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Her body twisted around the pole, her legs spread wide for the boys to see. The glaring lights bounced off the red sequins on her skimpy bra and thong, making her look warmer than she was. Without all the gels and sprays, her hair would wilt like dried up flowers.
"Come on, baby, take it off for daddy!" The men from the bachelor party had guzzled one too many beers and were quickly becoming a nuisance.
Every few seconds, one of them hooted or hollered, standing around with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. Fallon knew Barry, her pro-wrestler-turned-bodyguard, was backstage and would come to her aid if need be, but that was the problem. Why should she have to be afraid at work?
Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks belted out from the speakers, and she spun her body along the pole, one leg curled around it. The noise from the table of drunks competed with the lyrics of the music and she found it hard to concentrate on her routine. Never mind she'd spent hours rehearsing it.
"Show that luscious backside, baby, and I'll slip you a hundred big ones!" Applause broke out in the club, with chants taunting her to take off her clothes.
The last thing she wanted was their hands anywhere near her backside, but what she wanted wasn't a luxury in her profession. Rent was due in a week and she still needed to finish paying off the cosmetic surgeon bill for her perky double D breasts that she selfishly installed on her petite frame.
Three months of dancing had afforded her a stacked chest, and she figured it would be worth it at some point. If she wanted to compete with the young, barely legal girls who were coming in droves these days, sheneeded to prove she was worth keeping around. It was too bad she'd lost sensation in her nipples after the breast implants. She used to orgasm at the mere pinching of them when she got herself off.
At least the tips exceeded the measly per hour rate she received from Jimmy, the mostly corrupt owner. She'd never cared much for him, or his greasy moustache. Stale fries. He swore he lathered himself in cologne, but all she ever smelled on him was stale fries. One day, she vowed to pull the toupee off his head if he so much as slipped his hand somewhere unwanted.
As a boss, he was ruthless, but he had rare moments of compassion. She had heard that one of the girls needed money for her son's hospital bills, and he lent it to her at no interest. Of course, the girl was told not to tell anyone, which she immediately did. No one mentioned it to Jimmy, because it was more fun accusing him of being a pig than fawning over him for his charity.
Mostly, he was a sleaze, happily flaunting his dick to any girl who'd suck it for a thousand dollars. He kept the girls around cheap because he knew the other places weren't even close to semi-respectable. Not that the Pleasure Zone was much better. The chump even took part of the tip money, claiming he was better than a savings account, and they could come to him if they needed a loan, which also meant a blowjob. Bottom line, he didn't want his women to get too rich and leave.
Survival was all about what you did for tips. She learned from day one when she was dressed in a virginal white teddy, looking as sweet as a lamb, and sent out to the hungry lions. She was a pretty face making peanuts. And then she learned how to add the pelvic thrusts and show a little more flesh. She went from barely paying her bills to having some cash to save from week to week.
With the extra money the man was waving around as motivation, Fallon shimmied along the pole and walked in her red stilettos over to the edge of the stage. She bent over in her thong to give the boys a show, running her hands around her curvaceous hips. From one leg to the next, she shifted her weight, doing her best to ignore their raunchy words.
The heels were killing her, straining her calves to a point that would require several nights of tender massages and soaking in the tub. Followed by a couple shots of whatever she had left to drink in the cupboard.
"Bring that fine ass over here and I'll frost it for ya, sugar!"
She cringed behind the curtain of her chocolate colored hair. She had forgotten what color her hair really was. With a toss of her head, she smiled coyly and paraded around, squatting down so they could almost fondle her breasts.
The song was near the end, as was her shift, and it couldn't come fast enough. She did a final walk in front of the groom-to-be, and slipped her fingers underneath the strings of her red thong, toying with the sides as if she were going to flash him.
No such luck, naughty boy.
The man waved a fifty-dollar bill in each hand, gyrating his pelvis to the beat.
If only they knew how stupid they looked.
"Come on, you sexy vixen, let me slip it somewhere wet."
She came up close to the edge of the stage and let him slip the money wherever he could reach. The rest of his group followed suit.