Leah, manager of Pole Cat Club, found Sarah, the novice dancer, impressive, not so much for her pole-dancing, which lacked polish and pizzazz, as for her lovely body: those perky up-turned tits—oh, to mouth them, to suck those pink nipples to full tumescence—those long, lean, never ending legs, that abundant, flowing, avalanche of red hair, and most especially that firm, smallish, softly curved ass. Leah adored that ass; she hoped to smack it, to squeeze it, to bite it, to spread the cheeks and plunge her tongue deep, deep, deep.

“Okay,” Leah said to Sarah. “Good work.”

“I could do even better with music,” Sarah said.

“You are music,” Leah told her. “Sound would only get in the way.”

“Should I wear smaller panties, though?” Sarah asked.

“Baggy is fine,” Leah answered. “More room for your admirers to stuff their fifties and hundreds.”

“Oh. What about heels?”

“Admittedly many gentlemen get off on heels,” Leah said. “But nothing beats bare toes for dessert.”

“Huh?”

“Lie down at the edge of the stage, on your tummy with your legs over the edge, and I’ll show you.”

Leah started with those long, lean, never ending legs. After working the baggy panties down and off, she worked her way up to that firm, smallish, softly curved ass. So delicious in every aspect was Sarah’s ass that Leah considered she might for now forgo dessert.