The Cat O'Nine Tales: learning to love

“But I’m off stage tonight!” “Well now you’re not, so take off that apron and get to it!”             Maxx gripped the tray of drinks she was currently balancing and pursed her lips stubbornly. “You promised that I wouldn’t have to do any VIPs.” The manager swiped the unlit cigarette from between her lips and fixed the waitress with unsympathetic eyes.             “I hired you on, to wait tables AND to perform. And part of those duties include private requests and anything I damn well tell you to do. Trixie has strep. Therefore she cannot physically be around gentleman of importance. Therefore, I’m telling you to go in there instead and entertain those men. THEREFORE you will do as you’re told! Or do you even want this job?!” Maxx could hear the threatening tone in the woman’s voice and knew she wouldn’t bat an eyelash if she had to fire her. Brinda was known to be a cold-hearted b***h when she wanted. God only knew there was a stack of applications waiting on her desk; and that each applicant would probably be more willing than the next take her job. The strip club she worked at was called The p***y Cat O’nine Tales; a play on words after the famous whip used in the royal navy. The whip was made up of nine leather knotted straps, referred to as cat tails, and were designed to lacerate skin. It was meant for punishment, and like the cat o’nine tails, there were nine performing girls, each with a back story spun to fulfill any man’s fantasy. Maxx had managed to secure a job as one of the nine p*****s.   She bit her lip and sighed. The job paid too well for her to lose it, and she needed the money to pay for school, so it would be stupid to refuse her manager. “Fine. I’ll go.” She set the tray down and untied her frilly white apron. She was currently dressed like a slutty French maid, with fishnets and stilettos to complete the look. “That’s a good girl,” Brinda cooed, appeased for the moment and clearly drunk on power. Most girls that came walking through the doors looking for a job practically begged for the opportunity to become one of the nine p*****s—which is what Brinda referred to the girls as instead of strippers. Stripper was a harsh word that lacked sophistication and wouldn’t attract the right clientele, she’d explained when offering the job to Maxx. Of course in this case, the right clientele was insanely rich men looking for some fantasy that their poor wives or girlfriends couldn’t or wouldn’t give them. Brinda didn’t care, as long as they could pay the $200 cover charge at the door each night and tipped the staff generously. Each of the p*****s made quite a bit in tips every show and Brinda got 10% from each girl’s nightly total. But even after that percentage was subtracted, Maxx usually left work with a small fortune; and for that reason, she did everything in her power to keep the job. “I’ll go change. Ask Beth to cover the floor,” Maxx said and with a triumphant nod from Brinda, went back stage to the dressing rooms. “God Maxx, I’m sooo jealous of you right now!” One of the girls, Mimi, whined when she got to the dressing room they all shared. Cherry and Lola were sprawled across the couches in various stages of undress, smirking up at her as she entered the room. “Yeah, well if I had an ass like Maxxy, I’d be jealous of me too!” Lola joked. There was a round of giggles and Mimi turned around and bent over before flipping up her skirt to reveal crotchless panties and clenched her cooch. “Oh get your virgin v****a out of here!” Cherry teased and made a huge show of snapping her thong string playfully. Mimi of course wasn’t actually a virgin. But as the youngest p***y, at 19 years old, her fantasy for the clients involved a blushing virgin gone bad. Maxx shrugged nonchalantly and made her way over to one of the clothes racks the girls hung their outfits on. She rifled through them until she found the one she wanted and stepped out of the maid costume. “I honestly don’t even know why,” Maxx insisted, purposefully ignoring their inappropriate displays. In this line of work, one could become desensitized to things like that after a while, and exposed v****a wasn’t an exception. “I wish Brinda would have asked me to work VIPs tonight,” Mimi explained. “Did you see the group of men that walked in?” her eyes looked round and innocent even behind the layers of makeup and false lashes. “Nope!” “Not even one?” “Nada.” Maxx slipped into a silky red gown that had slits running up each side to her hips and was held closed in the front by a series of cross laces ending at her v****a. There was something about the ties that men seemed to like when it came to watching the girls take their clothes off. “It was supposed to be my day off stage and I was just working the floor today, but Brinda has other ideas. So now I’m Trixie tonight.” “Sooo jealous!” Mimi repeated. Maxx shook her head. The way this girl was acting was like she had dreamed of becoming a stripper her whole life. But for Maxx, it was simply just a means to get an education. She pulled a Cleopatra style black wig on over her hair, securing it with pins and added red lipstick to her look in the exact shade of the dress before giving herself a thorough once over. “Hmm…boots or heels?” she prodded holding up a pair of black knee-highs and her classic stripper pumps. Cherry removed the sucker from her mouth and grinned, “Girl with that dress, definitely the boots.” Murmurs of agreement chorused around the room. There was a knock at the door before one of the stage hands stuck his head through and scanned the room. “Cherry Poppins, you’re on next,” he told her and she got up to leave. “And uh, Maxx, Brinda says to ‘hurry your ass up or she’s taking 50% out tonight.’” Maxx gasped and rushed after them. Ten percent was one thing, but fifty? No way. “Thanks Peter,” she called over her shoulder as she made her way over to the VIP area.   The VIP lounge was a smaller room off the main stage area that men could rent out for private shows and lap dances or whatever else they paid for. Trixie was known for dabbling in b**m, so Maxx wasn’t sure what to expect when she entered the lounge.             Brinda appeared at her side as Maxx took a deep breath to compose herself. And then the door opened and she was greeted with the sight of four incredibly well-dressed, and undoubtedly wealthy men playing poker. They were a lot younger than she had expected, ranging from 24-34 years old. A few months at this job and she’d gotten pretty good at gaging her clients—ages included. The door swung shut with a thud and Maxx turned to inspect the room. There were several poles positioned between lounge chairs around the room, and Maxx noticed a tray of frothy beers sitting on the side table. With little instruction, coupled with the fact that she’d never entertained in the VIP lounge before, she had no idea how to start. All she knew, was that if she blew it, Brinda wouldn’t hesitate to give her the boot.             Maxx straightened her shoulders and sashayed over to the tray of drinks. “Gentleman,” she cooed, taking Brinda’s lead, “why don’t you enjoy the refreshments.” Just stick to your act, she reminded herself. Just be attentive. Sensual. Tempting! Maxx picked up the tray, and made her way around the ring of men, waitress-style. One of the men obliged, and immediately accepted his beer. “I’d rather just enjoy a tall glass of you,” he said, winking at her over the rim of his glass. Maxx laughed playfully as if it were the sexiest thing he could have said and turned to the next man—a handsome blonde with a neatly trimmed beard and amber eyes.               “Do you want to taste?” She whispered, and he responded with a nod. Maxx dipped a finger into one of the glasses before tracing it across his bottom lip, dragging it down ever so slightly. His tongue flicked out to lick the trail of foam she’d left behind, capturing the tip of her finger as he went.             “Well save some for the rest of us!” His friends called out, pounding him on the back and accepting beers of their own.             “Sorry I’m late!” A female voice caused them to whip their heads around and Maxx was greeted with the sight of another p***y cat performer, Sapphire. She slipped inside. Oh thank goodness! She thought. Maybe Brinda found another girl to take over.             “They’re all yours,” she said moving to leave the room. The older girl shook her head and came between Maxx and her route of escape.             “I’m here to help, not takeover,” she whispered. “Brinda says you have a special client to attend to.” Sapphire added and then sashayed across the room to the men. Maxx watched in awe as she captured their attention immediately, an erotic vision in sapphire-blue bandage lingerie and heels.             “Well you’re not Trixie,” a voice said, drawing Maxx’s attention from the display.             “Trixie has strep,” she answered automatically, thankful that she hadn’t jumped at the fifth male’s sudden presence. She hadn’t even heard him come in. Unless…             Maxx peered through the dim lighting into one of the darker corners of the room. Sure enough, she could make out the figure of a man sitting in the middle of a long couch. He had been there the entire time. Maxx noted the expensive looking business suit paired with his equally expensive shoes, and instantly knew he was the special VIP Sapphire had been referring to. The inky-blackness of his hair was lost in the darkness, but she could see as he brought a glass of scotch to his lips and took a small sip.             Dark eyes seared into her skin, each one seeming to leave a trail of burn marks across her exposed flesh. She felt herself grow hot and knew that her cheeks were probably the same shade as the dress she wore. It had been so long since a simple look from a man had made her blush and she shifted apprehensively in her boots. “Strep?” He repeated.  She nodded. “Well that’s very unfortunate…” the fifth man was saying, “…for Trixie.” He clarified, so as not to offend her. Gaining some confidence, Maxx took that as an invitation and made her way over to the pole that was directly across from where he was seated.             Leaning her back against it with her arms above her head, she posed in such a way that when she slid down the pole, her long legs were exposed through the slits in the dress.             “Got any green?” She asked brazenly, her eyes unwavering. The dark haired man blinked, losing his composure for a split second before recovering and pulling a $50 bill from his inner chest pocket and throwing it at her feet. A grin appeared to tug at his lips, but never fully crossed them. Okay, so how about if I…? Maxx slid back up slowly and gripped the pole with both hands before arching her body around it in practiced motions. Each position shifting in time with the music playing in the background as she danced.              There’s the smile, she thought. And sure enough, a small grin spread across his lips until both corners of his mouth tilted up and he was devouring her every movement with a hungry gaze. Good!             Over on the other side of the lounge, Sapphire was laying across the table, while the four men took turns seeing how high they could stack poker chips on various plains of her body; her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. Sapphire’s gimmick involved a lot of drinking games. She had the uncanny ability to hold the attention of multiple men at a time, without making one or the other feel left out. If Maxx were a client looking for a good time, she would undoubtedly be one of Sapphire’s regulars. Her clients laughed and drank, and every once in a while, one of them would tuck a few bills into the straps of her lingerie.             Maxx worked the pole for a few more minutes before the man pulled another bill from his pocket and waved it slightly. She could see that this time, it was a $100 bill; but instead of throwing it at her feet like he’d done previously, he laid it on top of his thigh and left it there. He didn’t say a word. And he didn’t need to. She knew exactly what he wanted, but was slightly apprehensive about leaving the pole. Giving lap dances wasn’t something she usually did. Her thing was to be a temptress. Men could look, but not touch. Normally, she would have her clients drooling over her erotic displays and talent on the pole. However, tonight she wasn’t just Temptation. She was covering for Trixie. So that meant that anything the man wanted, she would give him. Even if it meant leaving her comfort zone, and breaking the physical boundary her façade allowed her.             Taking her hesitation for insult, the man laid two more bills, identical to the first, on his leg and then crossed his arms over his chest. Apparently he was drawing the line at $300. Swallowing hard, Maxx unwound herself from the pole and continued to dance—every movement sensual and purposeful as she approached his chair. The closer she got, the more the tension between them crackled like electricity. It was a pretty rare occasion for Maxx to be drawn to one of the clients and the feeling rattled her slightly, but she ignored it. It’s probably this damn lighting! She told herself once she stood directly in front of him. Maxx paused and fixed the man with a hooded gaze before reaching up to pull on the laces at the top of her dress. From this distance, she could finally make out the color of his eyes, or the lack thereof. They were a stormy grey color that boasted of good genetics and a swoon from every girl that beheld them. “Wait.” He said suddenly, halting her in her tracks. Maxx froze.