SECRET Affair With My Step-Brothers

The pulsating rhythm of the music courses through Lesley's body as she dances, her movements a seductive spectacle weaving between tables. She playfully blows kisses at the men who watch her, their eyes following her every move. The music fills the room, and she uses it to her advantage, her hips swaying and dipping in a tantalizing rhythm. The table serves as her anchor as she dances close to the men, her movements inviting yet untouchable. When a man reaches out to touch her, she playfully wags a finger at him, earning a chorus of laughter from his friends. Her body descends, her knees bearing her weight as she continues her dance, her back arching towards the floor. Her movements are provocative, her body on display yet perfectly concealed. She doesn't linger, moving on to the next table, this time using it as her stage. Her focus isn't on the men this time, but on her dance. She kneels, her back to the audience, the feel of paper being tucked into her garter signaling a tip. She doesn't break her rhythm, standing and turning to face the men at the table. Her movements become more intense, one man practically salivating as his gaze is fixed on her. She notices another man, the one who had slipped money into her garter. His eyes are wide, his expression a mix of shock and disgust. She offers him a friendly wave, an unusual gesture meant to ease his discomfort, before jumping off the table. She doesn't let him or the situation disrupt her rhythm, dancing her way back to the stage to finish her solo before retreating backstage. Exhaustion washes over Lesley as she collapses into a chair. She knows the night ahead will be challenging, and she needs a drink to face it. She scrolls through f*******:, looking for a local party. She changes into a cropped vest and black denim shorts, pulling on boots before heading out. She acknowledges the other dancers with a nod, aware of their names but keeping her distance. Her life isn't for them, and sometimes she feels it isn't for her either, but she has no choice but to live it. As she leaves, she feels the man's gaze on her, but she doesn't look back. She feels a pang of sympathy for him, trapped in a relationship with her mother and falling for her manipulations. But he's here now, and her sympathy wanes. She welcomes the familiar scent of her car as she drives away, stopping to stare at a dilapidated house, its windows useless and its roof nonexistent. Cars line the front of the house, lights on and music blaring from one of them. She walks through the cars, grabbing a drink from the back of one. These are her kind of parties - thrown together, open to anyone, a mix of familiar faces and strangers. She blends into the crowd, just the way she likes it. As Lesley drinks, she loses herself in the rhythm of the crowd, the hours slipping away unnoticed. A warmth spreads through her as hands grip her hips, a body grinding against hers in time with the music. She doesn't bother to turn and see who it is. Her bottle is empty, so she tosses it towards a bin and continues to dance, her movements matching the stranger's. She waits for him to stop or pull her closer, but he simply dances with her. Staying late isn't an option for her. She knows she'll have to move on tomorrow. She spins around and kisses the unknown man who has been her dance partner. Without a second glance, she leads him away from the crowd, to a secluded spot behind the building. Moans escape her lips as he pushes her shorts down. Some might label her promiscuous, but she sees it as taking control, as trying to replace the haunting touch from her nightmares with the touch of another man. But it always fails, the memory of that touch washing over her like a relentless tide. Despite his inebriated state, the man lifts her with surprising skill, her legs wrapping around his body. She needs his touch to erase the memory of the past, but he disappoints her. His movements are quick and restless, his satisfaction evident while she's barely affected. It feels like a mere prelude to a prelude. He steps back, straightens his clothes, and leaves. Lesley laughs, knowing that his touch won't chase away her nightmares. But she also knows that no one she chooses to be with tonight will help. Everyone is too drunk, and she expected more than a brief, unsatisfying encounter. She sighs in disappointment, fixes her clothes, and returns to the party. She continues to dance and drink, the disappearing moon a signal that it's time to leave. The taxi ride home is a stark reminder that her life is about to change, yet again. In her room, she strips down to her bralette and panties and falls into bed, sleep claiming her almost instantly. ...... A loud bang jolts Lesley awake. She sits up to see her mother standing by the door, a familiar look of fury on her face. She braces herself for the inevitable confrontation. "You just had to, didn't you? Stop selling yourself, Lesley," her mother throws her coat at her. "Pack, because we're leaving." She turns to leave, but Lesley won't let her have the last word. "Because it's my fault your soon-to-be husband was in a strip club?" Lesley retorts. "It wouldn't be an issue if my loose daughter didn't work there! Every time, Lesley, you mess things up for me!" Her mother screams, and Lesley can't help but laugh. "David was spotted in a strip club, that's not on me. Your previous husband, Bob, quickly discerned your gold-digging intentions and showed you the door. As for Roland, the one before Bob, I admit I had a part to play in that," Lesley retorts, a chuckle punctuating her words. "Pack your things, here's the new address," her mother flings a piece of paper towards her. Lesley scans the address and sighs inwardly. The place is a considerable distance away, which means a long drive and more money spent on gas. "So, who's the lucky guy this time, mother? Husband number six, is it? Does he know about your habit of leaping from one man to another, siphoning off their wealth?" Lesley smirks. She's transparent about her means of income. She earns her keep through dancing and stripping, while her mother does the same in secrecy, feigning love for one man after another. They all eventually see through her act, catching her sizing up her next wealthy target. "That's not your concern. He's out of town for the weekend. Get your things together, I told David we'd be out of here before he returns from work," her mother retorts, her eyes narrowing. Pack her things? They were never unpacked in the first place. "Fine, Mother, I'll meet you at the new place," Lesley responds. She's given up on unpacking. Her life fits into a suitcase and a box, with only her speaker, charger, and a few other items ever making it out. She collects the few pieces of clothing scattered around, stuffs them into her suitcase, and throws the rest of her belongings into the box. This is all she needs. She's not her mother, she won't exploit men to upgrade her wardrobe. She works and buys what she can afford. Despite the parade of her mother's fiancés, she's always refused their assistance. The mere thought of accepting gifts from her mother's partners leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. They've lost their innocence in her eyes. With every new home, every new fiancé, and every new town, her mother's hoard of clothes, perfumes, shoes, and jewelry continues to grow, even though she already owns more than enough to outfit an entire nation. Lesley departs and hails a taxi back to the dilapidated house where she left her car. Upon arrival, she steps out of the taxi, bag and box in tow. She can't suppress a smile at the sight of a few people still lingering, sleeping on the grass or in their cars. There's no judgment here. This place is sufficiently distant from their previous residence to evade the prying eyes of the affluent kids who believe they're the center of the universe.