Epilogue

“ Y ou know what my biggest regret is?” Marcus is standing outside the bay with me as we survey the new barn the Dvergar got done just in time for an early snow.

“Joining the Army?”

He snorts. “Okay, fine. Do you know what my most recent regret is?”

“No clue.”

“Not getting to see you dance before you quit the Wild Hare.”

Now that we’re engaged, Marcus and I officially live together. It was slightly more terrifying to move in together than to say yes to his proposal. Moving in seemed so permanent–I’ve never lived with a man, but it was time. Marcus had gotten all the paperwork together to officially start his animal sanctuary, fittingly named Willow’s Place. Ella was off to law school and Shania had found a place in the city. Things were moving so quickly, but it still felt right. Were those famous last words? Do all people who move quickly think that? I decided to let Lugh be the judge, but it didn’t seem to phase him at all.

“It’s not like you haven’t known him forever. You’ve been waiting for this since you were fifteen,” he said when I first told him and Jacqueline.

It’s a lot of change all at the same time, but for once, it’s a good thing. I turn and look at Marcus suspiciously. “You would have totally thrown whatever jacket or shirt you had on at the time and dragged me out of there.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, probably, but still…I bet it’s pretty hot.” He sounds so wistful I almost laugh.

“You know we can fix that?”

He pulls me close. “How? Do they have an amateur night that you can crash?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’m surprised they haven’t tried that.” I put my hands on his cheeks. “Marcus, you are missing the most obvious solution.”

He smiles, “I’m not following.”

“You have a built-in pole.”

He starts to laugh. “The fireman’s pole?”

“They slid down it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess, but it’s in the bay. You’re going to freeze your ass off.”

I shrug. “We can bring a space heater. It won’t be very long, then you can keep me warm.”

“You’re serious?”

“Unless you don’t want me to dance…”

He grabs me by the hand and drags me inside. “Alright, what do you need me to do?”

I laugh at his eagerness. “Get yourself a chair and find the heater. I’ll be there in a minute. Oh, and take your pants off.”

“Do all your customers get to show up in boxers?”

I laugh, “You’re the first.”

He shakes his head and wanders off.

I head upstairs to the empty room I claimed for all the things I haven’t found places for since moving in. In the furthest corner is the box of outfits I couldn’t part with. Maybe I was thinking I’d do just this, or maybe I was keeping it as a memory of a very different time in my life when splitting my time between witch lessons and donkey care wasn’t my main occupation.

I find a blue top and bottom set with a silky see-through mesh to pull over it and get dressed. I no longer have my collection of shoes–those I passed on to Shania when she left for the city, but I figure watching someone dance at eye level is a lot different from looking up. I won’t need six-inch heels to add to my silhouette.

I wrap up in a robe and slip my feet into slippers, so I won’t have to pad across the concrete bay in bare feet and make my way down to where Marcus is waiting.

He’s found a few space heaters and has them all plugged in around the edges of the small space. The pole is a little too close to the wall–I won’t be doing anything fancy, but I can still work with it.

“So,” he says, rubbing his hands together.

“So,” I smile back. “You got a chair?”

“Oh, shoot, do you need one?”

“I’d like you to be sitting, if you don’t mind.”

Confusion crosses his face, but as usual, he wanders off to comply with my random request.

He returns with one of the giant Adirondack chairs for two that serves as outdoor seating when the weather’s warm.

I snort as he takes his place smack in the middle of it and leans back. “Only you would bring a throne sized chair.”

He grins. “Does it not count?”

“It’ll work,” I tell him.

“Do you need music?” he asks.

“Do you need music?” I respond.

He shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m good if you are.”

He sits on the bench and waits as I kick my slippers off and drop my robe. I let my hair down from the messy bun it’s been in all day and step up to the pole.

A lot of people think that to get picked up as a stripper, you have to be able to do cool acrobatic stuff on the pole. In all honesty, most girls I’ve known don’t. The best dancers are the ones who aren’t afraid to make eye contact with the customers in the crowd. That’s what really gets men to open their wallets. It's eye contact.

I put my right hand to the pole and, resting my feet at the base, spin around it once, just to get a feel for it. It’s wider than a stripper pole, though I doubt I’m the first person to dance on it. One thing I’ve learned working at strip clubs–it doesn’t take much to talk a man into doing anything in front of his friends. I’m sure there’s been a firefighter or two who’s taken a turn on this pole. I swing around again once more and begin to slowly move my hips.

Marcus’s full attention is immediately on me. I see him out of the corner of my eye. I can feel him watching. Still, I don’t look at him, waiting for the right moment.

I swing around again and turn my back to the pole, stretching my arms high above my head as if I’m being forced against it. With my hands still high in the air, I grab the pole above my head and slowly begin to grind my hips. I meet his eyes for a moment, then look up at my hands, only to make eye contact again.

“Do they ever let you get closer?” he asks. I swing around the pole, stopping in front of him, and then lean back as far as I can, my hair brushing the ground.

“Closer? You want a private dance, like we do in the VIP room?”

“Yes.”

I swing around the pole once more before I move closer to him. His eyes are locked to mine. “Private dances cost a lot. Are you sure you’re willing to pay the price?”

He swallows. “I’d pay anything.”

I move closer to him, and he reaches out a hand. I step back with a smile as I shake my head. “Can’t touch the dancers. Only the dancers do the touching. House rules.”

He grins. “I think I can handle that.”

I don’t smile back. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Jones.”

I force his legs apart further and rest my hands on his knees, grinding my ass into his crotch until I feel his hands reach out for my waist.

“No touching the dancers,” I remind him. He raises his hands in surrender.

“No touching the dancers,” he repeats, his grin growing wider. He sets his hands palm down on either side of him and watches, waiting for what I’ll do next.

Slowly, I kneel down in front of him and run my lips up the inside of his thigh. He shutters and groans as I get closer and closer to his cock. It’s already begun to tent the boxers he’s wearing. I skip over to his other thigh and work my way down to his knee.

“Remember the rules,” I remind him as I stand up and turn my back to him. I flip my hair to my shoulder and make a show of unhooking my top. It slips off and falls to the floor as I start to move my hips again.

He grips the bench as I turn and face him. His eyes meet mine, and the fire that always seems to take me by surprise is there as he waits for my next move. I move closer to him, my hips swaying. With my foot, I shove his good leg over so that his legs are closed and straddle him. With my hands around his neck and my feet still on the ground, I make him my human pole, switching between grinding my pussy against his hard cock and teasing his face with my bare breasts. His hands twitch as I continue to move, my hips rocking as if we’re having sex with our clothes on.

“Sarah,” he groans, softly.

“Hmmm?” I ask, pretending to be unaffected.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” I tell him. He closes his eyes and smiles. “I would have carried you out of there in a heartbeat.”

“Eh, maybe not,” I tell him, grinding harder against his cock. “This is a little above and beyond the VIP room.”

He chuckles and grabs me by the waist.

“No touch–” Marcus plants his mouth over mine, his tongue stopping me from objecting to his hands. He leans back and pulls me down on top of his lap.

His fingers run down my spine as I continue to grind against him, two thin pieces of fabric the only thing between us.

“We seem to have a problem,” I whisper in his ear as I continue to grind.

“Hmmmm?”

“We seem to still be clothed.”

He grunts and runs his hand between us, freeing his cock and pulling at my bottoms until they come apart at the seam. He gives me no warning as his cock plunges deep inside me, filling me completely.

I groan and stop moving against him.

He stops and opens his eyes. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

In response, I continue to move, lifting up and grinding back down on his cock as I hold his gaze. He closes his eyes and sighs. “You feel so fucking good,” he mutters as I lift back up again. My knees are going to hate me when this is all said and done, but the noises he’s making are totally worth it.

I move up and down his cock in a slow rhythm as he leans back against the chair. He doesn’t let this go on too long before taking over–his hands finally grabbing my hips when he grows tired of the slow torture. I’m not going to be the only one hurting later.

I may be on top, but he’s definitely taken charge. His fingers dig into my sides as he drives up into me while simultaneously moving me where he wants me. I try to help, but he continues to move at his own pace until he says in frustration. “Woman, would you let me fuck you, please?”

His please sends me over the edge and I start to giggle.

“So it’s funny, huh?”

I bite my lip and look away, trying to control the laughter threatening to erupt. “Sit up on your knees,” he demands. I do as he asks, balancing myself with my hands on his shoulders.

His fingers find my clit as his mouth goes for my breast and I almost collapse onto his lap as it all washes over my entire lower half. “Not-ah.” he says. “You’re going to stay there until I’m done with you.”

I’d totally smart off to him, if he didn’t already have my breast back in his mouth, nipping at me as I ride his hand. Between the boards digging into my knees and what he’s doing to me, my entire lower body begins to spasm.

“Marcus,” I breathe as he works my clit in faster circles. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Let me sit back down.”

“Why?” he says, humor in his voice.

“Cock…” I mutter, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Are you going to let me take care of us?”

I nod and he pulls me back down on his lap, his cock spearing me in one quick thrust. He digs his fingers into my hips and begins to work us both, driving up into me as he moves my hips up and down until I’m digging my nails into the fabric of his t-shirt. He groans as my legs begin to shake so much, the chair begins to rock.

With one final thrust, I’m sent over the edge, the sound of his labored breathing loud in my ear, our hearts pounding in time to the same rhythm. I lay my head on his shoulder, as I try to catch my breath, exhausted and content. I shift my weight slightly and the boards of the chair begin to dig into my knee.

Marcus sighs and pats my ass. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“That was hot.”

“It was,” I agree.

We lapse into silence for a long moment as he runs a lazy hand over my ass. “I want to put something out there, though.”

“Sure.”

“I need you to promise me something.”

I grin. “Promise what?”

“Let’s,” he says, gently pushing me back so I can meet his eyes, “Let’s never ever do this again. My biceps are going to kill me for days, and this chair is cutting into my ass. I’m going to be hobbling.”

I giggle at the hyperbole. “You think that’s bad? I’m pretty certain I have permanent lines from the wood on my knees.”

He snickers and leans forward to kiss me. “Comfortable sex only from here on out?”

I laugh. “You don’t have to ask me twice. If there’s not a mattress or pallet of blankets involved, I’m out.”

“What about a nest of pillows?”

I slowly untangle myself from him and stand up. “Pillows, yes. What about grass?”

He shakes his head. “Grass here, no…too many stickers.”

“What about the backseat of my truck?” he counters.

I make a face and shake my head. “Too high school.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “We could park and put an air mattress in the bed.”

“Oooo, that’s something I’d be down for… when it’s warmer.”

“What about tables?” he asks, randomly.

“Am I on top of them or bent over them?” I ask as I give him a hand up.

His eyes light up. “Bent over them? I’ve never–” His eyes meet mine. He’s definitely giving I’m-not-as-sore-as-I-claimed-to-be vibes.

I laugh and take his hand. “Come on, old man. Let’s go upstairs where it’s warm and we’ll collect another data point… for science.”

He laughs. “Well, if it’s for science…”

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The End