Before
(ten years earlier)
"...Alright you pervs and degenerates," the DJ crooned oily-smooth, as the last song faded out. "Let's hear it for Ca-andy!" The crowd applauded, a few hoots and hollers. The young naked blonde was still gathering up the rest of the bills they'd thrown on stage as the DJ gave a rundown of prices for private dances. "Alright, now get your sexy ass off that stage girl, cuz it's time... gentlemen get your drool cups ready... it's time for the smooth the sexy the cooool Velvet Ice..." Miranda hurried off stage as the lights went down and a deep R&B bass throbbed through the club.
"How's the crowd?" asked a sexy brunette with blonde and caramel highlights. She was on her way to the stage, and Miranda slapped her ass as they passed.
"Always good for you!"
Miranda was straightening and counting her bills as she walked into the dressing room. It had been a decent set, a ton of ones mostly, some fives, one twenty, and -she did a double take- five hundreds?
Hundreds weren't that unusual, plenty of guys, dealers mostly, came into the club acting like high rollers, but she hadn't seen any of them. And on a Wednesday, it did turn a decent set into a great set. She remembered the two guys wearing suits and ties.
"Fucken yuppies," she chuckled appreciatively.
The dressing room was a blare of yellow light, and the air was thick with glitter and the sickeningly mingled scent of cocoa butter and a thousand perfumes. There was a row of vanities along one of the walls, the rest were lined with lockers. She rolled the bills and hid them in hers, then put on a silk robe.
"How'd it go?" The girl who called herself Jetta was sitting at one of the mirrors. She had rich, dark skin and the phatest ass in the club.
"Good for a Wednesday," Miranda replied, sinking into the seat next to her. "Couple white boys in the corner throwin' big cash."
"Mm, I heard that," Jetta said. "One o' them boys is super foyne! I take him in back?" She gave Miranda a devious wink. "There will be some sex in the champagne room!" She cackled and continued applying her makeup.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Miranda lied, but for just a moment, the thought of a pair of intense blue eyes blazed through her head.
"Candy!" shouted the manager from the doorway. "You got one on the hook so slut up!" He guffawed at his own wordplay.
She glanced over her shoulder. "It's not that old guy is it? He's clearly drunk, and I just don't-"
"Girl, you better make that money," Jetta elbowed her, laughing.
"Nah, it's the American psycho from table eight," the manager said. "Waitin' for you in room 3."
Miranda nodded. "Be there in five."
"He's part of a matched set y'know," the manager waggled his bushy eyebrows. "Hook 'em both, play it a little loose and I bet you wrangle up some big tips."
"I know how to do my job," she replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"Just saying, sweetness," he shrugged and headed off.
Miranda went back to her locker and started digging through her lingerie. "What do you think he'll be into, Jet?"
The dark-skinned girl thought about it for a moment. "You got that frilly pink number? You know them yuppy boys like you cuz you got that real-life Stepford thing goin', give 'em the fantasy."
"Maybe, but my ass looks better in these," she replied, sliding a silky pair of crimson cheekies up her long legs. She tucked her perky breasts into a sheer red demibra, then slung her robe back on.
"Keep him busy, doll," Jetta said as Miranda headed for the door. "I'm a go shake my ass at the other one, we'll clean 'em out tonight!"
Room 3 was Miranda's favorite for private dances. It was decorated in navy blue and a cool gray. She tended to be energetic on stage, loving the excitement of performing, but for something more personal and intimate, she preferred the feel of the darker colors. She knocked on the door, then slipped inside.
The young man was already reclined in a large plush chair with big arms. There was another smaller chair as well, with no arms and velvet cushions. A wooden dresser, mostly for aesthetics, held up the single lamp in the room.
"Hi, I'm Candy," she said in her tinkly work voice.
"Yeah, you look like it," he replied with a wink. "I'm Donovan."
He was handsome. Angular features and dark eyes, with sleek dark brown hair. He'd laid his suit jacket and tie over the smaller chair, wearing just a pair of black slacks, and a silver button-up with the top three buttons open. He looked like he belonged in that room.
"Hi, Donovan, did my manager explain the rules?"
"No standing, no cumming, you can touch me but I can't touch you, tray tables in their upright and locked positions," he repeated smoothly. "That about sum it up?"
"About," she giggled, mentally rolling her eyes. "How many songs do you want?"
"Let's start with one," he held out a thin roll of bills. "See what you got."
She trotted forward and took the money. "You mean like an audition? I always get the call back."
"I bet you do."
"There a particular song you want?"
Donovan shook his head. "Nah, you're the pro, I trust your judgement."
She moved to the back of the room where they kept an iPod plugged into the sound system. She began scrolling through the thousands of options.
"Oh, I know just the one," she purred.
A synth screech set his teeth on edge, but then a slow rhythmic throb flowed through the room. Miranda moved into the rhythm as she stepped back in front of the chair.
Donovan groaned. "I dunno, I fucken hate Marilyn Manson..."
He trailed off as Miranda peeled open the front of her robe, revealing the crimson lingerie and her curvaceous hips rolling back and forth in perfect sync to the beat. Her flirty smile dissolved into a sultry stare, one elegant eyebrow arched sharply. She glided up to him, letting the robe slip off her shoulders. She leaned onto the arms of the chair, thrusting her tits in his face, her petite nipples were just visible through the crimson lace, then she rocked back and turned away. Her hips continued to move, a whispy tattoo crawled and curled across her low back, underlined by the scarlet silk of her panties, her perfect ass swaying back and forth hypnotically. She sank onto his lap, grinding, as her spine unfurled up his chest, until her blonde head curled over his shoulder.
"Should I change it?" she asked, her lips close enough to his ear that the warmth of her breath sent goosebumps down his arm.
"Fuck no," he said quickly. "I fuckin' love Marilyn Manson."
Miranda smiled, letting her body writhe on top of his, every movement cued by a beat or guitar squall. She could feel him getting hard and rolled her ass against that bulge, teasing and grinding.
Then she slid forward off his lap. Moving slowly, deliberately, she hooked her thumbs into her panties then slid them all the way down her long, smooth legs, bending forward, giving him the full view of her heart-shaped ass and the tight pink slit tucked between her thighs. She heard him clear his throat, and a knowing pride tickled up her spine.
Miranda stepped her legs apart, swaying her hips and ass as she slid one manicured finger through her soft petals. Then she spread her pussy lips wide, letting him see every carnal part of her.
Donovan shifted in his seat.
Miranda turned around, locking his dark eyes with her vixen gaze and slipped those fingers in her mouth, licking them, sucking them slowly, and then reached back down to play with herself, biting her lip as she moaned softly. She could see him trying so hard to play it cool.
She grinned seductively and kneeled down. Gliding her hands up his thighs, he flinched when she brushed near where his hips creased. Then she pulled back and pushed his knees apart. She leaned forward, putting her face in his crotch and letting him feel the fullness of her breasts between his thighs. She draped her hair over his lap, moving closer and closer, until he could practically feel her breath through his expensive slacks, and she could sense the tension hitch through his entire body.
"Will a, uh, big tip get me a blowie?" he asked.
Hidden behind a curtain of blonde tresses, Miranda rolled her eyes. Of course he would ask that. She looked up, a vixen smile on her face and shook her head as if it were part of the dance.
Then she crawled up on his lap, straddling his hips. She leaned forward, putting her breasts in his face, felt him clench the arms of the chair. She leaned back, reached around and unclipped her bra, unveiling her perky round breasts tipped with delicious strawberry nipples. The steady throb of the music rolled through her body as she gyrated on his lap, her naked tits bobbed tantalizingly, her soft naked pussy grinding against the bulge straining his pants.
His hands crept onto her hips as they bucked and swiveled to the heated throb of the bass. She let him touch, for a moment. When they started to creep up her hourglass curves, she grabbed his wrists and moved his hands back to the armrests. She gave him a stern look.
"Right, sorry," he said. "Force of habit."
She grinned and leaned forward to kiss him, but didn't, brought her lips so close to his he could taste her. She moved to his ear, his neck, her breasts pressing into his chest, her soft breath, almost moans, driving him wild.
Miranda slid her delicate fingers into his meticulously styled brown hair. Donovan bit his lip as tingles rushed over his scalp. She pulled him forward, burying his face between her plump breasts. She squeezed them against his cheeks, shimmied around him. Felt him groan into her sternum. She pulled back, rubbing the firm orbs over his face, teasing her soft pink nipples over his quivering lips. She could see him actively resisting the urge to lick or suck or bite or...anything at that point.
His hardon was straining, pulsing between her legs. She could almost hear his heart beating. Finally, she pushed him back in the seat and settled on his lap as the song began to wind down.
"So, Donovan," she moaned, licking her lips and pretending to catch her breath. "Would you like another song or should I go find another star for my dope show?"
He smirked, swallowed, and shook his head as if to clear it. "How big of a tip does it take to get more than a show?"
Her shoulders slumped, she sighed and nodded towards the camera in the corner of the ceiling. "Against the rules I'm afraid."
"Aren't rules made to be broken?" Donovan reached into his pocket and took out a folded stack of bills, he began leafing through them. Miranda could see they were all hundreds. "Tell me when to stop..."
She groaned and slid back off his lap. "I don't do that," she grabbed her robe, slinging it on quickly. "There are girls here that will, but I'm not one of them, so I guess we're done here."
"Alright, wait!" he stood quickly, and reached for her as she turned towards the door.
"Don't!" Miranda snatched her arm away.
"Wait, please," he said again. "Look I'm sorry, I don't really want to pay you for sex."
Miranda arched an eyebrow and tilted her head doubtfully.
"C'mon, look at me," he shrugged and flashed her a truly debonair smile. "And I'm rich? I don't pay for sex. Like...ever."
"So, what then," she pursed her lips. "You just get off on seeing what a desperate trashy stripper will do for your cash?"
"Please," he scoffed. "I could tell right away you weren't either of those things. The truth is," he retrieved his jacket and tie. "I wanted to make sure you wouldn't take advantage my brother."
