Bloodsucking Cocksuckers
By Shoshana Tilly
Copyright 2012 Shoshana Tilly
Smashwords Edition
The strobe of the lights slowed as the dancer's last song came to an end. The DJ's voice rang out over the final thudding beats played out. "Now welcome to the stage, for his virgin performance here at The Mustang: The Raunchy Russian, Gregor!" A new song started, faster, bass heavier than anything I'd heard that night in the club. The double saloon doors opposite the stage flew open. The tall, chiseled dancer burst into the bar, then stopped with his hands on his hips, and surveyed the room for a moment, meeting the eyes of the already admiring crowd, and seemed not at all nervous for his first dance.
His hair was black, swept back and neat, and the faintest shadow of stubble graced his chin; there was no sign of hair elsewhere on his bare torso. Instead of the usual g-string, he wore bright red leather pants so thin and tight I could follow the thick vein that started under his navel downward and still see it bulging through the fabric. I imagined for a moment he was posing solely for my admiration.
Finally he dropped his hands to his sides and strode along with the rhythm of the music to take his place on the stage. Casting one more enchanting glance out at the audience, he gripped the central pole and let his eyes drift closed. Holding on with one hand, he let the other fall behind him and dropped into a half-squat, leaving a clear line of definition between his thighs and firm, high glutes. He began to gyrate his hips, keeping his torso still, tossing his head from side to side, eyes still closed, in his own private world, and I in mine. The rest of the audience fell away. A barely dressed barboy offered me more to drink and I could do naught but wave him away. Gregor's fingers barely grasped the pole; he was holding himself in his grinding half-squat with only his legs, I imagined at any moment the barely-there material of his pants would give way. I prayed he hadn't bothered to wear a thong underneath.
Suddenly he threw his head straight back and arched his hips up toward the pole. He bent further and further, arm now taut, until finally his bicep bulged and he pulled his whole body forward with just that one arm. His naked torso came to rest against the cool metal of the pole, and his head pitched upright, throwing his hair into his face, obscuring his now opened eyes. He brought his other hand over his head and in front of the pole, fingers spread, not gripping, then slid it slowly downward, caressing the bar as he panted lightly, mouth open and sultry, eyes half-lidded.
He stepped back just a bit, not letting go, and slowly slid his leg in front of the pole, caressing it with his calf, leading his whole body as he maneuvered in front of the beam. Raising his arms up over his head to grip the metal shaft more tightly, he slowly dropped his body again, knees spread wide this time, feet near the pole, creating a gorgeous red diamond of fabric where I focused my vision. He released the pole and set his hands, fingers spread, upon his knees, and began to trace inward, gently caressing the insides of his thighs. Before his hands reached that point where my attention was fixed they began to trace upward, flitting over tight flat abdominals and spending just a moment at his nipples, then falling away as he straightened his body without regripping the pole, using just his legs again to propel himself upward. He leaned forward just slightly, sliding the pole between the cheeks of his perfectly-formed ass as he rose. He stood for only a moment before leaning back, resting one shoulder on the pole to allow himself to arch his hips forward and gyrate in a hypnotizing figure eight. He reached to his fly, still rolling his hips almost as if he couldn't help the action, and unbuttoned his pants, folding the corners down and exposing yet more smooth, perfect flesh.
I fingered the crisp roll of bills in my pocket, wishing for the privacy to finger something more intimate. I needed some way to show this Adonis my appreciation, and I felt an explosion of dollars simple would not be enough. While in the moment I wanted nothing more than for the song to continue, I began to anticipate it's end, when I would have the chance to get closer to Gregor.
He stepped away from the pole again, sultrily leading his body with the languid motions of his legs. He reached into his pants and produced what appeared to be a palm-sized rectangle of metal. It was thin and flat, and had somehow remained undetected inside that deliciously barely-there outfit. With a quick motion of his wrist the metal unfolded and it became apparent that it was a knife, short, but wickedly curved.