The Dancer Ch. 2

Suddenly, the owner of the club appeared on the scene, but taking care as was his usual practice when arriving on the scene of a "private", to stamp noisily, before entering the downstairs room. This afforded the man, whose fingers, up to this point, had been probing rudely deep inside of me, to remove these fingers, and replace his now, wet hand between his own clenched knees. I stood with a smile, adjusting, for the second time, my silver pink and green skirt, before sending a smile to the older man. The owner did not seem worried if he were interrupting anything we were doing there.

The fact is, that we were not supposed to be doing anything there, or anywhere in the club, for that matter. Although, as I said earlier, the club had a sort of Clinton approach to contact with customers; the "don't ask, don't tell" policy, the owner wisely insured that though it may be possible to set up a special session, with compensation to him personally, involving one or more dancers, this was not discussed, or even eluded to by him to the customers in the presence of the dancers. You see, his greatest policy the CYOA policy, or "cover your own ass" was practiced by him quite regularly, and without apology to anyone. He was as the rest of the club, hard core. And to work there for any length of time required one to be as thick-skinned.

"Ok, Eve, sweetcheeks," he said, coming over and smacking me possessively on my warm, thonged ass.

"Get on upstairs now. You're on after Kali"

Obediently, I skitted off up the stairs, to give the DJ my next song picks, and then hurried back to change my clothes. I chose a black and gold outfit, more strings and gold rings than anything. I wrapped my small waist with a long piece of gold fabric, lined with black. I tied my hair up in a high, sexy ponytail, and left little pieces to hang on either side of my face.

Kali's second song, her last for that set, was almost over, and I didn't have much time. I forgot to take all the twenties the private had made me minutes beforehand so ran out to the stage, barefoot, with money like a Christmas door wreath wrapping my right thigh. I danced to two Jackyl songs, first The Lumber Jack, bumping and grinding my hips and ass in time to the chainsaw buzzing in the song, and then ending with She Loves My Cock arching up for one of my favorite customers, who had apparently slipped into the club while I was downstairs earlier.

He would fold his tens and fives into paper airplanes, sailing them across my naked body, and landing them all around me, as I bent and kneeled, and arched, giving him special view of my untouchables. He kept saying he was going to get a private with me, everytime he came to the club. He came at least once a month, but he usually only stayed long enough to see each girl dance once, and land his famous, and envied airplanes on me, and then he would leave until the next month. At the end of my set, I winked at him, and then went back to the dressing room.

I finally got a chance to deposit my huge pile of cash in my trunk, and quickly locked it. There had to be at least three hundred plus, just in twenties, and tens, I thought to myself with a smile. I was on a roll. I primped up my curls in my sassy ponytail, added some lipliner and gloss, and bounded back out to the floor. I walked around, eyeing prospective customers, for a table dance, as Bambi did her thing to a couple of AC/DC tunes up on the stage. I sidled up to where my favorite customer, the aforementioned airplane flyer, and wrapped an arm around his brown shoulder. Leaning down, once I knew I had his attention, I said hello.

"Hi, baby." I said, as a whisper in his ear. "Want a table dance?"

He smiled, saying, "You know I do, beautiful. But not right now. I got business with my people." He motioned with his hand to those at his table, five men of various ages, all watching him, and waiting for him to say something. I was not one to pry, and so played up the dumb, beautiful dancer act, saying, "Alright then, I can see you are busy here now." Before standing up again, I looked around at his business partners, and noticed that two of them I had seen before. In fact just recently, downstairs for my private dance. It was the same shy boy and the older man who seemed to be his father, or uncle.

"Hello, again, Eve," the older man said, looking across the table at me.

"Hello," I said smiling at the man.

"Eve, here is quite a dancer." the man proclaimed to those seated at the large table.

"Believe me, I already know," my favorite customer agreed, adding "Hot, sexy little thing."

"She's even hotter up close and personal, if you know what I mean," the older man continued, with a wink at me.

"I've never had the pleasure of being up THAT close and personal," my airplane man returned, tracing a finger up between my tits.

"Oh, well, Scott and I have," the older gentleman said, turning to the shy boy to whom which he referred.

"And so how was it?" the gorgeous man, whose lap I wanted to be in as he looked up into my eyes, asked.

"Well, as far as for Scott, I don't know if he was into it really," the man said, probably embarrassing the boy to death.

"But I know one thing," the older man continued with his version of our private dance earlier, "I know somebody who WAS into it, and deep into it too." then the man shot me a knowing look and laughed.

"And who might that be?" my favorite customer asked with a sly grin at the man.

"Me, oh yeah. Deep too." They both laughed, and the boy looked about how I felt, how nice it would be if the floor of the club opened up and swallowed me right about then. I shot the older man a look of disgust at his in-depth discussion of our session together.

"So Scott," my airplane flyer asked the boy, "You didn't enjoy yourself?"

Scott didn't answer. He just looked down at his beer.

"Maybe your second time you will know more what to do, huh?" the man asked him.

"Uh-yeah, I guess, if there ever is a next time." was the boy's reply.

"Sure there will be, son," the older man assured the shy boy.

"Maybe sooner than you think," my gorgeous customer answered with a laugh, and wrapped his arm around my waist. All but the boy laughed then, as I looked around at the throng. I pretended to get the joke, the one that seemed to be so funny, but I didn't and I was kind of tired of leaning over affording the older man with his lude comments such an expansive look at my cleavage. I knew all he thought, no matter what I did, when he looked at me, is how wet I was, and how obediently I had spread myself for him just a little while ago. I didn't like that I had given into my submissive side, to the point of it affecting my job, and therefore my cash flow. That was inevitable, because once a dancer lets the customer in on her secrets, she is doomed. Turning my attentions back to my airplane man, I stuck my tongue out just close enough to make him wish I had stuck it out further, and brushed with warm air of the thrust, his full lips.

He side-glanced me with a soft smile, and said, "I will come up to the rail when you dance, beautiful. You know I only come here to see you dance for me."

He was a gorgeous man, in my opinion, not just outside, which was all brown and long dark hair, and dark chocolate eyes, but on the inside too. He would always tell me I was too beautiful to work as a dancer in a little dive club, that I should be a model or actress. I would then always tell him I wanted to go to college, and that I was a writer. We could speak like friends, as I shed my clothes for him, in public, and he would beam, almost with personal pride in what he knew everyone in the place saw, each time I danced for him. And yet it would seem we were alone, just him and me.

Secretly, I wanted so badly to dance for this man in a private, that I could taste it. Rarely, very rarely a customer would physically turn me on. I think part of it was the fact that this particular customer had known me since I was a freshman in high school. He was a senior when I arrived, so we did not have much to do with one another, and in fact, I did not even realize that he had ever even noticed me back then. I was all lanky, and flat chested. I found out, though, that particularly slow summer evening, while dancing for him, that he indeed remembered me.

"I want you to know," he said, leaning on the rail of the dance stage, as he slid dollars in my garter, "I remember you from school."

Surprised at his words, I leaned down, after adjusting the recently placed bills, and said. "You do?"

"Uh huh." he said with a smile from ear to ear. "I wanted you too, boy did I want those hips of yours gripped in my hands."

I was almost embarrassed, thinking back to the days when I would never have even imagined being that close to the beautiful boy, smoking in the parking lot of the school, his own breath a steam, mingling with all the smoke of those around him. I only trusted myself once to even approach that crew, and asked for a light. He whipped one out of his long, black trench coat, and shielding the flame from the cold winter wind, held the lighter up to the end of my Marlboro. I did my best impression of any of the famous femme fatales of the old movies, leaning into the flame, and drawing hard, before standing back up, and meeting his gaze. He smiled at me that day, and I never forgot that mouth, or those eyes.

Now, here I was, totally naked in front of him, a veteran of the strip club scene, listening to him confess to me how much he had thought of me since then.

I had to snap myself out of the past, feeling the air of the a/c on my bare ass. Snapping back into my business mind, I took the opportunity to inquire as to why he still had not requested a private dance with me.

He smiled, and said, "Well, actually I think tonight might be the night, beautiful."

"Okay," I replied, inwardly jumping at finally maybe having the chance to be oh so close to this man. "Just tell one of the guys up there." I pointed in the direction of the cooler and the owner's son, who were watching our every move at that point. "They will set it up, and then they'll let me know, and we'll do it."

He smiled at my vague verb usage and replied, with a sly grin on his gorgeous face, "Oh we'll do it, will we?" He looked me up and down slowly then, actually making me, the pinnacle of immodesty, feel self-conscious about my lack of clothing at that moment. Leaving me at a loss for words, another rarity in my experience with men, I smiled again, and winked.

"We might." was the best quip I could return, but it must have worked, for as the song ended along with my set, and I headed to the bar for a drink and was informed by the cooler that I had a private downstairs, and could take it before or after my next set. It was policy and procedure for them never to tell us (the dancers) exactly who was waiting for us downstairs for a private.

A lot of the girls bitched about this, and argued with the owner about not knowing whom they were meeting in private, but I rather liked the concept. It added to the sexual servitude which a dancer displays to the club, in presence of the customer. This, in my opinion, gave the customer an advantage over the dancer. And that was, in fact, what any paying customer was putting up their cash for; the opportunity to be made to feel in control over the girls.

As I returned from the dressing room, in my black shiny bra top, the cups sheer black, allowing my tits to peek from under the line of black fringe, as I moved, with matching thong of black wet look leather, the same type of fringe concealing my bare pussy, at least until I started to sway, I was met by a strong brown hand around my slender arm, which pulled me quickly around to face its owner. It was him, my airplane man. "Look, beautiful," he said with his trademark smile, "I want you to dance for some friends of mine."

I was crushed, after thinking I would finally get to be alone with him. But he was, after all, the customer. And I was, after all, the product whose services were being bought. But he would not have to pay me. Oh I wished that were true. I WANTED to be with him. It was not a job then. Oh this was no good. None of it. I tried to smile up at him. He was at least a head taller than I. "Alright then", I managed to say, with what I hoped, seemed like enthusiasm, or at least, indifference.

I no longer wished him to know how I felt about him. Let him open up and confess his sins to me, if he liked, I thought to my self, as I inhaled his musk. I will not allow him the opportunity to know my feelings. My eyes became dull, I knew, as I looked at him, or rather through him, as he held be up against the wall of the hallway, next to the bar. I looked down at our feet, his in weathered boots, mine, bare, as I seemed to be naked in more ways than usual that night. I didn't want him to see the disappointment in my eyes, that I would not be alone with him.

"But, I wanna watch you, sexy." He said to the top of my head.

I didn't know what to think. I guess I should be glad that at least he would be there, even if it were only to observe. But I wanted him to myself. He didn't mind sharing me, but I was feeling sort of selfish.

He squeezed my arms a little tighter for effect, I suppose. Leaning with his breath tickling my ear, he gave me goose bumps as he said, "I don't know why, but I have always thought of you as mine when I came here. And because of that, I have always wanted everyone to know that you are mine and only mine."

"Well, that certainly made sense as to why he would then want to share me," I thought somewhat angrily.

"But here, at this place, I can't just go around cutting into your profits, telling everyone that you are mine."

I thought about his words, and somehow that made sense to me. He was right about not being possessive with me. I was, after all, a dancer, a performer, and actress of sorts, paid to act out customer's fantasies, not just hang around for the once a month visit from some guy who lit my cigarette back in high school. I was being silly. I knew I loved this guy for some reason, now I knew why. He thought ahead. He thought things through. That must be why he was so quiet. But why, then would he still want to buy me for some other man, and then want to watch? I was puzzled, so looking up at him, I simply asked, "Don't you want me?"

He smiled and replied "Of course I do, and I have for a long time." Then he huffed with frustration.

"I am trying to explain to your sexy little mind," he laughed softly, "that in order for me to let other people know that you are mine, I have to show them that you will dance for them. The pride I feel in knowing that they will know that I am watching, and that you are only with them because I will it is what makes it all real for me." He let go of his harder that soft clasp on my one wrist, to cup my chin in his hand, and drag my face to meet his soft, brown eyes.

"You are so beautiful. I want to share you. I know you want me, and I want you that much too. I see how they all look at you. Don't you see it? You aren't like the other girls here. We can all watch them, and think they look good, and buy them drinks and even maybe take them home with us for a night, but none of them is like you."

"What?" is all I could say. He was making me out to be some sort of dream dancer, and I don't know that I could live up to all of that. I was actually starting to get nervous. Damn him, anyway!

"No one wants you for the night, sexy. They want you forever. To possess you, own you. Damn, darlin' I want to OWN you!!"

His voice just seemed like a flower petal, heavy with an afternoon rain, and warmed by the enlightenment of the sun's rays. I could never say "no" to this man; a fact I was not so proud of, and one that could be dangerous in this line of work. My mind was drunk with the liqueur that was his heartfelt confession to me. And so I said the only thing that came to my parted lips, as I looked into his beautiful face, aching to kiss his need for me away; "Alright. I will do it."

He smiled at my words, brighter than I had ever seen him smile. "Don't worry. I will be there the whole time. I told the cooler that I would play bouncer, and he said it was okay. I know him from way back too, and he knows I can be trusted," he assured me, and headed back into the main part of the club.

My chosen tune lilted through the speakers perched precariously upon small shelves on either side of the stage where I began my sweet routine. It was a mating dance-of-sorts. With my back facing my audience I heard them enter behind me (My airplane man, whom I figured reclined lazily in a chair off in a darkened corner of the dimly lit room, awaited my performance) He had told me he would be there in lieu of the owner's son, the regular bouncer for these events. This was fine with me. I hated the idea of being limited in my job, with things such as allowing no customers on stage, or making sure there was no actual contact with a customer.

After all, this, as I mentioned before, was where the big money was to be made in this business. So I sat on laps, yes, totally nude, and I raked fingernails slowly down the backs and chests of those who paid the extra cash to get that close. I guess, in a way, and I am sure this would be considered bad business practice with most other exotic dancers out there, I considered it a compliment that my customers would ask for some private, let's say 'quality time' with me, and were willing to fork over a pretty penny to both me and the club for the opportunity. For this, I suppose, I showed my own appreciation the way only a dancer can.

But the thought of favorite customer watching me, with anyone who wasn't him made me nervous once more, and I tried to imagine which of his "friends" he was treating to this private show.

I knew shortly thereafter who my audience was, and realized what my airplane man had meant when he had said upstairs at the table, "It may be sooner than you think."

The boy, Scott sat at a safe distance from the stage, watching with only one wide eye at its corner, as the older man, in comparison, reveled once again in all the glory of being a red-blooded male in a liberal strip club. I smiled at this older man, over my shoulder, and shot a quick look at the boy, who, embarrassed to be caught looking back, quickly pulled his own gaze immediately to the tiled floor in front of him. Swaying back and forth, I turned slowly, rolling my hips and allowing my body to follow. As I faced the two men, the dance pole between us, I reached forward with both hands and grasped the shiny brass in front of me.

I looked vainly into the darkness, hoping to see my true audience, but the lights on the stage blinded me like a deer in the path of an oncoming car. Trying to put the fear of him not actually being there, but tricking me into think he was, I turned my attention back to the dance pole. Caressing it as a lover, first with my hands, and then with my body, I slowly lowered myself down on my knees. Again holding the gaze of the older man, I straddled the giant brass phallus, and leaned back into a graceful arch until my black fringe covered crotch met with the cold metal of the pole. I caught my breath in my throat over and over as I moved slowly up and then down the pole, my thighs gripping it on either side. If my airplane man was there watching, I did not want to disappoint him.

The music intro was coming to an end, and the lyrics to Creed's Torn began as I spun around, to look directly into the eyes of the older man, He just watched me; eyes wide and all -consuming. I could see that he was already undressing me with his memory of the dance earlier. I still remained a sure two feet from where he sat as I reached behind me, with both hands, and undid the clasp on my matching black bra top. I allowed him to enjoy the scene, as my hands came together to lacing my fingers in front of me. I pushed my arms downward, urging the black straps off my shoulders.