“Sandy, I told you. I'm not a lesbian."
“No, but once you've tried it—and you will—you'll go both ways, like me. You were so turned on when you left the shower you could hardly walk. I'll bet you fucked Sam's brains out last night."
Shelly chuckled. “We had a little argument yesterday before joining you at the Korner Kafe. Sam was still pouting last night. I damn near had to rape him, but he seemed very happy when he finally dropped off to sleep."
“I'll bet he was. Shelly, are you really an exotic dancer?"
“I'm a stripper at the Crazy Cat Club and I'm not ashamed of it."
“Nor should you be. How much do you make, turning men on?"
“I work on straight salary—a thousand a night."
Sandra whistled. “How long do you think you'll continue in this business?"
“I haven't thought about it. Why do you ask?"
“I was just wondering how long one can survive in that business. In the shower, yesterday, I noticed your breasts are beginning to sag a little. Does that bother your customers?"
“I haven't received any complaints,” she said defensively. She glanced down. “Do you really think they sag?"
Sandra stuck out her right hand and weighed Shelly's left breast. “Not in your bathing suit,” she said. “I suppose if you use some sort of support in your act, the customers will never notice."
“In my final act each evening I wind up wearing nothing but a filter tipped cigarette stuck in my vagina."
Sandra howled. “That I would love to see."
“The cover charge for the midnight show is a hundred bucks."
“Do women ever go to a strip joint—excuse me—to the Crazy Cat Club?"
“With all the lights shining in my eyes I can't see the customers very well, but I've never noticed a woman."
“I'm afraid my grand finale is getting a little stale. If my breasts are beginning to reach for the floor, I'd better find a hotter finish if I want to keep my job."
“Why not close the act doing something with another woman?"
“Men are my customers."
“Honey, you're one sexy looking mamma, but if you think men aren't turned on by lesbian scenes, you don't know men very well."
“I suppose you are proposing to go on stage with me?” Shelly asked sarcastically.
Sandra laughed and tossed her hair. “No way I'm getting on a stage and showing my tiny tits. I couldn't stand the insults."
“Your breasts are small, Sandy, but they're ... uh..."
“Tantalizing?"
Shelly chuckled as Sandra drove into the grove of trees on top of the hill. “Yeah, that's a good word."
“I don't care to be your dancing partner, Shelly, but I do have a business proposition for you."
“I'm not a whore, Sandy."
“Don't jump to conclusions.” Sandy set the brake, hopped out, opened the rear hatch and removed a cotton blanket and two plastic tumblers. “The spring is at the bottom of that little bank."
“I see it,” Shelly said. “It's a beautiful tiny pond with water bubbling into it at one end and easing out the other. And the area around it is covered in dark green moss.” She led the way down the bank and watched as Sandra spread the blanket.
They each filled a tumbler with the cold, crystal clear water and squatted beside the spring as they silently sipped the delicious fluid. Sandra refilled her tumbler, stretched out on the blanket and waited for Shelly to join her.
Sandra ran a fingertip over Shelly's arm. “I don't know what Sam may have told you about me, Shelly. I, of course, help Tim run Dollar enterprises. That's a full-time job in itself, but my true love is writing fiction. Four of my novels are in print and a fifth will be published this fall."
Shelly knew she was inviting trouble if she didn't move her arm out of Sandra's reach. “I'm impressed,” she said, balancing the tumbler on the moss and rolling over on her stomach.
“None of my efforts have made any bestseller lists, but they have all sold well. I have developed quite a following. I spend far too much time answering fan mail."
“Sandy, I'm a stripper, not a secretary."
Sandra laughed and placed her hand on the small of Shelly's back. “It is precisely because you are a stripper that you interest me. For a couple of years now, I have been thinking of a story featuring a stripper."
“No shit?"
“No shit. I haven't written it because I know nothing about being a stripper. I think one of the things that makes my work popular is that each of my stories have the ring of truth."
“So you want me to tell you what it's like to be a stripper?"
“It's a little more involved than that. I want your complete life story. I want to know about your childhood, your first sexual experience, all of your sexual experiences, how you became a stripper, who you screwed to get your first job—things like that. I want minute physical details as well as every nuance of emotion you experienced."
“Hell, Sandy. I don't want my life story published. I show off my tits and pussy every night, but I'm not willing to let people walk around on the inside of my soul."
Sandy's hand traveled to Shelly's buttocks. “My book will be fiction. You'll never be mentioned by name."
Shelly felt the long fingers probing the inside of her left thigh. “What's ... what's in it for me?"
Sandy pulled apart Shelly's legs, kneeled between them and began to massage the yielding woman's back. “You make a thousand dollars a night at the Crazy Cat Club. We'll meet at my house ever day next week between one and four. If I tape our sessions, we should finished by the end of the week. I'll pay you a thousand dollars a day—five thousand in all."
“Annie's college fund could use the extra money."
“Then we have a deal?"
“Yeah. I guess so,” Shelly said dreamily. She felt the zipper on the back of her suit sliding down and Sandra's hands on her back. She lifted her shoulders allowing Sandra to pull the one-piece suit to her waist. She raised her hips and felt the suit slide to her thighs and then tug down to her ankles. She was naked.
Sandra moved to one side. “Turn over and give me your breasts."
Shelly obeyed and was surprised to find Sandra also naked. “Please, Sandy, use you finger—not you tongue."
“I'll use whatever I please to give you pleasure. You just lie there and enjoy."
Sandra stretched out on her naked companion, grasped her breasts and slipped a long, slender tongue inside Shelly's moaning lips. As Sandra traced a path down Shelly's neck and lapped at her nipple, Shelly said, “I feel like a teenager about to lose her cherry."
“You are about to lose your cherry, you big breasted temptress, but I promise it will be ten thousand percent better than the first time."
Chapter Five
Shelly helped Annie out of the kiddy seat and propped the child on her hip.
“Mommy, can we go fishing?"
“I don't think so, honey. I don't know what Mrs. Dollar has planned for you and Junior to do."
“Can I feed the ducks?” she asked as Shelly winced. Climbing the porch steps set off the growing ache in her thighs.
“Honey, I just don't know, but whatever you and Junior do, I'm sure you'll have a good time."
Shelly pushed the bell and listened to the musical response of the chimes.
“That's pretty, mommy."
“Uh huh."
When the door opened, Shelly's face reflected surprise. “Ron?"
“Hello, Shelly. Mrs. Dollar is expecting you."
Annie clung to Shelly's leg. “You work for the Dollars?"
He smiled broadly revealing his perfect white teeth. “I'm the butler, caretaker, housekeeper, cook and baby sitter."
Shelly's lips turned into a grin as she said, “You'll make somebody a damn good wife."
“Aren't you forgetting something,” he said, fondling her hip out of Annie's sight.
Shelly smiled and placed her hand over his probing paw. “I'm n
ot likely to forget. Perhaps I should have said ‘househusband.’”
“I'm not the marrying kind, Shelly. I prefer to love ’em and leave ’em."
“At least you're honest about it."
“We'd better not keep Mrs. Dollar waiting,” he said.
“I thought everyone calls her Sandy."
He nodded. “Everyone but me. The Dollars were very close to their first housekeeper and caretaker who were murdered. They were also fond of their second housekeeper. She turned out to be a fruitcake and her live-in boyfriend was psychotic. He died in a shootout with the police. This time around they decided to keep everything very professional. So, I am Mr. Ascue to them and they are Mr. and Mrs. Dollar to me."
He squatted and smiled at Annie. “I'll bet you are Annie,” he said.
She tightened her grip on Shelly's leg and nodded.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
Annie grabbed his index finger, shook it vigorously and giggled.
Holding out his arms, he said, “Let's take your mother to see Mrs. Dollar and then we'll check out what Junior is doing in the playroom."
Shelly was surprised to see Annie wrap her arms around Ron's neck. Ron stood, holding the child loosely, and, with mock formality, said, “Mrs. Dollar will receive you in the library. Right this way, madam."
Sandra looked up from her position at the end of the conference table when Ron announced Shelly, and smiled. “Right on time,” she said as she stood and approached the door where the trio waited. “And how is Miss Annie today?"
“Fine,” the golden-haired tyke replied.
“Good to see you, Shelly,” Sandra continued, extending her hand.
Shelly expected a hug, but recovered quickly and accepted the firm handshake.
“Mr. Ascue,” Sandra said in a very professional tone, “please take Annie to the playroom and do not disturb us for anything short of an emergency."
“Yes, ma'am,” Ron said, gently closing the library door.
“Please have a seat, Shelly. Do you prefer coffee or cola? I have both."
“Wow!” Shelly said as she slipped into a red padded chair. “This is some place you have here."
“I believe Tim gave you the tour yesterday,” Sandy replied, taking her seat.
“No,” Shelly corrected. “He just showed me to the bathroom, waited until I finished and escorted me back to the pond."
“In that case, I will give you a tour one of these days, but I do not want to waste these next five afternoons. I do not mind paying you for your story, but I have no intention of paying you for idle minutes."
“Do you have to be so formal, Sandy?"
“Forgive me, dear. I am in my work mode, I fear. Shall we get started?” she asked as she snapped on the tape recorder.
This is the woman whose tongue was dancing inside me less than twenty-four hours ago. Now she's calling me ‘dear'? “I'm not certain exactly what you expect from me, Sandy.” Should I call her Mrs. Dollar? “Why don't you ask questions and I'll do my best to answer them."
“Fine. First, tell me about your parents and your childhood."
“I can tell you about my mother. I don't know who my father is. I don't think she knew either. Like me, she was a stripper, traveling with a small carnival. We never had a real home. We lived in a trailer and were constantly on the road."
“Your English is excellent and your vocabulary is more than adequate. Where did you receive your education?"
“Maybe I will have a cup of coffee,” Shelly said as she reached for the carafe and a blue mug. “There were several well educated women traveling with the carnival. They worked with the kids. Sometimes I think I received a better education than public schools would have provided."
“Tell me about your mother."
Shelly shrugged. “I think she was attractive—big boobs like me. I think her hair was probably auburn, like mine, but she kept it blond for her stage act. She seemed to be sad all the time and did not have any real friends. She left me alone a lot, so I suppose she slept around. She liked her rum, too. I don't remember ever seeing her sober."
“Was she a good mother?"
“Good? She didn't hurt me, if that's what you mean."
“Did you ever see her act?"
Shelly laughed. “Many of my moves come from watching my mother on stage. At the Crazy Cat Club, there are six performers. My mom shared the stage with just one other woman, and she wasn't much to look at."
“Was there anything exceptional about your mother's act?"
Shelly frowned. “Yeah. After the last performance each evening, men lined up outside our trailer, waiting their turn. That's something I absolutely refuse to do. I'm a dancer—a stripper—but I'm not a whore."
“Where were you while this was going on?"
“It was a two bedroom trailer. I was supposed to be asleep in my bedroom."
“But you weren't?"
Shelly shook her head sadly. “That's how I learned to please men with grunts, groans, moans and shouts. Vocals are an important part of my act. As I grew older, I became a partner in crime. It was so damn easy to steal the guy's wallets while mom was doing them on the bed."
“Your first sexual experience was with a carnival worker?"
Shelly smiled condescendingly while shaking her head. “That would be the public perception—loose morals and all—but it isn't accurate. Carny people will rip off a rube in a heartbeat, but they're very protective of their own. The whole time I was traveling with my mother, no one ever touched me inappropriately. Actually, my first time..."
Sandra held up her hand, interrupting. “Let's don't go into that just yet. Tell me more about your mother. Let's see—she was a stripper, a prostitute, a drunk and slept around. Did she have any good points?"
“Those were her good points,” Shelly laughed.
With Sandra's questions igniting the fires of memory, Shelly found herself talking for three straight hours, pausing only to fill her cup with coffee or waiting for Sandra to put a new tape in the machine.
“Damn,” Sandra said, glancing at her watch and standing. “It's after four. I have an important appointment with Randy Nickels in town. I'm going to have to break this off just when it was getting good.” She extended her hand. “I look forward to tomorrow's session."
Shelly refused the handshake as she, too, stood. “Yesterday you tried your best to make me your lover. Today all I get is a handshake?"
“I never mix business pleasure with physical pleasure, Shelly. I'm sure you do the same. Your striptease act is designed to be erotic, but I'm sure you receive no sexual arousal from it."
Shelly knew her nod of agreement was not exactly the truth. She became so aroused during her act that she could hardly wait for the bouncer to come to her dressing room and reap his nightly protection payment.
“Yesterday we agreed on a fee,” Sandra said, “but not a payment schedule. Do you want me to write a check each day or will one check at the end of the week be sufficient?"
“I prefer to be paid daily, and in cash. It's more difficult for the IRS to trace."
“I don't keep that kind of money in the house, but I will be prepared in the future. Shelly, you can try to hide this money from the tax people if you like, but I assure you that I will report it as a business expense."
As the two women approached the door, Sandy clasped Shelly's face, pressed her lips hard against the surprised woman's lips, and thrust her tongue deep inside Shelly's willing mouth. “There,” Sandy said, opening the door, “that must hold you until the weekend."
Shelly trailed Sandy down the hall. “Is it okay if I use the little girl's room? I need to leave your coffee with you."
“You know where it is,” Sandra laughed.
After flushing and washing her hands, Shelly studied her face in the mirror. Twenty-one and I look forty. I need more sleep, but how can I? I get home no earlier than one and Annie is usually up by seven.
“May I join you?"
She whirled around. “Ron, you startled me."
“Meant to,” he laughed, crushing her breasts in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. He stepped back, smiled and produced a foil package from his pocket. “Mrs. Dollar has departed and the kids are asleep on the playroom floor. For the moment, we have the house to ourselves, but Mr. Dollar may return any minute. Strip for me."
He backed up to the commode, pushed his pants and shorts to his ankles, sat and rolled on the condom. “God, you've got a beautiful pair. The little sagging doesn't bother me at all."
Damn, she thought as she straddled him, he noticed it too. She rocked back and forth as he spidered her huge breasts. “Ron, do you ever sleep with Sandy?"
“That flat-breasted, shriveled up bitch?"
She felt his erection jerk wildly inside her. “You do fuck her, you bastard,” she laughed as she began to pump him frantically.
* * * *
Shelly set the emergency brake on her Escort and massaged her aching thighs. They felt as if they were on fire. She carefully surveyed the empty parking lot. Why do I feel someone is watching me? She reached for the glove compartment, but hesitated. I'm just getting paranoid, damn it. She stood for a moment beside the car, letting her thighs get accustomed to the added weight, then locked and closed the door.
How much more of this can my body take? she wondered as she made her way down the hall. I'm in agony and it's only Wednesday night. She laughed and corrected herself. Thursday morning. Shelly slipped the key from her purse, knocked three times, paused, knocked three more times and opened the door.
Mrs. Jordan's face seemed a blur.
“Two more days, Shelly. Two more days."
“Mrs. Jordan, I gave you Saturday and Sunday nights off. I can do it again this week. Can't you see your way clear to look after Annie four nights a week?"
“At what salary? I have expenses, you know."
“The same salary I was paying you for six nights. That's fair, isn't it?"
“No more bringing your work home with you?"
Shelly was too tired to argue. “I promise."
“Well, we'll try it for a while and see how it works out."
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Jordan. Is Annie okay?"
Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows Page 57