But I hadn’t finished yet. With a devious look, I continued gyrating my hips all the while cramming the wet fabric into myself. With my free hand, I reached down and slid two fingers across my labia, slowly pulling apart my puffy flesh so that my clit was revealed, that stiff nub waving freely in the air.
“Oh my,” whispered Stanley, unable to tear his gaze away. “Goodness,” he moaned again as his hand moved faster and faster on his pole, that veiny length sticking straight up at the ceiling. Oh yes, my dance was definitely having its intended effect.
Smiling sweetly, I continued my little exhibition. I spread my legs further and tilted my hips as far forward as possible so that he had a clear view of my sweetest spot. Then while blowing kisses at him, I slowly inserted more material into my hole, inch by inch, until the hot pink fabric disappeared entirely except for the long, dangling strings hanging out between my legs.
“Oh shit,” Stanley moaned, his fist now flying with fury on his pole. He stroked like a madman, his balls literally rising before my eyes, and I knew exactly what was going to get him off. With an athlete’s grace, I spun around so that my back was turned towards him and bent over at the waist, my sweetness on full display. First, I bumped my butt up and down, making my ass cheeks jiggle, giggling a bit as I heard another strangled moan.
But the finale was coming. Looking coyly over my shoulder, I met his eyes and began tugging at the strings between my legs. Slowly, my pussy began giving it up. Inch after inch of fabric reappeared, the material drenched as it re-emerged. I rolled my eyes and moaned suggestively, tossing my head so that the blonde curls flew.
That did it. With a strangled grunt, Stanley came full force, his balls high and tight as he released a stream of man juice into the air. It splattered onto some papers on his desk, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the delicious show I was putting on. He grunted and strained, his eyes fixed to my luscious curves as the sprays became hot and desperate.
After the manager finished pulling one out, I turned back to face him, smiling coyly.
“So did I get the job?” I asked in a mewling voice while cocking my hip and posing sassily. “I hope I met your expectations.”
“Baby,” he gasped. “If you want to start tonight, then you’re on, right here, right now,” he choked while struggling for air, still trying to recover from his explosive climax. “Just let me know and I’ll get the DJ to play your song.”
Oh wow, that was quick. Well, it would certainly be useful, seeing that rent was due tomorrow. Meanwhile, a titter came from the corner of the room. Monica giggled and stepped forward with a box of Kleenex.
“Another tissue, Stanley?” she asked slyly. “You splattered everywhere,” she said. It was true because there were droplets all over the floor, on the desk, and even on his computer. I hope he had a warranty on the electronics because sticky white goo was seeping into his keyboard.
But now I had a job and a way to pay the bills. The only caveat? Working at the club would turn out to be much naughtier than I expected.
3
Janie
As you can see, it’s not that I wanted to dance at the Donkey Club, it’s that I had to. If you’ve ever needed money really badly, then you know you’ll push the limits and do almost anything to get by in New York City. Of course, the Donkey’s not my first choice, but it’s work and a reliable source of cash too. The customers are generous, and there’s no tax on tips either.
But what I really love is modern dance. My heart lies with the innovative techniques that are the cornerstone of modern dance. I love the way the music carries you, and makes you feel like flying sometimes. I’d taken ballet as a child but it wasn’t a good fit. It was too boring and stilted, and every step was choreographed rigorously. Instead, I like pushing the boundaries of movement while twisting and turning my body as a free-form expression of self.
But it’s not easy being a student at the Sheffield School. For one, the competition is intense. There are forty women, all of us nineteen to twenty-two, jostling for the best parts. Just the other day, I’d gotten into a small spat with a couple of the girls.
“I hear Peter Jacobs is going to be at our next performance,” said Kelsey. “He’s looking for girls for his new Blue Muse project.”
“No way!” scoffed Tally. “Mr. Jacobs wouldn’t come here because he always goes to ABT to look for new talent. He thinks the classical girls have the best form and the most elasticity.”