1: Aubie
Three months ago…
I glance up at the tall hunk standing next to me and shake
my head.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says with a smile. “You’ll do fine.”
“Oh, I’m not nervous.” More like excited.
I’ve spent two days working on my routine. The biggest part
of that was selecting my outfit. I chose a charcoal gray velvet jacket, sheer black
shirt, slinky black silk pants and dance slippers. I kept my makeup to just
some eyeliner and a little shadow. I’m going for a debaucherous lord of the
manor aesthetic. I picked out my music–Parked Outside by the Afghan
Whigs–and threw it on a thumbdrive for the DJ, then loaded everything in a suit
bag.
I stand when the stage manager calls my name and head
through the short hallway to the front of house. From the moment I stroll onto
the stage and my music starts to play, I know I’m home. The mechanics of taking
off my clothes are secondary to having all those eyes watching me undress,
knowing that I’ll soon be naked in front of them. I nearly come before the
first article of clothing hits the floor.
After dancing provocatively for half a minute, I unbutton
the jacket and flash my chest under the sheer black shirt while sliding the
fingers of one hand into my mouth and sucking each one dry. When I’ve got their
attention, I start to lose clothing. Jacket first. One shoulder at a time. Once
it’s gone, I run my fingers down the front of the shirt, unbuttoning as I go. I
dance like that for a chorus with my best bedroom eyes, daring the audience to
look away.
You don’t want to miss this.
My hand slides down inside my waistband, making a show of
cupping my stiffening cock before pulling on the drawstring to untie my pants.
I bite my lip and offer a naughty grin as I let go of the string. The silky
fabric slides down my legs to pool at my feet.
I step out of them and strut over to the pole, arching my
back and tangling my hands above my head as I start to writhe my back against
it. The shirt slides off my shoulders and I let it drop to the floor, leaving
me in nothing but the sheer thong. The flimsy garment barely contains my
straining cock.
I caress myself while I dance, lost in the music.
Lost in the moment.
The sexual tension in the room is exquisite. Like a bow
string being pulled taut. The music vibrates against me and I grind my hips to
its beat, letting my mouth drop open to rim my lips with a teasing tongue. Come
taste me, my eyes say.
I can feel it. They’re hungry for me.
For me.
Let’s give them what they want. I slide my hands down my
chest to fondle my nipples, causing my cock to noticeably twitch. At this rate
I’ll be making a mess on this stage. I move my hands down to my hips then turn
away and rotate my hips, humping the air. Wishing I had a warm body to fuck
right now. I can at least make them think I do.
I slide my fingers under the thin straps of the thong and
bend over to slowly roll it down my legs, baring my hole. I look over my
shoulder to get their response.
Now this is addictive. All those eyes, all this bare flesh.
How could they possibly not want me?
I turn to face my admirers, finally free to prowl the stage
completely naked.
And prowl I do, vacillating between bold, come hither looks
and coy smiles with just enough of my inner slut to make my moves seductively
feline. I know I hit the sweet spot when people start squirming in their seats.
One man in the front row yells, “Oh honey, let me help you with that,” when I slide
my finger over the head of my cock and bring it to my nose. I take a deep whiff
before plunging the finger between my lips and moaning.
Damn, I’m turning myself on.
I’m determined not to have a soft cock or dry pussy in the
house by the time I’m finished.
The routine ends far too quickly and I make a show of
bending over to retrieve my discarded clothing before strolling confidently off
the stage. When I get backstage I’m too hard to even think about getting
dressed. I wander back to the dressing room and stretch out on the bench that runs
the length of the room between the two banks of dressing tables, hands behind
my head, my cock sticking up like a flagpole. More than anything I want someone
to touch it.
Because my set was one of the last of the night, there are
only four men left in the room. One is a willowy twink in a silk kimono who
introduces himself as Daniel. He’s a beauty, with long blond hair, smoky hazel
eyes, full lips, and razor-cut cheekbones. He smiles and leans close to me, his
hair brushing the tip of my cock. I sigh at the contact.
“I loved your routine.”
I reach out and stroke his hair. “You’re gorgeous.”
He blushes adorably. “So are you.” He looks down at me. “I
love your cock.” It jumps in response. “I could…take care of it for you, if you’d like.”
“Daryl doesn’t allow that in the dressing room,” one of the
other guys says as he shoulders his bag and heads for the exit.
Daniel smiles at me and murmurs, “There’s a storage closet
down the hall.”
I’m just about to tell him yes when a tall, exotically
beautiful dark-skinned woman in an electric blue suit enters the dressing room.
“Don’t you knock, Izzy?” one of the other men asks.
“You think you got something we all haven’t seen?” she asks
in a honeyed voice. Her eyes drop to me. “You. New guy. Daryl wants to see
you.”
I grin up at her. “How much more does he need to see?”
She rolls her eyes. “Put some pants on, stud, and go see the
boss.”
I stroke a finger down my cock, causing it to jump to
attention. “That’s going to be a little difficult right now.”
“Do whatever you have to do, but make it quick. I’ll tell
Daryl you’ll see him in ten minutes.” Her eyes drop to my cock. “Will that be
enough time to fix your problem?”
“I usually go a lot longer than that, but I can make it
work.”
She leaves the room muttering something about men and
strippers. Daniel stands up and indicates for me to follow him. He leads me to
a door down the hall, opening it and reaching inside to flip on the light.
There are the usual cleaning supplies and paper products stacked on shelves
along one wall. I follow him inside and shut the door. He smiles at me again
then drops to his knees in front of me without preamble and takes my cock in
his mouth.
Daniel is young but it’s obvious he knows his way around a dick.
I love his lips and the feel of his silky hair and baby smooth face against my
skin. As much as I’d like to prolong the encounter, I know we’re under a time
constraint. When I come, he laps up every drop before rising smoothly from his
knees and pressing his lips to mine. I kiss him deeply, exploring his eager
mouth with my tongue.
“That was amazing,” I murmur to him.
“Anytime.”
“Are you here every Sunday?”
“I’m here every night. Just waiting for my opportunity to
join the review.”
“I thought open stage night was for non-employees.”
He shrugs. “They rarely fill all the slots so they let me
perform since I’m the junior member around here.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
I kiss him again as I open the door to find Izzy waiting
outside, looking even more delectable up close. I may prefer men, but I can
appreciate beauty of any gender.
My dick twitches. Jesus, already?
She smirks. “Everything come out all right?”
Daniel makes a show of sucking on his finger and smiles as
he sails past her. “Delicious. I highly recommend him.”
“You better hope Daryl doesn’t find out you’re using his
storage closet for hookups.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t, darling,” he calls, ducking into
the dressing room.
Izzy stares at me. “Two minutes. Office at the end of the
hall.”
“I’ll be there.” I give her a wink before following Daniel
into the dressing room to throw on some clothes.
She’s waiting outside the office when I arrive, opening the
door and showing me inside. Forget every cliché you ever imagined of a strip
club manager’s office. The sophisticated theme from the rest of the club is
carried through in here. An indigo leather couch and two side chairs are
arranged atop a sculpted wool rug on one side of the room, with artful lamps
and curated artwork cozying it up. Having grown up around it, I recognize
quality when I see it. There’s money backing this venture.
A long credenza with a tray of decanters and glasses is
flush against the wall behind that, the area above it covered with flat screens
monitoring every angle of the club, including the house stage and the theater
next door.
The boss sits behind a wide teak desk talking on the phone. This
place is crawling with eye candy and he’s no exception. Thirtyish. Dark hair
swept back from a clean-shaven face. He’s comfortable in this role, but there’s
a recklessness about him that makes me wonder what he did to get here.
He indicates for me to have a seat while he concludes his
call. Izzy enters behind me and closes the door, standing against it.
“Okay, I’ll think about it, Joan. I have to go now.” He hangs
up the phone and looks at me. “Quite a performance. First time?”
“In public.”
He chuckles. “I’ll make this simple. Come work for me.”
“No thanks.”
“The review could use some new blood,” he continues,
undeterred.
“I have no interest in synchronized stripping.”
“What do you have interest in?”
I think about it for a second, then shrug. “I just like to
be naked in front of people.”
“Good. Then do that. But do it here. You have a look that
can make us both a lot of money.”
Despite his hard sell, there’s something about the man that
intrigues me. I look around at the elaborate surroundings. “You seem to be
doing okay for yourself, and I certainly am. Enough that I don’t need the
money.”
“Why not? Everyone needs money. Or at least wants it. But do
you make yours having as much fun? Besides satisfying your exhibitionist
fantasies, you could be up to your ass in pussy or cock, whichever you’re
into.”
“I already have that.”
He looks frustrated. “What do you do?”
“Well, I’ve often heard myself described as a shameless slut,
among other things.”
He gives me a look that says he’s not sure if I’m serious. “What
brought you here tonight?”
“Like I said, I just wanted to take off my clothes in front
of an audience.”
“Well, why not come here and do it on a regular basis? Try
one night a week. Say, Fridays?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I like to keep my Fridays open.”
“Okay, how about Thursdays?”
I consider it for a minute, remembering the feeling I got
when I walked out on that stage. “Thursday nights on a week-to-week basis. I
can’t commit to more than that.”
“I’ll take it. Starting tomorrow.”
“Starting next week. We can talk about more after that.”
And that’s how I start stripping for Daryl Hart.
I hope it kills my father.
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