Landing Strip.”
She obviously knew I’d never been there before. “Th-thanks,” I managed to strangle the word out of my throat and she smiled, a slow, seductive thing, as she gracefully got to her feet, her black heels impossibly tall, making her legs look as if they never ended as she stood over me. She was so close I could see the fine little blonde hairs on her thighs that she’d missed while shaving. That sight made my knees weak.
“Got something for me?” Her hips swayed, the triangle of material between her legs cupping the swell of her mound as she moved back and forth. She was completely nude except for that one swath of material and I couldn’t think about anything but what was beneath it.
She turned around and got down onto her knees, flipping her hair over her shoulder to look back at me. Stunning. Like a little goddess. Her thighs were parted and she rocked as if fucking an invisible cock coming up through the stage. She moaned softly, really giving us a show, and I stood enthralled, my breath just gone.
Then she moved toward us, crawling backwards, until her bottom was right in my face. She rolled her hips, showing us far more than she was probably supposed to-I saw a glimpse of her pussy lips, her pink slit, and the wink of her asshole-before cocking her hip toward me for her reward.
I would have put a thousand dollar bill in her g-string if that’s what had been in my hand. Her skin was velvety smooth as I tucked the bill under the elastic and I ran a fingernail over her skin, following that g-string line, and saw her smile as she stood, dancing her way back toward the pole in the middle of the stage.
“How do you like your surprise?” Doc asked, grinning as I floated back to our table.
“I love it,” I exclaimed as I picked up my drink and swallowed the heat-Doc had ordered more for me while Carrie and I were otherwise occupied.
“Well this isn’t all of it actually.” Carrie smiled slyly. “You still get your birthday lap dance.”
I gaped at her. “My what?”
I’d heard of lap dances, of course, but thought they were sorts of things that just happened for bachelor parties. Of course, before the Baumgartners, I didn’t know couples went to strip clubs either. I was wrong on both counts. Doc and I had quite a few more drinks and the dancers changed shifts-the new girl had blond hair with dark roots and obviously fake breasts and didn’t interest me nearly as much as the other dancer had.
And Carrie knew it. “Let’s see if we can get you a lap dance with Tiffany.”
“Tiffany?” I blinked.
“The girl who was up there before this one,” Doc explained.
My knees were trembling as we went in. I was glad there was a half-moon booth seat we could sit on together while we waited.
“How does this work?” I whispered. I was surprised the bouncer hadn’t given us any instructions.
“Technically, we’re not supposed to touch her,” Doc explained as I looked around the dark little room. There was a black curtain drawn on both sides, but the music was piped in through speakers on the walls. The lighting was dim, but we could all see each other clearly enough. “Although sometimes they let you. Just don’t touch her unless she invites you to.”
“Dancers tend to be a little more free with us girls.” Carrie winked. “Oh, and they can touch you. And they will. A lot.”
I flushed. “Can we touch each other?”
“Technically, there’s no rule against that.” Doc grinned.
Tiffany came into the room like she owned it-and I guess she did. She was wearing more clothes than she’d been in before, a short-short silvery dress that glittered when she walked. Her heels were silver too, and even higher than the ones she’d worn on stage, if that was even possible. She wasn’t a tall girl, but those shoes made her legs look delightfully long and curvy.
She moved slowly, deliberately, hips swinging. Her gaze met mine as she edged closer. I could smell her again, that heady scent, as she leaned toward me, putting her hands on my bare knees, which were primly squeezed together under my short skirt.
She had tiny hands, with long delicate fingers and lightly painted nails.
“I hear you’re the birthday girl.” She nuzzled my neck, nosing my hair out of the way so her whispered words could brush my ear. “I’m Tiffany.”
I cleared my throat, feeling her nails lightly tickling my knees. “I’m Danielle. And this is my friend, Carrie.” It felt very strange to be introducing myself to a stripper, but I looked over and saw Carrie smiling. “And her husband, Doc.” On the other side of me, Doc was quiet, not smiling, just watching, his eyes dark.
Tiffany rocked as she started to stand, her little hips moving back and forth, her hands trailing up the silk of her thighs, lifting her dress, just a little. She teased us, her hemline flirting with her g-string as she danced, using her hands to trace the soft curves of her body through the material. I heard my own intake of breath when she cupped her own breasts, rubbing her palms flat against them until her nipples grew hard.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Carrie whispered. I felt her hand cupping the back of my neck, massaging. “Does she turn you on?”
My mouth was too dry to speak as Tiffany began to grind her hips in circles, slowly spiraling downward toward the floor and then back up again, giving us more glimpses of her panties. Next to me, I heard Doc give a little groan as Tiffany stayed down on the floor, thighs open, palms pressed to the floor, doing that same motion I’d seen her do on-stage, as if she was riding a nice big cock. I was pretty sure Doc was wishing it was his.
Tiffany gave a little moan, her eyes half-closed, and then she turned her back to us, up on her knees, reaching back to lift her skirt over her behind with her hands. Her palms slipped the material up and down against her ass, playing peek a boo with that tattoo on her hip, and then bending forward onto her hands and knees so we could see her bottom up in the air.
“Mmm.” Carrie’s hand moved down my back, over to my hip, and I felt her breasts pressing into my side. “That’s sexy.”
Tiffany rolled gracefully on the carpet, turning and coming toward us on hands and knees, stalking, like a cat. She stopped in front of me-my thighs were still squeezed tight, my pussy pounding between my legs, begging for attention I knew it probably wouldn’t get for hours-and then rubbed her cheek against my knees.
She was so soft, so inviting, I couldn’t help opening a little. Encouraged, she sidled up between my thighs, making me part them wide, wider. My skirt rode up too high, all the way to my hips, as she situated herself between my legs, rubbing her body against mine.
“Take my dress off,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.
I groped for the hem of her dress, my fingers brushing her behind through the material. I inched it up and finally reached the edge, finding it almost impossible to concentrate as she continued to writhe between my thighs. When I started lifting, Tiffany gracefully raised her arms and let me slip the silky material over her head.
“That’s better.” She slid her body against mine from bottom to top, her naked breasts grazing my cheeks as she stood and placed a knee against one of my hips, and then swung her other knee over, straddling my lap. Which was, I reasoned, why they called it a lap dance. She rocked her hips against mine, her hands moving through my hair, down my shoulders, and I wished I was wearing far less, so I could feel the heat of her pussy against mine.
But her breasts were in my face, rounded and sweet, her nipples pursed and hard. It was the hardest thing to not slide my hands over her body, to grab her hips and press her against me. Carrie seemed to know this and she held one of my hands, squeezing gently, as Tiffany ground our crotches together. My breath was coming in short pants and hers was too. I wondered if this really turned her on, or if she did it so often, all day long, that it just became part of the job.
“Here.” Tiffany took my hand, the one Carrie wasn’t holding, and slid it up her waist, over her ribs, stopping just short of her perfect little breasts. I kept my hand where she left it as she rocked in my lap, watching every delicious undulation of her curvy little body. She made me dizzy with lust.
I wanted to suck her nipple into my mouth as it grazed my cheek, but I didn’t. I wanted to kiss her throat as she arched, but I didn’t. I wanted to cup the hot little mound of her pussy and rub her, but I didn’t. What I did do was slowly move my hand back down her waist, letting it rest where the elastic band of her g-string stretched over her flawless hip.
