Seducing the Seductress

Prologue

"Now on the pole, Noemie Steward," the announcer called.

A woman dressed in black lingerie stepped on the stage under the green spotlight. Her wide hips moved fluidly, hypnotizing the men in the audience. Her metallic eyeshadow shimmered, the hazel specks in her eyes distinct. Her black Louboutins clicked on the shiny gray stage.

She stepped up to the pole and ran her manicured fingertips down the metal. They disinfected it for Noemie because she was their best stripper.

Her medium green eyes looked at the DJ, waiting for him to turn on her 'song'.

Rack City began booming through the entire strip club. Everyone knew what that meant. Thirsty men flooded the area near the stage, insane lust in their wolf eyes.

Noemie jumped on the pole and began her dance.

Fat ass shaking, bands popping, money showered around her like confetti. Those two minutes and thirty three seconds seemed to last for a lifetime. She stripped down to only a G-String and no bra. Her long, waist length chocolate hair flew everywhere, beads of sweat accumulated on her caramelized skin.

As the song faded away, Noemie vibrated to the bass.

When the song was completely over, Noemie quickly swept up her money and put it all in her G-String band. She shook her hips like Josephine Baker and walked seductively off the stage just how she went on.

When Noemie stepped backstage, the other strippers cheered. She is what they wanted to become.

"Yet another performance by the beautiful Noemie Steward," said a light skinned red head with doe brown eyes and a perfectly proportional body.

"Thank you, Sharice," Noemie said with a flutter of the eyelashes.

The owner of the strip club walked in. All of the girls ran back to what they were doing; putting on makeup, fixing their hair, or standing in line to go on the stage. He began to slow clap, his black eyes staring at her almost naked body.

"You were great out there, MiMi," he said as he approached her.

"I'm always great, Stacy. And don't call me MiMi," she said to him, full of pompous. Noemie walked over to her station and began putting on her red lingerie for her last show that night. She was the only one who could talk smack to Stacy. If any one else did, they would get bitch slapped to next week then bitch slapped again.

Stacy began massaging her shoulders when she was sitting in her chair, retouching her makeup in front of the lighted mirror at her station. He was dark skinned, black as night. He had big black eyes and muscles like Joe Louis. He had scars, no doubt, but it is not like someone could see them.

"Somebody wants you in private," he murmured to her.

"I don't do private dances," she said with a sneer.

"For $50,000 you will. He doesn't want sex either. And stop giving me all that sass," he kissed her neck.

She pushed him away, "Don't kiss me!"

"Get ready. He's in Room 3a," he walked away. A chorus of gleeful sighs came from the other girls in the room. Nobody liked him. Everyone hated him. Only Noemie had the privilege of saying what was on everyone's mind.

Fifteen minutes later, Noemie began walking down the dark corridor lined with sex rooms. She never accepted 'private dances'. She was a stripper, not a prostitute. The only reason why she was doing this is because he didn't want sex.

She carried the tray of two champagne flutes, a bowl of strawberries, and an unopened bottle of Chardonnay. She stopped in front of Room 3a and took a deep breath.

Noemie pushed away the curtain then closed it behind her. The only light in the room was the bright one over the pool table.

A Blaxican man was bent over the pool table, aiming his shot. She imagined entwining her fingers in his big curly afro. Shades covered his eyes.

Noemie stared at him, biting her strawberry lips.

He shot the stick, hitting the white cue ball. It hit the red number 3, making it disappear in a socket. He straightened and saw her standing there staring, biting her full lip.

"You can put down the tray," he said with a smirk. Noemie smiled back, flashing her pearly whites before she walked seductively to the mahogany table in front of the booth and put down the tray. She began pouring our drinks, stealing glances at him shooting the cue ball.

She never saw men like him in Club Chardonnay. He looked too rich looking, unlike the other broke men that came here.

"What brings you on this side of town?" Noemie asked, putting strawberries on the rims of the glasses and walking over to the guy in the shades.

"Lets not talk about me for right now, Noemie. Lets talk about you," he said, taking a glass from her, intentionally brushing his fingers on hers. She jumped from the electricity that flowed between them.

"What do you want to know about me?," she asked, hopping onto the edge of the pool table and elongating her thick legs.

"Hm...maybe lets start with, 'how was your day'," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why do you care?" she said, lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Because you're interesting, Noemie. I've been watching you, you know, ever since you started working here when you were 16," he said with a playful smirk on his face.

Noemie's face fell, her eyes ran cold. Her skin blanched and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Her expression quickly changed to one of anger as she hopped off of the pool table.

"Who are you to ask me these questions, huh? Who are you to say this stuff about me? You don't know me!" Noemie snapped, trying to look intimidating.

"But I do know you, Noemie. I've been watching you, like I said," he said, walking toward her. His true religion jeans and black button down shirt didn't look cute anymore.

"Who is this joker? Are you a stalker?" Noemie asked, putting down her drink. This couldn't be another one of her obsessive customers. She did not have time for that.

"No," he said, stopping in front of her. He towered over her 5 foot 5 inch height.

"Then what is your name, huh?" she asked, her confidence slowly fading like the fizz at the top of the champagne glass.

"Prince. Prince Perez."