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God, it's a slow night, she thought. Her G-string was not cooperating as she pulled it up her taut thighs. Beside her lay the lace corset she was to wear. I hate working weeknights, she grumbled aloud. Fortunately, noone was around, otherwise Charlie might get wind, and fire her altogether. Noone wants a dancer who can't get into the act. She pulled the string high into the crack of her ass, and admired herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers down her bare cheeks, and smiled. God, I look sexy, she thought. The high heels seemed to make her long legs even more sultry and inviting. Slowly, she stretched, and watched herself as her skin stretched and pulled. Her breasts swayed free from any encumbering bra, and bobbed slightly as she righted herself. She grabbed the corset, and donned it, pulling tightly on the drawstrings. Her breasts seemed to swell as the silk material bunched in around her, pushing them up and in. A white dress- easily removable, was just what she needed to complete the outfit. Then, her thoughts moved back to the crowd outside. She sighed, and felt a slight dejection. There was noone, really, who seemed to get her in the mood. But, that had happened before, and it would happen again. It appeared as if she would have to make the best of it as usual. Being an erotic dancer wasn't easy, even if she did clear over $300 a night. The noise and commotion outside drew her attention once more, and she heard the DJ announce her name. She walked out of the dressing room, and into the club. She had managed that walk- the one that she knew would drive the men crazy- and it made her feel good to know that men were looking at HER. She walked out on the stage, to a thumping ...

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