He Made Me Ch 05

Synopsis:

Jeri is 18 and wants to become a famous pornstar, she wants to be the erotic fantasy of thousands of people and she's willing to do anything to achieve her goals. However, she soon realizes that she needs help and when it comes in the form of Michelangelo, "Mikey", a much older, unattractive and yet well endowed man, who claims that he can mold her into a star, she accepts it against all reason, embarking herself on a quest to transform into a (erotic) dream version of herself, Jules Sperme, a girl with a tattoo of a giant octopus spreading its tentacles from her asshole, where its mouth is depicted, to her buttocks, lower back and thighs.

Can dreams coexist with reality though?

In this chapter:

It's a night of firsts for Jules: she starts working in a nude high-contact strip club, she makes friends and enemies and she learns how to deal with men and, unexpectedly, women!

Fetishes and WARNING:

Piercings,

smoking fetish

, dirty old man/young girl, cmnf, exhibitionism, tattoos,

anal plugs

.

Author's note:

This story is not meant to give a realistic or accurate portrait of the internal workings of the sex industry. I'm not familiar with strip clubs in L.A., so I did some research and I hope I didn't write anything outlandish. The story is set before the reform in California that made strippers employees. If any detail is off, please contact me, so that I can correct it.

My first language is not English, so please let me know if I did unspeakable things to Grammar.

************

He made me

5. The art of selling yourself

"Ok, out of the car Jeri," Mikey's voice inside my head commanded.

No, not yet! Perhaps if I just took a couple more of deep breaths I could calm down, make my heart beat a little slower and hopefully stop feeling like I was about to puke.

"Just think of something else…" I commanded to myself.

I couldn't help it: my eyes drifted again from the steering wheel to the green neon sign on the building in front of the car, which painted the deserted parking lot around me in shades of lime: "The Connoisseur – Gentlemen club". There was also a picture of a man with a top hat holding a dangling breast in his hand like a sommelier holds their chalice when they make the wine twirl.

Scared again, my eyes wandered away, towards the lateral mirror, which I had folded. A girl with shoulder-length aqua wavy hair stared back at me, with a worried and perhaps a little surprised expression. Her mouth was slightly ajar and a silvery ball glimmered at its center in the darkness, emerging from the lower lip. As she became aware of my stare, she changed expression into a shy smile first and then a smug grin, showing off her smiley piercing gleaming in front of her teeth: Jules.

Whenever I was nervous or insecure, my old, overachiever and anxious self reemerged, but all it took to remind me that I was a new, more adventurous and carefree person was a look in the mirror. Not that this could dissuade my heart from its furious pounding, but now that didn't seem like a problem. Now I remembered that this was what being alive felt like.

So I did a very Jules-like thing: I got out of the car, fetched my purse and immediately lit up a cigarette. Taking a deep drag, I listened to the distant and melancholic noise of the cars darting in the distance, savoring the chill of the night. This was my time now, the time of hookers and strippers, when darkness concealed everyone's face and revealed their primal urges. In that very moment men were succumbing to their lust and were storming towards us, towards me. They would spend an amount of money they would probably regret the day after, just to see me naked. And I loved it.

I opened the rear car door and fetched my duffel bag, ready for everything, as Dana had taught me: backup heels, baby wipes, makeup, deodorant and perfume, two change of "clothes", toothbrush, band-aids, you name it.

Time to go. I locked Mikey's old car, which he had been so nice to lend me, and went for the entrance. His deep voice resounded in my head:

First off, you need to put a wall between the strip club and the rest of the world. The people you are going to meet must

not

know

anything

about you private life, your projects or why you are doing this. Therefore, your name will be neither Jules nor Jeri.

"Hi, I'm one of the entertainers…" I greeted with a friendly smile the bouncer, a big burly black man. He checked me out and just nodded towards the entrance, apparently satisfied that I was telling the truth. What gave me away, I imagined, were my (impressively comfortable) transparent stripper heels, because I was wearing an otherwise boring outfit.

Now inside, I said the same thing to the woman at the wardrobe desk:

"What's your name, darling?"

I could already hear a muffled pop song playing beyond the aisle painted in shades of purple past her.

"I'm Azure!"

But the wall is more than that. It's about keeping your heart away from certain aspects of the reality of a club. Depending on how you look at it, your mind can paint very different pictures. I want you to live it like an adventure, a carefree sexual game to satisfy your impressive exhibitionism.

In semidarkness, I followed the pink neon light seeping from a frosted glass door at the end of the corridor. It was a passage to the world of dreams, because I entered in one of my erotic ones. A gorgeous black girl wearing only a thin thong was twerking naked on a stage in front of a small group of young guys in a festive mood. Just below, at ground level, a beautiful redhead was strutting completely nude and yet utterly at ease among the horny men watching the show, who were also sometimes distracted by lascivious hot girls in skimpy and provocative clothes flirting with them… And I would soon be one of them!

That's why you need to lower your sensitivity. The moment you look past the appearances, the fantasies and the games, a strip club can become to appear as a truly depressing place. Sure, some people are there for the same reasons you are, but others are just really lonely, sad or desperate. You are going to see men squander little fortunes for the fleeting illusion of intimacy with a woman they can never get, or the dream of being important, successful and rich.

I stared at the scene long enough to recover from the surprise and realize that, apart from the waitresses, all wearing a pinstriped shirt, white tie and very short shorts with fishnet stockings, the girls were actually just six in total. Which made sense, considering the number of customers, quite meager for the place's capacity. Some of the guys even looked bored somehow: had not they seen the bounty of beauty around them? Only the birthday group was merry and loud: the guest of honor had just been approached by a blonde, who was caressing his hand with a very sultry gaze.

All in all, none of that was surprising: it was a Thursday night, some time before midnight, and the place had been open for little more than one hour. Mikey had suggested that time as the best one for my first night. Not too hectic like a Saturday, but not dead like a Monday. I would pay an extra for starting later than the opening time, but he assured me that it would be good for my mood. Otherwise, he feared that I would be already demoralized and bored before 1 a.m, when people usually finally left the bars and came to the club, trading booze for boobs

Still, it was amazing to finally see my new workplace with my eyes, since all I had to know what was awaiting me before then was only Dana's description. Excited in more ways than one, I headed towards the "Entertainers only" sign.

Other customers will be mean and spiteful. You'll feel like a mere piece of meat. Either way, you must not take any of them seriously. Don't get swept up in their drama. Don't ponder about the feelings of the sad ones and just give the middle finger to the nasty ones.

There was a whole other area, on a level slightly above the rest of the club, on the other side of the main stage: the VIP area, with more comfortable chairs and its own stage, closer to the customer. From there you could access the private rooms. All in all it looked exactly as I imagined a strip club: the pink, red and blue lights were just too strong in the darkness to really let you appreciate any of the decor and interior design. It was, in other words, perfect.

If you let your eyes get used to the darkness of the unlit spots of the club, you are going to see just how much of it there is. People taking advantage of others all around you. Management tries to strip the girls of their earnings in every way they can; some clients prey on girls in a tough financial or emotional spot; and some girls don't think twice before taking advantage of sad, desperate men in order to squeeze all their money out of them.

The fancy decor was now behind me. At the end of a rather shabby aisle there was the house-mom desk, cluttered with a lot of random stuff, from hair products to a sewing kit, and piles of what looked like documents. The "mom" herself was a woman in her mid-thirties with a no-nonsense attitude:

"Name?"

"Azure."

She wasn't in a sharing mood, clearly, but I was on her list apparently.

"Ok, entrance, plus late fee, locker deposit and I need to see your permit, since it's your first time here."

I hesitated a little, still incredulous that I had to pay in order to work. Between the permit and this I had blown what little money I had, but Mikey had covered the rest without hesitation.

"Management explained how this works, right? Is this your first time ever?" she asked me, a little more warmly.

"My face says it all, huh?" I joked, putting the money and the document on the table.

"The first nights are the hardest, don't sweat it. You are going to be just fine," she encouraged me. "My name's Joanne, you find the changing room there. If you need anything, from underwear, to personal grooming products or even a repair for a dress, you just come here and ask me."

I smiled, grateful for her sweet words, and then I remembered: I had to tip her!

So beware: this ugliness can rub off on you too. Strippers can earn in a night what some people make in weeks, but they pay a price that nobody bothers to consider just because it isn't in dollars. The stigma, the emotional stress on the job, the savage competition… All of this makes them obsess over the money, their reward for all the shit they get. How to make more and faster?

If the whole idea of a "house-mom" sent a really strong brothel vibe, the changing room transported me immediately to a gym, with its walls covered in lockers and the showers in the adjacent space. Well, not exactly: the row of vanity mirrors at the center reminded me very fast what this place was for. Nobody was using them, though. Was I alone?

"Oi."

I turned around and saw a tall ebony girl with curly hair, casually coming out naked from the showers, with a big white towel on her shoulder. She was probably a few years older than me and hot as hell.

"Hi, I'm Azure," I replied with a friendly smile, extending my hand.

"Vanessa," she said, shaking it and checking me out with a quick glance.

I just realized that in the space of a few seconds we had both appraised the competition.

"You new?" she asked, sitting in front of one of the mirrors and removing the elastic that kept her hair up. She had a British-sounding accent.

"Believe it or not, yes," I joked, not really landing a laugh.

"Cool," she replied, putting on her thong. "This is a good place where to work."

She didn't seem even remotely interested in me, but rather swept up into some smalltalk she would have gladly avoided. So I decided to let her off the hook:

"I better look for a free locker!"

"There are some at the end of that row."

The lockers weren't as impersonal as she seemed: many of them featured stickers and silly writings. My choice was just next to one featuring a horny Santa who was staring at a stripper in a red bikini, saying "Hoe, hoe, hoe!". Somehow I was sure that its owner would be more likely my kind of gal.

This comprehensible obsession for money can however turn you into a cynical, manipulative person in the long run. I don't want any of this to happen to you. I want you to remain the oddly innocent slut you are. So

I

'll be your wall. Go in there knowing that there is a difference between you and the other strippers: for them this is a job, something they

have

to do, for you it's research, a hobby. Today nobody wants to book you for a private show? Don't worry, it's not like you pay rent. A guy doesn't make you feel comfortable? He doesn't respect you? Or perhaps he bums you out? Drop him!

My anxiety was starting to build up again. Mikey was only partly right: considering that I had to pay to be there, I could lose money. I wanted to bite my nails, but I just had them done for the occasion: they were much longer than I was used to and they were in a pretty shade of pale turquoise that would glow in the dark. Another cost, a little voice in my head reminded me.

No! Less Jeri, more Jules!

Voices, a couple of girls were coming back for a change or perhaps a pause. I really wasn't in the mood for more human interaction. So, since it was early anyway, I took my stuff and bolted to the showers:

"See you around, Vanessa!"

Your fuel for getting better at this must be that you genuinely want to. Not money, not making me proud or whole, not proving that you can be a star: this ain't the job you want anyway. So be a pirate: go on your adventure to be free, have fun and come home with the booty, without a care in the world for consequences, morals and whatnot!

I was now locked in the stall, but Mikey's words unlocked me. Hot water was pouring over my body, a warm soothing touch caressing my skin, running down and down, slave to gravity. And so was my hand, subconsciously sliding over my belly towards my slit, where it became a soothing touch for my nervous mind, slave to another force of nature.

I masturbated long enough to let a thought emerge in the chaos. An idea I had had a few days before. Was I really going to do it? The first day? Even if I hadn't talked about it with Mikey?

Fuck yeah!

My other hand found my plastic bag and inside of it a familiar, cold, bullet-shaped metallic object. Excitement took my anxiety's place as I teased my asshole with the tip of my new bejeweled butt-plug. It was so deliciously cold! I stepped out of the shower and I put some anal balm on my anus, massaging my creature's mouth exactly the way it liked it. Then, with a trembling hand, I lubed the plug and slowly pushed it in. It was small, but I was tense, so the whole procedure took me a while. When I was done, I dried and cleaned myself, and came out of the stall naked, so that I could bend over and see the result on the bathroom mirror: a blue gem was now garishly stuck at the center of the swaying tentacles coming out of my ass.

They wanted an exotic dancer? I couldn't be more exotic than this!

Even though the butt plug had a very thin neck and so it was very comfortable, I could feel it, its dirtiness, its lewdness! It would be my secret weapon!

After brushing my teeth quickly, I came back to an empty changing room. Since my time was coming, I immediately started getting ready. My hair had not been touched by the water, so no problem there. Besides big fake eyelashes and lip gloss, I kept my makeup simple, as I preferred it. As for my attire, I had opted for a sexy short black latex dress with a big frontal zipper running through its length. I had never worn anything so outrageous and that, of course, had been the main reason for buying it, besides the fact that I looked fiercely hot in it. Underneath the shiny plastic I had black lingerie, so as not to clash with it. The final touch was a black simple garter to keep my money.

Time to go!

I was nervous, but also excited, because I had had to wait for this moment for a long time: Patrick had suggested to post-pone my first day, in order to let the tattoo heal before I had to dance naked on not-so-clean surfaces. So I had had almost a week to practice my routines and the art of undressing smoothly. In this regard, overachiever Jeri had been actually useful for something after all. Only she could spot all the possible details that could make things go awry, like the fact my unusually long nails might give me some problems, if I hadn't rehearsed wearing them.

Mikey had even installed a pole in my room for me to exercise. And not just any pole: it had been Barbie Baby's, his previous "student/product" and one of my personal heroes! Needless to say that it had been a huge honor and I treated it with great devotion.

The thumping of my heart within me was soon matched by the basses of the dance music playing in the main room as I approached the stage door. Just before it, there was one to the deejay platform.

"Hi," I said to the young man, probably my age, manning the console, apparently bored.

He ignored me, so I patted him on his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Azure."

"Ok. You're next. What kind of music do you prefer?"

I and Mikey had selected it very carefully, settling for rock pieces that weren't hopefully playing all the time in strip clubs.

"I've brought mine…" I said, extending a USB drive.

I had prepared also for the possibility of him choosing by his own, of course. So, to make sure he would treat me well, I tipped him generously.

"Also, if you have some control on the lights, please, make them bluish at the beginning. Oh, and please let there be a few moments of silence between the first and the second song," I added, remembering what I had planned.

"Ok…" he replied, frowning a little. "Get ready."

I shook my hands in the air nervously. Between me and the future there was just a curtain. I even stretched my arms, but ultimately I knew what to do: I sneaked my hand in my pussy and I furiously rubbed my clit, playing with my piercing, counting on the baby wipe I was carrying to clean my hand after. That did the trick: slightly aroused, now I

wanted

to get on the stage and show everybody my sexy body.

"And now, our new star…"

Oh shit, shit, shit! Panic hit me suddenly like a hammer again. However, it also made me clench my asshole. So, I felt the plug and, thanks to it, I felt myself: I was Jules, I was the crazy girl who wanted to strip with a jewel up her butt! With a huge grin I crossed the threshold and walked the short catwalk to the pole, strutting elegantly on my impossibly high platforms like I had trained myself to do for weeks.

"…She's barely legal and eager to please…"

I grabbed my steel dance partner with one hand and gave it a literal spin, in order to get a quick feeling of the room. There were more people now, their eyes on me, mildly curious, mine on theirs.

"…Give it up for Azure!"

After that, my first song started: "Porn star dancing", of course! I really hoped it would bring good luck!

At first, I didn't really use the pole much: they were expecting a newbie and I wanted to build up some surprise. Instead, I focused on keeping eye contact and exploring my audience with my gaze. It wasn't just because Dana had told me so: I needed to feel their eyes on me, because unlike the rest of the world, I wanted to dance pretending that

everyone

was watching.

I knew that men didn't have a long attention span, so after a short while I opened the zipper of the dress and let it fall on the ground. Then, with my hands on the pole and my feet around it, I bent over and spun, showing off my octopus to everybody, in a blue light that made its red tentacles particularly evident. Yeah, now I had their attention!