Tag Archives: striptease

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.

Prague pandemonium – Part 1

My best friend had just come through a nasty divorce and was somewhat confused about…well, everything frankly. I was much further down the road of recuperation than him, but it was Summer and fun should be had. I thought we could both do with some lifting of spirits. We had a high-school friend living in Prague who was forever inviting us over to visit him. At the beginning of the year he had found out that his wife had been cheating on him, he had separated from her and launched divorce proceedings. I thought it a good idea if my best mate and I visited our friend in Prague. The three of us could sit around, talk shit, catch up, have some laughs and maybe figure out the way forward together.

We flew out on the Saturday morning, meeting up with our friend before lunchtime at the airport. He came to fetch us with his son and we were all going to spend the weekend at his parent’s country house. They were away in South Africa where they spent most of their retirement years avoiding the Czech Winter. The house was a large multi-storeyed alpine-style house on a big piece of ground shielded from neighbouring properties by a mature, lush hedge. The sun was blazing overhead and the swimming pool looked very inviting.

For a few days we lazed around, had a barbecue with our host’s friends and relaxed. It takes about 3 days for the body to unwind sufficiently so that a holiday can be enjoyed. Once we had reached that point we decamped to central Prague and set up base in our friend’s city pad. His son went back to his mother as the school holiday was ending. The three divorced or divorcing guys sat around downing good, cheap Czech beers, bitching about women and relationships.

It was interesting to me to hear some of the things that my friends were saying as I had felt the same way when I was getting divorced six years earlier. They were embarking on a long road that was alien to them; all I could do was offer words of encouragement along the lines of “I got through it, you will too.” Nothing in our teenage years prepared us for being in this situation 25 years later.

My best friend and I spent a day sight-seeing together as he had never been to Prague before while I had in 2006. If you’re into architecture and history, then you have to visit Prague. If, like me, you have a thing for pretty blondes, then Prague is a must-see. On any street corner I could stand rooted to a spot and swivel around gawking at one stunning blonde after another for hours. It’s like an all-day procession of lookers coming off of a conveyor belt. I have never been to anywhere quite like it. There must be something in the beer that causes most little Czech girls to grow up to be blonde beauties. Don’t believe me? Go see for yourself.

With such an abundance of attractive women, it isn’t too surprising that Prague has something of a busy nightlife…the naughty, seedy nightlife. You know that Christmas carol about “good king Wenceslas”? Well, there is a square (which is more of a long boulevard) named after him that has the vast majority of Prague’s “gentleman’s clubs”. There are about a dozen strip clubs cited in and around this square. From dusk touts start appearing, pestering passing men with leaflets extolling the virtues of the shows and girls that their club, which is always the best club, offers.

I had been to a strip club once as part of my best friend’s stag do. That was years ago, 1998 to be exact, back when we were both getting married and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about everything. We had both enjoyed that night, so I thought “Why the hell not do that again in Prague?” It might lift my friend’s spirits out from the dark well of despair that they were drowning in. Suggesting my idea one night resulted in a muted response, the two of them just looked at each other, blinking and smiling. It didn’t take much coaxing and cajoling from me to get them to agree to give this a go. We agreed to sample this side of life the following night.

It was getting dark as my friends and I made our way on to Wenceslas Square on a Wednesday night. Tired tourists were enjoying their evening meal at pavement cafes and restaurants as another hot day gave way to what I hoped was going to be an even hotter night…in the strip clubs.

The three of us must have looked like the typical guys that go into strip clubs because within a minute a tout came bounding up to us, brandishing freshly printed leaflets. I asked “How much is entry and the drinks?” He was a black African guy, from Nigeria I think and he spoke good English. “Boss, for three hundred Crowns you get entry and three free drinks. Is cheeeap.” he implored.

So for less than ten Pounds Sterling we could get entry and a few free drinks – that was cheap. Perhaps too cheap. I was suspicious. “So what do the girls do?” I asked. “Anything except sex. Price depends on what you want. Everything negotiable. The womens is hot!” was the touts sweaty reply. My friends seemed shocked, even the one who lived in Prague.

We repeated this conversation with a few more touts, all of whom were illegal immigrants from Africa, all offering the same prices and deal as the first tout. All that differed was how “hot” they described the women to be. My friends were satisfied that they now knew the score and were comfortable choosing a club to start with. The nearest one had a clean, modern frontage so we decided to take our chances in there. It seemed safe.

The very first tout we spoke to sidled up to us and walked with us despite our ignoring him. We walked up to the doorway where a burly security guard was standing next to someone acting as a cashier. All this person had was a table and chair, with a metal cash box on the table and a stack of voucher books next to it. We handed over our money and were presented with a voucher booklet each in exchange. These were for our drinks, which was a selection of either beer, sodas or coffees; three pictures for each type which could be individually torn out. The security guard took our right hands and stamped a small ink emblem on the top, then waved us inside. The cashier, guard and tout then engaged in a conversation, which probably involved the tout getting some kind of commission.

The doorway lead down a flight of stairs that opened out in to a reception area dominated by a bar counter. We ordered our drinks and turned to our right, which was the only direction to head towards given that to our left were the toilets. Bright light shone into our eyes and our ears were suddenly bombarded by loud music. Undeterred I walked into the light and my friends followed me.

Through the offensive light I could see the hint of a table and chairs to my right and I headed for it, my mates in tow, our ears being assaulted by a constant rhythmic “Boom. Boom. Boom”. Out of the glare of the head-on lights I could see our surroundings clearly. We were in a large room laid out in a horse-shoe shape that could hold no more than 40 people. Around the outside of the horse-shoe was a terrace of tables with chairs and booths with bench-like padded seating. All of the seating was in a dusty red material and the wooden tables were painted black. In the centre of the horse-shoe was a catwalk stage with a shiny stainless steel pole at the end closest to the entrance.

There was only one other person sitting in the customer’s seats and it seemed that he was slightly drunk given how he was slouching in his seat, staring blankly with droopy eyes at the only girl on the stage. She was a brunette with a slender body and only wearing a bikini bottom. Her breasts were small and saggy, her nipples large, brown and hard. She was pretty enough, her face caked in make-up though, but constantly smiling as she went about her routine of endlessly gyrating up and down against the pole.

With drinks in hand I led my friends to a booth to the right side of the stage. I wanted a good view of all the proceedings in this alien environment, not just of the girls on the stage. I wanted to take in as much of this new, unfamiliar world as I could; to take it all in; digest it, analyse it, understand it. Titillation was a bonus for me, while it was the main event for my clinically depressed friends. On the other side of the room, close to the bar, I could see four women sitting talking and occasionally looking at us. They were in their twenties and thirties and I got the impression that they worked there, given the garish nature of their appearance: sequins, leather, plastered-on make-up, loud jewellery, high heeled shoes and overly-quaffed hair.

The club had obviously just opened and we were the first customers in for the night, except for the solitary drunk who was in danger of falling asleep in his seat. The brunette ended her routine by lying next to the pole, faced the drunk, splayed her legs in the air and ripping her bikini bottom off…and held that position for a few seconds. The drunk’s face lit up as he smiled. The dancer regained her composure and expertly leapt to her feet despite wearing high heels. She collected her scattered items of clothing and retreated to the dark side of the stage to disappear behind some curtains. The drunk lamely applauded.

This was not what I was expecting, it was seemed somewhat silly and even bordered on pathetic. My friends were bemused not because of what they had just seen, but I think more from where they found themselves. They were both guys who, like myself, got serious too soon in their life and didn’t play around at all. They hadn’t bedded scores of girls and done crazy shit at parties in their teens and early twenties. We were all straight-laced and moralistic – boring basically. I was further out of a relationship than my friends and intent on having some fun. What fun exactly, I quite honestly had no idea, but was interested in finding out what was on offer.

The music ramped up, a voice said “Sasha!” and a stunning fair-haired girl appeared on stage. She had a very trim figure, a pretty face, was quite tall with hair in a pony-tail down almost to her waist and was wearing a gold trench-coat. I recognised her as being one of the four women that I had spotted at the back of the room. She couldn’t have been more than 25 years old, possibly still a teenager.

Her routine was something that I would describe as classic. If you’ve ever seen snippets of a striptease on television or in a movie then you will have seen what she did. Her body was very tight and she had perfectly rounded, dense b-cup breasts with cute, small pink nipples. Her breasts didn’t flap about as she moved, but rather merely gently wobbled. I liked the look of her. There was an innocent awkwardness about her that appealed to me. I think she had a problem with her high-heeled shoes and didn’t make as aggressive or flamboyant moves as her predecessor. Sasha ended her routine without the parting of the legs move and disappeared behind the curtain accompanied by rapturous applause from our table. Okay, it might just have been me.

As if it was timed, the brunette that had been doing her stuff on stage earlier suddenly appeared at our table. She immediately started speaking English to us. How did she know?! Once the fake pleasantries were over (amidst stupid boyish grins from us) she moved on to the topic of private dances.

“Would you like private dance?” she purred in a sexy Czech accent, looking each of us in the eye in turn.

All three of us swallowed our adam’s apples. The music seemed to die down just then so that all of Wenceslas Square outside could hear our conversation.

I spat out the obvious question, “How much?”

She smiled and said, “A thousand Crowns for dance with no touch and one thousand five hundred Crowns for dance with touch.”

I looked at my friends. They were like statues in their seats, frozen by her words and seemingly having been struck by lightning too. Their faces showed shock, surprise and consternation. I could tell that they didn’t have a fucking clue about what to do or say. Sensing that neither of them were interested in taking up her offer (I wasn’t either) I somehow found the necessary words.

“Thanks, we’ll think about it. Maybe later”.

She smiled gracefully and left our table. As I watched her leave I saw that a few more men had taken up seats around the room and that several more were at the bar getting their drinks, obviously newly arrived. The voice on the tannoy announced “Monica!” and the music ramped up to a crescendo again.

The new stripper took to the stage and, how shall I put it, she was slightly past her prime. She was at least in her late thirties, probably in her forties and possibly in her fifties. My friends and I let out a simultaneous, collective “Jesus”. She was also a brunette and a little bit short for her weight…she was chubby. Now I don’t mind a little “cushion for the pushin” but there are limits.

She went through her routine with an ease that indicated that she had done it a million times before. I found myself grimacing and bracing each time she teased that she was about to take an item of clothing off. My mates were letting out little chuckles of embarrassment now and again. By the time she was down to her knickers I was ready for the show to end. Her breasts were big and droopy. Her nipples were large and dark. I think she must have been a mother. I felt sorry for her.

Her routine ended with her also lying on her back, lifting her legs in the air, parting them impressively and then whipping her knickers off and holding that pose for a few seconds. The drunk, who was sitting closest, had her pussy in front of his face and the sight of it stirred him from his half-slumber. His face came to life with shock, his lips parted, his spine stiffened and his eyes widened. Monica sprang to her feet, gathered her gear and slipped behind the curtain. The drunk got up and walked out.

The music subsided and I looked around, spotting “Sasha” sitting alone at a table near the bar area. She looked like a secretary, having changed in to a black skirt and white blouse. I had never had a lap dance in my life, but she was ideal to be the first to show me what it involved. She was possibly the prettiest girl I had seen in Prague. Of course by now I might have been wearing beer goggles and infused with some Dutch courage. There was a rush of blood to my head (the upper one) and I stood up, noticed the look of surprise on my friend’s faces and said “I’m going for it.”