Originally Posted by
Beswitchingly Positive
Hard Night
“Do you have a tampon, Fifty Four?”
The scrawny girl scratched at her arms, waiting for Tori’s answer.
“No sugar, I am sorry I don’t.”
Tori turned away from the skinny girl with the track marks. She kept her thoughts to herself. How could she bleed so much?
“Rosie” Jen asked for tampon handouts every night.
“Junkie” Jen, the mean ones called her. Tori did not want to see Jen naked; past needles stood out in places other than her arms. The mean, bright lights of the dressing room made the tracks look worse.
The addict padded away, moving on, to solicit the next dancer for a hygienic handout.
comma needed after away
Tori would have given her one if she had it, but she really didn’t.
Tori was gentle and unobtrusive; she thought of it as being rather southern. At work, she put on an accent. She said “I am, ” like Scarlet O’Hara, nice and syrupy. Deferring meekly to all friction, she got along with everyone. Even when the other dancers threw comments at her designed to rile, ‘Hey, Fifty Four, you put on some weight, but it looks good on you,’“Tori would just say ‘Thanks, Sugar,’ this was part of the shell she had developed to make it at “Le Cabaret ,” or as the locals call it “the Le Cabaret.” Tori called it “The Cock Parade, “ when she was not at work, “Prick’s,” for short. She could only think of herself as a number, number Fifty Four. It helped her disconnect.
Her best friend, Ana, always said, “Tori. It ‘s your tits on parade, not the cock.”
Tori would respond “All the men are penis creatures. It’s a cock parade, dicks in suits that throw money at us.” Ana would hug her and let it go.
In the dressing room, Junkie Jen found a bit of hygiene and proceeded to plug herself, sliding the cotton cork into her cunt in front of everyone. infront needed seperating to in frontTori winced ever so slightly, trying not to watch, wondering what disease Jen had this time. Everyone knew the skinny girl was not menstruating, the cotton was damming the flow of a bad yeast infection, or judging by the smell, gonorrhea.
Jen inserted and donned her g string. By the end of her three songs, it would be soaked in sickness. Her stage name, “Rosie,” was ironic, in lite (light)of her scent; body spray with a hint of stinky, sick pussy. She would dance around, only opening her legs at the center of the stage, not near the audience, like the healthier girls. “Rosie” avoided the edge close to the men. When she did get close, she was always crawling on her knees, facing her dirty ass away from the clients, hoping she was not oozing.
When the songs ended and the next dancer was called up by the d.j. (D.J?), “Rosie” Jen would go back to the dressing room, beg a new tampon, and change the stringy wet panties. She went through six thongs a night, leaving the soiled undergarments on the dressing room floor.
None of the other girls would have tampons later. By the end of the night, Jen would be stuffing rough toilet paper up her twat.
Tori tried not to let her eyes stray from her own face in the mirror. She did not want to watch Jen dress. Jen put on the long red gloves that would hide tiny red scabs, trails of needles, on her arms. Tori did not want to envy Junkie Jen’s drug-slim body.
Never a slender girl, Tori, aka “Slut number 54” was 5 feet ten inches of sensual curves, and not that much of a slut. Visiting the gym every day had not made her the sleek beast she wanted to be. She thought the skinny girls were the most attractive. Smoothing pink fish nets on her long, thick thighs, Tori checked her heavily made up face in the dirty mirror one last time.
“Private dance, private dance, someone nice, someone nice” Tori chanted to the made up face in the mirror, wishing hard before she heard her stage name.
“All right gentlemen, get ready for this sexy, hot mama! She‘s number one in my book, give a warm welcome to Slut Number Fifty Four.!”
Her mask was firmly in place, changing her face behind the makeup.
Some of the suits laughed at Tori’s chosen stage name; her regulars called her Fifty Four for short.
She sauntered onto the stage atop her hooker-high heels. Seductively swishing by the edge of the stage, long legs looking good in the fishnets, she surveyed the selection of penises.
Recognizing one of the regulars, a big, older man in a cheap suit, Tori looked to see if there was anyone else to focus on. Cheap suit was the only prick she recognized; she remembered him. That one was trouble. He had made her uncomfortable last time he came in, taking rough handfuls of her flesh during the lap dance. The rumor that he was a cop did not make her feel better. Tori could tell he was a mean man. She preferred meek shy ones.
Twirling through the first song, Fifty Four slowly shed her clothing; little t-shirt and bra falling, till she wore nothing but her g string, fishnets and heels.
Tori was gone, lost in a daydream where she never had to dance. Fifty Four was on the floor crawling like a cat by the second song, she was looking seductive. Each dancer got three songs.
Tori’s beautiful natural d (D) tits earned Fifty Four quite a few dollars as she shed her skimpy outfit. She made most of her money playing kitty cat, crawling on the floor of the stage,. Her garter was stuffed with bills by the end of song two. The last song she was doing leg shimmies, feet in the air, on her back, only to roll over and mock the movements of sex. The men stared at her pouty pussy barely hidden by the little string and pink fishnets when she spread her legs.
As the third song ended, the cop caught her eye. He patted the seat of an empty chair, a signal for her to come and sit with him. No one else tried to get her attention. She walked back to the dressing room disappointed, knowing he would still be there if she chose to go back out.
The dressing room was crowded now, the late night dancers had all arrived while Tori was on stage. When she returned it was crowded with half naked girls.
Taffy’s baby was starting to show. The slim blonde known only as Taffy,was standing by the mirror applying make up, the protrusion in her belly inevitable. Taffy had two babies already; this was baby (and daddy) number three. Children coming close together, she had not stopped lactating since the first time she gave birth three years ago. Tori thought about how much money Taffy made, squirting milk at the customers. Tori could never do that.
Taffy pulled out what looked like a cigarette case and opened it. Inside it was two flat mirrors. She tapped out a little white powder from a tiny bottle onto the flat surface. Tori fought to hide her disapproval. Taffy used a little cut off straw to inhale the bitter drug. Tori remembered a few nights ago when she had walked in on Taffy sprinkling, snorting and licking cocaine off another dancer’s pussy.
Gesturing at Tori and smiling, eyes hard like a snake, Taffy offered, “You want some?”
“No thank you, sugar.” Tori returned a warmer smile, remaining friendly but distant. . Tori did not have the icy eyes of a coke addict. Remembering how funny it was, when she first started dancing years ago, many of the girls thought Tori was a narc. Now they just offered drugs to tempt her, Tori always said no.
“Just want to check my war paint.” Tori proceeded to inspect her heavily made up face.
After putting on a little slinky blue dress and Tori made her way out of the dressing room back to the floor. She had never wanted drugs, like most of the girls. Money for bills was her motivation. Tori was calculating rent and her school loan, the vet bill she owed for her baby dogs. She smiled at the men and turned back into number Fifty Four. Some looked away, some pretended not to notice her at all. She sighed quietly as she was left with only the mean man in the suit who might be a cop, giving her the stare down.
She sat next to cop guy. He got right to it, asking her for a lap dance. Normally, “Fifty Four” would tease a bit and try to up sell the penis a private dance in a vip (V.I.P.)room and a bottle of overpriced chapagne. Not this time. Tori was too uncomfortable with him. Taking him off to a dark corner for a lap dance would be scary enough. She wondered if he had a gun.
Her fee for a lap dance named, he paid. She took him by the hand and walked to the less crowded part of the club. Tori caught the eye of one of the bouncers, Alias J; she was glad he was working.
Alias smiled at her with his cold blue eyes and nodded slightly. He stood at his post next to the door, arms folded watching the crowd. Alias was a scrapper; he had been in many fights. He was good at it. That is not what made Alias a good bouncer. He felt it was his duty to defend the girls. He caught Fifty Four’s look and could smell trouble brewing. Fifty Four was the sweetest and weakest of his girls. He had never seen her suck a customer’s cock in the cameras when she got vip’s (V.I.P.'s). Alias liked Fifty Four. She was a good girl, quiet, never complained.
Alias watched as the old man sat and Fifty Four smiled through all the makeup. She slowly started undoing the buttons on her little blue dress and let it drop to the floor. Alias turned away.
Standing in front of her customer, she showed off her full breasts. Leaning forward, holding the arms of his chair, she let them dangle close to his face, then she turned and wiggled her plump ass at him. He was moaning his approval and making lewd comments about what he would like to do to her ass. This was not unusual; men often talked big while getting a lap dance. This time she got cold chills.
He put a twenty in her garter as the song ended, and demanded “One more song slut.” She frowned a little at his tone. He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for another.”
She was sitting on his lap dry humping him when he started making his offer. He would give her a five hundred dollar tip if she took him to the v.i.p. (V.I.P.)room. Her heart froze, clenching her cunt in fear, she went dry as a desert, as he told her how he wanted to fuck her. She did not like the way he held her hands to the arm of the chair so she could not leave his lap. Not panicking yet, she was thinking of ways to defend herself. Her eyes searched the room for Alias J. He was busy escorting some rowdy college boys out the door.
After the song ended the mean man let her hands go and she stood up quick (quickly), as soon at the pressure was gone. The man stood up with her and he moved fast, pinning her in the dark corner against the wall.
“So you coming upstairs with me, slut?” she could feel his cock pressing her through his pants as he held her wrists behind her back
“Not yet baby.” she said it simply, quietly. She was trying to wriggle away from him. He held her tighter.
“So you think you too good for this?”
Grinding against her g-string through the fabric of his pants, he grew harder with her helplessness. Holding her wrists behind her with one big hand, his other fingers fought with the fishnets that covered her crotch. She was whimpering in pain as his weight crushed her into the wall. He ripped the fabric and forced a finger inside her. She was dry as a bone and he was hurting her. Tears filled her big brown eyes.
Alias was joking with another bouncer about the frat boys they had just thrown out, when he looked and saw Number Fifty Four pinned against the wall.
“Oh shit!“
Two words was all Alias managed as he sprang catlike across the club. He was jumping over a table to get to them just as she brought her knee up to the old man’s crotch. Alias saw the tears running down 54’s sweet face and the rough fingers of the man pounding her cunt. Her knee did not work; the prick was still holding onto her.
Alias yanked his arm back away from her pussy and twisted it back in a neat joint lock. The old man was truly startled and started to yell.
“Get the fuck off of me. She asked me to do it.” Tori backed away as the man turned his attention on Alias.
“Sir, you are going to have to leave.” Alias showed no emotion; inside he was hoping this old fucker would take a swing at him. He let him loose.
“Fuck you, you little prick.”
“Sir you are going to have to leave.” he added in a low voice, “Cop or no cop. You have to go.”
Tori screamed as she saw the man’s fist crack against Alias's face. She cringed as her friend’s head snapped back. Alias did not fall. He stood there and took the blow, shook his head and smiled, ready to return the favor. Alias landed a fast left to the old man’s solar plexus, followed by a right to the chin before the other bouncers broke them up. Tori vanished from the scene.
The old guy brushed himself off and took out his wallet.
“Give that bitch this and tell her there’s more when she can take it.”
He threw a hundred dollar bill on the floor at Alias’s feet.
Alias spit on the ground in a off handed way and folded his arms as the other bouncers walked the old man out. He felt a little blood sliding down his left temple. He scanned the club for Fifty four.
Alias saw her watching from above in the dim light of the balcony. Tori had run upstairs to get away from the fight. When the strobe from the stage flashed on her face her could see tears had streaked her makeup. He sighed and picked up the hundred.
After making sure the guy had left and the other bouncers were back on the floor, Alias went to clean the blood off his face. He had a little cut over his eye. The old man had been wearing a ring.
Alias had a damp paper towel when he walked onto the balcony where the poor girl was still crying. Tori looked up and saw the butterfly bandage on the cut over his eye and shook with new sobbing.
“It’s ok baby, “ he said it softly as he wiped at the tears and eyeliner that streaked her face with the cool towel. She sobbed and apologized to him.
“Hey, hey, Fifty Four, I was just doing my job. At least I know you didn’t ask for it, not like some of these whores.” He made a motion toward the stage as if he were spitting.
She managed a little smile. He held her to his chest until she was breathing normally again.
“I think you need to change your stage name sweetie.”
“I thought it was ironic.”
“It is, but irony is lost on swine.” He nodded toward the floor of the club. “I thought of a name that suit’s suits you better.”
He was smiling a big grin at her.
“Oh yeah, what is it?”
She smiled back at him, feeling her sense of humor returning.
“Pollyanna. Why don’t you let them know, they are lucky to get a glimpse of Pollyanna Purebred.”
“Alias J, you’re funny. I think I will change my name. Tomorrow, though...”
She trailed off thinking how hard it was going to be to get back out there, even with a new name.
“This might not make it better, but it won’t hurt.. Your ‘friend’ left you a tip.”
He gave her the bill, she held it and stared at it. He did not have the heart to pass on the message.
“Go home tonight sweetheart. No one will blame you. I’ll take my lunch hour early and walk with you. Make sure no one messes with you.”
She could see a little blood pooling underneath his bandage. Reaching out carefully, she touched his wound softly with her fingers.
“Alias, what does the “J” stand for?”
He fliched,flinched but answered anyway.
“Jade, Alias Jade, that what my mother named me.”
“Jade, I like that. Walk me home Jade. That would be nice.”
