Strip Club
By smallsticker.
She strutted one foot in front of the other. The black leather platforms consumed the hints of neon as her heel drove into the stage. The red lace, weaved in, popped as it twisted to meet the black fishnet leggings. Her pale white hips hit every beat, and she took a power stance as Reznor asked to violate her.
She wore a small thong, showcasing the intricate tattoos, accented with cheap Friday the 13th-themed trash tattoos haphazardly placed. A silver belly button ring with a dagger motif was off-center. A lotus complemented by lace was tattooed in black ink on her sternum. As she danced to the song, her large, firm breasts barely moved.
Her hand gripped the glossed silver pole as she launched herself from the floor. Silver hair with black highlights fell towards the floor. A pair of big, cat-like eyes stared into my soul. She bit the bottom of her lip and into her thick black lipstick. The lyrics subliminally pushed the desire to fuck her like an animal.
The gothic queen eloquently danced with hints of raw emotion and pain. As the song closed, she bent down to pick up the money left around the stage. Two pink bow tattoos bounced under her ass as she casually walked towards the curtains.
I pulled an ice-cold beer bottle from the silver bucket in the middle of the table. I knew I had to get a dance from her. A small hand reached for my empty bottle. “How are you? Need anything?” The waitress inquired.
“The last dancer,” I replied.
The waitress smiled. “Everyone needs Macaria.” She smiled. “I’ll let her know love.”
As she walked away, excitement built in my chest. The next song started to play. Tucked away in my dark corner, I scanned the room. Topless women dancing with desperate men. Some are casually talking about life. Some drinking the alcohol patrons brought with them and seeking reprieve from balancing on stilettos.
“I heard you were looking for me.” There she was.
“Yes.” I struggled to find the words to say to a goddess.
She sat down and crossed her legs. “I’ll let this song finish. Then I am going to dance for you.”
“Would you like a drink?” I desperately started to fill the air and appease her.
She smiled and reached into the bucket, grabbing a bottle. She leaned over and pointed the top at me. I reached over and twisted the cap off.
“Thank you.” She pressed the bottle to her lips. The perspiration leaked down the glass bottle. A piece of ice clinging to the bottom of the bottle dropped into her lap. She opened her legs to let it fall to the floor.
The song ended. A DJ announced the next dancer as Cornell’s black hole sun rose into the room.
She put the bottle down and approached me. She pressed against me, and the push brought the scent of Sol de Janeiro Cheirosa ‘62 to my senses. She leaned in towards my ear and gave a light, pouty moan. Her long black nails dug into the base of my skull as she strategically scratched up my hair.
She pushed her hip up as her erect, pierced nipple grazed over my lips. She leaned back and grabbed one of my hands. She guided my hand through the pale terrain of her body to her breast. She squeezed my hand and rhythmically drove her hips into me.
As the chorus hit, she stood up and turned around. She put her hand on the small of her back as she looked back at me. Her hand glided down her ass and towards between her legs. She pulled her thong to the side revealing her small, tight pussy lips.
She leaned back against my chest as the song started to conclude. She reached behind and started to rub my crotch. She noticed that I tensed up. She pulled away and got up. She sat back down, grabbed the bottle of beer, and took a drink, staring at me. She watched as I pulled a twenty from my wallet and put it on the table.
“Did you not enjoy the dance?” She inquired.
“I did!” I nervously responded.
“Hmm.” She looked away as she took another sip.
“Why do you ask?” My heart raced. Why would she ask…
“Are you going to want another dance?”
“Of course,” I replied.
She got up and stood over me. “Spread ’em.” She ordered.
I separated my legs as she lowered herself onto one. She put an arm around me as she let the bottle hang down in her other hand.
“Most guys have a boner when I dance for them. Do you not find me sexy?”
“I do.” I quickly stated.
“Have a boner or find me sexy?” She looked at the table as she placed her beer down.
“Both.”
She stared at me. Her hand moved between my legs. She started feeling around until she located my penis. “There it is.”
Her thumb and index finger started working up and down the shaft. “Let’s make it bigger.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She stopped moving her hand. “What do you mean?” She echoed.
She pulled the waist of my jeans and peeked at my penis. She started to laugh as she let go of my jeans. She reached up, putting her other arm around my neck, and hid her face as she said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I know it’s small,” I confessed. She sat back up and looked at me.
“Is that why you tensed up when I first rubbed between your legs?”
“Yes.” There was a pause between us. She sat in wonder for a moment and then commented.
“An extra ten the next dance I’ll make fun of your dinky clit dick.” She grinned.
I nodded. The current song was ending soon. She stood up and grabbed my hand. She escorted me to a back room labeled VIP. I sat down as the waitress brought the bucket into the room. When the waitress left, she sat back in my lap.
She reached down again to search for my penis. As the palm of her hand located it, her index finger and thumb once again collapsed around my shaft. She slowly rubbed up and down. The next song started. Fiona declared she had been a bad, bad girl. It was fitting.
On an upstroke, Macaria held the small width of my penis measured by her index finger and thumb and she brought it to my face. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “How pathetic.”
“Don’t you wish you could fuck me?” She moaned.
I nodded my head in ecstasy.
She laughed. “You think I would ever fuck someone with such a tiny dick?”
Before I could reply, “you already know I wouldn’t.”
She pushed her pussy into my crotch. Her hand once again moved to the base of my skull. I couldn’t wait for her to run her nails through my hair.
She gripped my hair and pulled my head back. “Apologize for making me think I wasn’t sexy enough to turn you on. For thinking I was dancing with a man. Not a pathetic little bitch.” She grunted.
“I’m sorry.”
“Good little bitch.” She loosened her grip.
She slid her head down between my legs. She placed her lips on the small print of my penis through my jeans. She started to hum. She unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zipper down. She stood up and towered over me like a dominatrix.
With one hand, she held her hair up to let the cold air cool her off. She stepped to one side of the chair. With the other hand she pulled her panties to the side revealing her tight pussy. She squatted five to six inches above my crotch. Her abs tightened.
“Pull your tiny dick out.”
As I reach down to pull it out, she teased, “If you can reach, you can put it in.”
She pouted as my penis twitched in desperation to reach. I started to lift my hips. “Don’t cheat!” She reprimanded.
“I’ll help.” She lowered to about four to five inches above my crotch. I was so close. I could feel the warmth of her pussy taunting me. But I came up short.
The song started to end. She pulled her panties back over her.
She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Put that disgusting little excuse for a dick up.”
As she sat back up, she lightly flicked the tip.
I pulled out a twenty and a ten from my wallet and placed them on the table.
She sat down in the chair across from me. As she picked up her beer, she watched me tuck my penis away.
The End.
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