Slave Lap Dance

She observed her figure in the long mirror. Rotating her body on the spot, she saw how the swell of her breasts over-filled the slutty red bra, how the cut of the thong from the same lingerie set sat high on her hips, pinching to a sharp V exactly at her lips leaving a lot of bare flesh either side, and how the lacey red suspenders framed her milky white thighs above the fish net stockings.

Damn she looked the part.

Deep red lipstick matching her nails completed the look with just the thigh high boots to slip on last.

Could she pass for a club dancer? She checked out her ass and shimmied it slightly. Alluring. Sexy. Provocative. She definitely had the right goods, but it was about the execution. Men liked the flesh to move. It was now all about the shake. That took practice. YouTube had helped her immensely with something called the slut drop and body roll. Avid viewing changed into repeated practice. It had been a lot of fun after a while.

She wanted to impress her man. Wanted wasn't the right word! Needed perhaps? It had been an over-arching desire that seemed to possess her every waking moment. Every spare minute when not working or completing home tasks was occupied now with this.

She had the music ready. A day of listening to a collection of up-tempo potential stripping music had been fun. Had been a blast in fact. In between work and into the evening whilst practicing her yoga, she had selected and discarded multiple options.

Don't Back Down; Tom Petty the final choice.

Classic, romantic with brilliant words and above all else, it promoted her body to move to it. It encouraged her to dance, to shake, shimmy and smile.

Further downtimes spent watching pornhub club dancers shaking their booty in time with the music had started her off feeling frankly ridiculous. But with each practice session it had become easier. Had become more efficient; then more professional and the self-consciousness faded.

And that was her goal... It was all about the professional impression.

What was she missing now?

That's right... the smile! The club dancers warming smile; it was about the eye contact and the smile. The customer must feel like a king. Sir was her king; her Master; the be-all of her world.

The practice sessions of course had been in her sweat clothes. T-shirts and leggings. This was the first time she had seen how she would look in the necessary get up. This was the first time to put it all together. Music, dance and clothes.

The chair was ready.

The music was ready.

Hell, even the beer was ready.

Today was showtime.

The boots went on and she zipped them up with shaking hands, excited for what was about to come.

She felt the jittering belly flutter of pre-show nerves and practiced the swooping bounce down onto her heels to check how it looked in the mirror once more. The shimmy. The shake. A giro-scoping motion and an exaggerated flexing of her ass in the direction of her Master. He would never allow her to do this for anyone else - she'd make it count tonight for him.

Attired now in the correct gear, it looked so much better than whilst wearing sweat pants. More than mortal man deserved in fact. The smile on her face now seemed permanent.

Watching her face light up with her honest grin looked a hundred times better than any forced expression. She knew he liked a smile. This was like pushing on an open door; she was looking forward to his captivation and she knew what he liked. Despite the sex game play, already she knew that he would walk through fire for her. He was a dominant tease, but fiercely protective and about as soppy and romantic as anyone could possibly be.

She checked her full image in the mirror one last time. She looked the perfect slut for Sir, and had a lap dance ready that would blown his mind.

She traced her finger across the silk gusset of the thong and already felt the heat of the moisture it contained.

She eased a finger beneath the hem and made contact with her clit. Her groan of self-pleasure almost blocked the sound of the doorbell.

Thank goodness for that - if he had been late, she couldn't have promised to wait for him before she would have been spread-eagled on the bed with her fingers deep inside.

Swaying her hips seductively with each step in preparation, she made her way down the hallway to let him in.

...

Last night had been good.

In fact, last night had been excellent. The smile on her face from all his reactions to her was still there, as was some of his cum, though memory of everything else seemed a little hazy.

She was in bed the next morning, having just come to, and now lazily recalling the experience whilst tracing her finger once more across her slit. Still wearing the boots and fish nets, she still felt pretty slutty. The bra had been ripped off and her breasts had taken a real mawling judging by how tender they were feeling and her thong had been used to gag her at some point. She could still taste herself. Not unpleasant but her mouth felt dry now.

She tried to recall the events...

She remembered that he had taken his seat in the armchair as though in a gentleman's club. She had served him beer with as much provocation as she could. Bending carefully at the waist to serve him, arching her back seductively, she had been blatant with swinging her breasts in his face and then turning away to put down the tray, then pushing her ass cheeks towards him, hopefully showing her anus either side of the thin strip of material.

She had played the music and performed her routine pretty much flawlessly. The planned dance had gone really well, her movements in time to the music and Tom Petty's words. Using her hands on herself as though a lovers hands had almost seemed natural after a while and she could see his agitation that they weren't his own as quickly as he would have liked.

Though on autopilot at this point, she had become aware of the tenting in his trousers, had sat on it for a while to gyrate and create the appropriate stimulation, with a lot of hip action, body rolling, slut-dropping and using another chair to help her arch her back and add variety to the routine. Getting as excited as she had, when a second song followed the first, she repeated the routine, enjoying how she looked for her Master.

It all had the desired effect.

Before long, she had been required to kneel before him and gently suck him to full erection, and then had her mouth used as a cunt.

She recalled her gagging many times and the amount of spit and saliva her throat produced; how slick his cock had become and how he had eventually taken her hair either side of her head to force himself down into her mouth as far as he could go in order to pump his cum into her.

When he pulled himself free, she couldn't help but cough as he then used her face to wipe residual spunk over her nose and cheeks.

Still on the floor at this point and desperate to cum herself, she had hooked her pelvic bone onto his foot and humped it to her own oblivion.

It had taken a while to come back down after that. Her own continuing needs had not been forgotten, though hers were more physical in as much as the loss of personal control excited her very much.

Whilst her taste and smell was of cum, his restriction then of her movement compounded her emotions exponentially. Her wet thong was pulled from her body at one point and balled into her mouth. She lost the use of both hands somehow and she distantly remembered something being used to push into her pussy that she neither expected or had any say over. Her breasts were beaten as she had cum the once and her neck felt a little warm where he had applied restriction.

She believed that it was as that point her mind had abandoned her body to the complete fucking it received, only to surface right at that moment the following day.

Fucking hell.

What a dirty bastard.

Again!

Please.

Again?