Liz
“Turn around, honey. Show me what you’ve got.”
Liz did what her customers wanted. Not because she wanted to—no, never that—but because money made the world go round. And right now, money meant survival. College was expensive, rent wasn’t forgiving, and between tuition fees and daily expenses, stripping was the quickest way to keep herself afloat.
So she turned. Slowly. Seductively. Pressing her body against the cool metal of the pole, she arched her spine, taking a few steps back while lowering her upper body until her barely-covered ass was on full display.
The response was immediate. Cheers, whistles, and crude shouts filled the air, but the sound that truly mattered came next, the crisp flutter of dollar bills hitting the stage. Shame and pride were locked in a constant battle within her, but shame didn’t pay the bills.
Tonight was a good night.
She knew what worked, knew the exact tricks to squeeze more from these men. Drunk and desperate, they were predictable. And predictability was profitable.
Liz remained in her pose, legs spread just enough to tease, the garter belt hugging her hips, accentuating every curve. A thin string ran between her thighs, covering just enough to keep them wanting. Her breasts, bare but for the star-shaped pasties, hung freely as gravity took hold.
She felt their eyes like hands, groping, undressing her even more in their minds. The heat in the room thickened, sweat and alcohol mixing in the air. Her audience’s heavy, almost animalistic breathing reached her ears, and a twisted thrill ran down her spine. She had them.
And they knew it.
Money rained onto the stage, desperate offerings to a goddess most could never touch. They threw their money like housewives on sale day.
Liz moved on autopilot now, letting muscle memory take over. Twisting her upper body, she threw a smoldering look over her shoulder. Light brown eyes glimmered beneath the dim neon glow, strands of her long, sleek hair framing parted lips. It was a look that had drained wallets dry before.
It never failed.
Men inhaled sharply. Some choked on their drinks; others sat frozen, eyes wide in a trance. Liz understood. It was not rocket science. Their brains had short-circuited, blood rushing south, leaving them dumb and obedient.
She wasn’t even done with them yet.
With one hand gripping the pole, the other traced a slow, deliberate path down her body, fingers sliding over her stomach, past her hips, until they reached the curve of her ass. The moment she gripped herself, pulling just enough to hint at more—
The room erupted.
“Fuck, I came from watching!”
“Just take em off for us.”
“Show me more.”
Liz smirked. Men are simple. Give them a flash of tits and ass, and they’d sell their souls for another peek. Some might have restraint, but eventually, they all broke. They always did.
And she? She was just here to cash in. Well, there was another reason too.
Liz was amazed at how they managed to control themselves at that point. She had seen the hunger in their eyes. The desire to take, to own, to ruin her. To grab her by the hair, bend her over, fuck her raw, and leave her dripping in their cum.
The worst part?
She had imagined it too.
Being taken by faceless strangers, dominated, and used until she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath them. But fantasies were fantasies. And reality was cold, calculated, and controlled. Well, sometimes dreams did come true after all.
Her gaze flickered across the sea of men, skimming over the usual mix, drunken college kids, cheating husbands, stressed businessmen—until she found him.
He sat in the back, watching.
Unlike the others, he wasn’t drooling. Wasn’t shouting or reaching for his wallet like a dog begging for a treat. He just... watched.
He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, exuding a polished confidence. His short black hair was neatly styled, and his striking blue eyes, like a Siberian Husky’s, held an unreadable expression. A well-groomed beard framed his strong jawline, and his lips curved into a knowing smirk as he took a slow sip from his glass. Though the dim lighting obscured some details, Liz could tell by the way his suit fit that he had broad shoulders and a solid, well-built frame.
Curious. Amused.
Like he was in control.
Liz’s movements faltered for just a fraction of a second, so brief that no one else would have noticed. But she did. And it pissed her off.
Every other man in this room was at her feet, exactly where they belonged. But he? He sat there like an untouchable king, those striking blue eyes following her every move with a grin plastered on his face. How could he be any different?
Nearly naked, Liz knew exactly how good she looked. Her body was the result of relentless training and strict discipline, toned in all the right places, with just enough softness where it mattered. She had the face, the body, and the skill to keep men hypnotized, and now, with a challenge in her midst, she moved with even more purpose, each motion deliberate, each glance calculated.
The room was stifling, thick with heat from both the crowd and the cranked-up thermostat, which was nothing more than an old trick to push customers into ordering more drinks.
Beads of sweat traced the curves of her body, glistening under the dim lights, accentuating every arch and dip as she danced. The warmth in the air mingled with the smoldering heat pooling in her core.
She stepped up her performance. If he thought he was immune to her, he was about to learn otherwise.
She was thirsty.
But not just for water.
A slow smirk curled her lips as she noticed it. The shift.
His composure cracked.
Just a little—his gaze darkening, his jaw tightening, the grip on his drink a bit firmer than before. But Liz saw it. She always did.
No matter how much they pretended, men were all the same.
By the time her routine ended, the stage was a meadow of green, dollar bills carpeting the floor like fallen leaves. Liz soaked in the moment, letting the applause, the hungry gazes, and the sheer power of control flood her veins.
And then, without a backward glance, she left the stage.
The dressing room was alive with chatter, laughter, and the rustling of cash being counted. Some girls were already half-dressed, others freshening up, and a few slipping off for “private sessions” with their highest bidders.
Chloe, a tall, stunning blonde with a voice a little too high-pitched, threw an arm around Liz.
“You turned the club into a colosseum again, Liz!” she sang, her smile sweet but her eyes sharp. “How much did you rake in this time?”
Liz barely had time to answer before he walked in. The club owner.
His thick, cigar-rough voice cut through the room.
“Good work tonight,” he said, scanning the room like a businessman evaluating his investments. “Now, get some rest. I expect the same tomorrow.”
Liz caught the glint in his eye—money, money, money.
Then, he turned to her.
“By the way…” He scratched his chin, covered by a thick, long beard. “A lot of guys asked for you again. Turned ’em down like you said.”
Liz nodded. Nothing new there. She didn’t do private dances unless she wanted to.
“But him." The owner jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “Tall. Blue eyes. Black hair. The sort of bloke who makes me question my sexual orientation just by looking at him.”
Liz’s pulse kicked. She had already spoken to the owner about her new interest.
“Tell him, Room 5.”
So, in the end, he was also just one horny little man. There had never been a shred of doubt.
Liz took her time reapplying her makeup and fixing her hair. She wasn’t in a rush.
She liked her men hungry.
Click-Clack.
The rhythmic sound of her heels hitting the ground echoed in Room 5, a space designed for the club’s most exclusive guests. Dim lighting cast long shadows, and the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air.
In the center of the room, a man lounged in a chair, his posture relaxed. Until she entered. The moment his eyes met hers, he straightened, his entire demeanor shifting. Liz felt a familiar heat rise within her as she finally got a closer look at him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly confident, he exuded a presence that made her pulse quicken. He met all her expectations.
With one final, deliberate click, she stopped before him. His sharp gaze roamed over her body, lingering in places that sent a delicious thrill through her. The tension between them thickened, crackling in the air like an impending storm. And the bulge in his pants promised even more arousal.
The tension between them was palpable. Liz couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to release her frustration and see what he would do.
Liz leaned forward, her fingers trailing over his thigh, moving with deliberate slowness. She didn’t hesitate as she continued upward, tracing along the fabric that barely concealed the heat beneath. His member was turgid and throbbing between her fingers as if begging for release. A quiet, restrained sound escaped him, his breath hitching as she applied the lightest pressure. She caught herself licking her lips. This would be delicious.
The man tensed, his muscles coiled, his fingers gripping the chair’s arms as though grounding himself. He opened his legs wider, pushing his hips forward and pressing his penis towards Liz, who continued to play with it, massaging his quads and taking sneak peeks at his reaction from time to time. His restraint wasn’t limitless, and Liz reveled in the control she held.
Until, in one swift motion, he shattered it.
His hand shot forward, tangling in her hair, guiding her closer, pressing her against the firmness of his lap. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, caught between surprise and anticipation. The sheer dominance of the act sent a fresh wave of heat through her, igniting something deep inside. Finally, she would have fun.
Her face was touching his groin with such force that she feared it would leave an imprint of his size on her, marking her as his. She would let him have her. Just the thought caused her to sense a wetness dripping down her inner thighs.
“Oh God, suck it already!” he grunted. Liz happily complied as she reached for the belt and slowly opened it.
She never said much, preferring to use her body, touch, and movements to express her desires. However, men were hardwired to give orders, dominate, and feel in control. She gave in to their desires.
As she tugged his pants to his knees, his cock sprang free, almost brushing her cheek with its weighty presence. A fat, pulsing dick stared at her, demanding attention. Her breath caught as she traced a teasing fingertip along his length, feeling the way he twitched under her touch. It felt like playing with a forbidden toy.
Her face was close enough to feel the warmth of his arousal, and her lips were just inches from the tip. The sight was mouthwatering, almost irresistible. Her tongue darted out, eager to taste, to tease the glistening tip, but her chance was taken when two strong hands grabbed the back of her head and forced her down onto the male pillar.
