I never imagined myself being married to a career-focused man. Since I was eighteen, I needed to be fucked almost on an hourly basis. Then, I met Daniel, my surprising knight in shining armor. In the heyday of our passion, we'd fuck maybe three times a month. Not much has changed, but I found a way to sate my needs.
A year after we married, I started stripping at a high-profile club two towns over. Six times a week, I dance and strip up and down a dick-like pole. On more than one occasion, I've cum while grinding my sultry pussy against that pole. If the pole doesn't get me off, it makes me horny as hell, and I end up lying on the stage, legs spread wide in a "V", fingering myself to a gushing orgasm. As you can imagine, fans love that I squirt; they even sit extra close to the stage hoping to get splashed.
One night, I was admiring my tight body in the mirror. The thin, lacey black bra perfectly showed off my jiggly D-cup mounds. Just the slightest hint of my dark chocolate areolas showed. My shiny navel chain and rose tattoo made my flat, six-pack abs look even sexier as swayed my hips. I slid my hands down my belly and rubbed the front of my matching g-string, checking to make sure my pussy was appropriately wet before going on stage.
The last things I checked were my stiletto heels. I wanted to make sure they made my hot, cinnamon ass tight and bubbly. I love wearing dark or contrasting colors because they make my cinnamon skin tone look more exotic. When I'm wet, the shiny streams flowing down my thighs look like liquid diamonds.
A quick double-check and I tossed my long, straight black hair and strolled toward the stage, my hair draped over my shoulders and down my back as it swayed and swooshed with my hips.
That particular performance was different for one reason: a strangely familiar face in the front row. He stared at me with his big brown eyes the entire time, never blinking. He didn't look like one of my usual fans, not to degrade any of my loving fans, but this guy was in damn good shape, nice hair, neatly groomed; extremely attractive.
After my stage time, I sauntered over to him and offered him a lap dance. I again ended my show with a gushing orgasm, so my thighs were covered in my wetness. He didn't mind as he stared into my emerald eyes with a startling calm grin.
"I've always loved your eyes," he said. That confused me, but his commanding stare made me wetter between my thighs. "I can't wait to stare into them as I make you cum." Again, his words got me wet.
He paid for the lap dance, and I left, still trying to figure out who he was. I gave a few more lap dances, got a few guys thrown out because they just couldn't help but touch me. After an hour of working the room, my boss came over and told me I had a customer in the CHAMPAGNE LOUNGE, our most luxurious VIP room.
When I got to the VIP lounge, that same mysterious man was sitting with his legs open and an enormous bulge in the front of his pants. I could see his eyes were lock-focused on the front of my tiny g-string.
After a night of arousing fun, my pussy was dripping wet and I had several trails of shiny streaks slicking the insides of my thighs and running down my legs. If it weren't for the heels I was wearing, I probably would've slipped at some point.
"You asked for me?" I seductively asked while reaching out for the pole. I twirled around one time and dropped down and opened my legs wide. "Here I am." He sat memorized as I worked the pole as only Valerie Vixen can.
Once naked, I strutted over to him and again sat in his lap. I twirled my sopping wet pussy over his huge bugle and let out a soft moan when his jeans brushed against my engorged wet lips. The feeling made me tremble, and he quickly reached up and grabbed my waist.