Going Upscale, Part 2 - South American Treasure

Opulence and taste. They are evident from the moment you pull into the parking lot and spy the grandeur of the edifice. The architecture, landscaping, lighting, and columns all tell you that this place was built for elegant pleasure.

The sophisticated blonde at the register is a foretelling of the quality of the entertainers inside. The doorman, dressed in a suit, is a friendly and professional gentleman who answers my questions on club etiquette, and then introduces me to a waitress to guide me to a main area table. As I settle into my expensive and comfortable high-back chair, I take in the ambiance of the club. Wow! The place exudes an aura of money and elegance. An incredible bar runs the length of the center of the club. A main stage and 3 satellite stages sprinkled throughout. And in the center, above me, red satin draped on the center and gathered in the center into an elaborate chandelier. A strip club among all strip clubs.

Scanning the room I see the VIP area off in the corner, behind closed doors. Very, very private this VIP, with it’s own bar and stage and a pool table to shoot stick with the lovely ladies. I had asked the doorman on the way in about the VIP on the way in. $750 for a year’s membership, $450 for tonight. Or maybe I could get in if I bought a bottle of champagne for a dancer for $200. Too rich for my blood. The main floor would do.

My plan for the evening is simple: enjoy this club as much as I can, given that I’m not going to be a high-roller tonight. I can see the high-rollers. They are here in number. In suits. Smoking cigars. Drinking brandy. Peeling the $20’s off a roll. Surrounded by dancers. I observed one gentleman in particular getting at least an hour of continuous dances from the star of the club – a platinum blonde Brianna Banks lookalike with gigantic tits. One hour. I’m going to guess 20 straight songs at $20 each - $400 like it was nothing. High rollers. Were I one of them, I would be smothered in flesh all night – one, two, or three lovely ladies at a time. I’m not one of them but I can certainly enjoy myself here on my scale. At least I think I can.

This was my second club of the evening and I still have a few hours to enjoy. If my resolve holds firm, and my money holds out, I’ll be here for 3 or 4 hours I guess. So I watch the stage show for a while. Beautiful women doing very passive dances with very little tipping going on. So little, in fact, that I’m having a hard time determining what the tipping custom is here. Beautiful dancers, striking in fact. But none that are grabbing me. I enjoy my beverage and fend off one or two low key approaches from dancers seeking private dances. I decline politely, they move on gracefully. It will come, I tell myself.

And then Dancer captivates me. A South American treasure. Beauty beyond imagination.

She’s there silently, stealthily kneeling beside my chair, engaging me in greetings. And she captivates me. I’ve heard that women from Dancer’s country are famous for being beauty pageant queens, and Dancer is no exception. She’s stunningly exotic and beautiful, and she’s here talking with me.

Dancer is visibly cold, being semi-naked, from the drafts in the vent. I jokingly offer that she can sit with me and warm up and in an instant she’s in my lap with her arms around me. Her delicious weight pressing into me. Her delightful smile captivating me. And we chat – small talk about weekend plans and about Dancer’s plans to leave in a while to go partying with her girlfriends. Small, inconsequential, talk with a contact transaction as the subtext.

And we dance. One table dance to get acquainted. Very nice. Very sensual. Very brief. And we part – for now. I still want to get to know the room.

An hour later, after some time tipping dancers at the satellite stages (more on that in part 3), I realize that my South American Dancer is the treasure of the bunch and that I want more dances with her. I tipped a waitress extra to find her and ask her to rejoin me. After a while she does and I find out that I’m a lucky man. Dancer had decided to leave and go party and was in the dressing room mid-dress when the waitress found her.

So Dancer rejoins me. She has warmed up by now, floating on liquid courage, and I offer to buy her a drink to keep her going. She downs a Buttery Nipple, and we resume the dance. Dancer has a nice buzz going and is in a friendly mood. By which I mean a touchy mood. Her touching me, which is always a good thing. As I don’t know the touch rules in the club, I restrain myself and maintain gentlemanly conduct. Frankly, it’s enough to be cheek nuzzling close to this amazingly beautiful girl, with her long brown silky hair caressing my face. But being a gentleman is growing more difficult. Speaking of growing, my arousal was evident and had not escaped Dancer’s notice. Her hands find their way to my lap for some welcome attention to the wood. Nice, but within bounds.

Dancer is enjoying herself as well, and she wants to move the party to the back, away from the main area and the prying eyes of the our neighbors. So we walk to the back, me with a visible erection protruding through my pants and pointing the way.

And we continue the dance. Dancer feels safe with me and explores me at will. She seems genuine as she says repeatedly “Wow, it’s getting hot in here.” And we move together – cuddling and nuzzling and grinding in a dance of intimacy and growing passion. Dancer is all grace and fluid motion as she straddles me, cheek to cheek, and then reverses – splayed out across my lap with one hand pinching her beautiful small brown nipples and the other sliding through the crease in the tiny patch in her G-string, through the wetness of her lips. Dancer is puzzled by my control, and at one point takes my hand and places it directly on her breast with a pleading touch. I sample, but I remain controlled and return to the headspace experience.

Three songs we shared in the dark of the back area, Dancer and I. Sublimely enjoyable for me. Hot and apparently frustrating for her. After the songs, she lingers – playing on my lap. “You have a nice dick”, she whispers to me as her hand returns again and again to play, finding iron hardness each time. “I’m just a person”, she sighs. “I get horny too.” Stroking still. Unfortunately, there’s nothing either of us can do about our state here. And soon we disentangle and go our separate ways. Dancer has opted to stay and work some more and she makes her way to sit with a group of men as I retake my place in the main area.

So, thank you Dancer. I will remember you.