Give him a dance, it's your job after all

You take the Latino man's calloused hand and lead him back to the booth like rooms where the 'dancers' do their work.

"How did I get here?" you think to yourself as you walk, recalling your strict Irish Catholic upbringing. "What would daddy do if he knew I was stripping?" Strange, it's been a long time since you referred to your father as "daddy". But you're pretty sure he'd drag you out of this place and tan your bottom with his belt if he caught you working here.

"Sit over there," you direct the man as you arrive at an empty station.

He smiles at you lewdly and say, "I know how this works chica, probably better than you do. But I will teach you good. Manuel will teach you how this works."

You return his smile nervously, unsure as to what he means. You take a moment to look him over more carefully. He's not attractive. Kind of short with weathered, tanned skin. A mustache like a fuzzy black caterpillar crawling across his upper lip. His arms and legs are lean and strong, probably from hard labor, but too much beer has left his belly soft and pudgy.

He smells of sweat and dirt. It's clear that he and his friends have stopped here on the way home from the job site. You can't say you find it enticing exactly, but you're not as revolted by the masculine smell as you might have expected.

A song begins to play, some hip-hop song you don't recognize. "Mmmm, dance for me girl," the man says.

Unsure how to start, but knowing that you have to move, you start swaying your hips back and forth to the beat. Somehow this new body seems to have a feel for the music, and you settle into an easy rhythm, your breasts an unfamiliar weight as they bob up and down with your motion.

He seems pleased, and reaches out to stoke your smooth leg as you move. You remember that he's not supposed to touch you, but you don't stop him. Soon he's got one hand on each of your legs, sliding up and down and teasing at the sides of your panties.

"Now, chica, take it off," he practically hisses at you, "Ssssstriiiip for me."

Are you really going to do this? Get naked for this man? You are. You want to. The way he's looking at you thrills you to the bone. To be the target of his raw animal desire. You realize you've always wanted this.

You reach behind your back and unhook the clasp on your bra. You shake you head back and forth, your red hair flipping dramatically as you pull the bra over your shoulders and off. Your large pale breasts flop out, only a foot from his face.

"Yes!" he exclaims with a hearty laugh, "and let me help you with these," he adds as his fingers claw under the waistband of your panties and slide them slowly down your legs. You're now naked in front of him.

"Oh, yes," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now turn for me, putita, and shake that ass in my face."

You obediently rotate your body until your ample bottom is facing him, and you shake your money maker in time with the music. You feel one of his hands cup your cheek and gently squeeze it, his thumb sliding up and down the crack of your ass in a way that feels really dirty.

Suddenly both his hands are gripping your waist and pulling you back, pulling you on top of him and you feel the flesh of your rump in direct contact with the flesh of his lap. You realize that he's pulled his work pants and underwear down to his knees, and his hard cock is pressed up between your naked thighs. His hands move up your body until they're mauling your breasts, pulling you closer to him while he kneads them and pinches your nipples.

You whimper in fear and try to break away from him, but he's too strong. This isn't allowed. He's paying you for a lap dance, not a sex act. You could call a bouncer, but you're not sure he would care, and not sure whom he would blame for the situation if he did.

All the while Manuel is sliding his short but thick member back and forth between your inner thighs.

"I'll let you choose, putita. I can do it like this and come on your thighs or I can stick it in you and give you a real ride. What do you want?"