Dani's New Movie
Copyright© 2026 by robertl
Chapter 23
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 23 - Dani's studio wants her for another movie
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Sharing Wife Watching Light Bond Exhibitionism
Thursday evening, Oct 14, 2021
It was twenty after eight when I got to the club, the traffic was much different than earlier. I texted Jeff, letting him know I was there, and then checked the schedule. He only had me on twice, once at nine and again at eleven, so I sat at my little station and went to work on my makeup and getting myself ready.
I’ve said it before, but it was getting so much more acute with each passing day, especially tonight after my experiences with Bindi and earlier with Katie and Brandon that seemed like just hours before. I was on pins and needles, my body acute to every stimulation, no matter how tiny. Putting on my makeup, for example, knowing that in minutes I’d be out on the stage, enticing, sexy, taking my clothes off. Just the knowing, before the ‘doing’, had my pussy gushing.
I was going to wear the same dress, although I’d slipped my g-string back on. Taking it off, sexily sliding it down my legs, not only did things for our customers, but to me as well, just knowing the lust I was creating in so many people. Especially now, it just ‘did’ things to me, things I liked to feel, that tormented.
While I waited, I thought about Brandon, the night before; about Bindi, how we’d made out with each other, gotten naked, her kisses, how her lips had felt on my tits ... on my pussy, working myself into a frenzy, trying to suppress my moans in the crowded dressing room.
I picked out what to wear after. I’d intended to wear nothing except pasties and a g-string, similar but not quite like my first waitressing costume, but I wanted something for my customer to take off of me, something soft and memorable, for both of us.
Rose knew, though, she was watching me with that smile on her face, even without knowing what I’d been through the last several hours, she ‘knew’.
I watched the clock, trying to calm myself, accomplishing the exact opposite. By the time Jeff started my music and announced my name at eight-fifty-seven, I’d worked myself into a raging turmoil of lust.
My heart was pounding as I stood on my new heels, bright and shiny lavender to match my dress, shaping my stocking-covered legs ... and strolled out onto the stage, harnessing my inner Jenny, how she can walk on air, seemingly defying gravity. I couldn’t match her, but had perfected sexy, crossing one leg in front of the other and swaying my hips just so.
I won’t describe my disrobing, I’ve done that numerous times. Suffice it to say that it was effective. I’ve gotten very good at taking my clothes off in a way that I’ve been told ‘would raise the dick of a dead man’ ... and my own libido about a thousand percent. Just as I knew it would, sliding my g-string down my hips and legs while I was squeezing my naked tits together was ... oh my!
Like I’d mentioned before, I don’t think undressing on a stage in front of a crowd of horny men and women will ever get past the super-excited stage, not even if I did this for the next decade.
By the time I’d gathered the bills from the stage and carried my clothes back to the dressing room, my heart was pounding, and once again, my pussy was unbearably enflamed, dripping, and my nipples hard like small stones. I rethought even going out onto the floor.
I was NOT going to let it stop me, though. I’d even had what I was going to wear planned, a silver and rhinestone g-string, the sheer black sarong, silver five-inch heels, silver-metallic, one-inch nipple pasties, and black, thigh-high fishnet stockings.
I rubbed my skin lotion on my body, washed off my makeup and put on new, charcoal with silver sparkle eye shadow, peach bronzer, and Sea Shimmer, pink lip gloss, spritzed with perfume, pulled on the g-string and stockings, tied the sarong, stuck on the pasties, and strapped the heels around my ankles.
Then I sat down and tried to compose myself before stepping out onto the floor, thinking ahead to what I knew was coming. I had every intention of seducing and letting them play with my body, no matter the agony that would come with it. But oh, what sweet agony it was going to be!
I just wished Bindi was on the floor ... or Brandon. Thankful too, that they weren’t.
It was time, no more vacillation. I stood, took a deep breath, one last glance at myself in the mirror. Two months ago, I would have died of shame. Now...? I liked who I’d become. I liked the sexy girl in the mirror, wanted her to be seen.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the floor, already looking for the person I intended to seduce. There was a man wearing a cowboy hat, western shirt, and blue jeans sitting alone three tables back from the stage, mid-twenties, give or take, and a little rough-looking, like he hadn’t shaved for several days, like he was just in off the range. He reminded me of Montana, just the kind of guy who could ‘do things’ to me, to my mind as well as my body.
He was my mark, my ‘victim’. My pussy was soaked just thinking about being alone with him, a very nice contrast with Bindi. I could already feel his hands, probably calloused, on my soft skin ... on my tits.
He watched me approach, his eyes traveling up and down my body, and I tried not to let those eyes undo me before I even spoke to him. My ‘undoing’ would come soon enough, I knew.
“Hi,” I told him, “you’re alone, you look lonesome, mind if I sit?” He was tall, long legs, and I couldn’t help but notice ... a nice bulge. My inner devil smiled.
He motioned to the chair beside him and I sat, making sure that my sarong was mostly off to one side, leaving one leg and the string around my hip wide open on the side next to him.
“My name’s Tara,” I told him, “can I buy you a drink?” and licked my lips, my heart pounding.
“Roy,” he said, of course, his name would be Roy, “I thought that would have been my line, I’ll buy us each one, one for the pretty girl.”
He waved, Carolyn came over, one of the new girls, wearing the same costume I had when I was waitressing, not too dissimilar from what I was wearing now, except for the sarong and stockings. “Two drinks,” he told her, my whiskey and whatever ... Tara, she said, would like.”
“Tell Jeff my regular,” I told her, “except tell him I don’t want it watered, make it strong. I think...” and I looked at Roy, “I’m going to need it.”
I was already coming undone, trying to control my breathing, trying to look ‘normal’, not feeling that way at all. I couldn’t even imagine what it might be like in the back room, alone with this guy.
“You don’t look like you’re from here, visiting?” I asked him, running my hand over his blue jeans, feeling their roughness.
“Visiting a Marine buddy, he had to work tonight, suggested I might enjoy this club, he was right ... so far.”
I smiled, “Hope I can maybe help with that,” I said, and Carolyn brought our drinks. I tasted mine, and Jeff had watered it ... with more rum. It was strong, just as I’d hoped.
“You want to take these somewhere more private?” I asked him, “Maybe we can prove your buddy right.”
He nodded, ever so imperceptibly, as he stood, took my hand and helped me to my feet. His hand ... what he was already doing to me...
I was right, he stood at least four inches above me, even in my heels, which would have put me a shade over six feet.
I pointed him in the right direction and he never dropped my hand. Room two had a green light, so I entered my PIN and we stepped inside. He stood, suddenly unsure, so I took his drink from his hand, set both on the little table, went back to him, smiled, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss.
I opened my lips, inviting him in, and he followed suit, his tongue groping, his hands on my waist ... my pussy flying into warp speed.
We kissed, pressed against each other, minutes ... hours, his hands on my ass, pulling me into him, feeling him pressing ... hard, aroused...
He pulled away, leaving me breathless, panting, a puddle on the floor, barely able to stand.
“I thought you girls didn’t kiss,” He said, sounding almost as breathless as me.
“I’m not ‘you girls’,” I told him, “I’m me, Tara, and I like what I like,” as I pushed several snaps of his shirt open, running my hands over his smooth, hard chest.
“And what I like ... is to be worshipped,” as I kissed his chest.
He moaned, and I unsnapped a couple more, running my hands around him, smiling to myself, wishing, daydreaming...
I backed away, looking up at him, waiting...
“Tara,” he said it like he was trying it out, experimenting with the sound of it, his hand on my sarong, fingering the bow-knot, the dangling cloth, “Can I ... you know...?”
I smiled at him, “Sweetheart, you can take it off, take off anything you want. Touch anywhere you want, except ... that one. But first ... I need a drink.”
I stepped away, my heart flying out of my chest. Six. Weeks!
My hand was shaking when I picked up my drink. You already know I’m not used to alcohol, but I took a long drink, nearly half the glass. I was going to need it.
Roy never took his eyes off of me, nor I, my eyes away from him. He took a long drink as well, then when we sat our glasses back on the table...
He moved closer, and this time he initiated the kiss, his hands wrapped around my bare back, mine on his cheeks, pulling his mouth to mine, mouths open, tongues exploring the newness ... and he pulled the dangling end of my sarong, letting it fall to the floor.
And then his fingers, one hand on each side, under the strap of my g-string, pushing it down, and I let out an involuntary moan into his mouth, our kiss having only deepened.
His hands were sliding down my bare legs, taking the g-string with them, until it fell. I stepped away, leaving it on the floor, and then his hands began the journey back up my legs, slowly moving toward the inside. We’d broken our kiss, and I held my breath, watching his face, wanting, until... “No,” I whispered, “the only place off limits. Look, can’t touch.” The place I so desperately wanted to be touched.
He moved his hands away, looked down at me, and I knew, his hands came to my chest, fingers wrapped around the base of my tits, “Love your tattoos,” he said, as his fingers moved to the pasties, peeling them away. My head was tipped back, tits thrust out, his fingers exploring my nipples, feeling their hardness, pinching, squeezing, tantalizing, every nerve ending awake and throbbing, screaming.
And then his lips on me, and I let out a loud groan that I couldn’t keep in, unbearable! My hands grabbed at his scalp, pulling him onto my tit. I whimpered, tears falling, God, oh God! I ... and screamed when he bit down, the pain, the excruciatingly heavenly pain, and would have fallen if he hadn’t had ahold of me.
“Sit ... have to sit!” I mumbled, and he helped me to the couch, my legs feeling like jello.
“You okay?” he asked, concern on his face.
“Uhuh, it’s just ... don’t stop, please don’t stop!” I begged.
So, he sucked my other tit, and I began moaning all over again.
Eventually, it was a quarter till eleven. I had another performance in fifteen minutes. I had his shirt off, and we were dancing to the piped-in music, me wearing only my stockings and heels, him his blue jeans and cowboy boots, holding me up. I had no idea how I was going to do another strip, especially another back room, but ... no choice.
He tried to leave some bills on the table, but I stuffed them back in his shirt pocket that he’d put back on. “It was me who had the pleasure,” I told him.
“Most girls...”
I put my finger to his mouth, “I already told you, I’m not ‘most girls’.
He left and I sat down and cried, hating, hating, hating this thing inside me!
I would have gone to his hotel with him in a minute.
But there was no time for crying, I was on again in ten minutes.
I wiped my face, grabbed a tissue, and wiped it again, looking in the little makeup mirror to be sure I was presentable, then picked up what little clothes I had, and tested my shaking legs before hurrying out the door, down the hall, and into the dressing room, hoping that my face looked at least a little composed. I knew my pussy wasn’t! Three. More. Weeks!
Well, minus one day, twenty more days. Twenty days of continuous nightmare!
I hurried, Jeff didn’t like leaving the stage empty, not even for minutes. Face wipes, makeup, perfume, and what to wear. Katie was there, so I asked her, since my brain wasn’t thinking very clearly.
“I have this cute outfit that you might like, I’ve only worn it once,” she said, digging in her locker, pulling out a skirt and top.
The top and skirt were chiffon material, the top a bandana type, crop top with spaghetti straps, a ‘V’ at the bottom, and the skirt a wrap-around, very short. I loved them, something I’d love to have for every day, sexy and spicy. I found a g-string that matched, couldn’t wear a bra with the top, a pair of heels, and lastly, my garter, high on my thigh under the skirt. Then went about working on my makeup. I had like ... five minutes – four, and was two minutes late by the time I’d put on my perfume and was ready ... except that I was positively NOT ready for this!
I didn’t know if I would ever be ready to go out there and take my clothes off again, but I was going to do it, knowing it was going to make me so fucking horny, and my pussy was already nearing a volcanic eruption.
Jeff had already started my music, I took a deep breath and strutted out onto the stage, grabbing ahold of the pole and beginning my dance with a twirl around it. I was already in a drug-high lust ... and when I undid the wrap button on that skirt...!
Later, a song and a half later, when I slid my g-string down my hips and legs, leaving it on the stage floor, that drug-high lust had about quadrupled, and I did my naked routine on the stripper’s pole, the way Katie had taught me.
I could barely walk on my legs when the music ended and knew the back room and a horny customer was awaiting, he or she just didn’t know it yet. I found where I’d dropped my g-string, picked it up, closed my eyes, did a couple naked twirls, and sling-shotted it into the crowd. I opened my eyes and looked out to see who my next ‘victim’ would be. When I found the woman looking down at her lap like a boa had landed on her. She was with a man, a bald guy, another couple on the other side of the table, two couples, probably in their fifties or thereabouts. The woman with the g-string and her husband (I presumed), I hadn’t seen before. The other couple, I did recognize, although I had never interacted with them. They were all good-looking people, not exactly my cowboy level, but that was a good thing, I couldn’t deal with another like him now. The woman looking at her lap, bearing the as yet untouched g-string, her face was flushed red, the other woman was leaning across the table, saying something to her, maybe telling her of my ‘tradition’? Both their husbands were laughing.
I’d bet they quit laughing when I showed up at their table.
I almost laughed, seeing her reaction to a stripper’s g-string suddenly falling in her lap, probably the first one she’d ever seen, and I hoped she wasn’t wearing ugly panties like that first pair I’d bought from Salvation Army and had to wear to my interview with Stan, the club’s manager. That seemed so long ago, ancient, horrible history.