Whistling to himself, Mike parked his sports motor where he had been directed in the club car park. He had been amused by the appearance of the cop. Dressed as she was, she could have been genuine, but he grinned, imagining the station sergeant's comments about the way that chest was crammed into the ill-fitting jacket. Anyway, it was in keeping with the atmosphere that he knew awaited inside the club.
Mike walked on down the side of the building to the front doors. The doorkeeper smiled pleasantly and eased the door open a little, which allowed a little of the welcoming cool inside to escape. As his eyes became accustomed to the light levels, the rock and roll music washed over him -- not quite a wall of sound, but pretty close. It was just as well; talking was not the ideal social activity for this evening's entertainment.
"Hi! Welcome to the Blue Lady," said the girl at the desk. By the standards of erotic venues, it could be said that she was not overly endowed. That still didn't mean that she would break her nose if she fell over forwards. "Can I see your Membership Id, please, sir?"
As he passed his details to her, Mike managed to avoid looking and talking directly to her cleavage. There would be time for some of that later -- sooner rather than later, he hoped, as he glanced inside. She finished her task, checking him out against the computer details, and smiled and said, "Enjoy the evening, sir."
Mike went in, walking down the steps to the well of the main room. The club was not busy as yet; this at least might help him get a seat in a more discrete location. The dancers preferred that. It was more difficult for the men in suits to see exactly what was going on. Although it was against the rules, some of the dancers were tactile in their approach. He had never understood how some folks thought that the girls in these clubs were being exploited. Jeesh! They got to set the rules; they got to define the state of play down to the last detail; and, if you didn't play the game right, ultimately they could have you removed. If that happened you would be advised that, if it occurred again, they would terminated your membership -- reluctantly, of course. The ultimate sanction, perhaps. In a way it made the evening a little more of a challenge. It was a game that he had played in the clubs back home in the UK -- basically: what could a guy get away with?
Climbing up a short set of stairs, Mike chose a seat where he could see the room and the stage; more importantly, the lighting was such that the big wing chair the club favoured was a little more hidden than most of the others.
"Good evening, Sir. May I get you a drink?" Engrossed in the performance of the young lady currently on stage, Mike had missed the girl's arrival.
"Oh! Yes, yes, a beer please." At that, he returned his gaze to the stage. It was odd really; watching the girl disrobe was having little effect on his libido. Mike felt like a detached viewer, looking in from the outside. The bare flesh was interesting and almost erotic. But sexy? No. It was too clinical. Mike sighed as he realised that the girl on the stage had effectively switched off; there was no 'soul' in her performance. "Oh God, dear. Just take the money and run, for heaven's sake. Standing there and waggling your tits in time to the music is less than interesting!" And he looked away.
Mike watched the waitress returning with his beer, and as she placed it in front of him, he smiled at her and gave her a good tip. People tended to forget them, and sometimes times could be lean; they did not get paid well.
"Thank you, sir. Have you spotted anyone you like yet?"
The question concerned the other show, the other dancers, the ones that interested Mike most. He laughed. "No, but I've only just got here. Anyone new? Anyone you think I might be 'interested' in?"
The girl looked serious for a moment. "I think I might know of a person. She'll be fascinated by your accent alone. I'll see if she's free." Looking thoughtful, she disappeared from view. Mike continued looking around. Not far away, a girl in a G-string was wrestling with a vertical chrome pole in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Concentrating as she was, her eyes half-closed, she made love to the inanimate object as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
He watched a pale-skinned girl come through a door on the other side of the club and look round; she met his look, nodded to herself, and walked across towards him. As she came up the stairs, Mike took in her slinky black dress; it left nothing to the imagination and plainly showed a distinct lack of underwear. She approached and leaned close to his ear so he could hear above the music.
"May I join you? My name's Carrie."
Putting his hand on her shoulder, and pleased that she didn't flinch, Mike spoke next to her ear. "Please do. We may even be able to chat when the music stops." He saw her laugh, and she sat down on the arm of the chair, her legs against his, her arm across his shoulders and her long, beautiful hair against Mike's face as she leaned her head against his. For all the world they looked like lovers -- lovers who were familiar and had known each other a long time. She twirled her fingers in the back of his hair as they looked at the dancer on stage coming to the end of her act. As the applause died down and there was a lull in the proceedings, Carrie waved to the waitress, who had been hovering in the background. She appeared a moment or two later with a drink and Mike paid, again tipping the girl well as he thanked her for telling Carrie about him. She grinned and winked at him.
"Where's home?" Carrie asked. "You're not from this country." So Mike told her of his home, of England and a little of his work that brought him here. In turn, Carrie told him of herself. She was taking a year off, earning the funds to pay her way through grad school.
"Trouble is," she said, "I enjoy this. I can be sexy, go as far as I want, make a lot of money, and *I'm* in control. I call the shots, and, although I'm not a control freak, it's a good feeling. I earn so much that nowadays thoughts of college are kind of taking a back seat." Carrie grinned. The DJ announced the next dancer on stage, and Carrie asked, "Would you like me to dance?" As the music started, Mike nodded his agreement.
Lazily Carrie got up, leaned across and said in his ear, "I'll just put my purse beside you." Leaning further, her knee touched Mike's and her breasts brushed his face through the dress fabric as she put the bag down. Smiling gently, she stood up and swayed to the music, running her hands over her body, caressing herself, smoothing the dress over her breasts and then down, hugging herself. She ran her hands down to her hips and halfway round to her butt; then, gripping the dress, slowly, she eased it up her form. Her legs were stupendous, lithe, and shapely, and touching Mike's. Even though he knew he couldn't touch, Mike wanted to reach out and grasp her hips and pull her to him. It was only by a great act of will power that he stopped himself.
Carrie watched him through half-shut eyes, teasing him, easing the dress slowly higher, swaying all the time hypnotically. The swell of her breasts became visible, and then suddenly the dress was gone and Carrie dropped it into Mike's lap. Presented with a shapely pair of breasts that Carrie now caressed and pushed upwards, Mike could only watch and yearn for what might be. They were spectacularly beautiful. Carrie leaned forward, draping her hair across Mike and, putting her hands on the back of the chair for support, moved her breasts to either side of him, close to his face. Knowing that her hair and the dark corner masked him, he moved forward fractionally and kissed the nipple nearest to him. It hardened instantly, and Mike felt his cock swell in sympathy. He was glad of the dress covering him down there; at least it might not be too apparent!
He also felt Carrie stiffen, just fractionally; no one watching would have noticed. Inwardly, Mike grinned. He had got lucky finding a dancer who liked touching and being touched -- discretely, that is. The girl moved back, standing upright. She continued to stroke and hold herself, eyes now closed, lost in the sensuous dance and the music. She turned her back towards Mike and he was mesmerised at the thong of the G-string as it plunged between the cheeks in front of him.
Carrie bent forward at the waist, still swaying. Then, placing a leg to either side of Mike's right knee, she moved in closer as she steadied herself by holding onto his leg and the chair arm. She bent her knees and ran her thigh along Mike's leg, her ass cheek just barely touching him. Her thigh brushed Mike's right hand, which he had placed on top of his leg. He gripped his leg to keep from the temptation of openly touching her as she half-squatted and ran her covered pussy over his hand. Mike raised his thumb fractionally, and she moved so that it ran along the lips of her sex, back to the hidden rosebud of her anus. Through the spot where their legs were in contact, he could feel her shudder in pleasure. Slowly, deliberately, she moved back over his thumb, and Mike felt her wetness through the cloth.
Carrie moved forward and turned round, again putting her arms on the chair back to either side of Mike's head. Flicking her hair over his again, moving her head to where they could talk without shouting, Carrie said, "No one's ever managed to do that before!" and she laughed.
.... There is more of this story ...