"Just go right over there, past the divider and stage, and talk to him."
Yasmine's eyes looked into the building along the direction of the pointed finger and spotted a tall gaunt man seated at a round table working at a laptop. She looked up into the small eyes of the large man at the door -- a bouncer who called himself Guth -- and thanked him. Stepping inside Yasmine's shoes -- six inch heels with a two inch platform -- clacked loudly on the cement floor. They were pink and matched the micro-skirt that barely covered any of the mocha-skinned girl's somewhat flat ass -- although they did nicely compliment her long thin legs.
As she passed the ticketing and coat check area of the Gentleman's Review club Yasmine passed the divider into the stage area and immediately stopped.
The rumors were true.
Besides the thin man with his nose buried in his laptop the only other person in the entire room was a woman on stage. Completely nude except for the bright red ballet heels that adorned her feet the blonde pole dancer was an absolute knock-out. Yasmine's eyes were captivated by her body; breasts like soccer balls swung and shifted with an impossibly natural grace; her waist waspishly small; her hips and ass billowing out to grant symmetry to her exaggerated chest. The observing woman was amazed by the dancer's fine musculature, which was absolutely necessary given the swinging and climbing she was doing on the pole that rose up from the floor to the ceiling. And the angle and length of her heels were just-
"Ahem."
Yasmine's glassy stare was broken by the seated man standing up. She immediately adjusted her micro-bikini top -- which just covered the nipples that adorned her apple-sized breasts -- and checked to make sure her dark hair's pixie cut was in order. Then she puffed out her chest and strutted over to him.
"And you would be..." the man asked, holding out his hand. Yasmine took it and they shook.
"Yasmine Candor, I saw your ad for a dancer?" The sentence hadn't intended to come out as a question but it certainly sounded like one.
"I see..." the man replied, closing his laptop, "I'm George Almond, I'm the owner. And we are in need of dancers, many have left since..." George's eyes glanced to the woman on stage and then back to Yasmine, his face clearly showing he didn't know how to continue the sentence.
"I had heard stories, but I couldn't find any actual articles about what happened. Do you mind if I ask?"
"No, not at all...if you are going to be working here you should know the whole story. And fortunately for Desire no one really believes it...or me. I was the only one who saw what happened. And trust me, I have called in anyone I can think of to see if anything can be done for her. So far...well, I think you can see the results of that."
Both of them looked up at the center stage as Desire wrapped her thighs around the pole and held her body backwards off of it -- her breasts sliding across her chest and practically filling the space under her shoulders as she threw out her arms. She held the position a moment then broke and went into another routine. George turned back to Yasmine but her attention was not pulled away until the man started talking again.
"It happened one afternoon, just like this one, actually. Guth was outside somewhere -- I've never gotten a straight answer from him, actually. I was up in the sound booth..." George pointed up at a window a story above them that looked out over the stage, "...I sort of use it as an office. Anyway, Desire had just bought the ballet heels she still has on and had come in early so she could practice her routine with them.
"You see, I like to hire women of all body types -- as long as you're healthy most men like a variety. At the time Desire had a body much like yours. She wasn't happy with it and was trying to raise enough tips for surgery, which I guess those ridiculous shoes were supposed to help with.
"Anyway, she was alone on the stage practicing when this little guy shows up. I don't know how he got past Guth but I spotted him out the sound booth window -- he just meandered in and took a seat right in front of Desire. Short guy...not even 5 foot, I'd wager. Scruffy face but wearing a tweed suit. Didn't look homeless. I was going to come down and ask him to leave but Desire had stopped dancing and was speaking to him from the stage. I figured she had everything under control...I didn't even think he could have gotten onto the stage if he wanted to.
"So, I go back to what I'm doing, just keeping one eye on the stage to stay on top of things, when I see it happen. Suddenly Desire's body started changing. I could see the bikini top she had on start to stretch and press into her expanding flesh. I mean literally -- her breasts were growing! They went from baseballs to...well...that..." George motioned to Desire's head-sized breasts swaying from her form, "...and no sooner had she ripped off her top when suddenly her waste sucks in and her ass starts to overflow her thong!"
"Wow..." Yasmine finally said. Her body was flushed and beading a light layer of sweat...and other moisture. She had been hanging on George's every word, "What did you do?"
"Me? Nothing. It was all so surreal, all I could do was watch. I saw her pull the thong off and just stand there, naked save for those ridiculous shoes with one hand locked on the pole to keep from tipping over. She looked happy about what had happened, and I saw them talk a little more before she began to perform for the guy. I couldn't believe it -- she grabbed the pole with her other hand and went right into this amazing routine. Once I had collected my wits I jumped up and ran down here. But when I arrived the little guy was gone.
"And Desire wouldn't stop dancing.
