By Suzanne L. Feld
He was one of those rare customers who didn’t hang over the rail staring and drooling, actually treated her with respect, and just for that Rynne hoped he’d be in tonight so she could talk to him one last time. His voice had a smooth, cultured Southern drawl like molten honey, and from what she could see of him, he was classically tall, dark, and most likely handsome. He’d come in almost every night she worked over the past week, so she’d have been surprised to not see him tonight.
“Two minutes, Dancer!” the MC called, standing just a few feet away. The music from Cascade’s final number was so loud that she barely heard him, and knew the whooping and hollering audience on the other side of the curtain hadn’t.
“Ready, Mcready,” she called back, knowing he was grinning even if she couldn’t see him clearly. Due to a mix-up at her optometrist’s, Rynne’s new contacts hadn’t been ordered on time and she’d already tossed her old ones, so she had to go without for almost two weeks, which she was in the middle of. She could see perfectly well wearing her glasses, but high-paid exotic dancers did not wear specs either on the stage or when out on the floor schmoozing the customers and doing lap dances. Luckily this was her third month here and she knew the way out to the stage and back just fine after eight dances a night, four days a week. She could see fairly well close-up, it was just distances that screwed her up.
Cascade pranced past her, shaking her mane of long red microbraids. “Got ‘em all warmed up for you, baby girl,” she said, grabbing her robe from a hook beside the stage entrance and swinging it over her mostly nude body, then patting Rynne on the ass as she went by. “Knock ‘em dead like you always do.”
“Thanks, Cass,” Rynne said, smiling over at the taller woman. Though she wore 4” spike heels, she barely came to the dark-skinned woman’s shoulder—and it was more because she was short than Cassy was tall. She was still surprised at the friendliness of the other dancer, especially since she had taken over the coveted star spot, but she supposed that with her act bringing in more customers they all benefited. Only one of the dancers here at Paychiks seemed to have a real problem with her, and she worked the lunch shift so Rynne rarely saw her since she came on at six. Cascade was her only real friend, but a friend she truly was and Rynne knew she’d miss her.
The noise out front beyond the curtain began to die away and Rynne looked over to see that the pale blur she knew as the stage manager/MC was gone, which meant he was on stage and about to announce her.
“Now, the lady you’ve all been waiting for… our very own touch of class, a queen among dancers, who needs little introduction… Tiny Dancer!”
Rynne turned into Dancer as she strode onto the stage and the roar of applause and male shouts and whistles filled the air. Before taking an undercover position as a dancer six months ago, she’d had no idea she could do this, totally change personalities once she hit the stage, but here she was.
On the other side of the club she could just see that the other stage was going strong as well, though she could make out nothing more than flashing colored lights and the roar of the approving customers.
Unlike the other girls’, her songs were less recent pop and more classic rock; slightly classier, Dancer had thought when she picked them. Ralph, the owner of Paychiks, hadn’t liked her choices at first but she’d talked him into at least trying them for one night, and sure as hell, he’d admitted that she was right. Her first song was Abba’s “Dancing Queen,” which she did without removing anything but with plenty of hot moves both around the pole and off that never failed to garner approving roars from the crowd. Her second song, Atlanta Rhythm Section’s “So Into You,” had her removing her white leather jacket and black miniskirt during the number, leaving her in a lacy, nearly transparent white over-shirt with a black silk bra, g-string, and thigh-highs, black heels, and a black-and-white lace mask that covered her eyes and part of her forehead.
Her third song was the showstopper, a carefully edited version of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer,” which had given her the name. The original ran six minutes, far too long for a dance, so she and the D.J. had remixed it to just under three and she had carefully choreographed her moves to it; she stripped down to nothing more than the heels, thigh-highs, and g-string during this one. Though she had originally been hesitant about being topless, she’d soon gotten used to it and now enjoyed the roar when she flipped off the bra from beneath the see-through lacy white shirt—a fun little tease—before slipping that off as well moments later to leave her completely topless. Hers was the longest set of all the dancers at the club, but she wasn’t about to complain considering the amount of money she walked away with every shift.
A minute or so into her first number, Dancer saw The Gentleman, which is what she had nicknamed him before she knew his real name, slide into his preferred seat along the bar. Though he was mostly a blur she could just make out his dark hair and broad shoulders and flashed him a smile as she went around the pole. How she wished she could see him clearly! He had begun coming in the day after she’d had to stop wearing her glasses (one set with them had put paid to that) but even with her bad vision she knew him.
Unlike most of the other creeps that hung out at Paychiks—no matter how high-class or well-located, it was still a strip joint—The Gentleman, a.k.a. Marty, didn’t stare and gawk and instead actually seemed to realize that there was a person beneath the boobs. They’d met when she’d slid into the seat next to him at the bar, and instead of immediately coming on to or throwing money at her, he’d offered to buy her a Coke—rather than an alcoholic beverage, which she couldn’t have while working anyway—and began asking her questions not about being a stripper, but how she liked working in the D.C. area. They’d passed a pleasant twenty minutes or so before she saw Ralph giving her the evil eye, and when she’d slid down from the stool, Marty had given her a five and a wink, saying, “For your time. If you ever need a break, come sit with me.”
She didn’t know what it was about him that fired her, especially since she could barely make out his face. Was it his scent, so much more distinguishable since he used an expensive aftershave that she’d never smelled on anyone else? Or the low, softly Virginia-accented baritone voice with its undercurrent of aroused humor? The way he talked to her, respectful despite a job that invited much more insolence and condescension than deference? Whatever it was about him that fired her imagination and libido it got stronger every time she was near him; despite the fact that she’d never seen his face clearly, he had starred in her private fantasies ever since.
Just prior to finishing the second song she stood at the apex of the stage, feet spread apart just wide enough to show the crotch of her g-string, hips tilted forward, arms out to the sides, and did a belly dance that gyrated every moveable part of her. This always got a huge roar and more bills showered the stage. It was all she could do not to turn and see if she could make out The Gentleman, but she knew that every move she made was for him.
Then came the finale, which she honestly looked forward to every time. In this one she did more than shimmy and shake and ride the pole; she actually did a choreographed dance that was no less hot for the deliberation of it. She had trained in belly dance, pole dancing, and a month of ballet in preparation for her original assignment as an exotic dancer over at Sunshine’s. She used every bit of that knowledge and movement in this final dance, and from the crowd’s reaction it was well worth all the work and rehearsal that she’d put into it. Her inspiration had been Cyd Charisse’s green dress dance—as she called it—from the 1950s musical Singin’ in the Rain, which she thought was one of the most sensual and erotic dances ever… and Cyd stayed fully dressed.
She flowed into the final movement, holding onto the pole with one hand, back and neck arched, head hanging upside-down while the other hand was outstretched towards the front of the stage, one leg lifted and turned to the side. Her breasts, which she had originally worried might be too small for this, pointed perkily up at the ceiling—the customers seemed to like them just fine. She was now wearing only stilettos, stockings, and mask and a tiny black satin g-string that barely covered her carefully trimmed pubes, and the room erupted with a deafening roar. She was soaked in sweat, mostly bare body glistening like it was oiled, as she stood up straight and took her bows before skipping to the back of the stage and pushing through the curtain.
“Dang, girl, where’d you learn to do that?” Cascade asked, handing her the robe that Rynne slid around her shoulders, then her glasses that brought the world into focus. “It’s both classy and hot—certainly better’n the animals in this place deserve.”
Rynne wished she could take off the heavy blonde wig and mask as she was sweating profusely beneath them, but her shift was far from over and it was much easier to leave them on.
“Dance classes,” she said as they walked towards the dressing room together. “Among others, I took Daisy Ita’s pole-dancing class when I was getting ready for my gig at Sunshine’s.”
“I still can’t get my head around you being a cop,” Cascade said, sliding through the curtain, holding it for Rynne, then flopping into her chair as the music began again. A half-dozen or so girls were dressing or relaxing at the other end of the long, narrow room, none of them paying the other two any attention. “You sure don’t look like a cop.”
“I’m not any more,” Rynne stated firmly as she sat down at the booth next to her, fanning herself with the lapels of the robe and wishing she could have a shower, but that was hours away yet. “I used to be a cop; went undercover and realized how ridiculous it was that I was slaving weeks for a quarter of what I make here in one shift. I doubt I’d have ever tried dancing if not for that. Might go back to law enforcement when I can’t or don’t want to do this anymore, but I’m going to make the money while I can.”
“Can’t blame you for that, me too,” the other woman said, glancing up as another dancer walked by adjusting a ridiculously tall, feathered headdress reminiscent of a Vegas showgirl’s. “I’m only dancing to put myself through school. Always wanted to be a—”
“Dancer? You need to get out there; Ralph’s asking where you are,” Mcready’s voice came through the curtain that led into the dressing room. He knew better than to come in. “Cassy, you should get back out there too.”
His voice held real regret; they both knew he hated to chase them around but it was part of his job. With a heaved sigh and glance at each other the women got up, Rynne removing her glasses and robe then heading to the rack to get another costume while Cassy, already “dressed” again, strode out into the main room. Ralph liked the girls to get out there and schmooze the customers immediately after their dances, never mind that they might be tired, Rynne thought with annoyance, and want to rest their feet for ten damn minutes!
The moment she stepped out into the main room she saw The Gentleman sitting at the end of the bar nearest the doorway and headed right for him, raising her hand to acknowledge him, trying to ignore the other men she could just make out heading her way. But she was intercepted by an earnest, excited young sailor with a fistful of bills who all but begged her for a lap dance, saying he’d been waiting all night to catch her attention.
One thing Rynne liked about Paychiks was the strict hands-off-the-girls rule; there were no exceptions whatsoever to it. During a lap dance the dancers were allowed to touch the customers above the waist with their hands, but that was it. Several bouncers were stationed around the club and made it clear that they were always watching, so there was rarely trouble. Ralph was worried about losing his liquor license, the consequence if any type of prostitution was alleged at his club, and ran a very clean place. Sunshine’s had been much sleazier, hence her original undercover assignment there. Unfortunately, they hadn’t managed to shut the place down before she was outed as an undercover cop, so her move here. For all that anyone knew she’d left the force to be a dancer, and by the time anything different was discovered hopefully she’d be long gone.
Rynne signaled the nearest bouncer as she walked with the sailor over to his table and waited until he pulled out a chair. She proceeded to give him his money’s worth and then some; she had family in the Armed Forces and certainly didn’t begrudge a serviceman his little pleasures. She started by stripping off the jacket and skirt while swaying sensually between his legs, then cupping her breasts through the tiny lace shirt and bringing them no more than a couple inches from his face, gyrating her hips back and forth over his crotch simulating sexual thrusting. And she knew she only made it better from there.
His buddies, sitting around the table nearby, whooped and hollered and whistled and carried on like idiots, but her young sailor was a perfect gentleman despite the bulge she saw fast growing in his white pants. She finished up naked but for the g-string, thigh-highs, stilettos, and the mask, straddling his lap with his face bare inches away from her jiggling bare breasts and undulating torso, hands on his shoulders that she used to brace herself on to swing her leg over and stand up as the music stopped.
The other sailors immediately waved bills at her, but she smiled and pointed to the bar and said, “Sorry, next in line over there—but I’ll be back.” She collected most of her costume back from them, putting on the bra, jacket, and skirt as she walked over to the bar. The sailors kept the rest, which was fine by her—she didn’t pay for it.
She heaved herself up on the stool next to Marty, her Gentleman, smiling gratefully at him as he handed her a glass of diet soda. “Thanks—this is just the thing.”
“I think you’re going to keep the Navy afloat all by yourself tonight,” he said in a gentle, teasing tone. “You’re certainly keeping their hopes up, among other things, that much is for sure.”
Grinning, she nodded. God, his honeyed tones made her all but melt! “The whole table’s after me now, but they’re going to have to wait; my feet need a rest. So are you the designated driver again tonight?”
“No, I’m stag,” he said. “Was in the area and thought I’d drop by and see if you were on tonight.”
“I’m glad you came by,” Rynne smiled. “I always appreciate the break, and you’re nice to talk to.”
“Thanks. Thought you might like to go out for a late supper when you get off work,” he said all-too-casually. “If you’re not too tired.”
She bit her lip. This was something she hadn't foreseen, him asking her out when she’d been thinking about doing something with him before they both left the club this evening. Tonight was her last night here, so she probably would never see him again. But was that any reason to jump his bones?
Yes, her libido answered. It was. She hadn’t been with anyone since before starting at Sunshine’s and though she wasn’t one for one-night-stands, this man had changed that for her. At least this once. Who knew, maybe she could find him again afterwards…
“Sure,” she said, buying time to think things over. “But you don’t have to hang around for another two hours. Want to come back and pick me up?”
He shrugged. “I have nothing else to do, may as well wait,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, which she knew from experience was either iced tea or ginger ale as he had never imbibed alcohol in her presence. “I’m the quintessential bachelor; no one at home waiting, and married to my work.”
She felt a touch on her elbow and turned to see one of the bouncers standing there. “Ralph said go see those sailors, they’re all waitin’ for you,” he rumbled, then moved away.
She turned back to her Gentleman. “I will be out at two sharp,” she promised, “Even if I don’t see you again before that.”
He put a hand out and helped her down from the stool. “I’ll be here,” he agreed. “And I’m sure I’ll see you.”
* * *
By the time her shift ended, Rynne had made her decision. Although she did want to see The Gentleman one last time, she had already decided that supper was out and staying in was in.
When she walked out in costume and full makeup, The Gentleman was the only person at the bar, though there were a few other people scattered throughout the club. When she got close enough she saw that he had one eyebrow up, and smiled seductively at him. “I have a better idea than dinner,” she said simply, taking his hand and leading him into the back.
He didn’t say a word as she led him through the dark storage room, through a remote doorway half-hidden behind a stack of cobwebby crates, and up a flight of dim, narrow stairs, moving carefully. “We’re not supposed to know that these rooms are up here, but we all do—most of us sneak off for a break when we can,” she told him in a low voice as they headed down the long, narrow corridor that ran the length of the building. “The door was blocked off until just a couple weeks ago when Lorelei found it—and it’s our little secret now.” She didn’t add that had she not been leaving this job tonight, she never would have dared this, because to get caught up here with a customer was automatic dismissal. But who cared now? she thought as she opened the door of the last room on the right. She’d never see this place, or him, again.
Which was why she was doing this.
She reached out and found the dimmer switch to the right of the doorway, turning it up slightly, and then tugged at his hand so he’d come in, then closing and locking the door behind him. She’d been up here just a few minutes before and had the place all ready. Most of these rooms had been empty and unused for years, but the girls had dragged a couple of chairs and a small table up here to make an unofficial break room. She’d chosen this one because it had a large enough chair that they would both fit in—who needed a bed?
The corners of the room were lost in shadows, but the dim shaded bulb overhead shed a soft glow on the large recliner sitting just below it with a narrow side table close by. Smiling, she gave him a little shove towards the chair and watched as he went to sit down, double-checking the lock to make sure it had caught. “You are one of the nicest men I’ve ever known,” she said, again softly, as she went to stand before him. “I want to do this for you; you’ve never asked for a lap dance or so much as stared at my tits when I’m down off the stage. Unless you’d rather go out…”
“Uh, no, but aren’t you at least going to take off the mask?”
“I can if you really want, but I’d rather leave it on this time. If you don’t mind.” She leaned over, hands on each arm of the chair, smiling suggestively. “I’m going to give you a version of my act that I’m tailoring just for you.”
He gulped and she saw him lick his lips. “I, ah, always wanted you to know that I didn’t see you just as a body, but as person I’d like to get to know.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” she nodded, spreading her feet and shaking out her arms in preparation. “This is my thank you. Now just sit back and enjoy.”
For the first time Rynne did a lap dance with no holds barred, and made sure he knew it, too, since he’d seen her doing them at the club. Shortly after she began, she took his hands and put them on her bare waist as she shimmed, and after turning around facing away from him she put both hands on his knees to brace herself as she brushed her mostly-bare bottom across his groin. She turned around again and undulated from hips to shoulders as she removed his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt; he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, so she was able to enjoy his broad, toned, lightly furred chest to her heart’s content.
For all the hundreds of lap dances she’d done over the last months, Rynne had never gotten truly aroused, though she did find the movements very sexual and sensual. But this time she felt warmth growing between her legs, the crotch of her g-string getting damp, and her nipples had been hard since she started. An impressively large lump had grown in the crotch of his dark dress pants and it was all she could do not to touch it—yet.
When she stripped for him she didn’t stop at the g-string, though she did leave the mask and wig on. He didn’t say a word as she straddled his legs completely nude, bent over and slowly, deliberately unbuckled his belt, undid the button, then slid down the zipper of his pants. His hands were grasping the armrests of the chair at this point and before she went any further, she took hold of them and brought them to her bare breasts. “Touch me,” she breathed, feeling his fingers knead them gently.
“My god you’re beautiful,” he said softly, doing as she asked. One hand stayed on a breast, but the other caressed her forearm as she reached for his fly again. He wasn’t stopping her, she realized, although he still seemed a bit hesitant.
Well, she would change that.
When she reached inside his pants she was surprised to find two things: number one that he wasn’t wearing underwear, and number two that he wasn’t fully hard anymore though she knew he had been just a few minutes before. That shocked her out of her erotic daze and she lifted her eyes to his face, confused. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving her hands to his knees as he put his back on the armrests. “Don’t you want me?”
“Uh, Rynne, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I am afraid that this could be some kind of… setup,” he admitted, looking her right back in the eye. “I am a Federal employee and this could compromise my job.”
“I didn’t know,” she said in surprise, leaning back on her heels but not letting go of him. “Marty, I’m doing this for no reason other than that I want you; we’re both single adults over eighteen and it’s no one’s business but ours. And I thought you wanted me. But if you don’t, let me know now—“
Without warning he leaned forward, putting his hands on either side of her face below the mask, and kissed her, the last thing she’d expected. Kissing had not been among her plans… but once he did, she was hooked. Their tongues stroked against each other’s and without thinking about it Rynne crawled into his lap, sitting facing him with her knees on either side of his hips, hands on his shoulders. The two of them just barely fit in the chair, but they managed.
He wrapped his arms around her as they kissed wildly, mouths all but trying to devour the other’s as their heads shifted back and forth, noses bumping and mouths gasping for breath around their lips. Her soft lacy mask must have been tickling him, she thought, but if so he made no show of it.
She felt him getting hard against her bottom and didn’t hesitate; she’d waited too long for this. Without breaking the kiss she reached over and got a condom from the table and unwrapped it, then pulled her face away from his and held it up between them, breaking his tight hold on her so that he moved his hands to rest lightly on her bare hips. He met her eyes and nodded, not a word being uttered as she leaned back to reach down and roll it on his now fully erect cock, which strained up between their bodies.
I may be horny, she thought, but I’m not stupid.
She lifted up then sank down on him, throwing her head back and holding onto his shoulders again as she lowered herself. “Oh my God,” he groaned as she did so, both the condom’s lubrication and her own natural arousal easing the way considerably since he was quite well-endowed. “You are absolutely fucking incredible, Rynne.”
“You too.” Wishing she could tell him her real name but not daring to, she captured his mouth with hers even as his arms went around her slender waist again and she wrapped hers around his shoulders. Once he was all the way inside her she paused, breathing out against his mouth, then began to move. He was the biggest man she’d ever taken—not that she’d had that many lovers—and the stretching and filling was exquisite. All thoughts of what she did for a living were gone: she was no more than a woman having incredible sex after a long dry spell and now she wasn’t using any of her stripper moves—only those that instinct provided her.
He was thrusting back at her as she came down, each plunge pushing her higher and closer to orgasm. The way her legs were spread had her clitoris rubbing directly against his pubic bone as well as her nipples grazing his bare chest, and she knew that if he could last just a few more minutes it would happen for her without much more stimuli.
And so it did. She tore her mouth away from his and threw her head back, biting her lip to keep any sound in but still unable to help the gasping moan that was torn from her throat as the exquisite sensations tore through her. “Oh, Jesus, I can’t hold out,” he rasped in return and she felt his hard, muscular torso shudder against her as he slammed her down on him one last time, strong arms tightening almost painfully around her body for a moment as he groaned long and low, a sound of ultimate pleasure.
They rested, leaning against each other, her forehead on his shoulder and his head against hers. After some time she lifted her head and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips, which were still parted, and then got up with a slight groan as her legs straightened out from the bent position they’d been in.
“I do hope you want to see me again, perhaps on a regular date?” his soft voice came to her as she reached down for her g-string.
Rynne paused in groping for her clothes, which she couldn’t see other than as darker or lighter wisps against the floor, wishing with all her heart that it could be so, and that she didn’t have to lie to him. But there was no help for it; she’d known this before starting this encounter. “Of course,” she smiled back as she pulled the scrap of satin and lace up her legs. “Why don’t you come in tomorrow night just before closing and we’ll have that late supper… and maybe this time, go back to my place.”
He smiled at her, zipping up his pants. She didn’t see what he’d done with the condom but also didn’t care. “I’d like that, but what about the rest of this evening?”
“I have to get home, my roommate will be worried, and I’ll make sure she can stay somewhere else tomorrow night,” Rynne improvised, tugging on the tiny jacket that was part of the costume. Before starting this undercover assignment she’d had no idea she could think on her feet like this.
“At least give me your number,” he said, rummaging around in his jacket and coming up with a small black notebook and pencil. “And I’ll give you mine.”
She rattled it off for him as he jotted it down, then to her surprise he pulled out a cell phone and dialed it. From the darkness at the back of the room a cell began to ring and she darted over to shut it off. “Why did you do that?”
“To make sure you got mine; it’s in your list of incoming calls now,” he said with an easy smile, standing fully dressed by the door as she gathered up her things from the dark corner where she’d stashed them earlier.
“Hmph,” she huffed, but didn’t comment otherwise. He was clearly onto her, but she had no choice but to go through with her plans. “We have to be really quiet leaving here; everyone should be gone by now but if we get caught I’ll be fired, so let’s try to not let that happen.”
To her relief the club was empty and dark other than the faint red neon glow from the “closed” sign on the front door. She disabled the alarm, letting him out the back door with one last kiss, then closed herself back inside. Getting the alarm code had been the last piece to her puzzle and now that she had it, her mission was complete and it was time to leave Paychik’s, and dancing, forever. She put on her glasses and removed her costume, changing into street clothes. Then Rynne carefully gathered up the final pieces of evidence that she needed to shut down the sex trafficking and slavery ring, and let herself out.
She was both relieved and disappointed that he wasn’t waiting outside for her so that he didn’t see her dump her purse—and phone—into the dumpster in the alley, nor was there any sign of anyone following as she drove directly to the Hoover Building and went in through the employees’ entrance.
* * *
The next day…
“That was outstanding work, Agent. Especially the double-blind undercover part; you handled that perfectly.”
“Thank you, sir. Did the raid get everyone?”
“As far as we can tell. Besides Paychiks and Sunshine’s, they shut down half the adult clubs in the city, which were involved in the sex trafficking as well as money laundering and of course drugs—there will probably be more charges I’m just not aware of yet.”
“That’s good to hear. Makes it all worthwhile. You won’t let anyone know where I was for the last four months, correct?”
“Definitely not, Agent. No one even knows you reported to me. So, any plans for all that money? I see you paid back the stake within two days.”
“I gave most of it to domestic violence and homeless shelters, although I did sneak a good amount to one of the other dancers who befriended me. She was putting herself though college and hopefully that will help her get out of the life.”
“Commendable, Agent, commendable. Did you want any time off before your next assignment?”
“No, sir, I’m ready to go back to work.”
“Excellent. Well, then, Agent Scully, if you’re ready why don’t you go up and report to Section Chief Blevins’ office. I know he’s got you in mind for a project with another agent, whom I believe was also recently undercover and is just coming back as well—Mulder, I think his name is. You two ought to have plenty to talk about…”