"Please, Sir, I really need this job! I'll do anything!" Tristan Quick pleaded. Tristan stood atop the center stage, his back to the intimidating pole he was to swing around on while trying to look sexy. The urge to flee was strong, but Tristan knew he had no choice.
Tristan's slender body trembled with trepidation. He had answered the ad in the paper, desperately needing a job. He'd lost his last job through no fault of his own. He was not the one who laced the coffee with liquor—even if he was responsible for making coffee each morning for the bigwig executives at the fortune 500 company.
Well, where he used to work. Thanks to the 'incident', he was currently unemployed and had less than a hundred dollars in his savings account. To make matters worse, his landlord had given him seven days to come up with his rent or he'd be kicked out on the streets.
"Prove it. Take off your clothes," Adam Johnson, the manager of House of Deviant Trixx, growled.
Tristan's fingers trembled as he discarded his shirt. He hurried, afraid the big man would get tired of him and toss him out the door. Tristan averted his gaze, trying not to let the menacing scar running down the left side of Mr. Johnson's face intimidate him. Tristan's dark blue eyes veered back to the scar before darting away again. He didn't want to seem as if he was staring and risk offending the big man. Being so scrawny, Tristan couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag.
"Slow down!" Mr. Johnson barked.
Tristan jumped, startled. "Wha-what?" Trisan was so nervous he couldn't seem to form coherent sentences.
"You're auditioning to become an exotic dancer, yet you're tearing your clothes off as if you're trying out for Nascar. Slow down. Take your time. I need to find out what kind of moves you have."
Tristan felt his face heat with embarrassment and his resolve waver. Could he do this? Work in a place more notorious for its 'special services' than its strippers? Then he thought about the stack of bills lying on his kitchen table and straightened his shoulders. This wouldn't be forever. Just long enough to earn some quick cash and get his bills paid off. Plus, he wouldn't be offering any 'special services'. Yes, he could do this and hopefully, he'd find respectable employment soon.
"There's. . . no music," Tristan stammered.
Muscles bulged as Mr. Johnson crossed his arms, his expression changing from indulgent to inpatient. "A good dancer makes his own music. Get on with it or this interview is over!"
Tristan inhaled and closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn't look at Mr. Johnson he could pull this off. Imagining his favorite song, Tristan began to sway to the imaginary beat.
"Eyes open and on me! Show me everything you've got."
Tristan saw the challenge in Mr. Johnson's gaze.
He expects me to give up,
Tristan realized. Deciding it was better to show the arrogant prick than tell him, Tristan held Mr. Johnson's gaze.
Tristan began to hum his favorite song and allowed his hips to sway. His hands traveled slowly down his chest, his pink tongue licking his plump bottom lip. Tristan's fingers teased the edges of his jeans, fluttering over the button, before slowly lowering the zipper.
Mr. Johnson moved closer to the stage. A quick glance down showed an impressive bulge pushing against his tight jeans. Tristan allowed a slight smirk to cross his lips as he put a little more sway into his movements.
Turning, Tristan sauntered over to the pole and wrapped his fingers around it. Pushing his ass out and back arched, Tristan once again moved to the beat in his head.
"Fuck me! Take off the jeans."
The husky plea in Mr. Johnson's voice made Tristan's cock swell. To know he had that much power over the big man was heady and boosted Tristan's confidence. Tristan gradually lowered his jeans until he was touching his toes, ass facing Mr. Johnson.
"Fuck, you've got a nice ass!"
"Thank you."
Tristan straightened, winked over his shoulder and began dancing against the pole. Taking a deep breath for courage, Tristan swung around the pole, using his hands and legs to climb. Using his hands Tristan spread his legs and flipped his body until his head pointed toward the floor. With the pole between his legs, Tristan licked his fingers and ran them down his chest, teasing.
Losing himself to the music in his mind, Tristan twirled around the pole using his arms and legs. Stretching and displaying his flexibility.
Finally, the music wound down and Tristan found himself with one leg on the ground, the other stretched against the pole with his arms raised above his head gripping the pole.
Opening his eyes, Tristan gasped and almost fell flat on his face, his stumble stopped by an enormous chest. "Mr. Johnson!"
Mr. Johnson had his arms wrapped around Tristan's waist, reminding him he was still naked. Tristan blushed, Mr. Johnson hadn't released him and Tristan found he liked the feeling of his naked body plastered against the clothed, sexy man. "Call me Adam. Where did you learn how to work a pole like that?"
Tristan shrugged, the blush staining his cheeks darkening. There was no way he'd tell Mr—Adam that he'd taken pole dancing classes when he was in college because he'd once wanted to be a stripper.
Adam raised Tristan's face up to his with a forefinger. "I believe I asked you a question," Adam said with his brow raised.
Tristan slapped at Adam's hand, irritated. "I wanted to be a stripper when I was younger!" Tristan glared at Adam, daring him to say something.
Adam's lips curled up. "Looks like your dream's coming true."
Tristan's mouth dropped open in shock. "I passed the audition?" Should he really feel this excited about becoming a stripper?
