Skip to content This is part 3 for part 1: My Sister Gave Me a Lap Dance or part 2: My Sister’s Pole Dancing Tryout
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The drive over was the last quiet part of the night. Maya had the red two-piece folded in a bag on her lap and a gray hoodie zipped to her throat, clear heels knocking her ankle every time I hit a seam in the road. It would be her first day at the office, and both of us were excited. She had done her mouth in the bathroom mirror and left her hair down. In the passenger seat she still looked like my sister, if you did not know what was in the bag and if you didn’t know that I’d come on her tits a few days earlier.
Velvet Rope’s lot was filling with the Friday line, brake lights stacking at the curb. I parked in the staff row and kept both hands on the wheel.
“Stage and floor,” I said. “No privates … not the first night.”
“I wasn’t going to.” She flipped the visor and checked her lip. “Alexis said the rooms can wait until I know the pole in front of a real room. If a guy asks, tell him I’m new. I want to see if the money is real.”
“I’ll be on the door.”
“I know where you’ll be.” She smiled and got out before I could turn it into a speech. “Try to work.”
Inside, the bass was already loud and hard. Alexis clocked her in at the end of the bar, looked her over once the way she had at the tryout, and sent her to the dressing room with a nod that meant Friday was official. I took the door. Black shirt, earpiece, the list and the same post I had worked for two years. It stayed the same job until Maya walked past me in the costume. The bra pushed her tits high and together, pale skin above the lace, the skirt short enough that the red thong showed when she took the step up to the floor. The heels changed her walk. She did not stop to talk. Her fingers brushed my wrist on the way by, cash-girl casual, and she went to the stage like her name had been on the board for months.
The first song ruined the sidewalk. I was supposed to watch the line and the IDs and the guy who always tried to bring in a flask. She took the pole with one hand high, hips cocked toward the rail, and climbed. The skirt rode to her waist. The thong split her ass, thin and red, thighs locked around the brass, a slow spin that dropped her chest toward the money. Her tits bounced in the lace when she settled her weight, full, barely held, nipples tight enough to show through. I looked down at a license. The birth year did not stick. I looked back because I could not help it. She slid down the pole, chest forward, hair spilling over one shoulder, and found me over a customer’s head. Hazel eyes and that mean little mouth. My cock thickened against the zipper while a man waited for his change and told me to hurry.
“Door,” Alexis said in my ear. “You good?”
“Good.”
I was not good. Maya dropped to the lip of the stage on her knees, back arched, ass up for the rail, the string of the thong a red line between her cheeks while she crawled for the bills. She shook her hips once, and the jiggle ran through her ass and up into her chest. The lace shifted. One nipple nearly cleared the cup before she rolled her shoulder and put it back. Money hit the wood. She scooped it without breaking the crawl, stuffed it into the side of the bra, and only at the end of the phrase looked at the door again.
On the floor she took a table just inside the entry, close enough that I could see it when the inner door opened. A dance with the rules, the man’s palms on the vinyl where they were allowed. She rolled her hips to the bass, skirt bunched at her waist, thong doing all the work his eyes had paid for. Halfway through the song she turned. The arch was for the table. The face was for me, the kitchen face, the one that knew exactly where I was standing and what it was doing to my dick. She held my eyes for a full slow circle, then gave the customer the smile he had bought. I became incredibly hard.
A guy on his way out leaned into my space and asked if the new girl did privates. I told him she was on stage rotation and not booked. True for tonight, and the only answer I was going to give. Maya heard it on her way past with a handful of bills and touched two fingers to my chest, a thank-you that had no business on the door of a strip club.
She caught me in the dressing-room hall on the break. Costume still on, skin shiny under the bad hallway light, cash tucked between her tits in the bra. She drank from a bottle with her head tipped back, throat working, a drop running down to the lace, and she let me stand there and look.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“You’re on my door.”
“I’m on the pole. You’re the one picking the door.” She stepped in until the lace brushed the front of my shirt. Sweat, lotion and the sweet chemical smell of the club. “Don’t get us fired before I finish getting paid. You can look all you want when we’re home … In fact, I got another surprise for you at home.”
The way she said it, made me harder than ever. She went back to the floor. I went back to the sidewalk and waved through two IDs I barely looked at before the last song.
She climbed slower, showed off, inverted with her thighs locked so her tits hung toward the rail in the red bra, then slid down and shook her ass at the money like she had been doing Fridays for years. I kept both hands on the clipboard. My cock did not care about the clipboard. A regular said the new girl had an ass on her. I nodded. Alexis passed me once, glanced at the stage, glanced at my face, and kept walking. Maya finished on her knees in the wash, sweating, smiling at the stack in her hand, and only when the song died and the lights shifted did she look at the door.
Closing took forever. Tables, bathrooms and the usual guy who did not want to leave. She came out in the hoodie with the zipper half up, heels in the bag, hair damp at her neck, the red costume still on underneath. Tips folded in her fist.
Alexis caught Maya by the bar, hair stuck to her neck. She pulled her into a hug that was half boss and half the dancer she used to be, arms tight and proud in a way that did not need the room to be full.
“Talented,” Alexis said. “First Friday and you worked that pole like you’d been on my roster. I’m putting you on next week. Don’t get cocky. Do get paid.”
Maya laughed into her shoulder, then Alexis let her go and looked past her at me, where I was pretending to count the door list.
“Dean. Your sister. Star or not?”
I had watched her ass and her tits and her mouth all night and called it the job. The truth was easier than another lie. “She’s a star. You were right.”
Maya beamed. The mean little mouth went soft for a second, and she crossed to me and hugged me. Her mouth found my ear. “Don’t forget the surprise at home,” she whispered. “You earned it. Drive.”
Alexis was already moving on to the closer. Maya grabbed the bag with the heels. I finished the lock on the side door and followed her into the lot, the Friday line gone, the staff row down to my car and one bartender’s. She got in still wearing the red under the open hoodie. I got in. The club smell came with her, but I didn’t mind.
“She hugged you,” I said.
“She hired me.” Maya put her hand on my thigh before I was out of the space, high, familiar. “And you called me a star in front of your boss. Take me home. I’m not saying it again in this parking lot.”
I drove. She kept her hand where it was, thumb moving once when we hit the first light, the bag of heels against her feet, the city thinning toward the house. Mom’s car was not in the driveway. Maya looked at the dark windows, then at me, and smiled like the shift had only been the first half of her night.
We entered, and the door shut and the house was ours. Mom’s car was still gone. Maya dropped the bag of heels by the mat, the hoodie open over the red costume, cash still somewhere in the pocket, and I asked before the nerve I had spent all night ran out.
“What’s the surprise?”
She stepped in and kissed me. Not a thank-you on the cheek and not the stage smile. A real kiss, mouth open, her tongue against mine and her hands fisting the black shirt I had worn on the door. I kissed her back because the shift had burned through the last clean reason not to. She tasted like the club and the mint she had used in the dressing room. She pulled off just enough to talk, lips still on mine.
“I’m on the pill,” she said. “You can come inside me. That’s the surprise. No pull-out. I want you to fuck me and finish in me. I thought about it on the pole.”
My knees went soft. My cock was already hard from the lot, from her hand on my thigh, from an entire Friday of her ass in that thong. I took her wrist and walked her down the hall to her room. She kicked the door shut with a heel and the house stayed quiet.
The costume came off like it had been waiting all night to be taken off by me. Hoodie on the floor. Skirt peeled down her hips, the red fabric catching on her thighs. She turned and let me unhook the bra. Her tits spilled out, full, warm from the stage, pink nipples tight in the cooler air of the bedroom. I had come on them a few days ago. I had watched them bounce in the club. She pushed the thong down and stepped out of it, and then she was nude, flushed, a sheen of sweat still in the small of her back, the ass I had stared at from the door bare and close enough to touch.
I got the shirt and jeans off. My cock stood out, flushed dark, wet at the tip. She looked at it and used the smile she had given the rail.
“Customer doesn’t get this part,” she said.
She teased like she still had a song left. One hand around me, a slow stroke, base to head, her body pressed in so I felt how warm the dancing had left her. Stomach against mine. Tits on my chest. She dragged her pussy along my thigh, slick already, and let me feel it. Then she turned, bent with her hands on the bed, and showed me the ass from the stage, bare, the thong gone, looking back over her shoulder.
“In. Don’t make me ask twice.”
I set the head against her and pushed. Hot, wet, a tight slide that took the crown and then the rest, inch by inch, until I was buried in my sister and her pussy was gripping me like the pole had taught her thighs to hold. She moaned into the blanket. I held her hips and fucked her, the first position simple, chest down, ass up, the angle deep enough that she reached back and pulled me in harder. Each thrust made her ass bounce. I watched my cock disappear into her and felt the wrongness of it make me harder.
She wanted to show off, so she pulled off, rolled onto her back, and threw one leg over my shoulder, then the other, folding until her knees were by her ears and her pussy was tilted up for me. Damn, she was flexible. Sexy flexible. I drove down into her and the wet sound filled the room. Her tits bounced with every thrust, nipples tight, and she watched my cock sink in, mouth open, telling me not to pull out. I folded her tighter. She took it, ankles by her head, a laugh punched out of her when I hit deep, then a curse when I did it again and stayed there.
“Side,” she said, breathless. “I want you to see it.”
She turned, one leg hooked high over my arm, split open, and I fucked her in long strokes while she rubbed her clit and kept that leg up like the stretch was nothing. The mirror caught us. My sister on her back in her own bed, costume on the floor, me buried in her on a Friday night after I had watched strangers throw money at her. She clenched when she saw me looking at the glass.
Then she pushed me onto my back and sank down facing away … Reverse cowgirl. Hands on my thighs, ass in my face, riding me in a grind she had used on a customer’s chair an hour ago, except this time I was inside her. She bounced. The bed hit the wall. I held her hips and watched her pussy take me, shiny, stretched, her ass flexing every time she dropped. She looked back, hair stuck to her cheek, mean and wrecked.
“Fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Dump it where it belongs,” she said. “In your stripping sister.”
I sat up, pulled her back against my chest, and thrust up into her until the heat snapped. I came inside my sister, hard, pulse after pulse, buried to the base while she ground down and took all of it, hot and thick, no condom, the pill the only thing between the night and a problem. I kept going until there was nothing left. She stayed on me, breathing hard, then lifted just enough that I saw my cum leak out of her and run down onto me.
She leaned back, warm from the dance and from me, flexible enough to kiss me over her shoulder without leaving my cock.
“Good tip,” she said. “Same time next Friday. Don’t stare at the door like that or Alexis will put you on the floor.”
A week ago, I had told her no. I had called it ridiculous. I had been sure that getting my sister a job at Velvet Rope was the mistake I would not walk back. But she smiled at me in the mirror like she already knew the answer.
Zero regrets. That was the hook I had not seen coming. I would open the door for her next Friday, and the one after that, and I would not take a word of it back.
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