Sauce for the Goose

Karen was almost amazed that she had driven past the establishment on so many occasions without really taking notice of it. She had often been compelled to drive down Columbia Boulevard through this rundown industrial district to visit Kevin at his office at the machinery dealership. Somehow; she had managed to ignore the sleazy club. She instantly recognized the club this morning.

"Don't pretend that you missed the turn," Karen scolded her husband as he drove past the club. "You know exactly where the place is. You've patronized it often enough.

Kevin obediently drove around the block. He obviously knew where the driveway was. As her husband effortlessly navigated to the discrete parking behind the club, Karen read the sign.

CLUB QT

COLD BEER FULL BAR

OPEN 7 AM TO 2 AM

SERVING BREKFAST LUNCH DINNER

NUDE DANCERS

AUDITIONS EVERY AM

Karen had noticed the name of the club as well as the exorbitant charge on their recent credit card invoice. In an effort to explain himself, Kevin had reluctantly shown her the receipts for his company credit card. He had desperately explained that he had simply made a mistake by grabbing the wrong card out of his wallet to pay the most recent bill after taking a client out for the most recent business breakfast or lunch. They had been thousand dollar meals. However; these thousand dollar meals had enabled Kevin to seal million dollar deals on dozers, excavators, graders, scrapers or pavement grinders. Few white collar people understood that the blue collar roughnecks who toiled to rebuild the crumbling infrastructure that civilization was so dependent on routinely spent not just thousand but tens of thousands of dollars every day for fuel, labor, gravel, insurance and hiring dump trucks. They spent millions to buy or lease their machinery.

After Kevin had parked next to a line of about half a dozen, Harley Davidson motorcycles, Karen reluctantly got out of his company Explorer. She thought of trying to hide her purse in the car, then reconsidered. The graffiti on the nearby fences and walls was ominous. This was a sketchy neighborhood. She might need her purse.

The parking lot was unpaved with poorly graded gravel. The pot holes looked all the more menacing because they were filled with evil looking waters tainted with oils. Although it was Saturday morning, Karen had dressed to work a half day at the office. The extra hours that she worked like the extra attention to her appearance were motivated by the current wave of layoffs. She would be damned if she would take their children out of private school and surrender them to the public schools to be indoctrinated by the woke heathens. Now, she regretted her decision to not dress more casually. As she gingerly stepped around the hazards, she prayed that she wouldn't ruin her shoes.

The front door of the club was actually at the back of the building. The door led to a deep foyer with obvious doors to bathrooms. The discrete entrance made sense. Some of the patrons were upper middleclass businessmen who valued their reputations. The club was dimly lit, of course. The bar was along the back wall opposite the door. There were raised stages along the walls to the left and the right. An anorexic looking, garishly tattooed, young woman dressed in only a gee string was dancing on one of the stages. Karen observed, "I was better endowed than that dancer back when I was in middle school." Kevin didn't argue. He knew that she was right. That was why he had started dating her in high school.

The anorexic dancer was performing surprisingly adept acrobatics on the pole. The dancer could not have been even half as old as Karen. The dancer seemed bored as she peeled off her gee string to reveal her hairless vulva. If not for her prematurely wearied face, she might have been mistaken for a tween. The girl then moved around the stage to present herself to the customers that were seated by the perimeter Karen was aghast. Her dancing was not just intimate, it was indecent. She briefly offered not just her bare, barely there breasts but her shaved snatch for the patrons' close inspection.

Karen was surprised that the club actually had a pool table. One would presume that the pool table was a waste of valuable space. A group of big, burly, rough looking men wearing leather vests were gathered around the pool table. Karen thought that they looked like the type of heavy construction workers that her husband often dealt with. Then she noticed the three piece patches on their leather vests. She recognized the name of the motorcycle club. They had been involved in a recent shoot out with the same ANTIFA and BLM activists who were wanted for ambushing several police officers as they were eating lunch. The police were understandably even more apathetic than usual about making arrests in these subsequent killings. It was understandable that the woke Police Chief complained that her officers were outgunned by the bikers and demanded new, more stringent gun control laws. One veteran street cop had been fired after being caught on camera referring to the killings of the ANTIFA BLM goons as "merely misdemeanor murders" that should remain unsolved.

Everyone had noticed that the incessant rioting that had transformed the downtown business district into a boarded up, burnt out warzone had almost ceased after the shootout with the bikers. Karen was quietly grateful for the armistice because her company had not allowed remote working. She had been compelled to drive past the charred remnants of that condominium tower every day. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she was certain that she could still smell the corpses of the hundreds of victims who had been burned to death. The arsonist or arsonists had yet to be arrested and probably never would be identified.

The chronic burglaries and robberies that had terrorized the lower income, predominantly African-American neighborhoods on the wrong side of the river had also abated. It was suspected that more than a few burglars had gotten themselves shot. These killings were no different than the obvious gang banger and pusher shootings, except that the burglary victims had to haul the bodies far enough away from their neighborhoods so that there wouldn't be an obvious connection to them and their homes. The sanitary workers were constantly finding bullet ridden carcasses as they emptied dumpsters, dumped their trucks at the transfer station, or when the semis emptied at the landfill outside of Arlington. In every case, nobody didn't see nothing. The chances of literally getting away with murder, or at least misdemeanor murder, in the city had soared.

Karen followed her husband as he led the way to a table in a darker corner towards one end of the bar. The club actually had a waitress that came over to take their orders. The waitress looked as if she had once been a dancer but had been ridden hard and put away wet for to many years. "We were to busy arguing to have breakfast before we left the house," Kevin reminded her. "Shall we order? The food is actually good here."

Karen was amazed to hear herself ordering a bacon omelet. The price seemed amazingly reasonable given the venue. Kevin ordered a stack of pancakes with bacon. Both ordered coffee. Karen also ordered a cocktail, just to calm her nerves. As she watched the waitress walk away, Karen noticed another tattooed dancer replacing the girl that had been on stage. This girl was also young and extremely thin, however; she had unnaturally large, unnaturally firm breasts that were almost misshapen. The prominent surgical scars confirmed that her breasts were not real.

The service was amazingly fast. Karen ordered a second cocktail. Her omelet was generous and excellent. The chunks of bacon were thick and not crunchy from being overcooked. As she ate, Karen watched the girl who had been on stage mingle with the customers. She started dancing for a man who was seated at a table. She didn't waste any time taking her gee string off again. She removed her top soon after. The dancer danced close to the customer. He parted his knees so that she could step between them to dance with her tiny titties dangerously close to his face.

When the song ended, the dancer scooped up the twenty dollar bill that the patron had put on the table. Although she had been promoted to senior management, Karen was still a Certified Public Accountant. She could do the math. If giving a table dance required five minutes, the girl could give twelve table dances an hour. That worked out to almost five-hundred dollars an hour! She knew attorneys who couldn't charge as much for their services!! Of course it wasn't plausible that a dancer could solicit and perform twelve table dances an hour,especially if they were required to go on stage.

Karen gestured at the anorexic dancer with the tiny tits as she walked past them. She asked, "so that is your idea of harmless entertainment?" Kevin was to embarrassed to answer.

Another dancer took the stage. In spite of the heavy makeup, it was obvious to Karen that this new girl was about her age. They were also about the same weight. She estimated that even their bra sizes must be almost the same. When the dancer stripped off her bra, the natural sag of her breasts combined with the absence of obvious surgical scars suggested a lack of implants.

"So this is what you pay good money for? Do your clients actually prefer the women who either look like adolescent girls or have fake boobs? Maybe they prefer real women who are a bit older and heavier like me?" Karen gestured at the dancer on stage as she said, "I would hope that you wouldn't feel the need for this entertainment when you've got me at home!"

As the dancer with the real boobs gyrated on stage, Karen's gaze finally drifted to the dimly lit alcoves on either side of the foyer. Gauzy red drapes could only obscure the upholstered, horseshoe booths in the two alcoves. There were no tables.

The somewhat voluptuous dancer with the real boobs finally left the stage to be replaced by a young, African American woman. The Black woman wasn't anorexic, but she wasn't as heavy as her predecessor or Karen. Her breasts sagged a bit more than a prideful surgeon might have allowed, suggesting that they were real. She was beautiful! She reminded Karen of Lieutenant Uhuru in the original series. She knew how to dance too. When the Black dancer began to gyrate on the pole with her arms outstretched, her breasts seemed to grip the pole as well as her thighs. Karen had been a gymnast in High School. Karen was impressed. She absentmindedly allowed Kevin to order a third cocktail for her even though he was obviously hoping that he might be able to end their bickering by getting her drunk.

Karen noticed the anorexic, Silicone babe leading a trio of customers to one of the alcoves at the back. The customers seated themselves in the booth. The Silicone babe began to dance for the men. She quickly stripped down until she was nude. When she danced between their parted knees, she didn't seem to be dancing just dangerously close. The translucent fabric of the drapes made it impossible to be certain of details. However; the silicone babe seemed to be pressing her big, fake breasts into their faces. She then turned away from the patrons then did a backwards handstand so that her knees were resting on a customer's broad shoulders. Karen realized that the dancer's shaved snatch was only inches from the man's nose, if not closer! She noticed a tongue extending. The dancer didn't protest even as the man might have been licking her labia and clit! The dancer did a similar back flip for each of the other two gentlemen. The private dance in the private alcove continued for several songs. Karen noticed the dancer picking up a sheaf of bills then counting what appeared to be twenties. Karen counted a dozen bills. Two-hundred-and-forty wasn't bad for less than half an hours work.

Karen gestured at the alcove as she asked, "so you think that that is just innocent entertainment too? Have you ever visited the alcoves? Have you ever bought private dances for your customers?" Kevin's only replay was a dejected nod. Karen actually giggled then asked, "I can see how this type of entertainment might persuade a man to spend nearly a million dollars to buy a bulldozer. However; one would think that it would be cheaper for a guy to just buy himself a lap dance."

"It would be cheaper for my customers to just visit this club on their own. However; they really do need the machinery for their businesses. Hosting a business breakfast, brunch or lunch at this club, then buying them a private dance or two, is merely a gratuity," Kevin explained. "It is just innocent fun. It's like grease that lubricates the business machinery during this difficult economy."

Karen might have replied if Kevin hadn't so obviously recognized a couple of guys who entered the club. The two newcomers were rough looking, African-American men. They were wearing biker leathers. They too were members of the same club that had been involved in the shootout. The two, tall, powerfully muscled bikers noticed Kevin. The bikers walked over to their table. Karen almost reached for her purse when she noticed the grip of a pistol peeking out from under a leather vest. The distinctive, beavertail safety on the grip suggested that it was a Browning nineteen-eleven. It was also obvious that the biker was either brave enough, stupid enough, or expert enough to carry a forty-five cocked and locked. Karen relaxed when the rough looking man spoke to her husband. "Kevin! How the Hell are you? Who is this lovely lady?" She obviously isn't one of the dancers, at least not yet," he said with a wink. He then gestured towards his friend. "Kevin, meet Eric. Eric is a chemist for the asphalt plant."

"Jerry. Meet my wife Karen," Kevin said with obvious embarrassment. "Karen, meet Jerry. He is one of my best customers," Kevin explained. "Karen discovered the receipt from our last meeting here. She wanted to see what type of entertainment that they offered here."

Karen nervously reached for the enormous, heavily calloused, ebony hand that was extended towards her. Jerry's grip was gentle, revealing only a hint of the brute strength that she knew could effortlessly break every bone in her hand. Only the callouses that were as rough as a wood rasp were unpleasant. The big bear of a man turned to gesture at the sign announcing auditions. "When I first saw you with Kevin, I was hoping that you were a new dancer. Maybe you're going to audition? Hopefully; your husband can talk you into it."

Jerry then turned back to Kevin. "I just want you to know that we haven't stiffed you on that order for the Dee-eleven dozer. The city is holding up the permits and the bank will not release the funds until they are assured that we have the job. If the funds do come through, we might get brave enough to buy that seven-fifty excavator that you had to repossess from our competitor. We could lay a lot of big pipe with that beast and lay it deep."

Thanks to Kevin, Karen knew what a seven-fifty class excavator was. It was a seventy-five ton behemoth even without the bucket and counterweight. A normal semi tractor and trailer couldn't haul it. She had a general idea of how much the dozer and excavator would cost. Each was a nearly million dollar deal. She could easily estimate Kevin's commission. She also understood the double entendre. She reflexively lowered her gaze to just below Jerry's belt buckle. The prominent bulge suggested that he laid a big pipe and he laid it deep. She blushed with shame as she chastised herself for her indecent thoughts.

When the waitress returned to pick up their breakfast dishes and bring Karen yet another cocktail, she too pointed to the sign announcing auditions, "perhaps the lady would like to dance a few songs. We could use some new dancers. You don't have to be a professional. You don't even have to want to be a professional. You don't even have to get nude. Lots of everyday women give dancing a try just for the fun of it. The patrons really get off on it."

Karen blushed as she returned her attention to Kevin. Rather than get angry or object, he just shrugged his shoulders. He was obviously fearful of rekindling their argument. It was her decision. Karen might have gotten angry, but it suddenly occurred to her that this might be her opportunity to teach Kevin a lesson. She thought it over as she made a trip to the bathroom. She was surprised that the bathroom was amazingly clean. That encouraged her decision.

When Karen emerged from the lady's room, the stripper who was on stage was finishing her routine. As she was getting ready to walk off, Karen resolutely walked towards the stage. The expression on Kevin's face was priceless. She paused and turned towards her husband. "It's just innocent fun," she said tauntingly. Then she quipped, "what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander." She was pleased that Kevin could not meet her glaring gaze.

Karen danced in her normal business attire of a skirt with a matching blazer over her blouse. When she stumbled, she slipped off her shoes to dance in her stockinged feet. She then unbuttoned the two buttons of her blazer as seductively as possible. After removing her blazer, she twirled it over her head before throwing it towards Kevin. One of the biker types at the pool table caught it then politely passed it to her husband.

Karen was pleased to see that all of the men were now watching her. She knew that the fabric of her white blouse was somewhat sheer. Even in the dim light, the lace cups of her bra must be clearly visible through the fabric. She normally kept her blazer on at the office because her blouse and bra were not quite adequate to conceal her perpetually swollen nipples and large, dark aureoles. However; she took her blazer off often enough to remind the big bosses of why they enjoyed looking at her. The company was downsizing, again.

As the second song began, Karen began to seductively unbutton the many, closely spaced buttons of her blouse. Most of the men in the club moved up to take seats at the stage. She noticed them setting two dollar bills on the stage railing before them. Karen sauntered around the stage to dance close to each patron as she continued to unbutton her blouse.

Remembering that strippers once performed a strip tease back in the old days, Karen didn't immediately remove her blouse. Instead, she left her blouse hanging open so as to obscure her breasts as she reached behind her to unzip her skirt. She was elated to see that the men were not disappointed or angry. They eagerly offered up more two dollar bills.

Karen slowly, seductively slipped her skirt down over her wide hips and down her curvy thighs. The expressions on the men's faces revealed the moment when the waist of her skirt had slid low enough to reveal that the sheer fabric of her pantyhose barely obscured the lush growth of dark pubic hair that adorned her vulva. Their lustful expressions were worth far more to her than their proffered tips. She had seen the same expressions on her bosses faces whenever she allowed her thighs to part seemingly negligently at the office. Allowing them to sneak a peek at her inner thighs or cleavage maybe more than once in a while was the price that she reluctantly paid for job security. What Kevin didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Karen twirled her skirt over her head as she danced around the stage. She once again tossed her garment towards her shocked husband. Once again, one of the bikers caught it. Once again, the biker passed her garment to her husband.

Karen danced around the stage, pausing before each customer to give them a close look. None seemed to be offended by the sight of her lush, unshaven growth of pubic hair through the sheer fabric of her pantyhose. Some offered up a second two dollar bill. Karen rewarded them by kneeling directly in front of them to give them an even closer look.