Her name was Melrose, and she was the queen of the scene. The new It Girl. Her Cover Girl gorgeous face was everywhere. Her debut album had just gone platinum and was spinning off hit after hit. She had just returned from a European tour, selling out stadiums all over the continent. Her kinky bi-vibe and naughty antics created a paparazzi feeding frenzy and kept her in the headlines.
Melrose was the brightest light in the hip hop galaxy, and her blazing star was about to heat up my world.
* * * * *
“So what’s this staff meeting all about?” asked Camille, a tall, slender blonde. She would be opening on the day shift crew, and she was already decked out in a lacy black thong-and-panties set that looked drop-dead sexy against her pale skin.
“No clue,” said Mercedes, a voluptuous Latina, still in street clothes. “Who ever heard of a staff meeting at a strip club? I can’t remember having one since I’ve been here.”
“You’ve only been here six months,” said Bill, the massive tattooed bouncer. “Ask Angela if we had one before. She’s been here for years.”
“She quit two months ago,” said Camille. “How did you not know that, dumbass?”
“Shut up, bitch,” he replied. Everyone tried not to laugh, because we all knew the one thing that Bill and Camille didn’t think anyone knew: they were sleeping together.
“How about you, Dez?” asked Latasha, an uninhibited young black dancer who was apparently going to attend her first staff meeting entirely naked. “You got any idea what this is all about?”
All eyes turned toward me. I hadn’t danced at this club much longer than Mercedes, but they all knew I’d worked with Nate, the new manager, at a different club a couple of years ago. I could only shrug, because I was as clueless as everyone else. But the suspense was about to end, as Nate strolled into the room with Mac, the head bartender, and some dude in a flashy suit who we’d never seen before.
My first thought was the club was getting sold. I’d been through that before, and it wasn’t a good memory. Then again, the suit guy didn’t look quite sleazy enough to be a club owner. I was expecting the normally bombastic Nate to jump right in and lead the meeting, but he and Mac just sat down in chairs facing us and flanking the suit guy, who remained standing. It looked like this was going to be his show.
“Hi everyone, and thanks for coming in early for the meeting,” he said. If he knew that only about half the dancers were there, he didn’t let on. “I’m Steve Shields, and I’m VP of Publicity for Nuclear Records.”
Whoa. That got everyone’s attention. Nuclear was one of the biggest labels in the hip hop world. They represented some of the hottest artists around, including a certain rising star whose first album had just gone platinum as she was returning to LA from a sold out European tour.
“We’re going to be using your club for a photo shoot for one of our artists,” he said. “I can’t tell you who, because you’ll need to sign non-disclosure agreements, which we’ll hand out after the meeting.”
I happened to catch Nate’s eye. I raised an eyebrow at him, like “what the fuck.” He mouthed something that I was pretty sure was “Melrose.”
“We’re going to shut down the club down next Tuesday for the shoot. We’re going to need as many of you as possible as extras, and we’ll make it worth your while. Of course, you can’t participate if you don’t sign the agreement.”
“What kinda photoshoot?” asked naked Latasha. “I’ll do girl-girl, or boy-girl as long as it’s not anal.” The room erupted in laughter. God bless Latasha, she was as open with her thoughts as she was with her body.
“Not that kind of shoot,” said Steve the Suit as the laughter died down. “This isn’t porn, this is just gonna be…I guess you’d call it risqué mainstream. Our star and a few of her friends will be hanging out, and some of you will be in the background. We want it to look casual and spontaneous. Like they just decided to drop in, not like it was staged.”
“Even though it was,” said Mac, which flooded the room with more hilarity. Steve the Suit was unfazed. He was apparently one of those people who doesn’t embarrass easily. You see a lot of that type in the entertainment world.
“Sounds like you’re copycatting Rihanna,” said Latasha. “She posted some photos partying with her friends in a strip club a few years back. Only hers weren’t staged.”
“Who says they weren’t?” responded Steve. Well, I guess he had a point.
Nate finally stood up to speak, but just to go over some logistical stuff. A few minutes later, the meeting ended, and everyone headed out the door, either to get ready to work or to head home and get some more sleep before the night shift.
Well…almost everyone…
“Latasha, Desiree, Ferrari,” said Nate. “You three stick around for a minute.”
Latasha, Ferrari and I were the only three black dancers currently working for the club. Well, I guess you’d call me “mixed,” and Latasha maybe “blasian,” but whatever. Latasha was young and cute, but almost no tits. Ferrari was thick and tattooed, and put out a gangsta vibe.
“We ataşehir escort need one of you to play a bigger role in the shoot,” said Steve. “You’ll be doing some closeups with our star. There’s some extra money in it, and we can blur out your face if you want.”
Latasha and Ferrari were on their feet immediately, swarming Steve and talking over each other They both wanted the job. Nate held up his hand, and they backed off a bit. Nate looked at me. So did the girls.
“It’s okay, let one of them do it,” I said. I was making big money on tips, but Latasha and Ferrari had a harder time of it. And I didn’t know enough about this shoot yet to know whether I wanted to be involved in it.
“Not my call,” said Steve. “The client gets to make the choose.”
“How does that work?” asked Ferrari.
“Well, she wants me to sends pics of you.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” said Latasha. Ferrari and i looked at each other and shrugged.
“Great,” said Steve. He took out his phone, then hesitated.
“Go ahead,” said Ferrari.
“Oh, ummm…I need you to uhhh…” There was an awkward moment, and Steve turned red. Okay, so he could be embarrassed.
“Strip,” said Nate. “They wanna see you naked.”
“Uh, yeah, I mean if that’s cool, or we could-“
“Sure,” said Ferrari. She stood up and started peeling off her clothes. Latasha was already naked.
Why not, I thought, and I followed suit. No pun intended. Steve was still looking nervous, like he thought the #MeToo police were going to crash the party and haul him away. But it really wasn’t a big deal. We undressed for a living
“Awesome,” Steve mumbled. He recovered his cool and took a few shots of each of us from various angles. Next he spent a few minutes sending them, and then simply sat patiently. I was about to get dressed again, but the phone chirped less than a minute later.
“Yeah,” Steve said into the phone. “Okay. Yeah, sounds good to me. We’ll talk later about doing Conan’s show, I got some questions. Yeah, okay babe. Talk later.”
He ended the call, fiddled with his phone for a second, then looked up to see all of us staring at him in suspense.
“You,” he said pointing at me.
“Me?” I squeaked. By now, I was caught up in the excitement like the other girls.
“You,” he repeated. “You got the job. We got some paperwork for you, we’ll send it to Nate and we’ll pass any other instructions through him. Cool? Okay, I gotta roll.”
And with that, he was out the door. Ferrari was staring daggers at me, then she grabbed her clothes and stomped out. We all knew she was obsessed with Melrose; dressed like her, memorized her song lyrics, travelled long distances to see her live, never stopped talking about her. The opportunity of a lifetime had been dangled in front of her, then snatched away. My sympathy, however, was blunted by her bitchiness.
Latasha, meanwhile, threw herself into and gave me a big hug, which felt pretty nice since we were both still naked.
“I’m so excited for you!” She screeched, and kissed me hard on the lips. Tash was a sweetheart; she was genuinely as delighted as she would’ve been if she’d gotten the job.
“Get a room, you two,” said Nate. We all shared a chuckle and Tash took another taste of my lips.
“Go get ready, Tash, you’re second onstage,” he said. “Dez, go home and get some sleep, then we’ll talk more about this when you come in tonight.”
* * * * *
The day of the photo shoot had arrived. A surprisingly large crowd was jammed into the club, and the place was buzzing with excitement. There must have been 70 or 80 people, including most of the dancers and club employees, Steve and a couple other suits, various low-level grunts from Nuclear, and a handful of high-rolling club “regulars” that Nate had strong-armed onto the guest list. Also a photo crew with some high-end lighting equipment and, strangely enough, no cameras. Apparently they were going to shoot the whole thing with cell phones, to give the staged event a more “authentic” feel.
By now we all knew the star of the show was Melrose. In true diva style, she and her entourage were late, but so far we were only 45 minutes behind schedule, so I figured it was going to be awhile longer.
I was hiding out in stall in the ladies’ restroom. Normally, I’d be spending my downtime in the spacious dancers’ dressing room, but that was reserved for Melrose’s crew and off limits to us little people.
I was feeling seriously spooked. The crowd was larger and more boisterous than I’d expected, and they’d been crowding my space since I arrived, staring at me and talking to me and even groping me. Ferrari kept lurking nearby and glaring at me, occasionally muttering curses under her breath. Lucky me, I had my own vindictive stalker.
I was already dressed for the shoot in a tiny red bra and g-string set that Steve the Suit insisted I change into the second I arrived. Didn’t want the Diva to have to wait for me when (if) she ever decided to show up. Being nearly naked didn’t make me feel more confident ataşehir escort in dealing with the general weirdness of the people around me.
The crowd was also spooking me in another way. I was going to be photographed doing a sensuous, intimate lapdance for hip hop royalty…
…with ALL THOSE PEOPLE WATCHING.
Obviously, you can’t be shy about your body if you’re going to survive as a stripper, and to be complety honest I’m a natural exhibitionist. But this event and this crowd were way outside my comfort zone. For the tenth time that day, I was seriously thinking about pulling out. I groaned inwardly when I heard the restroom door open, hoping my hiding spot hadn’t been discovered.
“Dez, you in here?”
“No,” I said. I wouldn’t have answered, but it was my best friend Jasmine.
“Dez, you ok?”
“No.”
“You wanna talk?”
“No.”
“You wanna come out?”
“No.”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” she said. “I got something that might help…”
I opened the stall door. My sexy Asian friend looked hotter than ever, with her silky ass-length black hair, bewitching green eyes, and tight, tattooed body. But I only had eyes for what she had in hand: a big-ass, freshly rolled blunt. I felt a huge grin split my face.
“Girl,” I said, “I love you so much right now I wanna have your baby.”
“Let’s burn this bitch,” she said, sparking a lighter. And we did.
* * * * *
…which in retrospect might not have been a great idea. Because Jazz wasn’t playing, this was some quality kush. And I hadn’t smoked in about two months, so it hit me pretty hard.
Now, I should explain my hiatus. Weed has a very positive impact on my libido. For me, fucking and smoking go together like…like…sex and weed. I’d been abstaining from weed because I’d sworn off men (and women) since I got out of a toxic love triangle awhile back. And unfortunately I’m one of those girls who starts climbing the walls if she doesn’t get laid pretty often. And lately I’d been climbing more walls than Humpty Dumpty.
So…after two months without sex, I’d suddenly inhaled a lethal dose of my sexual kryptonite. Suffice it to say I was feeling insanely…
“…HORNY,” I shouted over the loud music, but the loud music had been switched off a second earlier. There was an instant of shocked silence, then some nervous tittering, a loud guffaw and a “you go girl” from nearby.
I was standing in my nearly non-existent lingerie with my back to the crowd. I felt my whole body blush, and I really didn’t want to turn around, but Jazz was staring…not at me, but something behind me. I took a peek over my shoulder…and there she was.
Melrose.
She had apparently just come in through the back door and was heading toward the dressing room that had been commandeered on her behalf, a path that passed through the point where she was now standing: about 15 feet away from me. She was surrounded a small entourage of professional beauties, each a goddess in her own right, but they looked ordinary compared to The Diva Herself. She was so gorgeous, so sexy, she almost seemed to make my eyes sizzle in their sockets.
Elegantly tall; skin-tight jeans with tantalizing rips, little ankle boots that probably cost more than my car, and legs that seemed impossibly long and perfect.
Sinfully curvy; wondrously firm, braless breasts that shimmied seductively inside a tight white tank top, highlighting a tiny waist and hard abs flowing into deliciously wide hips and, as I would learn a moment later when she turned and walked away, a gorgeously thick ass.
Dangerously beautiful; huge, green, kitty cat eyes, silky milk chocolate skin, naughty blowjob lips curled into a predatory smile; impeccable medium-length bleach-blond dreadlocks that would swirl sensually around her bare shoulders when she was in motion…
…but those dreads weren’t swirling now, though because she had stopped dead in her tracks, motionless yet coiled with the energy of a cobra ready to strike.
And she had me in her sights.
“Mmm…hold that thought, Miss Desiree,” she purred. Her tone was deeper and richer than I had expected…not quite masculine, but lower than her singing range. That intoxicating voice vibrated deep inside me, mixing with the weed and my desperate horniness and the overwhelming sensuality of the The Diva Herself. Blended together, these ingredients formed a sweet slippery liquid that sloshed warmly inside me but was starting leak out into my tiny panties.
Melrose laughed, then the dreads were swirling again as she and her giggling posse strolled into the dressing room – OUR dressing room – like she owned it.
And all I could think about was how badly I wanted to follow her in there, tear off what little clothing we were collectively wearing, and bury my face between those long legs until one of us passed out.
“Holy fucking shit,” said Jazz, who knew me well enough to understand precisely what was going on inside me. “I want a front row seat for this.”
* * * * *
I anadolu yakası escort waited, stewing in my own juices, while she to took her sweet-ass time getting ready for the shoot. One by one, the girls from her entourage came out, dressed to kill in sexy clubwear, mingling with my scantily clad co-workers while photographers hovered nearby to get candid shots.
Meanwhile, an androgynous assistant stylist was dispatched to fuss over me. She stripped off my undies and stepped me out of my heels, leaving me naked and barefoot in front of the increasingly boisterous crowd. She tut-tutted over my wetness, and rather rudely rubbed a towel between my legs. Another assistant used a large, soft cosmetic brush to apply a whisper-thin layer of dust and glitter all over my body; I moaned involuntarily when the soft bristles caressed my achingly hard nipples. I felt like I was being prepared as a sacrifice in some kind of pagan ritual (but if they were looking for a virgin, they had the wrong girl).
The stylists had me try on different panties while Steve and the head photographer looked on. They talked about the lighting and which colors might work best on me. I had just slipped on a nude G-string (not my favorite color, because it really shows off your wetness), when I sensed a presence behind me.
“That one,” she said. “And we won’t be needing the bra.”
The room fell silent as I turned to face her. She was almost close enough to kiss, towering over me in black stilettos. She looked unbearably sexy in a red micro-mini skirt and a sleeveless black tube top that looked like it was painted onto her breasts.
“Hey, beautiful,” she said, making me shiver as she reached out to caress my cheek. “You’re even prettier than your pictures.”
“Pictures?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“The ones Steve sent,” she said. “The naked ones.” She leaned forward and down, and I could feel her breath on my skin.
“I masturbated with them,” she whispered.
“Oh!” I gasped. My pussy clenched and un-clenched, and I could feel myself starting to soak through the panties that had been fresh and clean just seconds earlier.
She strolled over to a chair that had been brought in especially for her. It was big and comfortable, with plenty of room to play. It didn’t look like anything else we had in the club, but it didn’t look out of place either. The lights were lowered to a romantic level that was still quite a bit brighter than the freaky-dark you would normally find in strip clubs during working hours. The DJ spun a tune at half-volume so we’d be able to hear the photographer’s instructions. The tune was slow, sultry, sexy. One of Melrose’s, of course.
I started to move toward her, swaying with exaggerated hip and shoulder movements. She stared at my bare breasts as they swayed and bounced. My anxieties and fears melted away as I shifted into stripper mood, spinning a web of seduction with my body and my attitude. She was in my world now.
I moved in close and leaned over her, stopping myself from making contact by extending my arms and putting my hands on the chair behind her head. My boobs were tantalizingly close to her mouth, and I gave her a little shimmy. She reached up to touch them, and I let her cop a quick feel before I playfully slapped her hands away and retreated. I stayed out of reach for a moment, moving my hips to the music and showing her the magical things my body could do.
I moved in again, this time touching a nipple to her lips. Her tongue came out and caressed me, and she tried to get her hands on my ass. Once again, I pushed her away and retreated. I could hear the photographer trying to give me instructions, but I ignored him. I moved in a third time, this time spinning at the last second, bending at the waist and shaking my ass in her face. Her hand went between my legs and she stroked my panties, feeling my wetness. I let her play for a moment, then moved away. When I turned back to face her, she brought her fingers to her sexy lips and tasted me.
That was when I decided I was going to make her cum for me.
I moved toward her again. She smiled, expecting another tease and enjoying the game. But the game was over. I came in hard this time, using my legs to spread her thighs and shoving my knee up her skirt until it made contact. I straddled one of her legs and ground my soaked panties against her bare thigh. I shoved her hard into the cushioned back of the chair, then lifted her tube top to expose her exquisite breasts to the cameras and the crowd. But they only got a flash, because I pressed my boobs into hers, feeling a dizzying thrill as our hard nipples came into contact. I sucked her neck, bit her ear, and then brought my lips onto hers on a violent kiss. My tongue forced its way in and she yielded, opening wide and letting me explore.
This was pure shock and awe. She was reeling, stumbling backwards, unable to rally against my assault. I never did let her regain her footing, I just kept forcing her back, back, toward a limitless abyss of ecstasy. Within seconds, she was at the edge and beyond; her body trembled, and stiffened, her legs tightened around me and her long fingernails raked my back. I looked into her eyes and watched them roll back until only the ghostly white was visible. Her entire body spasmed once, twice, three times. She screamed into my mouth where only I could hear.