Mild enthusiasm

There's a scattering of applause and a few whistles as you start your routine. Getting into your character of Bambi, you strut to the centre of the stage, then grab the pole with one hand and let your body do a full turn as you scan the audience. There are about eight guys seated around the stage and the rest of the club is more than half full. Some of the guys around the stage have a dancer seated with them, and at least two of them are paying more attention to their companion than to you.

You do the same dance you did for Tony earlier in the day, letting your skirt flare up to show your ass, bending over to show your cleavage, peeking at the stage side seats from between your legs. One guy, seated alone, seems particularly interested in you, his eyes glued to your every move. He's pudgy, his chubby face shiny with sweat, his fat fingers nervously fiddling with his glass as he drinks. You give him a pouting, flirty smile and see him gulp and lick his lips before your twirl and strut to the other side of the stage.

As the song reaches it's climax you unbutton your shirt, teasing the crowd by holding it open for a moment then closing it shyly, putting an expression of surprised innocence on your face. By the song's end you have it off, holding it in front of you, letting it fall as the music fades out, then tossing it aside with a flirting smile at the crowd.

The next song is a driving rhythm, and you move sinuously around the stage, using the pole to show off your luscious body. You unhook the front clips of the bra, again teasing the crowd for a moment, showing a quick flash of each breast before taking it off and throwing it aside. The skirt comes next, as you bend over in front of your pudgy admirer, tugging it down and letting it fall around your ankles as you flex your butt cheeks, winking and smiling at him as you do.

You can see that he's got a bill in his hand, holding it up folded lengthwise. You strut to the pole, spin around it, then strut back to him, squatting on your heels in front of him, your thighs parted. He leans forward and tucks the bill into the top of your stocking, his eyes riveted to your tits.

You get a few other bills shoved in your stockings or panties from some of the other stage side customers, and you feel yourself glowing with excitement as the song builds to a crescendo, loving the attention you're getting, loving the thought that all these men are looking at your lovely body, fantasizing about fucking it, using it, possessing it. As the song ends you roll your white panties down your thighs, your eyes teasing the crowd, giving a smile to your chubby admirer. You can feel that your panties are a bit damp from the warm excitement that's growing in you, and you feel that heat grow from the applause you hear as you drop your panties to the stage as the song ends.

You pick up your panties and the money that had been tucked in them, and dropping them with your other clothes, you flick your blanket out on the stage as the third song begins, then kick your heels off. You decide to leave your stockings on, thinking they fit with the image of the slutty schoolgirl, and also you love the feel of them on your skin.

You spin on the pole, showing off some erotic gymnastics, then crouch and squeeze your tits around it, rubbing yourself against it, as you throw your head back as if in ecstasy. Which isn't far from the truth, you realize. You're feeling genuinely horny at your own behaviour and at the appreciation you're seeing and hearing from the audience. You slide to the floor, writhing on your blanket as you lick your lips and smile, writhing on your belly, pushing your hips into the air and rolling them.

You imitate the actions you saw other dancers do, sliding in front of the stage side customers, giving them a close up look at your writhing body, showing them a sultry smile, biting your lip and arching your back when they slide a bill into your stockings. The pudgy guy is eagerly waiting for his turn, holding up a folded bill, his eyes full of nervous hunger. You slide in front of him then roll on your back and arch your body, spreading your thighs to show him your pussy, stroking your hands over yourself. Turning sinuously, you lean towards him, almost touching him, then arching back so your stiff pierced nipples almost brush against him. He fumbles with your stocking, tucking a bill there, and you give him a teasing smile before sliding away to the next customer.

You end the song the same way you finished for Tony, crouched on your knees, holding a corner of the blanket in a pretence of shy innocence that doesn't cover anything at all, a look of sultry excitement on your face.

"Alright Gentlemen, let's hear it for Bambi!" the DJ's voice booms through the speakers, and you hear a good round of applause and some whistles. "A great newcomer to our stage and a great show! Bambi will be happy to give you a personal lap dance, and don't forget our fabulous VIP rooms. Now get yourself a beverage, and get ready for our next dancer who'll be up on stage in a minute!" You stand and give a little nodding bow before picking up your blanket and stepping off stage. One of the bouncers is waiting for you.

"Good show," he says with an approving nod. "I'll take your stuff to the dressing room. The guy stage side third from the left wants to meet you."