Cassandra the Virgin Stripper

Chapter 2 - Alessandro's point of view

Alessandro sat in the passenger seat of the Mercedes G-Class as Kevin threaded it through the Manila traffic. Jeepneys clogged Pedro Gil like metallic cattle; neon lights reflected off puddles left from the late evening rain. The city always felt half-alive, half-decayed—yet somehow seductive.

He wouldn’t have been here if Kevin hadn’t gotten under his skin for days.

“Alessandro, you have to see her. Cassie—bro, she’s unreal. A goddess. Perfect curves. Seductive as hell. And this whole mysterious mask thing? The club forbids guests from even talking to her. Total forbidden-fruit energy.”

Kevin’s voice had looped in Alessandro’s mind like a scratched vinyl.

“Hey.” Kevin snapped his fingers.

“Earth to Alessandro.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been quiet the whole ride.

Thinking about her already?” Kevin grinned.

“What? No.” Alessandro scoffed, a beat too late.

“I’m thinking about how you drive like a maniac.”

Kevin laughed, loud and unbothered.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

Traffic thickened as they reached Malate—too many vehicles for streets this narrow, especially for a bulky G-Wagen. Eventually, Kevin nudged the car onto a curb outside the Blue Angel club and handed the keys to a doorman who looked both grateful and exhausted.

Outside the entrance, drunks loitered with half-finished cocktails, laughing and swaying. A girl in a tight black dress gave Alessandro a once-over, lips curling.

“Hi, handsome,” she purred.

He gave her a polite nod. The armed guards barely frisked them before waving them through.

“Security theatre,” Alessandro thought. Manila excelled at gestures—less so at substance. When storms or disasters hit, people were left exposed.

Inside, the humidity and cigarette haze clung to the velvet walls. A woman in her mid-40s, glamorous in that hard-lived, nightclub-owner way, materialised in front of them.

“Kevin, sweetheart!” she chimed, then turned to Alessandro with a mock gasp.

“Mr. Larrazabal. What an honor.”

He shook her hand.

“Just Alessandro is fine.”

“Oh, call me Mamu,” she insisted, giggling like a schoolgirl. She led them to a table close to the stage.

Alessandro surveyed the room—dim lights, polished chrome, a stage small enough to feel intimate. The air buzzed with anticipation. Cassie would be on soon. Maybe Kevin wasn’t exaggerating.

The MC’s voice cracked over the speakers.

“Gentlemen… the moment you’ve been waiting for. The mystic girl—Cassie.”

Kevin nudged him. “Get ready, cuz.”

“Shut up,” Alessandro muttered, but his eyes were already fixed on the darkened stage.

Music swelled. A spotlight snapped on—and there she was. Cassie.

The black mask concealed half her face, making the other half hypnotic. Her long, inky hair shimmered blue under the lights. Her bare breasts lifted with every breath, smooth skin gleaming.

The room reacted collectively—a quiet intake of breath.

Alessandro felt something jolt through his chest.

She moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sensual without trying, each sway of her hips controlled, almost feline. Her lips—full, soft, almost too pink—looked like they were made to be kissed.

“Christ… what am I thinking?” Alessandro rubbed his jaw.

“She’s a stripper from God-knows-where. Snap out of it.”

But the truth? He’d never seen a woman dance like that.

Beauty wasn’t a matter of class; genetics didn’t give a damn about wealth. Sometimes the most breathtaking creatures came from the roughest places.

Cassie slid out of her top, slow as honey dripping, her body catching the light like polished glass. Her sheer panties clung to her hips; the rest of her was bare, vulnerable yet utterly in control.

Their eyes met—just for a second, but enough. A spark shot through him.

He downed a gulp of Barone Montalto. The red wine was rich, dark, promising things he shouldn’t imagine.

The speakers shifted into Marlene Dietrich’s “Falling in Love Again.” A clever, theatrical touch from the club. And damn it, maybe he was falling a little—into lust or something dangerously close to it.

Cassie’s movements grew more deliberate, teasing, regal—like a sultan’s favored concubine playing with the power she knew she held. She turned, fully naked now except for the mask, and Alessandro felt heat rush through him, his body betraying him.

“What did I tell you, huh?” Kevin murmured, smug.

Alessandro shot him a look and poured more wine.

After the number, Mamu reappeared at their table.

“Gentlemen, did you enjoy the show?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes,” Alessandro said.

“Very much. Actually… I wanted to ask if Cassie might join us at the table.”

Mamu’s smile softened with sympathy.

“Oh, darling. Cassie has an exclusive contract. She’s not allowed to mingle with guests.”

“Of course. I understand.” He nodded politely, though irritation twisted in his gut.

“But—” She leaned closer.

“We have many other lovely girls. Twenty of them. If you want, they can come to your table and and stand in a line. You can choose the one you want. They’ll make your night unforgettable.”

Alessandro waved the offer away.

“Thank you, Mamu, but no.”

He hesitated, then said, “Actually… could you bring me a pen and some paper?”

She obliged. Alessandro wrote quickly, his handwriting tighter than usual.

“Cassie, Your mystique is impossible to ignore. I hope to see you again.”

Alessandro

0916 143 *****

“Can you give this to her?” he asked.

Mamu smiled and slipped the note into her hand. “Of course, darling.”

She disappeared down a hallway, turning right and vanishing into the blue shadows of the club.

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