Twisted Custom
From the small hole in the wall, Jer could see that the room was about ten feet square. Almost completely empty of furniture, it was instead filled by the attitude and beauty of the woman sat on the large wooden chair. She lounged, legs over one of the arms and leaning against the other, a fall of red hair hanging down almost to the ground. Jer licked his lips, eyes greedily drinking in the thin red shirt that was obviously too small, the buttons only just saving her from indecency, and the tight leather trousers. Her feet were bare, the toes painted all different shades to match her fingernails. A nice touch, he thought.
The hole in the wall was small; his eyes and nose fit into it, but only just, and every time he breathed in all he could smell the cheap plywood walls. He hardly noticed the hardness of the chair under him, identical in design to the girl’s, so absorbed was he in watching her. She stretched, seemed about to do something, then relaxed again. Jer sighed in anticipation.
Tearing his eyes away from her smooth curves, he could see small holes all the way round two walls of the room. From memory he knew that there were nine rooms in all, more like cubicles, each furnished with a simple chair, a box of tissues and a bin. The cubicles were cheap and functional, everything they needed to be.
Jer drew in a breath and held it; the girl was moving. Her name was Shanice, or at least that was how she’d introduced herself. It hadn’t been worth pressing for more than that. She stretched again, silk fabric exaggerating the hard points of her nipples, and then she began to move her hands up, stroking her legs. The leather trousers shone dully in the spotlights, and then she was up, and out of the chair.
Jer watched as she bent over the chair, rotating it so that all the punters could see her tightly-wrapped derriere. He chuckled quietly; she was a professional, had obviously done this before. His tip-off had been right on target.
Shanice ran her hands through her hair then shook her head, for one moment turning her red locks into a dancing fiery mass and then her hands were gliding down the front of the shirt, teasing at the buttons. She undid the bottom two, then the top two, then let her hands drop back to her waist. Jer heard a sigh from the cubicle next door, and then someone breathing fast.
Always moving her hips, Shanice ran her hands up her legs again and then smoothly divested herself of her trousers. Despite his preoccupation, Jer was impressed; they had been tight-fitting and it was so easy to be ungainly. The stripper stepped out of the tumbled pile of leather; underneath she was wearing only a g-string that disappeared between the soft mounds of her buttocks.
Someone coughed, and there was the unmistakeable sound of tissues being taken from a box. Shanice’s lips quirked in a half-smile; undoubtedly she could hear every subtle sound just as well as Jer could. She let her fingers dance up to the single button of her shirt and then, after an interminable moment, worried it open.
The shirt came off as smoothly as the trousers had done, Shanice draping it over the chair’s back. Her breasts were large and, from what Jer could see, natural; they bounced realistically as she plumped herself back down into the chair with one leg draped over the chair. Her pubic mound was smooth, hairless, covered by only the merest shred of fabric, and even this was now being touched and teased by her multicoloured fingernails.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jer freed himself from his trousers. It was always such a shame, he mused, because the anticipation of the act was almost as good as the act itself. As Shanice’s delicate hand delved behind the g-string, fingers greedily exploring, Jer allowed himself the smallest strokes. Even this tiny movement sent waves of excitement coursing through him and it was with great effort he eased his hand away again. The true pleasure was still to come...
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