Show Him a Sex Monster Nikita Mirzani 1

She can’t believe she’d been married to Xander for two years before she found out about his history in strip clubs. Perhaps that sounds a little too grandiose for what amounts to a handful of visits, but it feels like a secret past that she’d known nothing about, and she is, she’ll admit, a little jealous.

Maybe more than a little bit. Even though Nikita Mirzani believe him when he says he hasn’t been to one since before they started dating, it’s the secrecy that sets her off more than the idea of beautiful, almost-naked women all over him.

She is jealous and turned on and confused by the intersection of the two. Plus it’s the present she is more concerned about than the past, and the fact that she won’t be there. He’s heading off to his best friend Greg’s bachelor party, and suddenly she is turning into the stereotypical wife, suspicious of what antics these men, and more specifically, her man, might get up to.

But even more than jealousy, what lurks inside her is curiosity. So when Xander tells Nikita Mirzani that in his single days, when he’d been horny but hard up for dates, he’d spent some of his fancy Wall Street bonuses in the back rooms, the champagne rooms, of strip clubs, she start to picture what exactly had gone down in those mysterious havens of sexuality.

Immediately, Nikita Mirzani get an image in her mind: her big, strapping man sitting down against a plush leather seat, while a beautiful, petite (except for her breasts) naked girl, glistening with sweat and desire, and maybe some glitter, writhes against him.

Sometimes in her fantasies she’s bottle-blonde, sometimes brunette like her, but with shiny, glossy, gorgeous hair, sometimes a wild redhead. Nikita Mirzani can practically see her bare pussy pressing its heat against his thigh, her perfect nipples bouncing in the air while he restrains himself from taking a lick.

The more she think about it, the more turned on she is, the momentary flickers of jealousy fading into a throbbing deep inside. She is wonder if she teased him, running her finger along his cheek, or maybe his arm, or even, if she were the extra-naughty type, along his cock, knowing he couldn’t touch her.

That’s what she would do if Nikita Mirzani were in her incredibly tall, probably clear Lucite shoes. The more she think about it, the more she realize she don’t just want to see the girl shaking her moneymaker for her man; she want to be that girl in all her hedonistic glory.

Nikita Mirzani keep these visions to herself, though, because she is still not quite sure what to make of them. She chat with him nonchalantly, and smile as best she can, but as soon as Xander leaves for his boys’ weekend, Nikita Mirzani not sure what to do. Tell a friend? Get wasted? Go to a strip club full of men myself?

More than anything, she wish she were there with him, watching him, enjoying his sexy fun by proxy. Since joining him is not an option, she settle on that last option in her mind, then go into their bathroom, strip, and stare at herself in the full-length mirror.

She start to preen, then realize something is missing, and race into her closet to peruse her shoe rack, which is organized by height, from tallest to lowest, stripper shoes to kitten heels. Today definitely calls for stripper shoes, and Nikita Mirzani select the highest pair, six-inch stunners that she’ve never worn outdoors.

They were sort of a joke when she bought them, but when she slip her naked, thirty-five-year-old feet into them, she is not laughing. she is plotting.

Because more than anything, she want to know what it was like for Xander in the champagne room. She want to feel like she is a part of it, even though that’s his past. But isn’t the point of marrying someone to merge past with present with future, to become, as best as two people can, one?

No, she haven’t asked him about every previous relationship, and he hasn’t asked her, but she love the way she can be telling a story about something that happened in high school, a decade before she met him, and he’ll finish it for her like he was there.

He’ll remind her of things she’d not only forgotten she’d told him, but just plain forgotten. So it’s not the stripping so much as the being left out that she object to.

Sure, they could go to a strip club ourselves, but as much as Nikita Mirzani keep fixating on the image of a beautiful, naked woman rubbing up against all six feet, 220 pounds of him, she know the fact that she’ll surely be younger, thinner, and less jiggly in the ass and thighs than she is will haunt her, and not in a good way.

But that doesn’t mean Nikita Mirzani can’t do something about it. She reach for the shower radio and tune it to the Top 40 station, and soon she is dancing with her self in front of the full-length mirror while Britney Spears urges her on.