Kinky Desires

puff clamps

It’s about 9:30 on a Wednesday night.  It is one of the coldest days of the season.  Dancers shudder each time the door opens, letting in the cold.  Goosebumps cover freshly tanned skin, Nipples harden under spandex triangle tops, and the fine hairs on my forearms stand on end.  As I had expected, there are only a handful of customers.  Not many find lap dances a worthwhile pursuit when the temperature outside falls under 10 degrees (F).

Now I am walking off stage.  My body is now warm from the endorphin rush after my dance under the hot, neon lights.  My lips and cheeks are painted a pinkish rouge, my dark wavy hair falls upon my face in disobedient ringlets.  I am watching.  Taking in my surroundings.  Waiting to pounce.

That’s when I see him. A man.  He walks in and finds his way to a seat at the bar.  He is of average height, medium to small build, and short, dark hair with glasses.  He’s dressed in business casual.  He could be any man but he’s not.  He is in some way different and I silently claim him as “mine”.  I don’t know what it is, but something from deep inside him is calling out to me like a siren.

I am like a doctor.  I have been doing this for seven years now.  I look at people and see into them.  The good, the bad, the empty spaces and voids within them.  But like a black hole pulls matter into it, I am drawn to these souls.  Trust me, I’m a doctor.

I sit next to the man and welcome him.  He hasn’t even finished his first beer yet.  I don’t ask him for a tip or a dance.  I just sit beside him and start a conversation while sipping on my seltzer water.  He tells me about his children, job, and what it’s like adjusting to life as a single father.  I share some of my own experiences going through a divorce and being a working parent.

I know he wants to tell me something else but I don’t know what and I don’t know how to bring it out of him.  Yet it’s there, somewhere deep in his eyes.  Tell me all your secrets…  Tell me all your dirty dreams…  I wish it were as easy as just asking him the question.  I make small talk instead, pausing in between sentences, creating the opportunity for him to tell me what I want to know.  You can tell me anything.

Finally, he asks me if I’ve ever been a mistress.  Then, like built up water in a faulty pipe, my brain unloads and my dirty little thoughts and secrets are released into the atmosphere between us.  I tell him about the man I used to whip with a riding crop, my fantasy of taking a guy to a strip club while he wears a slave suit and making him watch me get lap dances from hot girls…  I tell him about the way whenever I see shiny, patent leather, my eyes can’t look away.  Then I tell him about the time my ex-boyfriend stuck a flashlight up my ass.  My new friend’s eyes light up.  “Without asking”, I add, embellishing a bit.

…………………………………………………………………………………

On the night this occurred, the man was instantly intrigued by me but I sensed his trepidation.  I knew he was somehow unsure of me.  Patience is a virtue.  I stayed with him.  I didn’t pressure him.  I let him know how much I would really enjoy dancing with him.  And I meant it.  But I didn’t want to appear desperate.  I walked away for a couple short minutes before going back to him to say “Hi.”  Now he was ready.

In the champagne room, I listened to his fantasies and the stories he told of his experiences.  I assessed him as not a DOMINANT, nor a SUBMISSIVE, but rather a man who enjoys fighting for control.  I could have a lot of fun with him, I knew.  I put my chest in his face and breathed my hot breath on his neck.  I firmly gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled on it with all my weight, steadying myself in his lap, grinding my ass cheek hard on his crotch.  I found his nipples and pinched them, my nails digging into the flesh.  As I did, he seemed to become overwhelmed with pleasure and pain.

He put his hand on the back of my head and grabbed a handful of handful of hair from right above my neck.  He pulled hard, fighting for control.  I lost the much of the mobility of my neck due to his strong grip.  After a few moments, he let go and ran his fingernails down my back, gripping my body tightly.

I sat up straight in his lap and leaned in closer.  I pinched his nipples again and whispered, “What else do you like?”  I pulled hard on his collar again.

He gasped in ecstasy.  “I like cock and ball torture.”

I positioned my high heeled shoe in his crotch.  He let out a cry of pleasure that told me to keep going.

I happened to have these nipple clamps in my locker that I had thrown in my purse before we went to have our dances.  I put them on his nipples (with permission of course) and adjusted them until they fit tightly.  I spent most of our remaining time together pulling them and jamming my knee or heel into his crotch.  I was truly enjoying myself.

After a few minutes of being really aggressive with him, I started to get the feeling that what I was doing was really causing him pain.  Each time I’d shove my knee into his crotch his body would respond with a jolt and a painful moan that had an undertone of intense pleasure.  I wanted to stop hurting him and be sweet to him but I didn’t want to break character.

“You like it?”  I asked, in a sexy, sultry way.

“I love it” He answered.

My brain was racing with thoughts like, What if he can’t have any more kids after this?  What if I really injure him and he SUES me?  But I was determined not to break character.  Breaking character can ruin an entire fantasy for someone.  And the more I kneed him in the goods, the more he loved it.

When our time was up, he thanked me for a wonderful time.  I reciprocated the gratitude because I had truly enjoyed myself as well.  Although I must admit, maybe I’m not quite cut out for outright torturing or hurting people.  Still, I had fun.

These are the things I love seeing.  We all have our own fantasies and many of us have fetishes that we keep hidden from most of society.  I am the lucky girl who gets to strip humanity down to the basics and see the things most of us keep locked away.

I enjoy utilizing my own sexuality to experience that of others.  My own curiosity is a driving force that compels me to remain in the so called “sex industry”.

I think instead of the “sex industry” it should be called “The sexual industry”.  “Sex Industry” makes us sound as though we are industrial whores working on assembly lines making and giving out sex.  “Sexual industry” implies that we are sexual in our line of work.  Sexuality is more important than the act of sex itself.  And sexuality is part of what makes us human.

“I can’t believe I almost passed you up”, my new pal said as we were parting ways at the end of the night.  “I underestimated you.”

“It’s OK”, I said.  “I’m glad we danced.”

He looked at me for a moment or two too long, as if he had something more he wanted to say to me.  I gave him a sly grin and a wink, as if to say: You can tell me anything…  Trust me, I’m a doctor…

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