The Lawyer and The Stripper

01 | The Stripper

"Hey, where are you going? Are you afraid of lil' ol' me?" she pouts and bats the long extension lashes she has, her saccharine voice making me cringe. She lays belly down on the bed, knees bent with her platform heels up, and her chin perched on the heel of her palm.

I shake my head.

"Is that so?" she smirks and pushes her chest and hips off the bed in a wave-like motion until she is on all fours, back arched forward and ass up in the sky. The red and black corset struggles to contain her generous rack and my eyes center on her bouncy t**s. Her shoulder-length black hair frames her face but does nothing to conceal the moderately-sized hickey on her right cleavage. I tear my gaze quickly when she hums lowly, embarrassed that she caught me gasping.

Fucking hell, are they ever going to leave me alone? I'm not even sober yet!

"Is this your first time?" she giggles, biting her succulent lip that is painted a deep puta red, matching the shade of the shiny heels that add an extra foot to her height.

"W-what? No!" I stammer, backing myself up against the headboard, my sneakers digging into the pristine white duvet of the five-star hotel I am inconveniently stuck in. She raises an eyebrow, giving me a mocking smirk but does not say anything.

Her dark eyes lock with mine, observing, teasing, the corners crinkling with amusement. With each step, her shoulders roll forward and her hips sway seductively, like a panther leisurely stalking its prey, waiting for the right time to strike.

My breath hitches when I realize I could not push myself into the wall to hide, and she stops in front of me, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip, preparing for the kill.

The situation is nothing short of preposterous. My friends would be more than thrilled to be in my shoe, caught between the wall and the hot, sexed-up woman whose clothes hardly conceal the goods. I know my i***t brother would have pounced on this w***e right after he opens the door. She is hot as f**k, a tease, and I bet very much experienced. She's definitely the kind of stuff horny, hormonal teenage boys – and men, for that matter – dream of, me being the curious exception because I'm really not into this whole paid s*x thing. If my future girlfriend dressed like this and teased me the same way, it's another story. I would not hesitate and I'd let my d**k do the talking.

But seeing that I am trapped with this predatory woman, all I want to do is pay her to walk out of here with my dignity and virtue intact. Unfortunately, Albert has my wallet and the keys to my car, and only the devil knows where they are.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" she purrs as she slowly unbuttons my 501 jeans with deft, dainty fingers, as the shiny black nail polish hypnotizes me.

I shut my eyes, deeply regretting the decision to tag along to Anderson's stag party for the third time tonight.

First, they built up the club and the strip show, only for me to be disappointed and laughed at when the mama-san said they don't allow underage patrons to participate. Then, they locked me up in a room, got me drunk, and force out my s****l experience in front of all of them, which embarrassed me further because there was nothing to tell. And now, they take it upon themselves to rectify the situation and send me this w***e!

Being the youngest among the male cousins, I have been the subject of their constant bullying for ages, and tonight is no exception; I am only half as surprised as I should be as I find myself in another one of their cruel pranks. All I wanted was to see some t**s and maybe get a lap dance. I didn't plan on taking the girl to bed, or worse, for her to take me to bed!

Shit! s**t! s**t! I need to find a way out of this, fast!

I gasp audibly as her finger grazes my d**k as she pops the third button from the top, afraid that I might actually get a hard-on because no woman – other than my mother and my nannies when I was a baby – has touched my manhood in my seventeen years of existence. If she saw my brainless appendage hard and wanting, she might think I want this. And I don't. I really don't.

"Ate! Ate, stop! I don't want this!" I grab my jeans from her hands and desperately jump away from her, falling off the bed in the process and landing on my shoulder and head, limbs sticking up like a mangled spider. Her laughter fills the room, and I think I must have hit my head hard enough against the carpeted floor to get a severe concussion, because why else would I find her laugh warming?

I grunt and roll on my back with my legs still on the bed, dizzier than when I woke up not five minutes ago. The room is spinning, the ceiling lights are blurred, and the blood rushing to my head magnifies the vulnerability and loss of equilibrium I am feeling. Desperate for control, I focus on the pinhead blinking red light on the smoke detector, willing my vision and my mind to become clear and sharp even though at this point it was close to impossible.

"It's okay, Kuya, I can teach you. Here, let me show you," she teases as she gracefully slides off the bed, kneels a few feet away from me, and sits on her heels. Too dazed, I could only blink at her in response.

"Are you okay?" Her eyes soften and the way she looks at me changes. Gone is the flirtatious gleam, and when she c***s a concerned eyebrow, I become more confused. Her hands reach forward and I visibly stiffen, making her hesitate.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, so calm down," she coos, lifting her open hands to her sides, before cautiously touching the fabric of my jeans.

"Just let me undress you first." She bites her lip and shoots me a wicked grin.

"Jesus, woman, get off of me!" I try moving but my shoulder is awkwardly bent, my glasses askew with the temple tip poking into my left ear. The carpet rubs against my aching face, but that does not stop me from squirming away from the witch in a tantalizing get-up. Her chuckle blooms into a full-on belly laugh when I miserably flop my shaking knees on the floor, ass up in the air, twisting my neck further.

She sucks in a harsh breath as she sees my painful position, the laughter slowly dying on her lips. "Alright, I'm done playing. Let me help you."

"No, get away from me," I groan, humiliated and dizzy, and in too much pain to move.

"You're such a pitiful child," she grunts as she grabs both my ankles and tugs on them in one swift motion. My abs hit the floor and I

barely have time to react when she lifts my torso to one side, relieving the pressure on my twisted neck as it finally aligned back to my body.

"You could help by actually carrying some of your weight, you know. You're not exactly a tiny man," she grunts. With one last hard shove, she successfully rolls me far enough that I am lying on my right side, slightly tilted back with my spine touching the box spring. She pulls my leg out and bends my knee to serve as a chock. Huffing, she straightens her back, still on her knees with her thighs apart, giving me time to appreciate the garter belt ensemble and the rest of her exposed skin.

My eyes stay on her lean thighs and follow the black garter up just before it is hidden under the extremely short, frilly black and white lace skirt she is wearing over a scrap of red underwear. A dark spot in her otherwise immaculate inguinal area captures my eye, standing out like a watermelon seed on top of a sweet caramel candy.

She coughs lightly and closes her thighs, smoothing her hands on them as if helping me crumpled the black nylons on her legs. When I look at her, her eyes dart to the right and I swear she was a tinge redder, the blush more evident as she tucks her hair behind her ear and swallows.

"Well, I think my work here is done. I hope you don't mind if I wear a robe now." She claps her hand and gets up unceremoniously. My eyes are immediately drawn to her smooth round ass cheeks that are more alluring from my vantage point.

Again, I have to shut my eyes to stop staring. The heavens finally heard my pleas, but why am I even a little bit disappointed that she is leaving?

You're just hungover and horny, Aiden. Stop looking at her like she's your dream girl.

I push myself off the floor, rubbing my right shoulder and testing it, making sure I did not tear anything. The team captain and the coach don't exactly want to hear about 'stupid' personal accidents that could compromise the team. Falling off a bed to avoid a p********e would definitely fall under stupid, and I doubt they would be very forgiving. I just got on the team a few weeks ago, and I would definitely get kicked out if I lose my shooting arm from this event.

"Do you want a drink?" The barefoot woman in a plain robe and black stockings walks past me, stopping in front of the minibar. She thoughtfully taps her index finger on her chin as she scans the shelves.

Who the hell?

"Your hair," I say, pointing vaguely at the messy, wavy brown locks cascading down her back. The robe is tied tightly around her, covering almost every inch of her skin that was previously exposed, but it did not hide the curve of her hips and swell of her breasts, and the narrow waist in between.

"Yeah, that wig was giving me a headache. Do you prefer that look?" She spins around holding four mini bottles in her hands, lifting them beside her face, asking a silent question as to which I would prefer, the J&B and Bacardi Black combo, or the Bailey's and Jaigermeister.

"Not really. I'm just surprised that you look...different. Even your eyes –"

"Contacts. Fake lashes," she interrupts and extends her left hand, keeping the liqueurs for herself. Without the additives and revealing clothes, she doesn't look mildly poisonous, unlike the tigress in red. In fact, she almost looks normal. A pretty type of normal.

"Thanks, but I'm not completely sober yet, and I'm more hungry than thirsty."

"Suit yourself," she says and lays the bottles on the counter, exchanging the Jaigermeister for the Bacardi. I take a seat at the edge of the bed, watching her as she struggles to take two glasses from the top shelf and opens the bottles. She pours the drinks, dividing them between the two, arbitrarily guessing the portion sizes based on the color, before filling it with root beer and stirring each glass using the teaspoon from the coffee cup I used earlier. Her movements were precise and confident, making me wonder how often she does this.

She takes a sip and grimaces, breathing out the fumes and fanning them with her free hand.

"Too strong?" I find myself chuckling at her reaction.

"Nah, just too warm. Nothing that ice can't fix," she says and picks up the phone. "Do you want anything? A burger, fries, steak..." she rambles, her eyes trailing my body before ending with the funniest suggestion. "A salad?"

The doubtful smile on her face on top of the salad suggestion makes me laugh, and she giggles with me. Not the flirtatious, pretentious giggle, but the pure, innocent kind.

"What? You weren't exactly jumping with all the meat suggestions, so I thought you might be vegetarian," she says, shrugging her shoulders defensively before speaking quietly to the room service assistant on the other side of the line. Once she's done, she hands me the phone and I give out my own orders.

"What do you want to do now?" she asks once the phone was back on the receiver.

"I'm gonna take a shower. Feel free to do whatever you want, except join me," I say with a little smirk. She throws her head back and laughs but does not say anything in defense. She's beautiful but I have to hold back. I'm sure a lot of men have paid for her.

God knows what I'll get if I so much as touch her, I shudder.

The food is already served once I exit the bathroom, the delicious smell of charcoal-grilled meat and animal lard fills the room. So unhealthy but so damn good. My eyes narrow at the woman sitting on the window sill, a little annoyed that she was still in my room. I gave her a free pass to leave but still, she's here.

She must want a free meal, I think, but as I survey the food, the only ones on the table were my burger, nachos, and soda. Expecting that she ordered an expensive meal for herself in addition to some more fancy bubby, I am surprised to see her quietly sipping on the drink she made earlier – now with ice – as she stared outside the window. No empty plates, no take-out boxes.

Does she have plans of extorting me? "Why are you still here?"

"Your cousins paid for my services," she replies solemnly without looking at me. I frown further, finding her response out of character. What happened to the teasing tigress?

Are all strippers and prostitutes like that? As soon as they're off the clock, they revert back to their real personalities as if they were flicking a light switch? Because what the hell just happened? One minute she is predatory, the next, she's nervous and meek as a lamb.

Do I really want to know? Maybe it's best not to. That's why I do not support this business. But if men make the demand, someone has to supply that need.

I take that back. No one has to, but greed and desperation are quite compelling forces, and I don't want to think which one is driving her to do this.

Sighing, I focus my attention on my food and begin with the nachos, piling up the salsa and toppings carefully on one chip. "You've done your 'service'. You can go now."

"I... I can't. Yet." She swallows her drink and pulls the collar of her robe tighter around her neck before she closes her eyes. A small, yet very meaningful movement.

"Why not?"

Two words. I utter two words and she loses her composure, slamming the empty scotch glass on the marble table. She is in front of me two seconds after the 't' rolls off my tongue, fury erupting from every pore in her face, the blaze in her eyes pushing me until I feel the backrest against me. I have never met someone so insulted by those two words until tonight.

"'Why not?' You tell me! I come here to strip and now I'm not allowed to leave!"

"But I just told you to --" She holds her hand up to my face, her palm almost hitting my chin.

"Are you some important rich kid who's an heir to some f*****g Chinese Mafia?" Grayish brown eyes pierce me to the core, threatening to immobilize me if I lie, but the question is so absurd I am not able to hold my tongue.

"What? Are you f*****g crazy?" I laugh so hard I almost fall off the chair.

"Then tell me why there are men standing outside the door, lingering in the corridor, with strict instructions from your overbearing perverted cousins that neither of us can leave until I have popped your cherry?"