His Sister in His Lap

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Ass

1. In the Club

John Amberley was not enjoying the strip club very much. This wasn’t because he wasn’t interested in women generally, nor because the women on display weren’t stunningly attractive. In normal circumstances, on his own or with a couple of mates, he’d have been in his element. As it was, he was getting his first taste of extreme ‘corporate hospitality.’ He was out with his boss and his boss’ boss, and several high-profile Japanese clients, who may or may not be signing a multi-million deal with his company later that week. Whether they did so would, of course, not be solely dependent on the quality of the tits and/or ass offered to them this evening, but the bosses had made it clear that he wasn’t to make an ass of himself or do anything to risk the deal going tits up. He was simultaneously supposed to be showing the clients a good time and being on his best behaviour. The pressure made it difficult to actually give the girls the attention they deserved.

The brunette who’d been dancing finished her routine and left the stage. The crowd was asked to kindly please welcome Monique, which they duly did. Monique turned out to be a short, but curvy, black lady who could best be described as high-quality thicc: big top, big bottom, no gravity. She started her performance to ‘Satisfaction’ by the Rolling Stones. About a minute into the act, John stuffed a ten pound note into her garter, more from duty than appreciation. His immediate boss, Mr Roberts, had handed him a fistful of notes at the beginning of the evening and told him to dole them out as and when. This was a classy joint and fives would be frowned upon apparently. His contribution got him extra eye contact and, when she pulled her panties off, it was directly in front of him. Her pink hole contrasted with her black skin and she licked her lips seductively as she spread for him.

It has been an important and surprising couple of weeks for his career, he reflected, his mind not really on the show. Firstly, he’d take his first business trip abroad. His company was demoing a new model of drone to a potential partner in Japan and, as well as all the marketing and financial people, they’d also needed someone who was familiar with the software and firmware, which wasn’t a hundred percent stable yet and could be a liability if it broke down during the showcase. The obvious choice had been the senior lead developer on the team, right up to the moment when he broke his arm on a charity parachute jump one week before the trip. His bad fortune had become John’s good fortune as, at the age of 25, he got to see Tokyo for the first time which had long been a dream of his.

The demo had gone well and John’s particularly talents hadn’t really been called on to any appreciable degree, but he’d help out on the specially made outside stage by showing some of the audience how to fly the drone. The client seemed pleased. The partnering company had looked after them as well, taken them to the best sushi restaurants, let them watch traditional Noh theatre and they even spent an evening at a Japanese hot-spring, or onsen.

Monique finished her routine and it was time to welcome Nikita, a six-foot blonde who came out rocking a Russian army cap and green lingerie that had somehow been designed to give a military impression. Her number was a remix of ‘Seven Nation Army’ and she attacked the pole with an aggression and agility that marked her as significantly more talented than any of the girls so far. John liked her well enough, she was probably the most attractive girl so far, but within the first few seconds two different customers tipped her, so he didn’t bother. She wouldn’t be able to divide her attention between the three of them, so it would be money wasted. Mr Tanaka showed no such restraint, tipping her right at the end of the routine. Foolishness, in John’s eyes, who had only ever attended a strip club as a student or as a student-loan encumbered graduate and was therefore careful with what every note might get him. It was different if you were a CEO he guessed, you saw money differently — a reward rather than an incentive maybe.

The onsen particularly had been a unique experience. John had read that mixed-gender bathing was increasingly rare in Japan especially around Tokyo, so he’d been very surprised when he came out, full naked and found they would be sharing a tub with a lot of very attractive and playful Japanese ladies. He’d been advised, when in a different culture, to follow the lead of your hosts, but the older Japanese businessmen had been lecherous, grabby and noticeably erect throughout the evening. Despite his best efforts, by the end of the evening, he only managed to avoid one of these three sins. However, when some of the more cosmopolitan ladies saw how big his sin was, they immediately committed the other two sins themselves, so perhaps he’d been unduly restrained. It was hard not to notice the gap in the ages of the (business) men and (college) girls. His hosts had sent him off to bed early in the evening and bahis şirketleri he was pretty sure at the time that the higher-ups were going off to their own evening party later. All the nudging and winking that had been going on between them on the way to the airport had pretty much confirmed it for him. On the plane, just like in at the spa, they flew first class while he flew economy.

His hosts hadn’t been completely remiss with him. Just as he’d been settling down to sleep on the futon, there had been a knock on the door. The lady, who had been dressed Geisha-style offered him a traditional Japanese massage. This had started as an interesting cultural experience and ended a religious one, in which all his sins were absolved. All things considered, it had been a great trip.

Nikita finished her dance and left the stage. It was Davina’s turn on the stage. She danced to ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ by Bonnie Tyler. It wasn’t that she was unattractive, she had nice firm tits and a reasonably good figure, but nothing about her or her performance seemed to impress the crowd and she got no tips. Even Mr Tanaka kept his wallet in his pocket for once. He’d seen girls get cross about this at other clubs and curse the crowd; she remained professional but she was clearly unhappy and there was a certain amount of tension in the room. John had been lost in his own thoughts recalling his Japanese trip and hadn’t really noticed her lack of success until near the end, by which time it was too late.

It was quite surprising that he’d been invited along to the strip club tonight, he thought as Davina twirled and hung from the pole. It was a Saturday and they’d flown back to Heathrow earlier in the afternoon and, apparently, were going to cure their jet-lag by partying to exhaustion. He’d been expecting to crash at his sister’s and then head back home on the train in the morning. His sister, Karen, had moved to London from the north a couple of years ago to pursue an acting career and he didn’t see much of her. It’d be good to catch up. She was working this evening, some kind of rehersal, but that wouldn’t have mattered as he was in dire need of sleep anyway. Instead, he’d only been told when they got off the plane that he was expected to come along for the evening’s entertainment. It was, he supposed, a good sign for his career and he fortified himself with several strong coffees before donning his best suit.

He was no stranger to Soho. He frequently visited the area to look for old records, a hobby of his, combining it to a trip to one of the restaurants of Chinatown just over the main road. He’d attended a coming-out party for his friends on Old Compton Street, the famous LGBT area. He’d even, out of curiosity ventured into one of the infamous walk-ups that littered the area, those open doors with signs that simply said things like ‘Model: Blonde’ and then an arrow pointing up the stairs. He also knew about the strip clubs. They came in a variety of flavours. There was Spearmint Rhino’s and the like which represented the commercial end of the business, then there were the smaller dangerous ones, with mysterious terms and conditions posted in places you never saw that meant you found you owed hundreds of pounds before you’d finished your first drink. He’d seen a documentary about them on Channel 4 once and steered well clear. Finally, there were a couple that offered a pretty decent experience for a flat fee at the door and some moderately overpriced beer. These were the type that his friends, who had done their research, had always taken him to before. The club he was in at the moment, however, was different from all those: classier, nearly everyone was a businessman of some kind, and, although the room was darkened so as to highlight the stage, it wasn’t nearly as dank or tawdry as his usual haunts.

The announcer now asked for a welcome for Penelope. She walked out on to the stage with an enormous blonde beehive hairdo. Unlike the other girls so far who had been wearing variation on a theme of lingerie, she had chosen sixties style all-in one dress: white with black polka dots, completely sleeveless and only a mini-skirt length at the bottom. The do and her massive heeled boots gave the impression of height, even though she was probably only a little over average. No optical illusions were needed for her breasts. They may not have been larger than Monique’s necessarily, but they were fitted around a thinner frame and thus stood out more, even before she’d started to undress. The shortness of the skirt meant that, as she strode on to the stage to “Son of a Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield, everyone could see she was wearing blue panties underneath.

She’d clearly put a lot of work into creating this ensemble. So much so that John didn’t recognize her until the third bar.

Penelope was Karen. It was his sister.

2. On Stage

John sat frozen.

As Dusty reached the word’s “to my surprise”, his sister lifted off her whole dress in one movement, tossed it in the corner and mimicked bahis firmaları a look of cheeky surprise, mouth open and both hands pressed on her cheeks. Her bra-less breasts were now on display for the whole room. It was maybe fortunate that she chose that routine that evening because it was at that very moment that she saw John. Her expression had intented to be frozen anyway, so no-one noticed her geniune shock. They were too busy admiring her tits. Only John saw the flicker as she moved from faux to genuine surprise. Instead of defrost after a beat, she kept the pose for a good ten seconds.

Just as John was worried that she was going to remain stationary for the rest of the song, or else scream and run off-stage, she started again. She fixed him with a stare and started walking towards him in a sexy, two steps forward and one step back movement. As she came in range she beckoned to him. She was requesting a tip. John held out a note but dare not put it in her garter. She took it in her teeth for a moment and then spat in on the floor to be recovered later. She got down on her knees and put a hand on either side of John’s chair. Her breasts were uncomfortably close to John’s face, but she moved her lips to side of his head.

“Don’t you dare tell mum,” she whispered in his ear. Then she mimicked licking his face, her tongue not quite touching his cheek.

She went off the other side of the stage and got some attention and tips there and then worked the pole for a while. The first song she had chosen was only a short one, so her routine was padded out with another one, “Girl, You’ll be a Woman Soon,” obviously intended to be a Pulp Fiction double-bill. As it began, her natural routine brought her back to John’s side of the stage.

A dangerous thought occurred to him. He held another ten pound note up for her to see and she shimmied back to him. This time he did put it in her garter. He felt dirty getting so closes to his sister’s private area, but it would have been weird getting her to repeat the mouth trick. This time she put one stockinged leg on his chair and he got a face full of panty before she swept her face down to meet his.

“Don’t tell my boss,” he pleaded with her. If the story got out that his sister worked at a strip-club he attended, during the negotiations for thr most important contract the company had ever signed, he would become total laughing stock, an anecdote to be told whenever two corporate-executives clinked glasses for God-knows how many years. His career would be ruined, to say nothing of what the Japanese clients might think. He had no idea how it would be viewed in their culture, but he couldn’t imagine it would be any better than how it would be viewed in his. Luckily though, it benefitted neither him nor Karen to be discovered and, as long as they kept shtumm for the remainder of the song, it would all be all over. He resolved not to even think of her as Karen; it would be easier if he thought of her as Penelope.

Penelope gave theatrical mimed laugh and pretend high-kicked him as she dismounted. He was expecting her to flounce away again. Their accord had been reached. But then John realized that their negotiations have come with a price. He had now tipped her not only first but also twice. Everyone else that had tipped had done so later and only once. According to the grand traditions of the strip-tease, she would have to bare all specifically to him. To do otherwise would be to suggest to the clientele that tipping had no benefits, that it was a mug’s game. She could not cuck her most generous benefactor so. The other girls would be pissed.

She dropped onto her back, pushed her legs up ninety degrees vertically and then pulled them apart to forty-five. The panties were specially made and instead of taking them off normally, she tugged at a fastener and they came off in one stroke. John was left staring into his younger sister’s cunt. He wanted to look away, but he was aware that audience and especially those in his work party were not only looking at her, but also looking at him looking at her. He didn’t want to show any embarrassment. He looked at her pussy, trying desperately to form no opinion nor any memory of what he was looking at. It was magnificent.

The moment seemed to go on forever, but she finally put her legs back down to the floor and rolled over onto her front. She was back on her hands and knees and started to crawl round the front of the stage, giving John a look at her bare behind. Mr Tanaka now ruffled though his wallet and pulled out a twenty to give to her. She took it with a toe and flicked to one side. She then turned her back to him, bent down and, putting both hands on the floor, started to push her feet to each side, lowering and lowering her ass till her crack was practically at his nose. Once she got off, both Nakamura and Watanabe, the other two guests, gave her tips as well. All three of them now had a great big grins on their faces.

John didn’t like this at all, but at least now the attention was off him and he could kaçak bahis siteleri look away. He thought about offering to get another round of beers which would get him out of the room for the rest of the performance, but decided it would be odd for a guy to get up before his apparent favourite girl had finished. He waited.

Finally, the routine was over and she left the stage gathering up the money. He hadn’t been counting closely, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d earned the most of any of the girls tonight. He didn’t know if he should be proud of that.

The next girl came on, but John’s mind was elsewhere. He shouldn’t have been surprised maybe. Karen was a struggling actress in London who barely got any roles, but she’d always seemed to have money. She hadn’t asked their parents for financial support since maybe the year after she’d graduated theatre school. She’d appeared on television, but rarely for more than one scene. Her greatest career achievement so far was asking Adam Sandler if he had a reservation in one of his less successful movies. Suddenly her finances made a lot more sense.

He suddenly remembered about the round of drinks. He’d survived the shock encounter with his sister and it was time to kiss a bit more corporate arse.

“Should I get another round of beers in, Mr Peterson?” he shouted over to his boss’ boss.

“Nah,” Mr Peterson shouted back, “We’re going to the VIP room in a moment, we’ll get more refreshments there. We’ll get some of the girls to join us. What was the name of the one just now you liked, Patricia?”

John had no choice but to smile and say, “Penelope, Mr Peterson.”

3. The VIP Room

The VIP room was small enough so that you’d never be too far away from the girl, but large enough to fit a circular mini-stage about a meter in diameter in the middle of the room. The walls and ceiling were mirrored, there was seating all the way round the sides and a couple of low tables that drinks could be put on without obscuring the view.

Its main feature was the throne. Made with over exaggerated pomp and circumstance in gold leaf and red leather, the throne was the seat for the guest of honour in any performance. It was raised a number of steps off the ground. The guest would sit relatively normally, but what was special about the chair was that it offered a number of footholds and handholds on the outside as well as a number of bars, horizontal and vertical around it. A girl would be able to put herself in almost any position she wanted either in front of, above or even below the customer.

The maître d’ showed the party in and they sat down at the side, British on one side and Japanese on the other. Mr Peterson had a brief chat with him up close that John couldn’t hear. He took their orders and assured them that the girls would be along soon.

Mr Peterson called him, Roberts and Watanabe over. “London strip clubs have a very strict no-touching rule. What that means is touching is extra and don’t tell anyone about it. Follow the girl’s lead and if anyone comes in, those hands go back in your pockets okay?”

Watanabe was the youngest of the three guests, and probably not much older than John. He had been brought along because his English was semi-decent. Most of the negotiations had been done with professional translators, who were inevitably female, but this was clearly a boy’s only night out. Watanabe returned to his side of the room and translated for his superiors, Tanaka and Nakamura. Both men were in their fifties. Tanaka had appeared serious during the business presentations, but had been grinning like a schoolboy ever since they’d come into the club. Nakamura was more…well, you probably weren’t supposed to say inscrutable anymore…stiff maybe. Once he’d finished Mr Tanaka nodded toward Mr Peterson and gave him two big thumbs up.

The drinks arrived. They were switching from beer to whiskey. John had no idea what type it was, but guessed it couldn’t be cheap. He’ never developed a taste for it, but he was in monkey see monkey do mode and wasn’t going to stick his neck out by asking for something else. They had time for one toast before the six girls came in. The first three he recognized as Monique, Nikita, Davina: the black, Russian and ignored girl respectively. The next two they hadn’t seen yet, but were introduced as Trisha and Amelia, a Scarlett Johansson look-alike and a busty red-headed Irish lass. Finally, and inevitably, Penelope came in at the back. She had changed out of the sixties dress, or rather not put it back on and she’d also lost the beehive. She was now wearing a short black skirt and matching little shirt, leaving her midriff bare. Her hair was long and straight. As she came in, Tanaka pointed at her, pointed as John and made an ‘hour-glass’ figure motion with his two hands.

The girls lined up at the front of the room. Mr Peterson went round the room introducing everyone in order of importance, Mr Tanaka first and John last. Once they’d gone round everyone, Amelia stepped forward, obviously taking on the mantle of leader of the ladies. “Okay, now we know everyone, welcome to the VIP room at the Exotica and who’s ready to party?” As one the girls raised their fists up-to the air and gave out a big whoop.

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