Bending Bebe & Other Tales of Domination and Sexuality
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by Jay Lawrence
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: "Both arousing and entertaining!" that's how one Amazon reviewer raves over the work of Jay Lawrence. Here, in her first new book in more than two years, this bestselling mistress of erotica presents fourteen of her best-ever stories. It's a collection of fourteen very sexy tales that will raise some people's temperature and other people's eyebrows. These tales range from bondage to bisexuality, from forbidden trysts to forbidden triads. Included are "The Lady in Latex," "Rapture in Paris," "Man with a Camera," "A Maid by Firelight:" "The Omega Girl," Aural Sex," "Miss Vye," "Bending Bebe," and six unforgettable others. Discover for yourself why one reviewer wrote, Jay Lawrence's work is "Definitely recommended to anyone who likes erotic short stories."
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: November 2005
6 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [147 KB]
Reading time: 90-127 min.
CONTENTS THE PEROXIDE JOB THE LADY IN LATEX SEGUE RAPTURE In PARIS (three tales of the Left Bank) MISS VYE MAN WITH CAMERA AURAL SEX (with Harry Neptune) A MAID BY FIRELIGHT (with Harry Neptune) THE WICKED MONK OF MERZ THE OMEGA GIRL TEASING ANGELO PLAY MAS! LIBERTY HALL (with Harry Neptune) BENDING BEBE * * * * THE PEROXIDE JOB
It had been so damned easy--almost like taking candy from a baby. Lisette smiled at her reflection as she carefully applied a pungent paste to the roots of her hair. So she wasn't a real blonde--who was? At least her skin tone was light enough to get away with the dazzling platinum shade she'd selected from the little row of fake hair swatches in the drugstore. Lightest Platinum Blonde the label on the box announced. There were many different types of blonde from caramel, almost light brown, to virtually bleached-out white, with a myriad of red tones, ash tones or gold tones in between. Whatever--it was fun!
I'm going to be a stripper on Friday night. What do you know?
Laughing to herself, Lisette swathed her dye-covered head in the little plastic bag which came in the box. Blonde, blonde, peroxide blonde. No more dull mousy brown hair. Anything could happen and quite probably would. New hair, new attitude.
I'm going to be an exotic dancer at the Palomino Club.
Who would ever imagine?
It had hit her like a bolt of lightning from the blue. It had just been a normal afternoon, rather ho-hum, dealing with endless spreadsheets in the accountancy office where she worked as a humble junior assistant. She had taken her coffee break, idly flipping through the pages of a Cosmopolitan-style women's magazine, the kind that urged you to locate your G-spot and take up belly dancing. There was an article about a woman who had given up a successful position as a corporate lawyer in order to strip full-time on the LA club circuit. Her stage name was Mindi Rockets. Three hours later, Lisette was in the drugstore, examining the hair color range, with an incredible, daring plan blooming in her fertile mind.
She knew she had to reinvent herself. She would be humdrum little Lisette by day and Vicki Vavoom by night, but how to effect the Cinderella transformation? New hair color; new, dramatic cosmetic job. Fortunately, she was already in good shape but she'd need to start working out at the local health club to stay taut and smooth.
She'd only had one serious boyfriend, but that was what he'd said about her boobs. They weren't enormous--and they were certainly silicon-free--but they were firm and rather perky. Lisette lifted up her old sweatshirt and unfastened her bra, exposing her breasts to strict appraisal in the bathroom mirror.
Really nice tits.
They definitely had a life of their own, a bit of bounce to them rather than soft flop. The nipples were super-hard, pointing up from swollen, aroused areolas. Being blonde was already a turn-on.
Lisette examined the contents of her cosmetic box. It resembled a small tool box and had seemed a necessary purchase for a serious blonde striptease artist. False eyelashes winked up at her from their little plastic containers. There was lip-gloss by the gallon and heavy-duty foundation, a tub of face-powder and a soft brush to dust it on, glittery turquoise eye-shadow ... An Aladdin's cave of cosmetics fit for a drag queen, everything super-dramatic and overblown.
It was a silly name, of course, but such names usually were. Stripping was a lark, a piece of fun, a wild, raunchy cock-a-snook at stuffy authority.
I'm Vicki Vavoom--fly me!
The young woman pouted at her reflection, then slowly, lasciviously ran the tip of her tongue over her full red lips. "Scarlet Woman" was the name of the shade. Perfect. It was the reddest lip color imaginable, deeply saturated with pigment. It screamed sex like all the other items in the purple plastic box. Lisette felt almost drunk. Goodness knows what the drugstore cashier had thought, but she didn't really care. She was going to strip nude and dance at Amateurs Night at a gentlemen's club.
An alarm clock went off. Time to rinse. Lisette's heart beat fast and hard with excitement. It was all so new. Had she been asleep all her life and just received a wake-up call via Ms Mindi Rockets and an out-of-date issue of a women's magazine?
Down the drain went her old life, the mousy brown, the natural look, gurgling and rushing in a bubbling frothy swansong. Hello, Vicki Vavoom.
The change really was incredible. Once Lisette had finished styling and drying her new look, she stepped back for the final impression.
It's not me. Not me at all. I'm someone else.
Her heavy silvery-looking shoulder-length bob was neatly curled, Marilyn Monroe-style. It was amazing how different Lisette felt, as if the drastic change of hair color really had worked some mysterious form of magic. Maybe it was platinum voodoo. Smiling broadly, she began to make up her face, practicing applying the feathery false eyelashes and glitzy blue eye-color. She would be ready for Friday night. Ready, willing and able. * * * *
Lisette's heart thumped as wildly as the heavy beat of the canned music issuing from the strip club's door. At last it was Friday night. She had taken the intervening days off work, unwilling to begin blonde-hood in the dull environs of her office job. The time had been well spent and she hadn't even felt guilty about feigning the flu. No one recognized her as she shopped at a suburban mall, seeking out risque lingerie and practicing speaking in a voice that had become higher, more exaggeratedly feminine than her natural one. Lisette discovered, to her immense delight, that each time she spoke in that pseudo-innocent, little girl voice, men would almost fall over themselves to help her in stores. She noted them staring at her shining almost metallic-looking hair, then their eyes invariably dropped to appraise her breasts. This was new. Her boobs were the same as they were when her hair was mousy brown but somehow the new hair color had raised a sign that pointed south. "Busty blonde bombshell" read the sign. Lisette's new skimpy panties were frequently very moist as she balanced on her stiletto-heeled pumps, deliciously aware of the slight friction from the lacy garters that held up her sheer seamed stockings.
The music rose to a deafening crescendo as Lisette pushed open the heavy, slightly grubby door to the Palomino Club. To one side, a large dark space seemed to stretch as far as she could see into the reddish gloom, punctuated by small round tables with high stools. Ahead, a large stage divided the room, lit by flashing disco-style lights. A group of naked girls whirled and writhed in the pool of pulsing lights. Even the waitresses were topless, to the young woman's surprise. Like Lisette, they wore very high-heeled scarlet pumps, sheer black seamed stockings held up with scarlet garters and a kind of shiny black French maid's dress, micro-mini length, with a pouf of frilly white petticoats and a skintight bodice cut ultra-low to reveal the breasts. The girls moved through the crowd of men, flirting and taking orders.
Lisette's gaze returned to the "amateur" exotic dancers who twirled and gyrated on the long stage. There were white girls, black girls and Asian girls. Some had small, pert boobs. Others proudly carried the kind of tits that were obviously augmented, as big, round and tight as fleshy basketballs. A few had big soft natural breasts. Lisette's panties were drenched. She discovered, with a slight shock, that she liked looking at the other girls' naked breasts. It was turning her on.
Hurriedly, the young woman moved toward the stage. She knew she couldn't pause, that if she did so, she would never have the nerve to strip and dance. There was one free brass pole at the far side of the broad catwalk.
"Going to give it a go, are you, babe?"
A drunk guy leered at Lisette and waved his bottle of beer at her. Normally, she would have been truly offended, but she simply giggled and fluttered her Bambi eyelashes.
"I sure am!" she squeaked, breathily.
There was a pile of discarded clothing by the steps to the stage. It seemed that the form was to disrobe, then get up and dance. Most of the girls were fully naked except for shoes and maybe stockings, but some had kept their panties on. Quickly Lisette removed her raincoat and the short dress she'd selected as being easy to slip on and off. She wore nothing but a scarlet bra and panties set, garter belt, black stockings and scarlet pumps. Unwittingly, she had selected the club colors.
The drunk guy pointed at Lisette's boobs and, again, she giggled.
"Why, thank you, kind sir!"
The stage was just a few feet away. Trying not to tremble, she climbed the steps, ultra-aware of her boobs bouncing in their new red lace cradle and eased her way towards the empty brass pole.
"Hey guys--we have another new dancer for you!"
An amplified voice issued from a dark corner and Lisette squinted into the shadows beyond the throbbing beat and pulsing lights. There was a DJ somewhere. She reached the pole and clasped it as if it might save her from drowning. Beyond the confusion of hot, swaying bodies, a loud roar erupted, like a stormy tide raking a stony beach.
"What's your name, new girl? The guys seem to like you!"
An arm seemingly appeared from nowhere, thrusting a mike toward her from behind a curtain.
"Um, I'm Vicki," gasped Lisette. "Vicki Vavoom."
"Well, va-va-voom!" shouted the voice. "Show us what you got, Ms Vicki V!"
Again, there was a storm of whistling and yelling. Did she really have such a great pair of tits? Or was it the new blonde hair?
The thumping rock track faded into a sexy song by Prince. She had always liked his music, found it erotic. Genuinely aroused, she began to stroke the cool brass pole as if it was one giant phallus. The crowd went wild and she had a sense of the other girls slowing their movements, stepping aside to watch.
I'm gonna fuck this pole!
Those weren't the song lyrics but they were the words Lisette sang to herself as she moved her hips up and down, round and round, sensuously grinding against the big metal "cock". She'd only ever had one real lover and she tried to remember what it had felt like when his shaft was deep inside her, how she had reacted. She hadn't given as much as she could have. Like a wild woman, she began to thrust her pussy against the pole, aware of the amazing rhythmic bouncing of her perky tits. They were almost out of her new red bra. With one swift movement she unhooked the bra and swung it round her platinum head, like a Cherokee with a tomahawk.
"Catch this, boys!"
The bright lacy garment flew off into the crowd and there was a quick scuffle to retrieve it.