Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

crowd, but she was naïve enough that she was arousing herself.

       And she hadn’t even started in on the pole yet!

       Her blood began to pump, warm and thick, through her veins. The tails of her shirt brushed against the back of her thighs and between her legs. Beneath the stiff cotton, her breasts felt achy and full. Her nipples were so tight, even the cups of her bra seemed rough.

       ‘Take it off. Take it off.’

       The chant started, low and steady. It grew in strength and volume as she reached for the remaining buttons on her shirt. The crowd of men was goading her, begging her. She toyed with them for a while, sashaying around on-stage, dancing as the shirt hung open. She wore a sensible white cotton bra and panties beneath it, but even they seemed to push the boys to the edge.

       They loved it. The chanting grew louder and more raucous. They loved her.

       Gathering her nerve, she swept the shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the runway behind her. The almost complete bareness sent a shock through her – like ice had just been brushed over her skin. Her nipples became turgid, poking against her bra cups. Very few men had seen her like this. Only two, in fact. Now, an entire roomful of strangers was getting an eyeful.

       Arousal gripped her as sure as a hand between her legs. It held her there as she walked determinedly onward, facing her greatest fear.

       And possibly, one of her sharpest desires.

       The pole.

       Reaching out, she caught it with one hand. The brass was cool. Unyielding. A shudder went through her. Stepping closer, she leaned her forehead against its hard length. Her breasts plumped on either side of it, and her hips rolled forward.

       When she softly kissed the hard metal, a hush went throughout the room.

       They wanted to see her dance?

       Kicking one leg high, she wrapped it around the brass pole. It gripped the back of her knee and the skin of her thigh pinched. That secret spot between her legs squeezed convulsively and then moistened.

      Oh, heavens.

       Alicia arched her back, letting her breasts thrust upwards. They felt trapped in her prim white bra. She was almost desperate to get it off. The sensation was making her lightheaded.

       The confinement was too much.

       Reaching back, she undid the hooks from the eyelets. She sighed when the cups loosened. The beat of the music intensified. She could almost feel the crowd leaning forward, wanting to see.

       She wanted to show them.

       She wanted to feel the freedom. She wanted to feel the nip of nakedness.

       Using the leg that was wrapped around the pole, she pulled herself upright. Still, the straps of her bra and the cups remained in place.

       In the distance, she heard somebody swear.

       The frustration made her smile. Poor baby. She shrugged her left shoulder and the strap fell. She shrugged her right and the elastic snagged on the point of her shoulder.

       The music reached a crescendo, and she couldn’t tease any more. She whipped off her bra and threw it away. The crowd went wild as her breasts were exposed. Her nipples pointed at her appreciative fans, pink and proud.

       Not so shy anymore.

       The act freed her, too. She spun around the pole, holding on to it tightly. Her breasts jiggled as she twisted and arched. She moaned aloud when her nipples bumped against the cool hardness. It felt so good. Her leg tightened, and the metal warmed from the heat of her skin. It pressed tight against her mound, smooth and insistent.

       Arching back again, she spun and spun and spun –

      ***

      ‘Sinners repent!’

      The words blasted next to Alicia’s ear. She jerked in surprise, and her surroundings changed in an instant. She was no longer in the cool confines of the Satin Club. She was outside, across the street, stuck in the crowd of protestors. An electronic squeal made her wince. Her head whipped around and she saw her father. He’d upgraded from a megaphone to a microphone with speakers. Loud, crackling speakers. She plugged her finger into her ear to stop the assault.

      Confused, she tried to orient herself. She wasn’t on the Satin Club’s stage; the bright light shining on her was the sun. Her toes weren’t pinching because she was wearing stiletto heels; her feet were sore from standing too long on a concrete sidewalk. And the hard pole she’d wrapped herself around?

      Oh, dear Lord.

      Her face heated to the point where it had to be crimson. The hardness pressing against her mound and biting into the back of her knee was the yardstick they’d stapled to the back of her sign – the one that said ‘SATIN = SATAN’ She quickly pulled it from between her legs and set it a good foot away from her. She pressed her hand to her face and hoped that nobody had noticed.

      If they had, they didn’t say anything. All around her, Sunlight Epiphany’s parishioners were intent on waving their signs at anyone who dared to even pass by the Satin Club on the street.

      ‘Deny these evil temptations! Cast out your demons and follow the one true light!’ The words boomed from the speakers that had been set up in the back of a pick-up truck. Her father was on a mission and, when he got like this, nothing could stop him.

      Alicia winced. She understood their cause, but she wasn’t sure they should be harassing random pedestrians.

      Besides, did they really know that the Satin Club was evil? None of them knew for sure what was going on behind that red door. That’s what she’d been trying to figure out when she’d slipped into that fantasy.

      Daydream, she quickly amended. It had been a daydream, a flight of a bored mind.

      Not a fantasy.

      She shifted her weight, trying to bring some relief to her aching feet. She couldn’t help it. She had an affinity for dancers. She was just trying to understand.

      What would it be like? she wondered.

      She stared unblinkingly at the club across the street as those around her yelled at cars stopped at the light. What would it be like to work in such a place? To dance without clothes? To perform for the specific purpose of titillating those who looked at you?

      Her body tingled, wrapped up in the idea, but her brain just couldn’t comprehend. It was just so foreign to her, so dirty. She’d danced nearly all her life. She understood what it was to portray emotion through dance, to tell a story. The stories they were telling at the Satin Club, though … those tales were suited for the deep of night, in the privacy of a bedroom. What were they thinking, putting them out there on display for everyone to see?

      It was disturbing and shocking – and, admittedly, a bit intriguing.

      ‘Turn away from the devil!’

      Alicia stepped further away from her father. The noise was just too loud. Instead of screaming at the club, shouldn’t they be trying to talk with the people inside? To explain the dangerous path they were on? Her church was protesting against this place for a reason. How did those women feel about what they did? Did they hate it? Were they yearning for a better life and holier pursuits?

      Or did they do it because it felt good?

      ‘There they are!’ someone behind her gasped.

      ‘The devil rears its ugly head.’

      Rapid-fire words started coming through the speakers. All