Page 6 of Our Elliana
I keep my concentration one hundred percent on her. She’s petite in stature but with a delectable amount of curviness in her physique. That round ass of hers is like a Rubenesque painting, those thick thighs and hips are glorious, and those ample tits are calling my name.
Her complexion is a velvety brown with tawny undertones, and I’m chomping at the bit to touch it to determine if it’s as soft as it looks. I want to caress every inch of her. Massage and knead all that smoothness.
When she reaches her bed, she climbs onto it immediately, then flips over to lie on her spine. The mattress is an enormous Alaskan King by the looks of it, and as she situates herself near the foot, she looks even daintier against all the white and fluffy vastness of her bedlinens.
Again, she thrusts her legs in the air making a V, and again I can see that immaculate pussy she has. It’s hairless, likely waxed bare, and I catch sight of a glimmer of silver that I didn’t notice while out in the living room.
It’s a piercing, I realize. A small silver ball lays right above her clit. Inside that pearl of flesh is—aptly enough—a literal pearl, a gem decorating the most sensitive and erogenous part of her core. I can’t imagine a more flagrant invitation to push myself inside her, so I begin to take off my clothes. I’ve only released two of the buttons on my silk shirt when she asks a question.
“You’re a former stripper, correct?”
I pause, halfway twisted away from her, and glad she can’t see my expression.
So, this is how it’s going to be.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been to a strip club. Demonstrate some of your moves for me.”
It’s been a while, over eight years, in fact. But I haven’t forgotten. Based on the fine furnishings within her home and the amount she’s willing to pay me, I slide into a slow-motion type of set I used to think of as my classiest one. It’s a slow burn but an effective technique that brings women to a frenzy.
“Play something for me?” Despite my preference to dominate in such a scenario, I keep my tone polite. Or as polite as I get at any rate. “Something with a sexy beat.”
Tapping her phone so that music sizzles through what I assume is a state-of-the-art surround sound system, she puts on a newer song by Harry Styles that I recognize but don’t know the name of. As the soulful melody fills the room, I know it’ll work.
Dragging my hands up and down my torso, I finger my third button, teasing rather than unfastening. I’m hard as a cast iron pan, so I stroke the outline of my cock through my trouser pants, staring off into the distance as if I’m alone and unaware of being observed. It’s like a roleplay sequence that allows the party—or individual, in this case—to indulge in some pure voyeurism.
I return to earnestly removing my shirt button by button, then split the two halves open to reveal the torso I’ve been maintaining in my building’s gym. Spinning so my back is to her I curve my arms behind me and subtly flex, then turning to face her again, I curl my arms to display the definition in my biceps, triceps, chest, and abs.
Swinging my hips to the rhythm, I raise my hands over my head and connect my fingers, rolling my top half backward until I’m bent almost horizontally. I spring back up to the beat. Only as the tune encounters the second chorus do I unzip my fly.
When I performed on stage I wore special outfits meant to be ripped off, but these are my own garments and won’t tear without a fuckton more force. To get around this issue, I pivot in circles and use the momentum to help me peel the sleeves off. With this task complete, I sling my shirt across the room, aiming for a Queen Anne upholstered chair in one corner.
Nailing my target, I then wind up as if pitching a baseball, dropping trou as I lower myself to a squat. I make fast work of divesting myself of socks, shoes, and pants, only rising to my feet again when I’m in nothing but my black boxer briefs.
I glimpse at Elliana since she’s been silent all this time, relieved to find her eyes locked on me. The most unforgivable outcome of a strip tease is to lose the interest of your audience.
Throwing my hands aloft, I lower myself with one leg in front while the other is stretched behind me—a mock split since I can no longer manage to dip all the way to the floor—before squeezing my legs together in order to rise back to my full height.
After that, I nonchalantly swivel my hips in a motion all too reminiscent of a leisurely fuck.
As I do, my gaze flicks to her massive walk-in closet, and I think of my own back at my apartment, an apartment I’m on the cusp of losing. On autopilot, I blow through the rest of my routine as my mind relives the chain of events that brought me here to this very instant, to the point of selling my body.
Long story short, I’ve run out of options. The head chef at the highest-rated Michelin-starred restaurant in D.C., otherwise known as my goddamn SOB of a boss, flew into a tirade one day a month ago and fired my ass.
Not that I was the only one. He sacked half the kitchen staff that day, but all my appeals to be reinstated fell on deaf ears. And that was despite my hard-won culinary degree or the fact that I’d spent the past five years under his abusive tutelage.
Maybe due to my persistent requests to come back, he blacklisted me with every similar eatery in the greater metro area. This came after I learned that my landlord would be doubling my rent. Relegated to entry-level jobs, truck delivery driving, and a handful of other positions that I’d have to work at least two of to still make less, this left me in a state of desperation.
Jobless and soon to be homeless, I remembered Elegance.
I’d heard of the site back during my stripper days, even knew of some guys who’d done gigs for them. Faced with either standing out on some shitty street in the worst parts of town or seeking the site back out, I searched through my belongings in an attempt to hunt up the old link. I found the thing, and miraculously, it still worked.
After an afternoon of research, I discovered that I could earn as much as six figures as long as I provided my clientele with sex as a part of the bargain. With that much money, I could purchase a hole-in-the-wall with a small kitchen and transform it into a bistro or café that would be my own. Something I’d been dreaming of for the past two decades.
To me, this small sacrifice would be more than worth the price.
Yanking myself from my reverie, I stick two thumbs in the sides of my skivvies and slide them off me, revealing myself to the woman reclining on her bed. Her mouth gapes slightly and her breathing accelerates, which is a good sign.