"Mitzi" hobbled off the stage, no richer than when she'd walked onto it. I knew she made most of her wad giving incredibly overpriced handies in VIP; her technique wasn't bad. I preferred her oral.
With Jennifer out of view, Lizard Brain got a lot louder, demanding answers as to what the fuck I was doing, screaming about stripperitis and going on and on about risk reward ratio. Shut the fuck up, I told it, but as usual it didn't listen. Lizard Brain had kept me alive in bad spots more than once, and I had great respect for its astute observations. But it had been an awfully long time since I'd run across a girl that really caught my eye, and none of them held a candle to this one.
You're fifty-three goddamn years old, Lizard Brain whispered. That's a lot of years between you and some freshly legal teenager, and you think she knows something because she played two fucking songs from your generation. You're an idiot, the voice sighed.
I had to agree, but then I was sitting on the edge of the cushion, tapping my foot. I knew there'd be one more dancer before her set, but I was hot to see what would be the next outfit and song this girl would choose. At first I considered being at the foot of the stage when she went on, but the girl had said not to move, and I'm nothing if not obedient to young girls. To distract myself, I allowed some to come purchase some of my drugs, their pretty little smiles and money that smelled of schmoe easing my anxiety. As a bit of amusement I wrote a note to Fuckin' Todd reading "the rest in two hours or I make a call," gave it to Lisa, and watched the scurry of activity that followed as I waited for my muse to reappear on stage.
"Chantel" eased out to the men waiting for her, pink neon bikini burning bright on her dark skin Kendrick flowing like the cellulite in her thighs. She parked her dumptruck ass on a schmoe's face and danced and twitched, not bothering to conceal her boredom anymore, despite making enough with this dance to buy the week's groceries for her large family. I thought about a little more best friend, but decided against it. Instead, I resolved: no more toot until I watched Jennifer to do some; that would help me work on her that much harder. And you'll think clearer, yelled Lizard Brain, to which I repeated my entreaty for Lizard Brain to kindly shut the fuck up. Her second song underway, "Chantel" lost the bikini top and waggled her saggy tits as I plotted.
"Thank you Chantellllll," Fuckin' Todd yelled too loud into the mic. "Fellas she'll be out among you soooooooon enough, giving twenty dollar tableside danceeeeeees." Every single time, Todd, you gotta say that? We know. "And now, for the second time on our staaaaage, and the second dance set of her young liiiiife," I could practically hear drool falling onto the microphone. "Join meeeee in welcoming to the Club Naw-Tee main stage, Candyyyyyy," he breathed the last out in a sotto voce whisper, coming out like a parody. But Fuckin' Todd was forgotten as Eddie Van Halen's guitar intro to Hot For Teacher ripped out of the speakers.
No nervousness now, Jennifer strutted right to the front of the stage. Her hair was covered in a wig, a tiny raven beehive thing done up tight. On a little white collar sat a black bowtie, her impossibly deep decolletage framed in lacy black next to striking white. The poofy shoulders led to long sleeves, and a tight black corset sat below breasts in a too-small bra, causing lovely titflesh to bulge out at the viewer in a permanent "lunch is served" position. The loose little skirt did not hide the panties underneath at all, the thin black fringe teasing the eye with flashes of what it covered. Dark black stockings came up very high, showing mere inches of tasty-looking pale bare thigh before dropping to white strappy heels. I noted the heels weren't especially high, and realized that made sense: big girl likes to move, unpracticed in stilettos. I didn't mind a goddamn bit, as she rolled her head and hips around to eighties metal goodness. Dave moaned about having it bad as the gorgeous teen, now with eager fans who'd seen her first set, flaunted her generous assets.
Unlike earlier, this time Jennifer was nearly mobbed by schmoes. Not so bad as Meat'd intervene, but now clearly I was not alone in my assessment regarding divinity. And, already comfortable thanks to the dough I'd shoved at her, she was willing to take the boys' money at a slower pace without the grabbiness. Smart girl. Also willing, apparently, to increase how much skin-on-skin contact she would provide: I watched her take a loser's hand and make him smack her ass with that thousand-watt smile just a'gleamin', only to get wider as the guy proceeded to give her a few healthy squeezes. Then she pranced on to the next moron, eager to see how much she could wheedle out of 'em. Or so I imagined, forebrain waxing poetic about this perfectly lovely sentient creature and her possible motivations as Lizard Brain relaxed into imagining what her orgasms tasted like.
Her second track kept up the metal theme with the Datsuns' MF From Hell, a high energy raveup. Tossing away the wig, her hair flew free as she ripped at her clothing, throwing it at a pile as her skin was released to us perverts' gaze, jerking and kicking in fake anger. Like a lot of newbies she danced with a lot more animation than necessary, a method that tended to feel too draining to keep up for long. But it was fun as hell to watch, and she was undoubtedly having a really good time as she rapidly got naked.
Fully nude save for bright white mesh underpants, Jennifer dropped to her knees and looked over at me. Pinching her nipples, she lifted her heavy tits a couple inches in the air. I wished I had a camera, or rather I wished Meat didn't reflexively beat the shit out of anybody holding up their phone for a picture. I told myself I would get one later, as the half-smirk on your face told me that was a possibility, or at least I told myself that.
She proceeded to roll around the stage, letting losers fondle her flesh as they wished, feigning (was she?) a look of deep pleasure, reveling in sensuality. Her head dropped back as she picked up her tits and squeezed hard, shaking them in her hands to the delight of the growing crowd of duds in front of her. She rolled onto her back, which I would not have advised her to do naked on that particular sorry excuse for a stage. With one hand grasping a tit the other was on her pussy, pressing firmly and in a strong circle, grinding her hips in little jerks, her eyes shut hard. As the Datsuns wrapped up bitching about the girl that made them feel bad but made 'em feel alright, she stood up -- she moved so quick for a girl of her size, Lizard Brain marveled again -- facing away from the audience, and jerked the mesh material into her asscrack, jiggling what her momma gave her. Men began to clap as her cheeks clapped along with them; at the last chord she blew her fans a kiss and skipped happily out the stage door. Nice set. Very nice set, in every sense.
Lisa was standing nearby as I looked around the room, conscious that I was awake and on Earth. "Another?" she demanded curtly. She and that cunt behind the bar knew three was how many I was gonna want without asking, but to not waste another before confirmation.
I shook my head. "Dr. Pepper," I said instead. "Shot of vanilla." Lisa rolled her eyes; this was another contrivance I'd demanded they stock. Fucking with Cassandra, one of life's little joys. "And hey," I said softly as she began to stalk away. The waitress stopped, and looked at me funny. It was the look of a young woman who'd traded her tight, bony asshole a week ago for a gram of yayo, and had regrets. Granted it was really good yayo, but that's not the point.
"Why does Cassandra hate me so?" I asked, sugar dripping from every word. "What'd I do to her, hmm?"
"You're a scumbag," Lisa whispered bitterly, and she left. Oh well, maybe she didn't want a repeat after all. That's okay. Fucking her had been goddamn uncomfortable; I'd had to push her off me and jerk off on her ass while she muttered that at least I wasn't my business partner De'von, and I had been forced to agree. De'von was fucking massive.
Despite (or because of?) Lisa's opinion of me, a few other schmoes stopped by to reduce my stock and embiggen my wad. Anorexic "Jamie" dropped by with a dirty envelope with three grand in it, and whispered shaky promises that she could be my sexy little porno whore if only Fuckin' Todd could be back in my good graces. Again with the fear of Fuckin' Todd; shit was starting to piss me off. I growled that she needed to stop hanging around with Fuckin' Todd, and go eat a goddamn steak. Though I apologized quickly to the frightened woman, I did insist she get a meal as I peeled off a hundred for her. She nodded gratefully and stumbled away. As the too-loud bass thumped away, I knew that money was a lot more likely to go to adderall than food. As she left she passed Jennifer, and I took in the sight before me, my brain working kinda slow for some reason.
It was the same sort of body suit Cassandra at the bar wore, even in the same electric blue. But where the older woman's toned body made the material look hard and forbidding, Jennifer's soft, pliant flesh pressed against the dress begging to be groped. As with the bra she'd worn on stage earlier, her mammoth jugs bulged around the top, below a black choker adorned with a little skull and crossbones. The dress she'd worn of a similar material for her first dance ended in an open skirt, but this was a bodysuit with a zipper running from her melons -- watermelons -- to just below the slight bulge of her tummy. A snap connected the leggings to the top, matched by similar sleeves above. But on her feet were a pair of old black paratrooper's boots, with the zipper up the side. They looked comfortable on her, maybe a little imposing, but not completely out of place.
She looked back at "Jamie." "I guess you like 'em every size, doncha?" She plopped down with a grin, dropping her clutch on the table.
