Read Online Corruption by Sam Crescent, Jenika Snow - Free Book Online
Authors: Sam Crescent, Jenika Snow
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T his was her life, had been for the last five years. It wasn’t one she’d aspired to, wasn’t something she’d thought of having when she was a little girl. But here she was, stripping in front of these disgusting men, ones that only came here to see half naked women shake their shit on stage.
Tits and ass, shaking her shit for a few dollars, and then going home and just to come back and do it all over again was what Kitty did day in and day out. The pay was shit on the weekdays, but that was better than nothing. When they were short staffed, Kitty worked doubles, trying to make ends meet to survive in this shitty town.
“The crowd out there is dead, too dead for me to waste my fucking time. I’m calling it a night,” Butters, missing a tooth in front and one of the regular girls, called out to Larry, the owner of this dump. Larry didn’t care if she gave a little something-something to the customers after hours, not if he got his cut.
“You better come in early. I ain’t paying your ass to leave, even if there are only a few guys out there willing to pay extra.” Larry was a dirt bag; a dirty, scummy asshole who liked to cop a feel with the strippers, simply because he thought he had a right to. The last time he tried that on her, Kitty gagged so hard she threw up on his dirty ass. That had been the last time he pulled that one.
She grabbed her stuff and went into the makeshift room the girls had erected to change in privacy, although what was the point when they stripped? But for Kitty, she stripped so she had money, not because she enjoyed it, and certainly not to give her fucked up, disgusting boss a free show. He already watched them on stage, probably jerked off thinking about them bent over his greasy desk in the back room.
Nasty.
Yes, he really was that and more. Maybe one day she’d get out of here, go back to school, and make something out of herself. Kitty certainly didn’t want to be a twenty-year-old stripper that had no other goals in her life. If she continued on this path, one of these days she’d get raped in the back alley or get pregnant and have to deal with that. She wasn’t ready for any of it, wasn’t ready to be a single mom, a rape victim, or an old stripper that had nothing else going for her.
She put on an old pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. She looked like shit in these clothes, but she wanted it that way. Looking unattractive and unseen was the look she was going for, even if she was half naked on the stage most nights.
She left out the back door, not saying goodbye to anyone, because she didn’t care one way or another. The strip club was rundown and dirty, and the people that worked there were the same. She didn’t want friends, didn’t want to have the one person she could lean on be a strung out addict that couldn’t stand straight, not even on stage.
The night was cool, the scent of trash from the dumpsters across from her pungent and rank. She held onto her backpack tighter, the sound of her worn and dirty sneakers making soft padding sounds on the cracked asphalt. Of course, the city where she worked was littered with drug addicts, prostitutes, and homeless. She had no car, and getting a taxi out here at this hour, in this neighborhood, was a shot in the dark on most nights. When the cops did their nightly patrol, trying to catch a drug deal, or pick up a girl on the corner, everyone scattered like fleas away from water.
She stopped at the corner where the building and sidewalk met, grabbed the hat she had stuffed in her bag, and put it on, tucking her hair under it. She only lived about seven blocks up the street, and although it wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood, it was a step up from this dump. The city kind of morphed into a nicer area about ten blocks up the road. It was strange, kind of like stepping into a parallel dimension where behind her was the trash of the world, and in front of her were actual hardworking, clean people.
She made her
Tits and ass, shaking her shit for a few dollars, and then going home and just to come back and do it all over again was what Kitty did day in and day out. The pay was shit on the weekdays, but that was better than nothing. When they were short staffed, Kitty worked doubles, trying to make ends meet to survive in this shitty town.
“The crowd out there is dead, too dead for me to waste my fucking time. I’m calling it a night,” Butters, missing a tooth in front and one of the regular girls, called out to Larry, the owner of this dump. Larry didn’t care if she gave a little something-something to the customers after hours, not if he got his cut.
“You better come in early. I ain’t paying your ass to leave, even if there are only a few guys out there willing to pay extra.” Larry was a dirt bag; a dirty, scummy asshole who liked to cop a feel with the strippers, simply because he thought he had a right to. The last time he tried that on her, Kitty gagged so hard she threw up on his dirty ass. That had been the last time he pulled that one.
She grabbed her stuff and went into the makeshift room the girls had erected to change in privacy, although what was the point when they stripped? But for Kitty, she stripped so she had money, not because she enjoyed it, and certainly not to give her fucked up, disgusting boss a free show. He already watched them on stage, probably jerked off thinking about them bent over his greasy desk in the back room.
Nasty.
Yes, he really was that and more. Maybe one day she’d get out of here, go back to school, and make something out of herself. Kitty certainly didn’t want to be a twenty-year-old stripper that had no other goals in her life. If she continued on this path, one of these days she’d get raped in the back alley or get pregnant and have to deal with that. She wasn’t ready for any of it, wasn’t ready to be a single mom, a rape victim, or an old stripper that had nothing else going for her.
She put on an old pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. She looked like shit in these clothes, but she wanted it that way. Looking unattractive and unseen was the look she was going for, even if she was half naked on the stage most nights.
She left out the back door, not saying goodbye to anyone, because she didn’t care one way or another. The strip club was rundown and dirty, and the people that worked there were the same. She didn’t want friends, didn’t want to have the one person she could lean on be a strung out addict that couldn’t stand straight, not even on stage.
The night was cool, the scent of trash from the dumpsters across from her pungent and rank. She held onto her backpack tighter, the sound of her worn and dirty sneakers making soft padding sounds on the cracked asphalt. Of course, the city where she worked was littered with drug addicts, prostitutes, and homeless. She had no car, and getting a taxi out here at this hour, in this neighborhood, was a shot in the dark on most nights. When the cops did their nightly patrol, trying to catch a drug deal, or pick up a girl on the corner, everyone scattered like fleas away from water.
She stopped at the corner where the building and sidewalk met, grabbed the hat she had stuffed in her bag, and put it on, tucking her hair under it. She only lived about seven blocks up the street, and although it wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood, it was a step up from this dump. The city kind of morphed into a nicer area about ten blocks up the road. It was strange, kind of like stepping into a parallel dimension where behind her was the trash of the world, and in front of her were actual hardworking, clean people.
She made her
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