The Perfect Pole Dancing Position

He comes in around midnight. In from the sweltering summer night, into the cool and sensuous surrounds of Gold Coast Brothel, LePenthouse Suite, the City by the Sea’s finest bordello, after spending some time at a strip club in Surfers Paradise, and a few hours at the casino. He says he won big time at the high roller’s table, and had some cash to spend, and an itch he wanted to scratch after the time at the erotic dancer joint earlier in the night.

He wants one of our Gold Coast Escorts, to pole dance for him with a session of love-making afterwards. It’s a fantasy that’s been bothering him ever since he laid eyes on those seductive beauties playing back arches, and fan kicks, and flamingo kicks on the golden poles at those strip clubs. “They turn you on, but then there’s nowhere to get your rocks off.” He mumbles a little incoherently to me as we enter Penthouse Suite Number One.

Hayley at the reception desk suggested myself, Jen, one of the elite high-class escorts at LePenthouse Suite, should entertain our sexually frustrated gambler; and when the thirty-something, swarthy looking rogue with baby brown eyes looked upon me, I knew he was happy with the selection by the way a crooked smile played across his mouth and he stood a little taller and straightened his crumpled silk suit.

I absently tossed my tousled long brown hair away from my face, placed my delicate hand upon my hip, smiled sweetly and gave him the most seductive bedroom gaze I had, with my sensuous green eyes. I watched him slowly appraise my slender and petitely toned body, my long and graceful legs which were exposed past the thighs in the two-piece black lace lingerie set I was wearing, and the way my hair fell around my face.

I knew he had taken in my firm breasts, was pleased with the erect nipples showing clearly through the transparent brassiere, knew he had checked out my firm, flat stomach with a trace of a feminine six-pack, knew he had inwardly lusted after my hairless pussy, pressed tight against the also transparent G-string I was wearing.

“You know, you’re better looking than the dancers at the strip club.” Mr. Gambler starts to undress immediately as I start to make the king-sized double beneath the soft-glow of the mood lighting. “I had the hots for you the moment I looked at you.”

I laugh inwardly. “Charming,” I think to myself. I’ve brought a small MP3 player with a selection of songs, and a set of tiny speakers that give incredibly good playback. There’s a list of songs, but I choose only one song, a Beyonce number when she was with Destiny’s Child. Anyway, it won’t take long before the client’s lust interrupts the pole dance strip tease I’m about to delight him with. Especially since he’s sitting there on the love seat, already stroking his thick length until it is hard, so that it is throbbing and begins to dribble pre-cum.

The song begins with a rousing beat and I strut onto the small podium on glossy black high heels newly purchased from Emporio Armani. I make sure I accentuate the length of my legs as I approach the dance pole. I can almost hear the client panting as I grip the pole and proceed with a carousel spin, a ballet fan kick, and then a back bend.

A girlfriend of mine who runs a pole dance studio showed me a few moves when I used to hang out with her. And as I hook my left leg around the pole, moving into a graceful flamingo pose standing on one leg, I feel the gambler place his hands upon my waist. I didn’t notice him sneak up on me. And now he is kissing the middle of my back, kissing up onto the back of my neck, my leg is still hooked against the pole, and somehow, he has positioned himself to hold me there in that position. And his hot breath against the back of my ear is urgent as he presses his face into my hair, and he pulls down my lace brassiere, exposing my breasts so he can pinch my nipples with his fingers.

I can feel his throbbing erection hard against the inside of my standing leg, tracing a line of pre-cum on the smooth firm flesh there. I can feel him position the head of his erection against the edge of the G-string, beginning to touch my pussy lips as he stands behind me, one of my legs still hooked against the pole. He wants to pound me there and then, the way that I’m standing, but I remember that I should get a condom.

I say, ‘Stop.” Almost too late as his lust takes over, and he tries to find my mouth with his own lips, and my own response is to kiss him deeply with my head turned into his face as he is positioned behind me. “Condom,” I mumble into his mouth, our hot breaths mingling on the dance podium.

He doesn’t listen, so I move my pussy away from the urgency of his erection, the way the head of his manhood is wanting to push deep into my sex. I manage to unhook my leg from the dance pole, move away a little, and fumble for a condom from the nearby bed table as he pursues me, never losing physical contact with my body.

My brassiere lies on the dance podium, and for a brief second I catch our reflections in the back mirror, and I hold his eyes, and he pauses for a moment and smiles. Now he stands with his back against the pole as I kneel down before him, position the condom onto his pulsing erection, and try to fit it onto his length without making him blow all over my face.

The condom is halfway down, and I push it the rest of the way onto his length with my mouth, my teeth grazing the shaft and nibbling a little. He likes this, and moans his delight. So, I start sucking his erection. The fellatio causes him to moan some more, until he wants to be inside me and murmurs, “The same position as before.”

I move back into the flamingo pose, with my leg hooked against the dance pole, all the while he is trying to suck my breasts and nipples, and finger my clit. In position again, and he carefully positions himself behind me, and this time he pulls my golden hair a little, so my head arches back a little, he whispers, “Bitch,” and then plunges his thick erection deep into my tight wet hairless pussy, popping my tight hole from behind me. He grips the thigh on my standing leg, and supports my hooked leg, and he pounds me up and into me, over and over, until I am moaning with pleasure.

He isn’t satisfied, and re-positions himself again from a slightly different angle, and thrusts upwards again, deeper this time, so deep he pierces my G-spot and I involuntarily orgasm, and my sex juices flood out and I tremble and gasp in lust. This excites him so much that his pounding becomes more frenzied until in one deep stabbing thrust he penetrates my sex so deeply, I lose my grip on the pole, and he orgasms inside me, and I can feel the heat and pulse of his ejaculation even through the condom in my sex-centre, against my tightly clamped sugar walls.

“Those pole dancers are nothing compared to you babe,” he whispers in my ear.