"Alright gentlemen!" the DJ announces to the crowd as the last dancer finishes up. "Put your hands together for an audition from none other than the super sexy...Misty!"
Misty. That's me. That's what Mike decided was my stage name. I hate it! A part of me wants to turn around and run! The other part wants to throw up.
Not that Mike would blame me. It would be perfectly understandable. But I’d be saying goodbye to the fast track that my career was now on then.
And the story would probably go to someone else. And I'd be stuck doing research for Page Eight instead of writing Page Eight like I did today. But if I do this, it advances my career and I get back at the one man who tormented me.
Besides, if Prince Derrick Blaine was a good man, he’d have nothing to be embarrassed about, right?
Yes, I can do this.
Here goes nothing...
I take a deep breath and walk up the stairs onto the stage. The stage hugs the whole back wall of the club and a catwalk juts out from the center of the stage towards the middle of the floor. There's a pole.
Bingo! That where I'll go.
There's actually applause as I walk onto the stage. The thing is, with the lights on me, I don't actually see too many men. I don't actually see anybody as I wrap my hands around the pole.
God! I've never done anything like this before! I'm a good girl! I'm the responsible one! I mean, I'm still a virgin! What am I even doing here?!
Get a grip! I tell myself to calm down as I keep twirling around the pole.
But that's when something really funny happens. Dollar bills start dropping around me and people start cheering and hollering. I can look into the faces finally, and I see desire.
Desire for me! Lust for me! Guys rubbing their crotch looking at me as I bend over and slowly take off my tank top.
I start getting into it and turn my back to the audience, holding onto the pole and trying to remember the three pole dancing classes I took a while back with Jenna. I slowly slide down, sticking my ass out and wiggling it.
The dollar bills start coming down.
I wrap my leg around the pole and run my hands down the material of my bra and over my stomach until I rest them on my ass. I turn my head back and give my ass a smack.
People are loving this and I feel so sexy.
This is exactly what I needed to feel desired and sexy again! And I'm completely sober. Endorphins are rushing through me as I start unzipping my skirt.
I wonder what Mike is thinking. But all of a sudden, I don't really care. There are men out there in the world that want me.
I turn around and face the audience again and nestle the pole against my ass, slowly peeling off my skirt.
I see the mirror up on the ceiling. Mike told me it's a one-way mirror. That's where the Prince went to after he stalked in.
All of a sudden, Derrick’ body is all I'm thinking about. I'm not dancing for the dollar bills, or the various men who revel in the lust that my body arouses.
I'm dancing for the bad boy prince.
As his bad girl.
I peel my skirt off, and I run my hands over the black thong that covers my pussy.
I barely register that the crowd is eating this up. I've probably received more money while keeping my clothes on than the last several girls did taking them off.
I sink down to my knees and begin caressing my body, reveling in the sensation.
I tell myself that the Prince is up there, watching me. And it makes me get wet.
I slip a finger underneath my thong and look up the mirror.
And then...the music stops.
My two minutes are over.
And there is no Prince.
6
Derrick
Fucking Christ!
Why can't I get the fucking girl on stage out of my head? It's like I'm fucking hypnotized by her swaying. She's got a fucking amazingly tight body and I'm staring at her as she takes off her tank top.
Fuck, where the fuck have I seen her before? She seems so fucking familiar.
She's turning around and my mind goes crazy looking at her ass. My private room's on the second floor, but I made sure it has a fucking good view of the stage. And right now I'm happy for every penny that it fucking cost because I'm looking at the stripper on stage as she's dancing and shaking her ass and my cock is twitching like it's gone fucking mental.
Marta is moaning beneath me but I'm not even aware of her existence.
All I can fucking think of is the girl on stage.
What did the DJ announce her as when she came on? Right as I started to fuck Marta?
I'm thrusting in and out, and grunting, trying to think of what her stage name was. It finally comes to me, "Misty," I groan loudly.
"Marta," the Russian blonde looks up at me and pouts. "My name is Marta."
But I'm not listening. I'm not even in the room if you’re talking mentally.
I'm watching her peel off her skirt slowly as she faces the audience. And I feel my cock begin to spasm as her skirt falls to the floor and she turns around, giving the room a view of her ass.