For two hours, Hank remained ensconced in the plush, shadowy anonymity of the corner booth at the Velvet Kitten Lounge. He nursed several glasses of the smooth Macallan 18, the expensive whiskey warming him from the inside out, blurring the sharp edges of his earlier frustration. He watched, detached yet appreciative, as a rotating cast of beautiful women spun, writhed, and climbed the brass poles on the main stage, their bodies offered up under the pulsing colored lights. Stardust, true to her word, reappeared between her stage sets, sliding into the booth opposite him. Their conversation flowed easily, a blend of playful banter and surprisingly candid observations. He bought her overpriced club soda, listening with half an ear as she shared snippets of her life philosophy between sips, her blue eyes sparkling with intelligence beneath the practiced allure.
At one point, she’d leaned close, whispering an offer for a private lap dance right there in the relative seclusion of the booth. Hank, already several whiskeys deep and thoroughly captivated by her stage presence and their easy conversation, readily agreed. The lap dance was an exercise in exquisite torture. Her naked body, warm and smelling faintly of vanilla and sweat, moved against him with hypnotic rhythm, her skin impossibly soft against the rough fabric of his suit pants. She ground against his erection, teasing him relentlessly, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered suggestive promises. By the time she finally pulled away, leaving him with a final, lingering caress and another promise to return, Hank wasn’t just horny; he was intensely, painfully aroused, his earlier resolve to merely seek distraction completely obliterated by raw, undeniable need.
He glanced at his watch, the illuminated dial showing the time nearing midnight. The club pulsed around him, seemingly showing no signs of slowing down. Just as he drained the last of his current whiskey, a different waitress approached… not Stardust this time, but a striking woman with short, vibrant blue hair styled in a sharp punk undercut. She confidently carried a tray, her ample C-cup breasts, minimally confined by a skimpy black top, swaying just inches from Hank’s face as she leaned over to place a fresh glass of Macallan 18 on the table without him even asking. He caught her eye. “What time does this place usually wrap up?” he asked casually.
She smiled, a flash of silver from a lip ring catching the dim light. “Oh, honey, we don’t really do closing time here,” she replied, her voice surprisingly melodic despite her edgy appearance. “The Velvet Kitten purrs all night long.”
Hank chuckled, appreciating her style and efficiency. He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet… significantly more than the drink cost… and pressed it into her hand. “Keep the change,” he said with a genuine smile. “And thank you for the… excellent service. And the view,” he added, letting his gaze linger appreciatively for a moment.
She gave a small shimmy, making her breasts jiggle slightly, and grinned back. “Anytime, handsome. Enjoy,” she said, before turning and weaving back towards the bar.
Moments later, Stardust reappeared, sliding back into the booth with a predatory grace. Her earlier playfulness was replaced by a direct, assessing gaze. She leaned close, her voice a low, seductive whisper directly into his ear. “Hey baby… you seem like you’re enjoying the show, but maybe you’re ready for something a little more… exclusive? What about we head back to the private VIP section?”
Hank glanced towards the heavy velvet curtain separating their area from a more secluded part of the club he hadn’t yet explored. “Sounds expensive,” he murmured, his mind hazy with whiskey and desire, but still retaining a sliver of caution.
Stardust smirked, tracing a lazy finger along the rim of his whiskey glass. “It can be,” she purred noncommittally. “But worth it.”
Hank looked at her, at the undeniable promise in her deep blue eyes, felt the insistent throb of his own erection, and the last vestiges of his caution evaporated. Four whiskeys in, logic felt distant, irrelevant. Primal need screamed louder. “Yeah,” he sighed, a ragged edge to his voice. “Fuck it. Why the hell not.”
A triumphant gleam lit her eyes. She took his hand, her touch surprisingly firm, and guided him out of the booth. She led him towards the velvet curtain, pulling it aside to reveal a surprisingly plush, carpeted hallway lined with closed doors on either side, the lighting dimmer, the music softer here. She bypassed several doors, continuing purposefully towards the very end of the hall. She stopped before the last door, produced a keycard, swiped it, and pushed the door open. “In here, baby,” she beckoned, stepping inside.
Hank followed her in, a fleeting thought surfacing through the alcoholic haze… This probably isn’t the best idea… but it was instantly drowned out by the overwhelming sight and scent of her. She closed the door firmly behind him, the click echoing in the small, intimate space. The room was dominated by a large, curved sofa upholstered in deep red velvet, facing a small, low table with a single, gleaming stripper pole rising from its center to the ceiling. The lighting was low, moody, casting intriguing shadows.
“You sit right there,” Stardust instructed, gesturing towards the center of the sofa, her tone shifting back towards a semblance of professional control. “We talk shop first. Rules of engagement.”
Hank did as she said, sinking into the soft velvet, his body humming with anticipation. He watched her approach, the need coiling tighter within him. “Just tell me the price, Stardust,” he said, his voice rough, cutting through the pretense. “Because I want to fuck you. Badly.”
She smirked, clearly pleased by his bluntness, and then did something Hank was almost certain broke every club policy imaginable. She leaned down, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss, hot and demanding. Simultaneously, her hand slid down his stomach, pressing firmly against the thick ridge of his erection through the expensive fabric of his suit trousers, rubbing insistently. “Mmm,” she moaned against his mouth. “Normally… the options back here are limited. Hand jobs, maybe a really good blowjob,” she whispered between kisses, her fingers expertly unbuckling his belt. “That usually costs fifty… maybe a hundred for the extended session.” She kissed him again, deeper this time, as her hand deftly unzipped his fly, reaching inside to wrap around his bare, straining cock. “Fuck…” she breathed against his lips, her eyes widening slightly as her fingers explored his length and thickness. He was larger than she’d initially guessed. “I’ve… I’ve never actually fucked a customer before,” she confessed, her voice slightly breathless, kissing him yet again, seemingly unable to stop herself. “You tell me, Hank… what is it worth to you?” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his.
Hank closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of her hand expertly stroking him, the culmination of two hours spent watching her, wanting her, fantasizing. Rational thought fled. He was so incredibly ready. “Stardust,” he groaned, opening his eyes to meet her intense gaze. “I want your real name. And I want your pussy. All night if you want. Five hundred dollars.”
She smiled then, a slow, truly captivating smile. She leaned down, taking the offered stack of bills from his wallet with one hand while the other continued its ministrations. Just as her fingers closed around the money, she bent lower, her lips replacing her hand, taking the head of his cock into her mouth with practiced ease. Hank threw his head back against the sofa, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. Fucking heaven. The horny frustration that had driven him from his apartment felt like a distant memory, replaced by pure, incandescent need. At this point, he probably would have fucked Corleen right on his office desk. But Corleen wasn’t here. Stardust was.
She sucked him deeply for only a moment, a searing promise, before pulling back, leaving him aching. She held his gaze, stroking his length again a few times with slick fingers. “It’s Ninna,” she whispered, the name feeling intimate, vulnerable on her lips. “My real name is Ninna. But please… don’t tell anyone you know. Stardust pays the bills.” She rose gracefully then, straddling his lap, guiding the tip of his erection to the entrance of her wet, waiting pussy. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself onto him, her breath catching as his thick cock split her slick folds apart. “Fuck… you are big,” she whispered again, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Her five-foot frame settled fully onto his lap, taking all of him inside her. She reached up, fumbling slightly with the buttons of the fresh shirt he’d put on that morning, pulling it open, rubbing her hands urgently up and down the bare skin of his chest. She kissed him again, fiercely, possessively, then leaned back slightly, rotating her hips, fully impaling herself. Hank moaned, gripping her hips, completely enveloped by her tight, wet heat. Ninna closed her eyes again, a look of intense concentration and overwhelming pleasure on her face. She had never, ever been filled like this before.
Hank felt like he’d ascended to some higher plane of existence, the plush velvet sofa a cloud, Ninna's body the source of all light and heat. She rode him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her hips rotating languidly, grinding against him in a way that promised deeper pleasures yet to come. Her movements were hypnotic, skilled, yet imbued with a genuine sensuality that transcended mere performance. Her firm breasts swayed gently with her motion, their hardened peaks brushing tantalizingly against his chest. Leaning forward, driven by an irresistible urge, Hank captured one of her nipples between his lips, sucking gently, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin mingled with the sweet scent of her perfume. Ninna gasped, her rhythm faltering for a beat, then moaned deeply, a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure. Her hand instinctively came up, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his face closer, holding him captive to her breast.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Her movements didn't change speed or intensity, but inwardly, Ninna felt a seismic shift. This man… this stranger… Hank. From the moment he’d walked into the Velvet Kitten, polite yet possessing an undercurrent of raw confidence, he’d captured her attention in a way no customer ever had. He wasn't just looking; he was seeing. He wasn't just complimenting; he was genuinely appreciating. He showed respect not just to her, but to Francine, to the other dancers he barely interacted with. He was a universe away from the usual entitled assholes, the drunken gropers, the lonely men seeking fleeting solace. He made her feel… desired, yes, but also seen. And that terrified her as much as it thrilled her. For the first time in three years, a traitorous thought whispered in the back of her mind, she might actually be falling for a man. Three years since she'd sworn off men entirely, finding comfort, pleasure, and far less heartbreak in the arms of women. This feeling for Hank, this intense physical and burgeoning emotional connection, felt dangerous, exhilarating, impossible. She couldn't tell him that, she thought fiercely. Not yet. Maybe never.
She felt him hardening further inside her, his breathing growing ragged, signaling his impending climax. Acting on pure instinct, wanting to prolong their connection, wanting to offer something more intimate than their transaction implied, Ninna abruptly broke rhythm. She lifted herself off his cock with a fluid grace, ignoring his low groan of protest, and immediately knelt before him on the sofa. Before he could fully register the change, she took his pulsing erection deep into her mouth, sucking greedily, licking away the slick evidence of her own arousal that coated him. Hank growled, his hands clenching in her hair, his body arching off the sofa as the unexpected intensity of her oral devotion pushed him over the edge. He came with a choked cry, his hot, thick seed flooding her mouth. Ninna moaned around him, a complex sound of submission and surprising pleasure. Normally, instinctively, she would have pulled away, spit the unfamiliar fluid out discreetly. But with Hank… something felt different. She felt a connection, a strange desire to accept this intimate offering. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, accepting his climax as part of him, part of them in this moment.
As his release subsided, she continued to suck him gently, noticing with a small jolt of surprise that his cock wasn't diminishing. It remained impressively hard, still standing proud despite his powerful orgasm. She licked the length of him one last time, a slow, appreciative caress, before looking up at him, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “Not done yet, handsome?” she whispered, her voice husky.
Hank opened his eyes, looking down at her, his own gaze hazy with spent passion but still burning with renewed desire. A slow smile spread across his face. “Not by a long shot,” he rasped.
Ninna smiled back, feeling emboldened, wanting more of his surprising tenderness. “You want to taste me now?” she asked softly, the invitation hanging invitingly in the air.
Instead of simply nodding, Hank reached down, gently pulling her up to her feet before him. Then, stunning her completely, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue tangling with hers. The taste was of him, of her, of their shared intimacy. Ninna melted into the kiss, shocked and overwhelmed. No man she had ever been with, certainly none of her few past boyfriends before she swore off them, would ever have kissed her like this immediately after she had swallowed his load. They would have acted disgusted, or at best, indifferently wiped their mouths. But Hank… Hank kissed her like she was precious, like her act had been one of devotion, not degradation. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill.
He gently broke the kiss, his eyes searching hers, then slowly urged her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. He lowered her carefully onto the plush velvet, her legs parting instinctively. Without hesitation, Hank knelt between them, his gaze intense, worshipful. He lowered his head, and his tongue swept up the entire length of her swollen, sensitive slit in one long, devastating stroke. Ninna cried out, arching violently off the sofa. “Fuck…” she gasped. She was already incredibly wet again, incredibly horny, the earlier orgasms only seeming to have heightened her sensitivity. This felt different even from the skilled ministrations of her female lovers. Hank’s tongue felt impossibly wide, impossibly long, delving deep inside her, seeking out nerve endings she barely knew she possessed. It felt like being fucked by a miniature, perfectly targeted dick, relentless and knowing. He hit all the right spots, swirling around her clit, plunging deep, retreating, teasing. Ninna was losing control completely, writhing beneath him, her body curling tight, whimpers escaping her lips.
And then… oh fuck… then it hit. An orgasm unlike anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just pleasure; it was an obliteration. Her entire body locked, her back arched so high off the sofa only her shoulders and heels remained grounded. A loud, keening moan ripped from her throat as she felt an unbelievable, unexpected gush flood from between her legs, soaking Hank’s face, spraying onto the velvet cushions. She had never squirted from being licked before, never felt a climax so intense it felt like her very atoms were rearranging themselves. “Fu-u-u-uck…” she hissed through clenched teeth as the powerful aftershocks continued to rack her trembling body.
Through the haze of her blinding orgasm, she dimly registered Hank sitting up. He positioned the thick head of his cock at her still-pulsing entrance, his own face slick with her juices, his eyes blazing with renewed hunger. He smiled down at her, a predatory yet loving expression, and then, without waiting for the waves of her climax to fully subside, he drove himself deep inside her in one smooth, powerful thrust. Ninna’s eyes flew wide open, a fresh gasp tearing from her lungs. The sudden, deep intrusion, the feeling of being utterly filled while still vibrating with residual pleasure, didn’t stop the orgasm but somehow prolonged it, intensified it, sending her spiraling into yet another wave of disorienting ecstasy. She moaned again, a long, helpless sound, her hands finding his bare chest, fingers digging in as she clung to him, completely overwhelmed, utterly his.
Hank surged into Ninna again, the slick heat of her tight passage welcoming him back with an intensity that stole his breath. Each thrust felt like coming home, yet simultaneously like exploring uncharted territory. Her body, already ravaged by multiple orgasms, somehow responded with renewed fervor, clenching around him, drawing him deeper. God, she felt incredible. Soft, tight, impossibly responsive. He found himself loving everything about this moment… the scent of her skin mingled with sex and expensive whiskey, the desperate sounds torn from her throat, the way her smaller frame yielded yet somehow controlled the rhythm. A sharp pang of regret cut through the haze of pleasure. He had paid for this. The thought soured the perfection momentarily. Five hundred dollars and her real name. It felt cheap, transactional, utterly incongruous with the raw connection thrumming between them. This could have been real, sparked in the anonymity of the club but blossoming into something genuine. He could have seen her potential, brought her into his chaotic, growing world. She could have been one of his queens, the thought echoed, bittersweet and impossible now, tainted by the cash exchanged. But for now… for this stolen, intense pocket of time… she was simply Ninna. And she was perfect.
He shifted his weight, driving into her deeper, angling his hips to hit that spot he knew drove her wild. He felt the tell-tale tremors begin again, the subtle tightening of her inner muscles signaling her ascent towards another peak. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp as the orgasm hit her… her fourth by his count since he'd begun his ministrations. Her body arched beneath him, a beautiful bowstring pulled taut, then released in a series of shuddering waves. “Fuck… baby… don’t… don’t stop,” she moaned against his lips, her voice ragged, pleading.
Hank had absolutely no intention of stopping. He wanted to lose himself in her, erase the complexities of his life, forget the transaction, and just feel. He pulled back from the kiss only to lower his head, capturing one of her hardened nipples between his teeth, sucking strongly while his hands found her other breast, kneading gently, teasing the peak between his thumb and forefinger. Simultaneously, he maintained his relentless rhythm, hammering into her tight, wet heat. The combination of sensations was clearly overwhelming. Ninna cried out again, her back arching impossibly high off the velvet sofa, her head thrashing from side to side. He felt her inner walls clench violently around him as she came for the fifth time, the sheer intensity of it staggering. Hank reveled in her response, thrilled by the way her body surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving her.
He felt his own release building now, a gathering storm low in his belly. He pulled her hips tighter against his, driving his cock harder, faster, the sounds of their slick bodies slapping together echoing in the small, private room, punctuated only by Ninna’s breathless, near-continuous moans. He loved every second of it… the raw sounds, the slick heat, the sight of her completely undone beneath him.
Ninna felt like she was dissolving, coming apart atom by atom under his relentless assault. This man… Hank… he fucked her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe, his focus absolute, his energy seemingly boundless. She hadn't just come once or twice; she was losing count, her body experiencing wave after wave of shattering pleasure unlike anything she had ever known. Even with her most skilled, attentive girlfriends over the past three years… the only lovers she'd allowed herself since swearing off the disappointment of men… she had never felt this. This raw, soul-deep connection fused with earth-shattering physical pleasure. This felt… different. Dangerously different. As another orgasm began to build, triggered by the sheer force and depth of his thrusts, a terrifying thought crystallized amidst the blinding ecstasy: Oh God, I think… I think I’m falling in love with him. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, violating the number one rule of the club, the cardinal rule of her carefully constructed emotional defenses. Fuck. She had to tell her sisters, the other dancers who ran this place with her, the women who were her real family. She had to be honest. But later. Right now…
Right now, she felt him surge deep inside her one last time, his body going rigid above hers, a low groan vibrating through his chest and into hers. She felt the hot, pulsing flood of his release spraying deep within her womb, an intimacy that shattered her completely. The sensation tipped her over the edge yet again, launching her into a sixth, utterly obliterating climax that seemed to supernova through her entire being. Tears streamed freely down her face… tears of pleasure, tears of fear, tears of terrifying, burgeoning love. With a strength born of desperation and overwhelming emotion, she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, clinging to him like a drowning woman to driftwood, holding him inside her, needing his weight, his presence, his solid reality in the face of her emotional implosion. Fuck, she wanted more. Needed more. More than just his body, more than just this night. She was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, she just wanted Hank to hold her, to make the world, and her treacherous heart, stand still for just a little while longer.
