Tasha Nance was pushing 35. Single, never married, she told herself she lived as she pleased and did what she liked. She was the senior dancer at Haven's, the premiere strip club in Woodhaven, a suburb of Detroit. She enjoyed being onstage and exposing herself and the sense of power she got it was almost magnetic. One of her men, a psychologist, said she was probably an exhibitionist -- and while she resisted anyone telling her about herself, she grudgingly admitted (but only to herself) that he was likely correct.
At five foot, six inches, with chocolate brown skin, her 40D boobs were always prominent. She couldn't understand women who objected to men staring at their boobs -- hell, she loved the attention. And it always gave her an excuse to flirt -- or more if the guy was handsome enough. Or flashed a big enough wad of cash. The rest of her body was kept toned and tight by the two-hour daily workouts she did, to say nothing of the pole dancing at work. She wasn't bothered by the rich white girls who looked down their noses at her because she was "in the life." They were just jealous. She was going to take the ride as far as she could until her body and her looks weren't working for her any more.
She had finished her workout, showered, and was sitting at her computer in a towel and her robe. Her mail was taking a long time to download, and soon she saw the reason. She'd recently met some other women online who were into gangbangs, and the instigator of it, Jane, had sent them all a big move file. That meant she and Connie got together already. She made sure to save the file to her video folder in the cloud, and then finished dressing and getting made up.
Once finished at home, she locked up, got in her Miata and drove to the club. She parked in the employee lot out back. Max, the rear door guard and sometimes bouncer, let her in with his usual beaming smile. She managed to run her hand over the bulge that ran down his leg as she passed. Damn, that man was hung like a bull! It was such a shame he was gay! But sex aside, Max was a true source of reliability in her world. If she ever showed up at the club and he wasn't there she was pretty sure she'd turn tail and run -- something bad would be happening.
But he was there; a solid presence at her back. As he opened the door she both felt and heard the heavy bass rhythm from the front of the club. Judging by the number ("Walk This Way") Helen was strutting her stuff. One of these days she really ought to sit and watch, since Helen reliably pulled in more tips than anyone else. There might be a lesson there.
She went past Salim's office -- the man might be part Arab, but it didn't matter. As the accountant/bookkeeper for Haven's he was aware of where every penny went. He was also a champion for the dancers, making sure they not only were paid well (before the tips in their g-strings) but they had healthcare, insurance and never had to worry about money. All he asked of each of them in return was that they stayed away from drugs. His older sister had gotten hooked on heroin and died with a needle in her arm, so when he looked at each of the women with his sorrowful brown eyes and begged them to stay clean, they accepted without a qualm. So far, all the dancers had remained clean for the full two years he'd been there. And all of them made sure that at least once a day Salim's desk provided a shelter for their blowjob payback. As Tasha looked in, it was pretty obvious from the expression on his face and his body language that one of her sisters was paying their loving tribute. She smiled and waved as she passed.
The next door opened into the dressing room for the girls. Nothing fancy -- this wasn't the green room of the Philharmonic -- or even the Fillmore -- but each girl had her own cubicle with a locker, a small refrigerator, shower, and dressing table.
Tasha was the only one whose cubicle had a door -- age had its privilege. The women were free to decorate as they pleased. Tasha's theme was leopard skin -- the fabric on the chair and couch. The shade on the lamp. The gold and brown of her cube was home and comfortable. Opening her locker, her outfits all bore the leopard skin print. Opening her locker, she took off her street clothes and stashed them, along with her purse inside. Naked, she took a moment to examine her body in the mirror.
Frankly, she liked what she saw. She fancied herself a big cat, smooth and sinuous. Her large boobs with their very prominent nipples stood out with very little droop. Her flat stomach gave way to her shaved pussy -- not that the customers every got to see it -- and then her legs were long and smooth. From her dressing table she applied her fragrant body oil front and back, glancing over her shoulder at the reflection of her very shapely ass in the mirror, now glistening with the addition of the oil.
"Girl, you look good enough to eat" came the voice from her doorway. Tasha turned to face the opening, presenting herself fully to her best friend Sharon.
"One of these days I'm going to hold you to that, girl! That is, if I'm sex-starved and cock-deprived! You can just eat your heart out before you eat me out!"
They laughed -- this had been a game they'd played starting the week after Sharon let slip that she was highly partial to women. Tasha wasn't inexperienced in that arena, but she preferred, hard dark meat filling her up and satisfying her. It was a game they played with each other, and it just might go somewhere. At some point.
Tasha had already stepped into her g-string, and was now settling her leopard skin bra onto her massive chest. She took a moment and exaggerated fitting each boob exactly, all the time watching Sharon's look of hunger. "Sorry to frustrate you, honey. For now, you can be like the customers -- you can look but you can't touch."
"I know. The only good thing about it is I get a little more insight into their heads every time you tease me. My tips are getting better."
"Then it's all good, right?"
"Not as good as I'd like it, or as good as I could make you feel, but yeah. It's good."
With her costume in place and her makeup already on from when she left from home, Tasha locked her locker and stepped into the shared space. Looking around she could see who else was performing tonight.
Helen had just come in, dollar bills stuff into her g-string. Her small, perky boobs were glistening with sweat. "Ooh, they are a lively bunch tonight!"
Lissette, the tall French-Canadian blond with the movie star face and the playmate body clapped her hands. "Oh, very good. I just saw a new pair of shoes today -- if they are hot, then those shoes will be mine tomorrow!"
Kayla, the Lebanese born firebrand, also became excited. At just five feet tall, she was the smallest woman in the room. At the same time, however, her wide hips, coffee colored skin and wide mouth made her a crowd favorite as well. It didn't hurt that 38D boobs on a five-foot frame made her seem very top heavy, or that when it came to pole dancing no one could match her athleticism combined with sensual grace. The woman oozed sex appeal. If only the men knew that she was really a quiet housewife who turned her sex appeal on and off as easily as flipping a light switch.
"Tasha, can I see you?" Came the bass voice from the doorway. Rod, the six-foot five club manager, stepped in. "I have a request for you."
Sharon just laughed. They'd seen this before -- it almost always meant that Rod had been approached by someone with good money who had heard about Tasha's penchant for partying. For her sex was a benefit of dancing, and she had a reputation that she cultivated.
Tasha stepped out of the dressing room to a chorus of taunts and teasing. It wasn't a secret. All the girls had had opportunities at one time or another. Most tired of it -- or only said yes occasionally. Tasha, on the other hand seemed to always be ready and willing. No one begrudged her. No one thought less of her. They just let her go.
