column like a butterfly. I reached up and anchored myself with one hand, then slowly lowered to the floor, letting my legs glide away from me in a full split as my thighs made contact with the stage.
Rising to my hands and knees I crawled slowly to the end, then leaned down to my glasses, still atop the stack of books. I gazed up at the Professor, and without breaking eye contact I flicked out my tongue and caught the glasses by the temple arm. Pulling the end into my mouth, I played with it for a moment, sliding my tongue over the earpiece, before setting them back on my face. I pushed the prop chair away from me and reached for the clasps of my corset, snapping apart each fastener until the front of the garment gaped lewdly. I peeled it away from me, and sighed at the tingle of blood returning to constricted flesh. I was nearly naked now, just the demi-bra and thong, two sheer scraps of lace left between me and the Professor’s eager gaze. I reveled in the sensation, and rose to my feet, writhing to the music, my movements a performance of wanton arousal.
My gaze met the Professors again; he was fixed in his position, fist still raised to his mouth, only his eyes had changed. They'd grown darker now, fiercer. He looked like he either wanted to punch something or fuck something. If it was the latter, I hoped I was his target. I danced to the edge of the stage again, removed the glasses from my face and tossed them to the large pile of my clothing that was pooled on his table. It was time for the grand finale, the piece de resistance, the money shot, whatever euphemism you prefer will do just fine here. As the British say, it was time to get my kit off, and my entire body was trembling with anticipation.
I reached behind me for the clasp at the back of my bra and unhooked it, then whirled around, whipping my hair over my shoulder to bare my back to his eyes. Removing the bra, I held it to the side and then dropped it, rather over-dramatically I admit, to the floor. I palmed my breasts, covering them and danced backwards to the end of the stage, my hips undulating seductively as I moved. My breasts felt heavy, swollen and tingling with need. I rolled the hard nipples between my fingertips and almost gasped aloud at the sensation. As the music reached its crescendo I threw my head back and closed my eyes. Spinning to face him, I raised my arms, gathered my hair at the nape, and lifted the waves high above my head. I let the silky strands cascade through my fingers, and down my shoulders, to caress the sides of my naked jutting breasts. The dance was over. I stood before him, exposed, free and eager to meet the Professor's gaze once again. Was he moved by my performance? What would I see in those brilliant blue eyes? Lust? Desire? I leveled my head and opened my eyes.
Nothing.
He was gone.
5
Chapter Five
" W ell that wasn't totally fucking humiliating!" I muttered to myself as I stalked backstage. I was mortified. I'd taken a risk, I'd danced my heart out, just for him, and he'd left, rather than watch any more of it. Talk about a blow to the ego.
"That..." said Sasha as she entered the dressing room, "was amazing. A truly lovely performance Jane."
"Hardly," I shook my head as I wiped at my face, anxious to remove at least two of the three pounds of makeup I was wearing. "It was pretty much the definition of pathetic."
"Well," Sasha moved to join me at the mirror, her kind eyes searching mine. "I don't think the customer would agree with your assessment. I'd say he was quite taken with you."
"He left Sasha," I rolled my eyes. "He's not taken with me . At least not enough to do anything about it. He's made that quite clear."
"He has? What am I missing? Do you know him outside of the club?"
“He's a Professor at my school," I confessed. "There was an attraction between us, that turned into a flirtation, and then things started to escalate. But then yesterday he basically told me to forget it. Totally. No chance.
Rising to my hands and knees I crawled slowly to the end, then leaned down to my glasses, still atop the stack of books. I gazed up at the Professor, and without breaking eye contact I flicked out my tongue and caught the glasses by the temple arm. Pulling the end into my mouth, I played with it for a moment, sliding my tongue over the earpiece, before setting them back on my face. I pushed the prop chair away from me and reached for the clasps of my corset, snapping apart each fastener until the front of the garment gaped lewdly. I peeled it away from me, and sighed at the tingle of blood returning to constricted flesh. I was nearly naked now, just the demi-bra and thong, two sheer scraps of lace left between me and the Professor’s eager gaze. I reveled in the sensation, and rose to my feet, writhing to the music, my movements a performance of wanton arousal.
My gaze met the Professors again; he was fixed in his position, fist still raised to his mouth, only his eyes had changed. They'd grown darker now, fiercer. He looked like he either wanted to punch something or fuck something. If it was the latter, I hoped I was his target. I danced to the edge of the stage again, removed the glasses from my face and tossed them to the large pile of my clothing that was pooled on his table. It was time for the grand finale, the piece de resistance, the money shot, whatever euphemism you prefer will do just fine here. As the British say, it was time to get my kit off, and my entire body was trembling with anticipation.
I reached behind me for the clasp at the back of my bra and unhooked it, then whirled around, whipping my hair over my shoulder to bare my back to his eyes. Removing the bra, I held it to the side and then dropped it, rather over-dramatically I admit, to the floor. I palmed my breasts, covering them and danced backwards to the end of the stage, my hips undulating seductively as I moved. My breasts felt heavy, swollen and tingling with need. I rolled the hard nipples between my fingertips and almost gasped aloud at the sensation. As the music reached its crescendo I threw my head back and closed my eyes. Spinning to face him, I raised my arms, gathered my hair at the nape, and lifted the waves high above my head. I let the silky strands cascade through my fingers, and down my shoulders, to caress the sides of my naked jutting breasts. The dance was over. I stood before him, exposed, free and eager to meet the Professor's gaze once again. Was he moved by my performance? What would I see in those brilliant blue eyes? Lust? Desire? I leveled my head and opened my eyes.
Nothing.
He was gone.
5
Chapter Five
" W ell that wasn't totally fucking humiliating!" I muttered to myself as I stalked backstage. I was mortified. I'd taken a risk, I'd danced my heart out, just for him, and he'd left, rather than watch any more of it. Talk about a blow to the ego.
"That..." said Sasha as she entered the dressing room, "was amazing. A truly lovely performance Jane."
"Hardly," I shook my head as I wiped at my face, anxious to remove at least two of the three pounds of makeup I was wearing. "It was pretty much the definition of pathetic."
"Well," Sasha moved to join me at the mirror, her kind eyes searching mine. "I don't think the customer would agree with your assessment. I'd say he was quite taken with you."
"He left Sasha," I rolled my eyes. "He's not taken with me . At least not enough to do anything about it. He's made that quite clear."
"He has? What am I missing? Do you know him outside of the club?"
“He's a Professor at my school," I confessed. "There was an attraction between us, that turned into a flirtation, and then things started to escalate. But then yesterday he basically told me to forget it. Totally. No chance.
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