I walked into the topless bar and almost
immediately turned around and walked out. Too crowded,
too noisy, too smoky… it wasn’t going to be worth it
just for $10 table dances. On the way back to my hotel
a small building caught my eye with the sign
“Gentlemen’s Dance Partners”. I figured I could spare
five minutes to check out the place. When I went in
there was a latina hostess in an enclosed foyer and a
sign – $10 entry, $20 per hour to the house for the
ladies’ time and a tip of at least that much for the
lady. The music from behind the closed door sounded
okay, so I handed her a ten and she opened the door.
Inside on one side was a pool table and some card
tables, and a bar with football on the TV. A glitter
ball spun slowly over a small parquet dance floor and
several couches lined the walls. An open doorway led
into a back room. There were two couples slow-grinding
under the glitter ball, a couple of guys with a curvy
brunette playing pool, and three women on one of the
couches chatting.
I went over to the couch and my eyes lit on a
redhead in a well-filled tube top and short skirt. I
introduced myself as a first-timer there, and she
agreed to help me feel like one of the family. I held
out my hand and she pulled herself up out of the
couch, tube top jiggling pleasantly, her head coming
just up to my height.
We went to the foyer window and she stamped a
time card, then took my hand and led me through the
open doorway to the back area where there were small
leather couches – almost loveseats – with coffee
tables and a bit of dance floor near each. The light
was dimmer here, and we settled into one of the
couches. We did the usual who-are-you and
what-do-you-do chatter until the music changed to a
danceable Billy Joel number.
On the dance floor she got a lot more friendly,
melting into my arms and resting her head against my
shoulder. When I casually slid my hand down her back
past the waistline, she pressed herself against me and
traced circles on my lower spine with her fingernails.
By the time the music changed, my hand was familiar
with the contours of her bottom, my head was filled
with the scent of her hair and my body was buzzing
with warm fuzzy feelings.
We settled into the couch and she leaned into me,
my arm wrapping naturally around her and settling
alongside what felt like a nicely full and resilient
breast. Her lips tickled the side of my neck and one
of her hands found its way along the inside of my leg.
I was enjoying the hell out of this but wondering just
how far we could go in what was basically a public
space. The way the couches were arranged, I couldn’t
actually see the people in them, just the tops of
their heads. Head, singular in one case, and I
wondered where that guy’s dance partner was until the
head leaned back and I saw it to be a woman’s face,
eyes tightly closed and mouth open in what had to be
an expression of passion fulfilled.
About that time my companion’s hand made its way
up to my zipper, and I leaned back in the loveseat as
she moved her palm back and forth over my bulge. She
moved her lips to my ear, and with an agonizing
slowness licked her way around it and into the center.
In a husky voice she mentioned that I seemed a little
tense, and she might be persuaded to help out with
that.
“Persuaded?” My mind wasn’t working terribly
quickly through the erotic feelings she was raising in
me. I squeezed her breast and let my hand make its
way slowly down her side to cup her bottom, my fingers
exploring those curves just as her fingernails
outlined the swollen contours of my shaft. “Not that
kind of persuasion, sweetie,” she said, “I’m a working
girl, after all.” A light finally dawned in my head,
but not so urgently that I didn’t take my sweet time
sliding my hand over her entire bottom on its way to
my hip pocket where my wallet was ensconced. Two
minutes later, a pair of Andrew Jacksons had changed
allegiance and my hand was nicely tucked under her
skirt, discovering that she had dispensed with
underwear.
She deftly unfastened my belt and slid my zipper
down, then slipped her cool fingers into my briefs.
It was almost a shock to feel the contrast between
them and the heat of my cock. Without observable
effort she threaded my cock out into open air, and
wrapped her hand around it. Her thumb was rolling
repeatedly over the top, and my brain was being split
into a rainbow between that and the way my fingers
felt embedded in her own moist channel. I leaned back
in the couch, rocking my head from side to side as my
lips moved soundlessly.
She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and
the next thing I was conscious of was spurting into
her cloth-covered hand, her other hand stroking my
balls as she urged me to “Be a good boy, give it all
to Mamma”. I managed to hold my vocal response down
to a soft moan, and her hands moved until I had
nothing left to give.
I was impressed, to say the least. But I thought
my head would explode when the handkerchief
disappeared and she ducked her head down to my lap to
give my cock a thorough tongue-washing. The next
thing I knew my pants were zipped up and my dance
partner was helping me stand up on shaky legs. We
walked back to the foyer window, and she repunched her
time card. Then she turned to me and gave me a
sizzling kiss while her hand played lightly between my
legs. When the kiss ended, she smiled at me and said
“I hope you come back soon – you’re a wonderful
‘dancer’!” With that she turned and sashayed toward
the TV area.
The same latina was on duty when I got to the
exit window, and she checked the time and quoted me a
number. I paid it, only slightly disturbed by how
much this brief afternoon dalliance had cost me. I
was remembering that other area in back, the one where
only the woman’s head was visible. In my mind I was
already planning for my next visit.