One night at the club, as the staff were in the midst of their transition from the relatively chaste day shift to the more adventurous “bonus” girls, Bunny came to find Reagan.
Reagan could tell at once that something was unusual. Bunny seemed awkward and nervous.
“What’s up?” asked Reagan, as she mixed a cocktail to bring to a gentleman near the stage.
“There’s a… personal bonus for you,” said Bunny, biting her lip. “For Kisses.”
“What do you mean, personal?” asked Reagan. “People ask for me by name all the time.”
“No, not personal to you,” said Bunny. “To the requester.” She sighed. “You know how normally the requester is anonymous, and you’re kind of performing for the entire room?”
“Yes,” said Reagan.
“Well, this one’s not,” said Bunny. “It’s a regular. Mr Helms. You know him?”
Reagan nodded. Mr Helms sat alone every night by the fireplace, and always ordered bourbon, and drank two glasses, never more, never less. “What does he want?” she asked.
“He wants you to give him a blowjob,” said Bunny. “He’s offering a thousand dollars.”
Reagan stopped, shocked. She had done so many slutty things at the club, but…
“We don’t encourage these requests,” said Bunny. “Because it’s prostitution. We could get into trouble. But sometimes if it’s a long-time guest who we know well, and the girl agrees, we let it happen. Technically what happens is you propose the sex act to the guest, as if it’s your idea, and then for theoretically unrelated reasons he makes a donation to the club, which will end up in your pocket.”
It was a lot of money. And it wasn’t even sex, really. It was just a blowjob. And Mr Helms was old – in his late 50s, she thought – but he wasn’t *ugly*, or otherwise objectionable.
She should do it.
She looked across the room. Mr Riggs was here, in his usual seat, currently engaged in conversation with another man that Reagan didn’t recognise. She couldn’t help but wonder what Mr Riggs would think about it, if she did the blowjob. Would he approve? Would he want to watch? Or would he be disappointed? Would he wish that she’d saved her first act of real prostitution for *him*?
She didn’t know.
She thought about the idea that it might disappoint him, somehow.
“No,” she said, in a quiet voice. “I’ll pass on it. No insult to Mr Helms, but… it doesn’t feel right. Yet.”
Bunny nodded, and put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s just fine, sweety. You know you never have to do anything here that you don’t want to do. Shall I spread it around to the regulars that personal requests are off the table for you?”
Reagan couldn’t help but look at Mr Riggs again, and blush.
“No,” she said. “It’s okay to ask, as long as it’s okay for me to say no. And if it’s the right offer… I might say yes.”
Bunny gave a wicked smile, and Reagan knew that she had been transparent. Bunny knew exactly who might be able to make such an offer.
“I understand,” Bunny said.
Reagan continued her classes in dance and seduction. She felt confident in both now, and they were more fun now that Alexia came to both classes with her.
Most nights after class the girls would go to the same house, and fuck, and sleep together. Reagan didn’t quite know what their relationship was. Were they girlfriends? Just friends? Fuck buddies? But she knew she liked Alexia, and enjoyed her company, and loved the taste of her mouth and the taste of her cunt and the feeling of Alexia sucking at her nipples and flicking her clitoris with her tongue.
To her surprise, she discovered that Alexia was also aroused by Reagan’s fantasy of performing their lesbian sex acts for the entertainment of a man, and there was some discussion of how they could make that happen.
Thinking of what had happened with the video of Regan fucking Bunny, Reagan suggested Alexia’s boyfriend, who Reagan had still not met. But Alexia demurred, without explanation, and Reagan could not provoke her to be more forthcoming on the subject, so the idea was shelved for the time being.
But Reagan made another unrelated discovery with Alexia during that week. It was as they were leaving the pole dance class and heading through the car park. Alexia had slipped her hand into Regan’s, so that they were holding hands as they walked.
A rough-looking man in jeans and a tight T-shirt was walking in the other direction, and as he saw them, he very deliberately looked up and down their entire bodies, his gaze lingering on their groins, their chests – and their entwined hands.
And Reagan suddenly realised that he thought they were lesbians.
Her first thought was that it was silly. She wasn’t a lesbian. She liked men. She was a straight girl, who just happened to fuck girls sometimes.
Except she had fucked two girls, both of them on more than one occasion. And, technically speaking, she had never actually fucked a man at all. So, at least on the actual evidence, wasn’t she at least a little bit lesbian?
The thought shook her. She knew that the word she was actually looking for was “bisexual” – but she had simply never thought of herself as anything but a straight girl who played with girls, and the idea that she may have her entire identity wrong was unsettling.
And then there was something else. She realised that this man, as he stared at Reagan and Alexia, was picturing them fucking. Right now, in the man’s imagination, Reagan and Alexia were naked, writhing, tongue-kissing, scissoring, licking each other’s pussies. And there was nothing Reagan could do about it.
And finally, as he passed them, the man spat, “Dyke sluts.” But he was smiling. It was such a mixture of complete contempt for them, plus approval of them as… what? Sexual objects who couldn’t help but lez off for men’s enjoyment.
Her cunt was immediately so wet, her nipples so hard, that she almost stopped breathing. She would have tripped, if Alexia hadn’t been holding her hand.
She wanted to write “dyke sluts” in her approval book. She wanted to undress and masturbate. She wanted to run after the man and beg him to fuck them both.
She settled for stripping Alexia completely nude in the back seat of her car, right there in the parking lot, and then undressing herself, not caring that anyone walking past would see them through the window, and she didn’t put her clothes back on until she’d licked Alexia to orgasm and had Alexia fingerfuck her pussy so hard that she screamed when she orgasmed.
It took far longer for Reagan to receive another request to dance naked than she would have liked, and when it came the “bonus” was far smaller than when she had first been asked – only $450 now. She supposed she was lucky to be requested at all, after the disaster of her first attempt at dancing.
She immediately told Bunny she would take the bonus. She was keen to show off her new dancing and stripping skills – to Bunny, to the club members… and particularly to Mr Riggs.
She was scheduled to perform almost immediately after the “babies” went home that night. She queued up the pop hit “Sistersluts” on the sound system, and made her way out on stage.
She was blushing – she blushed a lot – but where once it had been the blush of insecurity and embarrassment, now it was a blush of excitement.
(Not that she wasn’t a little embarrassed – she would be dancing nude like a slut, after all – but the embarrassment was, itself, exciting.)
There were lights on the stage, shining directly at her, and it made it hard to see the audience watching her. She blinked as she stared out into the crowd of dark male-shaped figures watching her.
“Hi, everyone,” she said. “My name’s Kisses, and I’m going to dance for you tonight. Last time I did this it was a little… awkward. But I’ve been practicing, and I hope you like what you see.”
There was some applause and some cheers. Reagan bit her lip and blushed deeper. She was trying to pick out Mr Riggs in the crowd, but as she looked towards his usual chair, she could see nothing. Was he there? Was he watching her?
The song started, and Reagan began to dance to the music. Where before she had been uncomfortable, and unsure what to do now, now she was confident and prepared. She had practiced to this specific song, and felt herself flow into her prepared routine instinctively and automatically.
By the end of the first verse she had stripped down to a bra and panties, to the cheers of the crowd. The audience liked what they saw, and had no trouble expressing their enthusiasm.
“She’s certainly improved,” she heard one club member say, loud enough to be heard over the music. “Someone’s been giving her whore training.”
By the second verse, she had removed her bra to expose her tits, and she cupped and jiggled them for the audience as the audio track sang its slutty lyrics (“If you hurt my tits it’s fun / you can cover them with cum”).
She was still looking for Mr Riggs in the crowd – but was beginning to feel a sense of unease. She was fairly certain his customary chair was empty. Was he not here? Was he not watching? Did he not want to see the benefits of the training he had arranged for her.
With the next verse, her panties came off, sliding down her legs to collect around her ankles. They were actually fairly cheap ones, so she kicked them into the crowd, for some lucky man to keep – and now she was completely nude, dancing on stage, her cunt and tits on display.
The crowd was definitely entranced now. The feeling of attention – of objectification – of sexual approval – was intoxicating, and Reagan realised that she was becoming aroused. Her nipples were hardening, and her pussy was wettening. All these men thought she was being a good girl – a good fucktoy. They all wanted to fuck her – to rape her – to make her their sex slave.
The audio track sang “You need to stick your cock in me”, and the move Reagan had practiced for this was simply a thrust of her hips and a wiggle of her butt – but now, in the glare of the spotlights, under the focus of so many male eyes, she decided to go a step further, and instead stopped, legs spread… and used her fingers to spread her pussy lips open for the audience.
The men went wild. “What a fucking amazing cunt!” she heard someone laugh. “She’s becoming a complete fucktoy!” said another. There were cheers and claps.
And in that moment, the lights aimed at the stage wobbled slightly, and Reagan got her first clear glimpse of where Mr Riggs usually sat.
He wasn’t there. The chair was empty.
He wasn’t watching.
She felt her heart plummet, and a sick feeling start in her stomach, and she realised that she didn’t care about the other men watching her, or their lust, or their approval. The man she really wanted to please was Mr Riggs, and if he couldn’t see her dancing for him like a slut, then nothing else mattered.
She faltered, and missed her next dance step. She was still just standing there with her pussy lips spread.
The applause trickled off, becoming uncertain.
She lowered her gaze towards the ground. She wanted to cry. She had fucked it up again – and Mr Rigs didn’t even care.
And then, in lowering her gaze… she found him. He was right there, at the front of the stage. He wasn’t in his seat because he had come forward, to the front seats, to get a better view. He was staring straight up at her wet, engorged, lewdly splayed cunt, and he was smiling.
She gasped with pure delight.
And as she met his eyes for the first time in her routine, he silently mouthed two words to her.
And that was all Reagan needed. She pivoted smoothly back into her routine, twirling around, wiggling her naked ass at the audience, bouncing, and skipping and swaying. She blew kisses as the song sang, “I just kiss girls to make you hard”, and gasped and bucked her hips as it sang, “I want you to force me / just like you should now”.
When it came to the Fuckpet verse – nothing but a repeated line of sexy “meow” sounds – she even did the cute cat-paws hand motion in front of her tits.
And when it was finally over, and she was breathing heavily, Mr Riggs was still smiling, about as much as it was possible for a man to smile, and while she couldn’t see his groin beneath the table she was sitting at, she was somehow sure that he was rock-hard, just for her.
She walked off stage in a haze of euphoria, feeling good to have danced, feeling good to have been a sex-doll for the men of the club, and mostly feeling good about pleasing Mr Riggs.
Bunny met her as soon as she walked into the staff areas, and congratulated her with a passionate tongue-kiss. Reagan moaned, and wished that she could get Bunny to lick her pussy right then and there.
But Bunny had something even better.
“You were amazing,” she said, “and a bunch of bonuses went in the box for you right away. The men like you.”
“They like me?” asked Reagan happily, floating in a haze of pleasure.
“They *love* you,” affirmed Bunny. “But I think there’s something you’ll like even better. There’s a personal request. For tomorrow night.”
“Is it…” Reagan began.
“Yes, it is,” said Bunny, grinning. “From your special someone. A personal request, just for you, to specifically please Mr Riggs. Tomorrow.”
She went home with Bunny, and Bunny did indeed lick her pussy for most of the night, and Reagan filmed it all. She wondered if Mr Riggs was watching through her phone, and the thought of it left her unable to calm down from her sexual arousal. She knew also that she would give the footage to Bunny, to show to Bunny’s boyfriend, and that made her horny as well.
But mostly the thoughts that kept her cumming and cumming from Bunny’s tongue was imagining what Mr Riggs wanted her to do. Because Bunny had refused to tell her the specifics of the request, enjoying Reagan’s frustrated demands to know.
“You’re going to do it, right?” she had asked Reagan. “No matter what it is? Like, there’s no circumstance in which you’re going to say no to this.”
“No,” Reagan had admitted, blushing.
“Then you can find out tomorrow,” said Bunny, laughing. And then she had kissed Reagan, and there had been no more debate.
She would find out, tomorrow.
And whatever it was, she would do it.
Want to know more about the song Reagan dances to in this chapter? You can get the full story in Pop World – Sisterhood and Other Stories, available for $3.99 USD at my creator site! (Click here to view in store.)