Susan's inner stripper

I had to think. My plan had been to get her home, where I was all set up, but she had caved fasted than I'd given her credit for. All this time I thought she could be quite cold about sex, but the rapidity of her change proved otherwise. I looked around and noticed a tall-stemmed lamp stand in the corner. Weak, awkward, but it would have to do. I brought it to the center of the bedroom.

"Work it, baby," I told her.

Her jaw dropped. She understood. All through our marriage she had raged jealously against my showing even a passing interest in strip clubs, and trying to tease her about it even a little had only made things worse. She was adamant that strippers and whores were interchangeable, so what I was asking came as a particular slap to her prejudices.

"We're not husband and wife," I spelled it out for her. "You are a married woman impulsively luring a man into sex. Okay, then -- lure. And be good at it, get into it."

I slipped out my iPod and loudly played Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine." It had become a sort of personal anthem, in honor of my Maxulin black market. Susan's face was full of dread, even definat resentment -- but I give her credit, she got straight to work. In fact, she transformed right before my eyes. I had to whistle. All this time she had been repressing herself, and now at last -- when we were divorced and she was remarried, but better late than never -- she was shakin' it, groovin' to it, really getting into it.

"Strip, stripper," I advised.

Susan grinned gloriously. It was as if this getaway was finally liberating some secret side of her I had only hoped for. She eagerly whipped her top off and hugged and juggled her full breasts in ways I had only fantasized about. Then she playfully slithered her rocking ass and long legs out of her bikini bottom and even twirled it around on her finger before flinging it aside.

As she stripped, it seemed only fair for me to kick off my shoes and then to take off my shirt. Once she was naked, I stopped the Bon Jovi.

"Now crawl over here and suck it."

Again she froze and looked startled. She enjoyed the feel of sex, all right, but she had felt icky and even contemptuous about ever having to actually play with my cock. Her good looks and her availability as my wife had allowed me to forgive her unwillingness to blow me, but that was then and this was now.

This was against her entire personality -- and yet she immediately crawled over to me and, when she saw me standing impassively, sternly glaring down at her, she got the idea and quickly began to unbuckle and unzip me.

I felt a certain triumph as her eyes bulged in a kind of shocked horror at just how much the Maxulin system had done for me. She gasped, and I could tell that this woman who had always sneered that she was not a "fan" of the penis was instantly learning a far more reverent attitude.