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|Posted on February 7, 2012 at 1:35 AM|
by E. A. Irwin
Martha fastened the strap around her ankle ensuring the five-inch Lucite stiletto wouldn’t slip off her foot. Slowly dragging her hands along fishnet stockings, she sighed vampishly as she playfully snapped their lacy tops against her firm, tanned thighs.
As she stood, Martha inspected her metamorphosis. The flickering light bulbs surrounding her mirror added an odd dimension to her glamour tonight. Rhinestone pasties that matched her G-string adorned full breasts. Shimmering cream applied to her statuesque figure made her look as if moonlight possessed hands and had personally buffed her. Martha pouted lips the color of an enameled cherry, and then grinned wickedly as she donned her costume.
A voice echoed eerily through the empty dressing room. “Monique, you’re up.”
She burst through the silver lamé curtains as her new theme song blared throughout the club. A trail of wool business suit littered the runway as Monique stripped her way toward the expectant crowd, the cries and wolf whistles a cacophonous melody set against her pulsating music. The mob roared as Monique made her first captivating pass in front of them. Taunting with a brush of hands along her sparkly breasts, both sexes waved twenty-dollar bills for encouragement—no singles for the headliner.
Monique strutted erotically toward the pole, her first controlled spin around it loosening her head of untamed, curly red hair to cascade down her body like a bloody waterfall. Her second spin caused a raucous outburst when she hung upside-down by her feet and fireworks exploded from the Lucite heels, making it appear as if thousands of fireflies frolicked around her.
As she undulated to the music, Monique moved to the stage edge and stooped to allow the money offered a place in her G-string and stocking tops. With a flick of her strong fingers she removed roaming and unwanted hands before they got too frisky. With one last bend over to reveal her bare bottom, Monique blew a kiss between parted legs, and then pranced offstage to thunderous applause.
An hour later, Martha arrived home, a new wool suit clothing her plain, tall form. Pale pink-glossed lips thanked her driver as her makeup-less eyes scanned her upscale home.
Her husband’s voice welcomed her as she entered the living room and put down her briefcase. “Martha, you must be exhausted tonight. How was your weekly business meeting?”
Martha smiled at his placid face. “Boring, the same old stuff.”
He smiled back. “Would you like a drink to unwind?”
Martha loosened the bun at the nape of her neck and ran her fingers through her straightened auburn hair. Gosh he was a dreary little man. Had she ever loved him? Thank goodness at least once a week she could dance away the empty hours instead of being home with him. . “No thanks, Stanley. Although, I’ve been on my feet most of the night and would love a foot massage.”
©E. A. Irwin
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