Elena Persad wanted to strip. And when she was by herself, watching herself in the mirror, she would. She always complained to her friends that she wished she could fully let loose on the dance floor when they went out clubbing, but they never understood what she meant. To them, she was already liquid sex in heels, moving men’s heads with her hips.
Thing is, she was smart, in law school, with parents who would bail her out if needed, and a great man who fucked her right. Why then, did she not stop fantasizing about taking her clothes off for a room full of men?
She asked herself this on a regular basis, but never really came up with an answer. She was busy. She didn’t have time for such insanity.
So, she winded to dancehall in front of her full-length mirror in nothing but a sparkly blue thong, 4-inch heels that she had originally purchased for salsa classes and some red, tassled pasties that she ordered online. She squatted and rose up again. Spread her legs and peeled her thong down slowly for her own reflection.
Am I just a product of the porn culture I inhabit, she wondered?
It didn’t matter. The fantasies persisted. And they made her wet. After stripping down to only her heels, she would fall onto her bed, legs spread, and pretend that her boss was ordering her to make herself cum on stage, for the audience.
She thought about incorporating this long-lived wet dream into her sex life with her man, but something always stopped her cold. He wouldn’t get it, she felt. But maybe he would, and maybe she was being ridiculous, and maybe it would be really hot, and maybe she was just blocking all that potential hotness out of fear.
She sometimes felt like she was cheating on him because she would scour the personals on Craigslist and apply for jobs as an erotic dancer, just for kicks. She even spoke to one such potential employer on the phone once. But every time it came time to actually go in person for an interview, she would chicken out.
He would leave me, she thought.
It’s just that there was something about a sea of watching eyes. There was something about a collective hardening that was all her doing. There was something about only being appreciated for her body and not her mind.
Am I setting feminism back, she wondered? But then she thought, no, that is so second wave. Suppressing my body’s desire is anti-feminist. So she continued to waver between thought and action.
One day in June, her man left town for a month for work. They had really hot sex before he left. He knew how to control her; he pinned her to the wall and took what he wanted.
She loved him. But while he was taking from (and giving to) her, she imagined he was her boss at the strip club, fucking her after her shift was over, because it was his right. Because she needed the job and he knew he could take advantage. She knew not all strip club owners could be so sketchy, but she kept imagining all the same.
Two days after he left, she got online again. Scoured the job postings – never a shortage of jobs for women willing to take off their clothes. She was tired of the emails, and awkward phone calls, and of her own cold feet.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She put on a plain black thong, no bra. She put on a tight red tank top that flattered her brown skin and small breasts, and short jean cut-offs that ended just below her ass. Flip-flops. Her wavy black shoulder-length hair was pinned to one side. She took down an address and went for a long walk toward downtown.
The place was called Tight Poon, which she realized was a bit ridiculous. Pink lights illuminated a photograph of a naked woman – blonde, white, squatting with her legs spread eagle to reveal her bald, swollen-looking pussy.
They get points for being straightforward, she thought. Her heart was drumming. She had only been inside a strip club once before. A friend’s birthday a decade earlier. She had found it overwhelming, offensive, arousing. She opened the door and went inside.
It was 5pm, and the place was dim and cool in spite of the bright heat outside. She was looking for Jack. A very young, very thin, tired-looking blonde behind the bar poured a drink for a business-looking man.
Her shirt was a pair of black suspenders that covered her nipples. Her eyes were done up with thick black liner, and her skirt was a strip of black pleather that just covered her tiny ass. Her hair was pinned up and her shoes were transparent platforms. Elena smiled at her as she walked in, and the girl smirked back.
The place was large, and there were maybe a dozen or so men spread out in different corners. Two of them talking by the speaker, three of them sitting close to the stage, awaiting the next dancer. The place was 24 hours. Music blared from the speakers—dancehall.
“Is Jack here?” Elena shouted over the pulsing beat.
“Yeah, he’s in the back!” she pointed to a blue door on the far side of the stage. Elena thanked her and strutted slowly across the room to the door. She could feel all eyes in the room follow her as she moved. Her shorts were riding up her ass, and she let them.
She knocked lightly on the door, and it opened promptly.
“Elena, right?” Jack stuck his head out and beckoned her. “Come on in.” She followed, and the door closed. On the other side of the door she could hear the small crowd applauding a new dancer.
“Hi,” she said. Jack was in his mid-forties. White, tall, athletic, in a clean, white button-up shirt, ripped jeans, and sneakers. He had extraordinarily thick brown hair, swept to the side, and intelligent, laughing eyes. She had expected someone older and grosser. She hadn’t been prepared for someone relatively attractive.
“Welcome,” smiled Jack, eyeing her up and down. He took a seat. Elena sat across from him, crossing her legs.
“So,” he said. “Have you ever done this before, Elena?”
“No,” she said. “I’m really not sure why, but I’ve always wanted to. And I can’t stop thinking about it. So I thought I’d give it a try and see how it goes.”
“I see,” he said. “Ok, well, this is a simple business. You’ve either got it, or you don’t. Why don’t we skip the small talk, and see what you’ve got?”
“OK.”
“Great. Stand up for me, sweetheart.”
Elena stood up slowly.
“Lovely. Nice form, beautiful hips you got there, cute little natural tits. No bra?”
“No.”
“Mmmm. Nice. Turn around for me, babe.”
Elena obeyed.
“Oh dear god. You’ve got a great ass on you too. Looks like it jiggles in all the right places. Loving the cut-offs. Do me a favour, Elena. Will you bend over just a little bit and pull those shorts up between your cheeks for me?”
She didn’t know what was coming over her, but Elena was wet, and on fire. Without a word, she did as Jack said. And then she went further with it and squeezed her ass cheeks together with her hands, denim lining the inside of her ass.
“Oh, baby. Lovely,” he said. “You’ve got a great body. Great form, great skin colour. Where are you from?”
“Here… but I have roots in Guyana.”
“Very cool. We can call you the Caribbean Queen. Something like that. Alright, Elena, go ahead and remove your top for me please. I need to see you fully naked, I’m sure you can understand, in this line of work.”
“Right, of course.” She peeled off her tiny tank top to reveal tiny, upturned tits. Her nipples were hard.
Jack, smiled. “May I?”
“Um…”
“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to take advantage or anything. I just like to sample the goods every now and then. You’re within your rights to say no.”
“Ok, you can touch for a second,” she said.
Jack reached out and pinched her hard, dark nipple between his thumb and index finger. She cried out, pushing him away.
“Sorry. Just testing your reflexes, Elena. You have to be on guard in this business. Don’t let perverts like me do as they please. As you know, this is a no-contact establishment. We do have private rooms where what you do is at your discretion, and you negotiate prices as you see fit. But the on-stage dances are eyes only.”
“Ok,” she stammered. “Point taken.”
Jack leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. “Now take off your shorts. Bend over while you’re doing it and show me your ass.”
Again, Elena obeyed, face hot. She kicked off her shorts and stayed bent over in her thong for a moment before standing up again.
“Mmmm. Damn girl. Now you’ve got me all hard. If you think my job is easy, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Elena looked down and saw Jack’s jeans were puffed out, full. She wanted to grab him, undo his jeans, and kneel in front of him, sucking his cock. Something heated and otherly had come over her. She was hot between the legs. There was a part of her that wanted to start right away. Standing there in Jack’s office in nothing but a thong, she felt very ready for an audience of hungry eyes.
“Now show me your pussy.”
Without hesitation, facing him and staring him square in the eye, Elena slowly pulled down her skimpy black thong to reveal her freshly waxed pussy. Jack sustained eye contact for as long as he could before his eyes plummeted downward to take her in.
“Oh. My. You have a gorgeous pussy, baby. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Thank you, sir.” She was playful, happy with herself. A million miles from law school, her work, her man. She was a stripper for a stranger. He liked the way her body looked. He got hard looking at her.
“May I?”
“No,” she said. “This is a no-contact establishment, sir. If you’d like a private booth, we can negotiate contact dance rates.”
“Very good, Elena. Very good. Looks like I taught you a little too well for my own good. You pass phase one with flying colours. Your body is bangin’, in a way that makes me wish I could fuck you. That’s what we’re going for here. Phase two: I need to see how you can move.” Elena nodded, her bare pussy getting wetter by the second.
“We can do one of several things here. You can give me a private dance in one of our booths. We start with no-contact, and then, if you feel comfortable, we can move beyond that to practice your other moves. And I pay you for the dance, just like a real customer. There are costumes you can choose from in the back. Or, you start by practicing your stage dance instead. Melissa’s done her act in about ten minutes, and Violet’s out sick, so you could go out there right away, tell the DJ what you want, and just do your thing.”
“I’ll do the private dance,” she heard herself saying, even though she thought she would choose the audience.
“Alright then,” said Jack, pleased.
Fifteen minutes later, clad in a Caribbean-looking red feathered tiara, her black thong, a pair of red fishnets from the costume room, the red tassled pasties she had carried with her in her purse, and a borrowed pair of black stiletto sandals that made her ass stick out and up and her thighs seize, Elena entered a private booth.
Reggaeton pulsed lightly in the background, encouraging her natural thrust. The booth was red leather and black wood, with dim orange light. Jack sat back with a cigar and a glass of whiskey. He winked at her as he puffed. And then there was the second man in the room, across from him. The businessman from the bar. White, good-looking, in a well-fitted suit.
“I’d like a lap dance for my good friend Greg, here, full contact. And I’d like you to suck and ride his cock. I was going to have you for myself, but I figure we can make that happen next time, and I can better evaluate your skills if I’m not the one all over you. Is that okay? Will two hundred cover it?”
Elena wasn’t hearing dollar amounts. She was hearing choices. She was feeling her privilege; she could do this, or not. She didn’t need the money. But she had never been more turned on. She knew this was not in her job description. But she also knew that she had known it would go this way, and that she had wanted it to, and that she was simply curious what it would feel like to be paid for her body.
She nodded yes, and smiled. Jack smiled too.
“Good,” he said. “Good little slut. I’m paying good money for you. You better please my friend. He’s my most loyal customer.”
Greg smiled. “Hi Elena.”
“Hello Greg. Pleasure.”
She started out slow. She swayed her hips, she touched her body, squeezed her tits, pinched her pussy. She rolled her tongue. Elena Persad opened her legs and squatted down low, swaying all the way up and all the way down again. She held Greg’s eyes and he held hers. Jack sat across from them, puffing and watching.
She turned her back to Greg and stuck out her ass. She jiggled, an inch from his cock, and then jutted up again, an inch from his face. She sat on his lap and rubbed her pussy up against his cock to the beat of the music. She caught Jack’s eye and the way he looked at her made her grind Greg harder.
She opened her legs wide, and resting her arms on the back of the bench, rotated her hips some more, just above Greg’s rock hard cock, all while staring intently back at Jack the same way he was looking at her. Dark. Fiery. All consuming. Greg grabbed her hips and held on as she moved. Still she looked at Jack. Greg caressed her tits, tassles and all.
“You sure it’s her first time, Jack? This little slut seems to know what she’s doing.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” said Jack, puffing away. “How do you like her? You think she should work here?”
Still dancing, Elena stood up, thrust her hips out, and fell backwards into an arc that landed her hands on Greg’s thighs, her face between his legs, and her pussy exposed for Jack.
“Mmm, yeah, I already want to hire her for a business party I’m having next week,” said Greg. “My guys at the office would love her.” Greg reached forward and pushed her thong aside to reveal fishnets on bare pussy. He rubbed her clit, and stuck a finger inside. “She’s got a fucking tight slit, man. So wet too.”
Jack fidgeted, trying to breathe. “Unzip my friend’s pants, Elena. Use your mouth.”
Greg unbuttoned, and since she was perfectly positioned to do so, Elena unzipped his pants with her teeth. His hard, massive cock popped out of the flap in his briefs. Elena took it in her upside down mouth and moved her head up and down on his cock.
Her ass and back hurt from the precarious pose she had put herself in while wearing stilettos, but she loved that Jack had a perfect view of her silky bald pussy through red fishnets while she sucked his friend off. Since he was still sitting, she had all the control over how far or deep to take him into her throat, and she took him all the way in, choking.
She knew Jack was pleased as her throat bulged with Greg’s cock. And she knew Greg was pleased as she arced backward to take him all in as he sat there, still fully clothed.
At the moment she knew she needed to change positions, Jack said, “Stand up, slut.” She stood up. “Take off your tassles and show my friend your perky little tits, baby.”
Elena removed the tassles and faced Greg, bending over his face while jiggling her ass a little for Jack’s benefit. “Now take off that thong, slut. Show my friend your pretty little pussy without that thing in the way.”
Elena complied, looking Jack in the eye as she bent over in front of Greg to expose her asshole fully as she pulled the thong off. Greg grabbed her ass through the fishnets and spread her cheeks wide to look inside.
“I think those fishnets are in the way, Greg,” said Jack. Greg abruptly tore a huge hole in the fishnets, to fully expose Elena’s ass and pussy. It hurt a little, but ultimately woke up her sensations even more.
“Elena. Now I want you to fuck my friend Greg. I want you to sit on his lap while facing me, and I want you to fuck him like a pro while you look at me. Remember that this is still an interview. Condoms are in the drawer beside you.”
“Yes sir.”
“Elena, before you fuck my friend, I would like to suck on your pussy. May I?”
“Yes sir.”
Jack lunged forward then, and half bit, half sucked Elena’s swollen pussy while she cried out in pleasure. Greg stuck his tongue in her ass and rolled it around. Jack’s tongue found its way into her pussy and he tongue-fucked her until she was close to exploding. Then he stopped.
“Now fuck him, slut.” Jack sat back down, out of breath, and red in the face.
Elena sat down on Greg’s engorged cock and was filled up in an instant. Stretched. Expanded. Greg groaned. Elena stood and sat down, up and down on his cock. The pleasure was excruciating. Her pussy pulsed and tightened around his cock as she stared into Jack’s eyes. Greg’s cock drove into her and Jack’s eyes drove her home— drove home a deep-seated need of hers to be filled and used. Her tight slit seized and puffed up and hummed her tune until a final squeeze welled up inside her and the force was so much that she pushed Greg right out of her. Her body shook and ached with the joy and filth of it all, and she laughed out loud.
“Mmmmm,” said Jack. “Delicious. Now finish my friend off with that dripping pussy of yours.
Elena stood up, catching her breath. “It’s been a real pleasure, fellows, but I have to go,” she heard herself say. “I have to go home.”
She never told her man, but when he got home, she greeted him in a thong and heels, and they lived happily ever after.