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Her hands are still on my thighs, clinging as she continues to drag her tongue over and over. She presses it with the hunger she feels and her need to make me feel so good.
“Fuck, baby . . .” My voice trails off. Lola has been like this since the second she opened her eyes. Wearing my scent. Desperate to please. And she is pleasing me. Fuck, she is making me feel so good.
I start to move forward, rocking into her. I am shaking hard and it’s difficult to stay standing. But her hands just grip me tighter, holding me in place so she can keep licking. So much pressure. Looking down and watching her bury her face in me, I don’t even know how she can breathe. We are so tight together, and it all just feels so good. I grip her hair, resting the other hand on the wall behind her because I’m about to lose my battle to stay upright. I’m about to orgasm. So hard. All over her.
“I need it so bad,” she whispers against me.
“You are going to have it. Fuck! I am going to . . .”
I can’t keep talking. I push Lola back further on the couch, following her there on my knees. Her hands pull my ass tight against her, keeping me spread against her. I’m grinding myself all over her, wet smears over her face. I am so sensitive. I should stop. But fuck, I want to make her feel it all. I keep going until I collapse, exhausted, on top of her.
13
Lola
It is finally starting to get old.
I wondered if it would ever wane, my love for the job.
Pearl told me once that everyone tires of it eventually, and it seems that time is coming for me.
I stare into the mirror, letting out a sigh. I still look the part and I know the dances inside out. I love the atmosphere, the place, and the people . . . but stripping itself is starting to lose its appeal. I have been doing it for so long that when I think about it, I don’t even know who Lola is without a pole.
“You’re up,” Pearl calls from the doorway. “And no, she ain’t here. She said she will meet you after.”
I nod, but I’m sad that Willow won’t be in the crowd. It’s my favorite thing, to see her at the bar. But I’m happy she’ll be with me afterward, during the walk back to her place and then those beautiful egyptian cotton sheets.
The curtains open to reveal a stage that’s a replica of a nineties high school classroom. Little wooden tables lined up, chalkboard covered in smears and white dust, the clock counting down to the bell. I sit, tapping my pencil.
Then I stand slowly, big eyes wide and innocent. My hair is up in loose pigtails and a smear of sticky pink gloss makes my lips shine. My uniform pushes the dress code, but isn’t that what rules are for, to break? It’s a little black skirt with tiny pleats that barely cover my ass, a crisp white shirt tied at my waist, and a tie that only exists to draw attention to how many buttons I don’t have fastened.
I stand slowly, black socks covering my legs up to my knees. The folded pleats skim the tops of my thighs, barely covering my panties as I step in front of my desk. My hands rest on the edge and I sit there as I look up at the crowd from under my long lashes.
“My loneliness is killing me . . .” My fingers drop to my waist, toying with the knot in my shirt, pulling at the fabric until it comes undone. “When I’m not with you, I lose my mind . . .” I bunch the fabric up in my hands and give a hard pull, feeling the buttons ping open. “Hit me, baby, one more time.”
I shrug my shoulders, my shirt dropping to the floor. My breasts spill from my tight little black bra and my tie rests between the mounds of flesh, drawing the audience’s gaze as they bounce with every slow step I take. My fingers slip the knot so that the tie is only resting around my neck. My palms splay out on the table in front of me.
“Show me how you want it to be . . .” My hands slide forward, my shoulders together so that my breasts squeeze, a hint of nipple peaking from the top of my bra. My neck rolls, stretched out, craving the drag of Willow’s tongue. Imagining her taking a taste of me before she leaves her mark. I let out a soft moan.
“My loneliness is killing me . . .” My nails skim down my stomach, toying with the edge of my skirt, hips slowly rolling as I tease the skirt down. “When I’m not with you, I lose my mind . . .” My fingers skim over my panties, revealing the black silk inch by inch. “Hit me, baby, one more time . . .” I finish my walk to the front of the stage, letting out a long, slow sigh as I drop to my knees.
The lights drop, but a single spotlight remains on me, lighting up my skin as I kneel on display.
“I must confess . . . my loneliness . . .” I look up. My eyes search for her, even though know she isn’t there. My soul bared, I feel a longing ache for her. My fingers run up the lower part of my spine. A quick flick at the clasp of my bra, a roll of my shoulders, and the soft black satin drops. My nipples harden on show, desperate for a soothing suck, wanting the feel of her on me.
“Hit me baby one more time.” My knees slide wide and my palms rest on the stage in front of me. Between my thighs. The neediness takes over, my hips dropping low, my thighs tensing as my body moves into a soft, aching grind against the floor. A touch, her touch, is all I need and want--but this is all I can take.
“I must confess . . . my loneliness . . . is killing me now . . .” I plead for her, feeling a tingle running through me as my pussy drags across the floor, finally a touch where I long for it most. And I let out a whimper. Feeling wetness soak through the satin, a creamy smear of lust for her. I fall back, knees parted, thighs in a wide V, pussy tight against black silk. I know the front row can see the outline of my femininity. “Hit me baby one more time.” And the stage goes black. I’m dazed by my own performance for a moment before I make my way back to the dressing room.
“You just get better and better, Lola. Your tips will be huge tonight.” I look up to see Landon in the doorway.
I grin. “I didn’t realize you watched me.”
He gives a shrug. “I like watching the things I want, but can’t have. Keeps me humble.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You are not humble . . . And you don’t want some old stripper like me.”
He laughs. “Oh, Lola, if only you knew the truth, darlin’. But anyway, I’ve been nervous. Saw you with that rich girl more and more. Figured I was about to lose you. Then you put on a show like that. You really are the best. I’ve put in a little extra for you. Like I said, I like watching.”
