Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
She was thankful that she looked significantly younger than her actual age as that helped her buy some time. She was black sand in an hourglass, and time was running out. She sat back down to do her makeup, then her hair to the tune of ‘Contact,’ by Kelela. She took her time prettying herself up, ensuring that everything was just right. Last but not least was her perfume. She went for one of her favorite scents: Mugler Alien Goddess Eau de Parfum. She sprayed it behind her knees, ears, neck, collarbones, breasts and a spritz above the navel. Then, a final pump between the thighs before slipping her perfectly pedicured feet into six-inch black heels, the bottoms bright red…
She bobbed her head to song after song as she waited for her turn to go up on the stage. Some of the beautiful dancers were high on cocaine, speed, and uppers. Others were drunk. Many were sober. The majority of them were addicted to trauma. If they weren’t before they took the job, they definitely got there afterwards. Sometimes, the dancing came easy. Other times, it took two cocktails for her to make her way out there. It was easy to be intoxicated in a place like this.
This club was known not only for its premium adult entertainment and acoustics, but the top shelf liquor which they offered the dancers at a deep discount. She sipped on a rum and coke from a short cocktail straw, not needing much coercion tonight. She loved to perform, to make a man feel ten feet tall… like she only had eyes for him. Not because she gave a shit about him and his feelings, but because it felt incredible to pretend to be someone else. She also loved to make money, way more than she ever made at any other job. Besides, she didn’t feel shame or embarrassment when she danced. Rather, she felt free…
“Now, comin’ to the stage is the one… the only… the long-legged, and good head givin’, Veeeeeeel-veeeeet!” The crowd began to applaud as she stayed out of view and handed her drink to one of the bouncers. She adjusted her attire, making sure it looked just right, and braced herself as the song, ‘Snatched,’ by Big Boss Vette began to play. Catching her reflection in a full-length mirror, she smiled. The glitter on her skin made her look as if she’d been rolled in crushed red ruby dust and dipped in broken diamonds. Head held high, she emerged gyrating from behind the curtain, the crowd now hyped. She fast danced, popped and shimmied until the song slipped into another tune: ‘Pussy Poppin’,’ by Ludacris.
Slow spinning purple lights flashed across the stage as she flirted with the pole, then did the splits on the floor, bouncing up and down, making the men melt. She got up, her abs and hips bucking, her skimpy attire glowing under the orbing lights. The raucous crowd full of horny men and lesbians roared and cheered when she jumped quickly on the pole and climbed up it, then slid down fast … and slowly, her long tongue curling out of her mouth as she hugged the pole like a long-lost lover. She slowly undid a strap across her chest, exposing more of her breasts, then swung around and around the pole, her acrobatics something she’d practiced to perfect for years.
Long, curly dark brown hair whipped around from each movement she made. Cool, wet strands stuck to her skin as she worked up a well-deserved sweat. She slipped down the pole in reverse, her body winding like a snake as men cat-called to her, clapped and lost their shit. Slipping her finger into her mouth, she sucked it like she would a thrusting dick, driving them crazy.
At last, she crashed hard on the floor and rode it like a man she pretended to love. Crawling across the hard surface like a tiger, she paused then fell onto her back, waving her long legs in the air and bringing them back by her ears. Gripping her ankles tight. The hoarse male yells of lust were deafening. Some of these motherfuckers were there strictly for her. She was the best dancer in that club, and she knew it. Hands down. She didn’t have to be the prettiest. All she needed to know was how to entertain her ass off, move like a seductress, and play her part.
The rhythm of ‘Blow the Whistle,’ by Too Short, filled the room. She made her way back to the pole. Slipping and sliding, grinding and fucking the long, silver stick in slow motion, she fixed her gaze on the sea of men before her, becoming their imaginary lover. She looked for a sucker to lick—a man who was more than willing to shove hundred-dollar bills into one of the sparse slits of her attire simply to be near her. She hung like a bat from the pole, looking into the warped, upside-down faces of screaming men tossing cash in her direction. Her eyes focused on a figure in front. Her mouth went suddenly dry, and her stomach clenched.