1. The Dance


    Date: 7/23/2015, Categories: Seduction, Author: henrygatewood, Rating: 17, Source: LushStories

    You sit alone in a dimly-lit alcove to one side of the room, a tall green cocktail standing untouched on the table before you. Your clothes are dark and well-fitted, and place you towards the more affluent extreme of this humble establishment’s clientèle. Like all the – mostly – men in the room your eyes are fixed on the stage at one end, where a tall athletic woman with a smooth-shaven head is finally unbuttoning the long dress which has followed her elegant and sensual gyrations these past few minutes like a billowing trail of white flame. The last button pops open and she gives a twirl. The dress bells outward, lifts, opens and finally flies away from her body as she spins… once… twice… on the third revolution she comes to a stop facing her audience, entirely nude. One arm is tight across her breasts, pulling them in and up, while her other hand rests demurely between her crossed legs. The heavy pulse of the music pauses for a moment, dissolving into a textured swirl of sound as she holds that statuesque pose, standing perfectly still with the spotlights gleaming on her chocolate-brown skin. Then the beat picks up once more, and she resumes her dance. From the shadowed side-balcony I watch you, watching her. Even at this distance I can see the way your gaze strokes over her tight, powerful-looking body. What are you thinking? What are you imagining doing? With expert skill she keeps her most intimate parts hidden as she moves, sliding her hands fluidly over her skin and ...
    teasing us to the occasional flash of dark nipple or hairless crotch. As the music nears its climax she comes to a stop with her back to us. Your stare is neither desultory nor aggressive, which sets you apart from the rest of the crowd. You do not whoop or cheer or clap when the dancer turns to face us and strides purposefully to the front of the stage, no longer covering herself. You merely watch on, smiling faintly as though trying to see the joke. The dancer's heavy, naked breasts move almost imperceptibly with each swing of her hips. She squats down slowly, and her hands move between her parting thighs to cover the final secret of her nakedness. As the last chord fades and the stage lights start to dim, she takes her hands away. I wonder what she is feeling. We often say that we can feel someone's gaze touching us, and now a hundred pairs of eyes are staring intently at the wide-open pink flower between her legs. So much attention on one small, sensitive place. How does it feel? Darkness cruelly snatches away the image and, after one breathless second, the room erupts in thunderous applause. The house lights come up and cast a soft glow over the old theatre the club now occupies. I set down my empty glass, turn and head for the staff stairwell. On the way down I pass the dancer, Diana, coming up. She is wrapped again in the thin white dress. We exchange a smile as she passes me up towards the dressing room on the second floor. I descend through her tantalising wake of ...
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