Never been to a strip club so used some poetic license for this story
"You're late," the bouncer grumbled, barely glancing up from his phone as I slipped through the employee entrance. His cigarette ash dropped onto my boot when I paused to adjust my fishnets.
"Tell me something I don't know, Matt," I muttered, kicking the ash off before it could stain the leather. The backstage hallway smelled like cheap perfume and even cheaper decisions, vanilla body spray fighting a losing battle against decades of cigarette smoke trapped in the walls. My reflection in the dressing room mirror showed smudged eyeliner from last night's shift that I'd been too tired to wash off.
The dressing room lights flickered like a bad omen as I dumped my duffel onto the stained velvet chair. Twelve hours ago this mirror had watched me peel fake lashes off with tequila-sticky fingers while some bankers phone number dissolved in my beer. Now my own mascara-smudged eyes blinked back at me, the exhaustion palpable.
The peeling vinyl stool creaked under my weight as I leaned in close to the mirror, licking my thumb to scrub at yesterday's sins. Someone had left a lipstick message on the glass, "CUM GET IT", the "I" dotted with a smeared heart. Classy. My fingers found the familiar rattling drawer where we kept the communal makeup, fishing out a half-melted eyeliner pencil rolling loose among bobby pins and single rhinestones.
The eyeliner pencil snapped in my grip, leaving a jagged black line across my palm like a bad tattoo. "Fuck me sideways," I hissed, tossing the broken pieces into the overflowing trash can. Outside the dressing room, the club's bassline pulsed through the walls, the vibrations making my water bottle tremble on the counter.
The broken eyeliner was the last fucking straw. I stared at the black gash across my palm, the sting sharp enough to cut through the vodka haze still clinging to my temples. Outside, the bass dropped hard enough to rattle the makeup brushes in their cups, Friday night crowd already roaring like animals at feeding time.
The jagged eyeliner stain on my palm looked like a drunken mistake, fitting, since my entire life felt like one long walk of shame. I wiped my hand on the thigh of my fishnets just as the dressing room door swung open, hitting the wall with a bang that made my water bottle topple over.
The spilled water pooled around my boots, soaking into fishnets as Jess leaned against the doorframe, her sequined pasties catching the flickering light. "Jesus, Sara. You look like someone pissed in your vodka." Her smirk widened when I flipped her off. "Breakfast of champions," I muttered, grabbing a roll of paper towels from under the sink. The cheap stuff disintegrated instantly, leaving damp confetti all over the floor.
The paper towels disintegrated into sad little clumps under my boot as I kicked them aside. Jess tossed me her emergency eyeliner, the good shit from Sephora, not the supermarket garbage I'd just broken. "Try not to stab yourself with this one, disaster queen," she said, leaning over my shoulder to blot her lipstick in the mirror. Her reflection grinned at mine as she reapplied crimson over the smudges I knew came from the bartender with the snakebite piercings.
Andy's voice sliced through the bass thumping from the main floor, his knuckles rapping against the dressing room doorframe like a metronome set to panic. "You're on now, Sara," he shouted, his usual bored drawl sharpened by the kind of urgency reserved for drunk guys pissing in the VIP section.
Jess' lipstick froze mid-swipe when Andy's voice cut through the bass. "Fuck sake, give her thirty seconds to look human," she snapped at the doorway before tossing me a tube of waterproof mascara.
The waterproof mascara hit my palm with a satisfying smack, its weight cool and reassuring. I didn't have time to thank Jess, Andy's impatient sigh from the doorway said it all. The dressing room mirror caught my reflection as I hastily swiped the wand over my lashes, transforming exhaustion into something resembling sultry confidence. The bass from the main stage vibrated through the stool beneath me, my thigh muscles tightening in anticipation.
The waterproof mascara did its job, turning my bloodshot eyes into something that might pass for bedroom eyes under the club's moody lighting. I spat on my finger and rubbed away the last smudge of yesterday's eyeliner, fuck blending properly tonight. Jess' reflection arched an eyebrow as she watched me smear on lip gloss with the back of my hand. "Christ, you're going feral tonight," she muttered, tossing me her signature cherry-red stain.
"Now!" Andy's voice cracked like a whip from the doorway, his fingers drumming against the doorframe with the rhythm of someone who'd already counted to ten twice. The dressing room lights flickered in time with my pulse, casting jagged shadows across Jess' exasperated face as she shoved the cherry lip stain into my hand.
The lip stain smelled like synthetic cherries and bad choices, perfect. I swiped it across my mouth without bothering with the mirror, tasting wax and desperation. Jess snorted when I smeared it past my lip line. "War paint," I muttered, blotting it with the back of my hand just as Andy's shoes tapped out his dwindling patience on the floor.
The club's bassline punched through the walls as I stood, my fishnets snagging on the stool's ripped vinyl. The rip travelled halfway up my thigh, fuck it, extra ventilation. Andy's gaze lingered on the laddering fabric before snapping up to my face with theatrical exasperation. "They're throwing notes at empty air out there, Sara."
Jess' laugh followed me into the hallway, where the smell of spilled beer and sweat hit like a physical force. The backstage lights were always dim enough to hide the stains but bright enough to make you squint - some manager's idea of ambiance. My heels clicked against concrete still sticky from last night's tequila baptisms as I passed the greenroom couch where three new girls whispered over shared eyeliner. Their wide eyes tracked me like I was the ghost of futures past.
The stage door shuddered under my palm, vibrating with the bassline that was probably rearranging my internal organs. Through the peephole, the crowd swam in strobe lights - a sea of upturned faces glinting like knives. My reflection in the door's scratched metal showed smudged lips and pupils blown wide from yesterday's uppers. Perfect.
The DJ's voice sliced through the bass like a rusty switchblade. "Put your fucking hands together for the one, the only, Saraaaaa!" My name stretched into a distorted echo as the track dropped into that familiar synth riff, the one that always made my hips move before my brain caught up.
The spotlight hit me like a physical shove as I stepped onto the stage, the sudden heat making sweat prickle between my shoulder blades before I'd even taken three steps. Through the haze of smoke machines, I caught the glint of a phone screen pointed my way, some asshole trying to Snapchat his mediocre night out. I kicked it out of his hand with the pointed toe of my boot, watching it skitter across the floor as the crowd whooped.
The pole felt icy under my palms despite the stage lights cooking the air around us. First move always had to be a showstopper, I leapt into a crucifix hold before the bass hit its second measure, the metal shrieking under my weight as I arched backward until my hair brushed the stage. Some suit in the front row actually dropped his beer, the glass shattering in slow motion as amber liquid splashed across his shoes.
The music swelled as I twisted upside down, letting my dress ride up to show the black lace garter straps biting into my thighs. Through the upside-down haze, I spotted her - leaned back in her seat with that lazy grin like she knew something the rest of those clowns didn't. Her fingers tapped against her whisky glass in perfect time with the beat, the ice cubes clinking like punctuation marks.
I let myself drop into a controlled fall, catching myself inches from the stage floor before curling upward like smoke from a cigarette. Her eyes tracked the movement with a focus that made my stomach flip, ignoring the suit who'd just leaned over to whisper in her ear. My lips curved as I peeled off one glove with my teeth, letting it drop onto the abandoned beer puddle near the stage edge.
The DJ's voice crackled through the speakers as the track transitioned. "You all better tip this goddess before she turns you to stone!" The crowd whooped as the next song's synth line slithered through the club - that slow, dirty bassline that always made the suits think they stood a chance. My hips found the rhythm before my brain did, rolling in slow figure eights while my fingers trailed down my own throat.
The spotlight burned hotter than whisky down my throat as I locked eyes with her across the sea of grasping hands. Her fingers paused mid-sip, whisky glass hovering at those smirk-stained lips while I rolled my hips in slow circles just for her. The pole groaned under my weight as I flipped upright, deliberately letting my dress hike up to reveal the bite marks on my inner thighs, last night’s mistakes turned into tonight’s accessories.
Her whisky glass hit the table with a sharp clink as I unhooked my garters one agonizing inch at a time. The crowd's noise faded to static, all I saw was the way her knuckles whitened around the glass, the way her throat moved when she swallowed hard. The music pulsed through the pole as I spun, letting my dress slip just enough to flash the bruise on my hip from where I'd fallen against my dresser this morning.
The pole's cold bite grounded me even as the world spun upside down, my thighs burning from holding the inverted crucifix pose. Through the dizzying flip of gravity, I saw her, the only face in the crowd not blurred by motion or alcohol. She'd leaned forward now, elbows on knees, that lazy grin sharpening into something predatory as I let my dress pool around my waist. The lace of my garters strained against the muscle of my thighs, last night's mistakes on full display.
The pole groaned as I slid down in one fluid motion, my thighs kissing cold metal until my heels hit the stage. Her scent hit me before I'd taken three steps, vanilla body oil undercut with something sharper, like gunpowder after a fired shot. My pulse hammered in my throat as I prowled toward her table, the crowd's grasping hands parting like I was Moses in six-inch Pleasers.
Her fingers moved deliberately slow as she pulled a note from her purse. I arched a brow when she didn't extend it toward my waiting garter, just held it between two fingers like a dare. "Earn it," she mouthed over the bass drop, teeth flashing white against cherry-stained lips.
The whisky glass clattered onto the table as I swung one leg over her lap, the cheap pleather seat creaking under our combined weight. Her breath hitched when my thighs bracketed hers, the heat between us already turning my lace panties slick. "Earn it, huh?" I murmured against her ear before rolling my hips in one slow, torturous circle. The seam of my panties dragged against her dress with delicious friction, making her fingers dig into my waist hard enough to leave marks.
Her grip tightened as I ground down harder, the note still trapped between her fingers crumpling against my hip. The bass vibrated through us like a second heartbeat, syncing with the pulse I could feel pounding in her neck when I licked a stripe up to her earlobe. "Fuck," she gasped, her other hand sliding up my spine to fist in my hair. The pull sent a jolt down my spine that had me rutting against her like a cat in heat, my breath coming in ragged pants against her collarbone.
I caught the flash of her teeth in the strobe lights as she grinned up at me, finally releasing the crumpled bill to tuck it into my garter with deliberate slowness. "Consider that a down payment," she growled, her hands sliding down to grip my ass through the fishnets. The rough squeeze made me moan right as the music dropped, my hips stuttering against hers in an uncoordinated rhythm that had us both laughing breathlessly.
The crowd's cheers faded into white noise as I leaned in close enough to taste the whisky on her breath. "You're trouble," I whispered before sealing my lips over hers in a kiss that burned hotter than the stage lights. Her tongue slid against mine with filthy precision, one hand still kneading my ass while the other crept higher to twist my nipple through the lace. The sharp sting made me jerk against her, my moan swallowed by her mouth as she took full advantage of my momentary weakness.
I broke the kiss with a wet sound that would've been embarrassing if I cared, gasping as her teeth closed around my bottom lip in a teasing bite. "And you love it," she purred against my swollen lips, her fingers now trailing fire down my stomach to dip beneath the waistband of my panties. The first brush of her fingertips against my clit had me arching off her lap with a startled cry, my thighs trembling around hers as she circled with maddening lightness.
Her fingers tangled in my hair as I dragged her up onto the stage, her thigh-high boots scrambling for purchase on the polished metal edge. The crowd's roar crested as her body collided with mine, all warm skin and whisky breath under the searing spotlight. My teeth found her earlobe as we swayed dangerously off-balance, the pole pressing cold against my bare back while her hands burned brands across my hips.
"Fuck, you're bold," she gasped against my throat, her nails digging crescents into my ass as the music pulsed around us. The stage lights turned her pupils into bottomless pits, her lipstick smeared beyond repair from where I'd kissed her stupid moments ago. I grinned against her collarbone as my fingers found the zipper of her dress, tugging it down inch by torturous inch while the bass shook the platform beneath us.
Her dress pooled around her waist with a whisper of fabric, baring her torso to the hungry eyes of the crowd. The gasp that rippled through the room was almost louder than the music, almost. She didn't flinch when the first notes hit the stage near our feet, just arched into my touch as my palms slid up her ribs to cup her breasts through lace that barely qualified as fabric.
The DJ's voice cut through the haze like a chainsaw. "Looks like someone's found a friend!" The crowd's answering whoop vibrated through the metal under our feet as I spun us toward the pole, her back pressed flush against my front. My hands slid down her stomach to hook in the waistband of her panties, pausing just long enough to feel her abdominal muscles twitch in anticipation.
She threw her head back against my shoulder with a groan when I finally peeled the lace down her thighs, the wet heat between her legs practically steaming in the stage lights. The scent of her arousal mixed with spilled liquor and cigarette smoke, an intoxicating cocktail that made my mouth water. "Jesus, you're soaked," I murmured against her ear, my fingers trailing through her pussy with deliberate slowness.
The crowd's boos vibrated through my ribs as I dragged her through the tattered velvet curtain, her laughter ringing against the sudden absence of pounding bass. Her thigh-high boots stumbled over the uneven backstage flooring, one hand gripping my wrist while the other swatted blindly behind her, middle finger raised for the audience we'd left mid-show. "They paid for a performance," she gasped between giggles, her smudged lipstick catching the flickering fluorescent lights, "not a fucking exorcism."
"Two songs we have to dance to," I laughed, breathless and giddy as I dragged her through the dim backstage maze, our fingers intertwined and sticky with spilled drinks. "They got nearly three!" My heel caught on a loose floorboard, sending us crashing against the manager's office door with enough force to make the frosted glass rattle. The brass handle dug into my hip as I fumbled for purchase, her body pressed flush against mine, warm and trembling with laughter.
The office door swung open with a crash, sending us tumbling onto the cracked leather sofa in a tangle of limbs and lace. Our lips collided before we even stopped moving, her teeth catching my lower lip in a sharp bite that sent electricity straight to my already-throbbing core. The sofa smelled like cheap cleaning products and decades of bad decisions, the vinyl sticking to my thighs as she straddled me, her dress hanging off one shoulder.
Her hands were everywhere at once, tangling in my hair, tracing the outline of my fishnets, squeezing my throat just hard enough to make my vision sparkle at the edges. I arched against her with a whimper, the wet sound of our mouths breaking apart echoing in the small space. The flickering light overhead painted her swollen lips in strobe-light flashes, cherry red smeared across her chin like war paint.
The vinyl couch squeaked in protest as I flipped us over, pinning her beneath me with my thigh wedged between hers. Her gasp tasted like stale whisky and cherry lipstick as I broke our kiss to trail my mouth down her throat, pausing to suck where her pulse hammered against damp skin. The office lights flickered like a dying strobe light, casting our tangled shadows across stacks of unpaid invoices taped to the walls.
She arched off the couch when my teeth scraped over her collarbone, her fingers twisting in my hair hard enough to make my scalp burn. "Fuck" Her curse dissolved into a moan as I dragged my tongue lower, following the lace edge of her bra where it cut into soft flesh. The fabric was soaked through with sweat, sticking to her skin like a second layer when I peeled it down with my teeth.
Her stomach tensed under my mouth as I worked lower, tasting salt and spilled cocktails along the way. My thumbs hooked in the waistband of her knickers, peeling them down her trembling thighs with agonizing slowness. The scent of her arousal hit me like a physical punch, musky and sweet beneath the chemical lemon of the vinyl couch.
"God, look at you," I murmured against her inner thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin while my fingers traced through her wet pussy. Her hips jerked violently when I dragged a fingertip over her clit, her choked-off moan muffled by the hand she'd slapped over her mouth. The cheap sofa groaned beneath us as she twisted, her thighs clamping around my head like a vice when I finally licked a stripe up her dripping cunt.
The first flick of my tongue against her clit had her thighs trembling like a spooked racehorse. She tasted like stolen whisky and expensive perfume, the kind you only buy after a good night's tips. Her fingers twisted tighter in my hair as I worked her over with slow, practiced strokes, just enough pressure to make her hips jerk, never enough to push her over that edge she was clearly chasing.
The vinyl squeaked under her thrashing hips as I sucked her clit into my mouth, rolling the swollen bud between my lips with just enough pressure to make her toes curl in those thigh-high boots. Her grip on my hair turned painful when I slid two fingers inside, the tight heat of her practically vibrating around my knuckles. I crooked them upward, finding that spongy spot that made her entire body jolt like she'd been electrocuted.
"That's it, slut," she moaned, her thighs clamping around my head like a vice as my tongue worked her clit in tight, rapid circles. The vinyl couch squeaked beneath us in protest, the sound nearly drowned out by her ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from the club. Her fingers twisted tighter in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make my scalp sting in the most delicious way.
"Harder, my dirty little whore," she moaned, her voice cracking like shattered glass under the weight of her own desperation. The light flickered above us, casting stuttering shadows across her arched body as I obeyed, driving my fingers deeper with each thrust until her thighs clamped around my wrist like a vise. Her back bowed off the vinyl couch with a wet slap of skin against synthetic leather, the sound lost beneath the choked gasp that tore from her throat when my thumb found her clit again.
Her scream tore through the cramped office like a gunshot, raw and unfiltered, perfectly timed with the bass drop shaking the walls from the club beyond. The vinyl couch groaned as her entire body arched off it, thighs clamping around my head hard enough to make my ears pop. Her fingers twisted in my hair like she wanted to scalp me, her hips bucking wildly against my mouth as I kept licking through her convulsions.
Her thighs trembled like live wires against my temples as I sucked her clit into my mouth with deliberate cruelty, my fingers still pistoning inside her dripping cunt. The vinyl couch squeaked beneath her thrashing body, the sound drowned out by her ragged gasps that smelled of whisky and nicotine. "Tell me what I am," I growled against her swollen flesh, my teeth grazing the sensitive bud just hard enough to make her hips jerk violently.
"You're...fuck...you're my dirty fucking whore," she choked out, her voice cracking as my tongue circled faster. Her fingers twisted in my hair hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I only sucked harder, flattening my tongue against her clit in rough, rapid strokes. The office lights flickered above us like a dying strobe, casting stuttering shadows across the stacks of unpaid invoices and half-empty liquor bottles lining the shelves.
The sharp press of her palm against the back of my skull sent stars bursting behind my eyelids as she ground her wet pussy against my mouth with a guttural moan. "Lick me, whore," she growled, fingers tightening in my hair like reins on a runaway horse. My nose pressed flush against her as I obeyed, dragging my tongue from her swollen entrance to her clit in one long, messy stroke that made her thighs quiver. The taste of her, salt and copper and something muskier, flooded my senses as she arched off the couch with a broken cry.
Her thighs clamped around my head like a vice as she came with a scream that rattled the frosted glass of the office door. Hot slickness flooded my chin, dripping down my neck in thick rivulets that smelled of salt and spilled whisky. I lapped at her through the convulsions, flattening my tongue against her twitching clit until she shoved me away with a gasping curse, her foot pressing against my collarbone.
"No, no more," she whispered, her foot still pressed against my collarbone, her chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. The light buzzed overhead like an angry hornet, flickering across the sweat-slicked curve of her throat where her pulse still hammered. Her thigh-high boots trembled where they bracketed my head, the vinyl squeaking beneath her shifting weight as she tried to catch her breath.
I dragged my tongue up her trembling thigh, tasting salt and spilled cocktails on my way to her still-pulsing clit. A shudder rocked through her when I kissed it lightly, her boot pressing harder against my collarbone in weak protest. "Sensitive?" I murmured against her damp skin, trailing featherlight kisses up her stomach while her chest heaved. Her nipple peaked under my tongue when I finally reached it, the lace of her bra scratchy against my lips as I sucked the stiff bud into my mouth.
She whimpered when I bit down just enough to sting, her fingers scrabbling at my hair with renewed urgency. The vinyl groaned beneath us as I crawled up her body, pausing to lick the sweat from between her breasts while her heartbeat thundered against my lips. Her breath hitched when I finally reached her throat.
"Still with me, trouble?" I breathed against her parted lips, hovering just close enough to share air but not close enough to kiss. Her pupils swallowed the last remnants of color in her irises, blown wide with pleasure and the flickering lights overhead. She answered by surging up to crash our mouths together, her teeth clacking against mine in her desperation.
"That was amazing," she hummed, the words vibrating against my lips like a second heartbeat. Her swollen mouth still searching mine even as her body sagged into the cracked leather couch. I could feel her pulse rabbiting beneath my fingertips where they traced the damp hollow of her throat, wild and unsteady as a spooked deer.
The office door creaked open, letting in a sliver of pounding bass and cigarette smoke. Andy leaned against the frame, his silhouette backlit by the club's lights, one hand still gripping the doorknob while the other held a half-empty bottle of whisky. "You certainly put on a show, Sara," he drawled, his voice dripping with that particular blend of amusement and exasperation I'd come to know like the smell of stale beer on polyester seats.
The whisky bottle clinked against the doorframe as Andy tapped it impatiently. "Love the enthusiasm, ladies," he said, gesturing toward the stage with the bottle, "but we need you on the floor Sara. Guys have been asking for you specifically, like, throwing actual fists over who gets your next dance." His eyes flicked down to where her thigh-high boots were still hooked over my shoulders, then back up with a tired smirk. "Though I can see why you're... preoccupied."
Andy's footsteps barely faded down the hallway before our stifled laughter erupted like uncorked champagne, her thigh-high boots thumping to the floor as we untangled ourselves from the sticky vinyl couch. "Christ, did you see his face?" I wheezed, wiping my chin with the back of my hand while she struggled to refasten her bra with trembling fingers. The clasp kept slipping, her hands still shaking from aftershocks, until I reached behind her and snapped it closed with a wink. "Like he walked in on a crime scene."
Her smudged lipstick stretched in a Cheshire grin as she adjusted her dress, the fabric clinging awkwardly where sweat had glued it to her skin. "Your manager's definitely deducting dry cleaning fees from your tips," she snorted, plucking at the damp material with two fingers. The motion made her cleavage shift deliciously, and I couldn't resist swiping my thumb across a still-hard nipple through the fabric. Her sharp inhale echoed off the filing cabinets.
"Better get back to it," I sighed, reluctantly stepping away to retrieve my discarded panties from under Andy's desk. The lace was unsalvageable, stretched beyond repair and soaked through, so I balled them up and tossed them into the overflowing trashcan with a wet plop. She watched the arc of their flight with raised eyebrows, then burst into fresh giggles when they knocked over an empty Jim Beam bottle.
"That way," I pointed toward the pulsing club lights while she stumbled toward the stage, her dress still hanging half-off one shoulder. My own legs felt like overcooked noodles as I veered toward the dressing room, the vinyl couch's sticky imprint still visible on my thighs. The backstage corridor smelled like spilled vodka and regret, the flickering lights casting long shadows that made the peeling wallpaper seem to breathe.
"You're such a slut," Jess laughed as I stumbled into the dressing room, her eyeliner pencil freezing mid-wing when she caught sight of my reflection in the vanity mirror. My lipstick was smeared down my chin like a crime scene, fishnets ripped at both thighs, and my hair looked like I'd lost a fight with a tornado. She cocked one hip against the counter, tapping her freshly painted nails against a tube of glitter glue. "And here I thought you were just taking a smoke break."