private dance in VIP room two. He’s not a regular. Go make him one. Benny is already in there reviewing the rules, so unload your tips and hustle over. If you can’t get another thirty minutes out of him, you’ve got just enough time to give grandpa at table seven a lap dance. If the private extends, you’re done for the night. I’ll have Lee Ann do the old guy.”
Before Kylie could reply, the honey-haired Southern belle stepped out of the dressing room at the end of the hall. “Lee Ann!” Vern barked and lumbered toward his next target.
Dread knotted her stomach as she hurried toward the dressing room. She’d been hoping against hope to avoid private dances. Public ones were bad enough. Pushing through the door, she smiled absently at Ariana, nodded to Ginger, crossed to Stacy’s vanity, and stopped short. Stacy’s overpriced boots sat on the vanity, safe and sound.
Surprised, she scanned the room. Ariana noticed her look and responded with a haughty smile. “Yes, Stacy, last night before I leave, I find your boots over there by the lockers. I figure you forget them…not like you to forget your things. I think, ‘Ari, these boots will not be here tomorrow unless you lock them up.’ So I do.” She raised a shoulder and let it drop. “Now I take them down and give them back to you.”
Kylie stared at the Russian. “Thank you. These boots were new and expensive and, to be honest, I never thought I’d lay eyes on them again. If you hadn’t put them in a safe place, I’m sure I never would have.”
Ariana lifted her nose in the air and looked down at Kylie through lowered, heavily lined eyelids. “Thank you for letting me borrow body oil last night.”
“Any time.” The way Stacy had described her coworkers left Kylie with the impression they were all viciously competitive and out for themselves. Not so true, apparently.
At least the precious boots were safe. She wished she could say the same for herself. With shaking hands she transferred her tips from her costume to her lockbox and tried to get herself calm and mentally prepared for the private dance.
“Private” wasn’t really accurate. Deuces mandated a bouncer stay in the room. At least Benny was bouncing for her rather than Ramon, the other security team member working tonight.
Ramon had been on stage duty the night Carlton Long pulled Stacy offstage. He’d left his station mid-dance to take a call, which broke club rules and, indirectly, her sister’s leg. Stacy dismissed Ramon as “a lazy weasel who never has your back,” but the vast nothingness in his dull black eyes bothered Kylie almost as much as his unreliability.
Then again, who was she to judge? For the next few weeks, she’d be dancing next to naked around a pole, on a table, over some guy’s lap, or up close and personal in the VIP room—the most profitable option by far, which is why she had to do this private dance. Panic skated through her at the thought of providing such intimate and blatantly sexual-themed entertainment, but there was no way around it. She and Stacy had bills to pay. Besides, quitting now would look suspicious.
To calm her jittery nerves, she reviewed Stacy’s instructions. They played in her head while she made her way to the VIP room with all the enthusiasm of a dead man walking.
A private performance takes the fantasy to the next level for the client. One-on-one attention from the girl of his dreams. The performance is what we call “full contact,” though he’s not allowed to touch you anyplace personal. You, on the other hand, can touch him anywhere above the belt, and you can sit on his lap.
My clients tend to want an artistic experience. Carlton, for instance, liked to undo my top, but otherwise, wasn’t into a lot of contact. He preferred to sit back and watch while I touched myself and put on a show for him. He enjoyed…theatrics.
Not just dancing, but acting, Kylie thought facetiously. Still, at the end of the day, it remained
Before Kylie could reply, the honey-haired Southern belle stepped out of the dressing room at the end of the hall. “Lee Ann!” Vern barked and lumbered toward his next target.
Dread knotted her stomach as she hurried toward the dressing room. She’d been hoping against hope to avoid private dances. Public ones were bad enough. Pushing through the door, she smiled absently at Ariana, nodded to Ginger, crossed to Stacy’s vanity, and stopped short. Stacy’s overpriced boots sat on the vanity, safe and sound.
Surprised, she scanned the room. Ariana noticed her look and responded with a haughty smile. “Yes, Stacy, last night before I leave, I find your boots over there by the lockers. I figure you forget them…not like you to forget your things. I think, ‘Ari, these boots will not be here tomorrow unless you lock them up.’ So I do.” She raised a shoulder and let it drop. “Now I take them down and give them back to you.”
Kylie stared at the Russian. “Thank you. These boots were new and expensive and, to be honest, I never thought I’d lay eyes on them again. If you hadn’t put them in a safe place, I’m sure I never would have.”
Ariana lifted her nose in the air and looked down at Kylie through lowered, heavily lined eyelids. “Thank you for letting me borrow body oil last night.”
“Any time.” The way Stacy had described her coworkers left Kylie with the impression they were all viciously competitive and out for themselves. Not so true, apparently.
At least the precious boots were safe. She wished she could say the same for herself. With shaking hands she transferred her tips from her costume to her lockbox and tried to get herself calm and mentally prepared for the private dance.
“Private” wasn’t really accurate. Deuces mandated a bouncer stay in the room. At least Benny was bouncing for her rather than Ramon, the other security team member working tonight.
Ramon had been on stage duty the night Carlton Long pulled Stacy offstage. He’d left his station mid-dance to take a call, which broke club rules and, indirectly, her sister’s leg. Stacy dismissed Ramon as “a lazy weasel who never has your back,” but the vast nothingness in his dull black eyes bothered Kylie almost as much as his unreliability.
Then again, who was she to judge? For the next few weeks, she’d be dancing next to naked around a pole, on a table, over some guy’s lap, or up close and personal in the VIP room—the most profitable option by far, which is why she had to do this private dance. Panic skated through her at the thought of providing such intimate and blatantly sexual-themed entertainment, but there was no way around it. She and Stacy had bills to pay. Besides, quitting now would look suspicious.
To calm her jittery nerves, she reviewed Stacy’s instructions. They played in her head while she made her way to the VIP room with all the enthusiasm of a dead man walking.
A private performance takes the fantasy to the next level for the client. One-on-one attention from the girl of his dreams. The performance is what we call “full contact,” though he’s not allowed to touch you anyplace personal. You, on the other hand, can touch him anywhere above the belt, and you can sit on his lap.
My clients tend to want an artistic experience. Carlton, for instance, liked to undo my top, but otherwise, wasn’t into a lot of contact. He preferred to sit back and watch while I touched myself and put on a show for him. He enjoyed…theatrics.
Not just dancing, but acting, Kylie thought facetiously. Still, at the end of the day, it remained
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