Safekeeping.

Author's note.

This is a work of fiction and I don't give anyone permission to copy this story.

I have completed some editing of several chapters as of (2/2025) but I'm not changing or correcting the poor grammar. I hope that you enjoy the story.

Bubbles.

This story was originally titled "Craven".

My name is Emily Smith, and I work at Top Hat, a strip club off exit 71. It's a real sleaze pit with chipped paint on the walls. Most of the time the plumbing in the Ladie's room is backed up. Like tonight, you could smell sewage drifting from the toilet every time someone opened the door. Gross, double gross with a side of disgusting!

The clientele at Top Hat consist mostly of truckers looking for an easy piece of tail. We rarely get high rollers in here, so we have to settle for the dregs at the bottom of the barrel.

Anyway, I'd just finished my set. I stepped down off the small stage after gathering up a paltry fist full of singles, right as the DJ started the music for the next dancer. My feet were killing me in these black stiletto heels. It felt like I was walking on thumb tacks.

I nearly tripped when my right ankle wobbled on the stairs leading down to the basement where the dressing room was located. It's nothing special. It is just a short, narrow room with a few mirrors lined up in front of a long wooden counter and a couple of lockers standing against the far wall.

I wiped sweat and runny make-up from my face onto a towel around my shoulders. Ignoring the envious, hostile stares of the other girls, I went to my locker and spun the combination lock. Just then, Snake Jackson came downstairs.

"Yo, Jade. Da boss wants you to serve drinks for a little while."

"No way, Snake. I'm going home." I complained, half -turning to frown up at the six foot tall man.

Snake always wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a black leather vest with no shirt- even in the dead of winter. His arms and chest look like slabs of marble, and he had a thick neck.

"I don't make the rules, cup cake," Snake said boldly, eyeballing my naked tits and sucking his teeth. "Da boss wants you upstairs in five minutes. Get some clothes on."

He headed back upstairs, leaving me to fume alone. Dang it! I hated serving drinks. The customers always tried to grab a feel, whereas on stage, they couldn't get close enough to grope me.

Still angry, I threw on the clothes I'd worn here tonight. I stuffed the cash in my bra, grabbed my cosmetics bag from the locker, fixed my makeup, and headed upstairs.

The bar was crowded, and a Waylon Jennings song was playing on the Wurlitzer. The air was hazy with tobacco smoke and ripe with the bitter tang of cheap whisky. My eyes instantly watered as I entered this toxic atmosphere and made my way over to the bar where, Max, the barkeep, was expertly pouring drinks.

Max and I go way back. He had a bushy mustache and sad brown eyes.

"Hey, Max. Snake sent me to help out tonight." I told hm. "What do you have for me?"

Without a word, Max spun around and put together a massive order. "All of this goes to that table in the back," he said.

Must be a bunch of alcoholics, I thought. I raised an eyebrow, hoisted the heavy tray. I balanced it on the pads of my fingers like a pro.

I noticed a young woman watching me as I walked past. She actually turned her head to follow me across the room. I smirked.

I've given my fair share of lap dances for women, grinding my hips against their soft thighs, but this chick definitely wasn't a regular. Her clothes looked expensive. She looked like someone who took care of herself--so why was she in this dump?

On my way back, she raised her hand and signaled that she needed something. So, I sashayed over to her table.

Edited 5/31/24.

Edited again 6/26/24

Edited again 12/8/25.

Edited 7/5/26