Sexy Stripper Erotica
"Scarlet’s" a sex story by Maxine Marsh
Him
I read through the newspaper this morning, briefly noting my horoscope: things are not always as they seem. It doesn’t make any sense to me and I don’t buy into astrology, but the business man in me finds it interesting that the newspaper devotes an entire section to it when they could be running ads. I put that on my list of things I think need fixing.
My buddies call and tell me we’re going out for my birthday. They’re taking me to Scarlet’s.
Scarlet’s is on my list of things that don’t need fixing. It’s the only gentlemen’s club I’ll step foot in. I am, after all, a gentleman, and I prefer my ladies classy. Naked and sultry, a little on the slutty side, but classy.
Her
Tonight I’m celebrating life. Simple as that. I can tell everything was meant just for me. I made sure the shower wasn’t hurried; I’m shaved clean and smooth, lotion with the faint scent of Egyptian Bergamot Rose sunken in, hair up but loosely. My dress is actually more of a two piece outfit: a halter that ties at the back of my neck and covers my chest but leaves my shoulders bare, silkiness draping to my belly, where the material splits and hints at my hips and the little dip in my back every time I move around, and the skirt of it a little more tight than the top, coming to an end just above the middle of my thighs. The whole thing connects with strings that I’ve taken a lot of time to tie in perfect little bows, even though no one will notice them in the dim lighting of the club.
Tonight has come just for me. I feel as though the black silk hangs over my body like it was sewn on, like the tequila I sip before I slip out the door is distilled exactly for my palate. Tonight, I celebrate with a new heart. It used to be broken, but some time has passed and I think it’s ready for a test run. Hopefully it won’t burst on me tonight. I put on my three-inch, black, studded stilettos, thinking that if it does, at least I’ll die in immaculate footwear.
You’d never know I was going to work.
Him
It’s been three rounds of shots with the boys when I see her. She’s crossing the room. Someone says something to her and she laughs. She’s got life in her, spirit more sincere than most of the other girls I’ve spotted tonight. I can see the spark in her from halfway across the club. She goes to the bar and kneels up on a barstool, leaning partway over the bar, with a smile on her face that I’d bet a good chunk of change has always gotten her what she wants. The bartender grins, wiping his hands with a dishtowel absentmindedly, and then reaches up to the top shelf. She’s swaying on the stool to the music, her beautiful legs coming to a perfect pointed end in the sexiest pair of heels I’ve ever seen. And with just a hint at what’s hidden underneath that aptly draped black dress, my cock goes hard. She immediately goes on my list and I know without a doubt she’ll be the high point of my night.
It’s the first time I’ve considered asking a stripper for her phone number, and I haven’t even talked to her yet, let alone seen her dance.
Private Dancer by Lochai available at ObsessionArt.com
Her
I’m perched on the bar stool talking to Charlie, my favorite bartender in the whole world. I’ve never asked him for a drink before, but tonight is different because I’m celebrating and I’m having an awful lot of fun teasing him and trying to convince him that he won’t get fired if he passes me a bottle of Patron from the top shelf. I tell him I just want to take some shots with the girls. That makes him smile and apparently he’s convinced because he turns and reaches up to get it for me.
Someone’s talking to me. “How about a dance?” It’s not a whisper but it seems like one, because it cuts through the throbbing of the music and the chatter and drowns everything else out. It carries with it a smoothness that makes me immediately forget about my Patron.
I take him in. He’s amazingly attractive and he’s oozing charm like he’s bathed in it. His black suit is immaculate and the two buttons at his broad chest are undone just enough to hint at the muscle beneath. The diamonds in his watch catch the light. My thighs squeeze together involuntarily. Then, by the look in his chocolate brown eyes and the set of his jaw, I realize he’s not offering to buy me a dance, he’s just offering to buy me. He thinks I’m a stripper.
I’m not insulted in the least. I’m more than flattered. I, better than anyone, know that Scarlet’s has the most stunning women in town. The hungry and completely unwavering smile on his face puts off a sense of macho confidence. It’s a turn on, but also appeals to the competitor in me. Tonight I’m celebrating life. And I want my fun.
I wonder how long I can keep him believing I’m a stripper. I’ve never felt especially sexy or outgoing the way the girls here are, but I decide on the spot that it might be fun to try. You only live once, right? A thrill runs from my gut to my toes.
“I only do VIP,” I purr. “I’m in Room 5. Meet me there in a few minutes.”
Him
The way she talks to me makes me wonder where she’s been all my life. Her voice is girly, with an edge of humor on it I won’t understand until later. It’s all I can do not to start stammering like an awkward teenager, so I keep my mouth shut and nod and watch her slink away.
Her
When I walk into Room 5 and see him sitting there, my giddiness almost disappears and I remember that I’ve never done this before. I’ve sat in on classes with the girls and watched them do a thousand of their routines, but I’ve actually never stepped foot up on a stage or swung myself around a pole, or taken my clothes off to music for anyone ever before. I push the shyness away and revel in the anticipation of showing my breasts to someone tonight.
Him
I hear her come in but don’t turn to look. I want to see her come into my vision slowly, the way she’s meant to be seen. I feel a fingertip brush my neck and then smell her as she leans down, breasts covered but hanging near my face. She hands me a glass of tequila. I somehow know without question that it’s Patron.
The music starts up, a slow and sultry tune, and she begins to dance.
Her
It turns out to be easier than I thought it would to find a hot groove and work it. I work the first third of the song a few feet in front of him, out of his reach, filling his sight with the grinding and rocking motion of my hips. I arch my back just a little to push my breasts out; they are still totally covered by my dress.
The look in his eyes when I move toward him makes me feel even more confident. He’s not blinking and his hands are by his sides, but I can see the bulge in his pants and in turn, my heart beats even faster and my panties grow sticky. Under his steady gaze, I work my way to his lap. I lean into him, teasing him with the bulge of my still hidden breasts and enjoy the heat coming off him.
The smell of him is so delicious that my tongue starts to snake out, intent on licking his earlobe. I stop it at the last moment, remembering that no stripper at Scarlet’s would ever do such a thing. And I’m trying to play my role convincingly. I have newfound admiration for the girls’ restraint.
The second stanza of the song begins and I pull back to writhe in front of him a little more. From the corner of my eye I see he’s gripping his drink glass, almost to the point where his knuckles have turned pale. I turn and lean my back into him, holding that little hint of a smile on my lips and reach for the glass. Sitting on his lap and arching my back so he can look down at my chest, I slowly pour the liquid over my top.
Him
The black material, the kind I think they must make blindfolds out of, clings to her tits and outlines them in the wetness. Her nipples are hard and I wonder if they have been the entire time or if they’ve gone rigid at the feeling of the liquid. I have the overwhelming urge to suck on them.
Still leaning back on me, she reaches and pulls at the string holding her top up at the nape of her neck. The little bow pops undone. Grinding her ass on my lap, she slowly unpeels it from her upper body and reveals a pair of round and firm breasts, and nipples that peak up and out into the cool air. The wet material falls down around her waist. Her breasts are wet and shiny from the fiery liquid. God, I want to lick them clean.
She turns around to face me, somehow managing to rid herself of the rest of her dress, and straddles my lap. She continues her dance in only a black, lacey g-string.
A mark on her chest catches my attention. The scar is positioned almost perfectly even between her voluptuous breasts and for a moment I contemplate leaning forward a few inches and licking it. It’s not a scar from a boob job; its placement is far too obvious, and it’s too long besides, and then I realize she must have had surgery recently. The sight of it does nothing to qualm the desire burning in every part of me. Quite the opposite – I see myself running my tongue the length of the dark line and then lapping at her neck until she moans. I remember where I am and that I’d better not push my luck. I try to rein in the aching in my fingertips, in my tongue and my cock. It would be unfortunate to get thrown out on my ass and lose the dance with the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in this place. Ever seen, period.
Her
I see him look at the scar and contemplate it for a moment, but there’s no sign of him being turned off. Quite the opposite – the muscles in his jaw flex on and off and I can tell he’s doing his damndest to hold back from touching me. Poor fellow, I’m close enough for him to lick. My clit is throbbing at the thought of him leaning in and sucking at my flesh, at my scar and my breasts. My thong is wet, both from the tequila and my dirty thoughts. I turn to face away from him, in hopes of keeping either of us from crossing the line.
So soon, too soon for the both of us, the song comes to an end. With a mixture of relief and playfulness, I lie back on him and realize that I’m winded. I thank God that my heart has managed to stay in one piece the whole time.
Good boy that he is, he lets me stay for a moment against him, but doesn’t touch me. I pant, wondering if I’ve done as good a job as the girls would have, images of dances and old lovers, surgeon’s faces, masked and alien, and then his face, flit by. The feeling of his hardness under me is a compliment that almost makes me cry. It’s only now I realize how self-conscious and full of doubt my scar has made me.
Him
I wait until she’s gotten up and pulled most of her clothing back on to hand her the money. She thanks me, smiles like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. She leaves.
A few minutes later and I’m back with my friends, watching her from across the club. She’s changed into a red dress that takes my breath away. She’s still wearing those black heels. She talks to some people, and then goes to the bar for a few minutes. The bartender hands her a black purse and suddenly she’s gone.
My friends notice I’m distracted and ask what’s going on. The truth is I’m mentally scolding myself for not approaching her again, because despite sitting here with friends, surrounded by noise and beautiful women, I can’t think about anything but her. I have to know who she is. I figure my best bet is to ask the bartender. I ask him what nights she dances.
He laughs. “She’s not a stripper, buddy.”
“But –“
“She’s as beautiful as any of the girls, though, huh? But she’s a business woman, not a dancer.”
“What’s her name?”
He laughs again. “Scarlet.”
I pause. The music is loud. I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”
“That was Scarlet. She owns the place.”
It takes me a minute to work out what has happened. A woman hasn’t made me feel like a fool in a very long time. It makes me want her even more.
“She left this for you,” says the bartender.
He hands me a small piece of paper, folded. When I open it, it reads: I’ll dance for you again, if you’d like, but you have to buy me dinner first. Call me, and then her phone number in her dainty handwriting. It’s stationary, with a fancy, curly S at the top.
I start to turn away, but the bartender says, “She left this for you, too, sir.”
I look up to a bottle of Patron. I smile, the image of her pouring my drink over her breasts, the way they glistened and bounced as she moved over me, getting my cock stiff once again.
I return to the table where my friends sit, and tell them we’re drinking Patron for the rest of the night. As I take my shot, I remember to put on my list: Always read horoscope.
Originally published May 2011