Strip it Off

Ear-piercing loud music,

Blend of expensive colognes, 

Wine glasses and champagne flutes clicking together,

Sweaty bodies grinding and humping on the floor...

Clara stood in the middle, feeling dizzy even as she clogged another glass of champagne down her throat. Choosing a posh strip club which was strictly exclusive to its members wasn't the best decision to make after seeing your boyfriend do another woman, and boy did he do it hard.

But there hadn't been anything normal about the day, and so she'd said 'fuck it' and in an impulsive moment, bought a membership card to the last place she would have been in on any other day; a VIP strip club whose one month subscription package was worth more than her five months salary.

But she'd done it because it was the damn worst idea; she had needed something worse than Dane's nonchalant attitude, and the audacity with which he had told her that it was she who had pushed him to the brink of cheating.

She had wanted to tell him, 'hello mister, I really do remember leading your tiny member and pushing it into her V.J., jackass.' But at the time, none of those words had come to her. She had only kept remembering how she had funded his constantly failed business ideas.

She hadn't bought a new car although her salary could afford her an installment plan, neither had she ever thought of leaving the apartment for a better place.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd shopped, just as it occurred to her that she hadn't enrolled in online classes for over a year.

What had happened to her dreams? She'd just grown content being Dane's provider, just as he'd relaxed into the role of leeching on her with his laziness.

But that hadn't been enough, had it? He'd had to bring a girl home and fuck her in the same bed she had lost her virginity, and worse? Unapologetically told her it was because she had been too busy with work of late to tend to his needs....

Clara decided not to think of the wrenching pain in her heart, and immediately took another drink from a passing waiter, again gobbling it down her throat.

The music in her heart, that which whispered a sad melody lost its intensity as the hotness of the alcohol burned her throat, the strobe lights replacing the dim lightening, and casting the atmosphere from a romantic setting to that of the erotic.

Sure, Clara had been impressed by the luxurious decorations and arrangements of the club which she'd noticed upon stepping into it, but she had been more withdrawn into herself, lost in the sorrows she'd tried to mask in impulsively-bought designers' short dress and stilettoes whose length of heels threatened to push her down in her current state if she dared stand.

However in that state of dizziness, her environment seemed clearer to her, heightening her sense of awareness of the aesthetics of the club which had simply blurred before her on her arrival.

Everything about the club screamed affluence, all around her were ladies and gentlemen whose behaviour and little dressing had nothing lady-like or gentlemanly.

They ground against one another and drowned themselves in expensive wines and cigarettes, puffs of smoke making her feel more hazy. Girls dressed in skimpy leather skirts and strapless bras walked around emanating sex in their heels which were as long as hers. 

One of them bent to serve drinks, and received a tip of 100 dollar notes which the client tucked into her bra, gently squeezing her bosom. Her response was to smile and wink at him, before turning around and walking away with an extra sway to her hips.

Clara felt disgusted by the insolent treatment, wondering again why she had come here of all places.

First was that none of the drinks irrespective of how highly addictive they tasted had been able to put her mind away from her misery.

Another was that she couldn't condone the kind of behaviour she had just witnessed. For a full moment, she toyed with the idea of leaving, but just as her brain started to prepare her weak body to gather some strength, she was stunned into immobility as a figure came into view, her lips throwing open in amazement.

Female strippers had been on stage even before her arrival. She had met them there, clad in nothing but body painting which had artistically inscribed various glittering colours to enable them shimmer under the strobe lights.

With their blonde hair packed in a bun, they moved with snake-like flexibility which put acro dancers to shame. Their slender bodies moved in sync, perky breasts and lean hips whose curves were almost invisible.

Painted in a similar fashion, they were unrecognisable as they seemed like clones of one person, their movements impressive and artistic. Some of them were suspended in the air, hanging on a swinging pole on which they twisted their bodies and arched their backs.

However, Clara had been physically unattracted to the performance till the lights were dimmed, before the spotlights revealed the silhouette of walking-breathing voracious sex, dressed in leather pants which hugged his muscular thighs, his tempting chest exposed for all.

Standing on the shiny vinyl floors was Eros in human form, the shadow of his rippling body inciting pure, undiluted hunger in her body even before he started dancing.

He blurred the distinction between art and sex with his movements, his bulging biceps and strong thighs commanding the stage and drawing the attention of the audience.

The patrons of the club put a halt to what they were doing and focused on him, going crazy as they hailed his performance.

There was something beastly sultry about his body and moves, something carnal about his entire being which screamed addiction without a halt.

The music had changed to that of a subtle invitation to sin, going in sync with his art which sent a throb to Clara's womanhood. It was nothing like the tenderness with which she had used to engage in sex in the past.

What beckoned to her was voracious, beastly and dangerous. And she craved it. 

Her nipples tightened beneath her dress, her clit throbbing and pulsating with more intensity as the male stripper moved his body with such graceful flexibility she almost wept.

She hungered to see his face which was concealed with the aid of a masquerade ball mask, her fingers itching to grab hold of his body which was all male and rippling and hot. 

She wanted to have him. 

A waitress dressed in garter belt under a two-piece sexy lingerie and heels walked past her, and she reached for another drink, a glass of emerald wine which tasted like the temptation before her.

Every part of her body wished for his touch, her eyes hungering to see his face. 

As soon as his performance was over, the lights were dimmed again and when they returned, he had left the stage.

Clara struggled to stand, her feet slightly wobbling and head feeling light as she grabbed hold of the table to keep herself from falling.

There was only one target in her mind and it had nothing to do with the other strippers walking into private rooms with the clients. There was only one person she wanted, and in her state, she was willing to do anything to have him.

She made her way towards the manager who had announced the arrival and departure of the stripper, struggling to keep her eyes focused on the man dressed in navy blue suit. 

"Hey hey lady, easy..." He muttered as soon as she was in front of him, because she almost swayed and bumped into him.

She felt ecstatic as she blurted out her request. "I...I wanna private dance from Mr. Sex." She covered her lips when she spoke the last words, laughing as her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. The alcohol had sure made her bolder, but it hadn't taken away the streak of shyness in her.

"Urhm..." He gave her a once over, assessing her disheveled blonde hair which looked like it'd had multiple fingers raked through it.

"Oh, my apologies. Everyone wants that; he's fully booked." 

The state she was in couldn't understand the concept of rejection; she'd experienced enough rejection for the day.

"I...I'll pay extra, double!" She sounded and looked like a teenager on drugs, and the manager wondered how she had got a membership card. He was tempted to have security check her for impersonation or something.

He chose the sweeter way, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You don't know how expensive a private performance from him is, sweetie. Why don't you go home and...." 

"It's birthday today. I...Want him as a birthday present. I'll pay double." 

He halted his movement, watching her again as she sloppily fished for her membership card as though she could read his mind, handing it over to him.

She had bought the platinum VIP card which required a lot of security check before registration. That convinced him of her age. He smiled, quickly changing his mind.

"You know what? Let's get you that birthday present." 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Clara sat in the VIP room which guaranteed tight security and absolute discretion. Her palms were sweaty, her stomach filled with alcohol.

Drinking on empty stomach was a bad bad decision, but being bad was what she had set out to become tonight since sweetness had ceased to pay her. The room was wide and cast in strobe lights, soft sultry music playing in the stereo with a dark pole in the middle. It was like foreplay.

She knew the moment he walked in; his aura was drawn into the room, accompanied by a quite familiar masculine cologne whose source she couldn't place.

"Wow... You're really here..." She muttered, her voice a soft purr. 

He halted in his steps, and turned to focus his attention on her, seemingly shocked by something. She couldn't see his expression since he was still masked, but his muscles ticked.

"Please come, I need you." Clara purred again, unable to take note of unnecessary detail in her state of euphoria and thirst. 

He stood for a full minute by the door before resuming his walk, prancing slowly towards her with the gait of a graceful tiger. There was something familiar about that step...

His body shimmered with sweatiness as he started the performance, almost throwing her into a state of loss of self-control upclose.

His powerful thighs climbed the pole with masterful skills, and when he slid down, his glistening muscled body moving towards her, her panties were drenched and her nipples were so hard they poked through the thin material of the skimpy dress she had worn.

She couldn't take it anymore, this frustration that threatened to break her. She pushed herself from the lounge seat, her fingers itching to touch him.

Perhaps it was how he immediately stopped dancing as soon as she stood, but she suddenly felt that he was avoiding getting really close to her. And she badly wanted to see his face.

Before she could think, she succumbed to her curiosity and fell on her knees, yanking the mask off his face before he could do so much as think.

The familiar eyes of Mr. Quinn Andre stared at hers. Hard. And glaring.