M
Mary
Guest
Original poster
This was not just a club, this was THE club. The Golden Nipples Club was the name of the joint and it lived up to its name. Not only was the place decorated in gold, silver and black but they were served by beautiful women in skimpy golden outfits carrying golden trays-mostly blondes-. It was an exclusive club reserved for only the people who could pay over two thousand dollars worth in drinks, entertainment and of course a complimentary 'companion' for the night. 'Exotic dancers' like they liked to be called but seriously, we all know they are simply strippers. Women who's education level or simply the lack of work, forced them to sell themselves like if they were products that belonged in a shelf with a code bar printed to their asses. Displaying their toned bodies and like in the commercials, creating great promotions that didn't involve their self esteem and much less any sort of boundaries. These women were tested constantly for any sort of diseases that could endanger The Golden Nipples Club's reputation, including pregnancies that were not going to be 'getting rid off'. I know, sounds terrible right? But the girls there didn't think it was as terrible as it seemed, well at least Annette J. Blundel didn't.
Annie's life was all about 'easy' money. Working as a stripper wasn't as easy as it would seem, but it sure as heck wasn't as hard as being a dammed rocket scientist. She had to make sure that her body was perfectly conditioned for all the climbing, dancing, grabbing and clapping that certain parts of her body had to accomplish; at twenty seven years of age burgers were starting to store in her thighs and ever so subtle lines were starting to form on the corners of her eyes. They weren't visible under all the makeup and corrector but they were there, announcing her worst fear. That someday she would have to renounce to all of this foolishness and actually get a 'real' job like her mother bitched constantly. 'No one wanted to pay four hundred bucks to go see their mom stripping' Annie's mother exaggerated, or did she? Annette was scared shitless of surgeries and hospitals so plastic surgeries were a 'HELL NAW!'. Makeup could sadly do so much and if she looked at her mother for references, there wasn't any relaxing future expectations since her mother's hair started to turn gray from the moment she turned thirty four and her hips got enormously wide as soon as she had her first child. So Annie just watched what she ate and kept her body active. It would be healthy if only she'd stick with the normal diets and maybe the occasional energy drink. But NOOO, again she had a better and easier rout; Blow.
Not blowing her nose or blowing balloons or the name of some dietetic supplement, it was the street name for cocaine. A drug so addictive and powerful that it could and eventually would burn the abuser's nasal passages and damage the lungs. Annie's excuse was that she didn't do it 'every day'. She started doing it once every few weeks, then once a week, then once every few days and was now at the 'just on occasional weekends'. But everyone knew that she took hits of the deadly white powder every day before going to work just to help her bare with the grabby hands of old millionaires that made her nauseous. They all did the same. Drugs excited her body to the point of encouraging her to do daring stunts and be a 'crowd pleaser'. Not because she was the prettiest or most voluptuous woman working there, she was definitely not the best dancer or youngest one from the bunch but she was crazy, outgoing and always eager to please her clients. In other words, easy.
Today Ann closed her eyes and leaned against the seat of her pink convertible. Trying to make the dizziness cease because this time she had inhaled a little bit more than usual since her passage ways were already numbed by the drug. Just then she felt footsteps outside her door so her brain just popped opened her eyes and forced her to glare at the person who was approaching her. Only that the girl was not approaching her, she was walking away from the pink convertible actually and towards the club wearing one of the skimpy gold outfits. "Nice ass..." She mumbled to herself as she shamelessly glared at the walking female as if she were going to eat her. By the girl's ass she could tell that she was most definitely new. They were only six servers because the club was so small and exclusive. Six servers, two bartenders and six strip—no wait- three exotic dancers, that rotated during the week and weekends bringing in different types of clientele. Anyways, it was time to get out so Annie opened her door and hurried out, carrying her pink Prada bag as if it were her first child and making sure not to slip in any black ice. But her legs were moving SOO slow according to her brain who was ushering her to move faster, take longer steps, jog, hop, run, go inside, RUN! GO, GO GO! Until Annette made it inside as giggly as a fifteen year old. Laughing at herself as the people who saw her laughed, but different reasons.
Annie's life was all about 'easy' money. Working as a stripper wasn't as easy as it would seem, but it sure as heck wasn't as hard as being a dammed rocket scientist. She had to make sure that her body was perfectly conditioned for all the climbing, dancing, grabbing and clapping that certain parts of her body had to accomplish; at twenty seven years of age burgers were starting to store in her thighs and ever so subtle lines were starting to form on the corners of her eyes. They weren't visible under all the makeup and corrector but they were there, announcing her worst fear. That someday she would have to renounce to all of this foolishness and actually get a 'real' job like her mother bitched constantly. 'No one wanted to pay four hundred bucks to go see their mom stripping' Annie's mother exaggerated, or did she? Annette was scared shitless of surgeries and hospitals so plastic surgeries were a 'HELL NAW!'. Makeup could sadly do so much and if she looked at her mother for references, there wasn't any relaxing future expectations since her mother's hair started to turn gray from the moment she turned thirty four and her hips got enormously wide as soon as she had her first child. So Annie just watched what she ate and kept her body active. It would be healthy if only she'd stick with the normal diets and maybe the occasional energy drink. But NOOO, again she had a better and easier rout; Blow.
Not blowing her nose or blowing balloons or the name of some dietetic supplement, it was the street name for cocaine. A drug so addictive and powerful that it could and eventually would burn the abuser's nasal passages and damage the lungs. Annie's excuse was that she didn't do it 'every day'. She started doing it once every few weeks, then once a week, then once every few days and was now at the 'just on occasional weekends'. But everyone knew that she took hits of the deadly white powder every day before going to work just to help her bare with the grabby hands of old millionaires that made her nauseous. They all did the same. Drugs excited her body to the point of encouraging her to do daring stunts and be a 'crowd pleaser'. Not because she was the prettiest or most voluptuous woman working there, she was definitely not the best dancer or youngest one from the bunch but she was crazy, outgoing and always eager to please her clients. In other words, easy.
Today Ann closed her eyes and leaned against the seat of her pink convertible. Trying to make the dizziness cease because this time she had inhaled a little bit more than usual since her passage ways were already numbed by the drug. Just then she felt footsteps outside her door so her brain just popped opened her eyes and forced her to glare at the person who was approaching her. Only that the girl was not approaching her, she was walking away from the pink convertible actually and towards the club wearing one of the skimpy gold outfits. "Nice ass..." She mumbled to herself as she shamelessly glared at the walking female as if she were going to eat her. By the girl's ass she could tell that she was most definitely new. They were only six servers because the club was so small and exclusive. Six servers, two bartenders and six strip—no wait- three exotic dancers, that rotated during the week and weekends bringing in different types of clientele. Anyways, it was time to get out so Annie opened her door and hurried out, carrying her pink Prada bag as if it were her first child and making sure not to slip in any black ice. But her legs were moving SOO slow according to her brain who was ushering her to move faster, take longer steps, jog, hop, run, go inside, RUN! GO, GO GO! Until Annette made it inside as giggly as a fifteen year old. Laughing at herself as the people who saw her laughed, but different reasons.
