You’re sitting at a high-top table enjoying your drink. A lot of guys come to strip clubs alone looking for a much-needed dose of rapturous distraction. One after another the scantily clad money-whores saunter over to you. They rub your shoulders and pretend that they find you as attractive as you initially find them. “Hey sexy,” they say. But you’ve grown numb to any attempts at flirtation that will not burn a hole in your pocket in two seconds flat! You crave all of them, and yet none of them. You’re on the cusp of throwing yourself a pity party and ordering another drink when suddenly the hottest set of tits you’ve ever laid eyes on appears from across the room. Her face is gorgeous, her legs go on for days. But her boobs take center stage. They are exploding out of her glittering white tasseled bikini top and bounce with a firmness that defies gravity.
The way she walks embodies the utmost confidence. It’s me, and in this fantasy, we’ve never met. I haven’t yet rocked your cock, you’ve never cum to the sound of my flawless voice, and you’re about to be hit in the face with a ton of bricks.
You see at least 6 other men are sitting comfortably between where you’re sitting and where I’m standing. You know you must have me, but unlike every other female in the joint, you cannot just simply wait for me to meander over and ask you if you want a lap dance. You know that the first guy I slightly smirk at will gladly hand me his ATM card and passcode. The entire place is enamored by the most succulent melons your mouth could ever taste. But will it be your mouth that tastes them?
But to the disappointment of the first man in front of me, I didn’t smile or try to pitch him. He was expecting me to eagerly flirt with him and eventually ask for the opportunity to grind my ass into his crotch, but I just kept on walking. It may be a strip club, and I may be a dancer, but I’m a triple threat and my brain, beauty, and body allow me to be as discerning as I wish.
Your heart started beating dare I say ahem…(hard) when you wondered if you should make a play for me. Should you walk across the club and approach me? You were stoned still in a painstaking deliberation when suddenly my eyes looked over and met yours. Involuntarily you started to get up and come towards me. You hadn’t even realized that your body had begun to move when I was no longer in view. A large and rather wide man stood up and blocked me from your sight like clouds hiding the sun. He’s another ambitious customer and another one I don’t want. You see him sulk as I push past him and find your eyes again (they were surveying my body).
Finally, I’m upon you. You’re struggling to find the right words to greet me with when I reach down and grab your cock. Your entire body convulses with pleasure. “Babe, I want to skip the niceties and the silly lap dance and take you straight to the Champagne Room.” You’re finding it hard (quite literally) to breathe, let alone, speak. But you do summon the words after a few moments…
“One paycheck. One paycheck and I’ll grind on your cock through the tight fabric of your jeans, cradle your head between my beautiful breasts and jack your erection until you see stars.”
* I love writing stories about us, babe. But the reality is that you do not need to go anywhere near a strip club or hand over a paycheck to experience how it feels to be the chosen one.
The truth is…
I’d chose You every time.
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