All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  “Oh, no, Miss Wright, it doesn’t work that way! It’s my ship. And my game.”

  Skorpio circled closer, eyeing her as though he might tweak those Very Cherries for effect. “You’re feeling noble, standing up for the man who would defend you even to the point of losing his job! But I’m having no part of it.

  “And besides,” he continued, from behind her now, “if I totaled up what you owe me for those three original designer gowns, and the French dinner—not to mention Phillipe’s outrageous tip—you’d be appalled at how much more indebted you are than when we started.”

  The weight of his stare on her backside made her whirl around to face him. “That’s not your concern! It’s not like I don’t have the money to—”

  “It’s never really been about the money, my dear.”

  Captain Scandalous laughed like a man who was terribly pleased with himself. “It’s time we had a discussion about obeying orders, Miss Wright. You need instruction on how to be the love slave of my fantasies, so that your debts may truly be forgiven.”

  “She needs more than your instruction,” Odette chimed in with feline glee. “Since she seems so taken with Mr. DeSilva—and is distracting him from his daily duties aboard this ship—we should put her where she’ll have some…special work to do.”

  “So! There you have it!” the captain crowed. “As always, Odette, you’ve cut to the crux of the situation! I’m entrusting Lola’s punishment to you.”

  “And what did I do that was so wrong?” Lola spouted. “I merely requested the pleasure of Aric’s company, and he agreed to my plan to—to fly under the radar for awhile. He let me escape today, yet I’m the one catching hell for it!”

  “Oh, you’re going to catch a lot more than that, Lola.” Odette’s voice had a distinctive edge to it. “You going to make so many new friends, you’ll forget all about Rio. So he can do the job he’s been hired for.”

  “A workable solution. Dismissed!” Skorpio said as he gestured for the security agent to precede him out.

  DeSilva gazed at her one last time, and then he walked out ahead of the captain.

  It was a whole new show, now that Odette was directing it.

  22

  Whispers, the cigar club, felt totally different now that it was open for business. The tables were filling with guests—men, mostly—and Lola noticed details she hadn’t seen when she’d been here in the dark with Rio.

  Signs behind the bar posted prices for lap dances, private massages, and other personal services. A jazz trio was playing cool, musky music that throbbed with a string bass’s step-step-pity-step, catching her up in its heartbeat. The trumpet moaned a wah-wah-wahhhhh while the drummer in his dark glasses sat back smiling, making his cymbals shimmer with a tssss-ts-ts-tssss she had to grin at.

  A spotlit stage with a chrome pole and a runway dominated the center of the room, so the marble frieze was now just a part of the scenery. If those nude Greeks—and that dog—were still talking, only the guests along the walls were aware of them.

  Cigar club, was it? Yes, there was a display case of fine imported cigars along one wall, but Lola sensed Whispers smoked in a whole ‘nother way from the venerable gentlemen she associated with such male enclaves.

  “We’ll be going backstage to find Miss Wright a costume,” Odette informed the manager. “Be sure to keep her busy all afternoon and into the evening, Derek.”

  He was blonde and stocky; a scar along his temple gave Derek the air of a bouncer from a tough neighborhood bar, even though he wore a tux. He looked Lola over for several seconds longer than she liked.

  “Deck her out however you want,” he said. “But I can’t keep an eye on her all the time.”

  “That’s why Aric’s here. We’re teaching Miss Wright a lesson, about obeying the rules and being a team player—”

  “Oh, she’ll be an addition to our team, all right,” he replied with an oily smile. “Fresh meat like her’ll sell a lot of drinks and keep things…coming.”

  As Odette beckoned them to follow her across the huge room, Lola felt the manager’s gaze riding her backside. She took Aric’s sleeve, almost ready to reconcile with him.

  “So what’re they talking about?” she whispered. “This isn’t where civilized men come to smoke and read their newspapers and get away from their wives, is it?”

  “Oh, they smoke, all right,” he replied, “but you’re the one who’ll be lighting their fires. Not that you’ll have any trouble with that, horny little slut that you are.”

  Lola released him, incensed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Petrocelli? Who was it that lied me into that men’s room for his own—”

  “Enough of your bickering,” Odette snapped, turning to glare at them. “Let’s get on with it.”

  The backstage area housed several curtained cubicles, which smelled of incense, sex, and secrets as she walked past. At the end of the hall stood a large closet. Odette swung open its doors to reveal costumes of all colors and varieties: she-devils and schoolgirls and fairy princesses could emerge from this armoire!

  Matter of fact, a leather-bound mistress with whips and a Wild West saloon girl were eyeing her from the corner, where they shared a vanity and mirror. Had she not been here at Odette’s command, Lola would’ve found all these outfits rather inspiring.

  “It’s you, Priestess!” Cabana Boy said with a chuckle. “The ensemble you were born to sport, so that all may worship you!”

  He was holding up a gauzy body stocking with flared harem pants. The only thing that wasn’t totally see-through were the silver sequined stars sprinkled here and there to catch the light. It would cover absolutely nothing!

  “And here’s your mask—like for Mardi Gras, except more alluring,” he went on. “To keep our regulars guessing. To give you Priestess mystique and—”

  “Enough rhapsodizing, young man,” Odette interrupted. “The show’s about to start.”

  Indeed, Lola heard the stage band playing a more provocative tune, as well as the clink of cocktail glasses above male voices raised in anticipation. Another girl came out of a bathroom, wearing a blue dress with a lacy white pinafore and socks, and a curly blonde wig.

  “Better hurry it up, honey,” she said in a gravelly voice that sounded nothing like her innocent get-up. “If you’re dancin’ with us this set, you’ve gotta kick some ass! No room for losers here!”

  The other two laughed loudly, as though they already saw a big L painted on her forehead.

  “But I don’t know a thing about dancing in—”

  “It’s highly intuitive,” Odette said with a smirk. “You’ll start in a cage, where you can wiggle and writhe and do whatever it takes for men to bid on your service.”

  “Service,” Lola echoed. “As in—”

  “Whatever they want. Most of them love a good lap dance to start out, while some prefer a private dancer. Or, you could be performing with the pole onstage. Whatever they wish to pay for—which often depends on how enthused you seem.”

  Lola thought for a moment. There had to be a way out of this situation, which appeared more humiliating by the minute, considering her minimal experience. “What if nobody bids on me?”

  “Then you’ll be at the mercy of whoever Derek has waiting in one of those cubicles. Flat on your back.”

  Odette smirked as though she liked this idea. “And if I find out you’ve ended up this way, I’ll tell Rio to come and see how the lady of his dreams is working off her debts! He’ll love that, won’t he?”

  The raven-haired lady leaned closer, her feline eyes narrowing. “They pay to play, Lola. Our girls give them their money’s worth—except in your case, all your credit goes toward your purchases on the captain’s account.

  “Too bad you’ve been so extravagant,” she added, her tongue tipped with sarcasm. “You might have to stay all afternoon and evening, and come back again tomorrow!”

  Laughter echoed in the open room again, and Lola cringed inwardly. This sounded like a bad B movie scri
pt, where the pimp was giving his speech to a new hooker about how she damn well better not cheat him. And how she better not try to escape his clutches, either, or some other bad-ass pimp would really show her what it’s like to live in the gutter.

  But then, this was just a game. Wasn’t it? She was still a guest—she’d paid her fare long before she left home. So if worse came to worse, she could call it all to a halt. She could walk away and say no thanks.

  And yet, as Lola quickly changed into the nothing little harem pants—with a crotch seam that wasn’t sewn—and the top that fit like a second skin, she felt herself rising to her role. The music out front was revving up now, and the old bump-and-grind of that chicka-boom beat made her grin.

  If Odette thought she was making Lola behave herself—well, she’d show them all! She’d become the Striptease Queen! The Come-On Honey they didn’t think she had the guts to be! If they thought she’d give up or chicken out, well, they didn’t know Lola Wright, or what she’d learned when it was Dennis Fletcher’s games she was playing.

  After all, who else sported Very Cherry nipples? Showing right through her sheer top, shimmying with every step she took! Odette’s might be painted red, but she wasn’t sticking them out there, was she?

  Lola put on the mask, a stretchy turquoise cap that covered her tucked-up hair, with a glittery silver half-face that extended into Art Deco-style wings over her ears. The role was gelling in her mind: she was indeed the High Priestess, adorned in her costume spun of stardust and moonbeams—yes, with those red nipples peaking through to hold the attention of those who worshipped her.

  She would show them! She would beat them at their own game and have fun doing it! After all, what happened on this cruise ship stayed on this cruise ship. She would never see these people again.

  Except Rio. I’m doing this so I CAN see him…

  Or would the captain keep his Chief Security Officer so busy for the next few days there’d be no chance for the stolen moments she’d come to love? Maybe DeSilva would give up on her—

  “All right—you’re on, Lola! Get your ass in that cage!”

  A wiry fellow with a cue-ball hairdo and a goatee—another bouncer type she didn’t feel like challenging—steered her to an exit where a red metal cage awaited her. He opened its door.

  She stepped inside, onto the small platform bottom, wondering how the hell she’d keep her balance when it started moving.

  “Remember our rule, lady—you make the ride around the room once without getting any bids, you damn well better shake that thing on your second ride, or you’re outta here.”

  “Got it,” she replied. Lola looked ahead and behind her, at the cages where the three other girls were getting in, hoping she was up to the competition.

  “Let’s do it!” the guy hollered. He pushed a button in a control panel and the four cages rolled along a track in the ceiling, out into the main room.

  “Here they are, gentlemen! Our first ladies of the day!” a familiar voice came over the speaker system.

  A cheer went up from the crowd and Lola blinked: the place was packed! And that was Mike Mannering, the cruise director, at the microphone.

  The band cranked up, and when she saw how the other three girls were writhing and thrusting to the music, she did the same. Strobes were flashing to the raucous beat, and the cheering could’ve roused a dead man.

  “Thirty for that one!”

  “I’ll go fifty!” a couple guys shouted, pointing to the raven-haired dominatrix in the first cage.

  They were still rolling slowly, about ten feet apart, all four of them dancing to get the crowd stirred up. Which didn’t take much.

  Lola decided to up the ante: she placed her feet in the cage’s spaces, spreading her legs and throwing her weight to make the cage swing.

  “Oh, Blondie, baby!” another guy cried.

  “I want the harem girl!”

  “No, she’s for me! A hundred bucks says so!”

  “Make it two, and she’s mine!”

  Was she hearing this right? The other girls—Mistress Whips and Miss Kitty and Goldilocks—were much younger and more agile than she. But when the cages stopped and their doors slid open, five or six men were hurrying between the tables to help her step out.

  She flashed them all her best come-on smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she crooned in an exotic accent. “I am the goddess, Vahshi. Your every wish is my command. Your every prayer will be heard.”

  “Make that a five, and get outta my way, fellas!” the man with the bushy beard proclaimed.

  Now that her imagination was kicking in, this was going to be a hoot—with five hundred dollars riding on it!

  “Vahshi, sweetheart, I want you settin’ on my lap and dancin’ with Big Jim,” her customer drawled. “He’s got a hankerin’ for some red-headed pussy, and you are it, darlin’!”

  What did she do now? Lola gave Tex her most mystical smile, and took her cue from Miss Kitty, just a few tables over: the saloon girl’s gyrations had her guy grinning like a kid at Christmas.

  Licking her lips, she straddled her man’s lap—not surprised that he then spread his legs and grinned like the good ole boy he was. She’d selected suits for his type a hundred times, so she felt right at home.

  His hands went to her waist, so Lola raised her arms with an exotic flourish and pressed her palms together above her head, like a Hindu deity. The High Priestess at her best.

  “Thatta way, sugah! Shake them cherries for me,” he encouraged. “By God, you’re givin’ Big Jim the real what-for, and he’s lovin’ it!”

  She didn’t glance at his lap. Kept her eyes focused on his fleshy face…thinking about the slender Spanish features she’d rather be gazing at.

  A shudder made her nipples jut out. The little stars in the fabric rubbed them with a suggestive friction.

  “Yeah, baby, you got it,” Tex rasped. “Wiggle them titties! Rub my face with ‘em now!”

  Since she was endowed with peaches rather than watermelons, Lola had to scoot closer—which put her right up against Big Jim. He was still safely tucked behind that zipper, but even so, she knew he was huge—and that he’d seen the split in her harem pants.

  Tex’s fingers found it, too. As she wiggled to the music, brushing her breasts against his face, she felt him exploring her slit, teasing out her honey. For five hundred dollars, he probably figured he could—

  “And that’s the end of the first dance!” Mike Mannering called out. “Let’s hear it for the girls! We’ll take your bids for a pole dance now.”

  Lola slid off Tex’s lap, flexing her thighs. It would be a longer, harder day’s work than she’d anticipated, if she had to do much of this lap dancing.

  She realized then that a slender man in a Zorro mask, clad in black leather, was Aric. He’d been behind her all along, and was now keying in Tex’s SeaKey charge for her services.

  It occurred to her then that Whispers took in a lot of money, since these gentlemen were flashing plastic instead of cash. The liquor was flowing freely enough that they didn’t seem to care!

  “That one!” somebody called, pointing her way. “Two hundred to see the harem goddess get herself off on the pole!”

  “I’m sayin three! I want her to fuck the pole, too—but not till she wets my cigar!”

  Lola blinked. The guy was looking right at her, unwrapping a stogy with a glimmer in his beady little eyes. Not a guy she’d care to go to the back room with.

  So when Aric gave her a nudge, she approached the stage. Took the cigar and climbed the stairs amid hooting and cheering that rose to a deafening din.

  Sometimes a cigar is only a cigar, she reminded herself, while her body swayed to the music. The band had gotten into her act by playing a reedy, Far Eastern snake-charmer tune, so Lola followed their lead. Her head jutted side-to-side while her arms rose and fell with the rhythm. Presentation was everything…

  And then she realized what she was supposed to do with that stogy. Where
she was supposed to dampen it, like some guys moistened cigars between their lips to make them burn longer.

  She couldn’t really believe she was doing this, but…with a seductive sway in her step, she approached the shiny pole in the center of the stage. Let her harem pants swing loosely around her body, loving the way the sheer fabric kissed her skin like butterfly wings and then fluttered away.

  She stuck the cigar in her mouth, a phallic silhouette as she wrapped an arm around the cold pole…bent one leg around it and lowered herself slowly, so her pussy rode the chrome, exposed by that gap in her pants.

  “Go, baby!”

  “You do it, Vahshi!”

  “Don’t forget my cigar!”

  With another suggestive grin, Lola hugged the pole while extending her other leg…opening herself to a crowd who’d spotted the split seam and clearly loved it. Ever so slowly she lowered the cigar…placed it against her nether lips—

  “Stick it in!”

  “Tickle your clit with it!”

  A ripple of arousal sent feisty heat through her. Up here, away from groping hands and covered by a mask, Lola played her role to the hilt—and quickly dipped the cigar that far, too.

  The room roared with male approval, and the fellow came up to claim his cigar. Five more guys were unwrapping theirs, watching her with avid eyes as she swayed and shimmied to the band’s beat—swinging herself around the pole to tease them.

  “Me next!”

  “Here—mine’s bigger!”

  She threw back her head and laughed. Now this was power! Playing the temptress—the High Priestess and Temple Goddess—to those who truly appreciated her talents! The way things were going, she could tie one of these guys up, and they’d not only pay her the big bucks—they wouldn’t bitch and moan like Aric had. Her man in black would shit at how much these guys would pay for that privilege!

  The band played on and so did Lola. While she was vaguely aware that Miss Kitty and Mistress Whips and Goldilocks were plying their trade in other corners of the club, she had an avid gathering here at the edge of the stage. Watching her stroke herself with their cigars. Gazing at the gap in her pants and the bush pushing through it. Admiring the body she wouldn’t dare display so boldly without the mask.