Birthday Suit

A/N I wrote this little number as birthday ficlet for FDM

Eric's POV:

Gold mist floats down from jets above the stage. There's a collective "Ahhh," interspersed with murmurs of appreciation as she prowls out of the mist, her magnificent, naked body air brushed golden with jet spots. Her stage name is FarDareisMai, and like the warrior women who inspired the alias, I have the distinct impression that this luscious, leopard masked goddess is formidable in every respect. She crouches with her back to us, like a leopard about to pounce, the elegant curve of her spine and hips molding into her toned, golden rump. Low, hypnotic techno music begins to throb around her. She rises slowly, elegantly as it crescendos. Six inch leopard print stilettos accentuate the long, firm curves of her legs. Her rear view is so damn sexy—all I want to do is fuck her, and I haven't even seen the front of her. With her back to us, she straddles the chair, shaking and smacking her perfect ass, swiveling her hips, teasing us, until we are all sporting boners.

Several are waving Bens and pleading, "Lap dance here, baby!"

Without missing a beat, the goddess on the stage grasps the chair, spins forward, and straddles it teasingly, before shimmying up and smoldering her way to the front of the stage. My hands ache to stroke and pinch her magnificent, golden breasts. The features behind the leopard mask are breathtaking, almost familiar. Her lovely, full lips draw back into a wicked smile as she descends from the stage.

Some poor bastard groans, "Please!"

I swim to the surface of my lust-induced trance and realize that, that poor bastard is me.

Her amazing eyes appraise me from head to toe. A pink tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip, and I lick mine in response. She smiles, swings her hips, and trails her hands slowly up her thighs, ass, hips, waist, then lightly strokes her breasts as she lip syncs to the pulsing beat of Le Tigre's, Well Well, Well:

Look who's here. Well well well. Guess it's time for show and tell. Well what do you like and what do you need? How should I act and who should I be? Cuz I got it. I'm gonna give it to you. And you know it. What where when how when who? Or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah. I'm gonna give you the answer tonight. Gonna give you the answer anytime, that's right. Well I don't wanna take it slow. So tell me now I got to go cuz I got it. I'm gonna give it to you. And you know it…

She moves in and out of the tables, trailing her fingers, brushing her hips, here and there until she's straddling me, her firm, tits just inches from my lips.

I grip the chair as she lowers herself rolling and thrusting her hips so close that I can feel the heat of her thighs. I growl and inhale the arousing scent of her, glistening, perfumed body. I'm on fire from this torture and she knows it—just as she knows the bouncer will pound me to a pulp if I touch her.

I'm close to cumming in my pants—I hear myself beg, "Please!" one more time.

Slowly, she places my hands over the curve of her golden hips and keeps thrusting her hips and shaking that delicious ass as she whispers, "After the show, backstage, first dressing room on the right. "

I nod breathlessly and stammer, "Thanks!"

Who's the lucky boy, now?

As she straightens and moves on, she murmurs in a sultry voice, "My pleasure, Mr. Northman… my pleasure."

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Another performer begins her act, but I only have eyes for the beauty exiting the room. I watch her hungrily, feeling the texture of her warm, velvet skin upon the palms of my hands. My cock twitches at the thought of sliding my hands down her long, smooth contours.

Like the sight of a shark's fin heading towards me while I float blissfully upon a calm, sparkling ocean, a sudden epiphany shakes me. She knew my name. Where? I'm not local, and I'm certainly new to this club. What's left of my breath exits with a hiss as I realize where and when I last glimpsed this intoxicating woman.

I order another Grey Goose martini to steady myself.

It was about a year ago—a courtroom in Philadelphia. Her luscious brunette hair was blond at the time, and had been styled in a classic chignon . She was wearing a designer turquoise skirt suit. I remember thinking that it took a confident woman to choose that color for this particular profession. I was counsel for the defense and she was sitting next to the prosecuting attorney.

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;-D What do y'all think?

Should I continue with the lemons ?