Their Submissive Assistant

LEILANI “This is for you, mother,” I said in my heart, holding on to a necklace that belonged to her. I stood in front of a mirror, staring at my reflection. The dressing room was not as packed as it used to be, as the other girls were out on stage, performing for the lustful men who paid money to have us hang up a pole and fan their lustful desires to flame. You must have guessed it. I am a stripper. My name is Leilani Roberts. I hated my job, but I loved the money it afforded me. With a truckload of student debt, and hospital bills piling up in the hospital, I couldn’t afford to remain jobless. “Lana! You’re up in ten minutes!” a voice said from the hallways, and I took a deep breath. Lana was my alibi. It was only a means to get money, I told myself for the billionth time as I wore my strapped heels, elevating my height and accentuating my long slender legs. I was dressed in a red bikini that left little to the imagination. While I went job hunting during the day, this was my life every night. I picked up the red mask that came with today’s outfit. One thing I loved about the Lustrous club is the anonymity that came with my job. We got to choose an alias, and even performed with a mask on, which gave me a shred of dignity outside the four walls of the club. Unlike the other strip clubs which made us perform with our faces in the open, and paid even less every night, Lustrous was a lot more generous and raked in high-paying customers every single night. The added benefit of a room, which was given to every Lustrous girl, sweetened the deal. With my mother in a coma for five years, and the mountain of student debt attached to my name, I needed every penny I could get. Which was why I chose to live at Lustrous. It gave me a roof over my head, and more money to put to the things that actually mattered. Jasmine stepped into the dressing room with sweat on her body and glitter in her hair. I smiled as I watched her pull her mask off with a frown on her face. “Darn, those men were handsy today,” she said with a disgusted look on her face. “Be safe out there, girl. They drunk as fuck.” I smiled at Jasmine’s remark, which, if I was being honest, was her everyday remark in this business. Jasmine was like an older sister to me. I met her on my first night here a few months ago, while I was fresh out of college and looking for a job to sustain myself and keep my mother breathing. She was five years older than me, and she was the only person I knew that genuinely hated this job. Over time, I found that she was funding her brother through medical school, as well as trying to build a hair business that was her ticket out of this life. She was orphaned at the age of five and went through a lot of foster homes until she finally turned legal and started working to build a life for herself and her brother. Jasmine didn’t live in Lustrous, but she was here to work every night. Her large hips and succulent caramel skin were enough to make any man in their right senses drop dead. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Jasmine transformed into a whole new persona when on stage, making men thirst for her. I learned a few of my tricks from her too. She was literally a big sister to me. “I will,” I said, walking out of the room just in time for my act. “Go out there and dazzle, girl,” one of the other girls said. “The big fishes are in the house tonight.” I nodded at her words as I prepared my mind for my act. Soon enough, I was ushered onto the stage with a single pole standing in the middle of the stage. Hollers reached the air as soon as I stepped on the stage and the team killed the lights. I put on a sultry smile as I walked to the pole, showing off my long, straight legs. The music began and I started my job. I held on to the stripping pole, raising one of my legs as I danced around the pole, twirling myself in a slow, seductive dance. “What the f**k!” a voice said from the crowd, but I didn’t let it deter me. I continued my act, slowly but surely, showing off my body just enough to leave the men throwing in the cash and thirsty for some action. I rolled on to my second act. This time around, I held on to the pole and raised both my legs in perfect symmetry. Loud howls filled the air when an idea struck me. I was wearing translucent red g-string panties, which showed off my perfect bum as I raised my legs, a flimsy covering on my v****a. I let down one of my legs so slowly, I felt the little covering slide to the side, giving them a show of a part of my p***y. As expected, the cheers exploded off the roof, and more money flooded the stage. “Take all my money!” a man hollered from the crowd as I continued my act. “I want a night with you, girl.” “I bet you’ll let me f**k that dirty p***y for a thousand grand!” More derogatory words poured in, but I didn’t mind. I’d gotten accustomed to having drunk, horny men say a lot of corny things on stage. It was part of the job. However, I never indulged in sessions outside my stage performance. Here at Lustrous, there was a strict no-touch policy, as well as grand fines for anyone who was caught in the act of harassment. There was also provision for private sessions which were chaperoned and a choice for us girls. I never took private sessions, no matter the money involved. Which was why I went all out on stage to gather as much money as I could get every night. I continued my show, approaching my last act when a man got on stage. The bouncers did their job perfectly, letting me focus on the split I intended to end the night. When I landed safely on the floor, splitting just between the pole, the cheers increased, as well as the cash. I got up from the floor, walking out of the stage when someone approached me and grabbed me by the arm. I stiffened at the sudden act, trying to get out of his hold, but he held me firmer. “Let me f**k you,” he gritted, dragging me by the waist so I felt his hard-on. “I’ll give you money, bitch.” “I don’t accept private sessions,” I said in the most professional tone I could muster, squirming away from him. “Please let me go.” My pleas fell on deaf ears, and he held me tighter, rubbing his hard-on over my legs. I felt all shades of violated as I tried to push him away. “You ungrateful b***h,” he spat when I struggled against him. “I’ve watched you three nights in a row and gave you my hard-earned money.” “Now you have to compensate.” The drunken man, who had a familiar look, pushed me to a dark hallway and pushed me against the wall. Before I could utter a word, he ripped apart my panties, causing a painful scream to leave my lips as he shoved two fingers between my legs. Violated and driven with anger, I pushed him with all my strength, found a nearby flower pot, and shattered it on his head. The man fell to his back, holding his head with a ferocious look on his face. “How dare you?!” he roared, and thankfully, security gathered. I tried to cover the little shred of dignity I had left with my face out in the open. “Darn it!” the man swore upon sighting his bleeding head. “She f*****g hit me with a pot! I will sue this club for all it’s worth!” he threatened, breathing fire and brimstone. “I want to see the manager!” The situation escalated and, thankfully, Jasmine came out and handed me a scarf to cover my shame. “He followed me down stage and tried to rape me,” I coughed up, explaining to Jasmine. “You don’t know who I am. I will have this place closed down by dawn,” he threatened. Soon enough, our manager showed up. “What is going on here?”