Dancing with yesterday's enemy

(This chapter is part of a multichapter smut scene.)

Things… haven’t been going your way today. Not by a long shot. And now, you’re stuck walking onto the stage of a strip club, long after you should have left your stripping days behind. At least you don’t get stage fright over being a stripper, but that’s only because you’re far too familiar with this particular type of stage.

Status Gained: Grumpy

You step onto the stage, gritting your teeth and averting your eyes from the audience. What else would you be wearing except the same skimpy, black microbikini as Surge. The tiny triangles of fabric from your top fail to cover you up adequately, forcing you to bare the pastel pink of your areolae to the crowd. To make matters worse, they didn’t have a bikini in your size, so you’re stretching your top to the limit. You can feel the tension in the straps, and everyone else can see the tension from the massive strap gap you have. Your g-string bottoms might as well be a decorative belt, if not for the tiny triangle just barely covering your pussy. The air alone is enough to assure you that your entire ass is laid bare, thanks to the “back” easily slipping between your asscheeks and out of sight. Next time, you’ll definitely beat Brooke, but for now, it seems you have a different opponent to deal with…

“Yo, Cow Tits! I knew I could count on you to blow it!” Lieutenant Surge greets you, temporarily stopping her dance in order to ogle you up and down. No camaraderie between stripper sluts, apparently.

“I don’t want to hear that from the girl who’s been shaking her ass since I got here!” you fire back.

Surge puts on a mock offended voice. “You’ve been staring at me since you walked in? What a creep! I guess you’ll have to let me gawk at you all night as compensation.”

Your chest heaves with rage-filled breaths, but you close your eyes and slowly breathe out. Don’t let her get to you. Do a sexy dance for the perverts, ignore the pipsqueak, and leave.

You get to the front and start dancing as instructed, giving the whole club a buffet of perverted sights right from the start. It’s not like your bikini leaves anything to the imagination, but your boobs have so little support that even the slightest motions make them bounce and sway. A permanent frown is pasted on your face, knowing that all the degenerates in this place are filling their memories with the sight of you dancing around like some kind of floozy. Which you definitely are not.

Despite your annoyance, it only takes a few minutes for your determination to give way, and you pay a bit of attention to the pipsqueak. In particular, you notice that shiny white hiney you were appreciating earlier. So big, round, and gravity-defying… Reflecting the lights like the high beams on a car… As long as you’re stuck in this situation, you might as well make the best of it, right? Besides, she’s not even being sneaky about stealing glances at your tits, so you don’t feel very bad about what you’re about to do.

You gradually close the distance between you and Surge while shaking your chest pridelessly. Unsurprisingly, she turns her head and stares like she’s being hypnotized. Geez, for someone who pretends to hate your boobs so much, she sure does love them… Fortunately, she lets her guard down entirely, dancing in place like a slutty little toy until you get right next to her, and that’s when you smack her bare white ass so hard a crack echoes through the club.

Surge shrieks in surprise, filling your bitter heart with warmth. Even better, she jumps away from your hand and ends up leaving the stage, falling onto the floor below. You join the crowd in laughing at the blonde stripper as she sits face-down, ass-up on the ground. She courteously waits until everyone is finished laughing, presumably paralyzed by embarrassment for several seconds. Once on her feet, she meekly says to the crowd, “S-Sorry.” The burning blush on her face makes it all worth it.

The poor girl turns to climb back on stage, but she can’t get back up before her bikini bottoms surrender to the size of her ass and slide down her legs, daintily floating past her ankles and hitting the floor. Surge panics so badly she loses her grip on the stage and drops straight back to the floor, this time landing on her back and giving a view of her pussy to the crowd. They all cheer, but you cheer the loudest, enjoying both the deflection from your own embarrassment, as well as another opportunity to look at Surge’s cute and sexy body she takes such good care of. For a pervert, she sure is easy to perv on.

Again, Surge waits out the crowd’s reaction before finally getting to her feet. This time her face is as red as a cranberry. “I’m sorry everyone!” she declares, squinting her eyes shut. She bends over to pick up her bottoms, earning some extra cheers and claps, then climbs back up while baring that big, shiny ass to the crowd, along with a decent look at her exposed holes. More cheers follow, until she finally gets on stage and puts her flimsy black fabric around her waist. “You’re dead meat,” she hisses. Somehow, you’re not threatened by the girl who just apologized to a crowd for flashing them.

The humiliating dancing continues, and you have to admit, you actually get into the music a bit. A good, fast-paced track comes on, and no matter how much you grit your teeth, you can’t stop your hips from gyrating in the most sexual way you can ever remember moving. You raise your arms upright and bounce up and down with the beat, not really thinking about how much your melons are also bouncing. The crowd, naturally, cheers as you objectify yourself for their enjoyment. You look away and try not to let them take away from the fun of dancing to a good song, but suddenly they really pick up, cheering and clapping an unreasonable amount. When you try to figure out why, you look down and see your pale tits on full display, your last scraps of modesty gone thanks to your bikini top giving up while you were dancing.

You freeze on the spot, looking around frantically for your top while forgetting that you could probably be covering up your boobs in the process. Things only get worse when Surge reacts faster than you, darting over and grabbing your top. “Mine!” she proclaims.

You chase her around the stage, your bare jugs bouncing and slapping around, but it quickly becomes apparent that you won’t be catching such a nimble and athletic stripper anytime soon. Why do you have to be so slow… You drop to your knees, finally bothering to cover up as you loudly whine, “Give it baaaaack!”

“Then go get it!” Surge flings your top, causing it to land on top of one of the lighting fixtures along the wall.

You sigh and crawl to the light, not thinking about the excellent view the audience is getting of your ass and pussy until they start whistling. With a growl, you stand up and jump for your bikini. You miss, but the crowd is sure to let you know how much they like watching your attempt. You try several more times, and the crowd keeps cheering as you make a spectacle out of your big, bouncing titties. When you finally grasp the fabric, you lose your footing on the way down, landing flat on your back and incurring cheers and laughter from the onlookers as they, yet again, get to watch your tits bounce unrestrained. Like Surge, you’re paralyzed by the atmosphere, shamefully waiting until the act has played out before standing up. With red blush on your face, you put your top back on and return to dancing normally, failing utterly to ignore the pointing and laughing of your blonde dance partner.

You keep up your dance routine, now the angriest you’ve been all night. You’re angry at Brooke, angry at Surge, angry at the crowd, but most of all, you’re angry at the dampness starting to coat your micro bikini. Why are you turned on now of all times? You try to tell yourself there’s nothing arousing about a club full of people staring at your body like you’re a slab of meat, but… it’s a lie. Something primitive inside you loves the attention, and you add that part of yourself to the list of things you’re angry at. Despite it all, you still flaunt your barely-covered body for an audience who’s already seen your exposed tits anyway.

As your pussy grows wetter, you try to again distract yourself with dancing, hoping it will calm down your fury and arousal in equal measure. That leads you to explore the stage a bit more, though, and inevitably puts you side-by-side with Surge. You catch her practically molesting your body with her eyes like the slobbering lesbian that she is, but you’re doing the same to her. You both look away with a huff and stroll past each other, swinging your hips all the while. However, you seize the opportunity to take out a bit of your frustration on her by sneakily pulling the string on her bikini top.

The runt doesn’t even notice the skimpy fabric is gone. She just keeps dancing, breasts out like an oblivious airhead. She dances with a spring in her step, repeatedly popping her upper body up enough to make those tiny cups of hers bounce for all they’re worth. Your pussy’s soaked just watching it, but it’s deeply satisfying, so you go for a bit of lazy floor “dancing”, just lying down and moving your legs around a bit as you arch your back and drink in the sight of Surge making a slut of herself. That is, until she looks back at you with the same expression of successful **** that you feel. She’s looking at you like you’re some sort of… oblivious airhead! When you look between your legs, you realize why. Your bottoms are missing. That means… y-y-you were just flashing your leaking pussy to the crowd! She pulled off your panties when you walked past, didn’t she? That bitch!

Surge quickly realizes her own exposure, and you both march back to the center of the stage, intent on retrieving your lost garments. But, when you get face-to-face with Surge, all of your pent up embarrassment, anger, and arousal come out.

“Done showing off your mosquito bites, loser?” you taunt.

She counters, “They were enough to have you dripping down your thighs, whore. I better cover up before you drench the whole damn stage!”

The two of you lock eyes, closing in until your faces are barely an inch apart. Rather than retrieving your missing garments, you both rip off what little fabric the other is wearing, leaving yourselves completely stripped. You both growl, but the sound is soon overpowered by your heartbeat pulsing in your own ears. Your blood boils, your pussy tightens, and you give in to the situation without much thought. At the same time as Surge, you strike, meeting her lips with yours in a rabid makeout session.

Both your tongues vie for dominance, neither one giving an inch. The crowd cheers, probably just thinking they’re getting to watch two girls make out, but the lust and aggression is unmistakable. You and Surge are about to fuck each other’s lights out, and it won’t just be for fun. One of you is gonna come out on top, and the other one is gonna cum like a bitch. If there’s anyone you can outfuck, it’s this obnoxious, overconfident flatty. You’ll make this military brat squirt her brains out in front of everyone if it’s the last thing you do!