Giving My Billionaire Stepbrother A Baby

While Sash closes the door on her new world, and moves carefully from pole to chair and back again, her semi-naked body twisted into elegant poses, never once forgotten from her years in dance class, Isabella greets him. She kisses him lightly on each cheek, takes his coat and smooths the suit out across his shoulders.

“She’s quite something”, she says.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Dante responds. “How is she?”

“She’s about as nervous as I was when I first started.”

“Well then she’ll do just fine, won’t she?”

“Can I get you anything?” Isabella asks.

“No, thank you”, Dante says. “I have everything that I need. Just make sure everyone else is catered for.”

“I always do.”

“That’s why you’re here”, Dante says.

“She’s in number eight. I thought that might suit her.”

“I think it’ll suit her just fine.”

She’s sat when he enters, waiting patiently, the door opening so silently she is unaware of it. Dante closes in on the glass. He stands there casually with his hands in his pockets, taking a moment to admire his stepsister, before he intends to make his presence known. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to do this, since he’s been able to look at her without her knowing she’s being looked at, and he wants to take advantage of it for as long as he can. On the raised stage, in hot pants and a tight white vest top that hugs the contours of her body, his stepsister looks like she’s being exhibited. To him, she looks like the visual representation of a long held dream, better even then he remembers her. She uncrosses her legs and sits forward slightly, as though suddenly realizing she may no longer be alone.

“Is there anyone there?” she asks. “hello?”

She gets up and goes to the mirror, trying as best as she can to look through the glass again, still unable to see anything on the other side. Dante goes to the leather seat. He stretches his legs and makes himself comfortable. He watches his sister peer out through the glass, one hand above her, the other rested on her hip. On the table is a microphone, which he taps twice. Inside the booth, Sash jumps in fright.

“Hello”, Sash says again, looking up to the speakers. “Are you there?”

“Dance for me”, Dante says, the sound system designed to distort his voice.

“Ok”, Sash says, nerves creaking through her.

“Dance for me”, the distorted voice says again. “Don’t be shy.”

Music begins to crackle through the speakers. Sash has no idea where it comes from, but soon it begins to wash over her, the slow hypnotic beats almost impossible not to move to. She begins to swing her hips, tap her toes to the rhythm, close her eyes and lose herself in it. The only thing she ever wanted to do when she was a kid was dance. She couldn’t stop it, like she had a natural rhythm that ran through her and an even more natural urge to move with it. She couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. She danced all the way through high school and college, in any and every discipline she could get her hands on, and when she graduated, she did a pole and lap dancing class one evening for fun, sticking with it for almost a year because she loved the exercise and discipline.

One drunken evening in her bedroom, desperate to show Dante just a tease of what she had learned in her classes, was where this all started. Her a dumb, inexperienced eighteen year old virgin, eager to impress and hopelessly in love, and him twenty, already on the way to earning a fortune, and completely out of her league. Now, repeating the moves she was so keen to show him the first time around, she’s not the only one who has the memory come back to her.

Dante can see she is nervous. He can see she is self-conscious and awkward, much like she was the first time she danced for him. She had a tendency to go red when she was embarrassed, and Dante liked to tease her about it, until she had to hide her face and wait until it had gone back to its normal color. She always complained to him and begged him to leave her alone, but secretly she liked the attention.

Moving with the beats now, Sash stretches her body, angling her neck from side to side, lifting her T-shirt to expose her belly, twisting and turning, pivoting around the small space to the evocative music, perfectly aware of the size of the area she’s confined to, and manipulating it perfectly.

Looking up, she catches sight of herself briefly in the mirror, the angle of her gaze directed towards her stepbrother, so he feels momentarily like the only one visible. She falters because of it, suddenly embarrassed, then catches herself quickly, turning the moment of self realization into an opportunity to push into another move, and swing herself smoothly towards the pole.

Dante sits on the edge of the seat as he watches her loop casually around it, getting used to her new environment. One leg hooked, the other outstretched, she seems to gain more confidence with each turn she makes, or at least care less with each second that passes. She’s performed before in dance halls all over the city, so this is nothing new to her. She’s performed to her stepbrother as well, although she has no idea he’s on the other side of the glass now. She tries not to think about who might be. Instead, she concentrates on doing what she does best. She concentrates on dancing.

Once again, she’s back on the floor. She’ll leave the pole until she’s better prepared for it. She dances to the chair and slides it out of the way with her back arched like a cat, and her ass up in the air, wiggling as she goes, teasing whoever might be on the other side of that glass. With the space cleared, she’s ready to strip.

Dante was the only man Sash ever wanted. When she thought he wanted it too, she couldn’t have been any happier. So what if he was her stepbrother? She didn’t care that what they were doing was considered taboo, nor that they had to do it in secret. All she knew was that she loved him, and that was enough. The day he told her it was over, before they’d even sealed their love and he’d had a chance to take away her virginity, was the day he broke her heart. Three years is a long time, but not enough to heal.

Sash lets the music wash through her. She can feel it humming through the wooden floorboards, reverberating through her body in pulses, up through her legs, past her pussy, onwards, into her tits. She touches them now, squeezing at the base, working the skin forwards to the nipple, capping it off with a little pinch. Both hands cupping, squeezing, teasing. Dante leans forward on the edge of his chair, desperate not to miss a single beat. She turns, legs spread and ass up, caressing the floor, pulling it towards her in a silky beat, letting him see the form of her body.

She’s always been flexible, always been in shape. Upright again now, gently rocking her hips from side to side, she lifts her T-shirt. In one perfect, unbroken movement that has Dante salivating with anticipation, she has it spinning momentarily around her fingers, before it’s static again, curled up like a sleeping cat in the corner of the booth.

Performing has always made her happy. Horny too. She remembers the classes, where she’d get a thrill from knowing people were watching her swing on the pole, watching the way her body was moving in shapes they could only dream about making themselves. She was the best in her class, and could have made a career out of it if she wanted. Perhaps now, she’ll have to.

“What do you like?” Sash asks the disconnected voice in the other room, her hands all the time working her beautiful body, streaming over her curves like hot rain would cling to a mountainside, more confident than ever now.

“Show me”, Dante says, his voice disguised.

“What do you want to see?” Sash asks, playing with him, her hands pushing her hot pants down to reveal her hip bone. A suggestion of what might follow. Dante can’t help but get up now. Stood, his erection is clear. He puts one hand on the glass, desperate to touch his semi-naked stepsister. He’s missed this more than he realized.

“Everything”, Dante says. “Show me everything.”

Sash pivots. She dances towards the mirror, enjoying the sight of herself now, not embarrassed by it. She runs her hands over

her hips and belly towards her bra. When he dared her to do this first of all, she nearly slapped him. She went bright red with embarrassment and said she’d only do it if he did it too, her heart beating so fast she thought it would never slow down. Dante sits again, eager to watch her perform from the comfort of his chair. He remembers the anticipation he felt then, that first moment he was about to see her naked. Now that feelings is increased ten fold, for the time that has passed and the fact that she doesn’t know he is watching. Then she was so nervous her hands were shaking. Now she’s like a different woman, desperate to please. Desperate to earn her money.