Tina was a Stripper Pt 2
Part 2.
If there’s something that many strippers get through and discard quicker than sad-sack followers (not unlike me), its stockings. It can be murder on a girl’s hosiery, what with the state of the floors and furniture in some of the more down at heel strip pubs. As often as not a girl would finish a shift with ladders in her hold-ups and she’d be for ever buying new ones. It could really eat into her takings for the gig.
Solution, at least for my favourite stripper, was to buy them for her now and again; actually more often the again bit. I wanted it to be a surprise, at least the first time, so I couldn’t ask her what her size in stockings was. Nor did I want to be embarrassed by a trip to M & S for them, as lovely and extensive as their selection of lingerie, sexy and otherwise, was. So off to Anne Summers it had to be.
If there’s one thing I like it’s sexy lingerie, and there was certainly a nice selection of stuff I could well be coming back for at a later date. A very pleasant sales assistant approached. ‘Looking for anything special?’ she inquired.
No point in beating about the bus, so I replied
‘Hold-ups with attractive tops for a stripper friend’.
Totally unfazed, they clearly have a lot of blokes buying stuff for favourite strippers, she said, ‘Certainly, what size is she?’
‘There you’ve got me. I’m not sure. She’s about your size I suppose.’
‘These will be right for her in that case’, and she pulled out a selection. Black, white, fish-net. ‘I’ll take one of each, and could you wrap them for me? They’re a present for later today’. I passed the ‘stripper’ skimpy panties, boob enhancing bras, suspender belts, basques and teddies on the way out thinking ‘Fuck, I’d like to see Tina in those. And then slowly and lasciviously out of them.’
As I was parking in the pub car park I saw Tina getting out of a cab. I let her go in without seeing me, gave her a few minutes to get ready, (usually in the ladies loo in strip pubs), and slipped in, bought a pint, and a vodka and tonic for her, and sat down in a corner of the disappointingly (for her) quiet room. Two old blokes sat the other side of the dimly lit and shabby saloon bar. A nervous looking young man, obviously as nervous as I used to be when I started visiting strip pubs, was a few tables away. A couple of finished early for the day workmen of some trade completed the compliment of punters.
The previous shift was coming to a close and a slim, pleasantly large breasted woman in her mid-twenties, that I recognised from previous visits, came over my way and acknowledged my presence. She sat in a chair in front of me and did things with her tits that I wish I could have done for her, and then, raising her nice legs up peeled her panties away from her pussy. They were half-way down or rather up, her legs, with the gusset still clinging to her cunt. Bending her legs, knees still together, she slipped the undies off, past the type of shoes only strippers wear. She then parted her legs to give me a view of her pussy. Whilst I gazed at her slit she flicked her panties like you do an elastic band and they flew through her parted pins and into my face. I swear I could smell her cunt on them. With her hands free and her long legs still pointing at the ceiling she ran her fingers over her breasts, across her flat stomach down to her hint of bush, before parting her pussy lips and running a finger up her gash to flick her clit. And then it was all over.
Standing up in front of me she reclaimed her panties and said she’d be back with her jug for the tip. It had to be worth more than the usual pound, especially with so few punters in the joint, so on her return shortly after, still bra-less, I held up a fiver.
‘How much change do you want?’ she asked delving into the glass to extract a few pound coins.
‘Oh, that’s ok, have it all.’
‘For that you can put it in my stocking top’, and she put her foot on the seat beside me.
I thought better about running my hand up her leg from her ankle to her knee, but made sure that I discreetly felt her thigh as I tucked the folded fiver into her stocking.
‘Thank you darling. Could have done with you here earlier. See you again, maybe…’ and she leant over and put the side of her face next to mine. The lovely feeling of stripper skin. She smelt sexy as well, though clearly it wasn’t a particularly expensive perfume. ‘…maybe you might like a private dance next time?’ and she placed her hand on my thigh. ‘That would be nice,’ I replied. (Actually, private dances were often a disappointment. Sometimes you'd strike it lucky and the stripper would allow some discrete feeling, as long as the landlord didnt see, but as often as not you would have to sit on your hands and touching was verbotten. And it cost a tenner.) She saw the small package beside me. ‘Oooh, a present?’ ‘Yes, but sadly not for you... this time.’ And with a quick peck on my cheek she was gone.
A great afternoon so far and Tina hadn’t even emerged from the ladies yet.
To be continued.
If there’s something that many strippers get through and discard quicker than sad-sack followers (not unlike me), its stockings. It can be murder on a girl’s hosiery, what with the state of the floors and furniture in some of the more down at heel strip pubs. As often as not a girl would finish a shift with ladders in her hold-ups and she’d be for ever buying new ones. It could really eat into her takings for the gig.
Solution, at least for my favourite stripper, was to buy them for her now and again; actually more often the again bit. I wanted it to be a surprise, at least the first time, so I couldn’t ask her what her size in stockings was. Nor did I want to be embarrassed by a trip to M & S for them, as lovely and extensive as their selection of lingerie, sexy and otherwise, was. So off to Anne Summers it had to be.
If there’s one thing I like it’s sexy lingerie, and there was certainly a nice selection of stuff I could well be coming back for at a later date. A very pleasant sales assistant approached. ‘Looking for anything special?’ she inquired.
No point in beating about the bus, so I replied
‘Hold-ups with attractive tops for a stripper friend’.
Totally unfazed, they clearly have a lot of blokes buying stuff for favourite strippers, she said, ‘Certainly, what size is she?’
‘There you’ve got me. I’m not sure. She’s about your size I suppose.’
‘These will be right for her in that case’, and she pulled out a selection. Black, white, fish-net. ‘I’ll take one of each, and could you wrap them for me? They’re a present for later today’. I passed the ‘stripper’ skimpy panties, boob enhancing bras, suspender belts, basques and teddies on the way out thinking ‘Fuck, I’d like to see Tina in those. And then slowly and lasciviously out of them.’
As I was parking in the pub car park I saw Tina getting out of a cab. I let her go in without seeing me, gave her a few minutes to get ready, (usually in the ladies loo in strip pubs), and slipped in, bought a pint, and a vodka and tonic for her, and sat down in a corner of the disappointingly (for her) quiet room. Two old blokes sat the other side of the dimly lit and shabby saloon bar. A nervous looking young man, obviously as nervous as I used to be when I started visiting strip pubs, was a few tables away. A couple of finished early for the day workmen of some trade completed the compliment of punters.
The previous shift was coming to a close and a slim, pleasantly large breasted woman in her mid-twenties, that I recognised from previous visits, came over my way and acknowledged my presence. She sat in a chair in front of me and did things with her tits that I wish I could have done for her, and then, raising her nice legs up peeled her panties away from her pussy. They were half-way down or rather up, her legs, with the gusset still clinging to her cunt. Bending her legs, knees still together, she slipped the undies off, past the type of shoes only strippers wear. She then parted her legs to give me a view of her pussy. Whilst I gazed at her slit she flicked her panties like you do an elastic band and they flew through her parted pins and into my face. I swear I could smell her cunt on them. With her hands free and her long legs still pointing at the ceiling she ran her fingers over her breasts, across her flat stomach down to her hint of bush, before parting her pussy lips and running a finger up her gash to flick her clit. And then it was all over.
Standing up in front of me she reclaimed her panties and said she’d be back with her jug for the tip. It had to be worth more than the usual pound, especially with so few punters in the joint, so on her return shortly after, still bra-less, I held up a fiver.
‘How much change do you want?’ she asked delving into the glass to extract a few pound coins.
‘Oh, that’s ok, have it all.’
‘For that you can put it in my stocking top’, and she put her foot on the seat beside me.
I thought better about running my hand up her leg from her ankle to her knee, but made sure that I discreetly felt her thigh as I tucked the folded fiver into her stocking.
‘Thank you darling. Could have done with you here earlier. See you again, maybe…’ and she leant over and put the side of her face next to mine. The lovely feeling of stripper skin. She smelt sexy as well, though clearly it wasn’t a particularly expensive perfume. ‘…maybe you might like a private dance next time?’ and she placed her hand on my thigh. ‘That would be nice,’ I replied. (Actually, private dances were often a disappointment. Sometimes you'd strike it lucky and the stripper would allow some discrete feeling, as long as the landlord didnt see, but as often as not you would have to sit on your hands and touching was verbotten. And it cost a tenner.) She saw the small package beside me. ‘Oooh, a present?’ ‘Yes, but sadly not for you... this time.’ And with a quick peck on my cheek she was gone.
A great afternoon so far and Tina hadn’t even emerged from the ladies yet.
To be continued.
2 years ago
