Dammit I thought I was done with this!

This is a standalone scene, in fact a snippet of other scribblings.

It came to me after my last story. And I just want to put it out there. Just because I like it. Felt cute basically. Might delete later.

This scene is not lewd like the rest of my writings. No actual Sex. It’s just a fun, weird, little thing.

In fact I think perhaps I prefer this to all the others…as if I needed to get the rest out my system until I could find what I actually wanted to describe. Silly is just as, if not more, sexy than dirty.

The before and after doesn’t matter. But just to set the scene. You and I are at one of my friend’s places, after a night at the pub.

The place is a flat. One large living room. There’s a couch, a chair, a dining table, a coffee table, a telly, and that’s about it.

I have gone to the bathroom, leaving you with my friends (there’s two of them), who are still barely able to comprehend that it’s you that shown up tonight.

I hope you like it.

Begin scene.

As I return from the bathroom, I notice that the music has been turned up considerably, and I round the corner to be confronted by the sight of you up on the coffee table, blissing out and dancing to the tunes, of which you seemed to very much approve.

The drinks must have taken hold, because you seem to be entirely carefree, your inhibitions have long since left the building.

You’re dressed by the way, skirt and shirt. Shoes off though. Because table, manners.

My two friends are sitting on the couch right in front of you…trying for vague nonchalance and impartial observing but really just more or less leering.

You are in your own world though. Your hands are running over your sweat filmed body.

You really can dance can’t you. There are moves within your movements.

None of you notice me there. I know this because one of them reaches down and picks up his phone…and begins to hold it aloft so as to take a picture of you. He should know better.

You can’t be totally out of this world though, because no sooner has he done so than your left foot lets fly, perfectly booting it from his grasp…he looks shocked…and shamed…you don’t even stop the dance moves you are doing.

A few more moves and you then stretch out your hand to him and wag your finger at him. Not even looking at him.

You’re not upset. But don’t fuck with you basically.

I can’t help but smile. Fucking champ.

You glance in my direction and see me…and smile and dance all the harder.

You wave me over and have me sit down on the single chair next to the couch.

It seems, as if you’ve been waiting for my return, because you smile and wink at me and…begin to slowly unbutton your top, one by one. Oh my Lord.

I look over at the others and shrug, but also wag my finger at the naughty one too. Just so he knows I saw what he tried to do.

But that is not the main show is it? Our eyes return to you…

You take each side of your top in each hand and slowly part it…revealing your bra underneath to us all.

It’s pretty sheer, but not entirely see-through. Sexy, not slutty.

Your hips move perfectly in tune with the music, and your wondrous body.

You widen your stance to move about more freely, and your skirt hitches ever so slightly higher up your thighs.

You seem constrained by it. And smile to yourself. Only you knowing what you’re going to do, and I think, enjoying the effect it will have on us assembled mere mortals…

You reach back and locate the zip that holds it up, and pull it down slowly as you dance.

You shimmy as you push it over your hips, in time with the music, and it slowly manages to stretch enough to break over the swell of your firm round arse.

You turn so that we can’t see the prize behind. But of course, in doing so we can see the one in front, nestled/hidden as it is in your panties. Like your bra, they are kind of sheer…but don’t give too much away. Still. It’s you. And your crotch. Coming into our collective view.

You stand fully. Unashamed of being down to your bra and panties in company. You know you have nothing to be ashamed about. Either physically or societally. We are the ones with ogling eyes.

You’re just having fun.

Your skirt finally breaks Free and falls down your legs, and you step one foot out before using the other to kick it away…falling wherever.

You resume your dancing. In bra and panties. Relishing the freedom, and the show, you are giving us.

Slowly, you begin to turn your body, dancing in a slow, stationary circle on the coffee table.

Like the moon’s monthly journey, your bum begins shielded from us all, a mystery, but the movement of your hips gives slight hint that there’s not a lot of material round back…until finally, quarter by quarter, you turn and reveal that indeed…it’s a mere g-string…until your Full Moon reveals itself to us all.

There it is, your glorious arse, on display, to me and my dumbstruck friends.

It’s yet to be fully confirmed if this is an actual strip show, or if you’re just getting comfortable. There is after all, a sheen of sweat visible on your alabaster skin, slightly coloured by the dim light.

You bend your legs and our eyes follow your arse as it descends towards the table, bottoming out just above your ankles.

This of course, spreads your cheeks a little, giving us a good view of the thin string that’s keeping your most private possessions from outright view.

You rise up again, and turn to face us. You finally open your eyes to see our gawping faces…and you smile, and hang your head down to giggle to yourself.

There has been, this whole time, I should mention, your champagne glass upon the table near your feet, which you have been deftly avoiding kicking over.

You bend down and take it up to have a sip. There’s not much left in it and so you tilt your head back to empty it.

You dance on but extend your glass out to me as you do for a refill. I realise I’m closest to the bottle and reach out and take it up from its ice bucket and duly oblige.

Again, you drink. But this time you let it fill, and then spill, out past your red lips, over your chin and letting it course down your lithe body… just as you wanted it to.

It wets your bra. But, being black, doesn’t reveal your nipples shading…other than there being clearly hardened by the cold liquid.

It didn’t seem possible, but you look even sexier than you did before. You know it. And now we do too.

You bend back down and place it back on the table, but then place your foot over its base, the stem between your big and next toes. You lift the glass and proffer it to me…expectantly.

I pour some into the hovering glass.

You nod your thanks and resume dancing, still with your toes entwined around the glass’ stem.

You then pause and lift the glass with your foot, and stretch out your leg to the face of one my friends.

It’s worth noting at this point that the glasses aren’t flutes, they’re Coupes. The old-fashioned ones with wide rims, not thin. Supposedly modelled on Marie Antionette’s breasts. So to balance one in your toes and not spill any, is an impressive achievement in and of itself.

You nod expectantly at him, and he brings his lips to the glass, gazing up along your lovely legs, to, well, most likely, your crotch.

You pay him no mind, and slowly, expertly, tip the glass up and pour the contents into his bewildered mouth.

Next, is the other friend. Again, not a drop spilt.

When it comes to my turn you forgo the glass and take the bottle from my grasp. Aw. I don’t want to miss out!

But you then place your toes at my lips and force them open. Oh my god I’m in that scene from Dusk til Dawn!

You tip the champagne down over your knee and enough manages to travel atop your leg and foot to make its bubbly way into my eager mouth. Some of it spills over my chin, and a lot drips off your calf onto my lap. I couldn’t care less.

The look you are giving me from above is, frankly, the most mesmerising part of all. You, bequeathing the gift of me getting to take your toes into my mouth, knowing that the taste of your dirty, dainty little toes trumps the high-end champagne it is delivering.

You have this power, and you choose to exert it.

You finish with me, and turn and step off the table towards the couch and lift your wet leg to place your foot on the headrest between my friends.

The suggestion would be clear if were a suggestion. It isn’t.

Clean me.

If you were to take a stage name might I suggest Domme Perignon?!

They obey of course. You are in complete control.

They both readily, and eagerly, lick up and down either side of your calf and foot.

Part of me is jealous at your allowing them to touch you. But it’s just your leg I reason to myself, oh so generously. What are friends for after all!

It’s different with the others there though isn’t it? If it was just me there would be no inhibitions, and no barriers per se either. I am the Private, the permissible. They, are the Public. They are the ones you are challenging yourselves with. To let them see, but only what you want. And if they care, well, you certainly don’t. Not anymore.

You’re not done yet though.

In the next escalation, you take the remaining liquid in the champagne bottle, and pour it out over your head, drenching yourself. My friends, literally, lick their lips in anticipation.

But this is burlesque right? You’re not going to let them lick you all over, are you?

Who’s to say?!

Instead, you lean down to me and place your hands around my shoulders, giving me a serious cum-hither look…I return a look something like; ‘Don’t drag me up there…I’ll just ruin it.‘

You smile and instead drag the thin cotton scarf from around my neck (I dress warm). And put it around your own, such that it’s somewhat covering each of your bra-clad breasts.

You then reach under, and with a deft flick, unhook the front-clasped bra, and let it fall away from your chest….all without so much as a nipple slip.

You take the scarf and wrap it around your sides, tying it at the back in a make-shift halter top.

Thing is though, the champagne remains, and this is a very sheer top, thick wool, the scarf is not…we still can’t see colour, but we can see every contour, of your fabulous curved form.

You pour some more over yourself, just for good, revealing measure.

You hand me the bottle and I lean forward to refill your glass but you shake your head. Ok then.

You turn around and bend over, shaking your arse at us all. Now, we’re getting closer to a dedicated strip show than just watching you dance to yourself.

Aren’t we?!

But then song, finally, terribly, awfully, stops.

You slow and then stop dancing, but not moving, your body has its own soundtrack to move to.

You do stand-up though, and look, not at us, but around the room…waiting for the next track to begin.

You look over to the dining table, and something grabs your attention. You tilt your head in consideration and then, having decided apparently, giggle and immediately step off the little stage you’ve made for yourself and trot towards the table…our eyes never leave your body so we don’t know what you’re looking at!

Your back is to us now, but butt in view. You could be doing anything there.

The next song begins, and we watch on as your bum begins to move to the new beat, all while you are busy doing lord knows what.

On the table are the other champagne glasses, our long since forgotten our drinks. You pick up one of the Champagne Coupe glasses and down it, and then another….

Also among the various other items on the table are candles. Why I have no idea. Must have been left by one of my friend’s ex-girlfriends in their largely failed attempts to de-bachelorify his flat.

You take the matches that’s sitting next to them and light one, and then another. We can only assume that you are adjusting the lighting in the room to make it more…sexy?!

Sure why not?! Whatever the lady wants.

But there’s more going on than just lighting. We can see by the flickering light that you’ve picked up one of the candles. What are you doing back there?!

Your back is to us…you keep dancing and reach back and untie the knot of the scarf, letting it fall from your shoulders to reveal your bare, perfect, back to us.

You’re definitely doing something in front of you, but I, nor they, can tell what…

You’re looking down. Busy. But with what?

Well…

Your dancing becomes full-bodied again, your hips swaying to the tunes, all eyes on your beautiful bum cheeks.

We become lost in the entrancing reverie, it’s like looking into a dancing sun, we, happily burning our retinas.

Until finally, at the most perfectly timed moment in the song, the crescendo…you turn to face us…

To reveal:

The Champagne glasses, for lack of a better word, are vacuum sucked onto you…one on each breast.

You must have used the candle to do that thing, what’s it called? Cupping!

You look at us as we look at you in shocked wonder. And you smile, no beam, and giggle all at once.

You know this is hilarious. And crazy. And you just don’t care!

The gods know that nothing sexier than a woman that doesn’t take themselves too seriously. And this is silly beyond our wildest imaginations!

You are a goddess basically.

You stand there for a moment, and then begin dancing back over to us all…shuffling your feet in a wide stance towards us, and shimmying your chest as you do…like a showgirl from the 50s!

What have you taken Burlesque lessons or something?! A masterclass of some kind?!

I can’t help but start clapping. The others join in as well.

You seem to have done a good job of it, because no matter how hard you shake and shimmy, the glasses stay firmly attached to your breasts.

You should be proud. Doubly proud.

‘Wey!’ Rings out into the room. From one, nay, all of us.

Your breasts are…kind of, mostly hidden by the glasses? Well, your nipples are anyway. But outside the rim there is a generous amount spilling out. You have Marie Antionette well and truly beat my dear.

You reach the table and step up onto it once more. And dance like you have not danced before, eyes closed, head shaking, bum gyrating, breasts…I dunno…stemwaring..?!

You giggle as you look down at yourself. The Cuppest Uppest!

Our clapping falls into line with the beat of the music, urging you to continue your improvisational showgirl show.

You turn to us one by one, leaning in and swinging the glasses near our gawping faces…almost daring the glasses to fall off and reveal yourself to us entirely.

You straighten up, and shimmy at us all again. The glasses are going in circles, as are our eyes. You know very well that you have effectively hypnotised us all.

You reach up and take hold of them and pull them from your body, lewdly pulling your breasts out along with them. The suction is really quite amazing I must say!

I think we all marvel at it to be honest.

You are clearly enjoying yourself. Giggling at the show below your face.

You turn your back to us, and squat down, showing us your glorious g-stringed arse.

Being a devout arse-man, I can’t help but wonder what you might have planned for us next.

But how could anyone possibly top that? No one could, surely!

But then again, this clearly isn’t about showing yourself off. Not really. It’s about you being in control, of what you show, what you want to show, and not giving a flying fuck what anyone else wants. Us included.

You’re happy to keep us guessing, so, you dance on; up and down, round and round, side to side.

Again. Just to be clear. You really can move!

At some point the glasses attached to you manage to meet, just, with the faintest clinking of their bases, and you giggle each time they do, repeating the move that makes them hit each other.

Careful M!

Sorry to be lewd, but part of me just can’t help imagining laying you down and sitting astride you, my cock between your class encased breasts and grabbing their bases to push them together and around my cock to tit-fuck you. A guy can dream can’t he?!

For now though we are just voyeurs, lucky witnesses to your playful dancing, we don’t get a say in any of this. Exactly as it should be.

You reach down and take the champagne bottle from my hands, which I’d been absentmindedly holding onto the whole time, and bring it up to your mouth to drink. You do so, loosely, letting a good amount spill from your lips and cascade down your body.

But then, it runs out…you consider its emptiness and shrug, and then chuck it casually onto the laps of my friends.

But we are well supplied. You step down and walk over to the other bucket, and take out the fresh bottle.

You turn and return to the table and begin twisting off the wire thingy and ripping off the foil.

You smile a little and give it a little shake before you go to open it. But then, just as you are about to…a light bulb goes off I believe, because you relax your grip.

You giggle and move the glass on the table into the centre with your feet…and then…move the bottle around your back…and reach around and bring it between your legs…

You’ve tucked it up into your panties and it slowly begins to protrude from the front of your panties for us all to see. You’re bulging down there, much like the rest of us. Ready to pop!

You look down to admire the view, and tilt your head…as if to say ‘Huh…so that’s what I’d look like, if I had a cock of my own.’

You bring around your spare hand and grab it, by the head, so to speak, over the material of your panties.

And.

You twist.

Until.

‘Pop!’

The cork comes off and the bottle lets loose…a sudden gush of fizzy, foamy bubbles fills and overwhelms your meagre panties, gushing out the leg holes either side…the white liquid colour is reminiscent of…something.

Most of it runs down your legs…but some…some drips from your crotch down into the glass directly below.

You bend your knees to lower yourself to the glass, continuing to let the champagne flow.

You seem unimpressed with the amount landing in the glass. And so you remove the bottle and bring it around your front, and then squat down even further until you are right above the glass.

You notice that the cork is still stuck in your panties and reach down and remove it…

You think quickly as to what to do with it…give it to one of us perhaps?!

No. Instead you pop it into your mouth…the same way as it would fit back in the bottle…the head poking out…more or less like a dummy really. Weird. Silly. Funny. Great.

Returning to your task you orient the bottle towards your crotch…and then pull the waist of your panties out and away from your body…

We all sit up a little taller, hoping to see down and into what lays within. No such luck though unfortunately. You just giggle at our shortcomings.

And…you tip…the champagne out and into your panties, straight onto your hidden Pussy. It splashes around and out once more, but more does manage to make it into the glass below you.

Finally, you are satisfied, and bring the bottle up to your lips for a well-earned swig.

You then sit back, onto the table…the panty-filtered champagne filled glass in between your legs.

You look down at it. As do we.

Who’s gonna get it?!

You look at us with your champagne cork dummy, and let it fall from your mouth, and it bounces off the table onto the floor. I can’t help but wonder where else it might have ended up, were this a more lewd show…