It was the banner that gave me the plot bunny, so I owe thanks to MarieCarro for having pre-made, adoptable banners.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of S. Meyer. The original plot is the only thing that belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

Credit to SarcasticBimbo for her beta skills, and starsmina and NKubie for pre-reading.

THIS STORY IS NSFW! You might want to pack an extra pair of panties if you plan to read this on your commute or at your desk. Rated M for mature themes, lemons, language.

EVERY CHAPTER has pictures, gifs, and any song referenced up on the blog. THIS IS INCREDIBLY NSFW. MeteorOnAMoonlessNight. blogspot. com

I'm considering this a drabble because the chapters vary between 350 and 750 words. Because of this, I'm posting 3x a week; M,W, &F. Also because of this, there won't be any teasers on FB.

If you don't like stripper stories or lemon-filled stories, THIS IS NOT FOR YOU. There is a plot, but there is also a TON OF SEX. If this is your thing, strap on. I mean, strap in.

The spotlights change direction, lowering to leave the stage in darkness as the music starts. The only thing visible from the audience are my black fuck-me heels, and I only have to walk toward the front for the crowd to cheer insanely. This is my most popular dance, and my regulars will wait all night for the performance that gives the impression that I'm so innocent I'm in need of an older man to guide me. As the lyrics begin, the lights are raised to showcase my legs, up to my black lace panties, flashing across my abdomen and up to my face. It's easy for me, ingrained by now, to strut back and forth, touching myself, showing off my body for strangers. As the climax of the song builds, I cup the bra that barely covers my nipples, and as the words and lights pulse in sync I grab the pole. I'm constantly practicing, so that spinning around on it and turning myself upside down come easily and gracefully. I completely ignore the money as it floats around me all over the stage. I have an entire song to get through, and I won't interrupt it to gather dollar bills like some of the girls. I'm a professional, and in the end, I'll make more money for it. When I'm done I can allow myself to crawl, seductively of course, on the perimeter of the stage. Men and women alike enjoy stuffing dollar bills under the edge of my panties, and some are more fond of tucking them under my bra strap or in the cup of my bra.

I don't get fully nude, though plenty of the girls do. I've found that I don't have to, and if I don't have to then there's no point. The audience is still cheering, catcalls and other suggestive ideas thrown my way. I smile at them all as though they have a snowball's chance in hell at any of the things they're dreaming of. Any money I might miss will be collected by the bouncers, the same few that are watching the crowd like hawks to keep the girls from being harassed.

When I'm off the stage and I've shoved my money in my cash box, I retreat to the dressing room to get some water and freshen up before I have to go out to work the crowd. I run a brush through my dark wavy hair, apply more lipstick and touch up my eyeliner. Slipping on a black silk wrapper, I turn to see one of my fellow dancers watching me.


"There's a guy out there asking for Cinnamon, BB. He's mega hot, a little older than us. Offered a shit ton of dough for a private."

I scoff. "I bet he did. Did you tell him I don't do that?" Private dances rarely end in anything other than sex, and I'm not interested in being a prostitute.

"Yeah, I said lap dance or no go. He offered the same amount." Her perfect brows lift over her blue eyes.

"Jesus H., Rose. I'll take it, whatever it is." I take my short robe back off and hang it on a hook.

She gives a wide feline smile. "Five G."

"Well, fuck. Let me move my hot ass a little faster, then." I've never been offered more than a grand for a dance, so I'll give this guy the best show I can, as long as he keeps his hands to himself.