Fuck, she better land this audition for Simon or we're screwed. I won't have time to get another undercover plant in place before Simon is ready to make the next sell.
With a quick glance to my left, I see Simon and Lance with their heads angled in toward one another, quietly discussing the girl up on the stage. Their eyes stay pinned on her while they talk in low voices about her performance. I hear words like "looks too proud" and "she'll be a fighter," and based on those snippets, I'm sure she won't be offered the job. While Simon can use the extra talent up on stage, these auditions are strictly for sex slaves, whether those poor, unsuspecting girls know it or not, and "proud" and "fighter" don't make for easy marks.
I am pleased to hear this, though, because while Amy's social background is perfect for what Simon is looking for, I knew that the haughty tilt of her head and the pride in her eyes would make him uneasy. He wants marks that, while beautiful and sexy, won't make trouble for their soon-to-be captors. I figured just such a girl thrown into these auditions would increase the likelihood of Simon choosing Andrea.
As long as she could dance.
Fuck... more sweat on my palms and I wipe them again.
I'm not only nervous over the possibility that Simon won't hire Andrea. I'm also nervous over the possibility that Simon will hire Andrea, because the minute that happens, she's going to be in danger.
Serious fucking danger.
My plan is tentative and still needs some thinking, and all of this hinges on my ability to be present at Andrea's sale. But as long as that works out, then the plan is just to take them down right then and there with a carefully concealed weapon and a surprise reveal of my law enforcement status.
But there is a huge unknown, and that is I don't know what to make of Andrea. I just couldn't see her being a stripper, and about the only thing I felt she had going for her was a sweet, southern accent that was not faked. That fit in nicely with her backstory. But past that, she screamed law enforcement from the clear higher education in her voice to the military-like stiffness of her posture to the confidence brimming in her eyes.
She was going to have to do a world of great fucking acting to pull off this charade.
And Christ... I hope to God she can pull sexy off. She came off as a bit of a plain Jane to me when I met her in the wee hours of this morning, wearing her starched FBI-ware and a severe bun at the back of her head. No makeup but she had clear skin, gorgeous blue eyes, and full, fuckable lips. I could only hope Simon was calculating the way they'd look around his buyer's cock when he was making his decision, a thought that causes my stomach to curdle.
The music starts waning and I realize Amy is at the end of her routine. She ends it by hooking her fingers in the strings of the thong that rest at her hip, shimmying them down her long legs. She steps out of them, catching the edge on one manicured toe encased in silver, high-heeled sandals, and flicks it out so the material goes sailing at Lance. He deftly catches it and just like the schmuck that I know him to be, brings it to his nose and inhales deeply with a sensuous look on his face. That earns him a cheeky grin from Amy, bare-assed naked and staring boldly down at us.
Cocking one hand on her hip and letting the other hang loosely at her side, she says, "So what did you think? Do I have the job?"
Simon and Lance bend their heads toward one another, voices so low that I can't hear a damn thing now. They don't bother to conference me in because my opinion doesn't matter at this point. I did my job... brought the prospects to the table, and now it's Simon's decision.
Pulling back, Simon looks up at Amy and gives her a smooth smile. "You're hired, baby. Head back to the dressing room and get your clothes on. You can go over the details with Raze a bit later. We have two more auditions."
Fuck.
He hired her, and that just decreased Andrea's chances.
"Who's up next?" Simon asks me.
I glance down at the application I had filled out the day before and pretend I'm not overly familiar with the fake person it belongs to. "Nikki Oliver, but she goes by Nikki O... She said it means Nikki Orgasm," I say with a snort, and Simon and Lance laugh along with me.
"That's right," Simon muses. "I thought that one had particular promise when you told me about her."
I shrug my shoulders carelessly, as I don't want him to get a hint of how much I want him to hire her. "No better than any of the others. I think they're all easy marks."
"That last one won't be easy on the buyer we have in mind," Lance says darkly. "But he's got a bit of a whipping fetish, so he'll enjoy knocking that smug smile off her face."
My stomach cramps hard over those words, and I take another swallow of my Pepsi to coat my dry tongue.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hope I didn't just condemn that girl to a nightmare of a life. My only hope at this point is that her potential buyer won't be along soon to collect his toy.
"Nikki Oliver," I yell out toward the stage. I know she's standing just behind the curtain... ready to go. "You're up."
A slow, sexy beat of music starts... thumping almost ominously, rising in crescendo, until it's taken over the loud pounding of my own heart. And there she is... striding out onto the stage.
And holy fuck... I almost don't recognize her.
My jaw drops, but I pick it back up quickly, slamming my teeth together. Her golden hair is loose... long... flowing down her back in sexy waves. Her makeup is flawless with long lashes that make her blue eyes pop and fuck-me red lipstick is painted onto those full lips.
She chose to come out with guns blazing, because she didn't bother with any type of cliched fantasy costume--naughty nurse, spankable schoolgirl, or dominatrix professor. No, instead, she chose to come out in a sexy-as-sin, black bustier with a simple and very, very tiny black G-string.
The bustier was perfectly chosen... the cups covering yet plumping up what I now understand to be luscious breasts that she must have had flattened down behind a sports bra when I last saw her. The bottom half of the bustier is in black lace, coming to just above her belly button, and trimmed in dove-gray lace around the edges. It's not an expensive piece of lingerie, the cups done in some type of faux leather, and I realize with admiration that she wore something sexy yet of obvious cheap quality so as to enhance her "down-and-out" character portrayal. My gut tightens as my eyes sweep over the G-string, the tiny triangle of black cotton stretched precariously between her legs, with thin straps arching over the most perfect-looking hipbones I've ever seen.
I've always had a thing for a woman's hips.
She walks--no prowls--down the center of the stage, her eyes sweeping briefly over Lance, then Simon, and finally me. Her lips quirk up sexily and her eyes flutter closed briefly as she reaches a lazy hand out to the metal pole, and then reels her entire body inward toward it. Looping one long leg around the pole, she releases her hand's grip and arches her back, tilting her head way back so that her the ends of her hair brush the lacquered floor.
Smoothly... sexily, she pulls her body up, unwraps her leg from around the pole, and starts a slow, gyrating dance. Her movements are silky... fluid, almost with a touch of hard-edged grace about her. Her body moves in perfect synchronicity to the slow beat of music, undulating like the current of a lazy river.
She moves with her shoulders squared proudly, yet with none of the stiffness I saw yesterday. She tempers that confidence with an almost coy attitude on the stage. It's an enchanting mixture, and my eyes follow her avidly.
I can hear Simon say, "Fuck, she's hot," and Lance say, "I bet she'd fucking blow like a rock star with those lips," and I while I don't like hearing that about my partner, I can't say as I disagree with them right now.
I'm mesmerized when Andrea... I mean, Nikki... reaches behind her back and with a well-practiced and highly coordinated move, releases the clasps of the bustier. In typical, teasing fashion, the back springs open and she deftly holds the material to her breast, hinting at what we might see, yet denying us what I'm betting will be fucking perfe
ction.
Her body spins--a flash of a perfect ass--and the bustier drops from her hands. Her arms rise above her head, scooping up her hair while her hips dip and tilt to the cadence of the movement, only giving us the vision of her beautiful backside. When her arms are stretched sky high, she releases her hair and it floats down over her back.
The music picks up in speed... gets a little more raw, and when Nikki spins back around to face us, her breasts are even more spectacular than I could have imagined.
Full, lush, perfect pink nipples that are pebbled hard and I feel a tightening in my groin for the first time since she walked out on stage. Luckily, I'm sitting behind a table, and she'd never know that she's starting to give me a hard-on. A quick glance to my left, and I see Simon isn't hiding any such thing. He sits to one side of the little, round table he shares with Lance, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his dick tenting the wool-and-silk blend dress pants he's wearing.
Anger burns through me that he'd dare to get aroused over my partner, and a protective instinct rears up inside of me. My eyes cut back to Nikki, flaring wide as I watch as her one delicate hand--adorned with garishly long, red nails per my instructions--flutters over her belly. Her other hand rises to her mouth and she sucks her index finger in deep. Fluttering her eyelashes down at Simon, she appears to be eating him up with her eyes.
Another surge of anger flows through me, and this time, it has nothing to do with over-protectiveness and everything to do now with the lengths to which Andrea is going to secure this job. She is eye-fucking Simon, and I can't tell if this is real or part of her act.
It's an act... it has to be an act, and her zeal is about doing her mission for the greater good.
Right?
Nikki O--because that is how I must think of her--moves her hand down, all the while spinning her body, gyrating her hips, and sucking on her finger. The tips of her fingers sink into the low-cut triangle of material between her legs. When they disappear completely from view, she throws her head back, closes her eyes, and mimes a moan of ecstasy while her hips pump against her hand.
She's dancing out a slow act of masturbation, one I'm quite sure is an act. Her fingers are not actually lodged anywhere of particular sexual importance, but still... the effect fills the room with a current of thick lust.
My cock goes stiff, swelling instantly, and I grit my teeth, uncaring if I crack a molar.
Nikki's head lifts back up, her stare going back to Simon, and she removes her hand from down below, only to scrape her nails along her body over to her hip. Her fingers latch into the string at her side, and she gives a sharp tug, never once missing a sensual beat of the dance.
The G-string is of the rip-away variety, probably held only by tiny snaps or Velcro, and I suck in oxygen as she turns toward me, giving me a smirk and tossing the tiny panties my way. They hit me square in the chest, and I catch a subtle fragrance of gardenia before they fall to my lap.
Right across my aching dick pushing against my jeans.
Can't help it... my eyes go to her body, briefly taking in her bouncing breasts, straight down to that area I told her to wax.
And wax she did.
She's beautifully... stunningly... amazingly... bare, and I have a wild, insane urge to pull her off the stage. Not to cover her body with clothing but with my own.
Shaking my head hard, I bite down on the inside of my cheek and attempt to will my hard-on away. But it's a no-go, because now Nikki looks back down at Simon and with the thump of music egging her on, she walks down the three steps that lead off the stage and down into the lounge area. She walks right up to Simon, who is sporting the most lecherous grin I've ever seen, and proceeds to give him the dirtiest lap dance I've ever seen.
Nikki drapes both of her arms over his shoulders, resting her elbows on his light blue, silk shirt, and swings one leg over his lap to straddle him. Simon's hands come up and grab her by the hips, an absolute no-no with club patrons as we have a strict, no-touch policy--outside of the prostitution, that is. That clearly doesn't apply to the owner, though.
Her hips pump inward and out again, hovering just over his straining hard-on, never making contact but coming whisper close. She stares down at him, pursing her lips and eye-fucking him... making every fantasy of his come true. I watch, appalled, as Simon's fingers dig into her flesh and his arms stiffen in an attempt to push her down on his cock... to make her grind against him.
I watch, equally fascinated, as the muscles in her legs bunch and quiver, pushing against his strength and absolutely refusing to let her crotch touch his. Before he can demand her obedience though, she shoots him a coy look, shakes her head in sexy reprimand, and swings her leg up and over his lap until she's standing in front of him.
The music starts to wind down and she finishes her dance with a few more spins and twist of her hips, finally walking back up onto the stage as the last note of music flutters away.
Nikki immediately looks to me, holding her hand out, and I don't hesitate a moment. I pick up her G-string, tossing it back up at her, and she efficiently puts it back on.
She bends over to pick up her bustier but before she can straighten her body, Simon stands from his chair and says, "You're hired. We can discuss the details of your employment in my office."
Oh, fuck no, that is not going to happen, because he's going to try to fuck her, no doubt about it. And I don't know much about Andrea, but what I just saw on that stage, she intends to get this job... and I'm not so sure she won't lay down her body to ensure she gets her foot in the door.
Standing quickly from the table, I remind Simon, "Don't forget you have that meeting with Darren in five minutes."
Thank fuck, he has that meeting with Darren.
"Lance can handle that," Simon says, his eyes raking over Andrea's body while she puts on her bustier with practice movements. My pulse skyrockets and my mind starts going into overdrive figuring out how I can swoop in and save her.
"Actually, I can't," Lance says. "I have to go meet with our supplier over at the bakery."
Relief courses through me. "Supplier at bakery" translates into the pipeline of chemicals that is trucked in to Simon's meth operation, something that he has never asked me to handle before.
"Fuck," Simon says and glances at his watch. He shoots a last, longing look at Andrea and turns away. "Fine. Raze... get the new girls set up."
"What about the last girl's audition?" I ask as I reach down to shift my still-hard cock before standing from my chair.
"Hire her if you want," he says as he looks at me with a smirk. Leaning in closer, he whispers, "But these last two girls are perfect for our 'export' business."
Satisfaction and relief courses through me that Andrea landed the job, not as a dancer, but as a potential sex slave, and we have crossed a major hurdle. On top of that, I've averted the opportunity for Simon to get his hands on Andrea. He may come after her again, and I'll worry about that later, but right now... our foot is in the door and we are one more step closer to taking Simon Keyes down.
Turning to look back over my shoulder, I see Andrea standing there with a hopeful look in her eyes as she puts the bustier back on. "Okay, Nikki. Go get dressed, then I'll get you and Amy to sign the final employment paperwork, and we'll get you both on the schedule."
"Thank you," she says to me and then turns to scurry to the back of the stage and through the black curtain that houses the dressing area. I watch until she disappears, my gut rolling over the thought of what she was going to have to do with her body, night after night. I respect the shit out of what she just did to get her foot in the door, but an unpleasant feeling of anger and fear, along with a twist of something vaguely close to jealousy, permeates me through and through.
Chapter 6
Andrea
I unlock the deadbolt and then the door lock of my apartment, needing to give an extra hard twist on the rusty knob before pushing my door open. It's almost 2:30 AM and I'm exhausted. Closing the door be
hind me, I re-lock it and slide the safety chain in place. I drop my purse on the floor and kick off my hooker heels. They can stay there until morning for all I care, I'm so tired.
Three days of dancing, and when not dancing, serving cocktails to drunk patrons. While I have to strip entirely naked when on stage, I'm left with a small measure of dignity by being allowed to keep my bottoms on while playing waitress. Still doesn't stop horny men from pawing at me after I set their liquor down in front of them, but at least I don't have to worry about their eyes dropping to crotch level all the time. It's barely manageable with having to suffer their lewd gazes at my breasts.
I fell back into the dancing easy enough. Just like riding a bike, and just like when I was in college, I was able to let my mind drift away with every article of clothing I shed. When I'm up on that stage, I may have hundreds of men leering at me and imagining the dirtiest things in their mind, but I'm never mentally present when I dance. I always have had a good knack for letting my mind float away while under the spotlight, only coming back to cognizance of my surroundings when the music died away and I could get off stage.
Nothing of interest has happened since I started at The Platinum Club, at least not that I know of. Raze has kept his distance from me, giving me no more interaction than he does the other dancers. Each night, he makes an accounting of my tips, along with the other girls, and parcels out our shares. We are only paid in what we make in tips for dancing, less a thirty-percent commission for Simon. After every dance, of which I do three each night, I pull out all the cash stuffed in my garters and put it in an envelope that I hand to Raze. He doesn't say a word, just sometimes gives me a nod of his head. Each night before I leave, he hands me a fat envelope with my take and murmurs, "Good job."
He says that to every girl though.
Outside of those brief interactions, I haven't had a single conversation with Raze. He watches me dance... every single time, but then he watches all the girls dance unless he gets called away to a problem in one of the VIP rooms. He's there to keep his eye on things, and while he has plenty of bouncers to do the heavy work if the patrons get rowdy, he's always there for every one of my performances.
With a Twist Page 5