by Naomi West
“No kidding,” said Honey, watching as the girls took up just about every available vanity, leaning in close to the mirrors as they slathered on the makeup.
“These new girls,” said Bethany, shaking her head. “They aren’t exactly understanding the pecking order yet. Us vets get the first crack at these things.”
“I don’t know if I’d really consider myself a ‘vet’,” said Honey, her face turning a slight shade of red at the reminder that she’d been working here for far longer than she’d anticipated she would when she took the job.
“You kidding?” said Bethany, raising her thick, dark eyebrows. “You’ve been here for a year, and I’ve been at this fucking place for two. We’re pretty much the bosses of this joint.”
The two girls scanned the room, both looking for a place where they could sneak in and do their makeup. But every vanity was taken up by some pretty young thing preening in front of it, going back and forth between applying a bit of makeup and texting.
“No goddamn efficiency,” said Bethany, shaking her head. “All right, enough of this.”
With that, she stomped over to one of the girls, some little slip with bottle-blonde hair and a slim body and boobs far too big to be anything but expensive fakes, and put her hand on her shoulder.
“Scram,” said Bethany. “Honey and I are on in ten, and you’re taking way too much fucking time.”
The girl’s painted-up face formed an expression of indignation.
“But—”
“No buts,” said Bethany. “Go send your texts or whatever and we’ll be done by the time you’ve done your social media shit.”
The girl realized that between Bethany’s seniority and commanding personality, she didn’t have a thing to say. She snatched her phone off of the vanity table and stomped off, her big boobs jiggling in her black bikini top with each huffy step.
“Come on, now,” said Bethany, waving for Honey to come over. “We’re gonna share.”
Honey grabbed her things and rushed over to the mirror.
“Nice one,” said Honey.
“No room for the faint of heart in a place like this,” Bethany said, going to work on her eyes. “You need something, you take it. ’Cause these little brats aren’t going to be shy about it.”
“I swear,” said Honey, turning around and looking at the newest crop of strippers. “Do these girls get younger every month or something? These new hires look like they came here after high school got out.”
Bethany let out a snort of a laugh.
“Please,” she said. “As if half of them aren’t dropouts.”
“They drive me crazy,” said Honey. “They all act like they own the damn place, and half of them haven’t even been here a week.”
“Give ’em time,” said Bethany. “You know how it goes. They start off being the hottest girl in their small town high school and end up here as a little pit stop on their way to doing porn or giving up pussy for whatever drug they end up getting addicted to.”
Bethany was being her usual blunt self, but Honey knew she was right. Girls in this line of work usually ended up even further down into a life of sin, which made more seasoned employees like her and Bethany pretty rare.
Honey shook her head and turned back towards the mirror.
“You know, I know it’s been a year since I first learned your name, but I still think it’s funny that you’ve got the perfect name for that hair of yours.”
Honey half-smiled at Bethany. Looking into the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair, which was, just like Bethany said, the same color as rich, sweet honey. Her hair was shoulder-length and perfectly framed her pretty, cherubic features.
“I’m telling you, darling,” said Bethany. “This is the wrong line of work for you; a girl who looks like you do should be on magazine covers or something. Not working at a shithole like this.”
“You’re gonna give me a big head,” said Honey, blushing a little bit as she picked out a shade of lipstick.
“I’m serious,” said Bethany. “A girl like you with a face like that and a body like you’ve got shouldn’t be working a day in her life. I mean, at least you oughta be working at some joint where the clienteles a little more, uh, you know, savory than the ones here.”
“What,” said Honey, “not crazy about dirty bikers and sketchy drug dealers?”
Bethany snort-laughed again.
“Not exactly the kind of guys looking to be family men, I can tell you that much. And believe me—I know from experience.”
Honey might have been somewhat experienced at Fantasies, but Bethany was the true queen bee of the hive. She’d been there for around five years, and was the only girl in Fantasies history to stick around for that long. And she had the dating experience to prove that she was more than familiar with the kind of men who frequented the place.
Honey remembered back to her first week when Bethany had taken her under her wing and shown Honey the ropes. They’d become fast friends, and Honey had grown to view Bethany as somewhat of a mom figure, despite being only about five or six years older than Honey’s twenty-one years.
“How much more time you got, anyway?” asked Honey, still at work on her makeup.
“You mean ’till I hit my ‘get the fuck out of here’ money goal? Not long; just a few more months.”
“Damn,” said Honey. “You’re really gonna do it.”
“Yep,” said Bethany. “Five years after I started at this dump, and soon I’ll be able to take my money and run.”
“I think that makes you the first girl here to actually save her money and not blow every night’s tips on handbags and coke.”
“That’s the trap that every one of these girls gets into,” said Bethany. “They go from ‘dirt-poor trailer park girl’ to earning five hundred dollars a night—cash. What the hell else are they gonna do with it? Buy some stocks? And those drugs, that’s what fuckin’ kills you; I told you before, darling, and I’m telling you again—don’t make my mistake; you stay away from that shit.”
Bethany, during her first year on the pole, had made the same mistake as most of these girls and fallen into drugs—badly. Unlike most of those girls, however, Bethany had managed to get herself clean and sober. So, part of Bethany’s mom routine for Honey was making sure that she stayed on the straight and narrow. So far, it’d worked—between Bethany’s mother-henning and the constant reminders around Honey of what happened to girls when they got hooked, she’d managed to avoid that scene.
“And what’s the big plan for when you finally get the fuck out of here?” asked Honey.
“Girl, anything. First, I’m gonna get an apartment in some neighborhood where I don’t have to hear gunshots every night. Then … who knows? Maybe start nursing school, get a part-time job at Target or something—anything that’s as far away from this life as possible.
And what about you, Honey?” asked Bethany. “Please don’t tell me that you’re planning on sticking around this place for as long as I did.”
“I don’t know,” said Honey, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. “I only started here since they didn’t require a high school diploma and the money was good. I was so worried about finding any kind of work that I was just happy to get the job.”
“That excuse works for the first month,” said Bethany. “But it’s been almost a year. Going day-by-day like that works great when you’re a recovering addict like me, but a girl like you with her whole life ahead of her oughta be thinking about where she’s gonna be a year from now.”
“I know, I know,” said Honey.
“You know I can’t help it,” said Bethany. “I just want what’s best for you. You’re smart, gorgeous, and got a body that men would kill to get their hands on—whatever you want, it’s there for the taking. I don’t want you to sell yourself short by giving this hellhole your best years.”
Honey gave Bethany a smile. Sure, her mothering could be a little much at times, but she’d have been lying if she s
aid that it didn’t feel good to have someone looking out for her. For a girl like Honey who’d been in and out of foster families since she was a little kid, it was pretty nice.
“All right, girls!” came the voice of Cutter, the DJ, through the dressing room speakers. “It’s showtime!”
Raunchy rap music began playing from the main dance floor, the bass booming through the walls. The rest of the girls hurried to the entrance, all ready to earn their evening’s tips. Bethany stood up straight, looking at her body in the mirror. She was wearing a sexy nurse’s outfit—her go-to look—her thick thighs and full breasts about ready to pop out of it. Her chocolate brown hair was tied into a pair of pigtails, and her pretty face was painted up with thick, dark eyeliner and blood-red lips.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Like you’re ready to show your tits for money,” said Honey with a sly smile
“Perfect.”
Bethany looked down at Honey’s body.
“Girl! Pick something out! Hurry it up!”
Honey glanced down at her body and saw that she was still wearing her underwear. She dashed over to the racks full of clothes, realizing that she was going to have the scraps of the outfits. Knowing that she didn’t have much time to pick, she grabbed a simple black bikini and, after taking off her underwear, put it on.
“Damn,” said Bethany, looking at Honey’s body with an approving glance. “Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, you always look like a fuckin’ bombshell.”
“Oh, stop,” said Honey.
“Now let’s go!”
The two of them hurried to the darkened hallway where the rest of the girls were waiting. They listened for Cutter to call their names, eager to get out there and make their money.
“Next up, we got a naughty little nurse for you guys, and she’s ready to give you the physical you’ve all been waiting for! Give it up for Charity!”
“That’s me!” said Bethany. “Good luck, lady! See you after the shift!”
She gave Honey a quick hug before hurrying off in her high heels. The whoops and hollers from the crowd filled the hallway as she stepped through the curtain.
Now alone, Honey stood awkwardly against the wall, her eyes moving along the long row of tight-bodied, scantily-dressed girls all waiting for their time on stage. Honey always hated this part of the night—it was when she couldn’t help but think about how much she didn’t want to be doing this job, how all she would have to do to never have to show off her body for strangers ever again would be turn right around and walk right back into the dressing room, put her clothes back on, and leave.
But she never did. She’d wait, like always, for her name to be called and then march right onto the stage.
“This next girl’s so fuckin’ sweet that we just had to call her ‘Honey’!” said Cutter. “Come on out here and show the boys what we mean!”
And there was her cue. She hated that they had her go by her real name, but Charlie, the bartender and one of the bosses here at Fantasies, had told her that it was the perfect name for a stripper. And besides, no one would ever guess that it was real.
Honey took a deep breath and headed down the hallway, through the cheap red satin curtain, and onto the stage. The purple and red lights of the club beamed down on her right away, and part of her wanted to cover her eyes. But she knew that it was showtime, and whatever she wanted had to take a backseat to giving these guys what they’d come for.
Taking a quick look at the crowd, Honey saw that it was full of the usual types. There were grungy bikers, truckers who looked like they hadn’t seen a woman in months, and thugs eager to spend their weeks’ dealing money on some naked girls.
Honey threw a big smile on her face as she strolled out onto the stage, shaking her tits in her bikini top and giving the boys taste of what was to come. The rap music blaring from the speakers was deafening, and that was just how Honey liked it. The more overwhelming to the senses everything was, the more Honey could just slip into autopilot and not think about what was going on. The job was simple, after all, and one of the nice things about it was that it was so easy that she hardly had to think about it. On a good night, the hours would fly by without too much hassle and she’d be back in the dressing room, counting her stacks of twenties and ready to head home.
Grabbing onto the nearest pole. Honey wrapped her legs around it and did some of her usual spins and twirls. The crowd was into it, and Honey was happy that things were going smoothly so far. After a little more dancing, she knew it was time to collect some cash. She strolled onto the main stage and, after a little teasing, reached back and undid her bikini top. Her full breasts tumbled out, and the eyes of every man around her locked onto her tits like she’d just cast a spell on them.
Honey made a few passes around the men sitting right at the stage, paying them a little extra attention in exchange for some cash.
One of the men, however, some glassy-eyed trucker who looked like he’d had one too many, made the mistake of touching what he shouldn’t have. After enticing Honey with a twenty, as soon as she had the bill in her hand he reached up between her legs and grabbed onto her inner thigh.
Bad move.
Brick, one of the bouncers, caught it and was over in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the trucker by his neck and pulled him away from the stage and out of sight immediately. Honey felt a little wave of relief wash over her, and silently thanked the bouncers for being so good at their jobs.
Honey returned to the pole and went into another routine. But as she scanned the crowd, a man in particular caught her eye. He looked like a biker, sitting alone at one of the smaller tables, a beer and a whiskey in front of him. His steely silver eyes were set among stunningly handsome features, his dark hair shaved down close. He wore dark blue jeans, a leather vest covered with patches, and a V-neck white T-shirt that clung to his muscles. Winding tattoos up and down his arms completed the look.
Honey couldn’t take her eyes off him; he was about the best-looking man she’d ever seen in her life. And the feeling seemed to be mutual; his eyes were narrowed just a bit and locked onto her, his mouth turned up on one side in a sly little smile. The way he looked at her was … different. It wasn’t the eager, boyish look that the rest of the men in the bar were giving her; he stared at her as though she belonged to him.
“Come on, slut!” shouted one of the nearby patrons, reaching up for her. “Lemme at those tits!”
Honey turned her attention back down to the men at her feet. The crowd seemed drunker and rowdier than usual. The men clamored for her attention, and each seemed loaded with enough hormones and booze that he might do something really stupid. Honey looked over to Bethany, who was currently giving her lap dances, her big breasts shoved into some guy’s face.
Yeah, thought Honey, I should probably start with my lap dances.
She strolled off the stage, making her way to the chairs where the men looking for dances were seated. One of them, some skinny guy in a white sleeveless shirt and a too-big ball cap on his head, waved for Honey to come over, twenties in his hand. Honey put on her best seductive face and made her way over to him.
“What would you like, handsome?”
“I think you know, girl,” he said.
With that, he slipped twenty into Honey’s thong bikini bottom and she set to work. She started off with her usual gyrations, putting on a good show in order to hopefully squeeze a few more twenties out of him. But all during her dance, she found herself trying to look back at the man who’d been staring at her. She was drawn to him, and she couldn’t quite figure out why.
But she knew she had to get closer.
Chapter Two
Grit
Grit Gallagher couldn’t take his eyes off of her. From his seat a little towards the back of the strip club, he took a sip of his neat whiskey, his eyes locked onto the blonde stripper as she gyrated on some loser’s lap. Everything about her was perfect, from her angelic, doll-like features to her hair of de
ep blonde to her perfect, perfect body.
Honey, they called her? he thought to himself. Good name—she looks sweet as can be.
Grit had thought his days running around with strippers were behind him, but as he sipped his drink and stared at Honey, he wanted nothing more than to have that ass on his lap. Part of him wanted to walk over there, grab the guy she was dancing on by the neck, and toss him out on his ass like the rest of the trash that the bouncers were dealing with.
“’Sup, man?” came a voice from behind Grit.
He turned his head slightly and saw that the rest of the Vegas Vandals, the motorcycle club that he was president of, had returned from the bar with a new round of drinks. They took their seats around Grit and turned their eyes back to the show.
The voice who’d spoken to him belonged to Stone, the VP of the club and the one who’d arranged this little trip to Fantasies. Despite the tits on stage, this wasn’t just about cutting loose for the night—they had reason to believe a drug lab for one of their competitors was on the premises.
