Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Then Joi starts to sing. “I lose all control…”
My doll cups her breasts, then slides her hands up her chest, her neck, into her hair…
And just as the words “when you grab ahold…” are heard, she lifts her arms to grasp the pole above her head with both hands, making me wish it was my cock instead. Or my own hands around her throat.
“And you do your trick…”
She holds herself up with her two-handed grip, and in a precisely equal move, her legs part wide.
“I love it when you…”
At the exact moment Joi sings the final word of the stanza—“lick.”—my doll slides straight down the pole, and if I didn’t have such a tight rein on each of my personalities, I would’ve probably whimpered the effect is so fucking sexy.
She knew damn well while she was creating it that I’d read into every second of this performance. And with her legs now spread obscenely wide, her thighs completely exposed as her tiny skirt hides nothing but her pussy in this half-squatted pose, that repeated word—lick—hits me right in the dick. Because all I’m thinking about now is doing exactly that.
I don’t hear it over the music, but I can feel the plastic remote groan in my hand as my grip tightens unconsciously. Not wanting to ruin the surprises in store for me or the work she put into them, I reach over without peeling my eyes away from my little dancer and set the remote on a rolling tray table I know is next to me.
It’s a good thing too, because that’s when she starts rolling her hips to the sensual beat, and I feel my cock jerk, surely soaking the front of my boxer briefs with precum.
She stands back up in one fluid motion, her legs sliding back together, then takes one hand off the pole above her head to trail it from one side of her throat to the other beneath her black-and-pink collar as Joi sings, “You’ve got lock and key…” Replacing her hand where it was, spinning to give me her back, and lowering her grip down the pole as she steps away from it enough to bend all the way forward until her upper half is perfectly flat, she hits this pose just as “Every part of me…” fills my ears.
Meaning I own everything she’s showing me.
The part of her body I can finally see beneath that black-and-pink-plaid miniskirt.
The rotating disco ball reflects the spotlight just right for me to catch a glimpse of the pink thong she’s wearing, and she’s bent so far forward it’s not just lace disappearing between her cheeks. It’s all of that thin material that’s visible, the part that’s usually concealed by the rounded globes of her ass, plus the other few inches that has her perfect pussy hidden behind it.
Somehow, the fact that I can see that little pink thong all the way from back to front is more arousing than if she’d bent over and revealed she was pantiless.
If there’s hidden meaning to decode between the rest of the chorus and her movements, it’s lost on me, because my mind focuses solely on the erotic vision she creates as she continues to dance for me.
By the time she turns to face me once again, I’m so aroused I can barely stand it. And that’s when it dawns on me, I’m not in some strip club with rules to follow. I’m in my own goddamn sex club, with my own tiny dancer who wants nothing more than to please me.
So, I stand up from the chair at a gradual speed, as not to startle her and make her stop her performance. I’m rewarded for the forethought, because instead of faltering, her eyes focus on my hands as she keeps going, the reflected light exposing the flush taking over her beautiful face while she watches me undo my belt, then slide it slowly from its loops. Unconsciously, my movements as I fold the leather, grip it in one hand, and unbutton my jeans match the beat of the music along with her, and the tension building in the space between us makes my heart pick up its pace. Especially when her extra-long lashes make it obvious when her gaze follows my fingers as I lower my zipper.
I don’t take off my pants, because she might have a plan for getting me out of them, so I pull my phone and wallet from my pockets and take a seat once again, placing the items on the tray next to the remote. Resting the belt across my lap, my eyes never leave her once in the time between bending forward to untie my shoes and tossing them and my socks beneath the rolling tray table. And thank God for that, because it’s in those moments she lets go of the pole to untie the knot of her shirt just beneath her breasts.