Path: newshost.williams.edu!news2.near.net!noc.near.net!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!chi-news.cic.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!news.leonardo.net!n1.wdc.net!pp7.westdat.com!user From: grobert@westdat.com (TheEditor) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: AnmlAct (02/10) "Her Animal Act" Date: 5 Nov 1995 16:51:33 GMT Organization: Western Datacom Lines: 425 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: pp7.westdat.com with me?" "You're not serious, Elliott!" " About halfway!" "Don't make a scene, darling," she said, calming down at once. "Ruth, either get off your high horse or go back to the motel." She could only push Elliott so far and she knew it. Though she didn't like any of this, she decided to go along and keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. She smiled sheepishly, slipping her arm through his and saying, "I have been a little bitchy, haven't I, darling?" "That isn't exactly the way I would've phrased it, but yes, you have been somewhat bitchy ever since we crossed the bridge this noon." "I'm sorry, Elliott. It's the first time I've ever been out of the United States, and I guess it upsets me more than I'd thought." "I understand, honey. But you don't have anything to worry about. They treat tourists very well here. Their economy depends on Americans." "I know. I'm being silly." "Not silly. Just overly cautious." "Well, whatever. You lead the way, darling. I'll go with you uncomplainingly for the rest of the night. After all, you do have to do your research if you're going to write a good book, don't you?" "That's what I've been telling you, honey." "Okay," she said, gulping. "I'm ready for anything." Elliott laughed. "You can relax. We're not going to one of those special shows." "Well now, I am relieved to hear that. But don't forego it on my account. I'm willing if you really think it's necessary. I can shut my eyes or something." "Well," Elliott teased, "maybe later. If you're all that anxious to see life in the raw --" "Now, I didn't say that, Elliott." He laughed, putting his arm around her and hugging her, sensing that she was unwinding a bit, and glad of it. When she joined his laughter, he said, "Come on. Let's go in here." The emcee was doing his monologue when they entered the dimly lit night club. A bored waiter motioned them toward a front table. Elliott shook his head and pulled out a chair for Ruth at an empty table near the center. He wanted to watch the club's patrons as much as the show itself, and he couldn't do that comfortably from a front table. The vacationing Americans were his prime interest of the evening. It was their reactions and antics that he wanted to mentally record for the book he was yet to start. Ruth laughed heartily at something the emcee said. "Why, he's actually good, Elliott." "I didn't hear." "It was a little off-color but not at all vulgar like I was afraid it would be. He's quite funny." A different waiter slapped an ash tray on the table and asked what they wanted to drink. "What do you want, Ruth?" "Oh," she said, grinning as she watched the emcee make a face while he talked incessantly on, "whatever you're having, darling. Make it something Mexican, why don't you?" "Something Mexican," Elliott told the waiter. "Margaritas?" the waiter asked. "That'll be fine." The emcee was good, Elliott discovered, much too good for the strip joint they were in. He did a long monologue of very humorous and only slightly off-color material, interrupting it twice to sing a couple of American standards in his rich baritone voice. By the time he was finished with his act and introducing the first stripper, Ruth and Elliott had absently sipped all of their margaritas and the waiter had brought them two more without bothering to ask if they wanted them. Ruth picked up her second drink and licked at the salt-covered rim of the glass. "Good drink, isn't it?" Elliott asked. "Mmm ... delicious. I wonder what they put in them besides salt? Grapefruit juice, I think. That's all I can taste. There's something else ... can you tell what else?" "Nope." "Well," Ruth said, "I don't think we have to worry about getting drink on these. They're good, but sort of weak. I always thought Mexican drinks were supposed to be strong, didn't you, Elliott?" The band played softly. The pretty Mexican girl danced sensually around the small stage. Busy watching the stripper and the faces looking at her, Elliott only half-heard what Ruth was saying. Something further about the drinks, he realized. Smiling seductively, the dark-skinned girl on stage reached behind her and pulled open a zipper very slowly. Ruth quit talking and sat stiffly, staring straight at the girl, watching her tease the dress off her shoulders. One tit came into view, covered by a peekaboo lace bra cup. The girl palmed the large breast, licking sensually at her red lips. Her knuckles turning white from gripping the glass so tightly, Ruth brought the margarita to her lips and took a big swallow. Then the girl had both her tits in her hands, walking around the stage and showing them to the audience. Ruth wanted to jump up and rush out. But she didn't. She forced herself to quit squirming. She glanced at the people in the audience. She sipped her drink. "Take it off!" someone called. A chill shot through Ruth at the lewd cry. "Take it all off!" a female voice yelled laughingly. Ruth glanced back to the stage, gasping as she saw the girl's lacy bra slide down her arms and fall to the floor. Immediately the stripper kicked it away, the action causing her large globes to sway from side to side. Several men in the club groaned. "She's really got 'em, huh?" the emcee asked, unseen and out of the light. "I'll let you in on a secret, folks ... they taste better than they look!" "Prove it! Prove it!" two young soldiers at a front table demanded. The stripper moved to the soldiers, bending over them, holding her bare tits as she stooped and brought them near their faces. One soldier reached boldly for a brown-tipped tit. The girl laughed and jumped away. The audience roared with laughter as she strutted around the stage taking off another piece of her costume. Ruth elbowed Elliott. "How far does this go?" He shrugged, trying to ignore her and concentrate on the crowd's reaction to the stripper. "It's getting vulgar, Elliott." Elliott glared at Ruth. "You can leave any time you want!" "No," she said, making herself smile. "Order us another drink." "Already?" "Well, they're so weak ... and they do taste good." "Okay, honey," Elliott said, taking her hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze as he motioned the waiter to bring them more drinks. "I'll be all right." "Sure you will, Ruth." "I've never seen carrying on like this, that's all." "Does it really upset you so much?" She sighed. "Not really, I guess. But I don't like it very much." "I'm glad you don't," Elliott told her, chuckling as he patted her thigh. "Do you like it, Elliott?" "It isn't a question of whether I like it or not. It's research for my book." "She does have nice titties." "What?" "The stripper," Ruth said. "She's got nice ones ... sort of big, though." "Are you getting drunk on me, Ruth?" "Don't be silly, Elliott. On these weak margaritas?" Their fresh drinks came. Elliott watched his wife turn hers up and take a big sip from it before she started licking the salty rim. He wondered if the drinks were as weak as Ruth thought they were. He could feel a glow beginning to make itself known in his own stomach, and he could handle liquor better than Ruth. Neither of them could drink much, though, because liquor simply wasn't served often in their social circle. "How about it, folks? You want see her monkey?" The girl was down to high heels and G-string, holding her hands behind her head, making a lustful face and bumping in time to the throbbing drumbeat. She completely ignored the small amount of applause the emcee's question brought forth. "Well, do you want see her monkey or not?" The applause grew louder. Several whistles and yells pierced the smoke-filled air. "Show us your monkey, baby," the emcee coaxed. The attractive girl shook her head. But her smile was full of tease and her hands began stroking her body. "Ahh ... she's got a pretty monkey," the emcee sighed. "No monkey," the girl said, running her fingers sensually down her abdomen and over her G-string. "Castro!" "Without a cigar," the emcee laughed. "Come on, baby. Show us Castro without his cigar." "What're they talking about?" Ruth mumbled, watching and listening to everything now, finding a certain thrill in the very wickedness of it. Her conscience was somewhat dulled by the smooth but potent margaritas. The tequila drinks were having much more of an effect on her than she thought. The stripper, turning her back to the audience and looking teasingly over her shoulder, slowly removed her G-string and swung it offstage. When she faced the front, legs spread apart and wearing nothing but high- heeled shoes, her crotch was in plain sight. And there was Castro's beard, trimmed and dark and looking better on the girl than it ever had on the Cuban. Feeling her cheeks flush, Ruth looked away from the lewd sight on the stage. Elliott paid no attention to the girl. He was too busy glancing around the audience, studying the excitement in some faces and the boredom in others. The next girl was plump, almost fat, but she moved quite gracefully as she danced to the loud, brassy music coming from the band. The Mexican girl danced and stripped, her smile pasted on and artificial. When she was down to beads and G-string, she began patting her loins, and taunting the two young soldiers at the edge of the stage with, "Supper time ... supper time." The young men were drunk enough to go along with it. They called encouragement to the stripper. She moved closer to them, looking down at them as she spread her legs and ground her pelvis slowly for their benefit. One of the soldiers grabbed her ankle. "Put up or shut up, baby," he said. She laughed, smiling down at him, ignoring his hand creeping up her leg. When his fingers neared her loins, she pulled away and made a circle around the stage, taking the beads off as she danced. Her beads were made of plastic, the pop-apart type, and she quickly made four small circles from the string, moving back to the young men and giving each two of the circles. "In your mouth," she said to one of the soldiers, squatting at the edge of the stage and urging the young man to his feet. She put one of the circles of beads in his mouth and palmed her tit close to his face. "You get the idea, honey?" He grinned, nodding and taking her by the waist, holding her still as he tried to hook the small circle of beads onto her tit. "You too, honey," the stripper urged the other soldier. The plump Mexican girl made faces and sounds of delight as the two drunken soldiers rubbed their noses and eyes over her tits, pretending to try to hook the beads in place but obviously not caring a damn about the beads. The ludicrous sight brought peals of laughter from the rest of the crowd. "Let's go to another club." Ruth nodded in answer to Elliott's suggestion, getting to her feet at once and following him from the club, her eyes smarting from the thick haze of smoke that hung in the room. She was surprised to find herself walking unsurely and feeling a bit dizzy. On the sidewalk, she inhaled deeply in an effort to clear her fuzzy mind. "La Fiesta?" a taxi driver asked from the curb. Elliott shook his head, moving to Ruth and taking her hand. "You want see a special show?" the driver asked confidentially, coming to them and blocking their path. "I don't think so," Elliott said, waving him away and leading Ruth up the sidewalk. Ruth giggled. "What's funny?" "There must be a lot of those special shows." "I guess so." "Maybe you ought to write about them." "I wouldn't put you through anything like that, honey," he said. "I'd have to go see one of them before I could write about it, you know." "I know. Why don't we?" Elliott stopped in his tracks. "You're not serious, are you?" Again Ruth giggled. "You're drunk." "A little," she admitted, grinning back at him. "I guess those margaritas aren't as weak as they taste." "I'd better take you back to the motel." "I don't want to go back. I wanna stay with you. I've gotta keep you out of trouble." "Some chaperon you turned out to be." She laughed and hugged him. "Come on. Let's go to another club," he said. "Have you ever seen anything like those special shows, Elliott?" "A movie once ... a long time ago." "Aren't you curious?" "Do you want to see one of them, Ruth?" "I think maybe I do." "I don't believe it." "I'm not sure I believe it either," she said slowly. "I've never seen anything like that ... but tonight I feel a little wicked." "You're drunk." "Yes, I am. And curious ... very curious." "I guess it wouldn't hurt," Elliott said, thinking aloud. "And it might help your book." "Are you sure you wouldn't mind, honey?" "I'm not sure of anything tonight." She squeezed his hand and smiled expectantly. "This place does something to me. I feel strange ... sort of turned on." "Mmmmm ... let's go back to the motel." "I'd like that, darling," Ruth cooed. "I'll have to learn how to make margaritas so we can have them at home." "Often," she sighed. "You're trembling, Ruth." "I'm excited." "You want to see one of those shows before we go to bed?" "If you do." "It's probably the only chance we'll ever have to do anything like that." "Uh-huh." "It's wicked and sinful." "It's research for your book," she said, smiling. "Hmmm." "We're total strangers here, Elliott. No one will ever know." "I don't feel right about it." "I want to go. Just once in my life I want to see something really dirty." "I've never seen this side of you." "Me either, darling. Aren't I just awful tonight?" "It's so unlike you." "I know. Maybe I'm a voyeur ... do you think?" He laughed. "I think you're drunk, that's all." "Are you gonna take advantage of my loosened vacation morals, darling?" "The show will probably be vulgar and depraved." "I've never seen anything vulgar and depraved. I want to see that side of life just once before I die. You'll be with me. Nothing could happen to me, could it?" Chapter 3 The taxi driver had been standing by, just out of earshot, waiting patiently as they talked. When they turned and started walking toward him, he swung open the back door of his cab and grinned broadly. Ruth got in first, paying no attention to her dress as it slid well up her thighs. She scooted to the center of the seat, laying her head back and closing her eyes, sighing. Elliott got in beside her and took her hand. "This is crazy, isn't it?" she asked, her voice quavering with excitement. The taxi door slammed shut. The driver hurried around the car to get beneath the steering wheel. "No," Elliott said, "it isn't crazy. It's a little daring for decent people like us, though." "It isn't dangerous, is it, darling?" "Of course not. It's just a show, and it is research for my book. It isn't as if we were reveling in the thing itself." "I'm being silly, I guess ... but it feels dangerous." Elliott chuckled. He put his arm around her shoulder as the driver got in and started the engine. "Take us to one of those special shows, driver." "Si, senor." "Wait!" Ruth shouted, jerking up straight in the seat. "What's wrong, honey?" "I can't go, Elliott. I just can't do it." "I thought we'd already decided." " But what if I'm the only American woman there? Oh, I'd be embarrassed to death!" "I hadn't thought of that." Elliott leaned forward. "Driver, do many people like us go to these shows?" "Many, senor," the driver assured. "How big a crowd is there, usually?" "No crowd. You and your lady will be the only watchers. Very private shows. Any kind you want see." "What do you think, Ruth?" "Just the two of us?" "Yes, ma'am," the driver said, turning to look at her. "Where?" "In a room. Just you and your gentleman... and the performers of your choice, of course." "Oh that sounds altogether too intimate," she protested weakly. The driver shrugged. "You'll be at one end of the room, on a couch; the performers will be on the bed at the other end of the room." "It sounds safe enough," Elliott said. "Si. Thousands of couples like you have seen such shows. They are very popular with American couples." "It's entirely up to you, honey," Elliott said. "It still sounds awfully intimate that way." "It sounds like the best possible way to see a show like that, as far as I'm concerned. Nothing could be more private." "Very private," the driver said. Ruth sat back. "All right. Let's go." The taxi left the well-lighted main street and for about five minutes Ruth and Elliott sat holding hands in silence, watching the darkened buildings slip past them. They left the paved streets and onto dirt ones, the buildings growing smaller and shabbier and the milling tourists disappearing entirely. The area they were moving into was well off the beaten path, and Ruth and Elliott grew somewhat nervous. "Where are you taking us?" Elliott demanded. "To a private club, senor. We are almost there." "Why is it so far away from the main part of town?" "These shows are not exactly legal." "Oh my God!" Ruth gasped. "The police ... is there any danger of a raid?" The driver laughed. "No danger. The police know. They bother nothing so long as the owner pays and leaves his club where it is." Ruth put her face close to Elliott, whispering, "Remember that for your book." He nodded, patting her arm as the cab bounced to a stop in front of a building which appeared to be empty. "It looks like an old store building." Many taxis were parked along both sides of the narrow dirt street. The driver shut off his lights and engine. Darkness enveloped them instantly, but they could hear music coming from the building. Ruth and Elliott sat stiffly as the driver got out and came around the cab to open the door for them. "Come on. I take you in. I wait for you ... take you back to town when you're ready." "I'm not as brave as I thought," Ruth whispered. "You want to back out?" Elliott asked, half hoping that she would. "No. We're here. Let's go in." She laughed nervously. "I'm more curious than yellow, I guess. " "Nothing to worry about," the driver said. "He keeps saying that," Ruth mumbled, letting Elliott help her from the cab, her dress hiking up her legs nearly to her hips, giving the driver a good view of her creamy thighs. "He ought to know, honey." "I suppose," she said, standing on the dirt street, smoothing her dress. "My mind believes him ... wish my stomach would too." The driver shut the taxi door and hurried past them to knock on the heavy door to the building. Like something out of the American Twenties, a small door within the door opened and a serious male face peered out. The face recognized the taxi driver. The door swung open to admit them, the music loud as it rushed out with a gust of smoky, perfume-laden air. The driver smiled and motioned for them to enter. Elliott cleared his throat. Ruth clutched his hand, holding it tightly, walking close to him on unsure legs as they went inside. It was a bar, very dimly lit and fairly large, with tables at one end of the room and chairs along a wall. The chairs faced the long bar. Girls sat in the chairs, smoking and talking, eyeing the men, mostly American soldiers, who sat at the bar. The girls all had one thing in common -- they were pretty and young and eager. "This way, please," the driver said, motioning them to follow him to the table area. Still clutching his hand securely, Ruth moved alongside Elliott toward the tables. She felt a thousand eyes boring holes all over her body. They had to walk between the girls in the chairs and the men at the bar. The men eyed her up good, but none of them made a pass or said anything out of the way. Strangely, it was the girls who bothered Ruth. Some of them glared at her fabulous shape with envy; some of them appeared amused at her presence; but one girl in particular upset Ruth. "Hello, baby," the Mexican girl said in a throaty voice, her young eyes dancing with more than casual interest as Ruth swept past. "You want make some hot love with me?" Ruth glanced at her, feeling suddenly dizzy as she looked into the soft, smiling face. The girl couldn't have been more than eighteen, and she was as beautiful as any Hollywood starlet. The girl pursed her full lips and rubbed teasingly at her loins. Her mouth hanging open in shock, her knees threatening to buckle at any second, Ruth ripped her gaze from the hungry-eyed girl and hurried Elliott on toward the tables. The taxi driver pulled out a chair for Ruth, holding it and easing it to the table as she sat down. Somehow his mannerly act made her a bit less apprehensive, but she noticed her voice quavering as she mumbled, "Thank you." The driver stood patiently, smiling as Elliott seated himself. "I get the manager for you. You want a drink, maybe?" "I think we've had enough to drink already," Elliott said. "One more, please," Ruth said, taking Elliott's hand under the table. "I need it for my nerves." Ruth's hand was damp and trembling. Elliott gave it a reassuring squeeze and nodded to the driver. As the driver walked away, Ruth asked, "Elliott, what kind of place is this?" Watching a girl lead a grinning soldier in from the hallway at the back, he said, "Don't look now, sweetheart, but I think we're in a Mexican whorehouse. " Ruth's eyes grew wide and her breath sucked in harshly. A shudder passed through her. "In a whorehouse?" "I think so. I guess it's the logical place really, considering the type of show we came to see." "I'm scared, Elliott. We shouldn't be here." "No, we shouldn't. But since we're here, we might as well stay and see the show, don't you think?" "I don't know what to think. I'm not thinking very well tonight -- period. All I seem able to do is feel, and right now I feel threatened." "How so?" "For God's sake, Elliott ... sitting here in a whorehouse ... with