A Strip Club Of Our Own

This is a story about two strippers getting kicked out of their club and finding comfort in a night of debauchery with each other, while plotting their revenge. It contains graphic depictions of f/f sex, including cunnilingus, grinding, fingering, 69ing, and nipple play. There is an emotionally abusive character present in the opening scene, but he is not involved in any of the sex acts shown. All participants are enthusiastically consenting and, of course, over the age of 18. For the reading pleasure of interested adults only.

***

"My girls!" Larry Doyle called out from the front of the locker room at the Minx Mixer Lounge. His voice was as cheerful as an off-the-shelf greeting card, and there had been a time when both of those things might have brought a warm glow to Lillith's mood.

Lately, though, greeting cards had come to feel like markers of where an honest gesture

should

have been, and Larry's voice left a sourness under her skin that she was going to have to make a concerted effort to scrub off as soon as he finished talking. Otherwise, it would cling to her all night, affecting her dancing, her client interactions, and crucially, her money.

"Family meeting, girls, huddle up."

Lillith covered her silky red negligee with a jacket and her grimace with a smile, and made her way through the maze of lockers and makeup tables to the source of the echoing voice.

After a few seconds, the rest of the dancers had joined her in forming a rough semi-circle before their boss.

"Check-in, how's everyone feeling tonight?" asked Larry, baring his perfect teeth and scanning the circle for the honest responses that every single dancer there was too skilled to give him.

"Feeling great!"

"Feeling sexy!"

"Feeling like a winner!"

They all knew his favorite answers, and how to change them up just enough.

"Glad to hear it," he said. "Just a few bits of housekeeping to go over. Firstly, I want to see some more smiles out there! Remember, there's nowhere in the world better to be than here!"

Corners of mouths, Lillith's included, winched themselves higher at his command.

"Second, we're having a pajama party after closing this Friday!" he said, as if presenting an excitable dog with its favorite treat. "We're going to play nerf tag and eat pizza and talk strategy all night, so plan your cheat days accordingly. It's mandatory."

A muffled bristling could be heard in the shifting of high heels. Such a demand, unpaid, would have been illegal if they had been humble employees. But no, they were

business owners

, each and every one of them. And if a

bigger

business owner wanted to demand a gift of their time as the cost of continuing to do business together, that was his prerogative.

"And third." Larry paused. It was not a calculated, dramatic pause. He did those often, and they were much longer. This was a pause of hesitation.

Lillith's stomach took on a preparatory hardness. Anything that gave

Larry

that kind of pause had to be really bad.

"I don't want anyone to be taken off guard and say I didn't warn them. Steve Carson is officially welcome back at the Minx Mixer Lounge, and he's likely to make an appearance. I expect all of you to show him the same hospitality you would any distinguished customer."

On Lillith's left, Paisley wilted at the sound of Steve's name. She continued wilting millimeter by millimeter for the rest of the announcement.

Lillith's stomach clenched in ill-advised sympathy, and she bit her tongue.

There weren't many things in life that Lillith could control, and even fewer that had gone the way she had planned them, but being able to afford her fragile freedom, and some comfort too, was one victory that never lost its novelty. It was one she meant to hang on to, no matter what else turned to shit around her.

And hanging on to those things meant recognizing the moments when speaking would be

bad for the money

, and shutting the fuck up accordingly.

"He's... he's coming tonight?" Paisley asked, like she was hoping she'd misheard.

"Yes, probably," Larry answered. "Does it matter when?"

"I just thought," said Paisley, "if we know when he's going to be here, maybe I could switch shifts with someone?"

"You don't think you can be a professional about it?" Larry asked, in his coldest warning tone.

"I was a professional last time," Paisley mumbled, crossing her arm behind her back and grasping her elbow. "But it didn't--"

"That's debatable," Larry pointed a finger at her, almost close enough to brush her nose. "I had a chat with Steve, and he says you tried to charge him for twenty minutes of VIP time for practically nothing."

Well, if Steve says it, then it must be true

, Lillith thought, and bit down harder.

"We were in the room for almost an hour!" Paisley exclaimed, on the verge of tears.

"Working?" Larry asked. "Or talking?"

Talking is half the job, asshole

.

"Talking was all he wanted to do!" said Paisley. "I told you, he

asked

for a VIP room, but when we got there, he just kept asking about my family, my real name, where I lived, all the places he wanted to take me on vacation, what we'd name our kids--"

"How many girls here have had a client fall in love with them?" Larry demanded.

Lillith grudgingly raised her hand along with the others. Either answer could be used against them in the long run.

"It's your job to take that interest and redirect it in a way that serves

your

business, and

our

business," Larry lectured on. "You keep them focused on enjoying the moment."

"I

tried

," said Paisley, a couple of her tears escaping.

"What do you want me to do?" Larry asked, tossing his hands in the air, making Paisley flinch when his fingers passed near her face. "When that man steps through the door, he doubles the amount of cash up for grabs out there."

He pointed in the direction of the lounge proper.

"He brings in more than the rest of the guests put together, and watching him spend it makes

them

want to spend more, just to keep up. Would you take that opportunity away from yourself, away from all your sisters here," he gestured around the locker room, "Away from

me

, just so that you can avoid some awkward conversations?"

Paisley slumped and looked down, picking at her sequins. It was a painful sight.

Paisley was a bit of an odd duck, definitely not built with a knack for making awkward conversations less awkward. But she had been a sweet, cheerful odd duck when she'd first arrived at the Minx Mixer a little under a year ago, and every passing month had left her more subdued.

"Please," said Paisley. "Don't put me in a room with him again."

"What is this, high school?" Larry groaned. "Meeting adjourned!"

He swatted at the air in the direction of the other dancers, as if they were a cloud of foul-smelling air. Most of them went, glad to be out of his sight. A few, Lillith among them, stood paralyzed and watching.

"Go on!" Larry shouted a few more of them into dispersing. "Go back to whatever you were doing. Don't worry, there

will

be money in the club tonight. I'll have a chat with this one about how she's

so

much better than the rest of you. How she can't lower herself to breathe the same air as--"

"Her stalker," Lillith finished aloud, and winced at the sound of her own voice.

"What was that?" Larry blinked at her in disbelief.

Paisley looked at Lillith, guardedly hopeful, like she was a life preserver in the ocean.

Lillith cursed herself internally. It was a foolish thing to say, but Larry had already heard her, and a revenge upon her money would already be incoming for it. She couldn't take it back, so she might as well make the best of it.

"It just seemed like you were having trouble coming up with the right word for Paisley's

stalker

," Lillith repeated. "So, I thought I'd help you out."

"Oh, you did?" Larry scrubbed his face with his palm. "Do you know how fucking disappointing it is, getting this from

you?

I thought, out of everyone here, I could count on you to think about the team."

"That's what I'm doing," said Lillith, her voice firm and factual. "Paisley, has Steve ever threatened you?"

"Well, kinda," said Paisley. "He said he could get me fired. He said he always gets what he wants. And ever since he got my phone number, he's been sending me all these videos of him practicing with knives and swords and guns, telling me about how deadly he can be."

"You know what that makes him?" Lillith asked Larry.

"A 'stalker'?" Larry guessed, the quotation marks audible in his voice.

"More importantly for you," Lillith held her voice steady, "It makes him a 'foreseeable threat' to Paisley, and this club, and everyone in it. If you as a franchise owner ignore that threat, and he comes here and hurts her, the club would be liable."

A vein flared in Larry's forehead at the word "liable."

"Not that Paisley would ever sue, I'm sure," Lillith said quickly. "She's a team player. A family member. Just like the rest of us. But supposing Steve comes in here with one of those detector-proof plastic guns. Or he waits outside for her with the regular old metal variety. And instead of shooting Paisley, or

only

Paisley, one of his stray bullets hits another guest, and that guest sues. What happens then? I'll tell you. The parent company will pin it all on you. They'll call you a 'bad apple' and wash their hands of you. The courts will have this place liquidated down to the copper wiring to pay off the family, and then there's no more money for

any

of us."

Larry's jaw clenched.

"Look who's suddenly a lawyer," he taunted through his teeth, which meant he was buying time to think.

"Not a lawyer, and not your lawyer," Lillith acknowledged. "So, nothing I say is

technically

legal advice. But I

was

a claims rep for a bigger company than this one, before I realized there's nowhere in the world better to be than here." She forced another grisly smile. "I've seen franchises cut loose for less."

Larry stood there for several seconds, clenching and unclenching his jaw, vein pulsing, looking back and forth between Lillith and Paisley.

For a few of those seconds, Lillith dared to hope that she'd made her point.

"You're talking about what-ifs," Larry growled. "I'm talking about paying our bills

tonight

. And even

if

a disgruntled client decided to do something stupid, no one here would ever betray the family by claiming there were 'warning signs.' Isn't that right, girls?"

For the first time in months, there was a pause before the approved reaction.

"Jesus Christ," said Larry. "Do none of you realize what would happen if I banned every blowhard who claimed to be a dangerous man to impress one of you girls? We might as well turn this place into a brunch buffet. How well do you think bitter old church ladies tip the pretty young things who fetch their coffee? Does that sound like a life you'd enjoy?"

"No, boss," the dancers answered from all over the locker room, the hesitation gone.

Lillith followed along, resigning herself to one of those days when the sourness under her skin would not leave.

She'd said what she could say, and it made no difference. Maybe next time she would remember not to.

"You two," Larry pointed to Lillith and Paisley. "You're both off the roster tonight and off the main stage for a week. Get out. And if you can't come back and give a hundred percent to this family and

all

of its generous clients, don't come back at all."

Wiping her eyes furiously, Paisley grabbed her coat and backpack, neither of which fit over her ornately feathered costume, and ran for the door.

Lillith picked up her own bag and left too.

All she had to do was keep it together long enough to walk out of the locker room door, and then out the side exit, and forty feet to her car. Then she could get on the road and beat the hell out of her steering wheel, and cry, and sing, and eventually calm down enough to assess the damage and make a plan to fix it.

But of course, she only got as far as that first set of doors before Paisley fell into step beside her.

"Hey," Paisley sniffed self-consciously.

"Yeah, don't mention it," said Lillith.

"Oh, okay," said Paisley. "I was just going ask if you wanted to share an escort."

She nodded toward Clyde, one of the bouncers, who was leaning against the wall and waiting for the evening rush to begin.

Lillith sighed. After calling out Larry's security errors so publicly, she couldn't let him hear that she was being careless with her own safety by sneaking out alone, even if no customers had seen her yet today.

"Fine," she said.

They both met Clyde's eye, and he walked close behind them as they made their way out to the parking lot. He mercifully did not ask why they were leaving minutes after they'd arrived.

"Well, this is me..." Paisley said, putting her hand on top of a car with peeling gold paint. "Do you...?" She wiped her eyes with one of her feathers, leaving glittery makeup smears. "I really don't know if I'm coming back, so...."

Lillith sighed, put an arm around Paisley, and led her onward, toward her own car. "Come on. Let's get you a drink."

#

While Lillith drove, Paisley wrestled with her costume in the backseat, trying to find a spot for each piece where it wouldn't get crushed or obscure Lillith's vision. They'd probably get where they were going before she managed it, wherever that was.

Paisley had one of the more unconventional acts at the club. It was memorable, Lillith had to give her that.

Her outfit was peacock-themed, and it looked like a cross between an old school Vegas showgirl costume and a homemade turkey costume for a school Thanksgiving pageant. When she had all her pieces on, she measured almost eight feet tall from heels to plumage.

Multiple times a shift, she did a shimmying belly dance that involved fondling a pair of real hard-boiled eggs, pretending to pluck her own feathers, and a whole lot of tickling of anyone in the stage side seats.

Larry hated her whole bit, frequently calling her a "tacky eyesore," but she had her regulars, along with plenty of passing customers in search of novelty, enough that he'd always been happy enough to take his cut of her money.

"So," Paisley sighed, giving up on a tidy arrangement and folding her arms around her headdress. "What's your real name?"

"Yeah, no, let's not do that," said Lillith.

"Okay. Fair. Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere we can change," said Lillith.

"Oh. Yeah," said Paisley. "Better not hang out in a bar like this, I guess. Not a regular one."

She sounded like she could think of nowhere more dismal to be than a regular bar.

"We don't

have

to go to a bar," said Lillith. "Are you sure you don't just want to go home?"

At Paisley's expression, Lillith mentally corrected herself. Apparently, there was nowhere more dismal to be than a regular bar,

except

for home. Good to know.

"I know a diner with a decent beer menu," Lillith tried again. "Doesn't look like a club at all. Might be a little less of a reminder of--"

"Whatever." Paisley shook head, and her shoulders along with it. "It's not like I wanted to be a stripper for the rest of my life, anyway." Her lip began to quiver before she could quite finish the sentence.

Lillith met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "You love the shit out of it, don't you?"

"I love it

so

much!" Paisley reached up to wipe free-flowing tears. "It's the only kind of job I've ever loved." Her sobs came on fast and hard, until she was gasping for breath between words. "I love dancing. I love dressing up. I love talking to the customers, bringing them out of their shells. I love

touching

people, and I love that look they get on their faces, like it's the most magical thing that's ever happened to them. I love being wanted. I love making people happy. I love having something special to offer."

"Yeah, I know," said Lillith. "Me too."

Paisley blinked at her. "Really? You always seem so... I don't know, above it all?"

"More like 'over it,'" Lillith snorted.

"Sure, that," said Paisley.

Lillith drew a long breath. "I still love... well, I love what I wanted it to be," she admitted.

"A version with only good customers?" Paisley guessed.

Lillith shrugged. "I wouldn't say no to that. But I don't think I'd mind the bad ones so much, if the club would just have our back about it."

"

Right?!

" said Paisley. "God, I wish... I

wish

..." this set off another wave of mournful tears.

Lillith couldn't watch. If she did, she'd start loudly mourning the same wish herself.

"You want to go fuck them up?" Lillith asked, just to change the tone.

"Who?" Paisley sniffed. "Steve? Larry?"

Lillith shrugged. "You happen to know where they live?"

Paisley shook her head.

"Too bad," said Lillith. "We do know where the lounge is, though. And when it closes."

Paisley leaned forward to study the steadiness of Lillith's hands on the wheel. "Have you been pre-gaming?"

"I'm not drunk yet," said Lillith. "Just pissed off. And trying to make you feel supported. And feeling off-duty levels of blunt."

"So, that wasn't a serious offer?" asked Paisley. "To fuck someone up?"

"Did you want it to be?" asked Lillith.

"No! I mean..." Paisley looked so sincerely thoughtful for a moment that Lillith couldn't help smiling, in spite of her sour mood. "I mean no. I don't want to make things any worse than they are. And the lounge... other dancers have to use that place. I wouldn't want to mess it up for them just because

I'm

on Larry's shit list."

"But it'd be fun?" Lillith checked, a temptingly awful idea forming. "If that wasn't an issue?"

"Yeah," said Paisley. "Of course it would."

"Good," said Lillith, flicking on her signal and turning into the parking lot of a convenience store. "Then I know where we're going. Whiskey, rum, or tequila?"

#

Ten minutes later, with a bottle of spiced rum, a carton of eggs, and a six-pack of toilet paper on the front seat, Lillith pulled into the parking lot of the Grand Dame, weaving around the shards of broken glass left behind by whoever had last drowned their sorrows on this same cracked rectangle of asphalt.

She parked under the Dame's front marquee, which was half-covered with a rusty old "For Lease" sign. Underneath, the marquee itself was yellowed with age, stripped of all but a few disjointed letters from its last announcement many years ago, and framed with darkened neon outlines of naked women.

"

Now's

when we pre-game," said Lillith, taking her keys out of the ignition with a satisfying click of finality. "Here, get your pirate on, matey."

She opened the rum bottle and passed it over her shoulder to Paisley.

Paisley took two large gulps. She coughed and grimaced after each one, but this didn't seem to deter her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, holding the bottle back out to Lillith, who was bent double, rummaging under the driver's seat.

"Pillaging," Lillith answered, pulling out the emergency pry bar she kept there.

She accepted the bottle for a few quick gulps of her own, passed it back, and got out to fit the bar between the Dame's old wooden double doors.

They popped apart as easily as Lillith had always imagined they would.

"Uh, this seems kind of serious," said Paisley. "Like we could actually get in big trouble."

"Yeah," said Lillith, relishing the truth of this. "It's been forever since I broke a rule. Might as well get in a good binge of it while I'm at it. Now that you've broken my streak."

"What rule did I make

you

break?" asked Paisley.