The Hunt (Love and Lapdances, #3)

By Katie de Long

The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.
Tori, an exotic dancer and dominatrix, decides to take her relationship with a regular to the next level.

The Hunt contains adult language and content. It was originally published as Queen of Clubs: Tori.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie de Long
• Release date: Jan 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781502245946

Katie de Long

USA Today bestseller Katie de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library. For more information on Katie's work, visit delongkatie.com.

Book preview

The Hunt

Love and Lapdances #3

––––––––

The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.

Tori and Bradley have a great friendship with benefits. Tori's a professional Dominatrix, the key to unlocking parts of Bradley that he'd never explore otherwise. But when Tori confronts the depth of her feelings for him, will their friendship survive? 

Dedication

For all the whores, sluts, and bad girls I've known who turned those names into compliments.

––––––––

This story has a glossary in the back, for some strip club terms.

The Hunt

Love and Lapdances #3

Angel looks at me in confusion. "He wants what?" I roll my eyes. I picked her because she's new and innocent looking—just his type. But maybe this was a bad idea. Usually I work with Lee when I need to, but she’s laying low at the moment, working elsewhere or something until management forgets they’re mad at her. Desperate times and all that.

Don't judge. It's easy money. You just sit in the corner and laugh. Maybe shake your tits a little.

"Laugh at him. That's the difference, Tori."

So? He gets to be a big powerful man everywhere else: so many people depending on him, so many petty frustrations with no outlet lest he step on the underlings. He likes being brought down a few pegs. It helps keep him steady. And, again, easy money. Three hundred for the half hour. Why are we still talking about this? Yes or no.

Hell yes. You're sure I don't have to do anything but laugh?

Oh, and don't say thank you. I roll my eyes and tow her over to Bradley. He's not a bad customer, certainly one of the nicer guys I've shared a drink with before spitting it in his face.

What the fuck are you waiting for? Pay the lady, I demand. He bows before reaching for his wallet, and puts three hundred dollar bills face up in his palm. The movement is almost ritualistic; we've done this so many time before that I no longer have to punish him for putting them wrong side up, or attempting to make eye contact with her while he gives her what’s due.

For a moment, Angel is speechless. Bradley isn't the sort of guy you'd expect to just take this quietly, let alone to want it. His suit has obviously been tailored to him quite nicely, and his haircut probably cost more than her whole self-care budget. Angel accepts the money. Her mouth opens automatically, and I glare at her. She nods regally, hiding a smile. She's still surprised at this, and I can get why.

And myself. I stare deep into his eyes, the look of an alpha dog sizing up a rival, and he kneels on the floor at my feet to offer my own payment, almost twice what Angel got. I'm the one giving him what he wants, and putting his happy humiliation party together. I've tried giving him cards for the dungeon I work at, so we can have some real fun, but he's a little gun-shy. Going to a strip club is a normal perversion. Going to a dungeon to have a woman force you to toddle around in ballet slippers and a saddle is another thing entirely. And who knows if that's really what I would do with him in the dungeon. Better for him to just stick with the setting he knows.

And to be fair, he doesn't just come to the strip club for that sort of party. Half the time, he might just be in here to pay for my time, sit at the bar chatting.

"Good. You will go to the ATM and prepare a tribute for us. Show us your devotion. Then, you'll take the room fee to Kitty over there. When you do, you will tell her 'my balls are smaller than wild grapes, and ugly as a mushy potato. So it's a good thing that my diaper covers them.' You got that?"

Yes, God. Originally, he thought to name me Goddess, but I slapped him hard and scolded him for daring to qualify me, as an attempt to minimize me. The release I offered him, the pleasure, was not due to some objectified ideal of me in a Grecian robe, breasts bared, a mostly-gentle hippie divinity, or Mother Nature flattening a small town but leaving the real devastation for religious end-of-the-world theories. It was me as consumer, destroyer, cracking him open like a geode. Goddess confined me to sex, not to power. I had a particular pet peeve for that title, and wasn't going to let it go easily. His boner nearly tore his pants, and I hoped it hurt. He offered me a pile of money in apology, and we hit it off from there. That became our first scene.

He leaves, and loudly passes my message on to Kitty. She knows him already, and has heard some version of this for the past six months, since we discovered he liked more public styles of humiliation. It's important