Daisy has been a stripper all of her life against her wishes. With an annoyingly genius brother to take care of, she is ready to do whatever it takes to give him the life he deserves and he wants the same for her. He goes to the point of credit card...
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DAISY
I rode my new bike to work with the biggest smile on my face.
Marcelo was the first one to raises one brow at me, "Savings or stealing?" I roll my eyes, "More like a gift. But you won't know that because you're alone and have no one to care for." A smile plays on his lips, "And yet, I'm not the stripper, am I?"
Oh, that shit hurt.
I chuckle venomously, "When I get out of this place, big guy, I will fly like a free bird with my middle fingers pointing at your fucking face." Then I flip him off with both hands and with a pretty red-lip smile. But he retorts, "If you get out." I smirk and shake my head. Always with the fucking answer. I hated him but I don't need to ruin my mood. I have a long day ahead of me and Saturday means more money. More rich bastards with too much money that they don't deserve.
I get inside and get to the locker room first and change from my jeans and T-shirt into a black leather skirt and a low-cut sleeveless top. I tie my hair in a sleek ponytail and wear the annoying eight-inch heel thigh boots. I am a sneaker girl. Hated it but it turned most of the men on. Paid nicely. It's either heels or bare feet. Every third man that comes into this club has a foot fetish that only god knows why.
I make sure that my boobs pop and I make sure that my midriff is perfectly on display. I worked too damn hard to keep myself in shape, keep myself flat except for my breasts and hips. Putting on the leather gloves that reaches my elbows, I check myself in the mirror one last time and smiled. Then I put on the black lace mask and I was out.
Showtime.
I seductively walk out and the club was booming. 7 PM and everyone was here. I was on pole duty first. I climbed up the stage that was shaped like a circle, wide enough for one woman to dance around and I danced seductively, hooking my legs around the pole and sliding down with a smile, then seductively getting back up. I shake my little booty like I was a bunny for these men and 100 dollar bills came flying on the stage. They were cheering my name. Every man knew my fucking name but one man in particular caught my eye. I tilt my head at him and smile. He stood there like a stone. Against the bar with his hands inside the pockets of his slacks. A peek at his Rolex and I knew he is much more loaded than I thought.
I knew a good expensive suit when I see one. And I knew expensive confidence like I knew the rest of my body. I eye Bobby behind him and he gives me a nod. We had a silent understanding. I fish for loaded men in the crowd and he makes them come to me. He offers the gentleman a glass of the most expensive scotch. It was the most expensive item at the club. Couple of hundred dollars for a glass. If a man accepts the scotch that means he's loaded. If not, he's nothing more than a showoff.
But to my surprise, the man takes it but he raises the glass to me and takes a sip from it, his honey-gold eyes never leaving my curves. So I decide to dance for him for the night. Only for him. I trace my silhouette and crouched down with my thighs wide, touching myself on my inner thighs and trailing my hand to my crotch with a gentle moan that men in the front could hear and go crazy. I get up again and dance around the pole, doing the hard stunts I learned from Candy. I squeeze my breasts and I get hoots and whistles and screams and chuckles but from him... nothing at all. Pure silence. Not even a slight smirk.
