Boxed In

I was so sick of this shit! Almost every night of the same thing. These perverts were restless. I'd hate to take a black light in that room.

The song finished, the curtain closed, and I relaxed my seductive stance. I pressed the 'on break' button and jumped down from the platform. I picked up my discarded costume from the platform and went to the small shower in the corner. I have been dancing for five hours straight, taking demands from these low-life men who want me to do freaky shit. I can't complain. It pays well. Very well.

I patted myself dry, throwing on a black thong for my next dance. I plopped my naked ass on the couch in the back of the room and took a sip of my Remy. I rested my eyes. I got into stripping because I couldn't figure out what I wanted to do with my life when I got into college. I, eventually, got kicked out because of my grades. Don't get me wrong. I was far from stupid. I just wasn't interested in the majors that I hopped through.

After I left college, I was too ashamed to tell my parents about my failure so I kept up this rouse. They think I'm on my way to becoming a lawyer when in reality, I'm shaking my ass at a strip club. This wasn't an ordinary strip club. It's a peepshow. I dance in a glass box while the customer sits on the other side of the one-way glass in a private room. Once the curtains open, the show starts. They can tell you what they want you to do which all customers have requested. They choose what song they want you to dance to or if they want another girl to join "the fun". I've never danced with another girl, but I heard it pays almost as good as the private sessions. The more you do the more money you get. The private sessions were more...explicit and illegal, I'm sure. I don't do private sessions. That's where the customers join you in the private rooms for "playdates". I don't know what actually goes on in them, but I wasn't looking to find out. These were strangers, but some of the girls here ate that up. I'm just trying to hold off until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Until then, this is it.

"Lo! What the hell are you doing! Get your ass back up on that stage." My eyes flew over to the owner, Charlotte. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm tired I've been up there for five hours straight these heels are killing me." I reached down and threw them across the room.

Charlotte stormed over in her pants suit, her jacket flying open showing of the black lacy lingerie underneath, and snatched my glass from my hand.

"Hey-"

She slammed it on the table in front of me spilling some. "We have a full house and people are knocking down that door to see you."

"I just need two minutes," I sighed, throwing my head back, looking at te ceiling.

Charlotte put her hands on her hips. "Okay while you are taking a break, all of these other bitches are making their money, all the money, while you are in here relaxing."

"Fine. I'll get back to it."

"Good. It's only a couple more hours. Plus, I have a well-paid client that I want you to entertain. I would have had someone else do it, but some of those girls are desperate and it shows." I laughed.

"Can't you get Kandi to do it."

"But I want you," she whined. "Kandi's a wild card and you still have that innocent touch. That's why I named you Lolita."

"Do you even know what that book is about?"

"Not really. Don't care. I just need you to entertain him. Show him a good time. He's a big spender so please don't fuck this up."

"You know I hate doing these."

"If not for me, do it for the money."

There was a pregnant pause where I weighed the pros and cons. "Fine, but you owe me."

"Great!" She clapped her hands together and turned to leave. "By the way, your two minutes are up."

This is getting fucking old.

I pulled on some black lacy boy shorts that I got from the drawer under the leather sofa along with a white half shirt that stopped about an inch under my breasts. This was one of the looks that always got the most exciting reactions. Some even made requests to Charlotte. When they get into the room, they say some of the most disgusting things. They talk so much I can barely hear the music.

I stepped in the shower and turned on the water to get the front of my shirt wet so my nipples were visible. I dried my hands and dusted them with powder so I wouldn't slip from the pole. I turned off the "on break" sign and climb the platform to get into position. The velvet curtain opened. There was complete silence. No music played. No one spoke. It was getting to the point where I was losing my patience and it was becoming uncomfortable.

Janet Jackson's Would You Mind begins to blare through the speakers. It's an oldie but goodie. I slowly walked around the pole biting bottom lip. My nipples protruded from my shirt because of the now cold water on it, making them more visible. I drop to the floor and crawled slowly towards the window. Then I slammed my pelvis to the floor, rolling around to thrust my hips in the air. My wet, bushy curl swirled around with my movement as I slid into a split.

I found it weird that he didn't speak, not once. He didn't interrupt. No request. I began to really get into the song. I squeezed my breast and threw my head back. I pretended it was my lover's hands. I slowly pulled down the boy shorts, revealing the thong. I swirled around the pole, slowly sucking him in, seducing him. Before he left, I wanted him to feel like he'd just fucked me and hadn't laid one finger on me. That's what makes the big bucks. Simple physics had me throwing my body around that pole like I was just a feather. For the first time since working here, I was turned on, probably as much as the client.

I actually felt sexy, empowered instead of disgusting like the other clients made me feel. After the song ended, I was completely naked and panting like a dog. The curtain closed and I didn't hate my job as much as I did earlier that night.