Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
Kathleen swaggered off stage, feeling the men lusting after her g-string clad ass. She wiggled seductively for their benefit. It was her last set of the day. Back in the locker room, she put away the nightie and chose a short dress, barely longer than a t-shirt. Now that her business day was done, she removed the g-string.
The bar had the special coffee Kathleen had ordered. She doctored it appropriately and carefully climbed the stairs to the big office.
When Eric Rogan had purchased and renovated the Sweet Hearts strip club, he had turned the upstairs storage space into a huge, imposing office. Floor-to-ceiling tinted windows allowed him to keep an eye on his naked beauties strutting the stage and on the customers who came to ogle them.
Kathleen had stood on that stage and looked up at those dark windows, trying to sense the voyeuristic presence of her mysterious new boss. She loved to be watched. Every stripper loves the feel of hot, hungry eyes exploring her secret places. But when she couldn't see the men who plundered her with their gaze, it added a delicious extra potency to the pussy-watering excitement. Feeling helpless and vulnerable turned her on.
And Eric Rogan would make anyone feel vulnerable. He was a man with secrets. Terrible, horrible secrets. Secrets Kathleen had no desire to learn. Rogan was the monster under the bed. He was the reason nice girls didn't walk down dark alleys.
Rogan was a suspect in hundreds of white-collar financial crimes. He was believed to be heavily involved in smuggling, piracy, and counterfeiting. His money and influence had so far protected him. Prosecutors knew that if they filed charges, and failed to convict, their careers would be over and they'd be bankrupted in the ensuing lawsuits. They also knew that a man like Eric Rogan would have no trouble bribing and blackmailing anybody he needed to in order to derail a criminal case against him.
But it was the crimes he wasn't suspected of that caused the greatest dread among those who knew him. You only needed to look in his eyes to see the hidden menace burning there. Without question, this man had committed murder. His victims were unknown. He was not a suspect in any specific act of violence. But his friends, enemies, and employees understood the dangerous privilege of having his attention.
When Kathleen moved on that stage, shedding her clothes for the pleasure of men, the caress of Rogan's dark eyes was enough to give her an orgasm in full view of a hundred club patrons. Their lust, and his ominous gaze, combined with her own fear, was a powerful erotic rush.
And now, she was courting the Devil in his den, climbing the steps to his private office. Her hands were occupied with the tray she carried. She used her hip to push open the door. Rogan could lock the door with the touch of a button, and there were cameras on the stairs and sensors under the steps, so he knew of her approach. The door swung inward at her push. Permission to enter had been granted.
Kathleen carried her tray to the enormous desk and set it down. She had brought him a tall mug of rich coffee, seasoned with ginger and cinnamon, and laced with moscato brandy. It was a gift, to show respect. The favor had already been granted. Any attempt to repay his generosity would be viewed as an insult. But a gift could be offered at any time.
Eric ignored her approach. His chair had been turned to face the windows and the club floor. Kimber was onstage now, wearing only a thong, and hers was a body few men could ignore. But the heavenly scent of Kathleen's coffee was also a powerful lure. He swiveled his chair to face her and smiled in appreciation.
"Let's do this thing," he said.
Rogan's original goal had been to own the best gentlemen's club in the United States. He had spent a lot of money upgrading Sweet Hearts to that purpose. He would provide the most beautiful women, a five-star steakhouse, and the finest collection of wines, beers, and spirits in North America.
But the club's previous owners had stupidly lost the liquor license by running illegal sports betting through the bartenders. Kathleen had persuaded Rogan to not renew. As a favor.
Kathleen's sister, Megan, was eager to start her own career as an exotic dancer, and Kathleen wanted to guide her little sister through the rough spots. But Megan was still three years shy of her 21st birthday.
So, Kathleen had explained to Rogan that without alcohol on the premises, his dancers could be as young as 18, fresh out of high school. And since the laws required performers to wear at least a thong or g-string where alcohol was served, ditching the booze meant the dancers could ditch the last bit of cover and strut the runway totally nude.
Rogan had followed Kathleen's advice and gotten the club's paperwork updated to cover fully nude entertainment. It had required a few bribes and other methods of persuasion. The county had not approved a fully nude strip club in twenty years, and after Kittens had closed, the intention was to deny any further license requests. But Eric Rogan was not a man who took no for an answer. Tonight was to be the debut, both of the newly relicensed Sweet Hearts, and of 18-year-old Megan.
It was going to be a delightful surprise for the customers. Except for the DJ, even the staff didn't know what was coming.
And the regular customers had already figured out that If they brought their own booze, the valets would hold it for them outside. The waitresses would sell a $10 plastic cup that could be refilled with soda or juice for as long as the customer was at the club. An ink stamp on the wrist allowed them to go outside for a smoke and come back in without paying the entrance fee again. If they happened to take their cup with them, dump the soda, and fill it from the bottle the valets were holding, that was not the club's responsibility. The valets were an independent organization, working only for tips, and therefore not under any obligation to keep alcohol out of the club.
"What about that other matter?" Rogan asked. He had intended to install a state of the art surveillance system, but Kathleen had persuaded him to wait, despite the fact that three cameras didn't work at all.
"We have twelve private rooms," she reminded him. "When a guy wants a thirty minute lap dance, where the bouncers cannot watch, that's where we take him. He pays a lot for the private dance. If he gets a little touchy-feely, we generally allow him some leeway and the cameras prevent anything illegal from happening."
"But three cameras are broken. And you want me to keep them that way."
"I'm sure you can figure out why," she said.
"Walk me through it anyway. I don't like surprises. Let's make sure we're on the same page."
