| Sample
Chapter For PRIVATE DANCER by Ann Cory
Her body twisted around the pole, her legs
spread wide for the boys to see. The glaring lights bounced off the red
sequins on her skimpy bra and thong, making her look warmer than she was.
Without all the gels and sprays, her hair would wilt like dried up flowers.
“Come on, baby, take it off for daddy!” The men from the bachelor
party had guzzled one too many beers and were quickly becoming a nuisance.
Every few seconds, one of them hooted or hollered, standing
around with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. Fallon knew Barry,
her pro-wrestler-turned-bodyguard, was backstage and would come to her
aid if need be, but that was the problem. Why should she have to be afraid
at work?
Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks belted out from the
speakers, and she spun her body along the pole, one leg curled around
it. The noise from the table of drunks competed with the lyrics of the
music and she found it hard to concentrate on her routine. Never mind
she’d spent hours rehearsing it.
“Show that luscious backside, baby, and I’ll
slip you a hundred big ones!” Applause broke out in the club, with
chants taunting her to take off her clothes.
The last thing she wanted was their hands anywhere near
her backside, but what she wanted wasn’t a luxury in her profession.
Rent was due in a week and she still needed to finish paying off the cosmetic
surgeon bill for her perky double D breasts that she selfishly installed
on her petite frame.
Three months of dancing had afforded her a stacked chest,
and she figured it would be worth it at some point. If she wanted to compete
with the young, barely legal girls who were coming in droves these days,
she needed to prove she was worth keeping around. It was too bad she’d
lost sensation in her nipples after the breast implants. She used to orgasm
at the mere pinching of them when she got herself off.
At least the tips exceeded the measly per hour rate she
received from Jimmy, the mostly corrupt owner. She’d never cared
much for him, or his greasy moustache. Stale fries. He swore he lathered
himself in cologne, but all she ever smelled on him was stale fries. One
day, she vowed to pull the toupee off his head if he so much as slipped
his hand somewhere unwanted.
As a boss, he was ruthless, but he had rare moments of
compassion. She had heard that one of the girls needed money for her son’s
hospital bills, and he lent it to her at no interest. Of course, the girl
was told not to tell anyone, which she immediately did. No one mentioned
it to Jimmy, because it was more fun accusing him of being a pig than
fawning over him for his charity.
Mostly, he was a sleaze, happily flaunting his dick to
any girl who’d suck it for a thousand dollars. He kept the girls
around cheap because he knew the other places weren’t even close
to semi-respectable. Not that the Pleasure Zone was much better. The chump
even took part of the tip money, claiming he was better than a savings
account, and they could come to him if they needed a loan, which also
meant a blowjob. Bottom line, he didn’t want his women to get too
rich and leave.
Survival was all about what you did for tips. She learned
from day one when she was dressed in a virginal white teddy, looking as
sweet as a lamb, and sent out to the hungry lions. She was a pretty face
making peanuts. And then she learned how to add the pelvic thrusts and
show a little more flesh. She went from barely paying her bills to having
some cash to save from week to week.
With the extra money the man was waving around as motivation,
Fallon shimmied along the pole and walked in her red stilettos over to
the edge of the stage. She bent over in her thong to give the boys a show,
running her hands around her curvaceous hips. From one leg to the next,
she shifted her weight, doing her best to ignore their raunchy words.
The heels were killing her, straining her calves to a
point that would require several nights of tender massages and soaking
in the tub. Followed by a couple shots of whatever she had left to drink
in the cupboard.
“Bring that fine ass over here and I’ll frost
it for ya, sugar!”
She cringed behind the curtain of her chocolate colored
hair. She had forgotten what color her hair really was. With a toss of
her head, she smiled coyly and paraded around, squatting down so they
could almost fondle her breasts.
The song was near the end, as was her shift, and it couldn’t
come fast enough. She did a final walk in front of the groom-to-be, and
slipped her fingers underneath the strings of her red thong, toying with
the sides as if she were going to flash him.
No such luck, naughty boy.
The man waved a fifty-dollar bill in each hand, gyrating
his pelvis to the beat.
If only they knew how stupid they looked.
“Come on, you sexy vixen, let me slip it somewhere
wet.”
She came up close to the edge of the stage and let him
slip the money wherever he could reach. The rest of his group followed
suit.
Jimmy cut out the last beat of the song and announced
the name of the next girl. Fallon stopped her routine and collected her
money, blowing kisses to the crowd as if she meant it. The sound of dollar
bills crunched against her skin as she disappeared behind the curtain.
Fallon sat in the dressing room, staring hard into the
mirror. Her friend, Lena, sat beside her with one finger tugging gently
on the skin below her eye, while running a thick line of powder blue above
her lashes.
“How’d you do, sweetie?”
“Same as every shift. I fucking hate it.”
“Good to hear. I’d hate to think you actually
liked this line of work, sweets.” Lena stood and bent over, adjusting
her extra large breasts inside a blue bra. She turned and shook her ass
at the mirror. “Christ, I’ve got another year left and I’m
going to be doing lipo, whether I want to or not.”
“No you won’t. Your ass is as sleek as butter.”
“Nope, you need glasses. I can see the first layer
of cottage cheese and you better believe the guys will too. Trust me.”
She threw a bright colored feathered boa across her neck and flashed a
big smile. “Besides, you’re one to talk, you got your boobs
done not too long ago. If you weren’t concerned, I’d think
you’d have spent the money on something less vain.”
“Yeah, yeah, I did it for the pressure. I know.
I’m sorry I did. I need to find a new job.”
“Sugar, what are you going to do? Retail isn’t
going to keep you in the good life.”
“That’s the problem, I’m not living
the good life. I’m just making good money.”
“Unless you want to work ten hours a day, seven
days a week, give up your car and nice apartment, and screw savings, you’re
not going anywhere. Where else can you bring home four thousand a week?”
“We’d have more if Jimmy didn’t take
out his cut.”
“Yeah, I know, okay. Twenty-five hundred a week.
But remember, he’s more legit than the guys who run Kitty Kats and
Sirens. Plus their girls are all doped up.”
Fallon sighed and took off her heels. “Regina’s
working Sirens, and the last time I saw her, she didn’t even recognize
me. Her eyes were all bugging out and shit. It’s messed up.”
“You’re only depressed because of the boob
job.”
“What do you mean?”
“The loss of sensitivity in your nipples, you feel
less feminine, you’re going to feel depressed for awhile, believe
it or not. Mine lasted three months.”
“I never noticed you were down. I’m sorry.
I’ve always considered you the one broad to keep it together around
here. How did you keep a smile plastered on your face?”
“Vaseline, booze, and I masturbate on my pile of
tips every night.”
She loved Lena dearly, especially her antics. “Lovely
visual, thanks. Seriously, don’t you ever want to settle down and
have a husband?”
“Sure, some day. Right now, I’m not going
to find a respectable guy when I’m here every night, and if I did,
he damn well better not support my working here.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“I better get out there. Deb’s almost done
with her number. See you tomorrow night, toots.”
“Yep.”
Fallon stared into the mirror and grimaced. She had just
turned twenty-eight; tonight, she looked forty. The heavy lights, layers
of makeup, cigarette smoke and late nights were catching up with her fast
and aging her quickly.
Her stomach grumbled and she guzzled a bottle of water.
Just once, she wanted to scarf down a pizza without feeling her stomach
stretch, or feel the need to stick her fingers down her throat. Starch
was something that showed up on her body as an added inch or two around
her waist. There was nothing sexy or tip worthy about that.
No more. Tonight was the last time.
She’d said it many times before, but she was sick
of the life and the bullshit that came attached to it. Enough was enough.
Of course, her paid-for breasts were a waste if she were to quit.
It was always something. This would be the tenth time
in a month she swore it was her final night. But every time she thought
about leaving, she remembered that she wasn’t qualified for anything
else except maybe waitressing and retail. Again, she cursed her decision
to quit before she at least got her high school diploma.
She wiped off her excess makeup and tried to find the
youthful face she once had. Her hair smelled musty and reeked of stale
tobacco. She rummaged around for a rubber band in her makeup box and swept
her hair into a ponytail.
After several minutes of going through her bag, she slipped
on her favorite pair of light denim jeans with a tear at the knee, a decent
t-shirt and her suede jacket.
“Night, Jimmy,” she called over her shoulder
as she strode quickly to the back door.
“Forgetting something, Fallon?”
“Jesus, Jimmy, I’m sorry. My mind’s
been on other things.”
“I’ve had to remind you every night since
you started here. Don’t you like me?”
She pulled out the wad of bills from her bag and slapped
them on the table. “I think it’s fucked you take so much from
me. I’m the one who does all the work.”
“Yeah, and I promote your sexy ass up there. Without
me, you wouldn’t get the attention you do. I make you look good.”
“Wrong. I make the customers come in to your fine
establishment, entice them to spend their hard earned money on me, rather
than take care of their families, and then I still have to pay you. I
don’t like you as my pimp.”
“Relax. With the amount you make, it’s not
like you’re lacking in funds. You and Lena go home with a hell of
a lot more cash than any of the other girls. And if I don’t provide
booty for these boozers, someone else will.” He counted out his
portion and handed the money back to her. He held it for a second too
long, until she glared at him. He grinned and said, “I’ll
see you tomorrow night.”
“If you’re lucky.”
“You always say that. Unless you’re moving
to some other state, you won’t find a business relationship as cozy
as this one. I promise you.”
“One of these times, my sexy ass won’t walk
through your doors. Then what are you going to do?”
“Find another girl. You’re all replaceable,
you know. Every last one of you. There’s always some chick younger,
sexier, and willing to go the extra mile,” he said, pointing to
the bulge in his pants.
She scrunched up her nose and looked away.
“I like you, Fallon. I dream about you most nights,
but you’re replaceable. It’s life. Nothing personal.”
She scowled at him and tossed her bag over her shoulder.
“Fuck you, Jimmy,” she muttered and gave him the middle finger.
“You’re number one with me too, baby. Just
remember, a thousand dollars is yours if you place those attitude-laced
lips around my cock and suck.”
She slammed the door shut and climbed into her Trans Am,
fighting back tears.
I don’t need this.
A block away from her apartment, she stopped at the liquor
store and picked out a bottle of wine. It was fattening, but she’d
worked off dinner and she needed something to shut her mind down. Grabbing
a newspaper, she got back in the car and drove home, still sulking.
When she got home, she walked straight to the kitchen
and opened the wine, poured a glass to the rim, and flipped the paper
open to the employment section. Her manicured, red glittered nails slid
along the job offers, and quickly bypassed all the jobs requesting a high
school diploma, GED, or college degree. If she had any of those, she wouldn’t
be bitching about the job she had now.
She took a sip and cursed as a she missed her mouth. A
deep burgundy spot fell on the paper and grew to twice its size, highlighting
an ad. Fallon squinted her eyes, not believing what she saw.
Wanted—Private Dancer.
Must be over eighteen.
Able to choreograph own routines. Music provided.
Dance experience preferred, unless a born natural.
Ask for Ryder.
The phone number flashed at her. Grabbing a pen, she circled
the ad.
She glanced at the clock. Damn. Three o’clock in
the morning was too late to call anyone. While she didn’t doubt
a musician would be up pouring over his music at three in the morning,
she was beat and the wine was relaxing her. She’d call tomorrow
afternoon.
After a second full glass of wine, she decided her brain
was numb enough to crash. The doorway to her bedroom swayed a little as
she made her way down the hall. She wadded up her jacket and threw it
on a chair in the corner.
Falling back on the mattress, she watched the ceiling
swirl above her and closed her eyes, dreaming of things that might have
been.
Reviews For
PRIVATE DANCER by Ann Cory
4 Cups from Coffee Time Romance
"This tale reminds me of my all time favorite tale,
Beauty and the Beast. From Ryder’s curse to Fallon’s beauty,
you will be drawn in from the beginning. I loved how you can feel Ryder’s
pain and understand Fallon’s determination. Wonderfully written
with steamy erotic sex scenes, this story makes you fall in love all over
again. This is a fantastic tale that will definitely go on my keeper shelf."
Wateena
Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
"PRIVATE DANCER brings to mind a few songs, one of
which happens to be playing right now. I don't think I can say what they
are so I won't; you'll just have to use your imagination. This is an amazing
story. I don't believe I could be as strong as Fallon, nor as daring as
Ryder. It has the perfect ending for Fallon, who all she really wants
to do is dance."
Shayla Blue Ribbon Rating: 3.5, Reviewer for Romance Junkies
"Private Dancer is by author Ann Cory. Here is a
thrilling paranormal tale with a great premise that will enthrall you
from page one! Ms. Cory’s writing is smooth and very sensuous; it
is also very descriptive and highly erotic to peruse. Ms. Cory’s
erotic pen will bind you to the story; keeping you tuned into the characters’
feelings and desires. You will give yourself up to the story, losing all
inhibitions to experience the haunting melody of this tale of paranormal
love. Fallon is a survivor. She makes the best of whatever situation she
finds herself in. Dancing at a strip club is not what she had planned
for herself, but it has afforded her a better life, so far. When Fallon
sees the ad for a private dancer, she will make a call that will change
her life forever! Step into the dark and steamy world of Private Dancer!
Looking for a totally different and fresh approach to a vampire tale?
If so, then you need to buy this book! This reviewer loved it! Stop by
Whiskey Creek Press to get your copy of Private Dancer by Ann Cory Now!"
Reviewed by Janalee Love Romances 4 hearts
|
