poeticdesires

Alaquàs the life and musings of a kinky slut

Dancer

http://iowacomicbookclub.com/uncategorized/march-club-meeting-change-of-venue ~erotica~

Most of the girls hated the job. The grabby hands. The disgusting looks on their faces. The wayward palm right there, unable to even pretend to have any sense of decorum.

Lux didn’t care. In fact, she kind of liked that it was all out in the open, all nasty and raunchy. They were pole dancers; what did these girls expect?

Some of the girls called themselves erotic entertainers, but Lux liked calling herself a pole dancer. She even liked the double entendre when, on occasion, she did ride the pole in a man’s lap.

To the other girls, it was about making quick money. A few were in college. A large number were single Moms with babies to feed. Lux was neither. This was her chosen occupation, for the moment. Yes, she liked the money, considering she earned the most of all the girls. And she loved to dance. But it was the power she truly craved.

Maybe that’s why the other girls didn’t get her. She didn’t hate coming to work, didn’t loathe her turn on the main-stage pole, and was no more happy walking out than in.

When Lux was on stage, more than any other woman in the club’s menagerie, she commanded all the attention of everyone in the room. When she danced, Lux aimed to seduce everyone in attendance, from the cheapskate in the corner to the high roller walking towards a private room. The lucky few who got front row seats to her dances were rewarded with locked stares, licked lips, swiveled hips that timed out their heartbeats, and throbbing erections that never went down til morning.

As Lux slowly crawled across the stage, accentuating her ass in a serpentine enticement to her prey, she knew just how to pull them in, to open their wallets, and to walk home with rent paid in under two hours.

The touched, the blessed, were those who could wrangle her for a private dance. Lux was not cheap; to her, extracting as much money from her prey was liked sucking the venom from a snake, weakening him til he no longer had a weapon against her, and she broke him. Each song was $100, minimum. Her prey either balked or were shocked at such a low price.

Alone, just you and her in a room, she never let you think of anywhere else. From the moment the door clicked shut to the sadness of her exit, her prey’s eyes never left her body. What had just been out of their hand’s reach now lay against them, grinding, caressing, rolling her body up and down theirs. Her eyes, which had shimmered in the club’s lighting, now smoldered, burning through them.

And just when they couldn’t take it anymore, just when they couldn’t control the urge to touch her, to ravage her, to grasp her and never ever let her go, the song would end. She’d stand up, turn, pop her hips as she walked out, saluting them with her ass, and was gone.    


Categorised as: Erotica

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