by Katy Kaylee
This was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare that I’d fallen into.
That was when Paris opened her eyes and scanned the room. In that moment, I had no fucking idea what to do: suddenly, I felt like bolting.
But then, she saw me.
Our eyes locked, and I felt a sizzle of pure, white-hot electricity between us. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. She smiled sensually, for real this time, and I felt the rest of the room fall away as Paris began to dance. Her hands moved up, up, up in the air and behind her, untying that obscene pink bikini top and slowly lowering it down.
Oh, god. I was a fucking goner.
It was just Paris and me. She was dancing for me, moving and writhing and swaying that curvy body of hers on stage. As she slowly lowered the bikini top, I felt my cock stiffen in my pants. It didn’t even occur to me that this was the reason men went to strip clubs, to lose themselves in the sexual, private dancing of naked girls on stage. I was too spellbound, too hypnotized by Paris and her perfect tits.
She was so fucking beautiful. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she licked her lips and ran her hands down her body, cupping her breasts in both hands and closing her eyes. She arched her back, like she was in the throes of pleasure, and rubbed her strawberry-pink nipples with her thumbs.
My cock was throbbing as she moved her hands lower and lower. Paris got on all fours, turning around and shaking her ass. She got on her back and kicked her legs high in the air, showing the slight bulge of her pussy through the bikini bottom. As she pulled it down her legs and kicked it to the side, I felt like I was about to explode. Every cell in my body hungered for her, ached to taste and tease and fill her.
In my mind, I was no longer sitting at the grimy bar of The Pink Diamond. In my mind, I was walking up on stage and kissing her. Tasting those perfect, pouty, pink lips of hers in mine. Tasting her sweat and her perfume. Running my hands down her body, cupping her tits and pinching and rolling her stiff nipples until she moaned in my mouth. My tongue would caress hers, exploring her mouth and tasting her. My hands would stroke her soft, smooth skin, moving down to her inner thighs. I’d tease her, moving my fingers closer and closer to her pussy. She’d beg me to touch her, and I’d finally give in, my cock aching with arousal and lust in my pants.
God, I wanted her so bad. In my mind, I was holding Paris in my arms and laying her down on the stage. She’d moan and spread her legs for me, filling my nose with the sweet, luscious scent of her pussy juice. I’d crawl between her thighs and nuzzle her flat belly, lick her just above her trimmed blonde patch of pubic hair. Her smell, fragrant and delicious, would fill my senses and I’d move my mouth closer and closer. She’d tangle her hands in my hair and arch her back, her tits quivering as her body shook with desire.
Her pussy would be open for me, ready for me, waiting for me. Her clit, pink and exposed, would be begging me to lick it. All I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs and suck her clit, lick it, stroke it with my tongue while sliding a finger inside of her wet pussy. Paris would cry out with pleasure. She’d buck her hips and ride my face, moving faster until my chin was soaked with her juices. I’d keep lapping and sucking, keep swirling my tongue around her clit until she bucked and gasped and came with a loud scream of my name.
Jesus Christ, I wanted her bad.
When the music changed, it seemed too abrupt. Suddenly, I realized that I was still sitting at the bar with a melting drink in front of me. I wasn’t on stage, bringing Paris to a powerful, scorching climax. I was sitting in the dark, watching her collect dozens of bills while holding her discarded bikini against her chest.
I was back in the present, and I didn’t like it one bit. The reality of the situation hit me in the face, hard, and I shuddered as I realized the truth of what was really happening.
Paris was stripping.
My daughter’s best friend was stripping.
In the club that I was trying to bring down.
I had no idea how things had gone from bad to massively fucked up in the span of just under four minutes, but they had.
And now, I was totally screwed.
6
Paris – Friday
My heart thudded as I stared at the door, still wondering if I had imagined the whole exchange. What was Harrison doing with a stripper? Madison Maxx, of all people? I was so confused that I couldn’t even begin to process it in my mind. He watched me dance, but now he was acting like he’s never met me before.
And he had walked out with Madison like he was dating her.
Could he really be dating a stripper? Was Hollie really that wrong about her father?
Or was Harrison ashamed, and trying to keep it a secret?
That didn’t seem like him at all, but then again, I was starting to wonder how much I really knew about the man.
I swallowed hard.
“Honey, you’d better get moving,” one of the other dancers, a girl named Livvie, said to me. “You making the rounds, or what?”
I nodded and flushed. “Sorry,” I told her. “I’m feeling kind of out of it.”
To my surprise, she gave me a sympathetic smile. “First night’s always the hardest,” she said. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to be a pro – I wanted this to be a short chapter of my life, something I could and then move on from and forget all about. It was strange: after having taken off my bikini and cupped my tits and showed my pussy to a room full of strangers, I should have felt fearless. But the idea of making the rounds in a tight dress, asking strangers if they’d like to buy a dance, was somehow even more intimidating. Dancing had been one thing. No one had been touching me then. But what would happen if someone groped my ass or brushed their hand against my boobs?
“Don’t worry, honey,” Livvie said, as if she was reading my mind. “Angel’s real good about taking care of his girls. If anyone touches you, they’ll be thrown out.”
I nodded, although her words didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Sitting down at my chair and mirror, I touched up my makeup and blotted the oil from my face. I redid my hair and pulled on a tight, shiny strapless dress that made my ass stick out like a caboose. Now, it was my turn to work the room. I knew that I kept half the lap dance fee, as well as any tips. Despite being an intimidating prospect, I knew that I could potentially make even more money doing private dances than I had on the stage.
The dressing room door opened and closed and my heart skipped a beat. I was hoping that it would be Harrison.
Instead, it was Angel, the owner of the club. I’d met him once before when I’d had my interview there, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about him. He was attractive in a way that was almost frightening, with tattoos and straight white teeth. His eyes were dark and although he’d been nothing but cordial to me, I sensed a menacing aura there that was easily provoked.
Angel walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he said. His hand was warm and dry and yet, I felt a shiver of revulsion run down my spine.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’ll be topping Madison soon,” Angel said. He grinned at me. “People are already talking about you. That first dance, that was stellar.”
“Thanks,” I repeated. “I was just about go out on the floor and make the rounds.”
Angel nodded approvingly. “Good girl,” he said, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “You know,” he added, leaning closer and meeting my eyes in the mirror. “You did so good, there’s a way you could make even more money. You feel like talking about that?”
Just as I was about to ask what he meant, the door banged open and shut once more. Angel yanked his hand off my shoulder and whirled around. The bartender was standing there, shaking her head.
“Angel, the Fire Marshal just showed up,” she said, frowning angrily. “Some fucking fire code violation or something.”
“Fuck,” Angel muttered under his br
eath. He groaned and shook his head. “No more dancing tonight, girls, everybody home.”
There was a collective groan from the dancers gathered in the dressing room. I must not be the only one who needs to make a lot of cash, fast, I thought. Gnawing the inside of my lip, I began putting my things into my backpack. Angel stormed off in a huff, slamming the door behind him, and I sat down to take off my makeup before leaving the club. After dressing in my street clothes – a pair of jean shorts and a loose hoodie – I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder and left.
Outside, the air was muggy and humid. The streets were damp, like it had rained while I was working, and even though it was hard to breathe, I sucked in a greedy gulp of air. It smelled sweet and fresh, like redemption, and after the stuffy air of The Pink Diamond, it was a relief.
“Honey, don’t do that.”
I turned to see Livvie standing there. She was leaning against the wall of The Pink Diamond, a lit cigarette pinched between her fingers. When she raised an eyebrow at me, I walked over.
“What?” I asked.
“Walk by yourself,” she said. “That’s a good way to get hurt.”
I blinked at her, not understanding. Then, it dawned on me.
“A pretty young thing like you could get snatched up,” Livvie said. She turned her head and exhaled, blowing a plume of smoke off to the side.
I nodded quickly.
“You get a bouncer, make him walk you,” Livvie added. When I didn’t reply, she chuckled under her breath and took a long drag on her cigarette.
“You’ll get it, hon,” she said. “You’re new. But everybody learns.”
I flushed to the roots of my hair and nodded. Going back in the club after hours felt strange –the bar was empty save for the bartender wiping things down with a rag. Angel was nowhere in sight, and the bright lights overheard were harsh and unforgiving. I tracked down a bouncer and had to wait ten minutes while he finished a conversation. By the time I got to my car, it was almost two in the morning. I should have been exhausted. While my limbs did ache a little bit, I felt adrenaline buzzing through my veins, like I’d suddenly downed three cups of espresso. The bouncer waited until I was inside with the doors locked before retreating back to the club and closing the door.
The drive back to Hollie’s took longer than I expected. There were street closures and lane closures, and I had to take several detours through shady areas that reminded me of Rogers Park, the neighborhood where I’d lived as a little girl. Even though it intimidated me sometimes, I had to admit there was something magical about Chicago. Some neighborhoods were filled with lush, opulent houses and buildings. And then, two blocks over, you could be walking into the ghetto. Hollie and I had played what we had called ‘street jeopardy’ while we were growing up, always knowing which streets were safe and which to avoid.
But in the early hours of the morning, almost everything looked frightening and dark to me. Lakeview, the neighborhood where Harrison lived, was generally nice. It was a nice mixture of residential and commercial, but nothing seedy like The Pink Diamond. Past two in the morning, everything was dark and despite the proximity of hundreds of sleeping bodies, I felt strangely alone.
The feeling was a relief after my night at the club. Being awake in the middle of the night had always given me a strange feeling, like I was the lone survivor of a nuclear blast, having to fend for myself in the darkness. I remember the only all-nighter that I’d pulled so far in college: staying up on the top floor of the student union to finish a paper that was due at eight o’clock in the morning. By the time I was done, it was almost five and the sun was coming up. I’d walked across campus in a daze, my body buzzing with caffeine and the rush of sugar from junk food, feeling like I’d experienced something amazing that everyone else had missed out on because they were sleeping. I’d gone back to my dorm and crashed in my bed. When I’d woken up in the afternoon and seen the common swarming with other kids, my morning dawn daze had felt like nothing but a dream.
I wasn’t the only person who regularly stayed up all night, though. As I drove through the Lakeview streets, my mind turned to Harrison. He was someone who worked through the night, someone who called upon the darkness as his friend.
It made me feel closer to him, until I remembered what had happened at the club. How was I supposed to face him after that? How was I ever going to look into those blue eyes again? While I had been dancing, he’d clearly wanted me.
But now that I was clad in my regular clothes and I wasn’t writhing on stage, what would he think? Would he be ashamed of me? Disappointed? Worried that I was heading down the wrong path?
Or worse – would he think that I was becoming a bad influence on Hollie? Would he worry that I was going to turn his beloved daughter into a slut? Would he ask me to leave the house and never speak to her again?
I couldn’t decide which would be worse: to have Harrison acknowledge what had happened, or to say nothing at all. Saying nothing would be easier.
But acknowledging it ... well, that meant that I’d have to deal with all kinds of feelings and urges that I always tried so hard to suppress.
My heart began to race with anxiety and I paused at a stop sign, wiping my sweaty palms on my denim shorts. I’d hoped that I could just sneak inside, take a bath, and go right to bed.
But when I got to the house, I noticed that the garage door was open and there was a light on. There was no way that Harrison would have been irresponsible enough to do that.
Maybe Hollie’s waiting for me, I thought, gnawing at my lip as I parked my car on the side of the street and grabbed my bag. Maybe she couldn’t sleep or something.
I took a deep breath as I climbed out of my car and approached the house.
There, standing in the open garage, was Harrison. He wasn’t moving, and for a second I had to wonder, irrationally, if he’d known that I was on my way home.
Suddenly, it struck me.
Harrison wasn’t going to let this go. He wouldn’t drop it and act like it never happened. He’s always been a good man. And even if he was dating Madison Maxx, he wouldn’t let what he saw go unremarked upon.
“We need to talk,” Harrison said.
His words filled me with apprehension. In the bright, naked light of the garage, I felt more exposed than I had when I’d been up on stage at The Pink Diamond.
I swallowed hard.
“Come inside,” Harrison said. He gestured for me to follow him. “And be quiet.”
And after a second, I did.
After all, it wasn’t like I had a choice.
7
Harrison – Friday
I still couldn’t believe what I’d seen. Paris Malone, dancing at a strip club. Running her hands over that lush body of hers and staring me down like she was a seasoned pro.
It just didn’t make any sense. She had always been a good girl, a sweet girl. A shy girl – a girl who wasn’t comfortable with the curvy body that she’d had since she’d been a teenager. I winced uncomfortably as a memory came crashing over my head: a fourteen-year-old Hollie coming to me and telling me that she needed to borrow some money. Paris had grown out of her underthings, again, and her foster parents refused to buy her more. I’d asked Hollie why she hadn’t gone to her mother first, and her reply had been that Krista didn’t think spending that kind of money on a non-family member was right.
My ex-wife had always been cold, but now I wondered if perhaps she’d been jealous of Paris, too.
Paris had always been a good girl. She was like a daughter to me, someone I’d comforted and cared for. I had no fucking idea how on earth she thought this was a good idea. Didn’t she know what happened to women who worked at strip clubs? Didn’t she know that some of them started hooking, and then using drugs?
Fuck. She was all of twenty years old, tall and pale and young and lovely.
And naïve.
Although she was technically an adult, she was my charge over the summer.
It was true tha
t I couldn’t believe I’d seen her dancing.
But the thing that I really didn’t want to believe was my own reaction to her. My own animalistic lust, rising up inside of me like a beast impossible to control. I hated to think about the way my cock had stiffened instantly at the sight of her in that bikini. How all rational thoughts had left my head and how I’d turned into a base, pathetic man, just like all the other men at the club.
Besides, stripping was bad enough. But stripping at The Pink Diamond was even worse, given all I knew about what was really going on there. If my suspicions about the prostitution ring were correct, that put Paris directly in danger. Her sweetness and her naivete were two things that I loved about her, but I worried that those qualities would make her even easier to exploit.
If something terrible happened to her, I’d never forgive myself knowing that there was a chance I could have stopped it. I had to make her understand that working at the club was a terrible idea ... all without telling her about my undercover assignment.
By the time her car pulled in front of the house and parked on the street, I was feeling wired. The effects of the booze had long ago left my body, replaced by something even stronger.
Pure lust.
I could never give in, never act on that feeling. I had to push them aside and reprimand Paris, let her know that what she was doing was exceedingly dangerous and stupid.
Man the fuck up, I told myself. Don’t let her think you want her.
Paris walked up to me with big, scared eyes. Her auburn hair was piled into a messy bun and her face was, thankfully, devoid of stripper makeup. She was wearing a loose MontClaire University hoodie that didn’t quite conceal her ripe tits, and my cock twitched at the memory of her perfect, creamy rack exposed. The memory of her hands running over her sweet, pink nipples, like she was getting off on stripping to a room full of gross men. Seeing her naked had left me feeling more aroused than I’d ever felt in my life, and unfortunately I didn’t ever think that I’d be able to forget it.
