Slow Tease, Sweet Revenge
My name is Heather. I'm a 22-year-old exotic dancer in Florida. I chose my profession for one reason: I love to tease men. I just can't help it. Ever since I was a young teenage girl, I used to love to wear short-shorts and tank tops. I always loved the way boys would go crazy for me, and I especially loved the way older men would get uncomfortable and tongue-tied around me. Big, authoritative men acting like fools because they were turned on by a sweet little teenage girl. It made me feel powerful... and very hot.
I remember having tickle fights with my girl friends and my brother's friends. If I ever gained the upper hand, I showed no mercy... tickling my hapless victims until they had tears in their eyes or peed in their pants. It was fun! As I grew older, I used to relish going out on dates. I was a gymnast and cheerleader throughout junior high and high school, which gave me numerous opportunities to show off my hot bod in public - and to catch the eye of the cute guys in school. I would always flirt with the boys, but I only went out with the popular ones. Not so much because I wanted to be popular, but more because they were always used to getting what they wanted from girls and I liked to frustrate them. I polished my kisses down to an art-form: soft, tender lips and a gently playful tongue. Pressing a boy up against the wall and rubbing my body against his was my favorite way to get him hot and bothered while I made him weak with my sweet, seductive kisses. I used to enjoy teasing my dates at movie theatres by running my fingernails up their inner thighs and nibbling on their earlobes. At dances, I would use the slow songs to let my dates feel me up... thinking they would be getting some later. But it was later when I would always innocently say "no". I just loved watching their expressions when I told them they had to wait. They would start to sweat and stammer and act like the old men who got nervous around me when I was younger. I enjoyed it. So much, in fact, that I never gave a definite no. I only said we could go just so far. Well, there's nothing more funny than a boy who is sentenced to heavy petting and nothing else. Of course he doesn't want to stop making out, but as the foreplay continues, he starts to go crazy. Usually, boys would get desperate to the point where they would take it too far, and I could slap them and tell them to take me home. I became known as a cock tease. But it didn't matter. They all still wanted me. My theme song was "I Know What Boys Like", by the Waitresses. I can still remember playing it on my phonograph and dancing around my bedroom with my girlfriends: "I know what boys like. I know what boys want. I like to tease them. Like to frustrate them." We all giggled about it. But I was serious. Deep down, I felt that most boys deserved it. While I dated some nice boys, most of the guys I knew in school thought that girls were subhuman objects of conquest to be bragged about with their buddies. I knew more than one girl who felt she was date-raped by at least one guy in high school. Most parents and teachers considered this to be normal... everybody said, "Boys will be boys". That attitude still makes me sick. Anyway, back to me... In Junior and Senior year I entered two local beauty pageants and won. My parents wanted me to go off to a state competition, but I refused. I had a taste of exhibitionism on stage, but I didn't like being on display like some show-dog. I wanted more control. I wanted something spicy. That opportunity came when I got to college.
As a freshman at University of Miami, Florida, I was jogging on the beach every day, doing nautilus regularly in the campus gymnasium, and teaching aerobics at a local health club. I was looking spectacular, and the hot weather allowed me to dress the way I like. Whenever I hit the beach, I oiled up with tanning lotion and wore one of my sexy string bikinis. For classes, I always wore foxy denim shorts or short miniskirts with bikini tops. When I went out on the town, I usually would wear a little party dress and heels. I never wore stockings, because I liked to show off my strong, tanned legs. From the very start, I had a blast. I dated a lot, and had plenty of very hot sex. More delightfully, though, I was on a college campus, surrounded by horny, good looking men. Showing off my body and watching my classmates drool over me was enjoyable, and so was tricking some frat boy into a date where I teased him all night until he limped home with blue balls. It was fun, but I still wanted to experience more. That's when I applied for work at a small, upscale strip-tease bar in Miami. It was my job dancing at this bar that allowed me to hone my art - transforming myself from a mischievous teaser into a devastating torturess.
I've heard feminists complain about strip bars, saying that it is exploitation for a woman to dance in front of men for money. I agree that in cases where girls are dancing against their will, the feminists are right. But I truly believe that the real victims at a strip-tease bar are the men. After all, a guy will walk into a strip bar horny and lonely with some money in his pocket. He'll watch some luscious babes dance seductively for him - while the whole time he can only look but never touch. Then he'll go home hornier, just as lonely, with no money in his pocket. Sucker!
So that became my hobby... every Thursday and Friday evening, teasing desperate men for money. I reveled in it! I got my legs waxed, and I trimmed my pubic hair so that there was only a wisp surrounding my sweet spot. I continually moisturized my skin, keeping my whole body soft and smooth, and I tanned darkly and evenly, so that there was only a tiny white line around my waist, left by my string bikini bottom. I let my strawberry-blonde hair grow long and lush, down to my lower back. Of course, I still worked out on a daily basis, so my ass and legs remained hard and taught, my breasts were firm, and I didn't have a hint of fat on my entire body. As an additional luxury, I rubbed Obsession body fragrance between my breasts, on my neck and on my thighs. I looked like I walked straight out of the pages of Playboy or Penthouse (okay... I never quite mastered that "clueless" expression... maybe it's a genetic thing!). Needless to say, I was irresistible.
On Thursdays and Fridays, I always found it a little harder to concentrate in class, because I would get hot anticipating my work that evening. When I got home to shower and prepare, I took the phone off the hook, because I was too excited to talk to anyone. I selected my outfits carefully each night, to match my mood. Sometimes I chose to look like an innocent little girl, with frilly lingerie and a bow in my hair, or like a farmer's daughter, with super- short denim shorts, cowboy boots and a frilly, polka-dotted tank top. Other times, I felt hard and cruel, and I wore a black leather miniskirt and spiked heels. Often I wore a loose strand of tiny sea-shells around my waist and a flower over one ear. Naked and tanned, wearing heals, the strand of sea-shells and the flower, I looked like a tropical goddess from any guy's fantasy.
By the time my music started and I hit the stage each night, my nipples were hard and I was ready to go! Thus started four hours of hot strip-tease, that would turn me on more than most things I'd ever experienced! Slowly pulling my clothes off while looking into a helpless man's eyes, dancing naked, humping my little towel on the stage, rubbing my body while watching myself in the mirror, sticking my ass into guys' faces, holding my tits centimeters away from some poor fool's eyes...while the whole time they throw money at me. Ooh la la! I get wet just thinking about the power I have over all those pathetic little boys who come to worship me twice a week!
Needless to say, I love my job... Now I'm into my second year of dancing and I have my very own following. I've even achieved a bit of local celebrity: I posed for one of those college girl spreads in a popular magazine that did a feature on "Florida Beauties". Each week, I can count on seeing some of the same faces. They are usually the guys who come with the big bucks and ask me to do private dances for them. I happily oblige, and give them fifteen minutes of slow-burning attention that leaves them wide-eyed and speechless. During the private dances, I allow my man to caress my ass and legs while I gyrate my hips and fondle my breasts for him. I will lean forward and whisper in his ear, "You look cute with your mouth hanging open like that", and then I'll lightly kiss his cheek and brush my lips against his.
Not surprisingly, some guys are obsessed with me. So, for protection last Spring, I started "dating" this big hulk of a bouncer named Steve, although in reality I made it very clear to him that we were only friends. He made me feel safe when he would walk me to my car after work. And eventually, we became really close friends. Steve's buddies used to kid him about our platonic relationship, but Steve was genuinely sweet, and respected the fact that I only thought of him as a good pal. We spent a lot of time together talking and going to movies and stuff, and every now and then, I would set him up with one of my sexy coworkers or classmates. I enjoyed Steve's company, and the majority of the time I didn't need his protection, except for two incidents that occurred with one particular creep who came to watch me every week, each night that I worked.
The creep's name is Bob, and he's one of those playboy types who drives a Porsche, works out constantly, and wears his shirts open to show off his gold chain. He's actually extremely handsome with a great bod, but his attitude is the ultimate turnoff. He's obnoxious and conceited and he thinks that every woman should fall at his feet. Actually, he's like all those popular boys from high school magnified into one big asshole. He always showed up at the beginning of my shift and asked for a private dance. Whenever I had him alone, he would constantly ask me to go home with him and let him "fuck my brains out". After I turned down his charming invitation, he would always try to grab my tits or stick his hand between my legs. It got so bad one night that Steve had to throw him out. From that point on, Bob was banned from the club.
One night the following week, when Steve was walking me to my car, Bob walked up to us. He was extremely drunk, and he was carrying a bottle of beer. He slurred "Hi, Heather, why don't you come over to my place and let me fuck your brains out". Steve told him to back off but Bob just screamed "Mind your own fucking business", and threw his beer bottle in Steve's face. Well, you don't have to guess what happened next! Steve beat the daylights out of Bob and I called the police. Neither Steve nor I pressed charges, but Bob was thrown in jail for public drunkenness. I'm sure when he woke up in the cell the next morning in pain from the beating and the hangover, only to be slapped with a fine, he was not a happy camper.
Tragically, I had no idea how crazy Bob would get - or just how sick and evil he was. Not until I got a call from the club owner the next night. Steve had been jumped and stabbed repeatedly in the back outside the club after it closed. I was afraid to ask how he was, but I didn't have to. After an awkward pause, the owner told me that Steve had died on the way to the hospital. I was numb. And I was in pain. I had never been so overwhelmed by so many conflicting and powerful feelings at one time. There was more to it than mere emotion... it was physical. Visceral. I literally felt as if I had been hit by a ton of bricks. I was stunned, sickened and terrified all at once. I dropped the phone, I was crying so hard. And while I cried, my body trembled with rage at the fucking despicable coward who did this... and as I trembled and violently sobbed, it began to dawn on me that perhaps I needed to fear for my own life. What if Bob did this purely out of his obsession for me and not just out of some rage - some grudge born of wounded pride - toward Steve? Would he come for me next? The club owner told me he had called the cops and that they had taken Bob in for questioning.
Later the next day I learned that he was released on lack of evidence. When I heard the news I instantly began to blame myself for not having pressed charges after the night with the beer bottle - maybe it would have been enough for the police to hold Bob. I didn't know. I grew increasingly scared. For the next two weeks after the club reopened (the owner shut it down for a couple of days after Steve's death) I always made sure that one of the other bouncers would escort me to my car. The entire time, my fear for Bob was being eclipsed by utter rage. I wanted revenge, but had no idea what to do. Violence was not exactly in my nature and I certainly wasn't about to go out and hire someone to do the same thing to Bob that he had done to Steve. I felt legally helpless to do anything to Bob. The only consolation during that two week period was that I hadn't seen a trace of him.
That all changed one afternoon when I was tanning on the beach. Someone walked up and stood over my blanket. It was Bob. He was visibly erect through his shorts and he looked very nervous. He asked me how I was and told me he missed me. I told him to get lost, but instead, he sat down on my towel. "I want you so much Heather", he said. "I can't stand it any longer". I told him to get the fuck away from me, but he went on. "You've got the most perfect body. You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. You drive me nuts! I can return the favor and drive you nuts if you'd only give me the chance. If you had any idea how good I am in bed..." That was it. I got up and ran into the water. He followed. I ran back out and grabbed my towel. "Please", I said, "Just leave me alone." He stared at my wet tits and let out a tiny whimper. "Come on babe, just let me have you once... just once... okay?" "No!", I yelled and began to run away. He ran after me and tackled me in the sand. As I fought him, he tore off my bikini top. He was strong and was able to wrestle himself on top of me. He started to hump me and he squeezed my tits really hard and I screamed. When two lifeguards came to pull Bob off of me, there was semen dripping from his shorts and some on my leg. The bastard came on me! I just ran away as Bob became the victim of another beating.
My aversion was so strong that I wasn't even thinking straight enough to call the cops. After all, Bob must certainly have been a prime suspect in their homicide investigation. But I just wanted to get away from the pig! I got home and cried and cried. I thought that this must be my punishment for being a cock-tease all these years. But such childish thoughts were washed away by the knowledge that Bob did not have... NOBODY had... a right to do this to any woman.
And what about STEVE??? This is when I finally started to realize how stupid I was to not wait for the cops to come to the scene so I could press charges. I cried some more and resolved to file a report with the police. But not before talking to someone I could trust. My head was obviously pretty screwed up and I desperately needed some perspective. When I calmed down, I called Marie, a good friend I made while dancing at the club. Marie is a very hot little 23-year-old brunette. She is a yoga fanatic and a ballet dancer. She is also one of those dancers who dances for the sheer pleasure of it... she is bisexual and loves to be around other beautiful women. Not only is Marie gorgeous, but she is very warm and very intelligent, and I often turn to her for advice. When I told her what happened, she was absolutely outraged. She told me not to go to the police because they would only let Bob go again. Instead, she said that I should plan on getting even with him one-on-one. "I know how you like to toy with men", she said. "Your body is your most powerful weapon. Don't you think you should use it against Bob?" I vaguely understood what she was driving at, but I told her that I wanted to really hurt him - I wasn't interested in sexually arousing him. Marie then asked me if I would let her help me out in executing the ultimate revenge plot. I said that it depended on what she had in mind.
Marie was born in France to a French father and Chinese mother. Her father left her mother and took Marie with him to the U.S. when she was five. Because of her early separation from her mother, she always felt alienated from her Asian roots. To make up for it, she would spend hours in the library reading up on Chinese culture. "Chinese philosophy is much more subtle than Western philosophy", she told me. "In the West, if someone crosses you, your typical reaction might be to 'blow them away', Rambo style. To an Easterner, this is too direct. We believe that revenge should be a long and lingering affair that is to be savored by the person who is doing the punishing. That is why our culture has devised some of the slowest, most exquisite tortures." Well, she definitely had my attention. "When you tease a man, it is similar to the Chinese water torture, where the victim is tied down... slightly upside-down, with water gently dripping on his forehead. As the minutes turn into hours and the hours turn into days, he grows thirsty and screams for water, while his tormentors drink cold, fresh water in front of him. Before he dies, the victim is completely mad and in absolute agony, teased by the gentle drip of cool water on his forehead, while his throat remains parched and cracked. I think we should do something similar to Bob, don't you?" My mind was racing. "Yes", was all I said.
We talked on the phone for over two hours, fantasizing about what we would do to Bob. Marie certainly had a wicked mind, and as we talked I began to masturbate, in spite of myself and the trauma I had just experienced. Finally, I begged her to come over. "I thought you'd never ask!", she said. She came to my apartment, and we instantly began making love... sweet intimate love that lasted all night long. My first bisexual experience remains one of the greatest nights of my life. The taste of Marie's sweet pussy drove me wild. It still does.