Just a dance

The rest of the afternoon dragged, Tammy squirming at her desk, thighs pressed tight together, blouse clinging to her. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had been willing to do, the taste of the other man still in her mouth.

At half five, three men strode into John’s office. Tammy clocked them immediately through the glass, her pulse rising. They weren’t like the bland grey faced men who filled the rest of the building.

The first was tall, late thirties maybe, Black, shaved head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, a sharp tailored suit hugging a frame built more for rugby than spreadsheets. His name was Marcus (she’d hear it later).

The second, a bit older, early forties, Mediterranean, olive skin and a strong hooked nose, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. His name was Paolo. His suit was grey silk, flashy.

The last was pale, sandy-haired, probably mid-thirties but with the tired eyes of someone who lived off cigars and whiskey. That was Stephen. He had the air of money about him — subtle cufflinks, expensive shoes.

All three carried themselves like predators. Not loud, not rowdy, just the sort of calm that came from always getting what they wanted.

Tammy shifted in her seat, her nipples tightening under her blouse as their eyes occasionally flicked her way through the blinds.

A ping on her phone.

Come in.

She stood, smoothed her skirt, and stepped into John’s office. He greeted her with that cool, cutting politeness that always made her stomach churn.

“Gentlemen, this is Tammy,” he said. “One of our lead business analysts and one of our rising stars.”

Her cheeks burned under the three men’s gazes. John introduced them, Marcus, Paolo, Stephen and she smiled weakly, muttering her hello.

John’s voice dipped, for her ear only. "the word no does not exist tonight".”

Her cunt clenched. She nodded.

They chatted business for a while, John commanding the room as always, Tammy smiling, nodding, adding the odd comment when prompted. But she could feel their eyes dragging over her legs, her tits, the line of her neck.

Then John suggested drinks. “Loosen the ties, eh? We’ve done enough numbers for one day.”

The men agreed readily. Tammy went along, heart hammering.

Two wine bars later, the mood had shifted. The men weren’t leering exactly, but their stares were bolder now, their laughter louder. Tammy’s head was buzzing from too many glasses of red, her skin hot under her new clothes.

When Paolo leaned in and said, “Let’s find somewhere more exotic, eh?” she felt her belly tighten.

John didn’t miss a beat. “I know just the place.”

The strip club hit her senses like a brick. Loud bass, flashing neon, the tang of sweat and perfume thick in the air. The place was soaked in sex, women in glittering thongs swinging on poles, gyrating in cages, grinding against men with their ties loosened and their mouths open.

Tammy froze just inside the door, clutching her handbag. She had never been anywhere like this. The closest had been sneaking peeks at magazines Graham hid in the garage, tame compared to this carnival of tits and arse.

John’s hand pressed into the small of her back, steering her forward. “Relax,” he murmured. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”

They slid into a booth near the stage, drinks flowing, eyes feasting. Tammy sat stiffly, sipping vodka she didn’t need, while the men hollered and clapped at the dancers. Her cheeks burned as she watched a brunette crawl across the stage on all fours, arse high, thong soaked with oil.

John leaned close. “See something you like?”

She shook her head quickly, but her thighs rubbed together under the table.

An hour passed in a blur of neon and flesh. Then John clapped his hands. “Private dances. On me.”

The men cheered, and soon they were led to a private room, plush velvet chairs, dim red light, the faint smell of baby oil clinging to everything.

One by one, dancers came in, each woman more stunning than the last, hips rolling, tits bouncing, grinding down onto the laps of Marcus, Paolo, and Stephen.

Tammy sat back, drink in hand, pretending she wasn’t staring, pretending her cunt wasn’t soaking through her skirt.

Then John’s voice cut through. “Tammy should have one too.”

Her heart slammed. “Oh— no, I— I left my purse—”

“The company will pay,” John said smoothly. He didn’t even look at her. “Roxie, she’ll do nicely.”

The dancer who stepped forward was unreal. Tall, tanned, jet-black hair tumbling in waves down her back. Her body was sculpted perfection, tits high and full, stomach flat, arse that looked carved from marble. She wore heels that made her tower, and a tiny thong that barely covered anything.

Tammy’s stomach twisted. She had never seen a woman like this up close.

Roxie sauntered over, straddled Tammy’s lap and then stopped, cocking her head. “She’s not wearing knickers.”

The men burst out laughing, Paolo nearly spilling his drink. Tammy’s face flamed crimson. She wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

John slipped a £50 note into Roxie’s hand. “Carry on.”

Roxie grinned, and the dance began.

Her tits were in Tammy’s face instantly, soft and oiled, nipples brushing her cheeks. Tammy’s hands hovered helplessly until Roxie grabbed them, planting them on her hips, grinding down hard.

Tammy gasped. The dancer’s skin was hot, slippery, perfumed with baby oil and sweat. The scent overwhelmed her. She could feel every shift of Roxie’s cunt through the thin thong, sliding against her stomach.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Roxie purred, twisting her tits across Tammy’s lips. Tammy’s mouth opened before she realised, tongue flicking out, tasting salt and perfume.

The men roared with laughter, egging them on.

Roxie’s hand slid between Tammy’s thighs, parting them, tugging her skirt higher. Tammy froze, but the command in John’s earlier whisper rang in her head. No does not exist.

Her thighs opened.

Roxie’s fingers found her bare pussy, hot and slick. She stroked once, twice, and Tammy’s whole body jolted. She bit her lip, muffling a moan, but her hips betrayed her, grinding up for more.

The dancer laughed against her neck. “Soaked already.”

She pressed her tits into Tammy’s face again, fingers circling Tammy’s clit, faster now, the wet sounds obscene under the men’s laughter.

Tammy’s head spun. The humiliation was fire in her veins, every nerve alight with shame and hunger. She clung to Roxie’s hips, her cunt spasming under the ruthless strokes, teetering on the edge.

Then Roxie pulled back, smirking. “That’ll cost extra.”

The men jeered. Tammy sat there trembling, her pussy clenching, denied, ****. The smell of oil and sex clung to her skin, her nipples hard enough to tear through her blouse.

She couldn’t think. She could only feel.