Racquel Darrian, pornstar and Penthouse Pet had the run of the roost at any strip-club she was booked into. Most of the high-end ones were top of the line luxury. The talent was well taken care of and treated like goddess'.
Some the dumpier clubs were seedy, but her agent told her there was really no way of telling sometimes. The appearance fee to reel in a big-name pornstar, although high, was met by some fairly run-down establishments; sometimes it was a last resort to ignite a fading business
"Money is money, Racquel," her agent would tell her. Racquel would shrug it off, as if she was disappointed, but she secretly enjoyed slumming it on stage at some of the rat-holes. The seediest were in big cities by the airports, but just as nasty were some of the strip-clubs in rural areas, just off the interstate.
Ace of Spades - a click from the Joplin, Missouri turnpike was just the kind of place Racquel liked to find herself on a Friday night. She'd driven her rental car by there in the daylight and could tell it was on its last legs. She parked and watched two black kids putting up her name up the Marquee. To her, seeing RACQUEL DARRIAN up there was pure excitement and adrenaline. Soon, men from all over would converge on the Ace of Spades to watch their favorite pornstar performing under the lights. She could feel herself getting wet thinking about all the hard dicks and jacking off that would follow later that night. Her fans drive home and get themselves off thinking of Racquel, or maybe bang their wives imagining Racquel in their place. At that moment she wanted to slip her hand down her jeans and touch her pussy, but decided against it. "Save it for the show," she convinced herself.
Without even going into the club, Racquel knew what to in a place like this: the stage for the girl's to perform on would be in poor condition. The dressing room area would be tiny and provided the girls with little privacy. And to top it off, the strippers who worked there were sometimes miffed to have a pretty girl drop in for the night and soak up all the tips.
The crowd would mostly be truckers, bikers and local farmers. They tipped well, and she liked to imagine them jacking off in the parking lot about fucking her - not able to even get home to do it. She was supposed to project an image of class and sophistication, but there were times she just wanted to unzip every guy in the place and start sucking. Man, she liked turning men on. And she was good at it.
A few hours later she drove back into the parking lot of Ace of Spades. It was dark, but she could there were a group of protestors holding up signs. As she headed to the secured parking area for the staff, she could see it was a group of angry women. As she spied on them from her car, she could read from the signs that they were fed up with pornstars coming to their town and wanted to let Racquel Darrian know what a fucking whore she was. That was the jist of it.
As she continued watching, she could see they were a motley crew of ugly feminists, dykes, boring-ass teachers just off from school and high-and-mighty college girls with bulging waistlines, no make-up and unkempt hair. "Christ, what a mess," Racquel thought. "Don't these girls know how to present themselves? No wonder they can't get laid."
Racquel exited her car and ducked into the kitchen entrance unrecognized, but felt annoyed she'd had to sneak in under the low light. She caught a glimpse of a pissed off skinhead dyke with a ridiculous Mohawk. She was making most of the racket and was using a megaphone to do so.
Racquel tried to forget about it all as she put on her make-up. The management nervously assured her there would be no trouble. Ricky would be her go-to-guy and would make sure her show went off without a hitch. The masses would be at the club soon and would no doubt be surprised by the protests. "This could be bad for business," Racquel thought absently. She imagined some men driving right by Ace of Spades and heading home. If enough of a fuss was made the media might show up. And the cops, of course. Damn.
Racquel sat alone in her private dressing room, lit only with her mirror lights. She was topless, wearing only a pair of tight-fitting blue panties. She then put on her above-the-knee white boots. They were made of cheap latex, but they shone brightly under the lights. She had worn them in some her pornos and knew some of her die-hard fan would recognize them. As she put on her earrings, she called out to Rick. She instructed him to go outside and 'Tell that fucking loudmouth dyke-bitch with the stupid Mohawk to come and see me. Now."
She was pissed. Rick stood there stunned, but he knew she was serious.
"Just do it. Be quiet about it, but tell her come speak to me face-to-face. Alone."
Rick left and Racquel finished up putting on her eyeliner. A few minutes later the door slowly opened. She looked in the mirror and could see it was the Mohawk bitch from outside. Delivered to her as per request. "Good," she thought. "This should diffuse things a bit."
The dyke stood by the open door. Racquel instructed her to close it and come in. The dyke seemed quiet, nervous and sweaty. A cigarette hung between her fingertips. Racquel almost offered her a drink, but decided to cut to the chase. She spun in her leather stool, facing the girl. She was probably about thirty: stubble skin-head of course (check), tattoos (check), black painted nails (check), multiple piercings (check) black combat boots (check), a filthy wife-beater (check) and that god-awful Mohawk (check) .
