Mouse in a Cathouse

"Don't start with me, I've got my period again." Molly grunts as she rolls over in bed, her back towards me, flipping off the bedside light.

I sigh in frustration. "Dammit, you used that excuse two weeks ago. If you don't wanna do it, just--"

"Then I'm sick! I have a headache! Take your pick, just shut up and go to sleep." She cucoons herself in the blankets so that I'm left with practically nothing. All I can see is the faint, ghostly outline of her slender body, offset by her wild mop of frizzy red hair as my pupils adjust to the darkness.

"Fine, go to sleep then!" I leap out of bed and pull my jeans up sloppily, nearly toppling over one of her dozens of stuffed animals lying about the bedroom carpet, just waiting for someone to trip and kill themselves during a midnight visit to the bathroom. "Fuck!" I growl, kicking the thing into the closet door. "Clean up after yourself, woman! If you're not going to put out for your own husband, at least be a good maid!"

"Go to hell, Marshall."

"I will, I hear they have women with healthy sex drives down there." I slam the bedroom door shut before she has a chance to retort. I hear her scream something but I can't make out what it is so I ignore it. I pace around the livingroom for a while, get a soda, trying to calm my nerves. This has been going on for almost a year. Don't women have needs too? Perhaps she's been getting it elsewhere. In all honesty, most of the love between Molly and myself was long gone. I'm just too stubborn and too stupid to let go. I don't even know why I keep trying.

I finally get fed up of my four walls and decide to go out, looking like I'd just rolled out of bed. (Hey, it works for 20-something hearthrobs, why not fairly fit and still ruggedly handsome unhappily married guys?) I drive off to ...where else? A bar. I walk in and a few familiar hard-lined, half-drunken faces wave to me. I suddenly feel pathetic. Upon further inspection, I realize there are no women in here, just a bunch of old, tired farts watching the game and bitching about their families, exes and/or the government.

"Hey, Marsh. Yer usual?" The bartender leans over the bar to shake my hand.

"Yeah, man." I plop down with a defeated sigh and slump my shoulders.

"Wife still givin' ya grief?"

"Yeah." I slap a 20 on the table as he hands me my first bourbon. He takes the bill and replaces it with 16 bucks.

"Look, Marsh...not that I don't appreciate your wife giving me all this business from you or nuthin'...but if she ain't doing her..." His brows knit thoughtfully. "...*wifely* duties...and y'all ain't got no kids, why are you still hangin' around? I mean, it's been what...ten years? Shit or get off the pot. I mean, ya gotta move *up* the ladder, not just stand there in the middle'n look like some retard."

I chuckle and raise my glass to him. "I *am* some retard, Willie."

"Here's to retards!" One of the older men shouts at nothing in particular, lifting up his beer.

"You know what'll do you some good, old friend?" Willie half-turns to get a pen and scribbles something on a napkin, folding it and handing it to me with a smirk. I glance down and see an address I've seen before.

"The Benson-Jenson!?" I grab the edge of the bar with both hands and whisper harshly to him. "Jesus, man, that's a friggin' whorehouse!"

"Shhh...dude, it's a 'gentleman's club'. No sort of whoring has ever been proven in a court of law." He winks wryly.

I shake my head with a worried expression. "I....I don't know about this. I could get a host of infections and diseases from those women..."

"Or you could keep going without and end up on a clock tower with a sniper rifle one day. Besides, you Roman-Catholic or something? Wear a jimmy-hat, for fuck's sake. Hell, wear three."

"But...but I'd be unfaithful." I pout, knowing I'm losing this battle.

"And you say it's been a year? C'mon, she's gotta be shoppin' around too, no offense or nuthin'."

"Naw....you're right. A year is an awful long time. I feel like I could try out for priesthood at this point."

Willie laughs heartily, slapping my shoulder. "Hell, you could try out for Sainthood. Any other man would'a killed the bitch a long time ago." This makes me almost snort out the last sip of my drink. "Seriously, Marsh. Go home, clean yourself up and treat yourself. You'd be surprised how much better a night of unbridled no-strings-attached lust will make you feel."

"I thought you said it was a 'gentleman's club'? I toss back at him in a mocking tone, taking most of the money back.

"Aww, shut up 'n git." He throws his wash rag at me, it misses and lands on the floor. We're both laughing and the bourbon is making me nice, warm and most importantly, brave. I clutch the napkin and take my leave.

After the short trip home, I do the three S's (shit, shower 'n shave) and change into some good clothes. Something fit for going out but at the same time, easy to get in and out of. I throw some gel into my short sandy-brown hair and wear my best aftershave. By the time I'm putting my shoes on, my guts are rattling from nervousness. I've never done anything like this before and I have this weird feeling doing something this base and vile would somehow make me an evil person. I go over to my drawer in the livingroom cabinet where I have a small stash of money Molly doesn't know about hidden in one of my Sinatra CD cases. I slide it out and come to the staggering realization that Molly does indeed know about it because the cash is gone. Fuck! Stupid bitch...going through my shit. That's all it took to steady my nerves and make up my mind once and for all. I grab my coat and hat, first heading to the bank and then to Willie's damned Benson-Jenson's whorehouse/strip club/whatever the fuck he wants to call it.

__

I pull up to the address, but I nearly miss the surprisingly unassuming basement entrance to the place. From the outside, it looks like a dive, but a busy dive. People scurry up and down those paint-peeled steps and hang onto those narrow, rusted handrails almost in a steady stream. Finding parking around here sucks, it takes me almost 15 minutes. I sit there for one last moment and go over my stuff, making sure to seperate my money into several different pockets. The walk there is peaceful and the air is brisk, helping to clear my head. My nervousness has turned into excitement now and as I turn the corner, I feel almost like a little kid with the carnival in sight, wishing I could just beam there rather than having to endure the patience-straining walk.

I have to push past several large biker guys to get through the door, and then pay through the nose so the even larger biker guy inside lets me through, but once I'm in, my breath is taken from me. From the inside, this place is huge! Two bars, one on either side of the tremendous room could sit perhaps 20 people each. In the middle, a rise with a pole where a beautiful half-clad woman in white fuck-me pumps is showing off her wares to the mob of people cluttering the seats and the edge of the stage around her, wagging bills at her to get her attention. From there, the room splits off into two downward staircases, each leading to a seperate stage. I can strain to see two naked women soaking wet and making out wildly on one of the stages, and the other is obscured from sight at the moment. My first stop is for another bourbon, which I carry downstairs to watch the two women kiss. I learn that they aren't merely wet, they're greased up and it had started as a fake catfight to get all the guys' juices flowing. On the stage further down, there's a woman doing a simple strip-tease. I have a seat towards the back and watch with mounting interest.

First of all, I should state that she's gorgeous. She has a glowing, natural beauty about her that was quite alluring. She comes out in this white corset, a garter belt holding up white lace stockings and clear plastic stelletos. Her long, curly blond hair spills over her slender shoulders and dips past her waist when she tilts her head back in time with the steady techno rhythm. Her gloved fingers embrace the pole at center stage. She lifts one of her long, silky legs and in a graceful motion, wraps it around as well, sliding her inner thigh against the cold, hard brass. The tempo of the music picks up and she begins to dance. I'm watching slack-jawed and dumbfounded. She wraps her arms around herself and slowly, tantilizingly, feeling herself up. Her fingers groping and sliding from her full, suculent breasts, down her abdomen and down to where the corset ended, reaching further down to tuck her thumbs into either side of her thong straps. I feel sweat drip off my face, and she isn't even naked yet.

She falls to her knees and crawls across the stage, her cleavage pressed together, and her perfect, round ass in the air. I can see exactly where her sweet pussy is because her juices are leaking through the meager fabric of the thong. All I want is to go up there and take her from behind, to plow my cock into that leaking pussy and give her what she so obviously desires. She sits up, her knees spread. One of her hands disappears beneath her thong and she tosses her head back with pleasure, her cornsilk locks raining dramatically against her hips. My dick throbs mercilessly against my pants, screaming in abject torture. She slides the now moist gloved fingers up against her belly, unsnapping the corset with the free hand on her way up her flawless form. It comes undone and her beautiful orbs bounce out, her pink nipples rock hard. She reaches up to tweek each rigid peak, shuddering slightly from her arousal. By the time she gets up, her pussy juices have begun to leak down her thighs. I'm sitting at the edge of my seat, watching her intently, my thumb absently sliding against the aching bulge in my dress pants.

She starts playing with the thong straps again and it becomes apparent that's the next thing to go. She inches the strings downward with her thumbs. The music thumps. Her hips gyrate in sync to it and it's like the beating of my heart in my throat and the desperate throbbing of my member struggling for it's life in my pants. I suddenly feel a soft pair of lips against my ear, offering me a blow job as I watch for $200. I don't even think about it, I just nod, staring straight ahead at my unraveled beauty onstage. I feel the girl slide down my body to undo my pants, and I moan through gritted teeth as she slides out my painful erection, sizing it up with her delicate fingers. The angel onstage turns her back on us and bends all the way over, that unbelievable ass up in the air, her pussy completely shaved and soaking wet with her own passion. Her legs spread as she kicks the thong off the rest of the way, keeping that bent-over pose, reaching between her legs and letting us see those gloved digits glide in between her silky, drenched lips to tease her tense clit. The woman beneath me slides her tongue over my attention-starved prick and my whole body shudders. I feel her take it in her mouth but I can't look away. I'm content to nestle my hand in her hair and guide her efforts along. She takes my cock all the way down. My vision gets hazy and I force myself to keep watching the show. She slides her hand onto my balls to massage them and I groan and whine like I'm in heat. She comes down on my shaft again and again, her rhythm too, falling in time with the thumping bass. Her tongue glides up against the crown and her fingers jerk the base ever-so-slightly as she works me off. I grip her hair tight and let out a cry of pure delight, heedless of who hears or who knows. My moans of pleasure only seem to egg her on. She comes down on my cock with that skilled mouth and I'm getting so close so quick and all I can think about is cumming all over that gorgeous angel's perfect, round ass and watch my seed splatter all over her already soaking wet thighs.

My angel in white grips the pole again, wrapping one leg around it, sliding her body up and down again. Her frame tenses from the cold, then melts away as she wraps her other leg around it, arching her whole body backwards so that her fingertips are touching the floor behind her.

"Oh god..." I blurt out, half because of the temping position and half because of how well the girl before me is servicing my dick. She's jerking the shaft fully now, using her mouth only about halfway down and it feels fucking fantastic. My beauty slides up into a standing position and wraps her leg around the pole again, keeping the leg nearest me down so I can see what she's doing. As her hips arch upwards, her wetness smears against the pole, rubbing her rigid little clit in the process. She becomes wholly into this act, gripping onto the pole with both hands, bucking her hips up and down and sliding her sopping wet pussy against it, rubbing herself off right there in front of me. Her brows knit as she builds herself up to climax, beads of sweat shake themselves loose from her face and shoulders as she works, her legs trembling with impending release. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes shut tight, and suddenly, her pelvis quakes and trembles and I hear her scream over the crowd and the music. Thick creamy cum erupts from in between her spread legs and she keeps rubbing it all over the pole throughout her powerful orgasm. I clutch my girl's hair tight and gasp for breath as my balls rise and I curse and empty my loaded nuts deep into her throat. She moans and drinks it up eagerly, and I keep pumping more.

By the time the haze of lust begins dispursing, I realize too late that my beauty onstage had picked up her things and left. The girl between my legs licks the last of my spent seed from my cock and I glance down for the first time. I almost fall out of my chair.

"Two hundred, sir." She clears her throat, starting to get up.

"My god, you look exactly like the girl who was just onstage!" I couldn't get over it. They had to be..

"We're sisters. Twins, actually. That's why I came over, since you seemed to be enjoying Kelly's performance so much." She chuckles, wiping her mouth.

My jaw will be agape all night. "Does she do that.....cum like that, every time?"

"Every time. She's very popular. Though sometimes she uses toys, or has me use them on her." She grins mischevously, sliding a finger down my chest as she sits on my lap. She then leans over to mutter in my ear once again. "She also loves getting fucked after she cums. And I wouldn't mind having another round with that tiger in your pants. If you'd like, you can chock it up to an even 2 grand and Kelly and I will give you a...private show. I'm sure you'll find it a lot more stimulating when we're a lot closer." She purrs.

Didn't need to ask *me* twice.

Needless to say, that was the best 2 grand I'd ever spent. Kelly and Korey showed me the best time of my life. By the time I got home, it was 6 in the morning, and I had the divorce papers in front of my wife later that week. I never went back to the Benson-Jenson, mostly because after the divorce went through I couldn't afford it, but there was such a great weight lifted and for the first time since my marraige went sour, I was truely happy. A few months later, I saw Korey in a supermarket near my new apartment. We spent an awkward moment as she placed me, then we both walked away wordlessly. I never saw either of them again. Moral of the story? Don't let relationships stagnate, listen to your damn friends, and never think your money is safe from a woman who's lived with you for ten years.