L.A. Private Dancer: Chap. 2 — Champagne Room Deals

Author’s Note: Chapter 1 offers context for what happens below. It’s a quick read but isn’t necessary. Have fun!

Perhaps the best clients I had in all my time dancing were professional athletes.

You knew they had lots of money, and you knew they had to keep a low profile — particularly those athletes who were married or were known to have steady girlfriends.

These guys and there were a few of them in LA, could be your own personal golden goose if you played things right.

And for a period of several months about a year ago, I’d played one pro baller as well as I’d played anyone.

This isn’t to say I cheated him of anything. Quite the opposite, he got what he paid for — he just needed to pay quite a lot.

The man in question — let’s call him Jason never attended the public side of the club. Mostly, guys like him rolled up to the club’s private entrance and went straight to the VIP rooms that were rented in five song blocks.

“Fuck baby, you are so fine,” Jason said as I slid my body out of the skin-tight white dress I’d slowly writhed in for the first two songs of my performance.

The thin white lace thong I was wearing had just enough structure to enhance and hold in my most intimate parts, while the bra I was wearing did the same for my natural and spectacular c-cup breasts.

I stepped off the Champagne room’s small stage, stopped in front of Jason, and turned around so he could get a close-up of my perfect squat sculpted ass.

With my hand, I slapped the right side of my butt just as the music for the third song began to throb.

“Jesus and amen,” Jason said loudly and then quickly added, “Baby, why do you keep playing me? Why don’t you let me pay you some real money?”

Still in front of him, I dropped down to my hands and knees and slowly reached between my legs. Placing my hand atop my cinched-in peach, I started to gently massage my pretty package.

“Fuck me, that’s hot. Jesus, what I’d give to tap that,” Jason growled over the music.

Removing my hand from my thong, I scooted around so I was facing the tall man who was devouring me with his eyes.

Biting my lip to deliver one of my signature sultry looks, I placed both of my hands on his knees and drew myself up so I was kneeling between his legs.

In the past two weeks, he’d paid for three hours, and in that time, I’d not touched him or permitted him to touch me. I’d also cut him off after an hour each time.

I’d been dancing for three years and studied some of the best women in the business. Rule number one in reeling in a high roller was to make them want it badly.

And now, nearing what was the end of our fourth hour together, the man who had just signed a $180 million dollar contract wanted me as badly as anything he’d wanted in his life.

Always moving deliberately, I climbed up his body, straddled his right leg, and placed my enclosed kitty atop his thigh. My hands pressed into the top of the leather chair he was sitting in, I placed my mouth beside his ear and whispered, “I only negotiate extra services with men I can trust. I’d like to think I can trust you. Can I?”

His baritone voice rumbling a reply into my ear, my client said, “You can trust me, baby. I’ve been with you for what — four hours now? I can play this real cool.”

My whisper taking on a husky tone, I said, “I want to believe you, but you have to pass a test first.”

“A test? Baby, you’re so fine, I’ll pass whatever test I need to if it means I get to have you,” the baller said in a voice that was beginning to sound desperate.

We’re almost there, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Do you want me, Jason?”

“I do, baby, and bad. So, fucking bad.”

“Good, then show me you can be a good boy and behave yourself while I give you a little taste of what you might get to pay for.”

I brought my mouth to his earlobe and took it into my mouth. At the same time, I gently massaged my cunt along his upper leg.

Just as his hands moved to grab my body, I bit hard into his flesh and then said, “No touching. Just watching. Watch me, Jason. If you can watch and behave, you get to open the doors to a very special place. Can you do that?”

His voice deep and now filled with yearning, his whisper reply was, “Yes. I need to get to that place. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good, because I want us to be together, Jason. I want us to go somewhere you’ll never ever forget.”

Without warning, I rose off of him and in my five-inch stilettos, walked back to the stage and picked up a dark circular box that matched the motif of the room. Opening it, I pulled out a thick and long dildo.

With the music from the third song coming to a close, my eyes reacquired Jason. While staring, I slowly walked my statuesque form back to him.

Sex toy in hand, I positioned myself between the long legs of the still-seated man who was looking up at me with the awe-struck look of someone who was on the cusp of witnessing a miracle.

As the music to the next song started, I lowered myself to my knees and placed the dildo at the edge of Jason’s recliner.

The fake cock was big at eight inches long, and black. The perfect size and color for what was about to happen.

With my chin just above its tip, my eyes connected with my client’s and I said, “Remember, only watching. No matter what happens.”

His eyes wide with anticipation, Jason appeared to will himself to nod his head in confirmation.

Satisfied he got the message, I unloaded a huge gob of spit onto the cock and proceeded to lather it up, my left hand holding the sex toy’s base while my right stroked and massaged.

As I masturbated the tool, I stared up into Jason’s still-wide eyes and said, “Is your cock this big? I betcha a big man like you has a big fucking dick.”

“It’s big enough,” he said, his voice in a whisper.

“Do you want to see me suck this big cock, Jason? Do you want to see my pretty mouth take this big dick? Do you want to see my blonde hair against the black of this cock?”

“Yes.” This time, the word came out of his mouth, sounding like a plea for help.

Opening my mouth, I plunged downward, and for the next minute, I performed a blowjob that would have rivalled the showmanship of any top-flight porn star.

It started off with me bobbing up and down on the top half of the heavily veined pole and then moving to slather the full length of it with pursed lips and a flicking tongue. As this faux cock sucking took place, I produced various moans, coos and the occasional pop as my lips released the end of the dick from my suctioning mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason’s hand move to his penis. Through his pants, I could see him begin to massage his package.

Watching him stroke himself, I said, “Do you want me to deep-throat this big meat?”

“Fuck ya. Take all of it, you…”

“You what?” I said, picking up on his unfinished sentence. “Don’t be shy, Jason. I’m a big girl. Say what you were gonna say. I think it might turn me on.”

“Take all of it, you cock sucking slut,” he said aggressively.

As that s-word registered in my brain, my eyes narrowed, and I said, “I can be your cock sucking slut, Jason. Would you like that?”

“Yes! Just tell me how much?”

I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I opened my mouth, and inch-by-sexy-inch, I took the full length of the fuck pipe into my body and simulated a deep-throat blowjob replete with gagging, drool, and gasps that sounded equal parts pleasure and pain.

As I heard the fourth song coming to a close, I pulled my sopping mouth from the latex cylinder and locked eyes with the man who, in this moment of weakness, probably would have paid me ten large to do what I’d done to the dildo to his own dick.

But I wasn’t that type of performer. I was a businesswoman who wanted to keep my clients happy so they’d be with me for the long haul, so instead of fleecing Jason in his moment of weakness, I smiled and said, “This one’s on me, but if you want to come back, you will pay.”

“I’ll pay!” he said, almost yelling the words.

Winking at him, I said, “Yes, yes you will, but for the moment, I need for you to show me what’s in your pants.”

He didn’t hesitate, but he also didn’t rush. In his own sensual way and in a credit to the patience he’d exercised in each of our encounters, Jason shed his pants and briefs and sat down to proudly show off his beautiful member.

On finally getting to see it, I felt the level of wetness in my kitty elevate. The tall and fully engorged rod in front of me was in my own personal Goldie Locks zone. Not too big. Not too small.

As I continued to observe Jason’s sexy, straining rod, I languidly crawled up his body, clamped one of my hands around his tool and started to stroke it. It was slick with pre-cum.

As I started to stroke it gently, my gaze moved upward to find a pair of pleading brown eyes looking down at me. Sounding almost childlike, the 6’8” baller said, “Jesus, I’m close. I can’t help it, baby, you’re too fucking hot.”

Smiling at the admission, I said, “You’ve lasted longer than many others, but try your best. I just need to run through a few things. Can you do that for me, big man?”

“I’ll try,” he said through a stammer.

“Good. I’ll be quick,” I said, and then, in a quick movement, my head darted in the direction of Jason’s meat to envelop the first third of him. For the briefest moment, my hand pumped his shaft while my mouth and tongue pleasured his phallus.

“Fuck,” he groaned loudly.

Pulling my mouth off but still jerking his now slick meat, I began to outline the cost of doing business. “Today, you don’t pay for this final little service. Moving forward, a straight-up BJ is $1,000. Cumming in my mouth is an extra $500. A one-on-one sexual encounter of any kind is $2,500. Condoms must be used. If I’m feeling up for it, a facial is an extra $1,500. Special requests, such as anal or multiple partners, start at $5,000 and go up depending on the request. Nothing is guaranteed and will only happen if I consent. Break the rules and things will go poorly for you, and not just in the club. Always keep in mind you have a girlfriend and a career. Do we have an agreement, Jason?”

“I’m gonna cum!” he bellowed, just as the pulsating music in the room started to transition from one song to the next.

Ruthlessly, the hand that was stroking his shaft clamped down on his urethra to stop what would be a fountain of semen from exploding all over him and the furniture.

His release stymied, Jason’s eyes opened wide, and with a look of pain on his face, he said, “Fuck me, that’s cruel, baby.”

With a look of determination on my face, I said, “It’s called doing business. If it helps, it’s my understanding the male orgasm can be even more intense after it’s been artificially delayed.”

After a quick pause, I repeated my question, “Do we have an agreement?”

For the first time, a look of anger consumed his face. His voice loud, he said, “Bitch, I’m worth millions. I’ll pay and do all the other things, now fucking suck my dick.”

A smile reemerged on my face. “You are worth millions, and you’ve been a very good boy. And for the record, Mr. Washington, so long as you’re paying, you can call me whatever you want. Words — they do not hurt me.”

With that, I surged in the direction of his cock and opening my mouth, I took his head and the first half of his shaft into my mouth and with my hand on the lower part of his meat, I resumed giving him an aggressive round of head.

Up and down, I sucked and stroked his rigid spear while also issuing a range of moans and coos designed to urge him to finish.

Feeling his pelvis begin to shimmy his cock up and down in rhythm with my own lurid movement, the moment had arrived.

Pulling my mouth off of lovely black dick, gasping, I commanded, “Blow your big load. I want your seed in my stomach! Cum for me baby!”

Yelling something indecipherable, I placed my mouth on top of his crown just in time to accept his first cum shot. As you would expect, it was geyser-like. Ready for it, I expertly accepted and devoured every last thimble of his potent protein down my throat and into my stomach.

Reducing the speed of my strokes as the onslaught of ejaculate came to a close, I pulled my mouth off his head, quickly got to my feet and looked down at my newest high-rolling customer.

My eyes narrowed, and with a satisfied smile adorning my face, I pronounced, “Well done. You’re a sexy and well-behaved man. Though our time is up, it’s my hope of hopes that we’ll see each other again soon. Together, I know we could do so many special things.”

With that, I turned and quickly gathered up the clothes I’d danced my way out of during the first part of our session and left the room.

Over the next year, this one client generated thirty-four thousand. Enough to pay for my last year of school.

How many clients would I run at any one time, you ask?

Not many. Yes, I was an exotic dancer who also did sex work, and yes, the money was very good, but like every other decision I’d made since I got serious about my life, the clients I took on were of a certain type, and in LA, there was but a small pool of such gentlemen.

While I’d serviced Jason during the next year, I’d worked with two other men.

Across my career as a dancer, I had transactions with less than twenty guys. Fewer dudes than what the average sorority slut did while earning their degree.

And what happened with those other guys? Well, they’re another story.

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