Concept: You’re the unnoticed dancer at a strip joint, never quite grasping the special attention that others do. However, you attract a certain enigmatic man who becomes infatuated with you over time, leading to a night of putting the tension to rest.
He had stopped by many times before, always so observant and nonplussed by the rowdy environment. You witnessed him from your end of the stage, how your reflection glinted off the sunglasses he always seemed to be wearing, even in the dim lighting. Nothing changed since the first time you ever saw him, the same top hat, the same smirk, the same behaviorisms— he was like a character.
You worked as a stripper in a downtown joint, particularly engaging in pole dances. The place was mostly occupied with adventurous couples, but the enigmatic man had been coming on his own for the past two years. He never ordered an alcoholic drink, mostly just sodas and waters, but you managed to always grasp the sight of his smirk or grin faltering whenever someone with a drink sat too close to him.
Unlike the explicit women you worked with, you never received too much attention, always overlooked or just not exciting enough. However, the mysterious regular only ever took interest in you. He’d stay for hours watching you dance and shake your body while all the other dancers got rounded off or sent to private rooms, and right before your shift would end, he’d leave an immense amount of bills for your performance without a word.
You wondered how lonely someone would have to be to spend their evenings at a strip joint on their own, or to even take interest in someone like you. Though within time, you found yourself dancing not for whoever could’ve walked in, but for him alone.
You imagined grinding against him every time you slid down the pole, what his large hands would feel like venturing down your body, those rings that decorated them sinking into your skin. Those thoughts alone left you more encouraged, your dances becoming dirtier, sensual, a mix of everything a man could desire. And all you can do is watch yourself in the reflection of his dark lens, your legs spreading like a pathway for him to explore, your hips moving in all the directions his eyes would follow.
Tonight you decided you were done with hopeless anticipation. If he wasn’t going to make a move, then you would.
You had gone about your usual shift, crawling on the stage, swirling around the pole, grinding and getting your own self worked up. He remained facing you with his long fingers tapping the brim of his glass, a smirk forming on his face when you looked directly at him, biting your lip in a carnal manner.
When the hour was almost over, he approached you with his wallet in hand. Though just as he got closer, you positioned your heel over the end on the stage where he usually rested the money, urging him to raise a brow at you.
You held onto the pole as you leaned over him. You could see him better now that he was in your stage light, the grey stubble along his chin, his opulent curls, and if you looked close enough, you could just barely catch his eyes trained on you from behind the sunglasses.
“Are you lonely for the night, or are you another man trying to escape his woman?” You questioned, your tone as enticed as he made you feel.
“I’m not with anybody,” he told you, his voice so smooth and husky that you felt even more inclined to be closer to him.
And he wasn’t moving either, so you assumed he was just as intrigued to finally hone in on the inevitable attraction you two adhered over time.
“You’re always watching me,” you murmur, letting go of the pole to crouch down before him. His chin subtly tilts down, leaving you to infer that he was now peering between your spread legs.
“How can I not?” His head quickly raises. “You exude sexuality.”
“You’ve never requested a private room,” you mutter, not meaning to sound as let down as you came off. But the idea that he never wanted you enough to be alone with you was daunting.
“A private room would never be enough to give me the things I want from you,” he tells you, slipping the mundane amount of money out of his wallet, though you quickly push his hand back down.
“What do you want from me? I-I could give you anything—”
“It’s against the rules, isn’t it, darling?” There’s a smugness in his voice, as though he’s proud of having you beg to bend rules for him and him alone.
“I’m off my shift now,” you mumble so only he could hear.
Motel rooms never sat right with you, whether they granted the possibilities of being murdered, or just the dinginess that enveloped them. But the man had insisted on taking you there rather than his own home, which only led to your curiosity. Perhaps he was someone famous and he didn’t want you to get closer to finding out, or he was potentially some gang member.
You found that you were thinking too much as you sat down on the edge of the raggedy bed, and he was only standing in front of you.
“Can you dance for me?” He tilted his head at you as he took off his top hat, resting it down on the dresser.
“There’s no music,” you mumbled sheepishly. You’ve never been in a situation like this, in such a quiet intimate place with someone you’ve never known, and there was just way too much sexual tension wallowing between you two.
He only shrugged. “We don’t need music.”
Timidly, you stood up on the bed, looking at him over your shoulder as you turned around, feeling more comfortable facing the wall if anything. You imagined the things you were used to, which was the idea of him touching you and adorning your body, and that alone coaxed you into swiveling your hips dexterously.
You felt his presence getting closer as lowered your body to the mattress and ground yourself against the bed, just as you’d done on stage many times before.
He stood over you. “Am I allowed to touch you, dear?”
You nodded, your heart racing and your core already warming with desire. All these months you’ve longed to have him so close, and he was right here before you, no distractions; nobody but you and him.
He reached his hand out, his index and middle finger trailing over your thigh before gripping the soft flesh. You felt callouses in his fingers, a coarseness, leaving you to construe his occupation being very hands-on. His hand slid up your thigh, knuckles barely passing beneath your short shorts before descending. Before you could even process his actions, his other hand had grabbed your other thigh, yanking you closer until your chest was against his, his body between your legs.
Being so close to him, you could smell a hint of cologne emanating from his neck, almost as intoxicating as his presence alone.
His hands travelled up your sides, sliding behind your neck as he pulled you closer to him, leaning in. You held your breath with anticipation, a shudder creeping up the back of your spine. His thumb brushed along your throat, lips passing over yours teasingly.
You felt vulnerable. In a position like this, he could easily dominate you, strangle you, murder you. Anything could happen, and you didn’t even know this man’s name, his occupation, his life story— absolutely nothing.
“C-Can you take it off?” You whisper, looking at him with fear evident in your eyes.
“Take what off?” He speaks softly to you, his hand moving from the back of your neck to caress your cheek tenderly, in a way so gentle and unexpected that you feel almost charmed by him.
He looks at you for a moment before sliding them off, folding the temples and then tossing it aside. You analyze him, seeing yourself in the whiskey color swiveling through his irises, his eyes so warm and soft, full of kindness in a way you couldn’t coherently process.
“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, heat pervading your cheeks as he lets out a shy chuckle.
“And you’re an angel,” he says, looking over you.
You lean closer to him, melting in his hands like precious gold as he closes the distance between you two, perfect plump lips melding into your own.
His hands move down to your waist as he slides his tongue into your mouth, carefully pushing you back against the mattress before crawling over you. That sense of vulnerability within you dares to come back, though with the way his eyes sweep over your body in a manner of lust and adoration, you feel at ease.
“Have you ever done this before?” He asks you, stopping to look up at you as his fingers undo the buttons of your shorts.
“Not with anyone experienced,” you murmur.
He smirks in return, reaching up to kiss your lips softly before sliding your pants down. You lift your legs, allowing him to prop them on his shoulders before kneeling down, head leveled with your throbbing pussy.
“So wet already?” He raises a brow at you before pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, running his index finger between your folds, spreading your wetness in figure eights.
You exhale softly, whether it be through sheepishness or pleasure, perhaps a mix of both. His curls fell over his eyes, shielding his actions and leaving you to focus solely on your instincts and senses as he explored your sex.
“What do I call you?” You exhale, needing something to moan out.
He draws back, the side of his hand sweeping through your folds as he huskily mutters, “Slash.”
You freeze as realization strikes you, an influx of all the moments you’ve heard that name before coming in like a slap to the face. Though before you can act on it, his fingers slide into your heat, erupting a gasp from your lips.
“So fucking tight,” he grouses, his fingers curling as he thrusts them deep inside of you. You moan loudly, writhing against the sheets as you spread your legs further for him, the same way you’ve spread them on stage many times before. He pushes his fingers all the way to the knuckle, the cool metal of his rings brushing along your opening, sending goosebumps traveling down your thighs.
“Fuck, that feels...” you trail off as you run your fingers into his hair, feeling the soft curls, unable to quite process that you were being pleasured by Slash, the infamous guitarist.
He pulls back, spitting on your cunt before rubbing in his saliva, his fingers sliding across your pussy with ease. You moan for him, letting him know just how good he was making you feel. The idea of how much older and experienced he was only added to the excitement as you believed he would make your time worthwhile, watching as he leaned closer and flicked his tongue over your hole.
“Ready to take my cock, baby?” He inquires, curling his fingers in your hole, spreading your walls even more for what was soon to come.
“P-Please, Slash,” you beg, longing for him the same way you’ve longed all this while, needing to know the way he feels along with the way he could make you feel.
He stands up and undoes his pants and shirt, discarding the clothes as his eyes remain fixated on you in all your glory— splayed out on the mattress, your pussy soaking into the sheets and your legs already spread widely for him to fill the space. Your eyes trail along his body, the assortment of tattoos, the bit of hair trailing below his navel, and of course, his hard cock already glossed with precum.
You watch as he leans closer, hovering over you, his lips brushing against your own as his cock slides along your opening, pushing into your tight hole. You moan as you feel your walls spreading even more for him, his large cock filling you up, and his hands intertwining with your own above your head.
“Gosh, so tight,” he mutters as you wrap your legs around his waist, mewling in pleasure as he picks up a slow, deep rhythm.
Your hands travel along his back, taking in the idea that he was yours for the night, the man you always craved touching. And here he was, thrusting in and out of you, yanking moans from your mouth with ease as he satisfied all the pent-up anticipation. You wondered if you’d ever have him again, or if he was only yours for the time being. However, while planted right in the moment, you opted to salvage every second with him as if it was all you had.
His sits up, his body glistening with sweat under the dim lighting as he holds your thighs in place, his pace quickening and his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. You moan sensually, rolling your hips into his, tuning into the soft grunts and sighs he exhales.
“Slash,” you sigh, repeating his name in every moan like a redundant lyric, listening to the way he returns in hums. He leans down, trailing kisses from the nape of your neck to your jaw, his hand wrapping around your throat as his other lifts your leg higher.
Your toes curl in pleasure, your eyes closing as you embrace the sensation of his body so close to yours, his lips adorning your skin, and the feeling of immense pleasure pervading you.
His cock slides in and out of you, his rhythm getting sloppier as he forces himself deeper, exuding a loud whine from your lips.
“Fuck, baby, s’that good?” He asks you, but you can’t respond, your thoughts blanked out as you bite your lip, suppressing the next squeals of pleasure that dare to follow.
He pulls out of you completely, leaving your pussy throbbing in dissatisfaction.
“What are you—” before you can beg for him again, he flips you over, pressing your head down against the pillows before slamming his cock into you from behind. You scream in a mix of pleasure and pain, a daunting feeling of arousal that you’ve never explored before burning deep in your stomach and leaving you aching for more. “Fuck, Slash...”
He smacks your ass harshly, his rings grazing against your tender skin as he rams into you, the bed creaking threateningly but drowned out by your loud moans.
“You like that?” He sputters through gritted teeth, his voice rasped and laced with seduction, though the sounds you make tells him enough. You grind back against his cock as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding your back to his chest as he stuffs his cock deep inside of you. “Such a warm, tight hole,” he whispers against your skin, his hand sliding down to grab your pussy.
“S-Slash, I feel close,” you whimper, but he already knows judging by your throbbing hole, and that he was the one mainly supporting your body upright.
“Go ahead, baby,” he coaxes you on, his tone sweet and gentle in a way broadly contrasting the way he ruthlessly fucks you.
You let out a pornographic howl of pleasure as you instantly release, nearly falling over but he holds you close, pulling out and aiming his load across your back.
“Holy shit,” you heave as he gently sets you down, collapsing beside you on the weakened mattress. You turn around to face him, blushing to see his mocha eyes already centered on you, inspecting you in a newer light.
“Was I good?” He asks, his knuckles brushing along your temple down to the height of your cheekbone.
“You were perfect,” you mutter, deciding against bringing up his unmentioned fame.
“Would you want to do it again?” There’s an indescribable timidity that seems to follow him, and you find yourself already enamored with it.
“As long as you promise to stop by again,” you challenge.
“Oh,” he laughs, which comes out more like a wheeze, “I’d never dare to miss a shift of yours, gorgeous.”
