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The calluses on Gina’s palms flickered odd colors as the ambient lights strobed above. She thought she might be dreaming, though she wasn’t sure why. The moment the notion crossed her mind, she forgot why she thought it in the first place.
A cavernous festival raged beyond the door at her feet. Just like every other night. It didn’t bug her so much anymore. The dim light masked what might be seen otherwise.
No one cared if you felt broken. No one cared that they themselves might be broken. For those few hours, everything was a blur. And that was okay.
A friend had gotten her into this line of work. Well, a friend of a friend. It was good money. Easy money. Free drinks. Good exercise. Better than working at a gas station, and definitely better than kissing some douchebag-with-mommy-issues’ ass while she pretended to be his secretary.
And there was always the chance some millionaire might stumble into his feelings one night. Or so the other dancers squawked to each other between outfit changes. They were fools to think it—to think that Prince Charming would be caught dead in their little hole in the wall. Still, a girl had to have dreams. Even so, the ones who gave in to that delusion usually ended up shattered.
Gina grew numb to it after a while. New girls came. After a few nights they would leave, most times with a shiny new handy-dandy drug problem. The ones that stuck around usually had mouths to feed.
The pace of the club seemed to have picked up over the last hour or so. Probably a few regulars out there. Those were probably the most dangerous. Smooth talkers. Big spenders. Always with the same ‘let’s make a deal attitude’, all behind the shit-eating grin of a pseudo-car salesman.
“Oh, baby, you’re so beautiful. Let me buy you a drink. Let me take you home. If you were my woman, you’d never have to take your clothes off for money.”
Or.
“Hey sexy, you interested in making some real money. You wanna see what it feels like to be with a real man. I know a couple of ‘em looking for a private show. The money’s great. That is, if you aren’t scared.”
Blah. Blah. Fucking Blah. Bitch please.
It got to the point where she intentionally forgot faces. Forgot names. There was always someone new, ready to invest. So what was the point in even pretending to be attached? Or interested for that matter.
Her thoughts trailed as she pushed through the dressing room door. After her first week, she had mastered the art of flipping that little switch in her brain. The one that made it seem like she cared about the drunk men ogling her body. The one that prevented them from seeing just how monotonous this had become for her.
Confidence was key. More important maybe was the smile she plastered across her face. Make-up helped, but after a few hours it probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway.
Gina strode through the club like the beaming faerie they believed her to be. A smile for any who noticed. Otherwise, they were all a blur to her. The blaring music made it hard to catcall, and for that she was thankful.
Most in attendance were already preoccupied with private dances. That meant she might have to spend extra time on stage tonight. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t the quick and easy way to pay her rent. Rent she was still a few hundred short of, plus utilities. Good money, my ass.
And she wouldn’t be selling that any time soon either.
She had already made three quarters of a circle around the stage when a leg propped up in front of her. You! The decision on whether he was cute or not was still up in the air. Plenty were cute. Some were even downright gorgeous. Those types were really only after a mindless fucktoy though, and that she could never be.
But this one was a little strange. He came to the club often and spent most of the night drinking with friends. He didn’t grope the girls. Sometimes he didn’t even seem interested at all. Through the rumor mill, the worst she had heard was ‘he’s a bit of an asshole.’ That and—if he liked the dancer—he would buy drinks and dances all night.
When she smiled, he returned it with enthusiasm. Almost too cute. And he was alone. Even better. This lion had yet to be claimed for the night, which worked out from an ethical standpoint as well as a mental one.
“Hey you,” she said as she plopped herself next to him in the booth.
He leaned forward and they hugged. A simple thing, but— A little affection now and again went a long way in this line of work. She did, however, allow herself to enjoy the luxury of his strong arms wrapped around her. The faint scent of cologne masked by the bouquet of a since smoked cigarette. The hand between her shoulder blades, dissected by the strap of her bikini top. Even the way he inhaled her perfume almost felt...natural.
They broke the hug, but he stayed close enough to speak into her ear. “Found any new victims for the night?”
“I thought I just did.” As she pulled away, she let her fingers trail along his neck. He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. That was good.
Some of the regulars—the more conscious ones—knew there was a game being played. A drink turned into two, which turned into three. Liquid courage inspired philanthropy. Some girls were known to leave with a thousand a night, after settling with the house. Gina occasionally had a few of those herself, but there was no such thing as free money and she wasn’t as willing to negotiate with her body as the others.
“Thirsty?”
God was she, and since he was offering. After she grabbed the attention of the waitress for their section and ordered a shot of Fireball on his tab—he was drinking henny and coke, but she honestly could stand the stuff—her mind returned to business. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
“Long enough to finish a drink. Didn’t know I was waiting for you though.”
She pulled her ear away from his lips to find another charismatic smile. That’s probably why the others thought he was an asshole. He liked to tease, and most of the girls were already walking on eggshells trying to maintain their confidence. And their dignity.
He leaned forward again. “Your hair looks pretty. It matches your outfit.”
Blonde highlights were in, and she had already gotten a few compliments since she changed it. She doubted that anyone would have noticed the gold accents on her white bikini top though. That left her surprised and just a little bit more interested.
“It matches my new nipple ring too.”
As she retrieved her shot from the waitress, she was satisfied with the way he bit his lip for her. Or at her? Either way it was nice that he didn’t immediately demand to see it. That wouldn’t last for long though. Hopefully.
“Where are your friends tonight?” A perfectly reasonable question. He didn’t normally come alone, and so that made her curious.
“I just needed to get out for a little tonight. Here’s hoping I don’t get ,” he replied as he lifted his drink for a toast.
You and me both. She knocked her shot glass against his highball and then intertwined her arm with his. It had a nice effect on his reaction, and that took her mind off the fact that every so often one of the dancers would be unable to walk to her car at night. It happened to the male customers too sometimes. Though usually it was just stolen phones or wallets.
Cinnamon burned her throat as the whiskey traveled home. A warm feeling that made her feel a little generous and just the slightest bit horny. Her glass clicked against the countertop as she set it face down, and then she was in his lap.
There was usually some etiquette involved. A transactional affirmation. He stared at her, confused as to whether he had unconsciously given it or not. Before he could speak, she laid her finger on his lips and leaned in. “Take care of me tonight.”
She tore at her top as the next song started and placed in beside him. He really was cute, the more she looked at him. Good eye contact. A little excessive for the girls who were ashamed or disgusted with that they were doing, but she didn’t mind. Even his posture was nice as he scooted forward to get a better look at her without craning his neck.
With his mouth slightly open, she could feel his warm breath on her nipples as she rubbed her breasts against him. They had always been on the petite side, but he didn’t seem to mind as her nipple ring slid against his cheek and into his open mouth before she shifted out of reach. If he was a good boy, she might just let him give it a little kiss. And it seemed like a good boy he intended to be.
Even if she wanted to be touched, it wasn’t allowed. State laws or some bullshit. The bouncers made things especially difficult, but the worst was the House Mom. Always watching, like a hawk. For good reason, but…
Gina backed away and turned to sit. Right on his thick cock. Or so she thought. It’s too long, her mind grumbled as she looked back in hopes her frustration was communicated. He was too busy staring at her ass, a fact that irritated her and turned her on at the same time. Maybe if she just…
She dropped it on him. Hard. Through the fabric of his jeans, she felt just the tip. Gina lifted herself, giving herself a good smack for his enjoyment. He bit his lip as he looked from the outline of her pussy and then into her eyes.
I want to feel how big it is, she commanded with her eyes. With that she let it drop again, this time sliding back against his chest. To her surprise—as she circled his lap with her hips—the outline of something pleasant began to grow more and more pronounced. Her motions must have massaged it up his thigh, and there it was as clear as day.
Who says white boys don’t come packing heat. The others usually ran after the Haitians, but— Something about them just didn’t do it for her. Maybe it was a cultural thing. Colored eyes were also a plus.
Gina lingered in that position, rolling her stomach and hips, while enjoying the heat of his breath on her neck. He couldn’t kiss her, but he could get damn close. And he was.
Being horny was nothing new. She often was, for one reason or another. Maybe it was the Fireball’s fault, but she seemed a little more sensitive than usual. And if he kept her engine revved like this, an outfit change would be in order.
She stood again and pulled the fabric of her bikini tighter, and then swayed her hips inches from his face. Could he smell her? How aroused she was?
Her lips were already swollen as hell and her clit throbbed in hungry protest. If only this were a different club in a different state. She would have buried his nose in between her cheeks the moment she felt comfortable. As it was, this was almost for both of them.
Gina dipped into his lap again, but this time a new sensation was waiting for her. He must have slid his hands to his thighs. Maybe to adjust his cock for her, or maybe in anticipation of her imminent descent. Either way, now she felt the outline of his cock on one side and the pressure of a lifted thumb on the other.
This was the point where a careful eye would draw the attention of a bouncer. But she was so turned on—so caught up in the contact of his touch only separated by a thin layer of fabric—she didn’t bother. Even if for only a song, she wanted to forget the policy.
With her hands braced on his knees, she followed the rhythm of the song with her hips. Just for a moment, she lost her concentration and found herself staring down at the pair of white Jordans on his feet. He bucked slowly in tandem as she backed it up for him and she felt the flat of his thumb sink into polyester. God damn she was horny, but… I need to make money tonight.
Leaning forward, she slapped her ass again. Both hands came down this time, her fingers sinking into her soft skin. She spread her cheeks for him before twisting her fingers into the strappy detailing and caged accents of her bottoms like she might pull them down. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t an art to seducing funds out of a customer. Perhaps this was going farther than necessary, but she really didn’t want to worry about finding some other poor sap to toy with. Not that he was one, but...you know.
As the song ended, she grabbed his drink and took a sip to cool her throat and herself. Getting too hot and heavy could be bad. A lot of whack jobs turned up at strip clubs and grew obsessed. Sometimes after a single innocent performance on stage. But she had danced for this guy before, so she was sure that wouldn’t happen.
“I need to...relieve some pressure,” he said as he took a moment to squeeze her waist. Hands were a no-no, but it was quick. Really, she didn’t mind at all to be honest.
They both stood now, and for a moment his hand lingered at her navel. A soft touch. Gentle even. The kind that would make a girl’s heart flutter and drench her panties. Her’s would have become that way, but she was far beyond what she considered the ‘damp threshold.’
“Don’t take too long,” she said as his fingertips trailed her side in passing. He probably didn’t even hear her and now it was clear he was a little staggered from the alcohol. Long enough to order a drink, huh? From the way he swayed through the crowd, his consumption probably hedged closer to double digits than not.
Her heart sank a few moments later when they called her name on the intercom. The House Momma must have seen. This was the typical passive-aggressive bullshit she didn’t like. Just when a girl was having fun, getting comfortable, and ready to make some money—here came the mother hen to pull in the reins.
Gina danced for two songs, but her heart wasn’t in it. A few customers threw singles and she played their game—it just wasn’t the customer she wanted. Her attention had to be on whoever was seated beside the stage. While she tried to peek into the corner where they had been sitting, it was too dark to see.
It took nearly ten minutes by the time she finished scooping up bills and freshening up—sanitizing herself and reapplying lotion, plus touch ups to her make-up. The corner booth sat empty, only a single filled highball stood on the counter to greet her. That was something, but— Where the hell did you go?
She sat. She sipped its dark contents. She waited. Nothing. The soles of her platform sandals tapped the raised seating area minute after minute, but eventually her angst got the better of her.
Cold liquid went down the hatch. She gave a few more dances for chump change and thirty minutes later the lights flickered on. To say she was confused would be an understatement. Really, it felt a lot like being stood up on a date.
It left her exhausted. Too exhausted to bother with the death glare from the House Momma. Too exhausted to argue about her cut for the night. She took her time and changed in silence, deciding to wait until the rowdier girls were long gone.
“Where the hell did I park?” She gazed over the nearly empty parking lot. She knew she saw her car. She knew she did. But for some reason it felt miles away.
Had she really danced that much? Even walking was getting hard. Instead of heading in a straight line, her steps took her on a curved path and somehow she ended up face to face with a cinder block wall.
It was cool against her forehead. But that wasn’t right. She felt like she’d been— But she couldn’t have been—
“Fuck.” Her voice sounded small, even in the 3am lull of the parking lot. Her heart was racing, but she couldn’t even lift her head. She couldn’t even scream because it felt like her throat had been filled with sand.
Her knees wobbled, and then the wall was much closer for some reason. That was fine. She was fine. She just needed to get to her car. She’d sleep it off. She’d be fine. Her car was just—
The leg had been there before. Probably. Things were starting to blur, but she was pretty sure it had been dangling there the entire time. A single white shoe hung at eye level and she swatted at it.
Mumbles. She swatted again, this time a handful of cuff gripped loose in her hand. She tugged.
“I’m awake. I’m awake. I wasn’t sleeping. I was just—”
The words warbled in her head, and for a while she didn’t hear much of anything. All she had to her name was the small realization that not only had he been asleep, he had ditched her to do so. Never had she ever seen someone leave a strip club to pass out on a cinder block wall like some kind of alley cat. W.T.F. Bastard.
Her eyes were so heavy. He was beside her now and he kept her lids open. That wasn’t very nice.
Time lurched forward.
It felt much better when the car seat leaned back. Also the open window felt good, but now she was cold. At one point he was asking her questions and she heard enough of his words to emphatically reject the idea of a hospital. She didn’t have insurance, what the hell?
The car eased to a stop, and for what felt like forever she didn’t hear anything. The urge to swing out against some unseen attack became too much, but when she tried she couldn’t even flex her fingers. Gina settled for a slitted eye instead.
He was hunched in his seat, fiddling with something. A lighter flickered. It wasn’t until a few moments later that she smelled the smoke from a cigar wrap and its contents that were comfortingly not tobacco. She whined for it.
“You okay?”
She whined again, this time managing to scratch the seat cushion.
“If you’re gonna throw up, let me know. I’ll open the door for you.”
Such a gentlemen, she thought bitterly. As the mouth of the blunt met her lips though, the bitterness faded and the sentiment suddenly felt incredibly accurate. In fact, she even teared up a little as she thought about her predicament. Thankfully, the heaving cough she experienced covered that up pretty well.
The minutes crawled forward. They were talking about something in quiet voices, but her handle on it wasn’t very firm. At one point she thought she might have said something dumb. Something along the lines of ‘I’m not like those other bitches’. He replied in an easy tone, intimate, and that lulled her further into the darkness behind her eyes.
A dull heat was the next thing she remembered. And birds chirping. Always birds chirping. Gina smashed her head into the seat cushion to drown them out. If they would just go away, she’d be fine. Even if car seats weren’t that comfortable…
She nearly cracked her head on the roof as she jerked into a sitting position. A less than exotic helping of saliva decorated her chin. Even more was on the seat. As she wiped it away though, she found it hard to really register what she was seeing.
They were in a car. His car. Somewhere parked in front of a row of green hedges. And that was it. One hand was propped behind his head, an elbow in the door jam. His body was tilted away, but his arm hung in an awkward angle towards her like he had been holding her hand.
Funny, her first thought was to lunge for the visor. She scowled at the woman reflected there. She looked like a pornstar after a particularly rough scene. Mascara dripped all to hell. The glue for one of her eyelashes about to call it a night.
Couldn’t he have just done what any other guy would have done? Couldn’t he have just taken her into his house or apartment or wherever the fuck he lived. At least then she’d have the option of removing the battered mask she currently had the privilege of calling a face.
Do you live with your parents, maybe? Most of the dancers were part time emotional therapists for their regulars. Not him. He was a closed book, so anything was possible.
Her eyes traveled to a set of ribbons and badges pinned to the ceiling. Some crest or something velcroed as well. Military?
This was all too confusing. She had been . That may or may not have been intentionally aimed at her. And if she didn’t wake up naked in his bed, then it obviously wasn’t him. So…?
Naturally, her eyes gravitated to an ashtray where half a leaf of a cigar wrap still rested. He probably wouldn’t mind, right? After what happened and everything. Plus, she still felt like crap.
The wheel of the lighter grated beneath her thumb, the fire curling as she inhaled the substance of life. And then she sat for a moment, just watching him before blowing a thick cloud into his cute little face. It didn’t take long for the smell to rouse him and—as his head turned towards her—she had the weirdest fucking thought ever.
I’m dreaming right now.
This website is for sale. If you're interested, contact us. Email ID: [email protected]. Starting price: $2,000