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Prague pandemonium – Final part

At about two in the morning we were starting to flag. We were tired and our enjoyment level was starting to wane. The free drinks could not have been alcoholic as I still felt sober, as did my Czech friend, whilst my best mate is a tee-totaller who lived off colas. Nevertheless, satisfied with our time there, we called it a night and caught a taxi back to our city pad.

The following day, the Friday, we decamped back to the house in the countryside, with no intention of sampling the delights of Prague’s clubs again. On the Saturday at noon we were flying back home to London via lovely Luton airport. As the day wore on, however, my best mate and I found ourselves contemplating another night of naughtiness instead of sitting around in front of a television. Our friend had his son for the weekend, starting late on the Friday afternoon. The four of us went out to a local restaurant, but my mate and I couldn’t resist the pull of Prague’s clubs. We could watch tv at home. Our friend understood and we were sad to leave him to his fatherly duties.

We caught a train in to the city and had only one destination in mind: where we were the previous night. The club was open from eight in the evening until six in the morning. Out of sheer silliness my mate and I agreed to pull an all-nighter, just for the hell of it. I didn’t think we could do it.

The Nigerian cashier at the front door recognised us but laughed at my request for a repeat customer discount. The giant at the security area recognised us too. I got chatting to him and found out that he was Slovakian.

“My friend, have you ever played rugby?” I asked.

“No, what is dis?” came his brutish reply.

“It’s a game where big strong men run with a ball.” I explained. He seemed disinterested.

“In France they will pay you three hundred thousand Euros a year to play rugby.” I continued. His eyes lit up.

“Check it out. You are perfect for it.” I enthused, being serious, genuine and alive to the prospect of having security on my side.

“Okay, thank you,” he retorted as we headed for the stairs that led to our entertainment for the night.

Once downstairs my friend and I walked past a large table occupied by a dozen strippers. We later commented on how we could feel their eyes following us. The club hadn’t been open long and we had our choice of table, so we found a cosy booth with just two seats. It was on the top of a terraced step with an unobstructed view and closer to the stage than the previous night’s table. This was going to be our spot for the night.

A tall stripper with tattoos that covered her chest was performing an elaborate act high on the pole. Within minutes a pair of hands slid over my face, covering my eyes. I gently took the feminine hands and turned to see that it was Daria, the brunette stripper from the previous night.

“You come back so soon?” she enquired, with a touch of sincerity as she smiled at me. She had such a sweet nature.

“Yes, we missed you, Daria” I said laughingly. Daria laughed too. The tall blonde from the previous night that my best friend liked came over to the table, ignored me and started chatting to him.

I think that they were both genuinely surprised to see us again. A little banter ensued and the exchange ended with Daria saying with an American twang, “Hey, if you want another private lap dance later, I’ll give you a special nice one, okay?” as her cheeks rolled into little tight balls, almost as tight as her backside.

What did a “special nice one” entail, I wondered. I fell for her ploy: hook, line and sinker. I wanted to know more.

The evening followed it’s predictable course, which is what we came for. The same dancing professionals did their stuff, as impressive as the previous night. The strippers on the night were of a higher calibre in terms of technique. It seemed that on Friday nights, when the stag parties come to town, that the better strippers are allowed to ply their trade. Only a few faces from the previous night were familiar.

One new face stood out as she did her act on the stage before us. She had curly blonde hair, was taller than average, had big breasts (at least c-cups) and had more flesh than her colleagues. I’m not saying she was fat, I’d say she was denser, which I liked. When she came around to the tables after her performance had ended, I couldn’t say “no” to her offer of a private lap dance. As we walked to the big red curtain, Daria and I made eye-contact and she gave me a disappointed look. I mouthed to her “later” but she wasn’t convinced.

“Monika” was the name of the girl who led me behind the curtain. It was mentioned when she was on stage. I was looking forward to feeling her tits in my hands. There was another lap dance happening in the booth furtherest from us. All I could see was the back part of a profile of a girl as she was doing her thing on some guy. Once I was seated it all felt very private. Monika started her dance, swaying suggestively, moving her hips and shoulders in time to the music. She was quite pretty, knew how to pout and the sparkle in her eyes told me that she was enjoying herself. I learned that I liked it when a stripper maintains eye contact with me.

I don’t know why, perhaps it was a rush of testosterone, or a little bit of alcohol, but I unbuttoned my shirt. Monica froze and “Wow!” fell out of her mouth. I had been going to the gym almost daily for most of the year, ridding myself of the rage that I felt towards my ex-girlfriend. Having a stripper pause and involuntarily flatter me, stroked my fragile ego.

It was when she straddled me that I got a good look at them. Under each nipple was a scar that fell straight down. Her boobs were fake. They didn’t feel too good either, like water-filled balloons that had leaked. Disappointment. Daria’s breasts felt better. I said nothing.

Monika wrapped her arms behind my head and rubbed her breasts in my face. She leaned back, looked me straight in the eye and said “Slap me, hard.”

“Where do you want me to slap you?” I asked, masking my surprise, curious as to what I literally had on my lap.

“Anywhere, everywhere. I like it.”

So I slapped her.

I raised my right hand and swiftly brought it down on her left buttock. She caught her breath, stiffened her spine, let out a satisfied gasp and ground her hips harder into my lap. I raised my left hand and slapped her right buttock, slightly harder. She gasped and rode me faster, all the while her hands behind my neck.

I repeated what I had just done, faster this time, even harder and her exertions increased. Was she getting off on this? I kept in mind that her breasts were augmented, so I only lightly slapped the sides of them. She liked it. I slapped anything and everything. Occasionally I would grip the flesh where my hand landed. She liked that too. I liked how her body felt, shame about the tits. I could feel her skin becoming warm and clammy as she rode me in mock cowgirl fashion.

This little vixen had a pleasure-pain thing going on. I was happy to be giving her pleasure too. This was a memorable lapdance. Having slapped and groped all the parts of her body that my hands could reach, with the exception of the groin area and her face, I was starting to run out of ideas. My right hand found the end of her long, braided ponytail and I gently pulled on it.

“Hey, no!” came her startled response, with her slipping out of character for a few moments. I let go of her hair; she didn’t like that then. Was it an extension? She looked over at her colleague, fiddled with her hair and smiled. The “dance” resumed; both of us were perspiring.

There’s a passion in me that comes out when sufficient foreplay has happened.

I tightly wrapped my arms around her and stood up. She let out a sound of surprise, but didn’t resist. I stood there with her legs wrapped around me, her arms around my neck and her head next to mine. She was breathing heavily.

I just wanted that feeling again. That feeling of a man lovingly holding a woman against him, cherishing his prize. Not necessarily dominating her, but more protecting her. Showing her his physical strength and at the same time his strength of character, his self control, by way of not hurting her.

“Okay, time is up” is all she said after a few seconds. I had lost all sense of time. Monika lowered herself off me and smiled at me, a genuine smile. I had enjoyed that, more for her kinkiness than anything else.

She got dressed while I buttoned my shirt. There was a new couple in the booth immediately next to us, the other couple had already left. I hadn’t noticed any of them coming and going. Did that happen when Monika had my face in her ample cleavage? Is that why she did that? So that people couldn’t see each other? If that was the case, then I appreciated the consideration and attention to detail.

“I go shower now,” she said to me as we parted the heavy red curtains. I said “Thank you” and Monika walked off towards a door next to the bar area. I returned to my best friend, who was waiting patiently at the best table in the house.

“You were gone a long time. What happened to you? ” he asked.

“How long was I gone for?” I asked, still oblivious of time.

“That was over half an hour,” he said. Had I got something of a freebie off a stripper, I wondered to myself.

Normal service then resumed. Really good strippers, the best we had seen in Prague, did their thing on the stage before us. The professional dancers in their lavish costumes answered their calling. A groom on a stag weekend got dragged on the stage and was publicly humiliated for his friend’s amusement. Table dances happened around us and soft-sell girls offering their charms occasionally came to our table.

The tall blonde from the previous night ended up taking my mate behind the curtain. I was happy to see another side of him, a side he probably wasn’t aware of either. His divorce was the worst I had seen in real life. He was due some fun. He deserved it. He needed it.

While he was gone I found my thoughts wondering over to the Baltic Babe side of my brain. I wondered where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. What was I going to tell her about this week?

My friend returned, smiling and happy with what his money had bought him. The evening pleasantly trundled along and Daria caught my eye a few times, upon which we always smiled. I know, I know. She did that with all the boys.

It was well after midnight and the club had quietened down. The drunken, rowdy stag parties had left and a calmer atmosphere prevailed. I was getting a little bored. Daria’s enticing offer of a “special nice one” could no longer be ignored.

She was sitting at a table with five other strippers, engrossed in conversation. One of them, one I had never spoken to, noticed me as I walked up to them and she caught Daria’s attention. How did she know? I made eye contact with Daria and, without breaking stride, without saying a word, I cocked my head towards the red curtain. Daria smiled knowingly, got up and followed me.

We were both smiling as we took up our positions in the empty private area. Despite her fake boobs, I was looking forward to this experience. She seemed willing to do a little bit extra, but that was just sales patter, right? The customary fast-paced music with a driving beat started playing. Pretty little Daria started her routine. To make things interesting for her, I unbuttoned my shirt. My chest and stomach muscles caused her to stop momentarily and also just say “Wow!” Was this a learned response for strippers or was it sincere? I couldn’t tell.

“How do dancers know when fifteen minutes is up?” I asked, which caused her to resume her hipswaying.

“The girls listen to the music as they work a client. It’s usually four or five songs that make fifteen minutes. If a girl doesn’t like the guy, then it’ll be four songs and she’ll stop because he won’t know how much time has passed. On very rare occasions a girl will do more than fifteen minutes. Monika really liked you.”

I was surprised that she knew how long Monika and I had been together. I remembered how earlier in the evening when I had dismissed a brunette stripper by saying that I preferred blondes, that minutes later a blonde stripper approached me. It was becoming apparent to me just how much the girls spoke to each other, a veritable intelligence network, sharing commercial information for financial gain. A sisterhood of profit.

“I made Monika sweat. She asked me to slap her.” I shared.

“Oh, you know about that. You made her sweat? You did well.” she answered enigmatically as she took her bra off and proudly displayed her perfect but fake breasts.

“Do you like them?” she asked.

“Yes, they are very nice.” I lied. I was impressed by her good English though.

“They cost me five thousand Euros. They’re still a little sensitive, so please be gentle,” she implored. I agreed.

“My real name is Eva.” she confided. I felt honoured by her opening up to me, even if she was grinding her crotch into mine.

“How many nights a week do you work here?” I asked, now curious about the secret private life of a stripper.

“Weekdays I work as an event organizer for a commercial company. The pay is bad, so I do this job twice a week. My family think that I am with my boyfriend.”

“That must be tricky. You must be tired tonight seeing as you worked last night.” I said as I licked an erect nipple.

“I am a little tired. I’m hoping that the boss lets me leave early tonight.” she said as she rubbed her breasts in my face.

“Have you travelled much?” I asked for no reason in particular.

“I have lived and worked in Paris and Miami. Two years in America.” That explained her fluency in English.

“Wow! How did you manage to do that?” I was genuinely interested to know.

“I went with men who told me that they loved me. I believed them.”

I said nothing, feeling a little sad that a sweet person such as she seemed to be had had her innocence stolen. Before the conversation became too heavy for her, Eva pushed herself off of me.

She got down on her haunches and pretended to lick up the insides of my thighs. Her little pink tongue was out and she kept eye contact. Neither of us spoke. Was this going to be the “special nice” bit?

When Eva got to my crotch she pretended to give me a blowjob. She put her hand on top of my erection in my jeans, the only time a stripper had touched me there. She rested her hand there as she pretended to suck away at my invisible cock. All the time she kept strong eye contact with me, which was a massive turn on, because it felt so personal.

After a minute of her doing this, I asked “Do you like doing that?”

“When I’m in love” was her reply, her head bobbing away without missing a beat.

Eva proceeded to give me a better fake blowjob than some blowjobs have been in real life. That wasn’t difficult given that I had only been with three women in my life. However, my ex-girlfriend could suck the chrome off a towbar.

This sweet, pretty, naked little stripper with big, fake breasts and no more than 25 years old then mimicked swallowing cum out of my cock as it came in her mouth. She made approving, satisfied sounds and threw her head back, kept eye contact, opened her mouth and pretended to show me my invisible semen before swallowing it. She rubbed around her mouth and chin with a hand that she then slid down her throat and rubbed over her breasts.

Eva then smiled, stood up and climbed on to the bench, thrusting her bald pussy into my face. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to have leaned forward slightly, stuck my tongue out and licked her swollen clit. I had the good sense and self control not to do that. She had one hand on the ceiling and reached down with the other, using two fingers to separate her pussy lips, exposing her red, round clit. She then pretended to ride my face and do so until she made herself come. She was quite a little actress.

I tried pushing my luck by saying, “Why don’t you sit down next to me and show me how you play with yourself?”

“No, I don’t do that for anyone, not even a boyfriend,” was her irritated response. I had gone too far.

“Okay, time is up,” she said with a smile. I had lost count of how many songs it had been, but I knew it was more than five.

As was the norm we got dressed silently and walked to the red curtain, the doorway to another reality. I thanked her and all she said was “I’m going to see if the boss will let me go home now,” and off she went. I never saw her again.

“Are you paying these girls extra or something?” is what my friend said when I got back to the table. I smiled and didn’t care how long I had been away. I had enjoyed myself.

My friend went with the tall, blonde stripper one last time. Yes, the same girl again. That was so typically him – stick with what works. It was that thinking that had kept him in his shit marriage for so long.

When he came back we looked around to see that we were amongst the last patrons in the joint. It was almost six in the morning and we were tired, but happy. We left an almost deserted club and reached the cool, fresh air of a Prague Saturday morning. A few hours later we were asleep on a plane heading to England, unsure of what awaited us there…that crazy little thing called “Life”.

Prague pandemonium – Part 2

I went up to Sasha who was sitting thumbing her phone. She looked up at me and smiled. I hadn’t given it much thought and all I could blurt out was “Hi Sasha. Could I have a lap dance please?” Very classy and mature, I know. I assumed that she spoke English. I felt like a schoolboy looking up a pretty girl’s skirt and being caught in the act.

She leapt to her feet and motioned towards a doorway between us and the bar that I hadn’t spotted. I gestured for her to lead the way and once inside the doorway there was a male cashier sitting on a stool balancing a little cash box on a thigh. Next to him was a stool with what looked like a miniature mixing desk and a microphone resting on it. He was the booming voice that controlled the music and volume. He probably controlled the girls too.

“What you want? Basic lap dance or lap dance with touch?” Sasha asked matter-of-factly in a sweet girlish voice tinged with that sexy Czech accent. She was young, very young.

Of course I wanted to touch her. What man wouldn’t? “With touch” I answered, not exactly sure what that meant.

The man in charge said “One thousand five hundred Crowns.”

I gave him the money, he put it in his box and handed a round metal disk to Sasha. I had no idea what the hell was going on, what would happen next and what I had just handed 50 Pounds over for, but I was willing to go along with it.

Next to us were three cubicles with large, heavy red curtains screening any potential goings on from the outside world. They were all empty. Sasha led me to the one furtherest away. I think she could tell that I had never done this before. Maybe I was being paranoid.

Sasha pulled the curtains closed behind us. One side of the cubicle was a padded cushioned bench-like seat. On the opposite wall was a full length mirror. Everything was red and a weak yellow light shone down on the two of us from above. It was almost cosy except for the smell of sweat and cheap perfume that spoke of other’s antics.

“These are the rules,” she started telling me. “First, no touching between the legs. Second, no kissing. Do you understand?” she said in a mock bossy tone that masked her true feelings.

“Yes” was all I could stammer. Was anything else needed? My brain started racing, calculating what “the rules” didn’t cover that I might be able to experience. How far could I push my luck? What did I want her to do for me? What would she agree to do? Dare I ask her about a blowjob or would she be offended? Jesus, what am I doing here? What if anybody finds out? What if this is a trap of some kind?

Somehow music started playing and Sasha pointed to the seat. I knew to sit down and not talk – the show was about to begin. This sexy, stunning young woman closed her eyes and started moving slowly to the rhythm of the music. She started running her hands slowly and suggestively over her body, all the while gently swaying her hips. She was wearing platform stilettos and I could tell that she was still coming to terms with them.

Her act escalated in to her pouting and pretending to get turned on. She started unbuttoning her white blouse, letting it hang loose off her, exposing a very lacy red bra. She pushed her fine light-brown hair up with her hands, parted her lips, faking being in the throes of ecstasy with little moans and sighs. I was enjoying this visual spectacle, but it wasn’t turning me on. It was interesting to me that she was not making eye contact.

Sasha dropped her blouse to the ground and started rubbing her breasts through her bra. I was starting to feel self-conscious, even though she wasn’t looking at me. Was she perhaps actually enjoying herself? In a fit of fairness, I started unbuttoning my shirt. It was also rather warm in the cubicle. I unbuttoned my shirt and opened it so that she could see my chest and stomach, but Sasha didn’t notice; she was still keeping her eyes closed, provocatively running her hands over her upper body.

She unclasped her bra and slid it off, letting it join the white blouse on the floor. Her breasts were perfectly formed and tight, albeit a bit small for my liking. (Yes, I’m a breast man.) Her bright pink nipples were hard and erect, just asking to be kissed and sucked. She leaned forward, putting her hands over my head against the wall and wriggled her shoulders, her breasts dancing before my face. Now I was getting turned on.

She stood back up pushing off against the wall, but nearly lost her balance because the shoes were still new for her. Sasha quickly regained her composure and looked me in the eye, noticing my torso which lead to an involuntary smile. She wriggled out of her tight black skirt, revealing panties that matched the discarded bra. She spun around, leaned forward, put her hands against the mirror and pushed her backside towards my face. Sasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her butt cheeks taking turns to swell.

She had unblemished skin, nary a hint of ripples or cellulite, devoid of varicose veins. She was a fine specimen of a woman. I felt privileged to be seeing what I was. I couldn’t help but reach out and touch her backside with both hands. They felt supple and inviting. She let out a gasp of breath, but it didn’t sound disapproving. It was almost as if she had been waiting to be touched, wanting it, needing it.

Sasha straightened herself, turned around, put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back in my seat. As quick as a flash she put a knee either side of my legs and straddled me, her breasts tantalisingly close to my face. I took my glasses off and put them on a small table to my right that was built in to the seating. I appreciated the thoughtful attention to detail.

She folded her arms around the back of my head and leaned forward, then began slowly dragging her breasts across my face from one cheek to the other. I couldn’t control myself and when the second nipple passed near my mouth I moved my face and sucked on it. For a second or two she let it happen, letting out another gasp of breath and making a satisfied “ugh” sound.

“No!” she said as she pulled back from me, her nipple popping out of my mouth. She kept straddling me, but brought one hand forward and waved a finger at me while making strong eye contact. I smiled in recognition of her admonishment. But I had broken one of the rules. Was she about to punish me in some way? Was the “dance” now going to end? Was some ogre in a security uniform going to pull the curtains open, drag me outside into a dark alley where a group of unshaven thugs dressed in black were waiting to beat me level with the filthy paving stones next to a dumpster? Neither of us said another word.

Sasha put her arm back behind my head and resumed sliding her breasts across my face, slowly moving in every direction possible. I resisted the urge to suck her tits and just enjoyed the feeling of her young, firm breasts. I put my hands on her hips and kept them there for a few seconds, letting her get used to my touch. Lightly sliding my hands up her sides seemed to cause her spine to stiffen. She put her face next to mine and started making moaning and groaning noises. I wasn’t fooled; I knew it was part of her act and entirely for my benefit, but it did feel good, hearing an attractive woman breathing and sighing in my ear.

I ran my hands over the top half of her body, all the parts I could reach, deliberately not going for her breasts but saving those for last. They felt good in my grasp; all the while she kept making noises in my ear, almost encouraging me to keep going, which I gladly did. She felt good. Her body was firm and tight. Then Sasha leaned back, keeping her hands behind my head and started moving her hips backwards and forwards. She was grinding her hips against mine. In effect, she was trying to ride my cock with her pussy while wearing knickers.

Suddenly she stood up, reversed against the mirror and slid her red lace panties off slowly, bending forward carefully, her breasts teasing me while she made eye contact. Sasha parted her lips with an expression of naughtiness as her panties fell down around her ankles. Were those undies going to get caught up in those ridiculous platform shoes? She leaned back against the mirror, putting her hands behind her bottom, her closely-shaven vagina on show for me.

She managed to step out of the trap around her feet and swivelled around, once again putting her hands up against the mirror and arching her back, pushing her backside out towards my face. It was an instinctual reaction on my part: I leaned forward, put a hand on each butt cheek and pulled each cheek outwards, exposing her bald pussy and little asshole. She didn’t recoil or flinch, but stayed in that position until I had had my fill of looking at this sight. When I let go of her cheeks, they slammed shut because they were so tight.

Sasha straightened her spine and turned around, once again pushing me back in to the seat. She was now totally naked and made for a magnificent sight. She stepped forward, straddled me again and started an abbreviated, faster version of what she had done the previous time that she had straddled me. The major difference this time was that she was stark naked.

We never said a word or made eye contact as she ground her pussy against the growing erection in my jeans. She was moving in time with the music. I think it was Enigma’s “Principles of Lust”. It was getting warm in the cubicle and not just for me. As I slid the palms of my hands down and around her body as she writhed away on my lap, her pert breasts on my face, I could feel that her body was warm and somewhat clammy. It made stroking her firm skin easier and even more pleasurable.

I put my hands on her waist and pushed my hands upwards towards her armpits, at which point I ran them down over her breasts, cupping them. They were definitely a b-cup and felt exquisite. Her little pink nipples now appeared somewhat darker. Blood was rushing to them and they felt hard. I gently tweaked each nipple with my thumb and index finger and felt her give more force to her next few thrusts down with her hips. I thought about sucking them again and decided against it.

I pulled my head back, looked to the side of this nubile stripper and caught sight of us in the mirror. It was a strange sight, seeing myself like this. In an almost out-of-body experience, I watched my hands move around her back, up towards her shoulders. In something I had seen in a porn movie, I grabbed her long light brown ponytail and gently pulled back on it. She made an approving “umm” sound and kept grinding away on me without skipping a beat. I let go and dragged my hands down her ribs, watching the skin furrow in front of my hands as I went down to her buttocks. I gripped her butt cheeks and pulled them apart, wondering if I could see her asshole in the mirror. I couldn’t because the angle was wrong and it was too dark.

For some strange reason I felt compelled to stand up. I wanted to feel her full weight in my arms, her naked, sweaty torso as closely as possible against mine. Not for a second did I give any thought to whether or not this was allowed or how she would react to such an aggressive and spontaneous manoeuvre. Aren’t all prostitutes and strippers supposed to keep control of the situation?

I leaned forward slightly, tightly wrapped my arms around her body and stood up. Sasha didn’t say a word or show any kind of emotion, she just stopped moving. She had wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms were around the back of my neck. I could feel her chest heaving from her breathing, her breasts moving against me. She was calmly resting her head against mine. I held her in this lover’s embrace for a few seconds, savouring the sensation of all that was her against me.

Having this beautiful woman in this position, her sole intent to please me, was having a multitude of effects on me. It was stroking my ego because I felt desirable, it was making me feel alive, making me feel manly…and making me horny. What was it doing for her, I wondered.

The music died and Sasha unwound herself off me, landing carefully on her silly shoes. “Time is up” is all she said as she gave me a sly look. I said “Thank you” to which she smiled. We got dressed without another word. I was in a mild state of shock. Never in my life had I imagined that one day I would do the things I had just done. I was surprised at myself, but not overly disgusted.