As the DJ introduces me, I walk on stage, grab the pole, and pose. Arms stretched, ass out, legs parted and bent, every inch of me on display, with only a few layers of lingerie to protect my dignity. When the music starts, I'll shake my ass, stroke the pole like it's a giant cock, then climb it and spin around out as hungry eyes devour me.
"She's sweet, she's obedient, and she's here to make all your fantasies come true. Because when you ask, she delivers. Gentlemen, get ready to be completely captivated... and maybe even a little addicted. Give it up for the irresistible... Doll Noir!"
I fucking hate this place. The introduction makes me sick to my stomach. Every word, every syllable was written to infuriate me, and at the same time let every disgusting pig in the audience know... I'm for sale.
Granted, it's not a seedy, gross hole in the wall that most girls start stripping at. This one has money. The furniture is new. Nothing is janky. There's a lot of space, big tables, as much privacy as a man could hope for in a place like this. The drinks are strong and delivered in unscratched glasses. Even the bouncers wear nice suits. And cops were paid to come in never.
The music starts, and I pull my hands down the pole, then back up, like I'm stroking a giant of a man. It's fucking repulsive, but I lean forward and do the same with my whole body. I hate pretending I'm jerking off a humongous cock with every inch of me.
Then, as the music picks up tempo, I launch myself onto the smooth metal phallus. I squeeze it with my thighs and lean back knowing my tits will spill forward up my chest as I glide through the air inverted, holding myself up with only my thighs.
I climb my giant cock, cavorting on it like a little girl with a new playtoy. I spread my legs, spin, squeeze the pole between thighs, and wish for death. It's so fucking humiliating. I barely touched cocks before working this joint, now I pretend to be addicted to this giant one that shows my body off in ways designed to make men want to drill me savagely.
It's impossible to stop. I want to run from this place, leap off the stage, and dash screaming out the front doors. But I can't. I'm a prisoner.
Muscles aching from the routine, I finally drop from the pole to the floor on my ridiculous high heels. I'm not done with my metal humiliator just yet. My hands work it, trying to pump it to orgasm as the men in the audience watch and yearn. I dance around it slowly, ass and tits swaying seductively as I embrace, wrap a leg around it, and finally thrust out my tongue and lick the length of it.
There's no cheering or hooting, it's not that type of place. The audience is mostly hidden in the dark. I can only see the few men sitting at the edge of the stage--men who want to give me tips. The ones that will buy my time usually sit farther back in the booths... I can't see them from the stage.
