Author's note: Each story in this series is complete and separate, with no plot or characters in common with the others. Only one thin thread connects them.
Many thanks to Jenna for first editing and improving this story and to Alex R. and oVerallxaVerage for additional editing and suggestions that made it better.
Stan Hardman's life wasn't hard.
He did have to pump iron for an hour or two a few days a week on his own, but he got paid for his aerobic exercise.
Add to his training his genes and age -- mid-20s -- and you get the body of a Greek god. In addition, he was well endowed. The only thing that wasn't quite perfect was his face. He was handsome in a rugged way, but his forehead was small, and there wasn't much to see in his eyes.
The customers at the club where Stan stripped didn't care that his face look brutish. They loved to look at it because it plainly showed his love of his body and his excitement in showing it to them. He and the women fed on each other's lust.
No job is perfect. There were tasks Stan didn't enjoy. When the old broads came around, he always had to do a little acting to pretend that he enjoyed their hands mauling him.
Though he seldom strained his brain, he did think about something during his performance. His audience might believe his head movements, which were always on the beat, were part of his dance, but they were actually scanning the room for his next prey.
The club where Stan worked had a small stage for the men to do their routines and a large dance floor where they mixed with the women once the show was over.
If female strippers did for men what Stan and his colleagues did for women, the police would have busted them. There was a double standard at work. Fondling, stroking, sucking and full-out sex was never restricted at Stan's place of work, as long as it was initiated by the women.
Once the show finished, the music got louder and faster and the lights crazier. Most of the women danced with each other, drank and talked about the men they were watching, but there were always some who put on a second show. They were there to have a stripper get them off.
For most of them, this meant one of the man's hands down their panties and the other one working their breasts while they swayed to the disco music. But satisfaction for some came in other ways, from straight sex to mild sadism.
The men knew that some of the attacks came from abused women. They were using the strippers as surrogates to act out things they would never dare to do to their men. The tormenters always gave them a big tip, so they put up with the harassment.
Stan endured some of the weird stuff while performing because it was hard to avoid it completely, but he didn't put up with it during the second part of the evening. Let the other strippers collect their extra tips. "Part Two," as they called it, was all about him.
Stan thought of himself as a hunter stealthily bagging his quarry. Each night, he looked for a woman to have sex with. His goal was not only to enjoy her but to see how far he could push her -- how much he could humiliate her in front of her friends while making them think she was enjoying his attention.
He selected a backup in case he couldn't bag his number one, but most nights he succeeded with his first choice. When he had started this game, he had looked for vulnerable, good looking women. As time went by, he found that he especially liked the challenge of a shy girl who had been dragged there by her friends.
Sometimes the women got so drunk they reveled in their degradation. But what Stan liked best was when his prey was an unwilling participant and only he and the woman knew what was really going on.
Choreography was the weapon Stan used to get to these women. Everything he did was to the music, and he was always smiling. When they resisted at first, he pretended that the two of them were acting out a charade between lovers. She was playing hard to get, and he was trying to persuade her with a stroke here, a pull there, an arm around the waist, a gentle bump, a button unbuttoned, a zipper pulled a little bit, her hands swallowed by his and a deep kiss on the lips.
He made it all look innocent, and if the woman began screaming, her friends thought it was because she was enjoying Stan's pantomime -- not because he had managed to insert a finger into her pussy or ass or pull one of her breasts out of her bra.
After it was over, the woman often ran to her girlfriends crying. If she complained the next day, her friends thought she was just remorseful for acting like a slut in front of them. After all, hadn't they watched her and Stan do their thing in time to the music? She must have been into it at the time and then ashamed of herself later.
The club management gave Stan a bonus each week because his antics drew big crowds. A few of the videos recorded of him and his victims had to be taken down because of lawsuit threats, but most of the women decided to blame themselves for being drunk rather than get involved with the authorities or lawyers. For Stan Hardman, it was easy to be hard.
Tonight, he had spotted a girl who made his towel rise during his shower room routine. She was sitting far from the small stage, but one of the rotating spotlights shone on her as he turned in her direction. She quickly turned her face away from the light, but not before Stan caught a glimpse of her classic beauty.
When the next performer took the stage, Stan strolled by for a closer look. The girl was wearing a formless, baggy sweat outfit, but he could tell that she was slim with some sexy curves. She was the kind of exotic game that Stan loved to hunt.
While he was performing his last dance, an older woman everyone called "Ugly Linda" began yelling to Stan. She tipped well, so he usually put up with her while dancing, but tonight he ignored her because his mind was preoccupied by the shy beauty in the corner.
When the spotlight moved to another dancer, Stan slowly danced over to the table where his quarry and her friends were sitting. He had pulled on a tight T-shirt and a pair of running shorts after his performance but no underwear to interfere with his plans. Everything had to be smooth, in time to the music and quick enough that the quarry didn't realize what was happening until it was too late.
He began dancing by himself close to the table as the last few dancers finished their routines. He saw that several women in the group had noticed him and were pointing him out to the others. One of them said something to his quarry, and she looked at him for a second, then quickly looked away.
He began dancing around their table, and her friends encouraged him. They put their hands on his chest and arms and patted him on the butt. He ignored them and twisted and turned his body through them until suddenly there was no one between himself and his target.
Her face was down and looking at the floor, but he gently lifted it up, all in rhythm, all in rhythm, and did a little strutting step around her. In her face, he thought he saw a look of fear and embarrassment, and it went right to his groin. There was now a protrusion pushing his shorts away from his body.
