The girls were all finishing the night in the dressing rooms, taking wigs and eyelashes off, wiping five layers of makeup off, and changing out of the 5” heels. Mainly they were trying to decide where to get breakfast at 4:00 a.m. As everyone was putting street clothes on, I looked around and saw a new YSL bag, a new diamond bracelet, and I had seen clothing tags over the last two weeks from Gucci, Balenciaga, Dior, McQueen, and more.
WTH is going on? I dance at the same burlesque house as all these girls; how are they affording this when I can barely afford my NYC tote from Target?
I was done with this; I had to know what was going on. So, I pulled one of my closest friends to the side, who just happened to have all new YSL makeup this week, and asked, “Ok, what’s up? Did everyone get a raise but me?”
“Frankie, I don’t think you want in on this. It’s not your scene,” Amber said, wagging a finger at me.
“Don’t you think I should decide that?” I asked indignantly.
“Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Go talk to Vinny,” Amber said, pointing to the stage manager.
Vinny was what you might expect in a stage manager for a burlesque house. He was in his 60’s, beer belly, silk button-down shirt, gold chain, half-eaten cigar, and hair slicked back with enough oil to see your reflection.
“I want in,” I said to him as I walked up to him at the bar where he was cashing out the night.
“No, you don’t, Dorothy.” That was my nickname because I was from the Midwest and because he thought I was a prude.
“Yes, I do! I need the money!” I pushed.
“I promise you; you don’t have it in you for this,” he still hadn’t even looked at me.
I slammed my hand on the bar, forcing him to look at me, “Try me.”
“Ok, Dorothy. Here’s the deal. I have special customers who like to come here for the stage show but are ready for a little more and don’t want to go to a different club. So, a few of the girls take care of them. I set it up, the girls do their thing, and we split the fee 50/50. See, not for you," he said dismissively.
I thought for a moment; I’m a big girl. I could give some guy a hand job for an extra hundred bucks. I steeled myself and looked at Vinny, “I’m in.”
“Ok, you’re up tomorrow night,” he said, shaking his head and laughing at me.
The next night I danced my first two numbers, Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend and I Want to be Evil, then Vinny pulled me to the side.
“Sasha is taking your next few numbers, and you’re up in the fitting room. His name is Karl, but he likes to be called Daddy during sex. He likes to be a little rough. You got ten minutes, fifteen max; off you go.” He turned me in the right direction and patted my ass. So many questions swirled in my head, but I walked forward in a dazed trance!
Oh Shit! What have I gotten myself into? Did he say, “During sex”?
I opened the door, and Karl was already sitting on the couch in the corner, naked, rubbing his cock. He immediately stood up and grabbed my hand and pulled me to the couch. He made quick work of the costume I had on, a black bralette and black bloomers, over black fishnets. He even ripped the fishnets. The next thing I knew, I was bent over the couch, and he was rubbing my tits with one hand and my pussy with the other.
“Ah Daddy, hi?” I stammered
“Shut up, slut. I saw you flirting with someone else from the stage. You’ve been a bad girl, and you need to be punished," he screamed at me. And shoved two fingers crudely into my pussy and fucked me hard.
My head was saying, Stop Him! This wasn’t what I signed on for. But my body was responding differently. My nipples were hardening and sending waves of pleasure to my throbbing pussy, and sending the same signal through the rest of my body.
I started to say something else, and Karl roared, “I said shut up, you little whore!”
I shuddered, but it wasn’t out of fear; it was excitement. My juices were rushing. And Daddy felt it too.
He pulled his fingers out and rammed his hard prick into me unceremoniously. He certainly didn’t take time to enjoy the penetration; he was just hammering his stiff shaft into me over and over again. Drilling me with such force, he nearly lifted me right out of my stilettos.
Just as he got a quick, even rhythm, there was a knock at the door, and he thundered, “GO AWAY!”
His tempo never wavered, and I pushed my hips back in time with him, acknowledging how much I reveled in his assault.
“Yes, you are Daddy’s little cumwhore, aren’t you? We are going to cum together when I tell you, and you will get your wish of being filled up with my cream.”
I felt his cock harden, and my cunt seized. I didn’t know if I could hold off the orgasm any longer, but he said to wait. I bit my lip hard to hold it back.
“Now slut, cum hard!” and we did. Erupting on each other, drenching each other in hot, viscous semen. Riding the long crescendo for all it was worth.
When it was done, he got dressed and left. Vinny said, “Go up and fix yourself up for your next number.” I nodded.
“Hey, Dorothy, here’s yours. You in?” And he handed me $1000.
There was no dancing around the decision, “I’m in!”
