The Author's Outlet

Greedy little minx...

Here's a short chapter describing a private dance in a strip club. 

.There's no particular gender descriptions in terms of the protagonist so both male and female readers can enjoy the full experience.

.ALSO, 'she' doesn't have a specific race, colour or size, so let your imagination run wild.

.INCOMPLETE (but still captures the main image)

ENJOY AND DROP A COMMENT!

The neon lights embalm her godly body in the most exquisite manner. Their alternating green-pink flashes expose just enough of her bare flesh to coax the growing hunger in the pit of your stomach, but not so much that it leaves nothing for the imagination. In-fact so much is left that your imagination churns relentlessly, trying to figure out the colour of her nipples beneath that silver bra-let or whether the oil she has drenched all over her body spreads between her lips beneath the matching thong.

You're so fixated on the swirl of her waist and the sway of her hips that when you take a large gulp off your whiskey on the rocks, the burn is but a tingle as it sizzles down your throat. She moves with a certain 'je ne sais quoi' that renders you speechless and has a glare so enticing it takes every ounce of control within you to sit there so calmly. She twirls around gracefully; the thick glass at her heels twinkling as she wraps her legs around the pole and swivels expertly. Her every move falls in sync with the slow reverb; the pole an instrument in her orchestra; grabbing it, riding it, grinding on it till she lands in a split on the floor.

She holds your gaze hostage as she leisurely crawls towards you; a lusty glimmer in her eyes, a dark smirk across her lips. All this time you thought she was here to serve you, but you realise now, that you are at her mercy. She is the predator, you are the prey and she plans on feasting off both your attention and money mercilessly.

You tuck another hundred beneath the string at her waist as she turns away, swallowing your saliva as though subconsciously drinking in the delicious sight of her ass. She grinds it slowly against your groin before raising it to your face. The unexpected rich scent of shea butter and honeysuckle engulfs your nose, possessing your entire being; and before you give in to the urge and slip her thong to the side, she struts away. 

Frustration gnaws at every ounce of your sanity, threatening to break the chains currently holding together. She's the human version of a trophy you'll never own no matter how much you try and that excites you more than it should. She's unimpressed by all the hundreds belted around her waist because she can't be bought, but that won't stop her from milking your wallet dry. The greedy little minx always wants more and she knows full well, you'll give it to her.

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