A Solution to Money Troubles? Ch. 01

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Desperate for cash as well as revenge a woman discovers she can fix both at once.

Special thanks to Xpoerotica for feedback and support.


As I turn off the ignition to my old car and stare through the rain-splattered windscreen at the unprepossessing door, I hesitate. Could I go through with this? It seems my stubbornness has painted me into a corner once again.

It started a little over a month ago, with an argument with my now ex-boyfriend, over his ogling of my kid sister. Not for the first time. On this occasion, it backfired and bit me on the arse. Forgetting it was his flat, and that he paid most of the rent, I leapt down his throat. However, he was the one to chew me up and spit me out. Literally throwing me right onto the street, and leaving me stuck looking for a new place to live.

I took the first place I could find, signing a six month lease, without checking if I could really afford it. The deposit and first month’s rent had wiped out my savings, and I hoped, if I economised, I could make it to the end of the lease when I was due a substantial pay rise.

However, with just two days before the next rent, I was still short. For the last two weeks, I’d wracked my brain for any idea how to make extra cash. My job requires me to study, so I had little free time for a part-time job. I had nothing of value to sell, except myself.

Hence, I’m sitting in an almost deserted car park behind a strip club, an hour’s drive from my hometown. Trying to build up my courage to go inside and take part in the monthly amateur night strip competition. First prize £500, which would be great, £250 as the second prize would be good, and the £100 for third would at least help.

After what feels like an hour, but in reality was probably more like five minutes, of prevarication, I remembered the last piece of straw that broke the camel’s back and pushed me here. I’d gone to my parents with my tail between my legs, prepared to beg for a hand out to tide me over. Instead, I found my sister there with my ex, telling my parents how they’d fallen in love and planned to live together. Under the circumstances, I held it together as well as I could, until my parents stuck up for her, yet again.

My sister was born the day before my seventh birthday and had been a pain in my arse ever since. Growing up she constantly took and ruined my stuff and if I complained, I was always told I had to share. That included sharing birthday parties; and then when I was a teenager the last thing I wanted was a gang of children running around screaming. I loved ballet and gymnastics, but when my lessons clashed with whatever she wanted to do, it was always her choice that won out. Things I was punished for, she got away with. It was so unfair! So when my parents insisted I had to go to university I leapt at the chance to be away from her.

Out from under her shadow, at last, I enjoyed it a lot. I left with good qualifications and a great boyfriend, or so I thought at the time. When my sister turned eighteen my parents tried to get me to reconnect with her, now that she was an adult. I wasn’t having it until they ganged up on my boyfriend and persuaded him to let my sister come and visit us once a month. My boyfriend couldn’t understand my reluctance and laughed it off.

Now when I look back, I can’t be sure she didn’t plan to steal my boyfriend from the outset, or that he chose to ignore my objections just so he could ogle her. Admittedly, she was hot. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, but bubbly with big old double ‘D’s while I hover around a double ‘B’.

I don’t remember exactly what I said to my parents, but it felt like years’ worth of resentment fell from my mouth. Everyone looked stunned as if it came as a shock that I felt this way. That made it worse, and I stormed out of the house. It would have been more impressive if I didn’t have to wait at the bus stop within sight of their home. When I saw a poster advertising the amateur strip night, I decided it would be the ultimate middle finger to my parents, my sister and my ex.

So here I am, running across the car park to the back of the club, only to stand shivering for several minutes waiting for someone to answer the bell. Suddenly a very intimidating shaven headed bouncer opens the door in my face.

“What do you want?”

“I’m here for the competition.” I blurt out and his pugnacious expression changes to a boyish smile. Checking his watch, he raises his eyebrows.

“For fuck’s sake luv. That doesn’t start for over two hours…”

“Sorry, the bus timing was crap. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” I slip past as he opens the door all the way and step into a dingy corridor. “I’m Mike by the way.” Closing the door and forcing home a bolt, he moves down the corridor and knocks on a door. “You decent in there?” He calls.

“Piss off Mike, there’s nothing in here you haven’t already seen.”

“But we have a guest.” He pushes open the door and I see a woman in her late fifties trying to hide her cigarette and ashtray. “You know trabzon escort the boss will have a fit if he knows you’re smoking in here?” She gives me a once over and decides I’m not a smoker’s narc and pulls the ashtray from the drawer with a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t worry I’ve handled the boss before.” She mimes a handjob and gives a chesty laugh ending with a smokers cough. “You a new performer?” She asks me.

“No, I’m just here for the competition tonight.” She looks me over with more care.

“You ever danced before?”

“Yes, well no, not like this.” She looks a little disappointed and shrugs before turning to Mike.

“OK, muscles. Fuck off!”

“Trish, where did you get such a filthy tongue!” He replies in mock shock and then grins.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Now unless you want me to tell the boss you’re sniffing the dancer’s panties again, sod off.” He holds his hands up in acquiescence, nods to me and leaves.

“Actually, Mike is genuinely a nice guy, but you’d have to rip my arms off to get me to admit it to him. So, what’s your story? Boyfriend put you up for this?”

“No!” I exclaim a little too quickly. “OK, it’s … sort of. We broke up and I need cash and the chance to stick two fingers up at him and my family.”

“So I was right! There’s always a guy. Stick the kettle on and we can talk.”

Trish turned out to be a really nice woman. She used to be a stripper but now was the house ‘Mom’. Managed who worked and when, did hair, makeup. Broke up fights, which was a little worrying, and basically was ‘God’ in this room. As we sat drinking tea, it didn’t take long for her to get me to tell her how I came to be here. As I finish my tale, Trish lights another cigarette, nodding, then changes the subject and asks about my dancing experience. I admit I’ve done ballet and gymnastics for years but had to give it up when my sister’s classes clashed with mine. She asked if I’d signed up as she grabbed a clipboard from the wall. I’d called and said my name was Emily, my sister’s name, and I saw the list only had one other name, so it seemed as if the 250 was guaranteed. Trish burst my bubble by explaining how most girls sign up on the night. Often requiring a few drinks to get up the courage.

“You got your own costume? Or do you need to borrow something?” She asks.

“Yes” I grabbed it from my bag and it didn’t seem much. It was my old leotard I used for Ballet and Gymnastics, which was stretchy enough to still fit my bust, now larger than when I’d last worn it.

When I tried it on last night, it seemed like a good idea at first, it was tight, but I wasn’t sure if it was sexy enough. Therefore, I’d spend most of last night removing the lining. I could just see the outline of areola through the plain white material and the tips of my nipples pressing through the thin cloth. Without the lining, it also highlighted that I needed to trim my pubic area. Locking myself in the bathroom, I wasn’t sure what was expected. A simple tidy up, a shape, a Brazilian? Once I started, I couldn’t get it even and ended up taking all the hair off. When I tried on the leotard it produced a serious camel toe. I’d finished the costume off with a faux Tutu made out of pink netting. It was more an affectation, as tying the elastic around my waist; it covered neither my crotch nor my bum.

Showing it to Trish I felt doubt, as she didn’t look convinced.

“What about underwear?” She asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied flustered. “I thought it was stripping, like all the way?”

“No, well, not quite. Club rules state your labia must be covered at all times on stage or in the public areas.” She reached into a cardboard box near her, rummaged around, pulled out a clear plastic packet, and tossed it over. I tore it open to find the smallest thong I’d ever seen made of the thinnest, cheapest material. “Keep it, we buy them in bulk as you can see.” she kicked the box. “I suppose, as we’ve mentioned the rules, we’d better do the paperwork.”

She handed over another clipboard full of rules, a legal declaration, and a signature line. I hesitated and Trish noticed.

“Don’t worry we never use your real name. You have to sign off you agree to the full club rules, even if you only dance once. There are only two that really apply. First is the lady lips we’ve already mentioned and the other is, have you ever been a professional dancer before?”

“No… Oh wait, I got paid 20 for dancing in the background of a friend’s homemade music video. Does that count?” She laughed her husky chuckle.

“No, I think we can ignore that.” I signed the form and handed it back, then she turned it over to show more questions. “Do you want to stick with Emily?” I nodded and she used a marker to write on the form. “Let’s say you’re a 19-year-old student. That always goes down well. Wants to be a vet and loves strong silent men. The routine is normally four to five minutes long. Just remember you should be topless for at least half of that and don’t wait until the last second to uşak escort get the bottom half off. ” She hands the form back. “Put in what music you want and any special instructions. The DJ is a wiz; if you want lighting cues put them down as well.”

She took the completed form and left me alone, so I grabbed the chance to change. It felt weird taking all my clothes off and I quickly slipped on the thong. As expected it was tiny and quite tricky to cover up the necessary. Worrying my dance moves might cause a problem, I put one leg over the back of Trish’s chair and I saw my labia were bulging to one side with the thong barely covering me. I’d just have to be super careful.

I put the leotard on and was slipping on my jeans when Trish came back followed by three other women. After introductions and reassurances, I wasn’t looking for a job; I was put to work making teas and coffees. It was a little strange; it was just like any other workplace – small talk about their lives, family and friends, in-jokes and teasing; except it all happened while they got naked and Trish worked on their hair and makeup.

It was like a production line – as each woman was finished, she’d dress and another would take the chair. I helped as much as I could until, eventually, Trish and I were alone.

“Your turn.” I glanced at the clock and realised a couple of hours had passed and I would be performing soon. My nervousness came back as she applied my makeup.

“Relax. It’s simple really; otherwise, none of these girls could do it. Oh and…”


“I was going to say avoid the poles. Way too easy to injure yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing. However, with your ballet background, I’m sure you can handle it. Ok finishing touches. Pull your top down a second.” Embarrassed, I did as she asked and she looked closely at my breasts for a long moment. I could feel myself blushing.

“What? They’re not too small are they?”

“No, not at all. Trust me, no matter what a guy says, they don’t care how big or small you are as long as they can get their hands on them. I wish I’d left mine natural. You just need a little colour.” Taking a brush, she applied a little rouge to my areolas and I was embarrassed how quickly my nipples turned into bullets.

There was a knock at the door and I struggled to pull my top up, which was ridiculous as I was about to strip any minute. Mike poked his head in and gestured to me. Showtime!

Following him down the corridor, I took to my points (my tiptoes) and a stab of pain shot through my feet. It had been years since I’d tried that and my nervousness doubled. Mike held a door open for me at the top of a short flight of stairs, and as I passed through I realised I was already on the stage. The lights were low and there were shiny floor to ceiling poles on either side of the stage. The DJ started to introduce me and the lights started to come up, so I quickly moved onto the starting position. The audience members were just vague silhouettes behind the bright lights and that was a relief.

The music started and I began my ballet routine. I knew almost instantly I’d made a mistake. Graceful pirouettes and leaps weren’t what these men wanted. My landings were poor and would have earned sharp criticism from my old teachers. Once, I almost stumbled and reflexively grasped the nearest pole. My ankle twisted and I fell, but I managed to turn the momentum into a spin around the pole. I was rather proud of my recovery and turned it into a move that left me balancing on one point with my other leg curled up, nearly touching the back of my head. That got a smattering of applause and gave me a little more confidence.

Moving to the back of the stage, I faced away from the audience. I began with my arms above my head, then I lowered them gracefully, out until they were parallel with my shoulders and then to my side. Bending my arms, I brought them up my body until they reached my shoulders, where I snaked my fingertips through the armholes of the leotard. I relied on the stretchiness of the material to allow my arms to pull through as I slowly extended my arms over my head again. As expected the leotard’s released tension pulled it down to expose my breasts.

Arching my back and bending my knees I launched into a backward handstand and balanced on my hands. This at least produced some cheers and applause, but I suspected it was prompted by the exposure of my breasts, not my gymnastic ability. My balance faltered and I had to twist my hips and turn, and ended up sitting on the stage, with one foot facing the audience and the other, bent at the knee, out at 90 degrees. My gymnastics training kicked in – “Always finish with a flourish!” – it covered my mistakes. Smiling, I pointed my hands to the ceiling as more applause and even wolf whistles came my way. This close to the front of the stage I could finally make out some of the audience. There were far more people than I’d expected. A jolt of fear and excitement passed through me. I’d hardly thought about how many men were van escort watching me now. I’d done recitals and shows with my ballet classes so an audience wasn’t a new thing. Except I’d never been half-naked in front of a room full of horny men. It excited me.

Rolling onto my stomach, I faced away from the audience and lifted my shoulders up like a press up. Then keeping my legs stiff, I bent at the waist using my stomach and shoulder muscles to drag my toes towards my hands. This pointed my bum at the audience, which gained another cheer, but that wasn’t the end of the move. I dug deeper and drew on my full strength. I adjusted my balance and lifted my feet into the air. Slowly, concentrating on my balance, I pulled into a handstand, with my legs wide apart. I ended up doing the splits upside down.

This garnered whooping from the audience and lots of applause. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and it wasn’t just from this position, but also from how exposed I felt. I’m sure my gymnastics teacher never expected me to expose my crotch like this to a room full of strangers when he taught me this move. A stab of panic hit, that they may not all have been strangers. What if there was somebody out there that knew me?

Dropping into a forward roll, I gracefully returned to my feet and struck a pose with both hands behind my head. This was the cue to the DJ and the music changed seamlessly to West Side Story.

I was just improvising now, with an exaggerated thrust of my hip as I turned, and moved around the stage. Hooking my thumbs into the leotard, I worked it down my hips. Worrying I was running out of time, I stopped at the front of the stage, with my back to the audience, bent as if to touch my toes, and took down the leotard and faux tutu in one go. With my bum to the audience, I got my greatest cheer yet and had to glance between my legs to check I’d not accidentally removed the thong.

Standing with another flourish, I turned to face the audience. Now I could see someone standing close to the stage, less than six feet from me. The men in the audience looked old enough to be my father. A rush of adrenaline shot through me. I was now dressed only in a thong, barely enough material to blow my nose with.

I noticed the DJ signalling 30 seconds left. Therefore, I moved to one of the poles and placed the instep of one foot against the base, gripped it, and slid my other foot up the pole until I was doing a vertical split against the pole. I then leaned back so my body was parallel with the floor which pushed my crotch against the pole. The cold metal suddenly reminded me of the folly of this move with such a tiny covering.

With only seconds remaining, I released the pole, fell into a forward roll and cart wheeled once to finish at the front of the stage. On my knees, back arched and head back. The applause and cheering were deafening. It sounded like there were hundreds of people here. My heart was beating far faster than the exertions of the dance required. I was burning with excitement. I may have only done this as a last ditch attempt to earn some money and get back at my family and ex who’d collectively pushed me into this. Right at that moment, I didn’t care about that; I’d basked in the feeling of having so many men want me. I don’t think I had ever felt so alive.

Opening my eyes, I was jolted back to reality. I saw the entire front of the stage crowded by men. They were standing hardly more than an arm’s length away from me. Their anonymity vanished, I looked along the line to see if there was anyone I knew but stopped as I heard one say.

“Would you look at that?” His eyes were glued to my crotch and I looked down to see one of my labia hanging out of the side of the thong.

Panicking I snapped my knees together and jumped up. I saw Mike standing at the open door off stage and I snatched up my costume and ran off stage, waving over my shoulder at the audience. As I rushed past him and down the stairs, he closed the door and the sound of my applause diminished. I was breathless and tingling all over.

“Quite a rush the first time.” He stated, coming downstairs grinning. He wasn’t my type, not even remotely handsome, but right at the moment, I wanted to jump him and have him fuck me against the wall. “You could do with sorting that out.” He pointed to my thong and it broke the spell.

“Sorry!” I replied, blushing and tried to adjust it. Not without giving Mike an eyeful.

“It’s OK, happens all the time. Nobody really minds on amateur night. Probably why we get bigger crowds. Better get dressed though.”

That’s like a splash of cold water that brought home the reality that I was virtually naked in a corridor in front of a guy I don’t know, and that at any moment more people might appear. Struggling back into my leotard, I noticed the elastic around the neck is ruined. Mike says

“You know when I saw you in that ballet get up, I thought it was a mistake. But damn girl you got moves. And a bangin’ figure.” It was crude, but the nicest compliment I’d had in ages. If I’d not been half-naked, I might have kissed him. “Now you wait in the office with the other girls who took part.” He opens the door as I finished dressing. “Once everyone has finished, you all go on stage to hear the winners announced.”

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