"Gentlemen, put your hands together and welcome to the stage, the lovely Bianca."
With his half-hearted announcement, the Paradise Club's DJ, likely a frustrated AM radio announcer, garnered a smattering of applause from the sparse early evening audience. The club had been much busier a few hours earlier when I arrived, but many of the patrons had now departed along with many of the dancers on the early shift. I was working on my third beer and would likely join them as soon as I was done, before things picked up again later in the evening.
Visiting this strip club was a guilty pleasure for me, something I did maybe once a month when I had the urge to have beautiful young women rub their tits in my face and stroke my cock during lap dances in the Champagne Rooms downstairs. Afternoons were always better than evenings, because there were fewer bouncers around, and the girls who were willing go bend a few of the rules for a few extra bucks were well aware of that. Occasionally I'd get offers for a blowjob or even a fuck after a couple of dances, but I always resisted; the booths in the Champagne Rooms weren't exactly comfortable or entirely private.
That aside, the Paradise Club was my go-to spot. The female talent was always top-notch, the waitresses were all beautiful enough to be dancing onstage if they'd chosen to, and it was located about 40 minutes away from where I lived. I suppose that meeting someone you know in a strip club shouldn't be embarrassing; after all, you're both there. But since I always went alone, I wasn't exactly crazy about running into a bunch of buddies who were out celebrating a promotion or a bachelor's party together.
There was a certain thrill about going to a club —the free-flowing beer, the gorgeous woman always on the hustle, and the mystery of what might happen in the dark booths downstairs. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have had to pay for any kind of female companionship if I'd tried a bit harder to maintain relationships with women. I was in decent shape and wasn't bad-looking, and I did very well running a tech company. Money wasn't an issue, but at times, I spent too much time focussing on work. My last girlfriend told me she'd really miss my cock, but she needed it inside her more than once a week. It was a fair criticism. I'd been single for the past four months, and aside from a couple of one-night stands, I hadn't had much action of late.
That afternoon, I'd enjoyed the company of three ladies in the private rooms, the first a blonde with big tits — not normally my type — but very insistent. As I feared, she was all talk and no action, and after two dances where she'd barely gotten naked or touched me, I thanked her for her time and paid her $40. She acted as if it was the first time ever a guy had stopped so soon, but I highly doubt it was. I watched her go up and down the stairs half a dozen more times, and the guys she'd suckered into dancing for them never looked happy when they returned to their seats after having spent roughly the same amount of time with her as I had.
The second was a skinny young redhead with small tits —again not my type — who nevertheless looked a bit sad because she wasn't getting any private dances, despite approaching every guy in the club. I took pity on her and quickly regretted my decision. She wasn't much to look at and she had a lot to learn about entertaining a man in the private booths. I vowed to be more selective in the future. I wasn't a social worker.
The visit would have been a complete write-off if it hadn't been for Martina, a statuesque Latina who definitely knew what she was doing in the Champagne Room. She had taken off her bra, exposing her enhanced breasts, the minute the music started, and her G-string disappeared a few moments later. She smothered me with her body, encouraging me to play with her prominent nipples as she stroked my cock throughout the five dances she gave me. With her other hand, she was furiously rubbing her clit, and several times she ran her wet fingers over my lips.
There was no discussion of extras — possibly because we'd never met before, and some strippers had asked me the past if I was a cop — but it likely wouldn't have been out of the question. I finally called it quits because I was afraid there'd be a mess in my shorts if we went any longer. I gave her a tip and a hug, and promised to look for her the next time I came to the club.
I hadn't really checked out "the lovely Bianca" when she took the stage, but I started to pay more attention as she showed off her dance moves. There was something familiar about her; I couldn't recall having seen her at the club before, but I knew I'd met her some place.
Then it hit me. Her name wasn't Bianca. It was Kelly, and she was the live-in girlfriend of my college roommate Connor. So what the hell was she doing here, taking off her clothes for strange men and doing God knows what with them in the Champagne Room?
I was so mesmerized by her that I barely noticed when the waitress came and asked if I'd like another beer. I readily agreed; there was no way I was bailing now, even if I had to call an Uber to get home.
I hadn't heard from Connor in a while, and wondered if he and Kelly were still together. He was extremely charming and good-looking, and while he didn't own his own company like I did, he never seemed to be hurting for cash. That meant he was never without a beautiful girlfriend, and while most of them were bleach blonde bimbos with fake tits and Botoxed lips, occasionally he found a woman who was both smart and attractive. Kelly definitely fell in that camp.
Kelly and I had had a long conversation at a pool party about four months prior. I was captivated by her intelligence, personality and good looks. She was a slim brunette, about 5'9", with long legs a great rack — well proportioned, unlike Connor's previous companions. Her brown eyes were always sparkling. In other words, she was the perfect woman, and I remember feeling extremely jealous of my old friend at the time.
Kelly had told me she was well aware of Connor's past, but she loved him anyway, and they were about to move into a new place together. She was going to continue her MBA studies, There was no mention about any part-time job at the Paradise, though there was no question she had the necessary physical attributes. That night at the party, she was showing a lot of side boob in her plunging black top, and her exquisite ass and legs were well displayed in the tight Lycra shorts and heels she was wearing.
Connor had noticed me mentally undressing his girlfriend, because later that night he called me on it. He admitted he asked her to dress sexy to turn on his friends, and that she had no problem with that. Apparently she had a healthy libido, to the point that my sex-crazed friend had trouble keeping up with her. He also confided she was the best fuck he'd ever had, and this was coming from a guy who had plenty of women to compare her to. So I suppose it wasn't a complete stretch to see her working in a strip club.
I was seated at a table about eight feet from the stage, so I was able to watch Kelly doing her thing without her noticing me. I probably drooled when she took off her bikini top, exposing the amazing boobs that I'd been fantasizing about ever since I'd met her. She moved confidently around the stage, occasionally swinging on the pole, giving all the customers a good look at her toned body.
As her second song game to an end, she was lying face down on the stage with her head in her hands, staring in my direction. As the DJ announced she'd be taking a short break before her final dance, our eyes met, and there was a look of horror on her face as she recognized me.
She picked up her discarded top and quickly left the stage, disappearing into the small dressing room adjacent to the DJ booth. I didn't know if it would be the last I'd see of her, or whether I should depart. But I figured if I did that, it would be extremely awkward the next time I saw her with Connor, assuming they were still together.
As the break song ended, Kelly re-emerged somewhat tentatively, wrapped in a blanket that she laid down on the stage. She was now completely naked, and started dancing to Whitesnake's
Here I Go Again
, a strip club classic. I noticed she was giving most of the patrons a good look at her pussy as she writhed on the stage, but she seemed to be making a point of not spreading her legs when she was facing me.
Now I was really confused. Was she only out there finishing off her set because she thought she'd get fired for refusing to do so? Did she want me to leave so that both of us could pretend this never happened? As the song ended, she got an enthusiastic round of applause from the patrons, myself included. She got to her feet without acknowledging us, wrapped the blanket around her and fled to the dressing room as quickly as she had the first time.
This wasn't the charming and outgoing Kelly that I'd met at the party. I started to worry about her. Maybe she was still with Connor and he didn't know she was working as a stripper, and she was worried I was going to rat her out. Or that I was going to request some time with her the Champagne Room, and she didn't want to get naked for me.
A few minutes later, she emerged from the dressing room, dressed in a tight white crop top that didn't quite cover the bottom of her exquisite breasts, and a pair of jean shorts that covered her pussy but not much else. A number of the other customers called out to her, obviously looking to take her downstairs for a private dance, but she made a beeline to my table and sat down next to me.
"Forgive me for not asking if you want my company," she began. "We need to talk. But not here. It's too loud. Do you mind if we go downstairs?"
