Indecent Contract

Leah

Leah is dreaming about the handsome alpha in the audience again. The Spectator, she calls him because she doesn’t know his name.

She’s on the elevated stage, grinding the crack of her ass against the pole behind her. She’s doing deep, deep plies to give the audience a glimpse of her crotch behind the thong that she hasn’t removed yet. As she slides slowly down the pole, one arm stretched above her, fingers stroking the pole suggestively as her other hand caresses her inner thigh, she focuses her attention exclusively on The Spectator. The rest of the audience has disappeared anonymously in a depth of field blur. There is only the one man, staring back at her with a fixed intensity.

She’s seen him before; he’s here nearly every night and never speaks to her, only stares. Never requests a lap dance. He sits at table next to the stage and stares, slowly sipping his drink. The intensity of his stare both innerves and excites her. He’s well dressed, doesn’t appear to be a sociopath—although, you never know, she thinks to herself. He looks mid to late thirties, hair an artful mop of dark curls, olive skin over an angular bone structure—she imagines him strutting down a runway. She’s thinking that silk batiste shirt he’s wearing is hiding taut six pack abs, the custom tailored slacks concealing an equally impressive cock.

She feels as if he’s fucking her with his stare, making her incredibly aroused. Normally, in order to perform onstage, she’d have to spend a little quality time with her favorite vibrator just to get her in the proper mood. The way his stare is boring into her she’d needn’t have bothered.

Leah drops to her knees and crawls to the lip of the stage, her ass grinding and bobbing in the air. She leans over the stage…

Leah rolled over in bed one way, then the other way, then lay flat on her back, forearm flung across her forehead, eyes closed. Something square and hard began to press and grind forcefully against her crotch, then tunnel into her cunt.

Sean. Not one for romantic subtlety. He always thought he was being creative.

“Are you knuckle-fucking me?” she murmured, voice husky with sleep. “Of course you are.” She turned to see his goofy, hopeful smile.

“Babe,” he said as he continued to press and swirl his fist, digging deeper. “Just open your legs a little more—you’ll come hard. Promise.”

Leah sat up, trying to wriggle away from Sean’s digging fist. “It hurts. Stop it. Seriously.”

With an exasperated sigh Sean withdrew his knuckles from her crotch. He sniffed the back of his hand appreciatively. “Well, if I was hurting you instead of arousing you, why are you so wet? Huh?”

She’d never told Sean about the dream. And of course she never told him that whenever they made love she imagined it was The Spectator over her and under her, driving his magical cock deep inside her. But it was always Sean and his handsome goofy grin greeting her when she opened her eyes. Naturally he was congratulating himself for making her emote so passionately. He didn’t know that The Spectator had assisted him with his performance.

Leah decided to ignore him by rolling over. “Just let me sleep for a while longer. I need to finish vectorizing a bunch of illustrations for that infographic before I get ready for work.”

Work. Not processing paperwork in an office or serving customers their meals in a restaurant—no, “work” was writhing around a steel pole half naked at a strip club. Ahem, a “gentleman’s club.” She should be grateful she was no longer stripping at the dive near the Toy District she’d started at before she’d been recruited to dance at Tit’s ‘n Assets on Sunset Blvd in North Hollywood. She was earning more money and the clientele was a bit more upscale, but she was still bumping and grinding and flinging her clothes at her hooting audience. She also gave lap dances for even more money. When people asked what she did for a living, she responded that she was a dancer, refusing to elaborate further.

Leah hated exotic dancing, but her freelance illustration work couldn’t shoulder the burden of subsidizing Sean’s various business failures. She’d tried freelancing full time for a few months but they came so close to a “pay or quit” notice from the landlord that she had no other choice but to return to the pole. If she could earn the same money waitressing, she’d quit stripping in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, this just wasn’t possible.

Now she felt Sean pressing his body against her spine, his hands caressing and squeezing her arms. “Oh, come on, honey,” he crooned near her ear. “You know you want it.”

“No. What I want is a few more minutes of sleep, not a quick fuck.” Leah hugged her pillow tighter, refusing to turn and look directly at Sean. She elbowed him for emphasis, however.

“Okay, okay!” Sean said, a bit of chuckle in his voice. “I guess I’ll have to settle for jerking off.”

Leah didn’t answer him. That’s what he wanted: prolong the conversation and wear her down. Well, that tactic wasn’t going to work; she was determined to get the sleep she needed. He’d already wasted precious minutes of her slumber time. She felt him turn over, the bed swaying a little as he lifted from the bed to head for the bathroom presumably to take a piss and to spank the monkey.

When her alarm went off, all she could do was hiss “shit” against her pillow.