Another stripper, black, stocky, took to the stage and a soul number burst out of the speakers. The previous performer was on the other side of the dance area, soliciting tips from some of the men. One whispered in her ear as she accosted him. She nodded. The man rose and he followed the woman, who now wore a dressing gown, to a darker corner at the far end of the bar. Susi nudged him and they both peered in that direction.
They could just about see the stripper throw back her gown and squat over the lap of the man who had now seated himself.
“A private dance,” he said to Susi.
“Wow! Cool!” she said, one of the more irritating mannerisms he had picked up on when they chatted online back in Europe.
There wasn’t much to see. The stripper moved in silence. The man appeared to keep his hands to himself but the darkness engulfed the couple.
“I’m turned on,” Susi said in his ears.
“Really?” he said, finding the atmosphere in the bar quite unerotic, the black stripper now strutting her square rump a few feet away from his face.
“Yes,” Susi added. “I don’t think I’d make a good stripper. No tits, as you well know. But I sure could lap or table dance. I’d like to do that for you . . .”
He grinned.
“Sure. Later, in our hotel room, I’ll look forward to your demonstration.”
“No. Here,” Susi said, a deep tone of excitement in her voice.
“Here?” he queried.
“Yes.” He could see that her right hand was buried in he folds of her dress, that she was fingering herself through the material. “Can you arrange it? Please. See the guy at the bar, he appears to be in charge. Get him to agree. Please, pretty please?”
He shrugged.
It cost him fifty bucks and some haggling.
He walked back toward the stage where Susi was downing the rest of her Jack Daniels.
He nodded.
“It’s yes,” he said.
She rose, a mischievous glint in her eye. She took him by the hand and led him to a chair, nowhere near the darkness that offered shelter further down the bar but in full view of all. She pointed a finger, indicating he should sit down, which he did. Sensing what was to happen now, the bar attendant stationed himself at the door to Bourbon Street to prevent further spectators and a possible loss of his licence. Susi camped herself facing the chair he now sat on and pulled her dress above her head. You could hear a pin drop as the barman and the few spectators dotted around the stage witnessed her naked form emerge from the cocoon of the fabric, whiter than white, shaven mound plump, and so bare, like a magnet for their disbelieving eyes. A couple of the attendant strippers peered out from the dressing room on the side of the bar counter.
The music began and he had no clue what it even was, his mind in such turmoil.
Susi began writhing a few inches away from him, knowing all too well how much she was the centre of attraction.
She danced, wriggled, swerved, bent, squatted, obscenely, indecently, her hands moving across her bare flesh in snake-like manner, her fingers grazing her by-now erect nipples, descending across the flatness of her pale stomach and even, although he hoped he was, because of his close proximity to her dance, the only one to notice, lingering in the region of her cunt and actually holding her lips open for a second or so.
He felt hot. Even though he, by now, knew every square inch of her skin, this was a new Susi, a creature he had only guessed at.
It was quickly over.
He held his breath.
A few people clapped in the background.
Susi’s face was impassive but flushed.
She picked up her discarded dress and slipped into it.
“That was good,” she said. “Can we go, now?”
On their way to the door and the muted sounds of Bourbon Street, the barman handed Susi a card.
“You’re quite a gal,” he said, as she brushed past him. “My name is Louis. If you’re seeking more serious fun, just call me.”
Susi slipped the card into her side pocket without even acknowledging him and emerged into the twilight.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
One of the nearby hotels had an oyster bar. They shared a plateful each of oysters and shrimps. She smothered each with a generous helping of tomato-flavoured horseradish as she gulped them down.
“One of your fantasies realised?” he asked her.
“You might say that,” Susi answered. “But there are others.”
“I have no doubt.” He smirked, still uncertain of the path they had embarked upon.
“Don’t look so glum.” She smiled. “You did say we would come to New Orleans and explore possibilities, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did.”
The rawness of their sex that night was compelling and savage. She sucked him with hungry determination and wouldn’t allow him to withdraw from her mouth when he felt his excitement rise. Usually, he would hold back and penetrate her, which prolonged the pleasure. He came in her mouth. She let him go and he watched her tasting his come before she finally swallowed it.
“You taste sweet and sour,” Susi said. “Must be all those oysters you’ve been eating.”
The following day, she insisted they visit a place called The Orgy Room. On Bourbon, of course. As pornographic films were projected on the walls, a group of people pressed together like sardines in a can were force-fed into an exiguous room and allowed to jostle and play on pneumatic fun-fair carpets, or were they water beds? Most were drunk. The constant movement was, he felt, somewhat unpleasant, and far from arousing. Soon, he was separated from Susi in the swaying crowd but could still see her at the other end of the room. She deliberately exaggerated her movements and rubbed herself against others, often pulling her short black leather mini skirt up her thighs so her genitals were fully visible to those closer to her. He observed as various men took notice and soon congregated around her. He could see her face flush amongst the laughs, and the human wave of bodies soon directed her against the back wall where she stood motionless, her skirt now bunched at her midriff and a couple of men frantically fingering her as she pretended to ignore them. He watched from afar, not quite knowing what he now felt. Eventually, the siren rang and the crowds thinned and made for the exit. As Susi reached him, trailed by the puzzled men she had snared in her net, she took his hand in hers. The men observed this and interrupted their progress towards her. Sweat poured down her forehead, her thin red hair plastered down against her scalp. They walked out.
He looked up at the sky. There was a storm brewing.
“I came,” she remarked. “Jesus . . .”
“Susi . . .”
“Take me back to the hotel,” she ordered. “Tonight, I want you to fuck my arse.”
The next morning, she expressed a desire for breakfast in bed. They had woken up too late for the hotel room service. He volunteered to fetch food from a nearby 24-hour deli. The night rain had swept away the heat momentarily and the cool air came as a welcome relief as he walked the few hundred metres to the shop and back.
When he returned to the room, Susi was speaking on the phone. She put the receiver down as he walked in.
Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but he did. Force of habit. He’d left the hotel number with a few friends back in London, in case of sudden business, magazine commissions.
“Was that for me?” he asked Susi.
“No,” she replied. “It was Louis, from the bar.”
“I see.”
“I wanted to find out about the . . . secret places, the real New Orleans, so to speak . . .” She looked down as she spoke, the white sheet lowered down to the whorl of her navel. There were dark patches under her green eyes, from lack of sleep and the intensity of the sex. He’d never found her as attractive as now, he knew.
He set the bread, snacks and fruit juice bottles down on the bedside table.
“And?”
“And he’s given me a few addresses. Said it’s his ni
ght off, offered to show us around.”
“We barely know him. Do you think it would be safe?”
“You always told me that New Orleans was a city of sex. Not vampires or voodoo. That it was constantly in the air, you used to say, remember.”
“I did.”
“Well, it would be silly not to find out more, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“He’s picking us up from the hotel lobby around nine tonight. He’ll show us beyond Bourbon.”
They walked through the market at midday. Beyond the food area full of cajun spice mixtures, chicory blends, pralines, nuts and colourful fruit and fish, there was a flea market of sorts, stalls selling souvenirs, bric à brac, clothing, counterfeit tapes of zydeco music, hand-made bracelets and all the flotsam that draws people to a tourist town. On a previous visit on their second day here, Susi had spotted a black felt table where a long-haired superannuated hippy was selling fake body jewellery, which could be worn without the need for piercings. She selected several pieces.
Late afternoon, back in the room, she retreated to the bathroom for a shower. She emerged half an hour later, splendidly naked and scrubbed clean, her dark red hair still wet.
“Do you like it?” she asked him.
He looked up from his magazine.
She took his breath away. How could her body be so damn pale and so heartbreakingly beautiful? She had rouged her nipples a darker shade of scarlet and accentuated the bloody gash of her sex-lips with the same lipstick. A courtesan adorned for sexual use.
She had also strategically placed the small rings and clips she had purchased in the market across her body. A ring hung from her lower lip, stainless steel clamps from her hardened nipples and a stud appeared to have been pierced into her clitoris from which a thin golden chain hung, which she had until now worn around her wrist.
“Like a creature from a dream,” he said. “From a very dirty dream, may I add. You look great.” He could feel his cock swell already inside his boxer shorts.
“Come here,” he suggested.
“No,” she said. “I have to dry my hair. Anyway I also want you to conserve your energy. Your seed . . .” she concluded with a smile.
“As you wish,” he said, unable to keep his eyes away from her jewelled cunt.
“This is my fantasy night,” she said.
It felt like a stab to his chest.
He already knew what she had arranged with Louis.
It was a very private club on Ramparts, at the other end of the Vieux Carré. From outside, it looked like any other house, slightly run down and seedy. But the moment you passed the door, you could almost inhale the familiar fragrance of money and sin.
“You sure you still want to?” Louis asked her as they walked in to the lobby.
“Yes,” Susi said.
Louis guided them into a large room full of framed Audubon prints and a fake fire-place and asked them to make themselves comfortable. And left through another door after showing them the drinks cabinet.
Alone with her, he said nothing at first. Then, sensing his unease, Susi said:
“It’s not quite the fantasy I told you about. Just the second part, really . . .”
“Oh . . .”
“And I want you to be one of the men . . .”
“I’m not sure I . . .”
“I’d feel more comfortable with you there,” she interrupted him. “You’ll enjoy it, you’ll see. Anyway, you knew what I am, what I like, when you suggested we come here. You’ll get a kick out of it. You like watching. I see it in you. Even when we fuck, your brain is like a machine, recording it all, storing every feeling, every tremor, every moan away. Memories that will last forever.”
Before he could answer her, the door opened and Louis came through with three other men. Two of them were black, tall, built like football players, the other white man was middle-aged, stocky, silver-haired.
“Here we are, Susanne,” he said, without introducing the others. “You’re in charge now . . .”
The thought occurred to him he had called her Susanne. “Friends call me Susi,” she had said back all those months ago as they caught that New York cab. So Louis was not considered a friend!
Susi indicated the centre of the heavily carpeted room.
“A circle around here.” There was something more Germanic than usual in her voice as she ordered them to clear the heavy chairs away from the room’s epicentre.
The circle soon emerged, as the furniture was set aside.
Susi stationed herself there and undressed.
“You all stay dressed,” she said to the five men. “Just cocks out, okay?” She positioned herself and as the men’s eyes followed her every movement she opened her legs and stuck a finger inside herself. She was already visibly very wet and there was an audible squishing sound as the finger penetrated her. Louis unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. The others followed his example. One of the black guys, he noticed, was enormous, at least ten inches and thick as hell. He discreetly examined the other cocks, and was reassured that his was still reasonably sized in comparison. Joint second biggest, he reckoned, not without a wry thought.
Susi now introduced a second finger into her cunt, secretions now flooding out and dripping down the gold chain.
There was both a sense of the ceremonial and a sense of the absurd about them all. Six human beings masturbating frantically. Five men with their cocks out, fingers clenching their shafts, rubbing their coronas, teasing their glans, heavy balls shuddering below as the woman in white at their centre teased her cunt in a parody of lovemaking.
“Not yet,” she warned. Had one of them intimated he was close to coming?
Time felt as if it had come to a standstill, swallowing all their halting sounds of lust.
She adjusted her stance, now kneeling, her hand buried deep inside her crotch, almost like praying, and indicated she was finally ready for her baptism of come.
The men came, one by one, spurting their thick, white seed into her face, as she leaned forward to receive them. He was the third to orgasm and noticed the arc of his ejaculate strain in the air separating him from her body and the final drips landing in the thin valley between her muted breasts. Soon, she was covered with the men’s seed, like syrup dribbling across her thin eyebrows and down her cheeks. He didn’t think she herself had actually come, although all five men had.
There was a long silence as they all stood there, the men with their cocks shrivelling already, the drenched woman in quiet repose.
Finally, Louis spoke:
“Well, Susanne, just the way you wanted it?”
She nodded as the men began zipping up.
“Care to move on to your next fantasy?”
What next fantasy? he wondered. What else was she after?
“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet and picking up the green towel Louis had previously left on a nearby chair and wiping her face clean.
“Good,” Louis said. “There’s quite a crowd out there waiting.”
Still not bothering to put her clothes on again, Susi asked him: “Can you give us a few minutes alone, before, please?”
“Sure, Susanne,” he said and the four men trooped out of the room.
“So,” he asked her the moment after they had closed the door. “What else have you planned for the menu, Susi? It must be a fantasy I am unaware of. You’re so full of surprises.”
“I know,” she answered. “I should have told you before. I’m sorry. It’ll only happen once and then I shall return to my boring life, you know. Maybe the time will even come for me to settle down, marry some decent guy and even have kids. A nice Hausfrau.”
“What are you talking about, Susi?”
“I want to be fucked in public . . .”
“What?”
“Just one man, that’s all. But I have to know what it feels like with people watching, you see. You said this was a city of sex; I’ll never have the opportunity again. Just this onc
e. We’re miles away from home, no one knows us, we are not likely come here again. Only you and I will ever know . . .”
“You mean with me?” he asked.
“Yes. If you wish to be the one.”
“I . . .” He was at a loss for words.
“It’s all arranged with Louis. We’ll even get paid five hundred dollars.”
“It’s not the money . . .”
“I know . . . I understand if you don’t want to. Arrangements have also been made for another man, if you decline. But I do want you to watch . . . really . . .”
His thoughts were in turmoil. This had all gone too far. He had played with fire and the flames were now reaching all the way through to his gut. As they always did. He never learned the lessons, did he? Long before Kathryn, he’d been going out with a woman who was avowedly bisexual and it had planted a bad seed in his mind. Not for him the common fantasy of watching two women together, no. The idea of bisexuality had preyed on his mind for months and one day, curious to know what it must feel like to suck a man’s cock, from the woman’s point of view (after all, they never minded sucking his, did they?), he had agreed to an encounter with another man. He distressingly discovered he enjoyed sucking cock and had been irregularly doing so for years now, in secret, whenever a woman was not available and the tides of lust submerged him. He had never told any woman about this. Feared they would misunderstand. Blamed his insatiable sexual curiosity. Even Susi wouldn’t understand, he knew. Not that this was the time to tell her. He always went that step too far. And paid for it. Emotionally.
“I just can’t, Susi. I can’t.”
“But will you . . .?”
“Yes, I will watch.”
There was a crowd in the other room of the house on Ramparts. They had been drinking liberally for an hour or so, it appeared. There was a heavy air of expectation about them. Louis led Susi in. Like a ritual, holding the thin gold chain secured to her clitoris, her eyes covered by a piece of dark blue cloth. This is how she had wanted it to happen. She didn’t wish to see the audience. Just feel it and hear it around her as she was fucked.
They had cleared a low table in a corner of the room and Susi was taken to it, carefully installed across so that all the light was focused on her already gaping and wet red gash and positioned on all fours, her fake jewellery taken from her body and was helped to arch her back and raise her rump to the right level.
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