Lapdancing Girlfriend Ch. 05

But what was worse was she had done nothing about it! In fact, she had groaned lust and actually impaled herself upon his hand, her anticipation at his hand stroking her slit to great as she literally began fucking his hand on the stage! She had already been worked up and wet from dancing, and as his tongue invaded her mouth, she had impaled herself onto his hand, his fingers sliding easily into her core. She was horrified to realize he probably could have fucked her right there on the stage—and she would have responded eagerly!

Jen could not believe how aroused she had gotten. It was not one single thing but an accumulation of everything—the dancing, the touch of the audience members, even the drinks her and Velvet had during her practice—and once again brought to her mind her last two weeks of sexual depravity.

"I'll say this, damn you can move girl," Velvet once again told and pulling her back to reality.

Jen thanked her assistant for the praise when both their attention was drawn to the bed, where another garment box sat.

Velvet said, "I guess that's your party dress?" she said as Jen nodded.

"Mr. DeWight said it was up here in the room," she told her assistant as they both sat on the bed and Jen opened the box.

On top of the tissue paper was a pair of black leather platform sandals, the red soles immediately announcing the brand without even having to look at the 'Christian Louboutin' signature on the inside sole.

"Wow, those are a pair of Charleze platform sandals," Velvet said, admiring the shoes.

Jen was not as familiar with expensive shoes as her assistant. Although she did own a pair of Louboutins, they were old and bought at a discount once they had gone out of fashion.

She looked down at the shoes, seeing a six-inched stiletto heel with two-inched platforms, three bands of leather which would cross over the top of her foot to the ankle strap, liking the angular pattern the straps gave.

Setting the shoes aside, she pulled away the tissue paper to reveal the outfit beneath.

As both of them looked into the box, Velvet snickered, while Jen said, "You have got to be kidding me."

Jen had expected something revealing, and in fact had prepared herself for it, assuming she would be wearing something along the lines of what the caterers were wearing—a skimpy dress and heels.

She was not prepared for what she saw in the box.

"Hey, at least you get to wear a pair of Loubies," Velvet said with a grin.

Jen rolled her eyes, "And that's about all I'll be wearing," she said as she pulled out what Mr. DeWight had selected for her to wear at the party.

The outfit was simple, consisting of only three pieces, but it was definitely more lingerie than anything she would expect to wear in public, let alone a party.

The 'dress' was similar to the robe she had worn during her routine, consisting of a sheer baby doll halter top fastened with crisscrossed black ribbons in the front and would leave her body fully exposed. The halter part had a dark pink and purple pattern, but as she held her hand beneath it, Jen saw it would leave nothing to the imagination, easily revealing her breasts through the sheer black lace. The remaining part of the 'dress' was an open flyaway, extending down to the ground. The cut of the dress was backless, the material not starting until much lower where she assumed it would barely cover her ass, probably doing more to cover the backs of her legs; however, the front separated immediately beneath her breasts to fan out past her sides and hips and leaving her entire mid-drift, pelvis, and legs bare.

Accompanying the 'dress' was a simple Y-backed black thong and a pair of black laced thigh-high stockings.

Jen knew there would be no getting out of wearing the outfit, and she had, moments ago, paraded around in front of all the guests naked, so the 'dress' was actually an improvement, albeit very slight. But her mind still recoiled at once again being put on display.

Sighing and resigning herself to her plight, she pulled up the thong and then stockings, finally slipping on the 'dress' and shoes.

As she stood up Velvet whistled. "Wow, you DO look fantastic, even if it is skimpy and more appropriate for bedtime than the gala below," she said with amusement.

Jen looked into the full length mirror and had to admit the outfit did look good on her, even if it reveal more of her body than it hid; however, it showed off all the best parts of her body as if it had been made just for her.

Knowing she had little recourse in the matter, she sat down on the vanity and reapplied her make-up.

She had just finished brushing her hair when there was a loud knock on the door. Without waiting for their reply or permission to enter Mr. DeWight immediately walked into the bedroom.

"Ah good, you're dressed," he said. "And that outfit looks spectacular," he said to her.

Jen thanked him for the compliment, although she still had reservations about wearing something so suggestive in public.

"I wanted to escort you down to the party, but first wanted to have a couple words with you," he told her. Looking at Velvet, he said, "We will meet you downstairs Velvet," immediately dismissing her.

Jen shrugged at her assistant, who left the room, leaving her alone with Mr. DeWight.

Immediately Jen's mind turned to body's lecherous response to Mr. DeWight's touch upon her core, her body warming as she felt to her dismay more arousal than embarrassment.

"First, I wanted to say that your performance tonight was amazing," Mr. DeWight told her, visibly pleased.

Jen thanked him but he held up his hand.

"No, I mean it was fucking amazing. I have never seen some of those moves and I've been a fan of pole dancing—even professional competition—for fucking years," he told her. "Some of those moves I would have thought impossible if I had not seen them tonight," he told her.

Jen was visibly pleased. Even though he was a corrupt person, Mr. DeWight's comment was truth, he had been around pole dancers for years, and it made her feel proud somebody with as much knowledge could recognize her performance professionally, as she had made up some of those maneuvers herself. She knew there were other pole dancers of high enough caliber that could have performed them such as Jenyne Butterfly, Felix Cane, or Pantera Blacksmith, but to perform them on the fly was something unusual.

"Now that the guests have watched you move and seen what you can do, it's time for you give them a sample of your wares, so-to-speak," Mr. DeWight told her suddenly, as Jen felt her heart skip a beat.

Looking at him in shock as she said, "I am not going to fuck anybody!" she told him adamantly.

"Of course not," Mr. DeWight told her, "at least not tonight," he added. Seeing Jen's shocked face he smiled. "Remember our agreement dear, you will not complain and I will let you have your way with the dancers," he reminded her, once again throwing their agreement into her face before continuing.

"No, you are too valuable to be a cheap piece of ass at a party," he told her. "Tonight is where you sell yourself—and I mean in terms of your career and the fact you are going to be the most successful DSA Spokesmodel in history. I want you to tease the fuck out of everybody down here," he told her pointedly. "The goal my dear," he said with a sly smile, "is to tease them to the point where they will buy in to attend your franchising party next week. You are to give them a sample, a small taste of what Diamond the porn actress is all about. Your job is to let them give you a kiss, or feel up your ass, or whatever else," Mr. DeWight told her to her shocked expression. "I really don't give a fuck what you let them do to you honestly, but your goal is to get them to part with their five grand to invest in attending next week's party," he told her.

"Five grand?" Jen echoed as Mr. DeWight smiled.

"Yes, five grand is the entry fee for them to be able to attend your franchise party next week. This money is merely a gate for them to ATTEND. Next week your performances will be to entice them to bid on the options to pay for your movies, screenings, travel, and everything else needed to invest in your career. The entrance fee is to filter out only the truly interested parties. The big money will hopefully be next week," he told her.

"So again, you are to be a slut tonight, but no actual intercourse. Let them feel you up, rub against you, and let them find out for themselves those tits are au natural and not man-made," he chuckled as Jen blushed. "But again, I reiterate, nothing too intimate. If you want to rub them a bit to tease them, or even wack somebody off that's fine, but nothing to completion," he told her bluntly. "The bottom line is to get them so worked up they will think nothing of dropping the entry fee for next week's franchise party. The gist of the party is to get them worked up to the point they are ready to explode and then suddenly cock-block them. The fact they will have an input into your career will be the ultimate turn-on for them," he said to her frankly.

Jen was mortified to hear him speak in such a fashion, although his comments did not surprise her. She had no intentions of doing anything like he suggested; however, recalling his blatant groping of her on the stage it now made sense. He had basically been broadcasting to the guests and announcing how far they could go with her.

Seeing Jen's expression Mr. DeWight shrugged, saying, "This is no different than working the club, only we're stepping the game up to a new level. You're letting the patrons have a bit of touchy feely," he laughed, "and the end result is the same, to get them to come to the VIP room and spend even more money for you," he smiled.

"It will be easy, use your God-given talents," Mr. DeWight went on. "Promise them anything, Hell promise them you'll fuck them from dawn to dusk, I don't really give a shit," he said, "Just get them to be willing to drop five grand into next week's franchising."

Once again observing her stunned face, he shrugged. "You don't HAVE to fuck them, only lead them on to thinking it," he laughed. "It is the ultimate seduction. Deep down they know none of them have a chance with you, but to get a glimpse of the possibility—it's all part of the game my dear," he again laughed.

Jen was reluctant to leave the room now knowing how she was expected to behave at the party; however, her reticence was due more from the thrill coursing through her at the thought of being on display in such a fashion.

She had no time to stall, as Mr. DeWight put his arm around her waist and led her out the doors, down the hall, and to the staircase.

As they came to the top of the stairs a hush immediately befell the ballroom below them, and then she was once again surprised as a chorus of applause welcomed her. She could only follow his lead as Mr. DeWight—smiling like a Cheshire cat—led her down the stairs and into the waiting crowd.

They were immediately enveloped by people praising her performance and she did her best to smile and thank them as Mr. DeWight handed her a glass of champagne. She suddenly was thankful for the glass of alcohol, as her nerves were getting the best of her both from the overwhelming interest people had of her as well as after her little 'pep talk' with Mr. DeWight.

There was no room for doubt on what he expected and wanted from her. He wanted her to tease and ultimately seduce as many men as possible at the party, bringing them to a state of arousal where they would think nothing of dropping five thousand dollars at the chance to have some control over her pornography actress career.

In one sense he was right, the approach was nothing different from what her and the other girls did night after night at the club, teasing and paying 'extra' attention to guys to get them to spend more money on a lap dance, or to buy the girls drinks at elevated prices, not to mention the extra tips. It was part of the stripper's game.

That she was using her body and feminine wiles to get money out of men was not a foreign concept, but this was taking it to a whole new level. Offering herself up to be groped and fondled in an attempt for them to be willing to pay five thousand dollars to invest in her DSA career.

"Ah, and here comes your first victim," Mr. DeWight said to her softly as she saw a fat elderly gentleman approach them.

"Charles, what a wonderful party you are throwing," the man said in a thick Russian-like accent. With his pronunciation it sounded like he had said 'vat a vunderfal party you're threwing' as Jen smiled back at the man, who was looking at her the entire time as if she were a prized steak on sale, even though he was talking to Mr. DeWight.

"And such a lovely reason for party," he said to Jen, looking openly at her breasts, barely concealed by the black lace of her top, as she forced a smile back at him. "My dear, your routine was exquisite, and a masterful acrobatic feat. It was truly inspiring how easy you made each move be," he told her as she attempted to understand his words through the thick dialect.

"Allow me to introduce Diamond," Mr. DeWight said with a big smile. "Diamond, I would like you to meet Sergey Pokrovski. Sergey sometimes helps me with oversea shipments," he told her.

"It's a pleasure," Diamond said as the large man took her hand and kissed the top of it.

"Ze pleasure iz all mine," the large man said, his eyes once again traveling straight to her breasts.

Any other time and Jen would have been disgusted from the blatant gawking upon her body; however, now, in this alternate reality where sex and perversion were an everyday occurrence, Jen was horrified to feel her body react in another way, a warmth enveloping her lower stomach as her nipples became engorged with the rush of blood from her increased pulse.

"Diamond, if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll get us refills on our drinks," Mr. DeWight said as she looked surprisingly at her empty and forgotten champagne glass. "Sergey, would you mind keeping Diamond company for a bit," Mr. DeWight asked, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Jen realized he was purposely leaving her alone to see if she would 'schmooze' the man out of his money.

Mr. DeWight excused himself, leaving Jen and the fat man alone.

She felt awkward, uncertain as to how she was supposed to literally seduce the man. She was completely out of her element. In a strip club the girls would simply walk up to a guy sitting at a booth, sit on their lap, and introduce themselves. It was readily apparently in the first five minutes whether the man would be willing to part with his money for a lap dance—if not, the girls moved on to the next patron.

Here in a party setting with a crowd of people looking on, she did not know what to do, feeling like it was her first night at a club.

The large man solved the problem by immediately moving up to her, his arm wrapping around her. Her eyes widened at the feel of his warm hand against her bare body, realizing he had not merely put his arm around her, but had slid it beneath the skirt of her top. Her surprise was even greater when he slid his bare palm down her skin and rested it upon the cheek of her ass, his large palm practically engulfing her buttocks.

She became flooded with feelings of disgust—disgust at such an overweight man touching her, and disgust at her arousal for being touched, her previous lust coming to the forefront.

"So tell me dear," Sergey said as his hand slowly massaged her ass, "why should I play Charles' game and invest money in you? What makes you worth several hundred thousand dollars?" he asked.

"Several hundred thousand?" Jen said in surprise, her attention pulled away from the man's hand upon her ass to his face, her disbelief evident.

Sergey laughed. "What a delight, you are truly new to this business, no?" he asked as she nodded. There was no sense hiding her naiveté as the man again laughed. "Charles did not tell you he is looking for over a million dollars in investments for you," the man stated matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about the weather and not such a large sum of money. "For that kind of money, you are either very good, or Charles is trying to scam everybody, which is it?" he asked.

Jen gasped as the man squeezed her butt cheek, his hands moving across her nonchalantly as if he did this to women all the time, his blatant and opened touch putting her mind off balance.

"I have been told I'm very, very good," she said truthfully, although she knew it was not the context he was asking. "You've seen my dance routines," she said, as if in explanation.

"Ya, ya, you move well enough, but dancing iz much different than fucking, no?" he asked.

Suddenly Jen gasped as the man's hand slid between the back of her legs, cupping her crotch as he said, "Tell me the truth, how many cocks have been in this pussy this week alone. Any? One?" he said lecherously as Jen squirmed beneath his touch.

She saw no reason to lie, so looked at the man and said quietly to her shame, "Seven."

She counted Sean twice, as they were two different circumstances, but to admit how many men she had fucked this week alone caused her body to redden in embarrassment.

Sergey looked at her in surprise, and then burst out laughing. "Ohooiet'!" he exclaimed. "You definitely look more naïve than that," he laughed, "I would never have picked you for such a shliushka," he laughed.

Jen did not know what he meant, several of his words spoken in Russian, but the meaning was all too clear.

Once again she gasped as the man's finger pressed firmly against her slit, wedging her thong deeper between the folds of her body.

To her shame, she felt her body respond, her earlier arousal already priming her core as the fat Russian man laughed again, "And my, you are ready to go already, no?" he said.

Jen's entire body blushed in humiliation at the Russian's words, feeling the wetness of her slit even now as it absorbed into the material of her thong.

At that point Mr. DeWight came back, carrying two glasses of champagne with a big smile on his face.

"So are you two getting acquainted?" he asked, seeing Sergey's hand behind Jen and at least upon her ass, if not guessing the exact location of the man's hand.

"Cut the bullshit, Charles," the fat man said suddenly, pulling his hand away from Jen.

To her horror he raised his hand to his face and took a deep breath, smelling his fingers.

She saw Mr. DeWight smile like a kid on Christmas as he looked at her.

"You have my interest," Sergey told her boss. "She is quite a catch, no?" he said as her boss nodded. "I will cut you a check later, but count me in as an interested party," the man said.

Without another word the fat Russian turned and walked away.

"Excellent my dear," Mr. DeWight said in a congratulatory tone, obviously pleased with her. "One down, and about another twenty to go," he said.

Seeing Jen's expression of surprise he told her, "My dear, I am looking to franchise your sexy body for a couple of mil, but for that kind of money you either need to be the best fuck in the world or we need a lot of people donating," he told her laughing. Grinning at her knowingly he said, "Now granted you are one hell of a fuck, but unless you tell me you're willing to give it out free tonight, we need the numbers...quantity over quality," he laughed as if his statement was funny.

Jen once again realized this was a whole new level of teasing patrons out of their tips. She was not merely offering a lap dance, she was attempting to seduce people to invest in her career as a porn star actress. She had never thought about the cost of photographers, scenery, outfits, and even travel until now, and adding them all together she was amazed Mr. DeWight was looking at investing so much money—millions of dollars—into her role as DSA Spokesmodel.