(Be aware, this is not my usual sweet erotic romance – a bit gritty and with some strong language.)
Henry visited the lap-dancing club at least once a week; more if he had some spare cash. But whenever he paid up and found out she wasn’t working that night he felt really aggrieved.
“Should have asked before you paid your money, mate. No refunds. Club policy.”
So he made a timetable, and worked out when she would be there and when not. It was normally accurate, but it pissed him off when he turned up and found she had swapped her night off with another girl.
The other girls were okay, but nothing like Candy. He doubted that was her real name, but he didn’t care what she was called. He only knew that she was his dream girl and the others did not compare. She didn’t look very old. In fact he would be surprised if she was over eighteen, although the club insisted that all girls on the premises were over twenty.
The routine was that three girls were up on stage, dancing very suggestively around a ten-foot chrome pole, while the other three girls circulated around the club, trying to entice the punters to part with more of their money for a lap-dance. He didn’t like the idea of Candy wiggling her arse around on some geezer’s dick, but he had constructed a story around her that would put Cinderella to shame. He was sure that she was working at the club because she was destitute and had no other way of earning a living. She probably had an evil step-dad who forced her into a job like this, and in his dream he was Sir Galahad, coming to rescue her on his white charger. When she found out that he was the man to take her away from all this, he was sure she would fall into his arms in gratitude.
He wondered what the lads at work would say when they saw his woman. They wouldn’t be laughing at him then. No longer would he be teased about the fact that he had never had a girlfriend.
“Hey, Henry, don’t you know what your dick is for? I bet he thinks its only for wanking with.” They loved to torment him.
He wanted to take a photo of her on his mobile phone to show them what she looked like; to show them that she was a girl in a million; but the club had a strict policy on taking pictures, and he didn’t want to run the risk of being thrown out before he had the chance of at least talking to her.
Tonight, thankfully, she was working her normal shift. She was on the stage, working one of the poles, dressed in a very skimpy outfit; a white thong, covered in sparkles, and a top that was so tight it looked as though it had been spray-painted on, which barely covered her luscious breasts and stopped at the top of her hips. She swivelled on that pole as though it was a lover. When she turned on the pole and stuck her backside out he thought he was going to embarrass himself in the middle of the club by coming in his pants. God, that arse, what he wouldn’t give to grab a handful in each hand and squeeze the life out of it. It resembled a ripe peach, and probably tasted as sweet.
The lighting overhead turned softer and the music slowed and became very sensual. This was the signal for the girls to get even more down and dirty with their movements. Some of the men at the front were getting excited and began tucking twenty-pound notes into the waistband of her thong. The rules of the club forbade the punters from touching the girls, but where money was concerned the staff looked the other way, for a cut of the tips of course. Some of the girls bent forward so that the notes could be tucked between their breasts.
He was starting to sweat, and it wasn’t because of the temperature of the club. His cock was straining against the zipper of his trousers, and he tried to re-arrange it under the cover of the table. Not that it mattered if anyone saw him. Several men were openly stroking the front of their trousers, and the security staff were keeping their eyes open for any men openly displaying themselves, for that would mean instant ejection from the club. The cops often had undercover people coming around, and the management had been warned more than once to clean up their act, or lose their licence.
Candy was by far the most popular of the three girls on the stage, and it was easy to see the reason why. Her body was curvy in all the right places. Her skin was smooth and lightly tanned, and her hair was like a slightly windswept mane that tumbled onto her shoulders and down her back in large curls. She was a goddess, he decided; a perfect, beautiful, sensual goddess, far too good to be paraded in a slimy place like this. He would talk to her tonight when she finished work. It was time he made his move. He didn’t have a lot of money, but he had a bit put aside, left to him by his grandmother. He would buy her nice clothes and jewels and all the things a pretty young girl like her desired, and take her away from all this.
The music stopped and the girls left the stage. He knew that in a few minutes they would be lap dancing for the men in the bar, while three other girls would take their place on the poles. He knew the routine off by heart now, after the length of time he had been a regular. He ordered another shot, his sixth. It was Saturday tomorrow and he could sleep off his hangover and not get up till noon.
The girls came back out, and his eyes immediately went to Candy. She had changed into a hot pink top, just as tight as the white one before, and leaving very little to the imagination of the over-excited men, who were now spending a fortune on drinks, the prices of which were inflated as the evening went on, when the customers had ceased to care how much they were spending.
She started lap dancing for a middle-aged, swarthy man, who was there with a couple of friends. He tucked the money under the garter she had placed around one thigh, and she began to gyrate to the music on his lap. The man’s friends were nearly as excited as he was.
“I bet you’d like to meet this one down a dark alley later, Jack. She looks like she could keep your cock happy for a bit.” He gave a belly laugh, as though he was overcome by his own sparkling wit. Jack, pumped up by the desire to impress his mates, began to gyrate beneath Candy’s bottom until she was in danger of being bounced off his knee, and in an attempt to hold her steady he broke the cardinal rule of the club by placing both hands on her thighs, even slipping one hand down between them.
“Hey, what the fuck…”
Instinctively, Henry jumped up to defend his woman, and took hold of Candy’s arm, trying to pull her from the other man’s sweaty hands.
“Get the fuck off her, you fucking pig,” he spat at the man they called Jack.
It was at that moment that the club bouncers saw what was going on and two of them were across within seconds, grabbing Henry and dragging him away from Cindy. They completely misread the scenario, and before anyone had the chance to offer an explanation, Henry was dragged across the club to the fire escape exit at the back, which led out on to the alley.
He didn’t go quietly; the alcohol and his concern for Cindy saw to that. The bouncers were rough as they manhandled him into the street and threw him down on to the filthy, wet concrete. He tried to stagger to his feet and took a swing at one of the bouncers, but they were much practised at ejecting troublemakers, and, despite their size, light on their feet. One of them bent and punched Henry squarely in the jaw, and the other drew back his size ten boots and kicked him brutally in his gut. Henry struggled to breathe, desperately sucking air as he instinctively rolled into a ball to try and shield himself from further damage. But the two men had finished their work and went back into the club, slamming the door to prevent Henry getting back on to the premises.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there in the alley; probably only a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. He heard voices as three women approached him. They were three of the dancers from the club, on their way home. He looked up, straight into the gaze of Candy, who called to the other two.
“Look, it’s that jerk who tried to grab me in the club. Moron! I hope the guys duffed you up properly.”
He tried to talk, to explain, but his jaw was swollen and bruised and he couldn’t get the words out, as the three women walked past, laughing at the pitiable sight beneath them. A moment later they were gone, and he was alone. Henry couldn’t believe what had happened. The love of his life had just mocked him and walked away. Didn’t she understand that he loved her? Surely she must have realised that he had only been trying to protect her. Tears flowed down his face and mingled with the blood and the dirt, and he wished he were dead.
He felt a hand touch his shoulder. A young woman was speaking to him.
“Are you alright? Are you badly hurt? Should I call for an ambulance?”
He looked up at the face of a woman who looked vaguely familiar, and it was a moment before he recognized that it was the woman who worked on the reception; the one who took his money every week. He’d never bothered to look at her much because the only thought in his brain every time he came to the club was ‘Will Candy be here tonight?’
The woman reached into her bag and brought out some tissues to dab the wound on his face and stop the bleeding. She looked concerned, and he couldn’t understand why she should care whether he was injured or not. It was not as though she was his friend. Her voice was calm and soothing, and rather comforting.
“Can you sit up, do you think? Look, I’ll help you. Prop yourself up against the wall and let me look at your face. It’s probably not as bad as I first feared, so I don’t think an ambulance is needed, but I don’t want to go until I’m sure you can manage to get up and walk by yourself. It’s too cold to stay here in the alley. You will get hypothermia.”
He allowed her to help him prop himself up and she crouched down to look more closely at his wound under the streetlight.
“It needs cleaning. If you’re not careful you will get an infection in the wound. I only live a couple of streets away. You can come back with me and I will clean it up, and you can rest up until you feel ready to go home.”
She helped him to stand, before lifting his arm around her shoulder and put her arm around the waist, supporting him as he staggered away from the club. It was painful with each step that he took, but he didn’t complain, just gritted his teeth.
Back at her place, a small, rather shabby, rented bedsit, she made him sit at the table while she cleaned his wound and put some antiseptic cream on it. He lifted up his shirt and saw a large black bruise in the shape of a foot.
“Wow, he kicked you pretty hard, didn’t he? I think you should stretch out on the couch until the morning. You’re not really in a fit state to be going home alone.”
She fetched him a blanket and a pillow and he lay down gratefully. As she switched off the light and lay down on her bed he turned to look at her.
“Why are you helping me? You hardly know me.”
“Because I saw what happened in the club, and you didn’t deserve being treated like that, either by Cindy or the guys.”
He hadn’t thought of Cindy since leaving the alley. The woman of his dreams turned out to be not worthy of his love. His long-held dream of life with Cindy was just a broken dream now. He felt so sleepy, but just before he drifted off, he heard her ask, “What’s your name?”
“It’s Henry. What’s yours?”
“I’m Rose. It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Rose.
If you enjoyed this story, or even if you did not, please leave a comment below. I am always interested in what my readers think. Take a look, also, at my boot page on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Rachel-de-Vine/e/B00N58ULQW/