Near the door was a large sunken dance floor with what had to be two hundred sweating bodies pressed up against each other, writhing to the obnoxious music. Double yuck.
I caught sight of a waitress … well, actually I caught sight of her breasts. Which was incredibly easy to do considering all that she had covering them were teensy pasties that made the girls at Hooters look positively Amish.
This was a titty bar? I glanced around again. This was, by far, the nicest titty bar I’d ever been in. Not that I’d been in many, mind you. It was relatively bright with lots of flashing lights illuminating a spattering of Halloween decorations that hung down from the ceiling. The place was clean too—my shoes weren’t sticking to the floor with every step—and most of the patrons were dressed for a night on the town.
Have I ever mentioned how, on the right woman, a belly shirt is nothing short of a work of art? Yowsa.
The muted roar of applause drew my attention to the back of the enormous room. I waded my way through the mass of dancing bodies, my eardrums throbbing with every beat of the music. Just as I got far enough to see what was making the crowd cheer, the club went pitch black and the music came to an abrupt halt.
Muffled screams rippled through the place, and suddenly the air was electric with excitement. A velvety voice came over the loud speaker. “Gentlemen, and you very naughty ladies, are you ready to take a trip to the dark side ...”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“with Hazel?”
Oops. I guess Billie wasn’t just a waitress.
The crowd went wild when they heard her name. I took a step forward, straining to see through the darkness, the dim exit lights in the corners of the club doing nothing to help me. I bumped into what I hoped was a chair, but said sorry just in case it was a really bony guy instead. I felt around for a second, really hoping it wasn’t a guy, before gracelessly flopping down in the seat.
Just as my butt hit the wood, a spotlight lit a small stage and a hypnotic tune, all base and drums, filled the club. I looked around and realized I was in the middle of a section of the club filled with small tables. Almost every seat was taken, mostly by men, all with their eyes riveted on the wooden platform.
Okay, there was no pole on the stage. At least she wasn’t a stripper. I was hoping for singer or comedian or something equally benign and unlikely.
People from the dance floor poured into the area where I was sitting, filling the small spaces between the tables, and leaving those who couldn’t fit to dejectedly head back to the dance floor or to one of three bars around the perimeter. The music slowly got louder and louder and louder and, finally, when I thought it couldn’t get any louder, it stopped altogether.
Then it started up again, much slower, the beat more sensual. Fog poured across the stage and out into the audience. It swirled around our tables and feet, making us part of whatever was going to happen. My belly tightened in anticipation of the unknown ...
Suddenly, as if by magic, a lone woman appeared out of the mist. She wore a glittering gold mask that covered only her eyes and nose and a full-length leather cape that was wrapped tightly around her and had a stiff collar that came up to her cheekbones. Other than her head, the only things exposed were her fishnet-covered ankles and black spike heels so high she looked like an Amazon.
I wasn’t sure what exactly she was supposed to be dressed like, but whatever it was it did more than catch my eye. As soon as Billie moved, gas lamps along the edge of the stage exploded to life, providing a flickering, intimate light that replaced the flashing neon. More smoke flooded the stage, swirling around Billie’s legs and giving the platform the appearance of a foggy London alleyway at midnight.
I was really starting to doubt that she was a comedian.
A hush fell over the crowd as we all waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. Patience is a cruel mistress, but, thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long. The woman, who I was pretty sure was Billie, whipped open her cape to expose her flowing red hair and a body encased in a tight black bustier and a black thong so brief that it literally caused my mouth to drop open.
Oh, yeah, that was Billie and she was a stripper. The implications of that caused my stomach to fill with dread, but I had a hard time thinking of anything other than what was parading in front of me in barely nothing.
Billie’s show did nothing if not command attention.
She snapped her cape closed, and there was a chorus of sighs, many of them female, as she strode to the end of the stage, her hips swaying dangerously with every step. When she got to the very edge of the stage she smiled a dangerous smile and began to dance for a man in the front row who was frantically waving a fistful of cash. I could see her body moving sensually beneath the cape and in perfect time with the music. The fact that I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing only made it sexier.
She was good.
Only her gloved arms emerged from her cape as she moved in time with music that seemed to pulse with the beat of my heart. With agonizing slowness, she peeled off one elbow-length glove and my eyes got a little wider as she used it to stroke the man’s cheek. He looked like he was about ready to pass out from the sheer ecstasy of Billie’s touch, and his buddy had to reach out and grab him by the belt to keep him from crawling up on stage and mounting her.
She was better than good.
Somehow, in the middle of all that, Billie never missed a beat. She took his money, caressed his face with the tips of her long fingernails, then she drew her hand back and used her butter-soft leather glove to slap the man hard in the face.
A loud crack sounded as she hit him and I flinched.
More than a few members of the audience swooned.
There was a mixture of shouts and groans from the crowd. But the young man groaned as though getting bitch-slapped by a stripper was the greatest thing that had ever happened in his short life and threw his entire wad of bills on the stage. Smiling like a Cheshire cat, Billie turned her back to the crowd. She flipped her cape up off her bottom, locked her knees, and bent deeply to pick up the bills, giving her derriere a provocative little thrust then shake.
I saw ... well, everything. I didn’t know a person could bend so deeply. By the way, Billie is a natural redhead.
I held in a nervous giggle as the name of the club came floating back to me. At least it was appropriate.
God only knew where Billie put the money she had collected. It disappeared in the blink of an eye and was nowhere to be seen. She straightened and spun around in one graceful move, flipping the cape over her shoulders and bringing her hands up to caress her chest as she strutted to the other side of the stage, her large breasts bobbing up and down with every step.
I felt a twinge of guilt at the wetness collecting between my legs. After all, I had good reason to hate Billie. But, God, I was only human!
She had a body to die for and when she had a “wardrobe malfunction” of her own, exposing a firm breast to the hot air of the club, and grabbed and twisted her own nipple, I gasped right along with the porky guy sitting next to me.
A waitress came by my table and gently inclined her head. The cocoa-colored skin covering her torso and hefty breasts was flawless, but I did my best to look her in the eye as I spoke. I held up another twenty-dollar bill. “A beer and a question?”
She nodded. “Make it quick.”
“Does a women name Keilana work here? Young, five feet eight, long dark hair, amazing blue eyes.” My gaze strayed to Billie who was now bare to the waist, her hips moving in a slow grind against her hand. Holy shit.
“Sorry. Never heard of her.”
My head snapped back to the waitress. “Huh?”
“Never heard of her,” she repeated tolerantly, a tiny smile shaping her mouth. She set my twenty on her tray. “Bud okay? It’s what’s on tap.”
“Yeah,” I said absently, dizzy with relief over her news. Maybe Keilana had only been picking up Billie from work the night Russ and I had tracked them down.
Oo
ps. There went Billie’s cape.
Yeah, maybe Keilana was just Billie’s ride. I loved that thought, and like any person trying with all their might to delude themselves, I eagerly embraced it. I just began to smile when two more women joined Billie on stage.
The crowd cheered as the masked women, each clad in a slightly shorter version of Billie’s cape, crawled across the stage like vixen pussycats, their backs arched high.
Billie turned only her head to look at them and commanded their movements with a bare flick of her hand or toss of her flaming hair.
I blinked. They were her slaves. Then I glanced around. So was the audience.
After stripping down to deep purple satin panties, the slaves bookended Billie and began to slide sensuously against her. She dug a hand into each of the women’s hair and guided them together until they kissed each other. Hard.
God, I love my job.
The new zoning laws that the city council managed to get passed for this redevelopment area were something else! Was there anything that the performers couldn’t do? I hoped not. Sometimes I’m such a pervert.
I swallowed dryly and squirmed a little in my seat, wishing that beer would hurry up already.
Billie placed a single finger under the platinum blonde’s chin and lifted her face. The woman purred, reveling in complete control.
Have I mentioned that Billie was good at her job?
Then Billie kissed her slave softly, and with as much tenderness as I’d ever seen. The tip of her tongue appeared and she traced the woman’s lips, pulling back just a little so the audience could see the thin line of glistening salvia that still connected them, only to be broken by a smoldering kiss where Billie dominated her minion completely, forcing her to lean way back as she devoured her.
A light sweat broke out across my forehead and I couldn’t tear my eyes from the stage.
A shower of bills poured onto the stage from an enthusiastic patron who looked like a soccer mom out for the evening.
A fourth woman appeared out of the mist. Her cape was blood red and hooded and gleamed in the mysterious light. Her mask was a shimmering gold and Billie and her slaves recoiled at the sight of her.
I got lost in the show, holding my breath as the woman in red stormed over to Billie, her movements oozing with sensuality. Ooo … she was already my favorite. The slaves cowered, but Billie faced her foe, standing tall and proud, though her chest heaved with fear.
Brazenly, the woman in red caressed Billie’s throat, but Billie broke away. Billie danced around the woman, wantonly teasing her with her body, stripping as she went. In just a few minutes she wore nothing but garters and shoes.
The woman in red tried to fight it, but eventually it was Billie who was stronger, and who put her under her iniquitous spell.
Billie’s slaves danced in delight, exposing more and more of their bodies as they moved to the edge of the stage and mercilessly worked the crowd, stuffing bills in their G-strings and capes.
Billie threw her head back and laughed wickedly, white teeth flashing. She hissed and tore back the woman’s hood, causing a shock of dark hair to tumble forward.
A sense of foreboding hit me right in the gut.
More smoke flowed across the stage as she tore off the woman’s cape, exposing a spectacular pale body covered in a scanty crimson bra and panties. I couldn’t help but notice the woman’s belly button was pierced.
And my stomach fell through the floor.
The spotlight focused on the woman in red as Billie’s hand hovered over her breast, intent on ripping off a bra that fit so tight it was like a second skin.
My heart leapt into my throat.
The masked woman groaned in anguish, trying one last time to break Billie’s sensual spell. They moved around the stage dancing and writhing. They finally came to an abrupt halt. Even the music stopped. And for one dramatic second they stood stock-still, until the women in red tore her gaze from Billie’s and looked out into the crowd.
Right at me.
With incredible blue eyes.
My heart stopped beating and I flew to my feet. “Keilana?” I screamed, my voice rising above the throbbing beat of the music that had begun to play again.
Billie and the woman in red froze, then both their jaws dropped. It was her!
I don’t remember everything that happened next. All I knew was that Keilana did not belong up there in front of hundreds of prying eyes. And I was going to do everything in my power to get her off that stage.
Like a woman possessed, I rushed forward, forcing my way between the tables, and ignoring the outraged shouts of the patrons I shoved aside. I couldn’t get on stage from where I was because the slave girls were dancing in the front and a group of guys had clustered around them to stuff dollar bills in their panties.
I bolted for the side of the stage, seeing out of my peripheral vision another dancer holding a video recorder and taping the entire performance. Jesus, they were making a “Lezzy Stripper Gone Wild” video too? Could this be much worse?
I really should avoid asking that question in the future.
Just as I put my hands on the stage a beefy bouncer grabbed me by the collar. I whirled around and shoved him with all my might, sending him into a table of cheering college-aged men. He smashed into their drinks, sending several glasses to the ground.
During the commotion, the men tried to help the bouncer off their tiny table, and I turned, using my hands to push myself on stage. “Keilana?” I had barely gotten to my feet when two more bouncers tackled me. The wind rushed out of me and for a few seconds everything went black as they covered me.
“Keilana!” I gasped again when I was yanked up into the air, but she was gone and Billie and her slaves were dancing their hearts out on the other side of the stage, drawing attention away from me.
“Get off me!” Out of sheer instinct I began to kick and shout as I was whisked to a side door. I hated to be touched by strangers and not only were these gorillas rough about it, but one of them even copped a feel. Suddenly there was a blast of cool air as the door to the alleyway was opened and I was unceremoniously tossed outside.
I smashed against a garbage can, seeing stars for a few seconds. Or was that neon? “Shit.” It had rained while I was inside and I was sitting in a puddle again.
The man holding the door pointed an angry finger at me. “I don’t feel like calling the cops this early in the night. Consider yourself lucky, bitch.”
“I don’t feel very lucky,” I stupidly said, rubbing my head with a shaky hand.
He sneered at me. “Don’t come back here again. Ever.”
Then he slammed the door shut.
I sat there in the wet alleyway, stunned, the scent of rain and rotting garbage all around me. So my sort-of-girlfriend was a stripper? Great. Just great!
I was beside myself and, with a little effort, I was pretty sure I could chew through the metal door that separated me from her and steal her away from this skuzzy place. I know I thought it was sort of nice inside before. But that was before. Now it just seemed seedy and nasty and ... well, anything else bad I could think of.
I wanted to burn the place down.
There was no doubt that I was losing my mind. With a little grunt, I quickly pushed myself to my feet, wincing at my sore knees and wobbly legs. My jeans were torn at both knees and I felt the warm, sticky sensation of blood dripping from a couple of nasty scrapes.
Straightening my back, I brushed off my hands. I gasped at the sharp stinging sensation and turned them over to try and look at my palms. It was pretty dark back here, but I could tell by the pain and the rough feel of the skin that they were scratched up, tiny bits of rocks and broken glass still embedded. After another ruthless brushing against my torn jeans, they still hurt, but they no longer felt like they were on fire.
I gritted my teeth, drew in a deep breath, and ran as fast as I could for the front of the club. The bouncers had to wade through that crowd inside to the make it to the fro
nt and let the guy there know not to let me back in. If I was lucky, I could beat them there.
There was only one guy in front of me and I had my money ready when I got to the front of line. The bald bouncer looked at me a few seconds. He recognized me, but he was having trouble placing me.
“I was here last night,” I lied, doing my best to smile. He didn’t ask for I.D. this time, instead he just gave me a noncommittal grunt, took my money, and stepped aside. Maybe I look older when I’m wet, disheveled, and smell like garbage?
Once inside I headed straight for the ladies’ room. I looked like crap. One of my eyes was already starting to poof up. I’d gotten a pretty good jostling when I was tossed out of the club—I touched the tender skin—but I didn’t remember getting smacked in the eye. I didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention to myself so I used a few paper towels to clean off my knees and hands. Then I went back out in search of Keilana.
Billie was on stage again, dressed in a totally different outfit, and dancing to music with a sexy Latin beat. She was up there alone, so where was Keilana?
King Kong and Mighty Joe Young, aka the bouncers that kicked me out, were flanking the stage, making sure none of the customers wandered back where the strippers were. And that wouldn’t do. I hated to do this, but ...
I scanned the crowd standing around the bar and found a middle-aged man with his shirt unbuttoned to his belly, a cheesy “Hair Club for Men” toupee, and several gold chains around his neck. His jeans were three sizes too small and I could smell his cologne from here. Perfect.
I stood next to him and waited a few seconds until the crowd around us contained a couple more women, which wasn’t easy in this mostly male audience. I waited until my first victim was close and then I discreetly gave her a hard pinch on the ass.
She screamed.
At the same time I pinched the second woman just as hard on the derriere then yelled myself, grabbing my butt in the process. Indignant, I pointed at the man next to us and screeched, “You pervert! I can’t believe you did that. You pawed my ass!”
“Mine too!” the woman next to me immediately followed. She shoved the man hard. “Sick bastard!”
Undercover Tales Page 17