Strip Teaser (Naked Night's)
Read Strip Teaser (Naked Night's) Online
Authors: Ava Manello
Strip Teaser
Naked Night’s Book One
by
Ava Manello
Cover Design:
Margreet Asselbergs
Copyright
Ava Manello
Strip Teaser
© 2014 Ava Manello
eBook Edition
KBK Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
This book wouldn’t have happened if certain people hadn’t convinced me that I could go it alone. Thanks to K.T. Fisher, my partner in crime for starting me off on this crazy writing journey that I love.
Huge thanks to Emma Keating; she was with me every step of the way on this one. She suffered through hours and hours of research on YouTube with me,
searching for the perfect tracks for the routines, and kept sending me lots of motivational pictures, but most of all, she believed I could do this and never let me forget it.
To my mother who still won’t read my books, but does tell everyone that I write them now, we’ll get there one day.
To my gorgeous daughter, who is proud of what I do and not ashamed to tell her friends. I think that’s the biggest compliment she could give me. And she tells me every day that she loves me. I love you too baby girl xxx
Co-Authored with K.T. Fisher
Severed Angel (Severed MC 1)
Carnal Desire (Severed MC 2)
Severed Justice (Severed MC 3) Releasing 31
st
August
Available from all major eBook retailers now.
She gives me a look of warning as I leave the stage and head in her direction. Unlike the rest of the women on the front row, Sally’s the only one not trying to attract my attention and screaming at me to pick them. The look changes to one of resigned acceptance as I take her hand and she reluctantly follows me back to the stage.
There’s something about Sally that draws me to her. She’s real for a start, not like the plastic Barbie dolls that normally show up for our performances. Eric will be pissed that I've picked her; he wants us to go for the loud, raucous girls that add to our performance, not a quiet girl like Sally. As far as I know this is the first time she's watched the performance from out front; she's hidden backstage the other nights. Eric wanted her to experience the
show the same way the audience do. Well now she's going to get the full experience.
I guide her to the chair that's front and center of the stage. She sits primly, knees drawn together. I make a show of taking off my grey silk tie, slowly. The audience goes wild for the tie. Eric says it reminds them of Christian Grey, not that I knew who he was before I choreographed this routine, but it always gets a reaction. I unbutton my white shirt, one button at a time, drawing it out and letting my shirt hang open. The audience screams at the sight of my barely revealed abs.
I ease the tie through my hands slowly, almost caressing it, before gently drawing it sensuously across her face. I cover her eyes with the tie, securing it loosely at the back of her head. Moving in front of her, my back to the audience, I pretend to thrust my groin into her face. At the same time I lower the shirt down my back, revealing my strong shoulders inch by inch. Once it's off I ball it up, tossing it carelessly into the wings.
I turn to the audience, grinning and holding out the bottle of baby oil I just picked up. I make an elaborate show of the bottle and they scream in appreciation. I take one of Sally's hands in mine. It fits perfectly. Turning her hand so it's flat, palm up, I pour some of the oil into it, and then rub both her hands together. I move to stand in front of her, facing the audience, thrusting my groin at them. They scream. "Off. Off. Off." They're predictable after all. I take tiny steps backward until my legs are either side of Sally's, and then slowly lower myself into her lap. The blindfold heightens her senses, she may not be able to see me but she can feel me. She still utters a little murmur of surprise as I hover just above her lap. I reach behind me for her hands, bringing them round the front of my chiseled abs, and slowly, oh so slowly, I use her hands to rub the baby oil onto my chest. The lights glisten on the oil, making my upper body appear even more toned. "Just imagine your hands are mine." I whisper to her.
I do this performance nearly every night, I've had hundreds of women run their hands over me, but tonight something's different. Shit. This is actually arousing me. Do I show her what she's doing to me? I move her hands lower, slowly teasing the audience who encourage me with vulgar catcalls. "Get his cock out!" one girl screeches from the front row. The tempo of the music increases, becoming more sensual as I trace the V leading to the top of my waistband with her hands.
Eric allows us to decide just how far we go with this part of the act. Normally I stop here. Not tonight. I guide her hands to the belt buckle; she understands and releases the clasp. Next I guide her to draw the belt out, all our movements slow and sensual. I take the freed belt from her hand and throw it behind us on the stage. I reach for her hand again to release the button on my trousers. I hear the indrawn breath as she realizes this isn't quite the regular performance; one hand being drawn inside my waistband as the other releases the zipper. I want to tell her to touch me, that my cock won't bite her, but that kind of talk doesn't seem right with Sally. She’s got too much class for that.
I use her hand to caress my length. Fuck. That feels so good through my boxers. I want this to be real, not an act. Her grip tightens gently, as much as I want to continue this, I can't. The audience are egging her on, even more crude language spouting from their over glossed lips.
I stand quickly, startling Sally. Turning to face her I lower the waistband of my jeans an inch. On cue the screaming raises in volume. Another inch. Now they're shouting for me to “get em off” and to "get your cock out” My trousers are level with my boxers now, and I lower them both, inch by slow, teasing inch, until half of my arse is on display. I move a few steps closer to Sally, my groin level with her face. I grind a few times, stopping a whisper away from her lips. Oh God. The thought of those lips caressing my cock. I draw in a deep breath, calming my wayward thoughts. I'm desperately trying to get my head back into that neutral zone I use for performances.
I torment the audience a little more, pulling my trousers back up. Snap. I release them instantly, tossing them aside, and the screaming grows even more raucous if that were possible. Still facing Sally I pick up a towel. Holding it in front of me with one hand, I lower my boxers with the other. They fall, pooled around my feet. The screaming continues.
I step closer to Sally, the towel the only thing between her and me right now. I take one hand, placing it on an arse cheek, then repeat the action with her other hand. She understands what's needed and gently massages me. My cock gets even harder. At this point I'm supposed to thrust my towel-clad cock into her face. I can't. That feels wrong with Sally. I grind my hips, simulating the thrust, all the time wishing I could feel those perfect lips caressing me. I try to bring my mental state down from highly aroused to stage aroused; yes there's a difference.
I draw one of Sally's hands round to my front, placing it on my cock, holding the towel in place. The shock always makes them pull their hand back, well normally. There was one over eager fan who had a good grope the other night before releasing the towel. Sally performs as expected, pulling back her hand and allowing the towel to fall. The audience noise level is through the roof. One more hip thrust to finish off the performance, then I dramatically release Sally's blindfold. Her eyes go wide, and a smile lights up her face before she laughs out loud.
I turn to the audience; hands raised high, thrusting my hips towards them, along with my cock, still hidden in a Union Jack sock. I get a standing ovation.
I guide Sally back to her seat in the audience and thank her. The girls either side of her immediately begin calling her a lucky cow and asking what it was like. As I move back to the stage I don't miss the look in her eyes. I'm in for a shit load of trouble after the show, that's for sure.
You know what? It was totally worth it.
Sally
-
a few days earlier
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, contemplating packing my suitcase and wondering how the hell I ended up in this predicament.
I'm an investigative journalist, granted it's only a small local paper, but I'm hopeful that one day one of the big boys will recognize my talent. There's a juicy little scandal at the local council and I was just about to get my teeth into it when my editor called me into his office this morning.
"Sally, my dear, how are you today?" Shit, he's being nice to me. This isn't good. Fred's an old school editor, he likes to bark and growl at his reporters. If he's being this nice then I'm either being made redundant or he's coming down with something.
I grunt a reply, which could mean anything. It's enough to satisfy him as he rattles on. "I've got a great assignment for you. You'll be starting it tonight so I'll need you to go pack. You can take the rest of the day off." I look at Fred, my face full of questions. What sort of assignment requires traveling? I was expecting to be doorstepping the local council offices until I got the dirt on the sleaze bag that's wasting public funds on holidays disguised as business trips. I'm sure it's just the tip of the iceberg.
"You're going on the road, Sally. It's all set up with their manager. You'll meet the guys on the bus." He picks up a piece of crumpled paper from his desk to check something, and then rushes on. "The bus will be at yours for 5pm."
What? Where? Why? The questions are rushing through my head at an alarming rate.
"What are you on about, Fred? I'm doing a piece on the Councilor. You know that. I haven't got time to be traveling anywhere. You'll have to give it to Rob, he's not got anything important on the go right now." I sit back, a smug grin on my face. There's no love lost between Rob and me. He's a prat, and that's me being nice. He thinks he's god's gift, and is constantly trying to get in my knickers. That's when he's not trying to sabotage my work.
Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Erm. Yes. Well."
"Spit it out, Fred. I need to get over to the council offices." I pretend to be bored, inspecting my manicure; if you can call chipped, month old polish a manicure.
"Well, Rob's not the man for the job in this case." He harrumphs again. "This job requires your particular set of skills." Now he looks downright embarrassed. What the hell am I getting shafted with here?
"What particular skills?" I narrow my eyes at Fred, who's now going an interesting shade of red.
"You're going on tour with some of our local performers." He smiles nervously.
Local performers? Crap! Tell me it's not the local Amateur Dramatic society. Someone shoot me now. He's got to be joking.
"Fred, need I remind you I'm an investigative reporter. That means I go out and investigate. I'm not a bloody reviewer, give it to someone else."
"There is no one else." He blusters.
"Of course there is, there's Rob, Kevin or Jack that I can think of off the top of my head." He shakes his head slowly.
"We need a woman for this one." At least he has the grace to look embarrassed; he should be, pulling this feminist crap on me. He must see the anger in my face as he rushes on. "It's a great opportunity for you Sally."
Fred rummages around on his desk then passes me a flyer. I take one look at it, before quickly standing and throwing it back in his face. "The Naked Night's," I screech. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I've always tried to remain professional in the office, but this time Fred's gone too far. "You want me to go on the road with a bunch of brawny, brainless male strippers. I'm not doing it." I turn to storm out of the office but Fred's next words cause me to pause.
"It's that or redundancy, Sally." Shit. I resume my seat. "You know advertising revenues are down. Our readers just don't care about council indiscretions; they hear it every night on the news. They want something more interesting. And the advertisers won't support a paper that's not interesting."
Interesting? I can think of plenty of words to describe a group of male strippers, and interesting isn't one of them.
"There's more isn't there?" I've never seen Fred look so uncomfortable and guilty. This must be bad.
"They're going on tour for eight weeks... and you'll be with them 24/7." My heart drops. I can't do this; surely he can't ask me to do this. Even my worst nightmare looks like a fairy tale in comparison to being asked to do this. "They're paying us a fortune in advertising."
Advertising? But I'm an investigative reporter. I dig for the truth. Then it dawns on me. If they're paying for the advertising this isn't even journalism. It's a bloody fluff piece, an advertorial disguised as an article. With my byline on it. I can't do it. I won't do it. Then I remember the bank statement that arrived this morning, with that horrible, scary looking overdrawn balance and the rent that's due at the end of the month.
"Fred, you can't ask me to do this, I'm a serious journalist." He doesn't reply. Shit. I'm really going to have to do this. "At least let me write it under a pen name?" I beg. With any luck no one will realize it's me, my future career will be safe, even if the next eight weeks of my life are doomed.
Fred agrees, and that's how I end up sitting on my bed, wondering what you're supposed to pack for eight weeks on the road with a bunch of male strippers.
I find my most practical, boring, yet comfortable clothes. Come to think of it, I'm not sure there's anything in my wardrobe that isn't practical and boring. It's not like I go out very often, and at work I prefer to blend into the background. Is that even going to be possible with these guys? I'm guessing wherever we go they'll be the center of attention.
I throw my toiletries in the top of the case. The clock tells me I've only got a few minutes to spare. Sure enough the doorbell sounds as I'm coming down the stairs. I grab my bag and keys and open the door.
"Sally?" He questions. I nod my head, too shocked to speak. "I'm Tiny; one of the guys, let me grab that case for you." Without giving me chance to answer he's taken my bag and started walking back to the minibus parked at the curb. A minibus? The guy in front of me is the size of a giant. He's so ripped I'm sure he has no neck left. How the hell will he fit on a minibus? And do they even make stripper outfits in his size?
I lock the door and follow meekly behind him, praying to an unseen God that he deliver me from the torment I'm about to suffer for the next eight weeks.