Stripping for Daddy by Gia Blue Page A

accenting
the design. And, hey, it's probably a strip club's definition of classy.
    "Jake will meet you in here. His
normal MO is a pole dance, then lap.  'Luck kid."  With that, he turns the
knob, pushing the door open and leaves me to my nerves.
    The room looks a lot like I thought it
would. With its red interior, gold accents and a few areas for armless seating,
it's a creepy, yet swank, place.  The stage isn't as high or as large as the
ones in the main area, but it looks as if there's enough room to get the job
done.
    I untie my coat, slip it from my
shoulders and drop it onto a seat then approach the stage.  One step up and I'm
on the shiny, slick surface.  I wrap my hand around the brass-hued pole and
swing, then wrap my knee and spin, familiarize myself with the space I've got
to work on.  Not too bad.
    I know I'm good on the pole. Classes
have taken care of that. Honest to God pole-dancing classes. I'm ready for
this.  Roxy's is the premier club, best tips, decent kiddies, and excellent
staff. 
    I smile at the thought of the
"kiddies". It's what peeps in the biz call the customers.  They're
grown men acting like they're five and begging for a treat, a look, a smile or
a lap dance. I'm more than happy to hand some of that over for the right price.
    I've been prepping, researching, for a
while.  I know what should be charged and Roxy's rates. Money shouldn't be an
issue.
    The sound of the door opening yanks me
from my practice and I finish my rotation, stop my movement and turn toward the
door.  The guy there, the man looking me up and down like I'm a treat he'd like
to lick, steals the breath from my lungs.
    "Daddy?"  Oh, dear God, it's
him. Jack Lincoln, the last foster father in my long string of foster fathers. 
The one I'd connected with most. He'd treated me like a near adult, one who'd
been through hell and lived.  It didn't matter that I was thirteen. He'd known
what I'd survived and saw me for what I was: a force to be reckoned with.
    He froze, mouth hanging open like a
fish. "Holly?"
    I laugh, delighted to see him after
all this time, and launch myself at him from the stage.  His strong arms wrap
around me as he hugs me tight, then pushes me away and holds me at arm's
length, looking me up and down.  I'm not a kid with a child's body any longer. 
I've got perky, large breasts, a trim body and a round ass. Basically, I'm a
woman men would kill to fuck. Repeatedly.
    "You're all grown up."  His
smile turns to a frown. "What are you doing here? How have you been? 
Where have you been? What are you wearing?" His questions fire at me, take
me back to the last time I'd snuck out of the house and been caught sneaking
back in.
    I smile wide. "I'm looking for a
job."
    He quirks a brow and I roll my eyes.
"And I'm good. I wandered for a while, lived in shelters, got jobs. Now
that I'm legal, I want to make some decent money so I can go to school, get my
GED and then on to college." 
    He's shaking his head before I finish
my speech. "You're not working here, baby girl."  Baby girl is what
he'd called me for the six months I'd lived with him and his wife, Betty.
    I turn his attention from his denial
and on to neutral ground. "How's Betty?" 
    I'm being polite. I couldn't care less
about how the bitch was doing, but it's a distraction.
    He shrugs. "No idea. We got a
divorce. I bought this place." Jake releases me and turns his attention
away from me, stares at the carpeted wall. "After you left, a lot of
things came to light."  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Including what happened with you. I'm so sorry, Holly. Sorry you went
through that and then she was such…"
    "A bitch?" I toss out.
    "Yeah," he barks out a
laugh. "She is that." A shake of his head and he's not distracted any
longer. "Anyway, you're not working here."
    "Come on, Jake. Let me audition at
least, and then you can decide. I promise I'm good.  Really, really good."
    "I can't watch one of my
daugh-"
    "But I'm not."