Triplets Make Five

“Miss Ella. There is no platter. Simply yourself and a man who wants to let you know how thoroughly beautiful and entertaining you are,” I said.

“Your words are very kind, Mr. Dobson.”

“They should be. Everyone deserves a bout of kindness every now and again,” I said.

She turned her gaze towards me and I caught it. I knew if I could just get her to look at me, to see the passion in my eyes and the way my strong body was leaning towards her, she would cave. I watched her body instinctively lean in towards me, trying to get closer as my eyes fluttered up and down her body.

“Mr. Dobson?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Ella?”

“It’s-”

“Yes?”

“I-”

“Mhm?”

Our lips were close. So close that I could smell her perfume. So close I could feel her body heat. So close I could see the shimmering accent of the powder she’d placed onto her luscious bosom before her performance.

“It has been a pleasure. However, it’s time for my second debut,” she said.

Before I could register what was going on, she threw back the rest of her martini, slid the olives off the stick with an incredibly long tongue, and left to go backstage. I could feel the bartender smirking at me, taunting me with the laughter that threatened to burst forth from his throat.

For the first time in my life, a woman had left me breathless.

I made my way to the side of the stage just as she came back out. The men in the room went wild as I took a seat in a dark corner, and I simply watched her performance. I watched the way she walked effortlessly in her blood red heels. I watched the way her hips naturally swayed to the rhythm of the little number I could tell was also arranged by her. The way her low notes simply slid from her tongue rumbled my chest in a way no woman’s voice ever had before.

It made me wonder if she sounded like that in bed. If her pleasure would rumble my ribcage or shatter my eardrums.

I was impressed. With the way she moved and the way she sang. With the songs she had arranged and the outfit she had chosen. She was bringing the entire package to a performance I could tell meant a great deal to her, and I wanted to catch her after tonight and ask her why it was so important.

Why she was so invested in a club like this.

I bet she had a story. I bet she had dreams and aspirations this club would help her to obtain. I bet she sat around in whatever dank apartment she could afford on this end of town and day

dreamed about song arrangements with her sticky little keyboard. I bet she was a starving artist type-- living off her dreams and passions while eating ramen noodles every night.

I could treat her to the most decadent foods this city had to offer, if only she’d let me.

I stood and clapped as her performance came to an end, and I swelled with pride when I saw her scanning the crowd. She tried to make it look as if she were just taking it all in, but her eyes were searching.

Looking.

Hunting.

And I knew exactly who she was looking for.

I knew exactly what I would do to her. I’d shove my cock between those pretty lips just to see what her throat felt like before I’d spear her down onto my lap. I’d mark her tits and her stomach just so she’d need extra makeup for the rest of her performances this week. I’d bury my face into that sweet pussy and ruin it for any man that came after me. I’d pull orgasm after orgasm from her body until she was begging me to stop.

Then, I’d give her one last bout of pleasure before I finally let her rest on the silk sheets her juices were sure to drench.

She walked off stage and I headed towards the bar. I knew that’s where she would be heading. She’d order herself another martini and act as if she was simply taking a break, but the relief would waft over her face when she’d see me sit right down next to her.

And the pride that flooded my chest when her eyes lit up at my presence made me smirk.

Deep down, every single one of them was the same.