Lapdancing Girlfriend Ch. 05

Jen could only stand there as the men took picture after picture of her breasts, not needing to look down to know her nipples were rock hard and projecting proudly through the dress.

As if nothing unusual had happened Mr. DeWight said, "Alright, last question," as Jen focused on the final reporter she had not answered, while her breasts strained tight against her skin.

The man looked at her without hesitation and asked, "So do you actually swallow or is it just theatrics and fake cum you put in your mouth?"

Jen's eyes widened as she stared at the man in shock, unprepared for such a vulgar question.

Mr. DeWight burst out laughing next to her as he answered, "Not only does she swallow, but she is the best oral sex artist DSA has ever had," he announced to them as Jen cringed in shame and embarrassment. Then her head came up in shock as Mr. DeWight continued, "In fact, if we weren't in such a public place, I would have her prove it to you," he laughed as he turned and saw Jen's shocked expression.

The reporter chuckled, asking if he could get a rain check to everybody's laughter as Jen once again felt her face turn fifty shades of red.

Finally Mr. DeWight guided her around, telling the reporters over his shoulder that would be it for the day and to contact the main office for Diamond's fact sheet.

They made their way outside as Mr. DeWight guided her to another stretch white limousine, opening the door for her and then sliding in next to her as he instructed the driver to head to the office.

"You did marvelous my dear," Mr. DeWight told her, placing his hand on her thigh. "I do apologize for that, I did not think they would be swarming until the official announcement Friday," he told her. "But obviously, reporters are reporters," he grinned, his hand squeezing her leg.

Jen ignored his hand—the man had done more to her already—as she asked if it was always like that, surprised when Mr. DeWight told her that group had actually been mild, smiling at Jen's shocked expression.

"Once your full schedule is announced and they learn your patterns, there will be at least twice as many following you at each engagement. That's why I wanted you to wear something appropriate for a DSA girl," he explained, his hand nonchalantly reaching up and stroking the side of her breast with the back of his hand before placing it back on her thigh.

His hand slid back and forth across her skin as he continued. "One of the meetings you will be attending this week is how to handle such things," he told her. "The basic gist is you string them out, answering questions politely until you are ready to end it. Then you dangle out a nice carrot—like letting Bert feel your tits," he laughed at her stunned expression. "It was harmless," he shrugged, "and will be something not only he but the others will remember, causing you to stick out in their minds—and that is good advertising. It gives them more to think about, not barraging you with questions later on in the hopes of getting similar treatment," he said, still smiling at her while his hand continued stroking her thigh.

Jen realized his hand had reaching the short hemline of her skirt, but was again distracted as Mr. DeWight continued talking.

"As I told you," he explained to her, "you are not only a DSA model, but the lead spokesmodel for the entire company. You are the physical manifestation of the company, our avatar so-to-speak. You will be expected to live and breathe raw sex and sensuality whenever you are in public, dressed to the nines so every person you meet wants you. When the opportunity arises, you will flirt, fondle, and do what it takes to show you are a true representative of the company," he said, his fingers moving her hem higher as the continued to stroke her thigh.

"You mean be a slut," Jen said in exasperation.

Suddenly Mr. DeWight's hand slid between her legs, his had cupping her naked crotch as his middle finger stroked her slit, still wet from Tim's use of her.

Jen gasped as Mr. DeWight said, "That is what it takes to be a DSA Spokesmodel," he told her as his finger slowly parted the folds of her vaginal lips, spreading her desire across her soft skin reminiscent of her pat-down at the airport with the black TSA agent.

Yet again Jen was caught in a moment of being both embarrassed and aroused. Hearing Mr. DeWight chuckle at her reaction she realized in horror he was probably thinking the amount of her wetness was due to her arousal, not Tim's previous use of her!

Jen let out a moan as his finger slid into the folds of her slit, her legs involuntarily spreading apart as her hips tilted up.

Meanwhile her attention was drawn to Mr. DeWight's face as he continued talking like nothing unusual was going on—or that his finger was sliding in and out of her pussy. "A DSA girl is more than a slut Diamond; she is every man and woman's fantasy. You are not just a wet dream, you are more. You are not only the promise, but the fulfillment of great sex," he told her as he moved his finger in and out of her. "On film you show what you can do; on the stage you reveal how accessible you are to men, being a real, tangible seductress. The more you give them—like that reporter—the more they will be interested in following your every move, buying every movie and picture available of you on the site. You are not only sex, but money Diamond. Sex sells and you are the top dealer to every person in the world," he told her.

Jen was barely listening as Mr. DeWight's thumb began to rub her clitoris, her breath coming out in ragged breaths as she felt her hips begin to move almost imperceptibly.

Again as if he did not have his hand between her legs, masturbating her, Mr. DeWight continued. "This is how you should be acting," he told her as her mind attempted to focus on his words. With each movement of his finger her arousal increased, her body craving release from his hand. "You are sex personified and should always be ready, willing, and able," he told her as he slid a second finger inside her, moving more rapidly in and out of her.

Jen was panting now as the hand between her legs continued their invasion of her womanhood.

"Now, I want you to close your eyes and cum for me," he commanded.

Jen looked at him in surprise as he smiled. "If we had time, I would ask the same from you, but we are almost to the office and I think you need the stress relief," he chuckled. "Now, close your eyes," he ordered.

Jen could not help herself as she did what she was asked, closing her eyes and leaning back as Mr. DeWight's fingers moved faster and faster in and out of her, simultaneously rubbing her clit.

Without even thinking about it, she spread her legs wider, her skirt moving almost up to her hips as Mr. DeWight fingered her mercilessly.

So caught up in the moment and without any shame, Jen reached up and began massaging her breast through her dress while her boss masturbated her, her hips moving even faster with his motions.

Suddenly she yelled out, her mind and body exploding as she was overwhelmed with her release, her body once again betraying her as she thrashed like a wanton whore in the seat of the limo with Mr. DeWight's hand between her legs.

Jen continued to ride out her orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure spread through her body, Mr. DeWight's hand now pummeling in and out of her in a blur of speed.

She was not sure how long she rode the crests of her release, but eventually she felt Mr. DeWight pull his hand away as her orgasm finally was controlled and eased back down. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked ahead noticing the partition had been down the entire time and the limo driver watching her get off. In shame she looked at his gaze in the rear view mirror, their eyes meeting as she saw him smile.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Mr. DeWight said, "You should never have a sexual experience without at least one other person enjoying the view," he chucked next to her.

Completely abased, Jen shamefully tugged her skirt back down, thankful when the limousine stopped and Mr. DeWight announced they had arrived at the office.

All Jen wanted to do was run away and hide in a hole somewhere, wishing this awful time in her life was over; however, such was not to be as Mr. DeWight exited the limo, reaching out his hand to help her out of the limo.

Exiting the car she stumbled, her legs wobbly from her recent orgasm, blushing as Mr. DeWight looked knowingly at her as he caught her arm.

"Come my queen, our empire awaits," he told her, escorting her through a large courtyard containing a marbled fountain with the words 'Divine Silk Attractions, Inc.' carved into the marble in gold lettering.

Several people greeted Mr. DeWight by name as they made their way through the courtyard, the men giving Jen an appraising look.

Although uncomfortable by their attention, the walk gave her time to compose her thoughts, still scrambled from all that had occurred today. Foremost in her mind was how she could have let these things happen to her—mentally repulsed at all that had transpired, while her body unarguably yearned for more. It was as if she were being controlled by two different people, her brain the rational one who knew society frowned upon such promiscuity and indecency in a woman; while her body willing and openly desired such lewdness and sluttiness.

Lately it felt like her body was constantly aroused. Even frightened by Tim in the airplane restroom her body had become aroused and willing.

Each step she took she was able to walk better, her body recuperating from her most recent orgasm, although her mind was still in a state of disarray. She was somewhat thankful Mr. DeWight kept his arm around her, his palm warm against her bare waist as he guided her towards the large mirrored glass doors of the building while her mind continued to be flooded by thoughts.

Jen felt like she was in a dream, her feelings in a haze as the events of the morning flooded her head: being felt up by the TSA agents; Tim fucking her on the plane; the reporter fondling her; and then Mr. DeWight openly masturbating her in front of the limo driver on their way here. The images flashed in her mind like a jumbled perverted slideshow as she wondered in what alternative universe she had been thrown into, where men could do such things to a woman as if they were every day occurrences.

Sure she had seen the bad side of men—nobody could work at a strip club for even one night and not know what the leers and open suggestions of the crowd meant. These were men who many had pledged their lives to be with a single woman, the rings on their finger openly visible, yet they still propositioned the girls at the club. She often joked with the other girls on how men were scum, and it was nothing new, as even in her History classes at school she had read about men succumbing to nothing but a pretty face and body.

But such things were far and few in-between, as normal people did not behave in such fashion. Yet now it was as if all her ethics and morals were in reverse, her body no longer her own as she was shamelessly displayed, used sexually, and manipulated to satisfy all those lustful urges.

She could not decide which was worse—the men having the temerity to treat and do such things to her or her allowing them to happen. Unbidden came the thoughts of her body's unabashed reaction, wondering for the umpteenth time what the hell was she doing and how things had progressed to this point.

Some of the blame was not hers, and she accepted that fact. These men—particularly the FBI agents who had been intimate with her—knew of her engagement, knew she was already spoken for, and knew although she was a stripper, did not behave in such fashion. Even Mr. DeWight knew she was engaged, although not to whom. These men should have had the decency to not have done what they did—but then again they were men, and was beginning to understand all of them were pigs, so she took the blame, wondering how she could have allowed these things to befall her.

Jen had always been sexual, but had held those feelings in check for many years. Other than stripping at the club to satisfy her innate exhibitionism—an environment where it was considered 'normal'—she had never allowed herself to become this overtly sexual.

She once again recalled the time when Dan had been at college and she had succumbed to an impromptu threesome. She remembered how free she had felt, allowing her body and mind to drop all morals and relish in the moment. Her therapist had stated it was not normal, merely her mind's chemical imbalance trying to find a release, and since her therapy had pushed such thoughts from her mind, always staying true to Dan.

Now she was thrown into a world of sex, drugs, and organized crime. A world where men treated women as property, who thought so little of sex and their use of women came as natural as breathing. And her body responded to such treatment, and for the first time since that long ago night, she was feeling free about her sexuality, while her mind continued to rebel against her actions.

As abhorrent and twisted as Mr. DeWight, Tim, and even the FBI agents' treatment and use of her was, Jen could not dispute her body had responded as they wished, almost flourishing on their sex with her. She had no explanation for her body's promiscuity, knowing a multiple of factors were involved—whether it was drugs and alcohol, a relapse of her bi-polar disorder, her exhibitionistic tendencies manifesting in some bizarre fashion, or something completely different, her body's reaction was almost uncontrollable, obliterating her long-held morals and better judgment.

She was in a moral dilemma in which she could not find a solution.

And here she was with the epitome of female debasement, his arm wrapped around her like an accessory, a man who had no qualms displaying her body or using it for his own desires and furthering his business, a business built upon female exploitation.

Her thoughts turned to the sick and twisted reality of her contract and involvement with the FBI, where ironically the more she gave in to this perverse world of adult entertainment the better her chances were of getting out—a depraved Catch-22. Oppose her contract and she would be morally pure, but bankrupt or worse as Mr. DeWight's history proved he did not take the answer of no very lightly. On the other hand, if she gave in and allowed her body to be debased, becoming a sexual victim, she had a chance out—if she could find enough evidence for the FBI—but at the cost of her own respect and decency.

While these and other thoughts whirl-winded around in her head she once again weighed the costs and possibility of losing Dan. He was the anchor preventing her mind from blowing away. His hatred of Mr. DeWight overshadowed everything, and if she could help him find some peace against his rival it was worth it, even if it meant losing him. In her mind his retribution and ability to put down his rival preceded even her own happiness.

She was so lost in her thoughts she did not noticed Mr. DeWight opening the heavy glass doors of the building and guiding her inside. It was not until the coolness of the air conditioned lobby enveloped her body that her attention was brought back to the here and now.

And if the cold air rapidly chilling her bare skin had not brought her back, the round of applause suddenly erupting throughout the foyer as they stepped inside chased all other thoughts from her head.

Jen looked around in surprise seeing a large crowd of people surrounding them and applauding as they smiled—not at Mr. DeWight, but at her!

They were standing in a large marbled welcoming area with huge—at least thirty feet long—banners hanging around the walls. Jen stared in surprise seeing the banners containing pictures of her in various positions wrapped around a pole. At the top of all the banners was her stripper name, 'Diamond' in large gold letters with the company's name in silver at the bottom, and in between those, twenty-foot images of her on the pole! Jen counted at least a dozen different pictures and banners throughout the large opened area.

The images had obviously been taken without her knowledge, and seeing herself in so many different outfits she realized they spanned at least several months of her working at the club. She noticed the background of each banner also complimented the outfit she was wearing in each picture—or in the case of two banners, not wearing.

The two nude banners were tastefully done, taken at an angle to be 'legal' and even though topless, her arms were placed over her breasts in the teasing manner she usually danced.

Taking in the shock of her own portrait banners surrounding the entire lobby, she looked around at the rest of the room observing it to be at least three stories tall, lined by both glass and marble—the only adornments being the banners of her.

The removal of Mr. DeWight's hand from around her waist brought her attention back to their immediate surroundings as he made an exaggerated bow to her, speaking loudly to in the main area.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of DSA, may I present Diamond, our new Divine Silk Attractions Spokesmodel," he announced, joining in the chorus of applause erupting throughout the lobby.

Jen could only stand in wonder and embarrassment, clad in her small white outfit and on display before the crowd of DSA employees. After her previous morbid thoughts she wondered how people could be HAPPY she was there, willing to degrade her body for profit. How could they show such elated emotions towards Mr. DeWight—a murdering, corrupt, crime-lord—as if he were as pure as the pope!

Jen realized there were two sides to the company. To the many employees such as those before her DSA was a legitimate adult entertainment business, legally employing entertainers for strip clubs and multimedia. These people were probably unaware of the seedier aspects of the business, the things she had learned about DSA and Mr. DeWight from Dan's report and the FBI. They did not know what happened behind closed doors; which made sense, she reasoned, not everybody could be as corrupted as Mr. DeWight.

Already biased on the more corrupt side of the company, it was mind boggling for her to see how well-liked Mr. DeWight was, as well as everybody's happy welcome of her.

Jen did not lose her desire to put Mr. DeWight behind bars and get out of her contract, but she began to realize there were innocent people whose jobs would be impacted by her actions. Many of these people were here of their own willingness—even many of the models—and this was their livelihood.

It was a sobering thought. Not enough to sway her resolve in helping the FBI; however, she appreciated the need to make sure any evidence she found would make only the guilty pay. Previously she was ready to sink the entire company, but now that single-minded goal had changed, hoping to limit the collateral damage caused to the legitimate part of the company.

She began to understand why the FBI had taken so long to take Mr. DeWight down, as they obviously did not want to harm any other people.

After the applause died down Mr. DeWight guided her through the lobby—her spiked heels clinking loud and echoing throughout the busy foyer, while people greeted her, welcoming Diamond to DSA.

Jen was both embarrassed and thrilled at the attention, her mind again at odds with how her body reacted to the scrutiny of everybody around her, her pulse speeding up in response to the more blatant leers she received from many of the men.

Suddenly Jen blushed as comprehension flooded her mind. She realized these men were not looking at her as a man would look at an attractive woman on the street, possibly wondering what her personality was like or whether she would go out with them. Nor was it the looks she received dancing, selling the fantasy of a sexy and beautiful woman teasing a man for the evening. From their leers it was apparent many of these men HAD seen her naked—probably from the videos Agent Geiger had shown her—and they obviously wanted to see more. Seeing her in person, their thoughts were comparing what they had seen on their computers to the woman standing before them. These men were not imagining her as a perspective date or even an evening fantasy, but instead openly wanting to have sex with her, picturing her in the videos and thinking of her sucking and fucking them. These were the looks of men with full knowledge of her being a porn actress, not concerned with her saying no, in fact, she was being paid to say yes. The looks upon her breasts, her legs, as well as her ass and hips were of those not imagining what she would look like in a dress or doing things a normal, respectable woman such as their girlfriends or wives would do but of her performing sexual acts so dark and secret they would not even confess them to their significant others.