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
