorite pizza place absolved him of anything he had ever done wrong. I smiled at him, and I pulled him onto the bed with the pizza box. I dipped a sliver of leftover crust into the butter sauce, and I had to admit, it was disgusting and delicious.

  “How was your day?” he said.

  “Oh! Fine! It was fine. I’m just kinda tired,” I said. I still wasn’t technically lying about anything. I was just strategically leaving out information.

  “Awww. Okay! Just lay down, I’ll give you a massage,” he said. I was completely okay with that idea.

  I lay down on my stomach, and he propped his dense body on top of my ass. His muscular hands dug deep into my back. I was completely naked, and we were separated by only a thin layer of his stretched cotton boxers. It was like I was getting a lap dance. I could start to feel his cock getting hard between my ass cheeks. I couldn’t even count how many erections I’d felt pressed against me today. Of course, the other ones had paid me, and this one was squatting in my apartment. It was a little unfair, wasn’t it? That all the men who woke up in the morning, took a shower, put on clean clothing, and paid for my attention didn’t get to touch my nipples or my pussy, and the one who saved me four slices of cold pizza would inevitably get to stick his tongue, his fingers, or his cock anywhere he damn well pleased? I’d been getting massaged for merely two minutes, and my pussy was already wet. My legs had started to feel like Jell-O, and I wanted to give all of myself to him. I guess in this equation I really was the sucker getting the lap dance.

  He leaned down and kissed my neck. “You smell good,” he said. Ah yes. The infectious scent of stripper was all over me. This magic potion apparently had the ability to draw in pheromones from all classes of the social hierarchy—from the guy who worked on Wall Street to the homeless guy squatting in my apartment. He moved my hair to the side, licked my earlobe, and grabbed onto the back of my hair as he said: “How about I go down on you? Or maybe you could go down on me?”

  To see Rob go down on Naomi, turn to page 156.

  To see Naomi go down on Rob, turn to page 160.

  I flipped over, and my body said “Fuck yes” without me having to say a word. I admit, oral sex from a broke musician with an insatiable sex drive is always a treat. But today, it felt more deserved than ever. I’d spent my entire day acutely focused on turning people on, and now the universe was karmically giving me what I deserved by transferring this arousal to me.

  He moved his hands up and down my body. He grabbed my nipples, he pinched them, I squirmed. He mounted me and kissed my neck in the perfect spot that woke up all the senses in my body. He licked my earlobe in a surprisingly sensual way. I started kicking my legs and trying to physically move his head down. I needed his mouth, I needed his tongue. He shot me a devious grin and said, “Be patient.”

  “I don’t want to!” I replied—in a rather adorable voice, might I add. He ran his fingers down to my pussy and slid two of them inside me.

  “Oh yeah,” he growled. He was like his video game character, ready for battle, ready to demolish my pussy instead of a field full of . . . um . . . thieves. Or whatever they were.

  He licked my left nipple and slid his fingers up and down my pussy lips, teasing them. I could feel everything inside me tensing up and loosening at the same time. He moved over to the right nipple, and he gently used his teeth to nibble at it. I shook, I giggled. The powerful, all-mighty LeClaire had left the building, and Naomi, the h
orny hipster in desperate need of an unshowered, tattooed man, was here. He looked me in the eyes and gave me a devious smile, which said, “Oh you just wait. I haven’t even gotten started.”

  The nipple licking was just the opening act to the concert that was about to begin between my legs. He moved down to my crotch, and he took a moment to smell every inch of sweat and juices wafting from my pussy.

  “Mmmmm. Smells so fucking good,” he said. Rob definitely had a passion for pussy, in such a primal and carnivorous way. If my pussy was a piece of chicken, he would pick it up and eat it with his hands without giving a shit if sauce was smearing all over his face, even while everyone else at the table opted to use a knife and fork. He really liked to dig in there without any manners.

  I felt his soft tongue moving in slow concentric circles, which grew smaller and smaller as he zeroed in on my clit. My legs started shaking and he held them down. He sucked on my clit, his lips softly drawing out deep moans from my body. He found my hole, which his fingers had visited not that long ago, and he fucked it with his tongue. He darted it in and out of me, entering me over and over. He used his fingers and rubbed my clit as he fucked my hole with his tongue, and then he switched things around and put his tongue against my clit so he could stick his fingers back inside me.

  My legs couldn’t stop shaking. He aggressively grabbed my long legs and lifted them up. He pushed them backward, close to my head, and moved my arms so my elbows locked around my knees and I couldn’t move. I was like a pretzel, waiting to be eaten.

  By then, he had a perfect full view of all my holes, and he didn’t waste any time. He went down to my asshole and stuck his tongue in there, too. He licked my asshole while he rubbed and fingered my pussy with both of his hands. His mouth went back to my pussy. I mean, my entire pussy was in his mouth. His tongue was all over the place, like it was playing the piano and hitting all the right keys. I already knew his fingers were well-practiced, but I was now learning that his tongue certainly had its own set of skills. My arm slid and let one of my legs down for a second, and he threw it back up immediately. He was determined to make me cum in this vulnerable and contorted position, and it was moments away from happening.

  I could feel my insides getting warmer, throbbing. I was pushing my pussy so hard into his face, and he was pushing back just as hard. Then he drew back slightly and tickled his tongue up and down my outer lips. My clit still somehow throbbed with pleasure, even though he’d turned his attention elsewhere. He ran his strong tongue from the top of my labia down to my taint, painting me with his saliva. Then he plunged a finger inside, circled his tongue back around to my clit, and there it was. I reached such an intense climax, I felt it everywhere.

  He inhaled loudly and would not let go of my pussy. He wasn’t going to stop until every ounce of orgasm went directly down into his throat. He moaned, and I moaned back, and I was cumming so hard tears were coming out of my eyes. I couldn’t hold my legs back any longer—my body was spent, my arms and legs fell, and I collapsed, which is a funny thing to say when you were already lying down to begin with.

  He pulled away from my pussy and regarded it like he was staring at his own kingdom after just becoming the emperor of it. How could I go from feeling so strong to so weak in such a short amount of time? I was fine with him paying his rent in orgasms, if he did in fact live here . . . which I should probably figure out at some point.

  To go back and see Naomi go down on Rob, turn to page 160.

  To continue with Naomi in this fantasy, turn to page 166.

  My mouth started salivating as soon as he said it. I still had the taste of butter sauce in my mouth, and there’s no better way to wash down a serving of garlic-flavored melted fat than with a healthy helping of cock. I flipped over and looked at him, with his day-old boxers, and his raging hard-on underneath, and it was beautiful. I know, I know what you’re thinking. This guy really had some nerve to give himself an open-ended invitation to stay in my apartment for as long as he pleased, and then to come in and ask for a blow job. But my mouth was already open, my pussy was clenching, and I wanted nothing more than to swallow his entire beautiful penis.

  Now that I worked in the field of entertaining penises and such, I wanted to put on a show for him. I got excited at the prospect. I was ready to show off a few of the tricks of the trade that I’d learned today at the um . . . er . . . coffee shop.

  I slithered out from underneath him and placed him on the edge of my bed so that he was sitting up. He seemed a bit confused, but happily went along with it. He was getting a blow job after all. I got down on my knees on my floor. It was a nice change of pace from this afternoon to have my knees on a clean floor. I dramatically pulled his boxers down. I took the opportunity to secretly push them into my dirty laundry pile in the corner of my room with my foot, because they absolutely needed to be washed . . . or thrown away.

  As I’d done with the men at the club, I looked deep into his eyes. I gave his cock one big long lick, from his balls to the top of his shaft. It was my nice way of saying hello. I worked up a healthy amount of spit from my salivating mouth, and I slobbered it all over his cock. I smooshed my perky B cups together and formed a nice tight little envelope for his cock to slide up and down in. He was definitely surprised. Titty fucks are like the long-lost ancestor of the blow job and hand job. They’ve been around for so many generations, but always seem to get forgotten about.

  I continued to stare directly into his eyes as I moved myself up and down on his cock. I could feel it growing thicker and stronger between my breasts. My pussy was dripping onto my carpet, and I wasn’t entirely sure how clean it would still be after this.

  His eyes rolled back into his head. He wanted more friction, so he took control of the situation and thrust himself into my breasts as I leaned back, holding them in place. From my point of view on the floor, staring directly into his big, beautiful brown eyes, it looked like he was aggressively fucking the air. I loved the carnivorous expression his face made when he was horny. His raging boner really connected him to his true sense of self. He was a sexual beast, and I could smell that on him the first time I met him. Quite frankly, it was dangerous.

  A few minutes had passed, and while I enjoyed this homage to the titty fuck, it was time to get his cock in my mouth. I pushed him down onto my bed so he was lying flat, with his delicious large flagpole waving at me. I spread his legs open, and I got in a seductive doggy position, wedged in between them. I licked my lips and put the tip of his cock in my mouth. For a little bit of flair, I started doing a subtle twerk with my ass in the air. I saw him watching it in awe, so I turned my subtle twerk into a slightly more obvious twerk. It was like he and my ass were having their own little love affair while my mouth was on his cock.

  I moved up and down the considerable length of him, sucking and licking, my lips never leaving his dick. I stuck it as far down my throat as I possibly could, and then a little ball of collected liquid from the back of my throat spilled onto the rest of his cock, making a wonderful lubricant for me to continue sucking. I tasted a little salt— some pre-cum. I wanted to lick every last drop out of him. Next, I moved my attentions down to the bottom of his shaft and licked his balls. That’s when I had an idea. I remembered earlier today when Melody had told me there was a little slut inside of me, just waiting to come out. And she was right, it was out.

  I moved my face to the edge of the bed and hung it over it, upside down. I demanded that he get up and fuck my face. Once again, he seemed incredibly surprised, and might I say . . . impressed. Of course he obliged. He stood up and held my upside-down head in place as he thrust his cock in and out of my open mouth. I had never tried this kind of acrobatic face-fucking before, but somehow it all was coming quite naturally to me. I could feel my eyes tearing up, but he wiped away my happy blow job tears and continued to fuck my face. I loved the feeling of being suffocated by his cock. I loved the feeling of being pushed to the point of gagging on it. Who was I, and where did I
come from? Was I still LeClaire? Was I Naomi? When did one start and one end? I concluded that I was in fact Naomi, but my good friend LeClaire had given me some tips that helped me get to where I was, which was upside down with a huge cock balls deep in my mouth.

  I moved my hand down because something desperately had to attend to my eager pussy. I fingered myself and rubbed my clit, which was already a little swollen from being smacked up against hard cocks inside of clean pants all day. Rob glanced down at my pussy. This interrupted his love affair with my face—he seemed almost furious. Like he was saying, “How dare you use those fingers when I have a giant throbbing cock right here?”

  He took his cock out of my mouth, spun my body around, and brought my pussy toward him. The head of his cock slid right in, and the long shaft stretched me open. The thickness of his dick hugged every erogenous zone inside of my pussy, and I was totally full. He was standing up, so I had a good view to watch him fucking my brains out. We were in some kind of deconstructed standing missionary position, and you know, it was times like these when I really thought the missionary position needed a new name. Missionary can be filthy, alright. It’s got a bad reputation, but it’s actually a great position where you can see someone’s face and their cock can slide all the way inside you. I bent my legs back so he could slide in me even further, and then I really felt it. Something about the way I moved my legs back and his angle of thrusting pushed the head of his penis into the perfect fucking spot, and I started shaking.