mimicking the burlesque moves I'd seen the other girls perform a hundred times. I repeated the movements, tugging the second stocking from my foot. I sat again in the chair, leaned over, and dropped them both into a silken puddle on his table.
He stared at the stockings for a moment and I saw his shoulders shake, with laughter or frustration I wasn't sure. He reached into the wallet, and pulled out more money. He held it up, a crisp one hundred dollar bill. He set it on the stack at the end of the stage, and then produced another, adding it to the pile. He did this five times, then held up his wallet and showed me its gaping interior. Empty. He didn't point at his head this time, instead he sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and scowled at me over the top of those glasses.
He was visibly shaken now, the intensity in his gaze raging over my body like the heat from a furnace. His eyes roamed hungrily from my lips, to my neck, my breasts, and the silky bare expanse of my legs. The course of his study set me aflame, and for the first time in years, I felt shy. But the scrutiny was delicious, addictive. I was raw, exposed, beautiful. Overwhelmed, I flinched, and lowered my chin for a moment, steadying my nerves. Breathless moments passed. Finally, I lifted my head, and peered at him from under the fringe of my lashes. His expression softened a fraction, a hint of awe flickering across his handsome features. A blush of color rose in my cheeks, and across the tops of my breasts. My eyes flitted to the stack of money then back to him. I rose from the chair and as my hips swayed gently in time with the music, my focus returned and suddenly, I had an epiphany. I knew what I wanted to be.
Every time I walk out onto this stage, I read the crowd, my customers, in order to become their fantasy. It's my special talent, my guy intuition, my Lizzy Bendit mojo, and it'd never failed me. Until I'd met the Professor. He was right. I didn't know him, couldn't read him, hadn't figured out his mercurial nature. But he didn't know me either, he never had a chance. All week long I'd been trying to seduce him based on my ideas of what he wanted. Not once had I been honest or vulnerable, the real me. That was going to change, right now. This was my chance, in this moment, to live out my desires. For the first time on stage, I didn't want to conceal my identity. I longed to be recognized for who I was. It wasn't Lizzy Bendit on stage right now, it was me, Jane Claremont and I wanted the Professor to see me. To see all of me. It was time to take it all off, including the wig.
I smiled at him, danced to the pole and grasped it with both hands. My heart pounded recklessly, but I thrilled to find my courage resolute. I would not falter again. Hooking one leg around the pole I kicked out with the other and sent my body spinning rapidly around it. I pivoted midair, and crossed my legs, clenching the pole between my thighs, then shifted, rotated my hips and flipped upside down. My legs holding me firmly, I quickly removed the wig, and tossed it mid-twirl to the back of the stage. I whirled once more, my hair rippling around me like a silken curtain, before my body made a final rotation and I came to a stop, stage front. I shook out my hair, and let it cascade in a wave of mahogany curls down to the floor.
I raised my eyes to the Professor and saw him, arms still crossed, one hand pressed to his mouth in a fist, hiding his expression from me. I spun again, and used the momentum to lift my torso upright. My fingers found the side zipper on the pink plaid skirt, and I slipped it off with just one hand, tossing it to the front edge of the stage. I was clad in very little now, only a thong, corset and a demi-bra. We were getting to the end of the dance, to the good stuff. My temperature and my nerves shot up by several thousand degrees. Arching my back across the pole I spread both legs wide and lifted my arms, twirling around the silver
He stared at the stockings for a moment and I saw his shoulders shake, with laughter or frustration I wasn't sure. He reached into the wallet, and pulled out more money. He held it up, a crisp one hundred dollar bill. He set it on the stack at the end of the stage, and then produced another, adding it to the pile. He did this five times, then held up his wallet and showed me its gaping interior. Empty. He didn't point at his head this time, instead he sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and scowled at me over the top of those glasses.
He was visibly shaken now, the intensity in his gaze raging over my body like the heat from a furnace. His eyes roamed hungrily from my lips, to my neck, my breasts, and the silky bare expanse of my legs. The course of his study set me aflame, and for the first time in years, I felt shy. But the scrutiny was delicious, addictive. I was raw, exposed, beautiful. Overwhelmed, I flinched, and lowered my chin for a moment, steadying my nerves. Breathless moments passed. Finally, I lifted my head, and peered at him from under the fringe of my lashes. His expression softened a fraction, a hint of awe flickering across his handsome features. A blush of color rose in my cheeks, and across the tops of my breasts. My eyes flitted to the stack of money then back to him. I rose from the chair and as my hips swayed gently in time with the music, my focus returned and suddenly, I had an epiphany. I knew what I wanted to be.
Every time I walk out onto this stage, I read the crowd, my customers, in order to become their fantasy. It's my special talent, my guy intuition, my Lizzy Bendit mojo, and it'd never failed me. Until I'd met the Professor. He was right. I didn't know him, couldn't read him, hadn't figured out his mercurial nature. But he didn't know me either, he never had a chance. All week long I'd been trying to seduce him based on my ideas of what he wanted. Not once had I been honest or vulnerable, the real me. That was going to change, right now. This was my chance, in this moment, to live out my desires. For the first time on stage, I didn't want to conceal my identity. I longed to be recognized for who I was. It wasn't Lizzy Bendit on stage right now, it was me, Jane Claremont and I wanted the Professor to see me. To see all of me. It was time to take it all off, including the wig.
I smiled at him, danced to the pole and grasped it with both hands. My heart pounded recklessly, but I thrilled to find my courage resolute. I would not falter again. Hooking one leg around the pole I kicked out with the other and sent my body spinning rapidly around it. I pivoted midair, and crossed my legs, clenching the pole between my thighs, then shifted, rotated my hips and flipped upside down. My legs holding me firmly, I quickly removed the wig, and tossed it mid-twirl to the back of the stage. I whirled once more, my hair rippling around me like a silken curtain, before my body made a final rotation and I came to a stop, stage front. I shook out my hair, and let it cascade in a wave of mahogany curls down to the floor.
I raised my eyes to the Professor and saw him, arms still crossed, one hand pressed to his mouth in a fist, hiding his expression from me. I spun again, and used the momentum to lift my torso upright. My fingers found the side zipper on the pink plaid skirt, and I slipped it off with just one hand, tossing it to the front edge of the stage. I was clad in very little now, only a thong, corset and a demi-bra. We were getting to the end of the dance, to the good stuff. My temperature and my nerves shot up by several thousand degrees. Arching my back across the pole I spread both legs wide and lifted my arms, twirling around the silver
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