Hot Erotica _ Angus Clarke 

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This is my first effort at writing a story that appeals to women. Previous efforts have been what I consider women friendly, but with male protagonists; and I'd love to hear your thoughts in the forum.



Ishtar followed her Aunt into a large, dimly-lit room; salted throughout with pools of candlelight. The soft, yellow light grew more concentrated at the far end of the lofted space - the altar, she thought - and then she sighed. It saddened her, but this would have to be the last time she accompanied her unt to such an occasion; she needed to move on. Sarah would be upset, but this really had to be the last onea

‘Ishtar,’ said her Aunt, looking back at her and smiling. ‘I want you to meet someone before the ceremony starts.’ She pronounced her name as Istar.

She stepped aside to reveal a young man. He was dressed in a white robe and had a pleasing tapered shape that angled down from his broad shoulders to a narrow waist. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at the bathrobe he wore, and the serious expression on his face only made her want to laugh. She’d been brought up with Wicca ceremonies, eight throughout the wheel of the year, and whilst she dearly loved her Aunt Sarah, witchcraft had long ago lost its mystique for her; and now just reminded her of things she wanted to forget.

‘This is my first Imbolc,’ he said. And this my last.

‘This is Matthew. He’s a new member,’ added Ishtar’s Aunt. ‘You two must be about the same age, I expect. How old are you Matthew?’


‘Exactly then!’

She could feel Matthew’ eyes move across her body; lingering on the upturned swell of her breasts. She counted to three, and when his eyes failed to move, Ishtar frowned and turned away. Another one here for all the wrong reasons.

She vaguely heard him say something else, but by then she was already approaching the altar. Flowers adorned the simple wooden table, interspersed with burning candles in crystal goblets. The flame glimmered and she smelt beeswax intermingled with incense. Imbolc always brought a special melancholy for her. It was a ceremony to celebrate new beginnings, but for her it always heralded the end of a life. Imbolc was the last ceremony her mother had attended before disappearing eleven years ago. The police had been at a loss to explain it, so even now she sometimes dared hope her mother was still alive.

‘Ishtar? Ishtar! Over here, darling.’ It was her Aunt again.

She turned, and then took half a step back. A man stood next to Sarah. No youngster, this one. His stubble was greying like the muzzle of a prime wolf, and strength and experience, welded into dominance, shone from his pale blue eyes like a palpable demand for attention. His eyes, too, lingered on her breasts; barely concealed behind the gossamer-thin gown she wore. This time, rather than turning away, she felt her nipples harden as she stood rooted to the spot. His eyes lifted languidly to her face and then he smiled, revealing large white teeth. She couldn’t help but imagine those teeth biting her nipples, and she immediately felt an answering quiver between her legs that left her feeling slightly weak.

‘My name is… Connal,’ he said. She detected a British accent.

‘We haven’t seen Connal at one of our celebrations for… well… How long has it been?’ said Sarah. Her pale skin was slightly flushed, and Ishtar wondered if she was feeling something similar to her own sudden attraction for the man.

‘It must be ten years or more,’ replied Connal. As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed upon Ishtar’s face, or more specifically, her pink pouting lips. He touched one of his large k-9s with the point of his tongue.

‘Yes, you’re finally starting to show your age,’ said Ishtar’s Aunt with a playful smile, and then she continued before he could respond; ‘Isn’t Ishtar beautiful?’ She stepped closer and raised Ishtar’s arms from her wrists, spinning her around. The young woman’s lissom body arched, revealing a peach-shaped ass and firm, full breasts. Long black hair cascaded forward to pool upon those breasts like midnight water.

‘Auntie!’ said Ishtar. Before the twirl, she had seen the man’s eyes harden and glint with anger, like dagger tips in the candle light. Rather than repel her, the cruelty in those eyes sent a shiver of expectation coursing through her. She wanted to be the focus of those eyes, and she knew she would let their owner do anything to her he liked.

‘Does she remind you of anyone?’ continued Sarah.

‘Not that I can recall, except perhaps the Goddess herself…’ He stepped closer and Ishtar found herself looking at the man’s blunt chin. ‘But, should she?’

‘I thought perhaps… Did you not meet her mother?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, and I’m sure that I would remember a woman who could create such… beauty.’

Feeling like a slab of meat, Ishtar moved even closer to the man. ‘I like your necklace,’ she said, reaching up and grasping the silver talisman. ‘The Horned God.’ Under her palm she felt twin plates of hard muscle stretching across his chest.

He reached for her hand and pulled it away. She gasped at the firmness of his grip, which might well leave a bruise.

‘Yes. He can be a little too… pagan, for many. Or passé.’

‘Ishtar is well versed in…’ said Sarah.

He turned away as another man, dressed in an incongruously dark suit, approached. Sarah shook her head at his rudeness as the man whispered something in Connal’s ear.  He stepped back and bowed slightly. ‘It has been a pleasure… Ishtar,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, I will be unable to stay for the ceremony. Something has come up.’ He glanced at Sarah and then walked away.

‘Well, charmed I’m sure,’ Sarah said.

A drum began to sound, calling them to celebrate new beginnings; and filling the vaulted space with a beat much slower than the pounding of Ishtar’s heart.

A woman began the invocation, her calm voice filling the barn-like space…

The serpent will come from the hole

On the brown Day of Bride…

She moaned and rolled over, raising a hand to her head. Why didn’t she learn? She was only young, but for several years now had indulged in the wilder side of witchcraft. After all, it was a good excuse to party. She opened her eyes and recoiled.

‘Fuck,’ she said.

Matthew was snoring; lying naked next to her. He snorted and opened his eyes too, then blinked a few times and smiled stupidly. ‘Whoa. I liiike Wicca.’

‘Shut the fuck up, and then get out,’ replied Ishta.


‘You heard me. I’m having a shower. I want you gone before I get out.’

‘You fucking bitch.’

As she walked toward the on suite, she stopped and looked back at him. Slim, with a slightly sunken, hairless chest and long limbs. ‘Nice cock, though,’ she muttered and then shut the door behind her.

Stepping into the shower, she took her mind back to the evening before. Even while drunkenly fucking Matthew, Connal hadn’t been far from her mind. As the hot water caressed her, she pictured him again. What had her Aunt been thinking, parading her in front of him like that like a slaver hawking her wares? And to mention her mother… She thought about the way he’d grasped her hand, as if he’d really wanted to wrench it behind her back and strip the thin gown from her body, right there and then. The image could not have contrasted more with Mathew’s fumbling attempts at tenderness, which had somehow felt like nothing more than mere tentativeness.

Her hand slipped down and she rubbed the side of her index finger gently along the swollen groove between her thighs. She imagined herself naked, sprawled on the ground with Connal standing over her, his robe opened to reveal a jutting manhood…

The en suit door slid open and her Aunt strode in. ‘Afternoon, gorgeous. I see that nice young man has made his escape.’


‘God, you really are beautiful, Dear. Especially when you’re angry.’

‘Get the fuck out!’

‘And hung-over. Anyway, I’m going away for a few days. No-one you need to know about.’

Ishtar turned off the water, the mood thoroughly spoiled. ‘Hand me a towel, please.’

Her Aunt passed her a white towel and smiled, running her liquid blue eyes across her niece’s body. ‘Irresistible,’ she said.

Sighing, Ishtar pushed past her and walked to her dresser. Her Aunt was still beautiful herself, with translucent pale skin, and a slim figure that only served to emphasize her full breasts. One of the clear benefits of raising a niece and not a child. ‘Enjoy your dirty weekend,’ she said. She sniffed, smelling coffee, and then walked over to her bedside table and picked up a cup; it was full to the brim with the oily black liquid. She preferred it with cream and a generous spoonful of sugar, but her Aunt was a Vegan and often forgot. ‘Mmm. I do love you,’ she added.

‘I know, Ishtar.’ Her Aunt looked suddenly serious. ‘You’re all I have, my girl. If anything should happen to you, I don’t know what I’d do.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Perhaps I could cancel the trip. He’s a good laugh, but…’

‘Sarah. What are you talking about?’

Her Aunt gave her a long, searching look. ‘You’re right. I don’t know what came over me.’

Ishtar smiled and took a sip of the bitter brew.

‘Well, I’ll see you sometime next week.’ Her Aunt walked to the door and then paused. ‘But always remember how much I, and your mother, loved you.’

‘Will you just go?’ replied Ishtar, but her lips curved into a smile around the hot rim of the cup.

‘Oh, and don’t forget to look for a job. It’s time you started earning your keep!’ The door slammed shut; as did Ishtar’s smile.

She was practicing yoga in front of the television when a loud rapping came from the door. Ishtar groaned and rose to her feet. The doorbell chimed and she called out, ‘Coming!’ Better not be some religious types, she thought, or they’re gonna’ get more than they bargained for. When she opened the door, it was to find two men leaning over her. They both wore dark suits, but she instinctively knew they weren’t Mormons.

‘Ishtar Bandra?’ said one of the men. She shivered in the cold evening air and crossed her arms across her torso. She wore only a T and black lycra pants.


‘We’ve been asked to escort you to Mr. Bleddyn. He is very keen to meet you again.’

‘Who?’ said Ishtar, frowning, and unconsciously beginning to close the door. The other man stepped closer and placed his foot in the door-jamb.

‘You met him last night? Connal?’

‘Oh.’ Connal. She suddenly recognized the speaker as the man who’d interrupted her Aunt the previous night. She’d fantasized about meeting Connal again, but hadn’t thought it would actually happen, and certainly not this soon. ‘Um.’

‘We have been instructed to wait if you need to… change,’ said the other man, withdrawing his foot.

‘Right. Well, come on in I guess.’

The two men exchanged a look and then followed her in. She wandered into the main living room, unconscious of how her ass-cheeks bobbed and slid alluringly in front of them as they walked behind her.

They were both younger than Connal, and although they shared his lean, hard physique, they lacked the burning intensity that shone from his eyes. They had more the look of drug dealers than religious visionaries; hyenas rather than the lions; but dangerous all the same. She liked that these men were acting on his orders.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘To Mr. Bleddyn‘s club, The Sibilant,’ responded one of the men, as the other surveyed the room.

Ishtar loosened her hair band and shook out her luxuriant black hair with a toss of her head. ‘Sit down, I won’t be long.’ Without waiting for them to comply, she walked to her bedroom and quickly stripped to her thin cotton panties. She looked at herself in the full length mirror and then stepped out of her panties as well. She cupped her full breasts and pushed them up, so that the dark nipples peeked out like crab eyes. She had heard of the The Sibilant. It was a strip club, renowned for more than its strippers, and excitement coloured her cheeks. She knew her Aunt wouldn’t approve, but that just added to the attraction.

She walked to her built in robe and selected a short red dress and black high heeled shoes. She slipped the dress over her head and wiggled as she pulled it down. Entering the bathroom, she wet her hands and ran them through her hair before quickly brushing it. She didn’t normally wear make-up, but she decided to put red lipstick on her full lips. He had liked her lips.

Without any more preparation, she popped her cell phone and purse in a small crimson handbag and then put on the shoes. She surveyed herself in the mirror, her cool blue eyes opened wide. Her nipples stood out and there was a hint of a camel toe between her legs where the tight dress snuggled against her sex. If she was going to be surrounded by naked women, a tight red dress without bra and panties might just get a little attention…

However, it was still the tail of winter, so she grabbed a coat, and walked back out to where the men waited. They both sat there, looking at her with cold eyes for a few moments, and then they rose as one and headed for the door. Fuck, are they gay or what, she wondered. Then she dismissed the thought; lost in the anticipation of meeting Connal again.

The men escorted her to their car, a black piece of expensive European engineering, and then one of them took her coat and guided her into the rear seat.

He ducked and leaned forward so she could see his face. ‘Comfortable?’ he said. The sentiment was more caring than the tone.

‘Very.’ She noticed an identical necklace to the one Connal had worn dangling from his neck. She reached up to touch it, but he jerked back out of reach. ‘Is Connal your High Priest?’ she asked.

He only grunted in reply, but she thought she saw a flash of anger in the man’s hazel eyes before he moved away and then sat in the front passenger seat. He put her coat at his feet. They pulled away from the curb and spent the next five minutes in silence. When they turned onto the Long Island Expressway, Ishtar sighed.

‘Any chance of some music?’ she said.

The driver turned his head. ‘Sure,’ he said. He touched a pad, and the deep, fast beat of trance music blared from the speakers. He reached into his right jacket pocket and pulled out a joint. ‘Do you smoke?’


The two men shared a smile and then the lit joint was passed around the car. By the time they had entered the Midtown Tunnel, Ishtar was pleasantly spaced. She leaned back in the leather seat and grinned, letting the music wash over her. She looked up and saw that the driver had adjusted the rear-view mirror, and was now staring at her. Her dress had ridden up, so that her slightly splayed legs were exposed up to their white inner thighs.

As the man’s eyes flickered from the road to her, she slowly widened the spread of her legs until she knew the man’s view of her shaved pussy was obscured by only a fingernail of fabric. She pulled her arms close into her sides so that her tits were thrust out, and then turned her head to look out the window, as if she was unaware of his gaze. Well, this one isn’t gay, she thought. It had grown dark outside, and the street lights splashed across her vision like plumes of iridescent smoke. After a few moments, she closed her legs again and sat up.

‘How long until we get there?’ she said.

‘Soon,’ was the reply from the man in the front passenger’s seat.

‘Um. Do you guys have names?’

There was a pause, and then the driver said; ‘Not yet.’

A short time later they arrived at their destination, and she was led up stairs and through large chrome and glass doors. Her coat was checked by one of her escorts, and they walked up another set of stairs. At the top they entered a large space, filled with low booths in the centre, a long bar to her right, and a stage in the right corner. To the left of the stage were curtained off rooms, where the girls and their clients could retreat for more private entertainment.

‘Take a seat,’ said the driver. He motioned with his head toward the bar, and said to the other man; ‘Get her a drink.’ He then walked over to the curtained rooms and disappeared from sight.

‘What do you want?’

‘Um. You got a tropical 3Sum?’

The man didn’t reply, but just turned and headed for the bar. She watched his ass for a moment, and then looked around at her surroundings as she sat. It was still early, and but for a couple of older men hunched over the bar and a table of Asian men closer to the stage, she was alone. She fidgeted, and her eyes flicked to where the driver had slipped through the black curtain. Ishtar assumed Connal was behind there somewhere.

A primal beat began to play over the sound system; rhythmic, and too loud in the slowly filling room. A stream of about a dozen scantily-dressed women filed out from both sides of the stage, swinging their hips and breasts, and fanning out like a peacock’s tail. Ishtar’s nostrils flared with excitement. At first glance, she could see she would stand out up there. The women were beautiful, but there was something tired about them, as if their spirits had been left behind in the changing rooms, just waiting for it all to be over.

She didn’t see the man return until he placed her drink upon the table. Without waiting for a response, he left again. She hardly noticed; her attention so focused on the women. She had never actually been inside a strip joint before, and there was something about the place that ignited a need within her. She wanted to be fucked tonight, and if she couldn’t find a taker, there was definitely something wrong with the world.

She took a sip of the 3Sum, and then frowned at a slightly bitter aftertaste. She shrugged and took another. After a short while, her drink half-finished, she stood and walked closer to the stage, her eyes fixed on the swaying women. She felt them looking back at her with appraising eyes, and so decided to walk along beneath the edge of the stage, closer to the curtained off rooms on the other side. She took a seat at one of the tables, facing the women, and leaned back in her chair. She took a long, languid draft of her drink, peering at the strippers over the rim of the can.

One woman immediately held her attention. She stood tall in silver high heels, and seemed to look down at the audience with mild amusement. Her long, pale legs were dissected by silver garter belts, and the place where her slightly rounded inner thighs met her sex was barely obscured by the shortest of skirts. She looked down at Ishtar and smiled, before whirling away to take her place on stage.

I could do this for a living, Ishtar thought – why not?

As if responding to some silent signal, the strippers began to move to a staircase that led down to the club floor. One by one, they walked down and began to circulate among the tables. More patrons had arrived by now, but Ishtar was still the only woman in the crowd. One of the strippers remained on stage, and began to gyrate in the beginnings of her routine.

‘Are you old enough to be here, honey?’

Ishtar felt breath on her neck and turned her head, to find herself looking into eyes so blue they almost seemed to match the purple hair that framed them. The woman’s deep red lips were close enough to kiss, if she stretched forward just an inch. Ishtar smiled. ‘That depends,’ she replied, ‘on your definition of age.’

The woman returned her smile, her eyes travelling down to take in Ishtar’s body and legs. ‘Well, if the boss’ boys are buying you drinks, it must be okay I guess.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Connal growled, and the woman stepped back in surprise. She was brought up short, colliding with Connal’s hard, lean body. He stood behind her, and shifted forward to look down at Ishtar from over the stripper’s shoulder. ‘Welcome to The Sibilant,’ he said, but Ishtar couldn’t see any real welcome in his eyes. He gripped the stripper by the back of her neck and slowly pushed her head down, so that it was again close to Ishtar’s cheek. ‘This is Samantha, and she’s going to do everything she possibly can to make you feel good tonight. Aren’t you, Samantha?’

‘Yes, Connal,’ the woman replied, her eyes half-closed.

Ishtar looked past her, and saw his other hand holding the woman by one of her firm, curved hips. If they’d been naked he would have been riding her from behind, and she could tell from his eyes he knew exactly how it appeared to her. He smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes; just a cold enjoyment of power.

‘Good. You can start by giving her a private dance,’ he said; and then he gave Samantha a slight nudge, just enough so that she fell to her knees and her neck rested on Ishtar’s shoulder. ‘I’m considering her for The Mansion,’ he said, and then walked away without a backward glance.

Samantha laughed nervously and pushed herself up, using Ishtar’s chair as support. Ishtar couldn’t help but notice the fullness of her breasts - Flawless white skin; translucent as fresh paper waiting for the mark of a pen.

The Mansion?’ said Ishtar. There was a slight slur to her voice, and her limbs felt strangely loose and hard to control. Why had he left so soon, she wondered; and then; will I see him again tonight?

‘Come with me,’ replied the stripper, and then she grabbed Ishtar by one of her wrists and pulled her to her feet. The young woman giggled and overbalanced, and they collided. Their limbs folded around each other, and Ishtar found herself with both her hands resting upon Samantha’s round, firm ass-cheeks.

‘Is he always like that?’ she said, her lips level with the other woman’s ear.

‘Connal? Connal’s dangerous, girl. You’d best stay away from that one.’ The woman laughed, and then spun Ishtar around so she was facing away from the stage. ‘I think we should make you a part of the show.’ The room was nearing half-full now, and Ishtar saw that nearly every set of eyes was on them; including those of the other strippers. One of the women curled her lip, turned away and put her hand on the thigh of a skinny Asian customer. She whispered in his ear, but it took a few moments before he reluctantly moved the focus of his hungry eyes.

‘But I think he has other ideas for you.’ Before Ishtar could respond, or even full register what she’d said, the stripper led Ishtar towards one of the black-curtained alcoves.  The booze and pot had combined to make the room buzz around her, so that tables approached and then spun away like twirling dancers.  She frowned for a moment, thinking that a single drink and a few tokes on a joint shouldn’t have her feeling like this.

The curtain was whipped aside to reveal a large, red reclining chair in the centre of a room with black-painted walls. The room was dimly-lit with crimson lights. Samantha pushed Ishtar towards the chair, and then reached for the curtain to close it again. As she sat, Ishtar noticed another closed door behind the seat; hard to see, because it too was painted black.

Samantha smiled and ran her pink tongue along her upper-lip. She put her hands on her hips and leaned to one side. ‘I’ve never danced just for a woman,’ she said.

Ishtar giggled. ‘I’ve never been in a strip club before,’ she replied, and then she drew her knees up to her stomach; ‘But I’ve been fucked by a woman before. A couple of times actually… and I loved it.’ Her dark blue eyes seemed to turn black as she said this, and the other woman raised a hand to her mouth - all sense of amusement gone.

‘I hope you’re not expecting too much, girl. I’m a stripper, not a whore.’

Ishtar watched her for a few moments with her large, crystalline eyes; but didn’t say anything. She leaned back in the soft chair and put her hands behind her head.

‘Jesus, girl. You’re something, I’ll give them that.’ Samantha walked forward slowly, until she stood above Ishtar. She reached down and placed her hands upon the girl’s knees, and then straightened her legs out, so the smooth slit of her pussy was no longer staring at her as well. 

‘I just wannna get fucked tonight,’ murmured Ishtar. ‘And I think you’re beautiful.’

‘You might get more than you bargained for,’ replied Samantha, as she began to sway in time to the music, ‘but just a dance from me.’ The woman lifted her tight top, to reveal breasts caught perfectly between the heavy fullness of maturity and the tightness of youth; so that her dark red nipples pointed towards the ceiling behind Ishtar’s head. She then leaned forward, supporting her weight on the high arms of the chair, and her breasts swung low so that they dangled like ripe fruit just above Ishtar’s face.

Ishtar noticed the nipples were erect, and smiled. She arched her back and stretched her neck, and felt a taut nipple brush her cheek. She opened her mouth, questing, but the other woman pushed her back down and then lifted a leg over the chair and sat down; pinning Ishtar with her weight. She held Ishtar by the shoulders and moved her face forward, so that their noses almost touched. ‘Hmm. What am I gonna do with you, girl?’

‘Kiss me,’ was the reply. Her voice was slurred, as if she was half-asleep, and Samantha frowned.

‘You’re drunk.’

Ishtar reached down and slid her hands along the side of the other woman’s long legs, pausing when they reached the garters. ‘I feel good,’ she replied; and then she moved her mouth towards Samantha’s red lips. The other woman turned her head aside, so that Ishtar found herself kissing the soft skin along the line of her jaw. She breathed in deeply. ‘You smell good,’ she said; and then she began to run light kisses down the stripper’s neck. She could hear the woman’s breathing begin to quicken as she ran her fingernails up along the outside of her thighs, and then pushed her hands under her mini-skirt. She scratched her nails lightly across her firm, yet soft, ass-cheeks, and then curled a finger under the single strap of the G-string she found there.

The stripper moaned softly, and then moved her head so that their lips met. Ishtar closed her eyes as she felt the woman’s firm, hot tongue slide into her mouth. She met it with her own, and their tongues entwined as Samantha pushed her breasts against Ishtar’s chest. The young woman felt her nipples harden and her pussy grow moist in response. The tenderness of her nipples made the rubbing sensation almost unbearable, but at the same time she could feel something coiling inside her, like an electric wire connecting her breasts to her clit; making it swell and stir like some slow piece of primordial life.

Abruptly, Samantha’s head drew back. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said. Ishtar lay back and simply stared up at the other woman, her eyes wide. As the stripper stared into those eyes, they seemed to swirl and flicker, drawing her into soft depths that begged to be penetrated. Something within her hardened in response, and then she was kissing Ishtar again, but this time, she thrust her tongue hard and deep into the young woman’s mouth. She caught some of her long dark hair in the palm of her hand and then bunched it into a fist, jerking Ishtar’s head to the side. Biting into the side of her neck, hard enough to leave a mark, she then half-rose so that she could reach back underneath her legs and grab the hem of Ishtar’s tight red dress. Still latched onto the young woman by the neck, she began to jerk the dress up, and Ishtar eagerly lifted her hips with every motion. Ishtar then raised her arms as Samantha pulled it off her, so that she lay naked and supine beneath the other woman; the dress a crumpled heap by side of the chair.

‘Fuck me,’ Ishtar said.

Not bothering to reply, the stripper moved her attention down to Ishtar’s magnificent breasts. They seemed to glisten in the dimly lit room, like twin snow-covered mountain peaks in the light of a crimson moon. The woman held a breast in each hand, and then began to muzzle and kiss them; taking each long, erect nipple in her mouth by turn, and nibbling and biting them urgently.

Ishtar continued to moan and mumble, throwing her head from side to side. Her hands again slid down and then under the strippers short dress. She dug her fingernails into the woman’s ass-cheeks, and then clumsily yanked at the G-string. Everything had become a blur for her - a wash of lurid red light and pale skin; of pain and pleasure.

The other woman pushed herself back, so that her knees hit the floor. She kneeled like a supplicant; but the way she spread Ishtar’s legs brooked no resistance. She bit once into the soft pale flesh of Ishtar’s inner thigh, and then her tongue was thrusting into the tight channel of her cunt. Ishtar put her hands on the top of the other woman’s head, torn between the desire to thrust her hips forward toward the pleasure, and the need to push the Samantha’s head away - to stop the pain caused by such an abrupt penetration. The stripper moved the attention of her tongue away, and began to suck on the spongy length of Ishtar’s clitoris. Soft at first, she quickly began to flick her tongue out along its length in blinding strikes - Ishtar squirmed and gasped, sometimes in pleasure; sometimes close to agony - alternatively pushing and pulling at the other woman’s head; legs splayed and breasts squeezed up between her arms.

No matter what Ishtar did, Samantha resisted. The force of her desire was implacable. She seemed wild with the need to have her way. She reached up and grabbed Ishtar’s hands, yanked them down, and then butted her head forward until she was straddling her again. She undid a clasp, and threw off her mini-skirt. She pulled off the G-string, so that her shaved pussy hovered inches from Ishtar’s nose, and then moved forward. Grabbing Ishtar’s unresisting head, she thrust her hips towards her lips, and Ishtar obligingly began to lick and suck at the hot, wet flesh.

‘Oh, God,’ said Samantha, as she watched Ishtar’s long tongue lapping at her clit. ‘Harder,’ she said; and when the young woman’s renewed efforts failed to meet her expectations, she ground herself into her face. The stripper then moaned and twisted her torso. She reached around and pushed two fingers deep into her own pussy from behind.

When she turned back, it was to find Connal looking down at them from behind the chair, his lips twisted into a strange half-smile.

‘Oh,’ said Samantha, shifting backwards and removing the fingers from her wet hole.

Unaware that anything had changed, Ishtar mewed a complaint and bent forward, trying to reach the stripper’s pussy with her mouth.

‘I like it when my employees follow instructions,’ Connal replied. ‘But Ishtar has other business now, so you can go back out.’

Samantha frowned in response and looked down at Ishtar’s exquisite body. ‘I want to stay. She needs me to…’ Anything more was interrupted by the sound of the back of Connal’s hand striking the side of her face, hard enough that she was flung off the chair. Connal walked to her and bent, grasping her head between his hands. He peered deeply into her eyes and frowned. ‘Anything more to say?’

Samantha shook her head, and reached up to the side of her face, where a welt was already darkening. Tears welled in her eyes.

‘Good. Get out.’

Hissing, the stripper wobbled to her feet and then fled the room.

‘Now…’ Connal turned and looked down at Ishtar. ‘I think you should go home.’

‘But…’ Ishtar tumbled to the ground and then crawled forward until she reached Connal’s feet. She wrapped her arms around his ankles and looked up at him. Her back arched, lifting her ass-cheeks towards heaven. ‘I’ll do anything,’ she said.

‘I’m starting to get that idea,’ he replied. ‘One of my men will collect you the same time tomorrow. We’ll take you to The Mansion, for an audition.’

‘Audition?’ Ishtar’s sight kept losing focus, but nevertheless she could see the bulge of his crotch. She reached up, hoping that if she could only touch him there, then he would give her what she wanted – what she needed; but he merely stepped back so that she lost balance and fell onto her side. She curled her knees up to her chest.

She heard Connal walk away and then say to someone; ‘Take her home. Do what you like, but make sure she doesn’t bleed;’ and then everything became of whirl of disconnected moments until she passed into oblivion...