Joanne was a willowy vixen, willing and welcoming as she writhes and gyrates on the pole at the Hot Lips Club in Purplemere.
Erotically cavorting like a slutty gracile courtesan suppliantly performing for the clientele of dirty old men and drunken letches.
She debases herself in seedy surroundings for the meagre rewards, selling herself cheaply to wealthy businessmen and the sad and the lonely and in her nakedness she begs for more paper currency which they tuck in her panties.
She calls herself an exotic dancer but in reality she’s no better than the geisha who satisfies a Mikado’s wants and needs.
As Derek watched her he craved that she would dance a dance for him, the one of ancient rhythm, primordial with hips grinding and gyrating to a sensual beat, wriggling and writhing, dancing like a beast, feeling the animal rhythm and singing for him that song, the one of ancient and universal language, guttural and savage
utterances of a beast.
And when Joanne had danced that dance for him in perfect rhythm and he craved her sing to him her orgasmic song.
But he knew it would never happen she would just keep selling herself to the punters and never give herself to him.
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