For Your Eyes Only (Camren)

Nine

The third time I answered Lauren's call, I was like a caged animal needing to escape. There had been hardly a night that went by that I didn't think about her. What was she doing? Was she married? Did she have a girlfriend? Did she scamper between the sheets on the hotel bed and masturbate the minute she closed the door behind me? Did she go home and do it there? Go to a bar and pick up a woman? Or was her libido bottled up so tight she was about to explode like a neutron bomb? Why did she do this? I'd stopped trying to figure out why people did the things they did. Some were so bizarre it made my head hurt to even think about them. But I wanted to know what made Lauren tick, and I had a way to do that.

Early on in my dancing, one of the girls at the Candy Store told me about a movie made in the mid-nineties starring Demi Moore, appropriately titled Striptease. I'd watched it on Netflix at least a dozen times and had been fascinated by not only Demi's moves but her kick-ass attitude during her dances. I watched it again before heading to Lauren's hotel.

I hadn't choreographed my dance, preferring to let the music take me where my body wanted to go. I was envisioning what that could be, and I almost passed the front door. That was another item on my mystery of Lauren list. Why a hotel—and not a cheap one at that. The rooms had been suites, and not the Embassy Suites caliber. They would have cost a fortune if she paid by the minute it was used.

I looked at myself in the mirrored elevator doors as I rode to the seventeenth floor. I was wearing a suit with a bold patterned tie.

However, no one, other than the front desk clerk, had given me a second glance. I opened my overcoat and felt my demeanor immediately change. I was sexy, sassy, and in command. I would take what I wanted.

To say that Lauren was stunned by my dance would have been an understatement. Her breathing was ragged, her face flushed. She looked distressed for most of the dance. When I straddled her and ripped open my shirt, I thought she was going to take me right there. I would not have objected. But she didn't, and by the time the music stopped, I was completely spent, emotionally and physically. My hands were shaking and it took me longer than usual to get dressed. I barely made it home before relieving myself of the pent-up pounding in my clit. My dreams that night consisted of a very different ending to the evening.