You sip your Irish coffee and wait for the show to begin. It's private--only you and the pole and the faint tick of your watch. What form will she take this time? Redhead, blonde or brunette?
She emerges from the hallway, closes the door behind her, then presses a button on the wall. She licks those red lips and smiles.
The music throbs and she runs her hand up the gleaming finish of the pole, so smooth, so hard. She swivels her hips as she begins to dance and meets your eyes, her eyelids languorous. Her stomach is flat and taut, a golden ring pierces her navel. The white fabric triangle that hides her pussy betrays a slight indentation. A shudder passes through you.
She throws her head back as she straddles the pole then rides it in tight concentric circles. Espresso hair flies free from its restraint then cascades down her back. Panther-like, she crawls toward you and kidnaps your drink. She tilts her head back to swallow a stolen sip and exposes a slender throat. A few drops trickle from her lips, but she's quick to lick them away with an agile tongue. Her mouth opens and its hot wetness invites you inside. Your cock twitches.
While one arm shields her breasts, she unties the strings to her top with the other. You feel a pang of annoyance when she turns away. You didn't pay for coy. The white triangles flutter to the floor and with a latte-colored leg, she kicks them aside. Her g-string bisects the silky skin of her ass. She bends over to grasp the pole and you see where the string connects to the apex of the last triangle she wears, the swell of her pussy barely hidden from your eyes. The blood surges to your cock and it strains for release. How much force would it take to snap the string? How many seconds before you could free yourself to ram inside her, your hands encircling that narrow waist as you pump into her from behind.
She turns and presents her tits to you in her hands, massaging the fleshy mounds, the nipples drawn into twin rosy peaks that make your mouth water. Again she turns away but this time arches back toward you. She works her outstretched hands in a tight grip down the pole. Her legs fly up to clasp it, to control her descent. She scissors her legs open and there you glimpse...heaven. You imagine those legs wrapped around you as you piston your cock in and out of her tight, velvety depths. Her breasts rebound from the force of your thrusts, her cries of ecstasy drown out your own as you fuck her beyond coherency.
Your cock erupts in your hand and she offers that knowing smile but you avoid her eyes.
"Same time next Tuesday, Mr. Robinson?"
You clean your hand and tuck your limp dick inside your pants.
"Yeah, Tuesday's good."
Lila Shaw can be found at: http://lilashaw.wordpress.com/about/
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