The Velvet Hire

I lean back in the creaky leather chair behind my desk, the air thick with the scent of polished mahogany and lingering perfume from the parade of hopefuls who've filed through my office all afternoon. The Entitled Miss isn't your average strip joint—I've turned it into a haven for the discerning man, a place where fantasies unfold like a well-scripted play, all velvet ropes and crystal glasses. But today, it's chaos disguised as auditions. I've got a featured pole show coming up, the kind that demands a lead dancer who can command the stage and keep the other girls in line. No amateurs; I need someone with fire in her hips and steel in her spine.

The door swings open, and in walks Lena, a petite brunette with legs that go on forever. She's got that eager smile, the one that says she's done this before but not here. "Mr. Fyodor, I'm here for the audition," she purrs, already peeling off her jacket to reveal a lacy top that hugs her curves like a second skin. I nod, gesturing to the makeshift stage I've set up in the corner of the office—a polished pole gleaming under the spotlights I've rigged from the ceiling. She's good, twisting around it with a fluid grace, her skirt hiking up to flash black thong panties that leave little to the imagination. But there's no edge, no dominance. She drops to her knees at the end, crawling toward me with a wink, but it's all show—no spark. "Hire me?" she asks breathlessly, her chest heaving. I shake my head. "Not quite, sweetheart. Next."

By the time the fifth girl leaves— a fiery redhead named Carla who nails the pole but flirts like she's reading from a script—I'm rubbing my temples. Two hired so far: a blonde bombshell for the chorus line and a sultry Latina who can shake her ass like it's got its own heartbeat. The rejects pile up, their disappointed sighs echoing as they slip back into coats and heels. I'm about to call it a day when the door bursts open again, and fuck, the room shifts. You stride in, Victoria, like you own the damn place. Your hair cascades in dark waves down your back, framing a face that's all sharp cheekbones and full lips painted crimson. That dress—tight red silk clinging to every inch of your hourglass figure—it's criminal, the way it dips low between your breasts, hinting at the swell of flesh beneath. Heads turn in the hallway outside; I can hear the whispers from the bouncers and the lingering auditionees.

You pause in the doorway, letting your eyes lock onto mine, a slow smile curling your lips. "Fyodor, right? I've heard about your little empire. Mind if I show you what a real show looks like?" Your voice is velvet over gravel, laced with suggestion, and you don't wait for an invitation. You saunter over, hips swaying like a pendulum designed to hypnotize. I feel a stir in my pants already, that low heat building as you perch on the edge of my desk, crossing your legs so the hem of your dress rides up, revealing smooth, tanned thigh. "I'm Victoria," you say, extending a hand, but instead of shaking it, you trail your fingers along my knuckles, lingering just long enough to make my pulse jump. "And I'm exactly what you've been missing."

I clear my throat, trying to keep my cool, but damn, you're a force. "Audition starts on the pole, Victoria. Show me what you can do." You laugh, a throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine, and slide off the desk. Your heels click against the floor as you approach the pole, but you don't rush it. Instead, you circle it slowly, trailing a manicured nail along the metal, your eyes never leaving mine. "Oh, I can dance, Fyodor. But I like to make it personal." With a flick of your wrist, you unzip your dress, letting it pool at your feet. Underneath, you're a vision—black lace bra barely containing your full breasts, matching garters framing a thong that disappears between the perfect globes of your ass. The air charges with tension as you grip the pole, arching your back and spinning into a climb that's pure poetry in motion.

Your body moves like liquid fire, thighs wrapping around the steel, inverting with a grace that makes my mouth go dry. You slide down, legs splitting wide, your pussy outlined through the thin fabric, teasing without mercy. The other girls in the waiting area are peeking through the cracked door, murmuring, but you don't care. This is your stage. You drop into a split, then crawl forward on all fours, breasts swaying, until you're inches from my chair. "Like what you see?" you whisper, your breath hot against my knee as you rise, pressing your body against mine for a heartbeat—soft curves molding to my frame—before pulling back with a wink. My cock twitches, straining against my slacks. You're not just dancing; you're seducing, owning every inch of the room.

I stand, adjusting myself discreetly, and circle you as you return to the pole for another routine. "You're experienced," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "But can you lead? The girls here need someone to whip them into shape." You spin, locking your legs around the pole and leaning back, your nipples hard peaks against the lace. "Lead? Honey, I'll have them begging for more. But you... you look like you could use a private demonstration." Your words hang in the air, flirtatious and bold, and I can't help the grin that tugs at my lips. Memories flicker—women on ships bringing bad luck, or so I used to believe back in my rougher days—but here, in this club I've built from nothing, you're the storm I want to ride.

The audition stretches, you demanding my full attention with every twist and grind. Sweat glistens on your skin, making it glow under the lights, and when you finally step down, you're flushed, chest rising and falling. "So, boss man," you say, sauntering close enough that I can smell your perfume—jasmine and sin. "Hire me, and maybe I'll show you what else I can do after hours." Your hand brushes my chest, fingers dancing over my shirt buttons, and I catch your wrist, pulling you nearer. "You're hired, Victoria. Lead dancer, featured show. But don't think that's all I want from you."

The office door clicks shut behind the last straggler, and suddenly it's just us. The tension that's been building snaps like a taut wire. I back you against the desk, my hands on your hips, feeling the heat of your skin through the lace. "You've been teasing me since you walked in," I murmur, my lips brushing your ear. You tilt your head, exposing the curve of your neck, and I nip at it gently, eliciting a soft moan. "Good," you reply, your voice husky. "Because I came here for a job... and maybe something more. A man who builds a place like this? He knows how to handle a woman like me."

Our mouths crash together, your lips soft and demanding, tongue slipping past my teeth to tangle with mine. You taste like cherries and desire, and I groan into the kiss, my hands roaming up your sides to cup your breasts. The lace is rough under my palms, but your nipples pebble instantly, begging for attention. I thumb them through the fabric, pinching lightly, and you arch against me, grinding your hips into my growing erection. "Fuck, Fyodor," you gasp, breaking the kiss to nip at my jaw. "You're already hard for me. Let's see how big that dick really is."

You drop to your knees before I can respond, your fingers deftly unbuckling my belt, tugging my pants down. My cock springs free, thick and throbbing, the head already slick with pre-cum. Your eyes widen appreciatively, and you lick your lips. "Mmm, impressive." Without hesitation, you lean in, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting me like I'm the sweetest treat. I thread my fingers through your hair, guiding you as you take me deeper, your mouth hot and wet, sucking with a rhythm that matches the sway of your earlier dance. "That's it, Victoria," I growl, my hips bucking slightly. "Suck my cock like you mean it."

You hum around me, the vibration shooting straight to my balls, and take me to the back of your throat, gagging just a little but not stopping. Saliva drips down your chin, mixing with the mess you're making, and the sight of you—kneeling in your lingerie, devoted to my pleasure—has me fighting not to come too soon. But you're relentless, one hand stroking the base while the other cups my sack, rolling my balls gently. I pull you off with a pop, hauling you up for another bruising kiss, tasting myself on your tongue. "Not yet," I say, spinning you around to bend you over the desk. Your ass juts out invitingly, the thong a flimsy barrier. I hook my fingers in it and yank it down, exposing your glistening pussy, lips swollen and ready.

"Spread for me," I command, and you do, parting your thighs to reveal the pink folds dripping with arousal. I kneel behind you, burying my face between your legs, tongue lapping at your clit in long, slow strokes. You cry out, pushing back against my mouth, your juices coating my chin. "Oh god, yes—eat my pussy, Fyodor. Just like that." I oblige, sucking your clit between my lips, then sliding my tongue inside you, fucking you with it while my fingers tease your entrance. You're so wet, so responsive, bucking against me as I add a finger, then two, curling them to hit that spot that makes you shudder. "Fuck, you're tight," I mutter against your skin, nipping at your inner thigh.

But I want more. Standing, I position my cock at your entrance, rubbing the head along your slit to coat myself in your slickness. "You want this?" I tease, and you glance over your shoulder, eyes dark with lust. "Fuck me, boss. Make me yours." I thrust in, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion, your pussy clenching around me like a vice. We both moan, the sensation overwhelming—hot, wet velvet gripping my dick. I start slow, savoring the drag, but you push back, demanding more. "Harder," you beg, and I oblige, slamming into you, the desk creaking under our weight.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, spilling from the bra, and I reach around to pinch a nipple, rolling it between my fingers. "You like that, Victoria? Being fucked like the star you are?" She gasps, "Yes—oh fuck, your cock feels so good stretching me." I pick up the pace, one hand on your hip, the other sliding down to rub your clit in tight circles. You're close; I can feel it in the way your walls flutter, your breaths coming in ragged pants. "Come for me," I order, and you do, shattering with a scream, your pussy milking me as you squirt a little, soaking my thighs. The sight pushes me over, and I pull out just in time, stroking myself to spill hot ropes of cum across your ass, marking you.

We collapse together, panting, but you're not done. You turn, pulling me into a deep kiss, your hand wandering down to stroke my softening cock back to life. "That was just the audition afterparty," you murmur, nipping my lip. "Now, about leading those girls... and you." I chuckle, flipping you onto your back on the desk, spreading your legs wide. Round two begins with my mouth on your breasts, sucking until you're writhing again, and soon I'm sliding back inside you, this time face-to-face, our eyes locked as I grind deep.

Hours blur— we explore every inch. I eat you out until you're begging, then you ride me on the office couch, your tits in my face as you bounce, pussy swallowing my cock whole. We switch to anal when you whisper your craving, me lubing up with spit and your own wetness, easing into your tight ass inch by inch. "Fuck, you're so full," you moan, fingering your clit as I pound you from behind, the forbidden tightness driving us both wild. Orgasms crash over us—yours squirting again, mine creaming deep inside your tight ass in a messy, satisfying finish.

As dawn filters through the blinds, we lie tangled, your head on my chest. The club below hums faintly with early prep, but here, it's just us. "You know," I say, tracing patterns on your skin, "I used to think women like you were trouble. But fuck that—you're the best damn thing to walk through my door." You smile, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. "And you're not so bad yourself, Fyodor. Job's mine... heart's optional, but let's see where this dances." We laugh, the sound light and promising, as the sun rises on whatever wild future we've just ignited.