Lapdancing Girlfriend: Catfight

I strut across the club like a lioness prowling the open savannah, tossing my voluminous silky, blonde mane and hunting for my next victim. It doesn't take long to spot my prey. Tonight, the club is rich with wide-eyed wildebeest; their tongues lolling mindlessly as they drool over the handful of scantily clad females who totter between them on vertiginous heels. Us girls sparkle like Grecian goddesses all smooth, tanned and pert in the sea of instantly forgettable, grey men. Our barely there outfits do scandalously little to cover our nubile, young bodies and in contrast to the suited men we look very, very exposed. Yet despite the disparity in clothing I refuse to conform to the stereotype of an airhead, sex doll, which is more than can be said for the other girls stripping at the Satin Kitty. Those ditzy bimbos just roll over and submit to the misogynistic pigs that frequent the club, but not me. I might be an absolute stunner with a seriously rocking body, but I'm more than just a ten on the hottie scale. My brains are as sharp as my curves and I am undoubtedly the apex predator in this environment. I'm fit, tanned, toned and ready. Primed, at any moment, to pounce and bleed the male game dry and I have just such a target in my sights.

My chosen quarry is standing by the bar gawping at Mary, aka Kitten, one of the other dancers, who is writhing on a neon lit stage. The petite blonde is clad in a tiny, slingshot monokini, which is pulled so taut over her ample assets that it threatens to spring off at any moment. From hopeful look in the guy's beady eyes I can tell that is exactly what he is praying for. The pervert. Well if its flesh he wants to see I'm more than willing to oblige... as long as he's got the green that is.

I sashay over walking heel to toe, heel to toe like a Victoria's Secret model, all cat like grace and sexy sophistication. As soon as the guy clocks me his jaw drops and that second-rate stripper Mary is forgotten. Predictably she scowls at me like I'm breaking some unwritten girl code for stealing her mark and I mouth at her to fuck off. The little tart must be on another planet if she thinks she can compete with me. Hell, I'm doing her a favour. If she watches me at work she might just learn something about seducing guys. Ignoring Kitten I turn all my attention to the so-called man standing before me.

"Hi handsome," I purr in a voice like warm honey, fluttering my eyelashes like a humming bird's wings, thrusting my chest forwards.

For a moment the guy stands frozen, gawping at me like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. Eventually after a lot of throat clearing, he manages to get out a weak "hi." His eyes' flickering between my boobs and my face as if he doesn't know which one he wants to focus on. It's no great surprise, I've poured myself into a very short, very tight black, satin and lace dress that does scandalously little to cover my svelte figure and a hell of a lot to flaunt it. Some outfits display legs, others breasts. Mine covers all bases, but little else if you know what I mean. The hem barely skims the bottom of my drum tight ass and the underwire lace cups push-up my already enhanced breasts giving the guy a delectable view of my impressive cleavage.

"I'm Fawn," I chirp moving in closer so that my lithe body is almost pressed against his. "What's your name?"

"Gary," he stammers out, a bead of perspiration forming on his top lip as my smooth body inches closer, my expensive perfume intoxicating his befuddled senses still further.

"Oh, Gary you are looking so hot tonight. I love a man in a suit." I announce running a French manicured finger suggestively down his tie.

It's not a lie. I do love a man in a suit, but not a cheap, ill-fitting off the peg suit. This chump clearly has no idea how to dress. His suit swamps him on the shoulders and is far too short and tight in the chest. Poor Gary would be better off blowing some cash on a decent tailor, but then where would the fun be in that?

"Well Gary I've feeling awfully hot in this little dress of mine." I gasp, hamming it up for this tool, practically orgasming out my words as I run my hands up over my body in a way he would clearly love to do. In your dreams Gary! It'll be a cold day in hell before I let a weasel like you touch my body. "What say you and I go to one of the private booths where I can strip it off, just for you?" I tease coyly biting a strawberry glossed lip and giving him the big doe eyes.

Gary doesn't even manage to vocalise a response. He just nods like a moron and lets me lead the way. Another one bites the dust.

I strut my way across the club floor leading Gary by his tie like he's a pet poodle on a leash, picking a route past the busiest tables so the other boys can admire me as I stride by, and admire me, they do. From the soles of my stiletto heeled shoes all the way up my silky, smooth pins, over my taut torso to the top of my perfectly styled hair, men gawk at me from every corner of the club, wishing they were in Gary's shoes. It's hilarious. I'm so above all these pricks it's ridiculous, but it's still a major turn-on to know that I'm so desired men gasp and groan as I walk by. Oh yes, I'm a goddess and they all worship me.

Tyron a big, burly, black bouncer is posted at the entrance to the private Lapdancing booths. He cuts an imposing figure at over six foot five with biceps bigger than babies. I've heard on the grapevine that he's fucked most of the girls at the club and that he's hung like a fucking donkey. I can't deny that he has a certain appeal. His tight, black t-shirt and leather jeans hug his hard, muscular body like a second skin showing off his broad shoulders and bulging pecs and I can practically see the snake in his pants twitch as I approach. Like all men he has the hots for me. He's been sniffing around me like a dog ever since I started at the Satin Kitty just over a month ago. Unfortunately for him unlike the other slut dancers I don't fuck the help. Not that he's taken my oh so subtle hints. He looks me up and down with wide-eyed desire the same as all the other male cattle, no doubt fantasizing about me naked and spread for him. The pig. His unashamed gawping at my lithe curves infuriates me. How dare he take the liberty of checking me out like I'm a piece of juicy ripe meat in a butcher's window! When will these fuckers learn that I'm not just a pair of tits and ass. I glare at him as I sashay past into the relative privacy of the booths, yanking Gary's tie still harder in my fury.

The fucking prick. Not that I have time to dwell on an asshole like Tyron. I can see that Gary's already on the edge. There is a small bulge in his pants that I can only imagine is his pathetic excuse for an erection and even under the air con his pasty skin is looking disgustingly clammy. I have absolutely no interest it this piece of shit, but it amuses me to toy with men like him. I play with them like a cat plays with a mouse and I'm about to play this chump like a fucking harp from hell.

"Sit." I order once we are in my favourite booth, pushing Gary back onto the red leather balconette seating that runs around the whole of this private compartment.

"Now it's $20 for a topless lapdance and $40 for fully nude." I lie. All dances are twenty bucks a pop and there is no such thing as a topless dance at the Satin Kitty. Mr Dewight (Chuck to the girls), the club's owner, takes a very liberal approach to nudity. Actually, let me clarify. He takes a very liberal approach to the girls' nudity. He expects his girls to show it all for pole dances in the main club and lapdances and don't even get me started on the flesh we are required to flaunt in the VIP area. In short modesty is a luxury a girl working at the Satin kitty can ill afford. Fortunately, modesty is not an affliction from which I've ever suffered, which Gary is about to discover, if he's got the money and doesn't have a heart attack before I get the chance.

"Sure, sure." Gary mutters thumbing forty bucks out of his wallet with such speed you'd have thought they were on fire. I have to wonder if he knows the club's costing policy on lapdances, not that it matters, he's in no position to argue. He's wearing a look of mindless lust that tells me right now he'd give his left arm to see me naked. So in perspective forty bucks must seem like a bargain. He can't wait to get the cash into my hand and get the party started. He hurriedly shoves me the forty bucks and sits back ready to enjoy the show. Poor Gary. I'm about to blow his fucking mind.

Christina Aguilera's Your Body is pumping through the built-in speakers and I let the beat control my movements. Gyrating my svelte hips in time to the music and giving Gary the sultry eyes. Unlike the other girls at the Satin Kitty I know how to dance. I've danced almost since I can remember and my body instinctively moves with the music. Slowly, sensually and hypnotically. I keep a few feet of distance between us, letting him get a good look at my body, but not giving him the close contact lapdance I can tell he craves. It least not yet. He just watches mesmerised, drool virtually pouring from his mouth. My, this boy has it bad for me. He's completely under my spell. Not that it surprises me, I've always had a power over men. Even in high school I could make both teachers and students weak at the knees by wearing a short skirt and battering my eye lashes. I've always been desired and more's the point I was born with an instinctive ability to know how to use it. My body is a weapon, which I wield with absolute precision.

I'm caressing my body now, sliding my hands up over my dress, cupping my breasts like a horny lover. I can only imagine what debauched thoughts are running through Gary's mind. He is probably fantasizing about fucking me senseless. As if he ever could with that tiny cock. The thought is laughable. I'd be more likely to put on a strap on and make him squeal, but I play to the fantasy. Gasping and making the theatrical pornstar sounds as I touch myself. Pretending like I'm all hot and bothered. Guys love hearing me moan. All the "uh's" and "er's". They can't help but visualise us having sex.

I drop to my knees and crawl like a jungle cat towards Gary's spread legs tossing my voluminous hair and glaring at him like I'm about to pounce. He swallows hard as I slink towards him a bead of sweat trickling from his brow.

He whimpers when I place my hands on his knees and thrust myself up from the floor. My dress has hitched itself up flashing my skimpy g-string and Gary's beady eyes widen like saucers at the forbidden glimpse of the postage stamp sized triangle struggling to cover my sex. It's so small and so tight it acts as less of a cover for my vagina and more like a caste of it.

Gary's jaw has dropped so wide I wonder if he has dislocated it and I decide to take it up a notch. I spin round and give him the rear view. Allowing him only the briefest of moments to savour the spectacle of the slender "g" of my string bisecting my perfect buttocks, before I slam my butt backwards into his groin smashing into his balls.

Gary grunts in pain, his tender blue balls crushed between my gym honed buns and the leather seating. Who'd have thought it this guy does actually have a set of balls?!

"Unzip me." I order strictly and Gary doesn't need to be told twice.

His stubby fingers trembling with excitement, Gary fumbles with the hidden zip at the back of my dress and with all the skill of a teenage virgin undoing his first bra he eventually manages to undo me. The dress is pulled taut against my fabulous body and it springs free as the zip descends towards the apex of my butt peeling away from the smooth, bare flesh beneath. I'm practically naked under this satin shell. My only item of underwear is my black lacy g-string. The dress has its own built in support so no bra is necessary or possible, meaning once it's off I'll be very exposed, which is precisely how the boys like me.

I slip the slender spaghetti straps from my shoulders so the only thing holding the dress on my body is the soft, fitted material clinging to my supple hips. However, I don't let the dress fall away from my torso and breasts just yet. I hold it in place as I stand and walk away from Gary, letting him see my bare back but little else.

Once I'm sufficient distance away I resume my dance teasing him with the prospect of removing my dress, but being in no hurry to do so. Every few moments I let my dress bunch at my hips and make like it's about to come off, but then at the last moment I slip it back up infuriating and frustrating my audience. Gary is going out of his head not least because I have yet to turn around and even show him my breasts.

Eventually when I feel I've got him hot enough I stand with my back to him, legs locked straight and bend forwards, easing the skin-tight fabric from my svelte hips, sending the dress tumbling to the floor with a whisper. Gary gasps and groans at the sight of me in just my scandalous underwear.

Looking over my shoulder I play with my breasts, tweaking my erect nipples. Teasing Gary who can see what I'm doing but not the subject of my attentions. He desperately wants to see my tits now and he keeps craning his neck to see around the side. Not so fast Gary. These babies cost me a small fortune. If you want to see them, you're going to have to pay for it.

Giving myself a hand bra, I spin round and strut towards Gary once more. My nipples are pressing into the palms of my hands and the hopeful look in Gary's eyes betrays his expectation that any moment my hard nubs will be revealed.

"Do you want to see my tits?" I ask salaciously slipping onto his lap so my breasts are almost in his fat face.

Gary nods like his life depends on it, but the dipshit doesn't seem to get the subtle hint.

"Show me how much you want to see them." I proposition, jiggling them like ripe fruit before his very eyes.

At long last Gary gets what I mean and pulls another twenty bucks from his wallet.

"Oh, you only want to see one?" I pout. "That's a shame."

The cogs in this moron's brain are slowly starting to catch on and he pulls out another twenty. I take the notes in my teeth sliding my hands onto the back of the balconette, freeing my nipples. Gary pants and wheezes so loudly I worry he's just had a heart attack and there is no fucking way I'm giving this sack of shit mouth to mouth. To say he appreciates my firm breasts is an understatement. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. Well done Doctor Chang, the plastic surgeon responsible for my perfect pair. He certainly did an incredible job.

I glide my bullet hard nipples across Gary's lips almost grazing them against his pudgy, wet flesh. They are a tantalising treat he'd die to taste and the temptation proves almost too much. Forgetting himself, Gary attempts to lick one of my erect buds, but I pull away just in time, laughing like a playful nymph as I dance away from him.

For a moment Gary looks almost disappointed, but it soon dawns on him that time is fast approaching for the main event. We both know all Gary really wants is me naked. Yes, my g-string offers virtually no coverage, but any modesty no matter how scanty is too much for men. They want me stripped of every last vestige of dignity. Exposed in all my glory and vulnerability. It's disgracefully sexist, but it's also what keeps me in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed.

I tease Gary toying with the ribbon thin sides of my g-string. Playing the same frustrating game, I played with my dress, teasing them down before slipping them back up. Driving Gary wild.

I prance around provoking him. Forcing him to use every last ounce of self-control to stay seated. For a split second it looks like Gary is about to get up and lunge towards me, but I quickly put pay to that. I spin around and with terrifying precision plant a stiletto heel on top of the leather seating inches from Gary's fat, sweaty face. He collapses back into the seat, shivering with a heady mix of horror and delight as I stretch a silky-smooth leg an inch or so before his eyes. His gaze glides up my shapely calf, over my tender thigh to the prize that still lies frustratingly covered between.

I gyrate my hips twisting the flimsy band of my g-string around my fingers, which has the effect of tugging the tiny triangle at the front up even tighter over my sex, giving me some serious fucking camel toe and making Gary salivate.

"Do you want me to take my panties off?" I ask naively, like I can't tell that Gary is going out of his mind at the prospect.

"Yes, yes...please." He groans urgently, licking his lips.

"Ok, but I'll need you to demonstrate that to me again." I say innocently. Gary is in so deep now he thumbs another twenty out of his wallet without a word and slips it into the side of my panties. Such a good boy.

I put some distance between us again and stand side on, maintaining a straight back and piercing eye contact I whip my tiny g-string off in an instant, leaving me butt wild naked.

Gary is visibly shaking, sweat pouring from his brow. I can even see dark patches under the arms of his suit jacket. He has completely lost control, but yet still I tease him mercilessly.

Of course, I don't just spin round and give him the full frontal. I sashay towards him cupping my pussy with my hand, hiding the one and only part of me he hasn't seen.

"Do you like smooth?" I taunt.

"Uh huh." Gary pants.

Of course, he does. What man doesn't like a girl whose pussy is as smooth as a baby's butt? And they don't come any smoother than mine. I'm not waxed or shaved. I've had my vagina lasered bare and I haven't stopped there. Every inch of my body has been lasered. Arms, legs, armpits. You name it. I'm the very epitome of eggshell smooth perfection.

"Good." I purr leaning in close, "because I'm as smooth as silk."

Gary releases a low mew at my admission, biting his lip so hard it almost bleeds, which I take to signal his approval.

"Show me how much you want to see it." I whisper in his ear and within an instant Gary has produced another twenty-dollar bill.

I reward the fat ferret for his obedience, whipping my hand away and planting my heel on the back of the balconette once more. I certainly give him what he paid for. The buttery, shell pink lips of my sex are now quivering an inch or so in front of his face. In fact, my labia are so close they are practically steaming up his glasses. For an added bonus I slip my nimble fingers between my lips parting them so Gary can see my vagina in gynaecological detail.

It's almost more than Gary can bear. I need to be careful he could go at any moment and then I'll have lost my cash cow. I flick my leg down and straddle this fat prick once more.

"Gary I want to cum for you." I gasp breathily, grazing my labia against his tie, leaving a wet trail on the cheap polyester. "Do you want to cum with me?" I ask suggestively, running my tongue provocatively over my top lip.

"Yes, yes, please!" Gary pleads almost forcing another twenty into my hand. Perfect.

Without warning I drop all my weight onto his lap crushing his cock and balls beneath me. Gary grimaces in pain, but the warmth of my tight body against his is just what he craves.

"That feels good doesn't it Gary?" I gasp playing the pornstar, my voice all breathy and aroused.

"Yes, yes." Gary whimpers his body shaking uncontrollably as I grind my naked crotch against his waist just missing his groin and the parts of him begging for stimulation.

"Ooooh yeah baby this feels so fucking good." I moan speeding up my grinding, riding Gary like some fat bull. Driving him wild but avoiding any contact with his aching cock.

"Please!" He begs pathetically pushing another twenty into my hand and then another. Damn he wants it so bad. If I wasn't such a bitch, I'd feel sorry for him. He is on the edge staring over the precipice. He is so close its almost painful to watch, but I have no intention of allowing him that final blissful moment of release. I like him here. A broken shell of a man.