RED ROOM [H.S]

1.

Anyone that tells you that working a nine to five job is better than stripping, is a big fat liar. I would rather shake my ass on stage for a grand each night, for old perverted men than sit behind a desk, wanting to claw my eyes out while a Karen rants about her children and a small dick husband.

Although in saying that, it was nights like these where I questioned if stripping was really worth all the harassment I had to put up with, as I worked in one of the biggest clubs on the Vegas Strip. Tonight, everything that could go wrong, seemed to happen. I had broken two nails on stage which hurt like a fucking bitch, a customer refused to pay for their private lap dance (exhibit a kids, this is why you get customers to pay before the dance, even if they are a regular) and to put the icing on the cake, some old asshole decide to tell me that I had gained a few kilos since last time he saw me. Fucking excuse me for having a few more hips and dips than the average woman. Fucking sue me.

And this was why I was now storming around the venue, in eight inch heels to tell my manager that I was done for the night and they could kiss my ass if they wanted me to stay another hour. I was fuming. All I wanted was a cheeseburger and a nap. Maybe even a good angry cry to let myself feel a bit better.

I found Danny standing by the bar, entertaining and most likely booking a few girls for private dances for the men in front of her. She was great at her job. She was married and in her late forties but could make a man drop hundreds of dollars with a wink of her eye and a wicked grin. She didn't look a day over twenty nine though. Must be all the Botox that she has gotten over the years. To be fair though, if I had all the money she had from owning one of the best stripclubs in Vegas, I'd probably inject my face with everything known to man as well.

As I approached, I noticed the two guys she stood with were a lot younger than I initially thought. Their clothes screamed rich. Old money rich. It was almost laughable that they wore such expensive suits, yet looked as if they had hit puberty only a few years ago. It was always these types of guys who thought they could get away with murder and touch strippers as much as they wanted. I grimaced at the thought.

"Damn," one groaned as I came into view. My body was wrapped in a small red bra and matching bottoms. Danny told me red was my colour and demanded me to wear it most nights. If it brought me more money, who was I to complain? I did what I was told. Most of the time.

I was suppose to be just eye candy though, look all you want but no touching. It was a rule. Sure, these girls could give permission but I never did. I'll dance for you, I'll flirt a little for an extra hundred dollars but you won't ever get your hands on me. It was something my old therapist said was a control thing. That I always needed to be in control of a situation due to some old trauma as a child. What does she know though, right?

I heard the slap before I felt it, my ass suddenly stinging from the sudden contact. My gaze snapped to the man responsible, glaring as he threw his head back and laughed obnoxiously. It was guys like this that gave me my reputation. Guys like this who were responsible for me loosing money when I snapped. My red lips pulled up in a sneer and I turned to the guy who was now grinning down at me. I wasn't sure what reaction he was hoping to get, but I'm sure it wasn't this one. Balling my fist, I poked at his shoulder. I got a whiff of his cologne as he smiled smugly down at me. He was too cocky. He even smelled cocky. I hated that.

"Listen buddy, touch me again and you'll find my heel shoved so far up your ass-,"

"Spice," Danny snapped harshly, causing my mouth to instantly snap shut like a well trained dog. Her nails dug into my arm, pulling me away from her paying customers. She was a great manager, honestly, but she didn't care for all the rules when it came to dumb men who had too much money to spend. I've had more warnings that I can even remember, and each time I get told the same thing. Unless I wanted to get fired, I needed to bite my tongue when it came to these types of men.