Gloria lies awake in bed, reliving her time with the three wives. She is elated by her sexual attraction to women. Mary, Sarah, and Betty inspire her with boundless possibilities and passion. Her hand caresses her pussy, her fingers stroke the button, her orgasm a masturbatory eruption.
"Which woman did I enjoy more?"
They are a delicious smorgasbord of tastes and textures. She decides to explore each one separately and in-depth. But what will she do today?
Shouts from a front-yard football game penetrate her bedroom. Curiously, she peeks out her window where the kid next door plays with his college buddies, clad only in shorts and sweatshirts. Excited, she can hardly breathe as she opens the window, leans out, sways her tits side to side, and hollers,
“Can you keep the noise down, please?”
Interrupted, the boys look for the complaining voice but freeze dead silent when they see Gloria leaning out the window with her tits swinging wildly and her bald pussy visible.
Her body trembles with desire as she surveys the bulges in every pair of shorts. Mr. Dickins pivots towards the unfolding drama from across the street. Gloria waves vigorously at him, listening to the boys' exclamations, as her tits dance for them.
Two doors down the street, the Roadmaster from yesterday backs out of its driveway, moving towards her framed body in the window.
Gloria’s pussy vibrates and opens, thrilled to show herself to the driver for the third day in a row. Panicked, she jumps back inside as the Roadmaster enters her driveway and up to her front door. What should she do? What does he want?
The doorbell rings twice. Gloria is glad he has seen her, but she is shaken and feels vulnerable with him at the door. Desperate, she grabs her closest clothes: a crop top and short shorts. The shorts are denim. The waistband sits low on her hips. The top barely covers her tits, their bottoms peeking out as she moves. The top's bold red color contrasts seductively with the faded blue shorts.
Gloria opens the door relaxed, confident, and at ease.
“Hello. We haven’t met, but I've seen you a few times. I’m Tony from down the street. I was on my way to lunch when I saw you just now. I knew immediately that you would like my club. So, I stopped to ask you to join me.”
“Fuck,” Gloria thinks. “What do I do now?”
Tony is of average height with a slight paunch. Black wavy hair slicked back, and brown hooded eyes. “He isn’t good-looking,” Gloria thinks, “But he is presentable in his clean jeans, sport coat, and tie.”
“What the hell. Let’s do it,” Gloria agrees.
Tony turns onto a tree-shielded street that opens into a secluded cul-de-sac. There is an Italian-style pension, with terracotta tones and wrought-iron balconies. Across from it, a Roman bathhouse, with elegant classical columns. Both have manicured lawns, flowering bushes, and carefully pruned trees. Straight ahead, Tony's place is further shielded by a dense grove of trees with low-level lighting filtering through the trees illuminating the orderly, discreetly placed parking lots. A surprising number of cars indicates a good early lunch crowd.
“Tony’s” is a dark, polished brick, with subtle, art deco-inspired detailing. “Tony’s” is written in a sophisticated, slightly stylized font and is illuminated by warm, indirect lighting. The door is black, polished, and heavy. Gloria is very curious about the inside of “Tony’s”.
As Gloria steps into Tony’s place, she finds a sophisticated lounge that is luxurious with deep blues and gold and a smooth mix of jazz, R&B, and contemporary sensual music. The low-volume music creates a backdrop of sensual sound.
The polished, dark hardwood stage is the focal point, surrounded by seating, featuring a polished chrome pole and well-placed mirrors and mirror balls reflecting the lighting. Warm spotlights and washes highlight the performers' movements, creating a sensual atmosphere.
The stage’s size allows for intimate proximity between the performers and the patrons while providing excellent visibility from all seating areas. There are small enclosed areas close to the stage that allow for more intimate interactions.
The dim, warm lighting in the dining area is inviting, while the more dynamic lighting on the stage hints at the entertainment to come. The staff exudes a sense of effortless cool, sensuality, and understated sex appeal. The women in curve-hugging bodycon dresses in emerald green, ruby red, or sapphire blue. Strappy heels with ankle straps. Statement earrings and sleek, pulled-back hairstyles. The men are in deep black or red fitted T-shirts. Slim-fitting trousers that accentuate their legs. Polished leather shoes. A simple ring and short, neatly styled hair.
Gloria thinks, "This could be an exciting lunch.”
A dancer moves across the stage, clad in high-quality, alluring designer lingerie; her hair, makeup, and skin are impeccable. The spotlight accentuates the sensual and artistic revelation of her body. Her heels are high and stylish, adding to the elegant line of her legs. Her dance is a captivating blend of classic striptease and pole artistry, each movement a deliberate tease, building sexual tension with an almost palpable intensity. She holds eye contact and engages in subtle interactions, creating a personal connection with each patron in the room.
Gloria and Tony, lunch ordered, scotch in hand, watch as the dancer exits. A scantily dressed, less-polished figure crawls around the stage, gathering the scattered tokens of appreciation.
The haunting instrumental strains of "House of the Rising Sun" fill the room as a tall woman with a cascade of fiery red hair steps into the spotlight. Her emerald green dress, a whisper of fabric, clings to every curve, hinting at the treasures beneath. The click of her heels against the polished floor echoes each step a deliberate promise. Her body undulates, a slow, mesmerizing dance, like a serpent's sway. Her hands trace delicate patterns along her hips, a playful tease that sends shivers through the crowd, as her sultry voice, breathy and low, begins the familiar melody.
She moves along the stage's edge, the dress slipping away, revealing more with each graceful motion. Delicate undergarments follow, each revealing a tantalizing gift, as she sings, her voice weaving a spell, her movements a dance of pure suggestion. The air crackles with anticipation. She stands, a silhouette against the light, her breath a rhythmic rise and fall, the song building to its crescendo. Legs shoulder-width, she belts out the final, powerful notes, her presence commanding every gaze. A deep bow, a tantalizing sway, and she spins, her exit leaving a lingering impression, a silent promise of more.
A seductive, contemporary rhythm pulses from the stage sound system. Tony's voice, a low whisper, cuts through the air, "They're playing your song. It's show time."
Gloria's breath hitches, a mix of excitement and anticipation. She moves towards the stage, her steps light, her energy electric. The thought of every eye on her, every pulse-quickening, sends a wave of heat through her. She can barely contain the thrill as she climbs onto the center stage. With a deliberate, almost defiant grace, she sheds her clothing, her shoulders pulled back, accentuating the curve of her breasts, her pelvis thrust forward, a silent invitation.
She spins, her hair a whirlwind around her, then dips low, a graceful descent that sends a ripple of breathless anticipation through the room. Her gaze locks onto a man in the front row, holding his attention captive with her pussy. A playful kiss is blown, a silent promise, before she moves along the stage's edge, her hips swaying with a provocative rhythm that ignites the senses.
The music shifts, the tempo rises, and her movements become fluid, almost acrobatic. She flips, twirls, and ascends the pole with an effortless grace, drawing a roar of approval from the crowd. At the apex, her body arches, a breathtaking display of control, then slowly, she bends backwards, a captivating descent.
The spotlight accentuates every curve, every shadow of her tits, especially her chocolate auroras and large hard nipples. Rising again, she slides down the pole, her eyes holding the audience in a spell as the pole brings her to orgasm. The unsuspecting audience watches a final, powerful flourish at the base, sending a wave of applause through the room.
Her eyes find Jack, her husband's bookkeeper, his fist extended, a bill standing upward offered in appreciation. She approaches with a subtle sway in her step. She spreads her legs over Jack's fist and slowly squats retrieving the offering with her pussy carefully not touching his tempting hand. A distinguished blonde woman slides another offering into the crack of her ass, a silent tribute, as Gloria steps off the stage, a triumphant smile gracing her lips.
Returning to her table, she moves through the crowd with the practiced ease of a politician, ignoring the “accidental” bumps. The blonde and a handsome man are deep in conversation with Tony. As they pass, the woman slips Gloria a card. A glance, unread, and Gloria turns to Tony,
"Take me home, please."
The ride home unfolds in a quiet sexual intimacy. The Roadmaster hums smoothly, a low thrum against the night. As Gloria opens the car door, she turns, her gaze lingering on Tony.
"There's a certain...folklore," she begins her voice a low murmur, "about strip club dancers and their bosses. Does that apply to me and today’s drop-in performance?”
A slow smile spreads across Tony's face. "Only if the desire is mutual."
Gloria smiles at the bulge in his pants.
"Intensely so," she replies, a teasing heat in her eyes. "But not tonight. I have a story to tell Robert first."
"Does this mean a repeat performance?" Tony asks, his voice a low invitation to the desired outcome.
“Occasionally," she answers, her eyes sparked by carnal energy. "But, I'm more interested in the private rooms."
"Those are...more intimate," Tony cautions, his voice dropping.
"Perfect," she replies in a playful purr. "Then you'll have to show me everything, won't you?"
Her parting glance holds a knowing promise as she slips into the house carrying her clothes, leaving a palpable aura of desire.
