#private dancer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

your-divine-ribs · 2 months

Text

Private Dancer Part 1

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: brief drug use, Y/N is a lap dancer, a brief account of a sexual assault (not graphic) // Part 2 is hella long but will get it uploaded soon xxx

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

The loud bass emanates through the thin walls of the dressing room. Girls rush about, scantily clad or completely naked, frantically looking for items of clothing or rushing to perform. Glossy red lips and heavily mascara-ed lashes, sky-scraper heels and barely-there lace, the products of fantasies for the lecherous men gathered outside.

You'd worked at the club for a year now. When you auditioned and were offered the job as a dancer you promised yourself it was only temporary, simply a way to pay yourself through your final year of university. But you'd graduated three months ago and here you still were, several times a week, parading yourself like an object for the customers, wrapping yourself around the pole or tantalising in private dances. Your family and most of your friends knew nothing of your sleazy double-life but the handful that did were disappointed in you. They said you were belittling yourself, losing dignity by playing up to the customers' sordid wet dreams, but they didn't know the half of it. They didn't know how it made you feel. When you were up there on the stage you felt powerful, desired. You were in charge. The men could look but they couldn't touch, you were completely in control.

It's a Saturday night much like any other and the club is packed, full of customers eager to fulfill their desires. You sigh to yourself, appraising your reflection under the harsh fluorescent strip lighting in the dressing room, turning this way and that. You're wearing a black lace underwear set with intricate detail, hold-up stockings, and the highest heels that crazily enough are impossible to walk in but easy to dance in. And mostly importantly they show off your best feature, your long slender legs.

A loud wolf-whistle goes up and you turn to see your friend, Cayley, looking at you with a cheeky grin. "I would!" She chuckles.

"Yeah well, you'd fuck anybody so coming from you I won't necessarily take it as a compliment!" You tease, dodging her as she playfully swipes at you.

"You love me really!" She grins, then you watch as she delves into the cup of her silky red bra, producing a small plastic bag of white powder. "Little pick me up before you go on?"

You shake your head. "Nah, I'm good. I'm already feeling pretty confident tonight. I've finally managed to pull off that tricky pole move I've been practising for weeks. Gonna wow 'em tonight!"

"Suit yourself!" Cayley shrugs and proceeds to tap a small amount of coke on to the nearby surface, using a credit card to chop it into thin lines. "You're lucky you know. There's some good customers out there tonight, probably gonna be big tippers."

"Oh really?" You say, not really interested, leaning into the mirror to titivate your hair. All the customers are the same to you, just faceless men who you don't really see as individuals. It's easier that way. You can just go out there, perform your ass off and collect your tips without even giving them a second thought.

"Yeah... some band apparently... they played a show at the arena tonight..."

"A band?" Your interest is piqued, and you turn towards your friend, waiting for her to elaborate. Someone playing at the arena must be pretty big...

She looks back at you blankly. "Oh I don't know... you know I hate that kinda music. Mick told me the band name but I forgot. It was something weird... what was it again? Catfish something... I don't bloody know!"

Fuck...

"Catfish and the Bottlemen?" You almost squeal, your mouth going dry.

"That's it... d'ya know 'em then?"

"Yeah I fucking know 'em!" You cry, your heart starting to beat that rapidly you feel faint. "They're only like my favourite band of all time!"

You can feel a flush rising steadily up your body, your mind teetering on the edge of panic whilst you pace. You can't do it, you can't bloody do it. You'll go to pieces, probably stumble and fall.

"What's the problem?" Cayley says, as nonchalant as ever. "Hey... you might even get more than an autograph tonight, eh?"

She gives you a lascivious wink, loaded with suggestion, rolling up a ten pound note.

"Y/N! You're on in 3! Get your shit together!" Mick, your boss calls out from the doorway.

"Oh shit!" You mutter, feeling your legs start to tremble with nerves.

You suddenly shoot a hand forward, snatching the rolled up bank note from Cayley's hands. You definitely need a bit of assistance on the confidence front tonight. You dip your head down, snorting up a thin line of the coke, wiping your nose and shaking the tension out of your arms.

"You ready?" Cayley looks at you with an expectant grin.

You just nod, heart pounding, head spinning. "As I'll ever be."

A quick glance in the mirror, then you step through the door and into the short corridor that leads to the side of the stage. You can hear clapping and a few cat-calls as the last act comes to a finish and you try to steady your breathing as you see one of the other girls making her way backstage.

"It's a big crowd tonight... good luck Y/N," she smiles as she slips past you.

You're on.

You hear the opening bars of your song and take a deep breath, slowly moving forward, eyes fixed on the silver pole in front of you. You daren't look out into the crowd for fear of recognising a band member.

You reach out for the pole, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal. The steady, slow beats of the music fill your head and start to pulse through your body as you swing yourself around, coming to a stop with your back to the pole, slowly sliding down, running your free hand down over your body.

You hear a rumble of appreciation from the table to your left and glance over, smiling at the middle-aged men in suits that are sat there, keeping your eyes on them as you slide up and down the pole, moving your hips to the beat.

You're just turning to swing around the pole again when you catch sight of the table directly in front of you and your heart starts racing wildly. There's no mistaking those faces, you've been to enough shows and watched enough interview and gig footage online that you'd recognise them anywhere. Bob, Benji, Bondy... and Van.

It occurs to you how surreal all of this is. Just weeks before you were in an audience of 15,000, watching the band on stage, screaming out their lyrics at the top of your lungs. Now here they are in this comparatively tiny crowd, watching you perform. And they're certainly watching. Four pairs of eyes taking all of you in as you sway and writhe around the pole. You're in the zone now, nerves melted away, putting on the show of your life.

Your eyes lock with Van's for a long moment as you slide around the pole, coming to a rest at the foot of it with your legs splayed suggestively. A spark of satisfaction shoots through you as you see his mouth fall slightly agape and you hold his gaze as you run your hands sensually up your stockinged thighs, smiling to yourself as you watch Bondy lean in to speak to him and he can't tear his eyes away. You finally look away, rising to your feet, throwing your head back and moving your hips in time to the music, grasping the pole to twirl around it once again.

All too soon the song comes to a finish and you peel yourself away from the pole, gratified to hear the appreciation of the audience, sure you've earned yourself some decent tips and maybe a few private dances later in the evening. That's where the big money can be made. It definitely isn't your favourite part of the job, you aren't able to keep your distance from the customers, it's just you and them and although they're under strict orders not to touch you've had to fend off drunken groping hands before. Security have even been involved on more than one occasion. You know some of the girls offer 'extras' too, but that isn't your style.

You allow yourself a quick glance over at the band's table before you duck backstage, noting a pair of cool blue eyes still trained on you. You hold Van's gaze for a few seconds before you slip away.

"So... were they watching?" Cayley's waiting with an eager expression back in the dressing room.

"Yeah..." you breathe, fanning yourself with a hand. "Fucking hell Cayley they were all there. And Van, the singer was staring... like really staring. Oh my god I think I'm gonna die!"

Cayley giggles, shaking her head. "Well don't drop dead just yet! You won't get any tips that way. Go on... get out there! Work your magic!"

She starts ushering you towards the corridor which leads to the bar area and you practically stumble on your heels.

"But I've not even re-touched my make-up!" You protest.

"No need. You look bloody gorgeous! Now go... before some other lucky girl gets in there first!"

The bar area is dark and it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust after the harsh lighting of the dressing room. There's lots of customers in tonight and this part of the evening involves you taking drink orders over to tables, maybe catching a customer's eye so he'll be tempted to splash out on a private performance. You scan the room, locating the table where the band are sitting, and are just starting to head over when the feel of a hand on your arm stops you in your tracks. It's Mick.

"Y/N, you have a private dance already," he grins. "You put on a hell of a show!"

Damn! You're sure that one of the other girls will end up waiting on the band's table all night if you don't take your chance now. You crane your neck to peer past Mick, just making out Bondy's hat.

"But... I was just..." you protest, but Mick cuts you off.

"No buts... come on. Booth 4. The guy was very insistent that he wanted you."

You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that you've missed your chance, already steeling yourself at the prospect of a sleazy, middle-aged guy leering over you. "Okay, okay I'm going..."

You make your way back to the corridor you've come from, locating Booth 4 and pushing through the door. A pause, a deep breath before you grasp the thick velvety curtains which open out into the small room... only to find Van McCann sitting there, eyes a little wide with an awkward smile on his lips.

Immediately your pulse races and your nerves bristle as you walk forward, trying to show poise and confidence even though your inner fan-girl is practically having a cardiac arrest.

"Errr... alright love?" He offers, looking every bit as nervous as you feel, which surprises you somewhat. In interviews he comes across as such a self-assured person, and when he's up on stage he practically oozes confidence from every pore.

"Hi... it's errr... Van right? I... umm ... I've heard some of your songs," you stumble over your words, crossing over to the music controls as a distraction so you don't have to look directly at him.

"You're a fan?" He says in a hopeful tone, and you can hear the grin in his words without looking at him.

"No... not really..."

Crap... what are you saying? You curse yourself inwardly. You've been so preoccupied in not coming across as star-struck that you probably just sound plain rude. You scroll through the tracks on the small screen, purposefully still not looking at Van.

"Oh... oh right," he says, his tone a little flat, then he pauses. "So... what's your name?"

Now you allow yourself to look at him, using the same line you use every time someone asks you this very question. "I'm Candy... but you can call me whatever you like tonight..."

Van shifts in his seat, letting out a nervous little laugh. "That's not your real name though... is it?"

You just smile at him, taking a surreptitious deep breath to try and calm your nerves as the opening beats of the slow, sultry music start to fill the air. "Did you come here to talk... or to watch me dance?"

You can feel your confidence slowly starting to trickle back now as you step out so that you're facing Van, the routine you've performed countless times flowing through your head and into your body. It's like muscle memory.

"I... errr... I've never done this before," he suddenly blurts out, and his obvious show of nerves just bolsters your own confidence. "You know... had a private dance."

As he sits there fidgeting in his seat he looks a world away from the charismatic performer you witnessed up on the stage a few weeks previously. You place your hands on your hips and fix him with an even gaze. "Just sit back... relax... and enjoy the show."

As if on cue, the steady beat of the song changes pace, the signal to start your routine. You tip your head back, raising your hands up to run them over your body, swinging your hips, slowly sinking down on to your knees. Van watches on, seemingly mesmerised as you plant your hands on the floor and toss your head back before starting to crawl across the floor towards him, your movements sensual and feline.

"Christ..." you hear him utter under his breath as you reach him, rising up slightly to place a hand on either knee, pushing his splayed legs even further apart, your eyes flicking suggestively down to his crotch.

Your fingers travel upwards, gripping his thighs as you rise fully on to your feet until you're leaning forward on a level with him.

"Please tell me your real name," he says, his eyes locking on to yours. God, they're striking close up. You've always thought that when you've seen pictures of him online, but in person they're even more captivating.

"Why d'ya wanna know?" You purr, moving even closer, placing your hands on the back of the seat near his head, pressing your body into the space between his legs.

"I just... I just... wanna know. You're bloody gorgeous ya know..." His voice hitches a little as your body comes into contact with his, and you push into him even harder.

"I can't tell you. It's not real life in here... it's just a fantasy," you whisper into his ear as you roll your hips into him. Then you pull back slightly, maintaining his hungry gaze. "I can be your fantasy tonight..."

You're on a roll now, feeling energised by the desire in his eyes, enjoying this far more than you probably should. You grab on to the collar of his shirt, bringing your face close to his, so close your lips almost brush.

You wonder what it would feel like to kiss him. His lips look full and soft, parted just a little as he looks on in awe. His tongue flicks out to lick his lower lip as you sway in front of him. Of course you'd never dream of kissing a customer... until now.

"I know I don't even know you but I'd love to kiss you right now," he breathes as if reading your thoughts. As he speaks his fingers curl around your hips.

You pull away instantly, placing your hands over his and sliding them back on to his lap. "Nuh-uh, that's not how this works. You can look but you can't touch."

"It's like bloody torture!" He complains, his eyes slipping down to roam over your body where his fingers are forbidden to go.

You step slightly away to allow him to appraise you further, running your hands seductively over your frame once again. "Sorry but those are the rules..."

A cheeky grin appears on his face as you step back close to him, this time planting your knees on either side of his upper thighs on the seat, coming to a rest fully straddling his lap. "Can't we like... just bend the rules... just for tonight?"

"Sorry Van..." you smile down on him, satisfied when you feel his body shudder a little as you press yourself flush against him.

You wouldn't normally get quite so close but you're feeling a little reckless, spurned on by his obvious enjoyment and your attraction to him. As you roll your hips against his and he lets out a small groan your mind starts to wander. Maybe just this once...

No! Pull yourself together Y/N! You don't even know this guy! You met like five minutes ago!

You lean right in, your lips grazing his neck and you can hear his breathing getting deeper and more erratic. God, being this close to him is making you lose your inhibitions. Your hips are undulating at an escalating pace almost like they're moving of their own accord.

"Fuck..." Van moans, hips twitching beneath you. He's definitely fully aroused now, you can feel it with increasing certainty as you feel his stiffness through his jeans.

This only makes you drive your hips even harder, moving in purposeful waves, the friction on your own body making you gasp as shivers of pleasure start to radiate through you from your core.

All of a sudden you feel Van's hands on your hips again and his grip is harsh this time, fingers clutching at you, bringing you to a standstill.

“You gotta stop!" He says urgently, his voice a strangled kind of groan.

You quickly lean away from him, slightly concerned and you're taken aback. His face is flushed and his eyes are glazed over with lust, he's even got beads of perspiration on his forehead where his hair's pushed back. Despite his obvious excitement his expression is uncomfortable. Have you gone too far? Your customers are usually left begging for more, not pleading with you to stop.

"I'm sorry!" You blurt out, and by some timely coincidence the music starts to slow and fade out, prompting you to rise up off the seat and move back.

Van's hands fall into his lap and he squirms in his seat, looking down before he raises his gaze to you. "Don't apologise... please... it's just... errr... shit!" He looks away again, screwing his face up, then you watch as a small grin emerges, slowly spreading. "Thought I was gonna lose control there for a moment... if ya know what I mean!"

Realisation floods you. "Oh! Oh right! Don't worry about that!" You reassure him, wanting to giggle but not really sure whether that's appropriate.

"Sure you're used to that though, eh? That was really something."

His smile is wide now, mischievous, and you find you're smiling too. You can't help it. You've just made Van McCann nearly blow his load AND he's fully dressed. Your inner fan-girl is practically doing a victory lap.

"Yeah... I mean no... not really... I mean... oh god I don't know what I mean. You've embarrassed me now!" Without your dance routine to hide behind you're a bundle of nerves, all of a sudden faced with one of your idols, blushing furiously.

Van stands, awkwardly adjusting his clothing which makes you both laugh, and he's got a hopeful look in his eyes. "So... since we're... errr... a little better acquainted now do I get to know your real name?"

You hesitate, hearing Mick's words in your head.

Never, and I mean NEVER, give out your real name or any other personal details. You do not want any crazies tracking you down at home, believe me!

But he's not a crazy. He's Van FUCKING McCann for god's sake. And he wants to know your name. He likes YOU. The realisation sets off a spark inside you that floods your whole body, conjuring up thoughts which you probably have no business thinking. I mean he's only asked for your name, not your phone number.

You're aware that you're grinning like an idiot nevertheless, just about to open your mouth to speak when there's a sharp rap at the door and Mick's voice booms out. "Next dance, Booth 6... five minutes!"

Disappointment sinks in you and you're not the only one. Van's face visibly falls before he plasters a smile back on. "Damn! I should have just booked you for the whole evening I guess!"

"I'm sure you have much better things to spend your money on!" You giggle, a little shyly, then you throw caution to the wind, stretching out a hand to him. "I'm Y/N by the way."

Van's smile makes your belly flip as he reaches for your hand, and instead of shaking it he raises it to his lips and plants a small kiss there.

"It was really good to meet ya," he grins, and then he hesitates like he's about to say something, but Mick's at the door again, calling to you, and he looks down.

"I'd better let you go then," he says, edging closer to the exit. "Let that other lucky fella spend some time with you now."

A mild panic shoots through you as you realise that Van probably thinks that you give other customers the same intimate treatment he's had and you don't want him to think that. But then as you watch him duck through the door you immediately dismiss the notion that he might be bothered about you in that way. I mean, why would he be? He was just after a quick thrill tonight and you delivered it. End of story. You watch him go.

Your next dance is for a balding, overweight guy who’s easily old enough to be your dad. Your heart sinks as his eyes trail over your frame as you enter the booth and you detect the cloying smell of body odour as you move closer. You force a sweet smile as he asks your name and you repeat your usual line.

"Mmm... Candy... you're so sweet baby," he coos, his hands raking up and down his thighs.

You take a deep breath, hiding a shudder, before you start to perform your usual dance with much less enthusiasm than you did for Van, keeping a small but definite gap between your bodies as you gyrate in front of him. Something's changed. Usually you can clear your mind, performing your routine flawlessly, feigning a seductiveness which drives your customers wild. They'll be so caught up in their little fantasy that you're hot for them when the reality is that your mind is actually focusing on something completely mundane like running through chores that you need to do or what you're going to cook for dinner the next day. Now all you can think of is how you'd rather be anywhere else than here. You feel suffocated.

"C'mere Candy baby," the guy drawls, and as he speaks you feel his fingers grasp hold of your hips, trying to pull you down on to his lap.

You immediately go to push his hands away, but he's surprisingly strong and he's not backing down, he just grips you tighter.

"No touching, you know the rules!" You cry, trying in vain to prise his fingers away.

This isn't the first time this has happened and you know it certainly won't be the last, and just that thought alone fills you with a kind of despair. All of a sudden you don't feel desired and powerful, you just feel tired and degraded and more importantly really pissed of. And not just pissed off. Fucking livid actually.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" You yell with vigour, surprising yourself and the sleazy man, but he doesn't back down, further taking liberties, one of his hands sliding between your legs.

That's it!

Your knee connects with the man's groin and it's hard enough that his face contorts and his body folds as he cries out, cursing you loudly. You reward his insults with a slap across his face, delivered with force. Then before he has chance to recover from the shock of your retaliation, you hastily make for the exit, pushing through the velvet drapes and flinging the door open. You barrel through the door with so much impetus that you slam straight into another figure in the corridor. It's your boss, Mick.

"Bloody hell Y/N! Look where yer going! Hey... aren't you supposed to be dancing?"

"I've had enough Mick!" You cry. "I'm going!"

Mick looks shocked and annoyed. "But your shift's not over yet. We've got a list of punters wanting a private dance after your performance. You can't just walk out!"

"Watch me!"

At that moment the door of Booth 6 swings open to reveal the guy from earlier, red-faced and fuming, one hand holding his injured groin and the other pointing at you accusingly. You know Mick won't give him the time of day. Customers not obeying the rules do so at their own risk, but you don't wait to see what ensues. You're already storming down the corridor, making for the dressing room.

"Y/N! What's up? You look upset!" Cayley comes rushing over with concern, thrusting a glass of what looks like vodka at you. "Here, have a drink!"

You don't accept it although you'd like nothing more than to knock it back. You just want to get out.

"I quit!" You shout out loud enough to carry across the whole dressing room, and this causes a few of the girls to look up, but the majority look disinterested. In this line of work it's not unusual for girls to come and go.

Cayley tries to talk you around but you've made up your mind. You grab your bag of clothes, not even bothering to get dressed and slipping into your faux fur coat. Then you're making for the corridor and the exit of the venue, leaving behind the dark, sweaty atmosphere and pushing through into the cold winter's night.

Read Part 2

#private dancer #catb imagines #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic #smut

13 notes · View notes