The black mesh T came off as I reached the center platform again and went out into the crowd, where men took other men to the floor lunging for it, and the sound of the men’s reaction overcame the theater music and toyed with the louder music in my mind. Then the halter top came off and soared out into the cheering audience.
I was there in the center of the central platform, in the magnificent–they knew and I knew–altogether other than the gold lamé thong and my black boots. I began a languid bump and grind, moving all parts of my body, especially those that sent the men into ecstasy. My hips rolled; my pecs and biceps flexed; my pelvis slowly jutted forward and rotated; my arms went over my head, stretching my beautiful body out. I didn’t stay in the safer center of the platform. I moved out to the edges, where hands could touch me, here and there, on my boots and my calves and my thighs. Money was stuffed into the tops of my boots. I crouched down at the edges of the platform, still dancing, though, to let money be slipped into the waistband of the thong and for eager hands and fingers to touch my belly, biceps, and nipples and to cop a brushing feel.
I reclined back at the edge into the position of the crab, spreading my bent legs, thrusting my pelvis forward, and let a big bruiser of a Filipino run his hand under the material of the thong pouch and give me a really good, prolonged feel. The room was panting hard. “Me. Me too” rang out. I crab walked around to the other side and let another Asian do the same thing. “Pull it out” was the cry. I let the Asian move the bulb of the cock to the edge of the thong material so that those in the vicinity could see it. But, before anyone could take that further, I brought my body up to a standing position smoothly, using the strength of my legs, and went back into an undulating dance at the center of the platform. The bulb of the cock was still peeking out of the edge of the thong.
The crowd went wild. They adored me. Back to the center of the platform again, I reached down to extract the money from my thong waistband and stuff it down into my boots, and then to toy with the waistband with the fingers of both hands, giving the patrons saucy looks as I undulated in the dance–teasing them. A groan and renewed calls of “Take it off!” reverberated over the heads of the seething crowd, the men pressing in, trying to get close enough to me to touch me.
A gasp, replaced with cheering, went up as, grasping both sides of the thong waistband, I whipped it off and sent it out into the audience in one smooth motion. I was fully exposed, in full erection. Ribbons were tied to the root of my cock–a red one billowing out to the right and a blue one to the left. I grabbed the strands and waved them as I slowly gyrated my hips and turned in a circle to that all could see that I was hung and erect. I whipped the ribbons off and floated them out above the crowd, where they were snatched out of the air. Fully naked, I posed there, moving to the music. I rolled my hips; I flexed my pecs and biceps; I slowly jutted my pelvis and rotated; my arms went over my head, stretching my beautiful body out; I moved my hips in a fucking motion, slow thrusting my hard on forward and back. I was having sex with every man in the room and, groaning and hands on cocks, they felt it too.
The audience went to new levels of wild. Men were turning to other men, kissing and fondling. Some had adjusted clothing and were stroking and fucking. The calls of “Let me touch it” and “Let me suck it” started up. I did another round of the edge work to let them touch it and to transfer more money to my boot tops. They continued pleading “Let me suck it.” In the psychedelic haze in my mind, I focused in on the faces closest to the platform, looking for the best looking Filipino who was begging to suck. It had to be a Filipino. That’s what most of the men in the room were. When I let one of them suck me off and wanted it to be one of the Filipinos–a Filipino enjoying the cock of the reddish-blond American male whore was all Filipinos present having the experience.
Finding him, I motioned him up on the stand, and those around him enthusiastically helped him up to kneel before me, facing me. He had his cock out, stroking it. I motioned for him to tilt his body back from the kneeling position, my legs close on either side of his thighs. I gripped his curly black hair and arched his head back.
“If you want it, open your mouth to me,” I said. He heard me over the roar of the crowd and did so. All in the room who were able to see me at all, watched as I moved my erection between his lips, into his mouth, and down into his throat. He knew how to take cock in his throat. I began the rhythm of the deep-throating face fuck. He knew how to take that and he knew how to suck. He was a handsome lad. Cameras flashed, each flash jolting me into a drug-induced ecstasy.
I pulled out of him and shot my load all over his face. The crowd roared again as lifting him with the grip in his hair, I tossed him back into the crowd, where hands grabbed him, lifted him, and carried him above them back to the back of the room.
The chanting of “Fuck him! Fuck him!” and “Let’s fuck him!” started to lift up from the crowd. “Bring him out to the crowd.” “Gangbang!” There would have been nights that I would have let other handsome studs come up to the platform and fuck me, but that wasn’t tonight. The crowd had been whipped up almost beyond control. They were running on the edge of the stage hands present not being able to stop them from having their way with me. Before the thought could get turned into action, I reverse faced and strutted my way back up the runway, through the parted curtain to the backstage area, and into the arms of Slava.
“Fuck me, Slava. Fuck me hard. Make me feel it,” I screamed into his ear, conveying my wishes with difficulty as the crowd was still going wild–keyed up this time to receive the next dancer who was walking the runway, no doubt to be gangbanged on the circular center platform because of the uncontrollable lust I had unleashed in the room.
Slava heard me. Slava fucked me after pushing me down to my knees, forcing me to unzip, free, and suck him. He then put me up against a cinder block wall, pressing my back to the wall, my knees hooked on his hips, my arms thrown around his neck, and his thick, long cock thrusting hard up into me, pushing my bare back up and down the rough-texture wall with the strength of his upward thrusts. The drug-induced cacophony of sound and flashing of vivid colors continued to race through my brain.
I was in heaven.
I was able to hear one of the stage hands call out, “They’ve got Caesar down. Shit, two guys are doubling him. Should we go out and pull him back, Slava?”
And I heard Slava answer, “Leave them to their fun. His contract’s up soon. He isn’t all that great a dancer anyway.”
The last thing of the night I remembered before Slava exploded inside me and something snapped in my head was being grateful that I was a great dancer–and that my contract was new.