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If this story pleases you, send me an encouraging email. This is a work of original fiction. Do not copy it or use it without the express written permission of the author. Enjoy. – moreau
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The air in the dance club was intoxicated with the pulsing boom-boom of hip hop, spilled beer and cosmopolitan floor wash, and the musky mingling of smoke and sweaty dancing couples. In a word, the place smelled of fun.
Trinh Nguyen, just this day having received an official congratulatory letter that she passed her entrance exam to pharmacy school, inhaled the fun. She knew she wanted more, much more fun this night. In fact, after months of pressing her cute Vietnamese nose into her pre-pharmacy doctoral review books, Trinh wanted to clear her nostrils of all remembrances of those review books, her sole evening companions for as long as she cared to remember.
Trinh had arrived dressed for cruising hip hop heaven. She wore her oh-so-tight jeans that emphasized her long legs and a sleeveless floral print top that showed off the toned, smooth olive skin of her arms. Though she was a trim and athletic 5′ 4″, her long arms and long legs gave the appearance of a taller girl. Add into the mix her tight body and perfect proportions, and, well, Trinh knew from previous trips to clubs that she was a major guy magnet, Grade A Asian choice, a prime piece of Vietnamese skin. In hip hop, great ass rules, and Trinh’s firm butt atop her spin class sculpted thighs drew a crowd of admirers every time out.
The shoulder straps of her black bra were barely concealed by her top, and one strap would carelessly fall onto her arm as she danced. But it wasn’t just Trinh’s awesome dance steps and fallen black bra strap that made her a prime target of stares by glassy-eyed frat boys and other 20-somethings, her jeans stretching and gyrating as she alternated small steps and show-stopping butt shaking thrusts.
With considerable training in Vietnamese traditional folk dances, Trinh had learned to modify the arm movements to suit hip hop, resulting in hypnotizing reaching-to-the-ceiling hand circles and serpent-like arm movements. Trinh’s long, graceful fingers drew circles in the air over her head, and any male bored with the same ol’ same ol’ American girl hip hop dance routine would be mesmerized by Trinh’s exotic take on the dance. Sure, Trinh could place her hands on her thighs, elbows out, and stoop forward to shake her booty that would cause eyebrows and erections to rise, but the combination of sensual arm swings and hip hop steps put Trinh in a class of her own. And she knew it.
Trinh and her overweight, tag-along girlfriend danced casually for close to 20 minutes, occasionally freaking each other. It was good to dance with a girl not very good-looking, all the more contrast for everyone to see and admire Trinh’s superior looks. Trinh circled the dance floor and made sure all the males at the bar and standing around the dance floor could check out her basic hip hop steps and exotic hands circling their sensual patterns in the air. And then one the club’s alpha males moved in to check out this savory morsel from the Orient.
Though he already had a girlfriend (or three, who’s counting?), Foster saw something strange and exciting ten feet away from him on the dance floor. At least this new one looked exciting through the alcoholic haze of Foster’s brain. At 5’11” and well-groomed with beefy American features, Foster qualified as a regular land-shark for college coeds. They threw themselves at him and he, laughing and usually drunk, would grind them a little on the dance floor, smear a little Foster juice across their mouths or pussies if they were lucky enough to get him home, and then forget every detail.
Because of this alcoholic forgetfulessness, Foster had an equally charming sidekick, Paul, who had a much better ability to hold his liquor and his memories. Paul’s dark brown hair and features were pilot fish to Foster’s shark-like appearance, a fact that was crucial to Foster’s ego and inconsequential to Paul, who considered himself lucky on several occasions to have sampled flesh that Foster had discarded far too soon. In other words, Paul got Foster’s sloppy seconds, and it was cool.
Foster’s arrogantly toothy grin first caught Trinh’s attention, and then something about Foster’s features taken together stopped her in her gyrating tracks. “He’s cute” Trinh thought, “I hope he’s headed my way.”
Foster stepped right up to Trinh and began matching some of her body movements, the introductory steps to the hip hop club mating ritual. Trinh smiled broadly at Foster. Her wide smile of her perfect teeth set off against her tan skin usually was the first step towards reeling them in. She wanted to put some serious hooks in him right away, so she placed her left hand on her left hip, then snaked her right hand upwards, her index finger tracing a sensual southeast Asian curl in the air as she gyrated her body in a slow circle, giving Foster a view of tight blue-jean bottom holding bahis firmaları her uplifted pear-shaped ass. When she returned to face Foster, she expected his eyes would be locked onto hers. That’s the way it usually began. They weren’t.
Foster was looking at Paul nearby. Foster took a sip from his scotch on the rocks and waited for Paul’s signal. Though the girl was not someone he’d bring home to mother, he’d heard about Asian girls and their tight pussies. He wondered if this one would smoke his pole and if she could do as good a job at blowing him as she did working those legs and arms in that hot circle she just drew in front of him
Paul was Foster’s final say-so on club hotties. With Foster attracting no shortage of the club’s hottest bitches, Paul was his quality control. Paul had seen Trinh’s smile reflected in the club’s mirrored wall, had watched the legs work that turn, and was mesmerized by the olive-skinned arms and that Thai dance thing she did with her right arm. Per their pre-arranged signal, Paul lifted his beer bottle to his lips and sucked some brew, the signal for “go for this one.” Then Paul moved over to Foster and Trinh, just in case the first introductions tanked and Paul could be on hand to scoop up the girl after Foster brushed her aside.
“Cool moves,” said Foster, “if I had seen you earlier, I’ve have come over to check you out.”
“You new here?”
Trinh could barely hear Foster, so she leaned closer in to hear him. She touched his bicep lightly. She tilted her head so that her ear was close to Foster’s mouth.
“You…NEW?” Foster thought “bingo,” this bitch is already touching me, I’ve won.
“My name is…Lily.” Trinh offered her favorite American name, part of the anonymity and mysteriousness she used to protect herself.
“Lily, cool. I’m…John.” Paul, within earshot, grinned at Foster’s lie. That Foster would use a name as phony as ‘John’ to this one seemed the height of arrogance, or confidence. Foster opened his smile even wider, showing Paul that he could laugh at his own lie in Lily’s face, and she’d still throw herself at him.
Trinh turned to see who Foster was smiling and winking at, and she then saw Paul, a cute guy but not quite as magnetic and drunk as Foster.
“My homeboy, Paul.”
“What?” Trinh stood inside Foster’s space, her hand touching his shoulder now.
Foster picked up the cue and put his hand on Trinh’s neck and pulled her ear right against his lips.
“My homie, Paul.”
“Cool.” Trinh tilted her head slightly so that Foster’s fingers were touching an especially sensitive part of her neck. She gently leaned her neck against his hand, tilting her head up towards Foster, exposing her throat to him.
“Damn,” Foster thought, “this one’s gonna be fun.”
“Refill,” Foster said, holding his empty drink glass out to Paul. Paul took his master’s glass and headed back to the bar for another drink while Foster still maintained his grip on Trinh’s neck.
The boom boom of the subwoofer called the dancers to action, no more talking for now. Foster brought his other arm up and over Trinh’s shoulder, both arms now making a large circle around Trinh’s head, his hands no longer touching her. Trinh made a quick step forward so that she was facing Foster, straddling his right thigh, her right knee inches below Foster’s groin.
Foster responded by lowering himself just a bit. “Work it baby, work it,” he said.
Trinh’s right thigh was now directly contacting Foster’s groin, and she massaged his groin while touching his chest, his waist, then gently touching her fingers on his thighs. She brushed her way back up to his chest, then ever so delicately put both her hands around Foster’s neck and pressed her face against the side of his face.
Foster changed attitude and leaned back, his arms both behind him now, an invitation for Trinh to continue her vertical lap dance at another level. Trinh stepped away smiling.
“You’re fresh,” laughing and what she knew Foster expected now.
“Fresh and young and well-hung,” Foster responded, full of booze and himself.
Trinh danced back away from Foster, both her arms now doing their magical circling towards the ceiling while her hips turned her body completely around.
Paul returned with Foster’s drink, and Foster leaned over to him. “Cock-a-doodle-do, this too good to be true. Damn, this Asian bitch can move.” Foster’s attempt at eubonics amused Paul. “What’s her name?” Paul asked, “Mewant Someyun Guy?”
Foster slammed the Jack Daniels straight down. Gotta get a load on. “Oh, Lotus Blossom or some Chinese plant fucking name. Oh, Jism, that’s it, she’s Jism.” Foster laughed heartily at his own joke.
“Is it Lily?” Paul asked, knowing the answer.
“Bro, this hot bitch is Jism for us tonight.”
Trinh was a little annoyed that the two guys were having a good joke and that she wasn’t in on it. She moved into their space.
“Sure, let’s see you work kaçak iddaa it.” Foster stood with his legs splayed a little more than shoulder length apart, weight back on his heels. He kept his hands behind his own butt.
Trinh danced over to Foster, then suddenly turned around and ground her tight ass directly into Foster’s groin. Foster adjusted his stance so that his cock was directly pressing into her butt crack. The thin material of her jeans enabled Trinh to know what Foster was thinking at the moment.
Foster wasn’t going anywhere. Trinh ground herself slowly into Foster’s hardening dick, hands on her thighs, in a classic hip hop bump and grind. But she wanted more. She began to straight up a little, forcing Foster to stand more erect, and when she was fully standing, she reached behind herself and rested her hands on Foster’s thighs.
Foster’s shirt was never tucked in his pants for this purpose. Trinh’s hands found his shirttails and her magical oriental hands slid beneath his shirt and pressed against his inner thighs. Trinh made circles with her index fingers, circles that slowly closed in on Foster’s penis. She made contact. Foster’s dick jumped a little when he felt those two index fingers pressing on either side of his shaft. Trinh expertly massaged his shaft through his pants this way. Anyone looking in the dance club’s mirrors would see only Trinh’s hands suspiciously behind her, but nothing more.
Foster reached around Trinh’s chest with his arms and pressed her body against his. Trinh didn’t like the public display of this man’s arms around her chest, but as he brought his arms across her chest, lightly brushing her nipples through her bra, she forgot about any audience of hungry eyes. As Foster drew his arms across Trinh’s chest, he grabbed both her upper arms in his sweaty hands, her hands still lightly massaging his dick through his pants, then raised her arms slightly up and down, giving Trinh the clue that she should continue her pants job with deeper stroking.
For Paul’s part, seeing this Asian hottie with Foster now restraining her arms seemed a good time to move in and do a little grinding of his own. Paul stepped into her space, facing her, and stepping completely between both her legs. He knew what she was doing to Foster who wouldn’t care if Paul pressed his own groin into the girl’s, as long as his own hand job didn’t stop.
Trinh looked up at Paul and smiled wickedly at him, and Paul then ground himself into her without subtlety or hesitation. Foster had this girl’s engine running, and another body wouldn’t be any problem for her. With Trinh’s hands pulled behind her, she was at Paul’s mercy.
“You feel good?” Paul asked.
“I feel hard, something hard,” Trinh answered, laughing. Good to show these guys she could stay in control by laughing even if they were fresh with her. She just used her right index finger and thumb to massage Foster’s cock, following the hardness to the tip where she then pressed her entire palm against his sensitive mushroom.
Paul reached forward and placed his hands on Trinh’s shoulders, a show of dominance, and she responded by maintaining locked eye contact with him. Paul reached down to her breasts and tweaked Trinh’s nipples through her bra, a boldness that even surprised Trinh for the dance floor. She broke free of Foster’s grasp and bolted from the sandwich, laughing heartily.
Foster looked at Paul. “Couldn’t wait, could you fuckwit?”
“She’ll be back,” Paul countered. He knew they always came back to Foster, no matter what.
Trinh danced to within a safe distance of the guys and announced that she was thirsty. “Go get a drink then,” Foster ordered, “and hurry back before we get bored with y’all.”
Paul couldn’t believe the arrogance. But Trinh took long strides toward the bar, pushed past the crowd, and ordered herself a martini. She didn’t want them to get bored without her for too long, they being such a good dance team. When her martini arrived, she drained it in one long gulp. Even the bartender was impressed by Trinh’s slugging down all that vodka.
When Trinh turned to return to the dance floor, she was horrified to see another girl with her arms flung around Foster’s neck. “See what happens when you give the fish a little slack,” she thought. She worked hard to hook this one, and now her work was in jeopardy.
Trinh put on her smilingest game face. She was determined to win back her prize, so she danced up to Paul and put her arms around his neck, teasing the collar of his shirt, then his neck with gentle scratches. Paul put his hands on her lower back, then moved his right hand down to cup her buttocks, to make sure that the perfect ass wasn’t aided by implants in her jeans. When Trinh didn’t resist his cupping, Paul rubbed his middle finger along her ass.
Trinh felt a tapping on her shoulder. It was John! He had returned. See how easy it is to get your man back. Just dance with his homie and those jealous instincts take over. Paul stopped his rubbing, remembering kaçak bahis his role as pilot fish, the sloppy seconds man.
“Lily, we just got invited to another party.”
“Oh, you gonna leave me jes’ like that?” Definitely had a buzz working after Trinh slammed that martini.
“I don’t know Paul, is Lily cool enough to tag along?”
“Probably not,” Paul answered.
“How you gonna know if you don’t take me?” Trinh offered. “I can catch a cab back if I’m not cool enough for your party.”
“Sounds reasonable. Paul, to the wheels.”
The three of them found Paul’s car, and Foster dragged Trinh into the back seat with him.
“To the party, James.”
Trinh thought it was funny. Paul was like a chauffeur, and she and Foster were like the celebrities, the coolest couple at the club.
When they arrived at the apartment, the first thing Trinh noticed was that it was dark.
“Hey, where’s the party?” she complained.
“Oh shit,” Foster said, “it must’ve broken up just before we got here. Paul, how could you have fucked up like this?”
Paul said, “Let’s go back to the club, cause that’s where the music and drinks are.”
And Foster agreed. “Yeah, let’s go. But, wait. Before we go, how about one drink here first?”
Trinh smiled. “Make mine vodka, straight.”
Both Foster and Paul “oohed” in fake awe at her drink order.
“You Chinese can hold your vodka, that’s for sure,” Foster commented.
“Okay, you Filipinas can really drinkie your saki, no problem.” Foster laughed at his own stupid words.
“I’m Vietnamese, it’s next to Thailand, you know where it is?”
“So is that bitchin’ arm thing from Thailand?” Paul asked, now walking over to the apartment stereo and switching on the six-CD player with two hours of the horniest hip hop dance numbers they could find.
Trinh felt the need to dance was immediate, wouldn’t wait for the drive back to the club. She stood, definitely with a buzz going, and enjoyed the raunchy pow-pow of the bass, much stronger stuff than at the club. Foster was sitting and enjoying Trinh’s warm-up moves, and he looked over to Paul, or more specifically, Paul’s crotch which was tenting with possibilities.
Foster held out his arms while in the chair, and Trinh danced over to him.
“I can dance sitting down,” Foster announced, lifting his hips in an obvious humping motion.
“I can dance you sitting down,” Trinh countered, showing she could be just as funny as Foster.
And then the action began. Trinh backed herself into Foster’s rising crotch, and it was then that Foster noticed the black thong peeking up from Trinh’s bent-over jeans.
“Give us a thong dance,” Foster said.
“No,” Trinh smiled, thinking of contests she had seen where girls would pull their pants half off and dance for money, or just for fun. They must be so very drunk to do that, but she knew she looked just as good, if not better in her thong.
“I gotta be pretty drunk to do that,” Trinh added.
“Coming up.” Paul handed Trinh and water glass half full of vodka. Trinh stood in front of Foster, her back to him that is, and accepted the glass from Paul. He had nice hands. She downed half of it, and the liquor warmed her insides warm.
“You know, I’ve seen some of the best thong dancers around, and I’d say you might beat ’em all, but let’s go back to the club. Your hip hop is good but I think we can find better there.”
“Oh, I can’t believe you said that,” Trinh said, laughing still to let them know she wasn’t going to be replaced that easily. “You want a thong dance, turn that music up.”
Paul went to the stereo and cranked the volume. Trinh looked at Paul and reached down to the waist of her jeans. Her long fingers popped her jeans button open and she slowly unzipped. She shimmied side to side and brought her jeans down to her knees. The black thong against the olive tan Vietnamese skin was a novelty to Foster and Paul, more accustomed to pink skinned blonde girls with implanted breasts. Foster looked up at the ceiling, smiling a “I-can’t-believe-how-much-this-bitch-wants-this” grin. Paul was fixated on Trinh’s thong still.
“You ready,” asked Trinh.
“Bring it on. Hey, that’s funny, like the movie.” Foster laughed uproariously.
“Okay, you not gonna laugh now,” Trinh warned teasingly, and backed into Foster’s crotch, rubbing her barely protected pussy against Foster. Unlike a strip club, there were no rules about where Foster’s hands could or couldn’t wander, so he reached up to Trinh’s head and pulled her hair back firmly.
“Ow. You stand up and dance because you’re being silly.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, I do the telling, right Paul.”
“Right Fos…I mean, John.”
“Who is Fos? I thought your name is John?”
“My name is John Fos, okay, Paul calls me by my last name, just like I call him ‘Dickhead’ which is his last name.”
Paul gave Foster the finger but smiled all the while.
“So I say, I’m gonna get up and we’re gonna dance, with you and your thong. Take those jeans off and let’s get busy, get busy, get busy.” Foster pumped his fists backward and thrust his hips forward with each ‘get busy.’
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