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The only thing that keeps me from going down the toilet of despair is Christian.
Handsome. Brilliant blue eyes. A killer smile.
I don’t deserve him, yet I defied the laws of the universe and have him anyway.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Clarissa, a busty blonde who does a lot of Dolly Pardon looks, prances over to the door to answer it. I cringe knowing my time for hiding is over.
“Hey, Johnny baby,” Clarissa coos, her voice dripping with fakeness. Every girl in here can’t stand John. But John signs our paychecks so we have to pretend. “Sure thing, doll. She’s changing, but I’ll send her out.”
She closes the door and rolls her eyes at me before prancing back over to her table. While some of the girls are kind of snobby at times, they usually weed themselves out after a few weeks. The long haulers—Clarissa, Ginny, Becks, Leslie, and myself—look out for each other.
I let out a heavy sigh. He’ll wait outside that door forever. And frankly, I don’t have forever. I’m tired, and if I want to go to the movies with Christian tomorrow, I need to be rested.
Sucking in a deep breath, I attempt to calm my jitters. I’m feeling extra rattled. Of all the years I’ve worked here, tonight nearly broke me.
I was turned on.
Another wave of disgust washes over me. I can’t wait to get home, stand under the hot spray of the shower, and scrub away the filth seeping through my pores.
I should quit.
Tears burn my eyes. As delightful as that seems, it doesn’t feel like a reality to me. I need these hours, and I stupidly got hooked on the money—money I need. One day, I’ll save enough to change the course of my life, but for now, I’m stuck.
I just can’t let the customers get to me. Normally, I don’t. But this guy—Mr. Benjamins is what I call him since he makes it freaking rain hundred dollar bills—finally got to me.
Why is he so obsessed with me?
Each time he watches me—which is becoming frequent—he gets more and more demanding with what he wants from me. Simply waves his money and tosses it into the tray. And like an addict, I greedily snatch it up and give him what he wants. His urgency and need to see all of me worked its way inside me. It’s been that way for weeks now. Each time, he gets bolder and more desperate. Apparently, I’m right there with him, because I’m not leaving the job anymore. It follows me home, finds its way into my shower, haunts my dreams.
Last night, I came with mental images of what Mr. Benjamins looks like. The window in the hot box allows me to see his bottom half, but it’s mirrored at the top half, preventing me from getting a good look. All I ever see is his thick, veiny cock lined with his scarily hot piercings. I’d moaned in the shower like I was putting on a show for him. When the orgasm subsided, I was left feeling hollow and used. And I did it to myself.
Tonight, he wanted to see all of me.
And I nearly gave in, barely keeping the scrap of panties on. Losing the panties is a huge no-no at the club.
I fell right back into the fantasy of it like I had in the shower. Knowing he was stroking himself in tandem with the way I touched myself made me slick with need. He saw just how aroused I was for him. The evidence was all over my fingers. I squirm on the bench seat. My panties are wet again.
Sick, Breezy. You’re sick.
I swallow down the bile from my self-hatred and rise on unsteady legs. Forcing a smile on my face, I grab my bag and wave to the girls getting ready to leave for the night. The moment I open the door, I find John Wendell leaning against the velvet covered wall. As soon as he sees me, his green eyes light up.
“Hey, Summer,” John greets, a wide grin stretching across his face.
“Hey, hunk.”
He beams, loving how I still flirt with him. It’s my fault really. When he hired me, I’d been so desperate for a job, I said things I knew would get me a place here at The Hot Box. At first, the playful banter had been refreshing. I heard horror stories about exotic dance clubs, so I had been expecting the worst. John was a thirty-year old handsome man who was always smiling and seemed like a good guy to work for. Once the newness faded, I realized he’s like every other strip club owner: greasy, demanding, dirty, ruthless. John’s never put his hands on me like he has with some of the other girls when he loses his temper, but that’s because he wants me. With me, he tries extra hard to show me what a gentleman he is. To show me how generous and kind he is. And while it’s worked in my favor with pay and hours, it’s destroyed my happiness. He’s a clingy film stuck to my skin, and no matter how hard I scrub, he’s staining me.
