Dave Miller sat in his large leather chair staring at the security camera feed. This particular camera was pointed at a beautiful woman striding towards the front door of his establishment. The feed was a little grainy but there was no doubting it was her. You couldn’t mistake a body like that, he thought to himself. He had seen her pictures in her online application. He had responded immediately, inviting her in for an audition. He hoped he hadn’t seemed too eager.
Fuck me, she is hot as shit. I want her working here. No, I need her working here. She’ll make me a fortune. The high-rollers will be falling over themselves to get a piece of her.
He turned away from the screen and lit up his cigar. He had been looking forward to this...
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Lara smoothed her dress and checked her reflection in the mirror of her beat up Volkswagen beetle one last time before getting out and approaching the large front door to The Pearl. The dress was a slinky black number, plunging dangerously low in the back and clinging to her curves in all the right places. She looked good, and she knew it too. But she would need to look good where she was going. The Pearl was the premier lap dancing club in the area and her goal was to fill their vacancy for a dancer. She had applied online several days ago and gotten an immediate invite to audition.
Not a job she had done before nor a career path she would have considered in her youth and yet circumstances had brought her to this moment. She needed the money. She had three different credit cards deep in the red and her dirtbag ex-boyfriend had robbed half her furniture and emptied her bank account when she had ended things. Asshole, she thought to herself.
That wasn’t to say she was inexperienced in this arena. Far from it, as she had spent over a year as a waitress in a strip club back home called The Pussy Cat. Lara had learned a great deal in that time, from the rowdy behaviour of the patrons to the sisterly bonds and fierce rivalries between the dancers. She had watched and learned from the veterans, absorbing their technique and attitude. They had taught her the art of teasing and tempting, of building desire to a fever pitch before leaving the punters wanting more. Lara had been a fast learner, picking up the tricks and secrets of the trade with an almost uncanny ease.
But despite all this knowledge, Lara couldn't deny a flutter of nerves in her stomach as she reached for the door handle. A lot of that was knowledge and theory. This was the real thing. This was different, a new level of intimacy and expectation. Now, she wouldn't just be serving drinks and making polite conversation. She would be the main attraction, the centre of attention. The sole purpose of her presence would be to entertain, to entice, and if she did her job right, to drive men wild with lust.
Lara took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge ahead. She knew she had a natural talent for this kind of thing, a knack for pleasing men. She hoped that this coupled with what she had learned at the club back home would stand her in good stead.
As she pushed open the door, stepping into the pulsating heart of The Pearl, Lara squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile.
The first thing she noticed was this was not a cheap place. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail of the lavishly appointed interior. She could hear the thrum of music and the murmur of excited voices, the quality sound system pumping out a pulsing beat that seemed to vibrate in her chest. Plush leather sofas and high-backed chairs were arranged in intimate groupings around the room, their rich, glossy surfaces inviting patrons to sink into their depths and indulge in the hedonistic atmosphere. She spotted more private booths with privacy curtains along the back. I’ll need to spend time in there. Gotta get some money rolling in soon, she decided.
Lara couldn't help but be impressed by the opulent surroundings, a far cry from the place back home. The lighting was dim and strategically placed, casting a sensual glow over the furnishings and the dancers. Her gaze was drawn to the main stage, a raised platform dominated by a gleaming chrome pole that seemed to reach up into the smoky haze of the club. A stunning blonde with a cascade of curls and a body that would make a Victoria's Secret model weep with envy was currently showcasing her skills, her lithe form snaking sinuously as she spun and writhed around the pole with a sensual grace. Lara watched in admiration. The blonde was very, very good.
Lara continued to make her way through the club, weaving between the tables and sofas. She couldn't help but take stock of her new coworkers. The dance floor was a sea of toned limbs and glossy hair, a varied display of beauty that made Lara feel almost underdressed in her cocktail dress. Everywhere she looked, she saw young and fit dancers. These were no jaded, world-weary professionals. The Pearl seemed to exclusively employ girls at the peak of their physical charms. Lara estimated that not a single dancer appeared to be over thirty. They moved with the eagerness and enthusiasm of new recruits, keen to impress and eager to please.
Lara felt the first twinge of doubt. She had assumed that this job audition would be easy. She was used to being the most beautiful woman in the room. There was no ego in that, it was simply true. She was what some people would call genetically blessed.
Her brunette hair was silky and long. It nicely framed the brown eyes and high cheekbones of her face. Her lips were full and sensual. She had often been crudely told she had “dick-sucking lips”, a term she despised but reluctantly admitted was somewhat accurate. Her friends had often griped to her about having to inject-god-knows what into their lips to achieve what she had naturally. Her waist was narrow, her legs long and shapely leading up to the type of rear well suited for her new profession. However it was her chest that that drew the eye more than anything. Her bra measuring at a 32G, her breasts were spectacular. Large and shapely yet firm with a gravity defying quality that was the envy of her peers.
The serendipity of her parents choosing the name “Lara” was something of a cruel joke to her as it was hard to ignore her physical similarity to the gaming character Lara Croft of Tomb Raider fame. It was an unwanted nickname she had endured for most of her life. “Raid any tombs lately, Lara?” was a jibe she often heard from men thinking their joke was original.
This factor was one reason she intended to use a stage name. Help to avoid the comparison. Another reason being her parents had no clue of her new line of work and she intended to keep it that way. A fake name would help a little with that.
As she kept walking towards the bar, she passed a patron in a seat to her right groaning in pleasure loudly as the voluptuous girl grinding on his lap apparently brought him to completion. Nobody seemed bothered and the security man at the back didn’t move a muscle. Okay, so apparently that is standard procedure here, she thought. If a patron had behaved like that in the main room back home, he’d be invited to leave. In the private booths, sure, but out on the floor? This place has a different culture I guess, she concluded to herself.
Lara reached the bar and waited for her turn. The bar was a long, sleek gleaming peace of wood. It was striking but not as striking as the bartender standing behind it. She stared at him as he dealt with a customer. He was tall and broad chested with a chiselled jawline softened only slightly by a day's worth of stubble. He had a short military style haircut with piercing blue eyes. His arms were massive. Impressively so. Lara couldn't help but pause, her gaze lingering on his rugged features as he worked. He finished with the customer, turned and gave her a dazzling smile.
“What can I get you?” he asked her.
“I’m looking for the owner, Dave Miller.” she answered sweetly.
His smile faltered a bit as he appeared to realise she wasn’t a customer but a potential employee.
“His office is upstairs to your right. Big, gold plaque with his name on it. Cant miss it,” he replied.
Lara followed his gaze to the stairs.
“Thanks,” she said. “And you are?”
“Jack,” he responded. “I’m head of security. I also fill in for Enrique at the bar when he calls in sick. I fill in for him when he calls in pretending to be sick too,” he said smiling. Lara chuckled at the easy joke.
“I’m Lara. Well, gotta go! Hope to see you again!” she replied cheerily as she headed towards the stairs. Lara made a mental note to learn more about the handsome bartender if....when she got the job. It was always good to have a friend in security in a place like this.
She climbed the stairs gracefully and pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into Dave's office. Her gaze fell upon the man who she assumed was Dave. He stepped up from his leather chair and walked out from behind the massive mahogany desk that dominated the room. As he walked towards her, he outstretched his hand. The man looked about 5’10 and in his mid forties, she guessed. He was a little overweight with a beer belly that his choice of suit did little to hide. Hair wise, he was rocking a bit of a skullet. Bald on top with hair on the sides. Lara wondered if fully shaving his head would make him look better or worse. She shook his outstretched hand. It felt unpleasant and clammy but she kept beaming her smile at him.
“I'm here to audition,” Lara said, her voice steady and clear, betraying none of the nervousness she felt beneath the weight of Dave's penetrating stare. She stood tall and proud, her back straight, her chest forward, a picture of confident, unshakeable poise. “I believe we exchanged messages the other day?” she asked him.
“Yes, yes of course. Lana, right?”
“Lara,” she corrected him.
“Sure, sure. Welcome to my establishment, Lara,” he said his arms outstretched as if a king presiding over all before him.
“You said you had over a year's experience?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” she lied. A white lie, as far as she was concerned. She knew she could do the job and didn’t think he needed to know she had just been a waitress and not an actual dancer.
“Excellent. So, let me make a few things clear about The Pearl and how we operate. Firstly, this ain’t no shithole you will have worked at before. This place is high-class. We only accept the best. And because of that we get the best of both worlds. I’ve seen clubs fail because the clientele are thugs and scare away the high rollers. And I’ve seen clubs price out the middle-class so that only high-rollers can afford to frequent it and you can’t survive just on them. High rollers are flighty. You can’t rely on them year round so you need the every man to balance the books. The suburban dad looking for a quick thrill. Our prices on the main floor are reasonable, our facilities and amenities are state of the art and we have the best girls. So we get the business of both categories of customers. It’s why we are the biggest club around.”
Lara nodded. What he was saying made sense.
“The girls rotate turns on the main stage. Everybody participates. No exceptions. As for the floor, your job is to get the clients riled up and into the private booths. We make more money in there. And this isn’t a nunnery. In the private booths the guys expect to get off. And you will do whatever it takes to get them off. Understand?”
Lara nodded again, a little more sheepishly this time. It was a little unseemly but she had expected as much. This wasn’t the first strip club to skirt the law and wouldn’t be the last.
“No fucking in the private booths though. It is loud and messy. If you get caught, we’ll get shut down and I’m not having that. Everything else is fine as long as you are discreet,” he said. “Next, we have the VIP where the rich fuckers go. It’s behind closed doors and anything goes in there. In other words, you do what they fucking tell you to do. If they want you to call them daddy as they spank you, you bend the fuck over. Some of these clients will be associates of mine so no backtalk.”
Lara internally balked at this idea but tried to keep her composure. She didn’t like the sound of that. She’d avoid the VIP as much as possible. Stick to the private booths and main floor.
“Now as for you girls. We don’t do stage names here,” he said matter-of-factly.
FUCK! she screamed internally.
“No Diamonds, or Sapphires or whatever crap you will have seen at your last place. The guys here are looking for reality so you’ll use your real name. So you’ll be Lana.”
“Lara,” she retorted with a hint of irritation.
“Whatever...” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We don’t do tattoos. A tramp stamp is borderline but sleeves and shit like that is a hard no. You don’t have any, do you?” he asked.
Lara shook her head.
“Good. Also, we prefer all natural breasts. We’ll allow implants if they look good but bolt-ons is not the image we are looking for. I’m pretty sure we won’t have that problem with you though,” he said with a laugh as he openly leered at her chest. It made her feel a little uncomfortable but she smiled as he laughed at his own joke.
“I run a clean place. All you girls get tested once a month. Again, no exceptions. The club pays for it. Finally, no drugs. I don’t need the headache from the pigs. What you do on your own time is your business but if we catch you in here shoving powder up your nose, you are gone. Capiche?”
“Got it,” she confirmed, her voice ringing out clear and strong.
“The girls here work hard and they make a fucking killing in tips. If you don’t believe me just check out the parking lot. Some of them have nicer rides than I do. Got everything?”
“Yes, I understand. Sounds good,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight quiver in her voice. Dave's lips curved into a smirk, a glint of something dark and dangerous flashing in his eyes.
“Good,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Now, impress me,” he commanded, taking a few steps back and settling into the plush leather of his chair.
Lara took a deep breath, a slow, shuddering inhale that lifted the swell of her breasts beneath the confines of her dress.
Show time, she thought to herself.
Then, with a sensual grace that belied the pounding beat of the music outside and the equally loud pounding of her own heart, she began to move. She swayed her hips in a slow, hypnotic circle, the fabric of her dress swishing against her thighs as she stepped closer to Dave and moved around his desk.
Her hands slid up her body, over the curves of her breasts, as she turned slowly, giving Dave a 360-degree view of her stunning figure. She spun back to face him, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stepped between his spread legs. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she placed her hands on his shoulders and began to grind her hips against him, a slow, sensual undulation that promised untold pleasures.
Dave's eyes narrowed, his gaze locked on the mesmerizing sway of Lara's hips as she worked her magic. He could feel the heat of her body, the soft give of her flesh beneath the thin material of her dress as she rubbed against him. It was a heady sensation, one that sent a jolt of lust straight to his groin. He knew, in that moment, that he had found a keeper in Lara.
This girl is going to be a cash cow, a moneymaking machine for The Pearl, he mused as she worked.
And as she continued to grind against him, her hands roaming over his chest, her breath hot against his neck, Dave couldn't help but think that he was going to enjoy watching her work. Very much.
Lara's hands slid down Dave's chest, her fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I can be very impressive, if you let me.” Her voice was a purr, a sensual rumble that sent shivers down Dave's spine.
She stepped back, putting a little distance between them, and began to move with a newfound intensity. Her hips undulated sensuously as she turned and bent at the waist, giving Dave a breathtaking view of her toned back and the tantalizing curves of her ass. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her brown eyes smouldering with a predatory heat, before spinning back to face him.
Lara's hands slid up her thighs, over her hips, and up her sides, pushing the straps of her dress down as she went. The fabric slipped lower, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts, the tantalizing hollow of her collarbone. She shrugged the dress off completely, letting it pool at her feet, leaving her clad in her black lacy bra and a matching pair of panties.
Dave's breath caught in...
