Marcy
The lounge is dark, but done up luxuriously with jewel-toned pendant-lamps and crimson carpeting which gives it a gothic yet elegant feel. A long oak bar graces one side of the room, and low-slung couches are scattered about. There’s a small dance floor off in the corner, but at the moment, no one’s dancing. Instead, handsome men in suits stand in small clumps, chatting with cocktails in their hands. Many of the women have yet to make an entrance, so Petunia and I are two of the first.
Pet gets into it immediately. “I spy with my little eye someone tall, blonde, and sexy as hell,” she whispers in a low voice. “Goodness he’s handsome.”
With that, I turn to see a gorgeous man in a dark suit, his blonde hair waving from his forehead. White teeth flash as he smiles, but then I nudge my friend.
“He’s yummy but you better hurry, girl, because I see Carrie making a beeline over there.”
Pet merely grins.
“Well, Carrie doesn’t stand a chance against these,” my friend winks, her brown eyes flashing mischievously as she hoists her boobs up higher in her bra. “Have fun tonight and be sure to do everything that I wouldn’t do.”
I giggle and watch my friend saunter away, admiring her confidence as she teeters along in her sky-high heels and barely-there outfit. The bells on her sarong jingle and swish with each step, and to be honest, I think the blonde man had his eye on her because as soon as she approaches, he turns and they begin chatting away like old friends.
I shake my head before I turn my attention to the rest of the room. Figures. Petunia has always been popular because she’s downright gorgeous and could probably win beauty pageants if she was into it. But what about me? I look down ruefully at my sassy curves. I’ve given up trying to get skinny because after the Palm Beach Diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, Tae Bo, and the latest thing called intermittent fasting, I’ve given up. My wide hips and ample thighs are part of what define me, and at least I have the Double Ds to go with them too!
But suddenly, I feel shy, almost lonely, standing by myself in the crowded room. It’s odd to stand in the midst of people, and yet to feel all alone. It’s as if I’m beneath a bell jar, and I can see folks talking, chatting and flirting away, and yet they can’t see me.
I’m probably just tired, I rationalize. Between working here, selling make-up, and babysitting, I barely have a chance to relax these days. The hustle is real but it’s getting exhausting. And I’m only 24 years old, I sigh deeply. Can I even last another year in this crazy place called Manhattan?
I run my hand through my dark brown hair absentmindedly, wondering how much longer I have to wait until they finally turn on the music. Maybe it would be better just to get the show started, so I can stop having these broody thoughts.
But then, my sixth sense tingles, and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. What is it? I turn, and there’s a man seated on one of the plush couches in the corner, and although he’s in shadow, I can tell he’s watching me. Oooh, who is this guy? Judging from his silhouette, he’s got broad shoulders with a long, muscled frame. I see his eyes flash for a moment— are they blue?— as he observes me. Then, the man lifts his drink toward me in salutation and my insides go mushy. Even in the dim light I can tell the man is handsome. The outline of his jaw looks like it could cut glass, and I briefly wonder what those mobile lips might feel like on mine.
Wow, get a grip, Marcy, I scold myself. Don’t get your panties in a scrunch before the event’s even started. After all, we’re not supposed to catch feelings for the clients, even if it can be tricky given that our male members are usually gorgeous, handsome, and filthy rich. It’s not an explicit rule at the club, but any hostess worth her salt knows to stay on her side of the line.
But who am I kidding? These men are irresistible and at the moment, I’m intrigued by the dark stranger.
I wonder who he is, I think, cocking my head to the side flirtatiously. The man sees my movement and raises his glass in a second cheers as the connection between us intensifies.
But then, the lights in the room dim and the room grows dark. A sensuous beat begins to sound from unseen speakers, and that’s my cue. It’s time for the show to begin.
In the darkness, I polish off the rest of my champagne and then set it down, more by feel than by sight, on a nearby table. Then I step towards the dance floor and take my place in the line of women. It’s still dark, but the darkness is filled with an anticipation so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Sure enough, the lights come back on, and we girls begin to dance.
By no means are we expert dancers, but it doesn’t really matter because that’s not what the men are here for. Instead, they’re here to see female assets jiggle and shake, and that’s happening, absolutely, because the girls are dressed in outrageous little outfits that leave almost nothing to the imagination. In fact, I see Carrie purposefully pull her bra cups down so that her big breasts are bare, and she smiles and waves her arms around, swinging her hips like she’s a real belly dancer.
I merely keep a smile pasted on my face. This isn’t about fancy moves, the voice in my head chides. This is about showing these men a good time. With that in mind, I swish my hips with the music, shifting my butt from one side to another with each thud of the tempo. My breasts bounce wildly as I shimmy, and I wonder if I should just do what Carrie did and let them pop out of the bra. It could be fun.
But we’re not here just for a show. Slowly, the girls leave the dance floor, still swaying our hips, and begin to spread out among the crowd, stepping and rocking to the beat. Quite a few of the guys are already beckoning to several of the girls, but I ignore them. Instead, I steal a glimpse at the handsome man I saw earlier in the corner, but to my dismay, he’s no longer there. My heart drops to my feet, even as the smile remains pasted on my face.
You didn’t even talk to him, the voice in my head scolds. Why were you getting your hopes up to begin with?
But a girl can dream right? Still, I have a job to do and even if I’m nowhere as enthusiastic anymore, I continue to shimmy and shake, making my tits bounce and my ass shake. Quite a few of the girls are getting raunchy now. I see Carrie, ever the extrovert, rub her breasts in a man’s face before he catches a nipple in his mouth for a deep suck. A few tables over, Jelena’s just pulled her panties off, revealing a long trail of sticky fluid dripping from her pussy as another billionaire reaches out to catch the string with his finger before smoothing it over her swollen folds.
I must look so prissy compared to them, I groan internally. God, I really need to step up my game.
Even crazier, from the corner of my eye, I watch as the tall blonde man approaches Pet. She turns around and grinds her backside against his obviously hard staff, her expression one of pure bliss as she moves. The man cups her breasts in his hands, squeezing them as the two of them sway to the music, dirty dancing, and then he pops his fly, revealing that huge shaft. Pet’s eyes go wide, but never missing a beat, she plucks her thong out of her ass and then begins sinking her pussy down on that huge hardness, her mouth dropping open with bliss as the penetration begins. Holy shit, that looks good! Pet’s being stretched to the max it seems like, but she really likes it too judging from the dazed yet pleasurable look in her eyes. She’s panting hard now as the guy really pushes it into her, and then my friend lets out a small wail as he finally drives it home.
They look insanely sexy, and I’m even a bit jealous witnessing the lustful scene. But where’s my man? God, I wish I could find that dark stranger, even if I know I shouldn’t fixating on someone I’ve never even met.
Just enjoy the music, I tell myself. That’s the only thing you can do. As a result, I focus on my own dancing, determined to bring my A-game. I bend over slowly and peel off my g-string, shaking my ass a little as I slide the lacy panties down my legs. My sarong does nothing to cover my ass but I don’t mind because I’m finally getting lost in the moment. It feels good to be so uninhibited actually, and I smile a bit, noting how my g-string was wet at the crotch.
That a girl, the voice in my head cheers. You can do this. Slowly, I close my eyes and sway to the left, and then to the right. I tilt my head back and moan aloud, the soft sound barely audible over the music, but I don’t care. It’s my own little sound track, and I run my hands along my soft stomach and up to my breasts, caressing the creamy swells.
I’m plucking at my nipples, enjoying how the pleasure shoots straight from my breast to my cunt, when suddenly two large hands come around my waist, cupping my hips and pulling me firmly against a rock hard cock. I gasp at the shock and swivel around to stare at the stranger.
OMG, it’s the dark man! Where did he come from? Up close, he’s even more gorgeous than I imagined. Those blue eyes glitter in the darkness, and he’s got a strong, sharp features with a high forehead, chiseled cheeks and a mouth made for sin. Black hair waves back from his forehead, and those shoulders are so high and broad that I know I’m done for. I want him, desperately, and the need must be obvious in my eyes because he smiles in the darkness like a predator.
“Show me what you can do, baby girl,” he rasps. “Your body was made for sin.”
We move together slowly at first but then with more determination, and I shiver is because this is a belly-dancing exhibition, but the fact is that the belly-dancing hasn’t even started yet. After all, at Sanctum, we don’t do it the traditional way. Instead, I’m be taking this man inside me in order to show how real belly-dancing is done, and now, I can’t wait for the filth to begin.