“Sit down,” Austin tells me, and I raise one eyebrow at him. Sit down where? But I don’t need to ask him that: one of his male dancers—one of his Cobras—steps onto the stage and places a chair right in the middle, one of the spotlights aiming straight at it. I grin, anxiety eating my heart out, and walk toward the chair. I sit down and wait patiently as Austin walks toward me, my eyes never leaving the belt he has in his hands.
Letting go of one end of the belt, he lets it fall until it almost touches the floor. Then, lifting it up, he brushes it against my knee and slides it up until it meets the hem of my dress. Using it to push my dress up, he bunches the fabric up until he manages to get a glimpse of my (completely drenched) black lace thong.
Then, he goes around the chair and positions himself behind me; the end of the belt is on my knee again, but this time he slides it up over the fabric of my dress, only stopping when its leathery end is nestled right in my cleavage. I’m breathing hard now, anxious to feel the warm touch of his fingers on me and not the cold one from his belt, and as if he can read my mind, that’s exactly what he does.
He hangs the belt on the chair and, placing both his hands on my shoulders, pushes the straps of my dress down my arms. The fabric hangs limply over my tits, revealing the outer edge of my bra, and he lets go of it. He’s going for a slow boil, and I can already feel the atmosphere in the whole bar changing. What’s happening here? I can almost hear the dozens of women looking at us wondering. They’re confused and horny, and completely unable of taking their eyes off of Austin and I. They’re in a trance, and we are the pendulum drawing them into dreamland.
“What are you doing, Austin?” I ask him, my words drowned out by the loud bass coming from the speakers. Still, he hears me and leans into me, a whisper in his lips.
“Just wait and see,” he says, “I’m going to show you what Python is all about.” That makes my heart tighten up inside my chest; what is Python all about, after all? It’s not really a bar, and it’s not really a strip club. The place where dreams come true, one of the signs over the entrance reads, but what does that even mean? Sure, I like hot guys as much as the next woman, but what is all this conversation about dreams?
He walks around the chair once more and, now facing me, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me up to my feet. Then, before I can react, he grabs me by the hips and places one forearm across my lower back, forcing me to bend over; my hands go straight for the chair and I support myself there. I don’t even move as I see him reaching for the belt; I just grow wet, my juices soaking my thong and starting to drip down my thighs.
He places the tip of his fingers on the back of my knee, and slides them up until he’s touching the hemline of my dress. Then he lifts it up quickly, throwing it over my waist and baring my ass cheeks. Oh, God, I can already see where this is going.
Folding the belt again, he runs the leather over my ass cheeks and my crack, and then he takes it off of me. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, but it doesn’t come. Only when I relax my body and open my eyes to see what’s happen, do I hear the whistle of the belt cutting through the air, and then I can’t stop myself from moaning as the leather lands dryly against my bare ass cheeks. I’m grabbing the chair so harshly that my knuckles are turning white. Then, I hear that whistle in the air again and clench my ass.
“Fuck,” I moan loudly, my voice quivering and blending with the dry sound of the leather smacking my ass. Austin isn’t holding back, even though he isn’t really smacking me with all his strength, he’s not being gentle about it either. And, God, I just love it. There’s something about bringing a little bit of pain inside the bedroom, or, well, the stage. I know that not all women enjoy it, but I've always loved to roughen things up a bit. “Harder,” I tell Austin, looking back at him with a devilish grin on my lips.
“Harder it is,” he grins back at me, lifting his arm and then lowering it, the belt firmly clenched by his closed fist. I face forward and grit my teeth, a violent shiver going up my spine as I feel the pain of impact. By now, my ass should be covered in strips of burning red, and I get even wetter as I realize that every single woman inside Python would trade places with me in a heartbeat, and all just for a chance to be closer to Austin.
I cry out loud as pain stings me again, but this time he isn’t using the belt to smack me; no, he’s using his open hand. He smacks me again and again, the rhythm of it keeping up with the steady beat of the music. I’m moaning like crazy, my voice quivering as I feel my nipples screaming to be set free from my bra, my pussy desperate to get rid of the thong.