MY TWO-MINUTE TALES are intended for MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. Please enjoy and share these erotic short stories with your friends and lovers. You may post them as you like on the Internet. All I ask is that you credit Xavier Spanx and, if possible, mention this website and/or e-mail address.

She was an exotic dancer and the color of milk chocolate.

Her friends called her Cocoa.

Her lovers called her amazing.

Cocoa had a gold fetish. It was the solitary color in her never-ending wardrobe.

It was her trademark.

Fake nails of real gold tipped every finger. Bangles dangled and jangled on both wrists. The good stuff hung in countless chains around her neck. The thumb and fingers of her right hand each wore a ring that bore a letter that spelled out her name. Her left hand wore whatever wealth she fancied that morning. At this moment, she sported a clingy gold dress of wispy mesh that was nearly as low cut as it was short. Add those glittering stiletto heels and her long legs looked like they went on forever. When this tigress prowled, traffic snarled and men growled.

Cocoa went braless and commando unless she was on stage. She loved the smell and taste of eagerness that hung in the audience. Making men wait and want was one of her many tried and true aphrodisiacs.

This ebony Asian vixen defined both exotic and erotic chaos. Men stared at her baldhead and shaven eyebrows. They stared even harder during her legendary pole dance. Cocoa shaved everywhere. Lush eyelashes were the only tags on her silky luggage.

Hell, the whole world was her stage.

Every breath the girl took was a command performance.

This carnal chameleon could become anything for anyone if the money was right.

She could satisfy your every daydream, free of charge, if she desired you at the time.

"Whatever Cocoa wants, Cocoa gets."

Right now, her appetite lusted for her sweet, submissive Mom.

Mom was never a mother in real life. Her stage name was Desiree and this voluptuous matriarch was the poster child for old school burlesque with curly platinum tresses and matching muff neatly coiffed. Her heaving breasts probably twirled tassels in her sleep. Twice Cocoa’s age, this apple-bottomed diva displayed the magic that high maintenance could work on forty-four years of life lived to the fullest. You could bounce a quarter off that delectable ass. Unlike the new girls, Desiree preferred to call herself a stripper.

"The best in the business," she would add. "They come. They see. They cum."

Desiree loved the color red.

"The redder, the better!"

She never went anywhere without cherry lips and scarlet nails.

Men appreciated how she looked in red heels on black satin sheets.

Most of all, Desiree loved a blazing red bottom.

So long as it was her blazing red bottom.

Paddles were perfection.

Leather belts made that luscious noise.

Whips were wonderful.

The only cat Desiree ever owned was a cat o' nine tails.

She needed spanked. Often!

Only her requirement for air was greater.

Food and water sometimes took a back seat to her craving for that fire below.

Naked and sweating with anticipation, Cocoa's blonde-haired "lunch hour dessert" paced the spacious BDSM PLEASURES room in the cellar of THE PINK PUSSYCAT. She made little fists with her toes in the scrumptiously plush carpeting. Nicknamed "The Dungeon," this basement was anything but. The bondage and discipline arena was luxuriously appointed and the statuary and oil paintings tastefully depicted sinful amusement.

Of course, lunch hour here was a slight exaggeration. The girls were given forty-five minutes for themselves before role call and costuming for that generous afternoon crowd. Big spenders. Mostly executives. For the most part, they were well-behaved gentlemen.

None of the girls complained about the rules. The pay and tips were fantastic and sweet old Pops protected every employee without fail. Their troubles were his troubles. He kept them clean and sober or they were somebody else's troubles.

Cocoa entered the dungeon and stepped out of her mini-dress. She flicked the wall switch that lighted the DO NOT ENTER warning sign out in the hallway. Locked doors did not exist anywhere in this building for the safety of the performers.

Desiree knew the routine, faced, and spread-eagled herself at the customized wooden X-frame in the middle of the room. Her wrists and ankles begged for the embrace of those fur-lined leather restraints.

Cocoa obliged and bound her securely.

One wall featured row upon row of toys and tools of the BDSM trade and the cubbies. Each of the women here and several lifetime club members had their own cubbyhole to store favorite items of a very personal nature. The toys and tools section represented a veritable cornucopia and ran the gamut from playful pretend fun to exquisitely wicked.

Cocoa chose a small and simple wooden paddle from the extensive department store of depravity. When it was time for some good old-fashioned discipline, there was nothing better than a wood paddle to get the job done right. The warmth of natural wood was the ideal solution for any deserving backside.

The ornate clock above the door, the one used to measure private sessions with clients, said that these two dancers had exactly thirty minutes left to "dance."

Thirty minutes could feel like an eternity.

Or it could feel like thirty seconds and seem over before it began.

Cocoa knew how to make it feel like both. She wielded that paddle with meticulous accuracy and passionate enthusiasm. Xavier Spanx once taught her many spanking secrets and she used them all mercilessly. That alabaster bottom reddened so easily and Desiree gratefully accepted sufficient color to cause most grown men to burst into tears. Cocoa's hot breath whispered delicious threats and delightful promises. Never relenting once during the entire ordeal, her free hand continually caressed sweet Desiree in ways that only women understood.

Pain and pleasure.

Pleasure and pain.

Desiree writhed, moaned, and vowed to give her doting dominatrix anything.

The ebony goddess stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Cocoa returned the wood paddle to its appointed spot on the wall and went to her cubbyhole. She slipped into the Valentine Heart strap-on harness and asked Desiree what size dong she wanted today.

Desiree replied, "Jelly-ballsy six, please," without hesitation.

Cocoa loaded the crystal-clear dildo into the O-ring of the cute patent leather heart and secured the adjustable nylon straps. At this close range, it was impossible to miss the hard breathing and panting coming from that secret peephole.

Pops was watching.

Again.

This changed things.

Completely.

Cocoa fished out a pump spray bottle of Sensual Mist and drenched the jelly-ballsy with water-based lubricant.

"You won't need that," Desiree laughed. "I'm wet."

"You will thank me later," Cocoa promised.

"I want you so much," Desiree confessed. She stood on her tiptoes and thrust out her hips to offer her hyper-sexed lover the best target possible. "Please hurry! Please."

Cocoa took her own sweet time getting back. She skillfully moved the dildo around down there and purposely avoided penetrating her target. She also kept that spray bottle of Sensual Mist at the ready.

Desiree was dripping.

She was also beside herself with sexual hunger.

"Time for the grand finale," Cocoa thought to herself. "Enjoy the show, Pops."

The surprise finale was anal sex.

Cocoa ignored those initial vehement protests and maintained her steady forward advance. The castle gate offered resistance, but it was short-lived. Once inside, and after a brief respite, the invader was given the run of the place. All that Cocoa had to do was stand there and spray lubricant on the situation as needed.

Desiree went crazy.

"Finger me! Pinch me! Lick me! Bite me! Pull my hair! Do me! Do me! DO ME!"

Needs became bullets that fired from those ruby lips like a machine gun.

She was insatiable.

Unstoppable.

Someone tapped Cocoa on the shoulder and she jumped. That blonde kitten yelped like a kicked puppy. Poor Desiree got the shitty end of the dick that time. Cocoa caught her breath and apologized.

"My turn," sweet old Pops pulled rank and unzipped his fly. That was not all that sweet Mister Fifty-something was pulling here. Even if you missed the raw lust in the big guy's blue eyes, it was getting harder and harder to ignore his growing task in hand.

Cocoa rolled her eyes and delicately withdrew.

"Nice cock, Honey," she buttered up her supervisor.

Pops gave her the once over.

"You too, Honey," he returned the compliment.

Cocoa giggled and kissed him on the cheek.

The proprietor of THE PINK PUSSYCAT turned his undivided attention to the defenseless employee spread-eagled before him. One finger explored her wetness. A second finger joined in and they played down there for a short time. They both played well with others.

Desiree moaned softly and her knees got weak.

"Now this is what I am talking about," he boasted. "The perks in this business are great."

Pops was incredibly gentle for an ex-boxer. He trailed lovingly soft kisses across her back and tenderly massaged her breasts with his "big guns."

"Pinch them hard," she pleaded. "PINCH THEM!"

"Me Tarzan. You Jane," Pops teased. "Right now, we do things my way."

Her real name actually was Jane. Only her husband ever dared to call her that.

Pops took his wife right then and there. Lightning struck in the same place over and over again. Desiree did not know if she was coming or going.

Well, maybe she did.

Wasn't love wonderful?

Cocoa gave his butt a little pinch and left those lovebirds to their own devices.