Outstripped

by Avery, T. C.

  The nighttime prayers for success and a momentous opening night were building by the day, and not just from Jody. Advertising, leaflet-drops, handouts, radio coverage, networking and everything but the stolen megaphone on the police car (Blues Brothers) was part of their daily routine. Everyone participated, it was in all their interests, and anyway, how can anyone say 'No' to some of the hottest chicks in town when they approach?

  And then it happened. Opening day arrived, on time. Everything was in place, every one was organized, and there was only one thing left other than the popping of the Champagne corks. Jody's special outfits for the opening number hadn't come back from the seamstress. So she did at least have one thing to fret and panic about. It could have been a disaster, knowing that everything was perfect. Sitting around with nothing to do or worry about until opening time. As it was, the last minute phone calls and the mix up with the delivery driver helped pass the time and it all ended peacefully when the costumes arrived with one hour to spare.

  The doors would open at eight but the floorshow wouldn't kick off till around ten. All very early for a strip club but this was no ordinary place and it was no ordinary night. All guests and punters were required to dress up. There would be cocktails, hors d'oeuvres and aperitifs. The music would be awesome, the clientele would be special, the drink would flow, the girls would be 'to die for' and they would not be forgetting this night of 'Bliss' for a thousand years. Well that's how it was in Jody's head anyway.

  As it turned out she wasn't far wrong.

  They arrived in big numbers. Suits and skimpy outfits. Evening dresses and open shirts. Twenty something to sixty something. It seemed, word had definitely got around, and they had their very own glad rags and red carpet affair on their hands. The very one they could only have dreamt of.

  Jody's goal of mainstreaming the strip scene might actually work. Anyone can take their clothes off, but not many can glamourize it, popularize it, and make it a place to be seen. A place to go, a place to be entertained, whether you're male or female or otherwise.

  Okay we're getting ahead of ourselves now. Hot, horny and dirty on stage is never quite going to be a mainstream pastime, but Jody wanted her piece of the action, and with her own brand of up market, stylish, fun filled, clothing removal routines, you just never knew?

  The loud music and even louder conversation, perforated with bubbly and beer, was interrupted as Bill took to the stage and toned it down. He heaped praise on everyone but his dog and left his final toast for Jody and her 'Bliss'.

  "Her vision, her passion and her style." Then ...... "Lights, dancers, and action."

  He'd always fancied himself as some sort of ‘Compere’ and this was his fifteen seconds of fame. It didn't really suit him but he did the girls proud anyway and now he could sit back, enjoy the show and make his dick sore, or his balls blue, which ever came first (B'dledum tshhh). His investment was in safe hands.

  The lights dimmed, the music started, attentions were grabbed.

  Loud, raucous, rock guitar began a build up, an intro, a preface to something good, something big, something most of them hadn't heard before. And then the spotlights flashed, and again, all over the crowd before beaming back to the stage and lighting up a menagerie with measured and moody electric hues. The low, slow bass began to thump its way into 'The Zoo' and five filthy, foxy, feisty felines made their way up stage, out front and into full view.

  Jody's special, opening number outfits had spots and stripes, ears, whiskers and tails. They were also skin-tight and emphasized taught, tight, lithe, long, legs and limbs. They sauntered and crawled, they scratched and they hissed, they licked at their paws and their lips. These were dirty, naughty, very dirty and very naughty little pussies.

  They bumped and they grinded, they wriggled and writhed and they gave their eager, flesh hungry audience a feast for their eyes. Tongues dangled, emotions moved, and wish lists soared, as they individually, and as a choreographed feline five some, delivered fantasy and art and excitement and spice.

  Their dirty dance routine was punctuated with clawing and slashing as they fawned over and fought with each other before licking and tending to their wounds. Their own, and each others’. Velcro rips appeared in their skin-tight costumes, and things just got hotter. In perfect time with the music, strategic panels were clinically torn, from breasts and bottoms and soft under bellies, leaving firm, ample, nipple peaked boobs exposed and prominent, rounded strawberry shaped buttocks bared for all to gaze upon (just as the animal world intended them), and furry skinned pussy sheaths on display, which barely contained the raging feminine fruits within.

  The costumes were a triumph, the girls were incredible, and the currency flew. Pound after pound. Pile upon pile. Gift upon gift. And as they danced and displayed, teased and taunted, played and pawed with each other, the audience got their fill. They got their monies worth, and in due course, they got the cream too. The teeny, tiny, triangles of feline fur were expertly discarded and our seductive and salacious pussycats paraded their designer trimmed peaches with pride.

  This was what the crowd had come for. Fantastic music, spectacular dancers and an incredible show. A celebration of the female form. Hot as hell and delivered in style.

  The girls took their bows, the crowd went nuts and the drink kept on flowing. As the music returned to club level and the go-go dancers got going, Bill, Sarah and Jody congratulated each other on their good fortune.

  "Either the Gods are looking down on us, or we deserve this." said Bill.

  "Both." Chipped in Jody, and they clinked their glasses once more.

  "Well done, Missy." Added Sarah, "I'm still keen to see what you've got to offer, though."

  "Its a surprise," said Jody, "I'll do my number a bit later, and I've decided I'm going to use stage names from now on, so no one really knows its me. Extra makeup and wigs and such. I want to keep dancing, but..."

  "Stripping!" interjected Sarah.

  "Okay stripping. I know I can bring in the punters. But I want to stay a bit lower key. After all, I've gotta run the place, and as you've just seen, I can get the girls up to scratch."

  "Bloody right!" said Bill. "They were fantastic, and who's the new girl? The one in the leopard spots. She could give Halle Berry a run for her money."

  "That's Grace. She's a natural, and you keep your grubby little mitts to yourself." Jody warned, whilst Sarah just stared at him, gritting her teeth and nodding.

  Bill left the two of them, uncomfortably together, as usual, so he could get back to circulating. He back slapped and hand shook his way round the club, as all his friends and associates wished him 'all the best' on being the luckiest bastard to have ever walked the face of the planet, and he loved it. Who wouldn't?

  Jody was trying her best not to drink too much as she had her own big number coming up and she didn't want it to be alcoholically challenged in any way. Not an easy feat when everyone around you wants to 'get a round in', in your honour.

  She eventually went to get changed and then Lucy came charging in, scantily clad in her own 'next' outfit having removed all the animal skin and makeup from the opening show.

  She sat on the edge of the dressing table, struggling to contain herself and facing back at Jody, gave a wry smile, paused, then opened up with,

  "You'll never guess who just showed up."

  "Santa Clause?"

  "Don't be silly."

  "The Prime Minister?"

  "No. Someone you know."

  "Me mum and dad?"

  "No, Luke."

  "Shit. He didn't see you, did he?"

  "No, and he wouldn't recognize me anyway, I don't think."

  "Actually you could get away with it. It's me I don't want him to see. Funny isn't it. I just told Bill I was going to be thinly disguised from now on, so I won't get spotted as the owner quite so easily. And now he turns up."

  "Don't worry I'll set Rachael on him, or maybe Grace. She won't be able to put him down. Anyway I thought you liked h
im?"

  "I don't mind him. I don't want to get back together or anything and I certainly don't want him to know this place is mine. In fact I don't want him to know I'm here at all."

  "So what's all the big surprise thing about?"

  "It's just that. A surprise. I just can't let the cat out o' the bag about it. Listen, thanks for the warning. Don't make yourself too obvious or else he might not get you back in for another 'Temping' session, and we need that when it comes round."

  "Okay. Leave it with me, and hey Jody........ Knock ‘em dead."

  "Thanks Lucy, you're a star."

  The girly gossip got around like wildfire. Luke and his mates were duly taken care of and given a few distractions (girls that is) to keep them entertained and occupied whilst Lucy and Jody got on with their performing arts. Jody made sure they would both be on guard and appropriately distanced to avoid any unnecessary or unfortunate coming together. Big picture stuff was in play, and short-term flirtations or plan-spoiling recognitions could derail everything.

  Back to Jody's big 'Blissful' moment, the lights dimmed and a spotlight came on. Silence fell over the place as the music died and everyone realized it was show time again.

  The 'Bliss' version of a Super Trooper lit up and waved round the room like an air raid spotlight. It steadied itself on the open cage lift shaft, and then she appeared. A dangerously sexy cowgirl in chaps, boots, tassels and ten-gallon hat. Denim and leather and lace. A low-down, dirty cowgirl with an angel's face.

  The lift came down slowly to ground level. The inner and outer concertina cage doors were opened for her by one of the large and obliging bouncers, and she stepped out, smiling.

  Music started. An acoustic guitar began with a catchy but unfamiliar melody, and Jody began her journey to the stage. The sea of people parted as she strutted and swaggered her way, thumbs in pockets, straw in mouth, and bottom in time.

  “Hitchin’ a ride” was intro'd by Saraya herself and as Jody reached the top step to centre stage, her beautiful bare buttocks gave the audience a taste of her demeanour, her daring and her devilish intentions.

  She posed for a few seconds as the song wound its way up. Hands on hips, long blonde hair halfway down her waistcoat, heels poised, legs slightly parted, panties peeking. And as the distortion pedal power chords came thundering through for the change up to electric rock guitar licks, Jody spun round to take on her crowd. The big hat came off, feistily Frisbee'd to the mob. Her hair whipped and wheeled and she ground out some jaw dropping opening moves to the lick and the beat.

  Raunchy, rampant and outrageously rude, Jody was giving it her all. High kicks, hip thrusts, hot legs and wet lips. A cowgirl to put the Dallas Cheerleaders to shame, or at least to take their intentions to the next level. Gutter level, that is.

  There were plenty of whistles and cheers. The crowd couldn't help themselves, but they were mostly drowned out by the power of the momentous and rhythmic rock. Jody had paid attention to Sarah and dug this one out from somewhere. That Internet thingy sure does come in handy. There aren't many hot chicks that can pull off rock music (singing it that is) but once she'd heard it, Jody just knew it was her all over. It could even develop into a signature number for her.

  Anyway, back to the grinding. The waistcoat was long gone, the denim shirt was undone and the leather coned companions were now welcomed to the world. Jody caressed her boobs in their second skins and got the audience worked up a little more before spinning round, bending over and giving them all an eyeful of her matching black thong.

  What a picture. Perfect pussy, thinly disguised, minimally protected, yet hardly hiding, suspended by a bottom made in heaven (or hell), and all set off by open top chaps which serve no other purpose (on a dancing girl that is) other than to accentuate the horny, incredibly sexy, come and get me intentions of the bearer.

  Jody stroked herself, tenderly from below with her long, painted, fingers. She could almost hear the licking of lips in the crowd. She stood up straight again, flicking her hair back, as is customary, then turned to face her admirers once more. Off came the bra. The twin peaks were on full beam. She played with her brazen, bare boobs then pinched her nipples and grinned, naughtily as if to say, "These little beauties are mine, and I can play with them whenever I want."

  She dropped to her knees, spreading her legs as she did, and began bumping and grinding and humping and gyrating. Her tousled hair shouted filth. Her eyes gave away all her shameless intentions. Her breasts teased and taunted her helpless onlookers. Her hips charmed and hypnotized the drooling fools and her pussy simply promised paradise.

  Climbing all the way back up her high heeled cowgirl boots she danced and paraded for them again before finding the quick release toggles on either side of her scanty panties. She arched her back and bent over, ever so slightly this time, and then there were none!

  A few fine fingers imitated and feigned a hint of cover up and dignity, but the crowd saw through this little charade and took it more for what they knew it to be. It was a stroke, a caress, a slipping and a sliding of delicate digits over moist minge and labia.

  They loved it, and she knew it.

  Jody dominated her stage and captivated her audience. A few more moves, a whip of her hair and a lick of her lips to accompany unabashed pride in her private parts, and she finished her routine.

  The crowd was enthralled, Jody was on fire, and Sarah even smiled.

  Chapter 13

  Mixing business with pleasure

  The 'Grand Opening' was a complete success. Far beyond any of their wildest hopes and dreams. The girls individually, and personally, congratulated Jody and they collectively thanked her with an embarrassingly huge bunch of flowers. They must have guessed (or known) it would turn out well.

  The evening's performances, dirty dancing, and private, intimate interactions, went on until the early hours, as they tend to in these sorts of places and the crowd thinned accordingly. Die-hard body watchers, voyeurs and connoisseurs of such saucy and salacious entertainment were obviously the last to leave. Bill and Jody stayed till the end but Sarah had seen enough and left in a waft of arrogance and an air of confidence that should have seen her through the next millennia. Purely from a business perspective that is.

  The scene was set for ‘Bliss’ to command a faithful following and create a reputation that would seed and permeate male dominated hang outs, clubs and conversations for years to come. Such is the power of word of mouth in the wake of a night like this.

  London had seen it before, but Jody hadn't. And though she would revel in her moment and reminisce in the delight of hard work and the dividends it paid, she wouldn't be letting it go to her head. It was back to work on each and every following day. The Travel Agency needed management, the Club needed nurturing and then there was the prospect of the international toy trade.

  Rachael had been hard at work keeping the agency ticking over and building the client base. They couldn't use Jody's name any longer as she needed to remove herself from the limelight, and in any case a more fitting and business-like branding exercise was required.

  Jody's first choice of The Wanderer's Accomplice Travel Agency seemed perfect until Rachael pointed out it could spell out T.W.A.T. if shortened. They settled on the far more acceptable acronym of T.A.A. Travel Agency, which was short for The Adventurer's Accomplice Travel Agency.

  There were many foreign journeys to be enjoyed, soirees to be savoured and sun to be soaked by both of them over time. One such entertaining egress to pastures warmer, and metaphorically greener, opened up yet more opportunity for personal and business development (and mischief) for Jody.

  It began in the Balearic Islands of Spain and involved a delightfully vivacious and uninhibited pair of young ladies from Holland. Aya and Famke enticed Jody in a number of ways but for our deliberations herein we need only concentrate on one. The rest of that particular story will need to be saved for another occasion.

  As luck would have it, the Dutch girls were on
a sun-soaked, frivolous and care-free working vacation for the summer. Jody met up with them on the beach. They were Go-Go dancers at one of the huge Ibiza nightclubs made famous as much for the stage and podium spectacles as the music and dancing itself. Needless to say, Aya and Famke were no 'wall flowers'.

  Cutting a long story short, after spending some time together, Jody decided to investigate the possibilities of a second Strip Club. But this one was to be in Amsterdam. She'd need to do some in depth homework (again!) and a number of visits and reconnaissance missions would be required before any decisions could be made. It would be her own private venture this time. There'd be no 'Bill' to hold her business hands or 'Sarah' to control her purse strings. This was a bold venture indeed, but if she got it right, it would not only prove her acumen and mettle on an international level, but it would also set her on course for total business independence. She loved working with Bill, of course, though he was more of a supportive crutch rather than a business partner.

  Ultimately, Jody wanted to be 'Queen'. The true instigator, controller and mistress of her own destiny.

  Now, in the process of running strip joints and providing avenues for the more inebriated and less inhibited of the population to explore their vices and usually unobtainable visual Utopias, one is always going to come into contact with the objectionable, the rude and the wayward. As previously mentioned way back in Jody's 'Vamp' days she'd learnt a trick or two for extricating suitable financial recompense from such "tossers". Now that she had a club of her own she decided it would be both prudent, and helpful to her cause, if a more formal form of forfeiture were introduced.

  On the one hand this would help the 'tip and fringe benefit jar' no end, and on the other, it would form the backbone of financial philandering for a far greater good.

  "How d'ya mean, 'we need a charter' for fining tossers, gropers and dirt bags?" Asked Grace during one of their informal one-to-one meetings.