Page 2 of Bourbon Sins
Marv grabbed my ass and said, “Make me some money, beautiful,” just as his thumb slipped dangerously close to a spot it didn’t belong.
Count it, one thumb-slip for the night; I’m completely sunk.
* * *
A Britney Spearssong beat through the speakers as I made my way past a party of females who found it funny to watch women who were “below” them strut their bodies across the stage for horny-ass, drooling men. Frankly, I couldn’t blame them. It was quite entertaining if you sat back and watched. Men wereso easyto entertain.
Lyla was up on stage with a thong only covering her girly bits as she moved her body up and down the main pole on stage. The girl had moves and raked in the dough, which she was able to keep all to herself.
One of the reasons I wanted to get up on stage was because that meant men weren’t allowed to touch me. Also, I’d be able to keep all the money I earned, rather than sharing it with the rest of the filth I worked with. The only reason the waitresses shared tips was because Marv’s stank-ass girlfriend was a waitress and, for her to earn a tip was like a witch’s wart trying to get fucked; it was practically impossible. The girl was a beast of epic proportions and all the men in Kitten’s Castle knew it, which was sad, because they were drunk off their asses ninety-nine percent of the time.
I swayed my hips as Britney’s sound beat through my body. I couldn’t help but move to the musical stylings of the pop goddess; she had some good jams. I felt the beat in my veins as I delivered a round of grenades—New Orleans’ most popular way to get drunk off your ass—to a table of men, who tipped me by slipping cash right into the cup of my bra.I’ll take it, however I can get it.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” the man said with a creepy-ass smile.
I smiled politely, but kept on walking.
Work bitch, I repeated in my head while dodging grabby hands.
I was headed to the bar to get more drinks when I saw Lyla spread her legs for the world to see as she slid down the pole upside down. Her finely-toned muscles held her in place, as men practically chucked their cash at her. She’ll be buying me breakfast tomorrow, that’s for damn sure.
“Goldie, a new table sat down over in the corner,” Carlos said, as he placed drinks on my tray. “After you drop these drinks off at eleven, make sure you take their orders.”
Carlos was a Jersey Shore wannabe through and through. If he didn’t sleep in a tanning bed at night, I’d be surprised. His muscles rippled under his black tank top—which was a staple in his wardrobe—as he worked around the bar. He had black, slicked-back hair and barbwire tattoos that wrapped around his biceps. Such a cliché in my book. So not my favorite piece of body art, but then again, he was practically my bodyguard when I got off my shift, so I never told him I didn’t like his tattoos. If it wasn’t for the fact that the brawny man preferred a dick over a vagina, I probably would have found myself in his bed a couple of nights, because he was kind of hot. Unfortunately, he wasn’t necessarily out of the closet, given the fact that he was a male stripper in his downtime and wanted the girls to fall head over heels in love with him. So, he kept his little secret to himself…for the most part. I understood his reasoning, but felt bad he couldn’t live his life the way he wanted to.
“Earth to Goldie, take the drinks. Come on, we’re busy tonight, girl.”
I snapped out of my thoughts, grabbed the ready tray, and dropped the drinks off to a bunch of men who must have just gotten out of a business meeting, because they were all wearing loose ties and their suit jackets were laid across the backs of their chairs.
“Here you go, gentlemen. Please remind me, who got the dry martini with two olives?”
“That would be me, sweetheart,” said a middle-aged man with a decent-sized erection poking through his trousers.Good job Lyla, I thought, as I handed him his drink with a smile and a show of my cleavage.
“Do you give lap dances, sweetheart?” asked the man next to him, who was slightly balding and had a case of adult acne scattered across his cheeks.
“Unfortunately I don’t, handsome, but I can get one of the girls to come over and give you exactly what you want,” I said, as bile threatened to come up my throat. I hated acting like I was the least bit interested in these disgusting men.
“What if I want you?”
“You’re going to have to take that up with my manager, then. If it was my choice, I’d be on your lap in a heartbeat,” I winked at him as I dropped off the last man’s drink and headed toward the table in the corner to get their orders.
As I walked away, a strong hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me down onto a very excited lap. Cringing from the blatant chub that was poking me in the ass, I turned around, smiled at the red-faced creep, and started to get up.
“Where you going, sweetheart? I just wanted a little dance from the hottest girl in the joint,” he said, as the garlic he had for dinner ran off his tongue and straight into my nose.
“You know, sir, as much as I would love to gyrate your dick to explosion, I’m going to have to ask you to let go of me so you can go to the bathroom and take care of that chunk of basil nestled between your teeth.” I tossed a toothpick from my miniscule apron onto the table and got up.
The guy covered his mouth as the other men at the table slapped his back and laughed hysterically.
“Hey,” one of the guys called out to me, as garlic breath ran to the bathroom to take care of his revolting food chunk. He handed me a twenty dollar bill and said, “That’s for making my night. That actually made my week. That cocky SOB thinks he’s the shit and you put him in his place in a matter of seconds. Thank you.”
I smiled and said, “Any time. If you boys need anything else, besides lap dances, let me know.” I gave them a wink, pocketed the twenty I’d have to split with the other waitresses, and headed toward table eleven.
Table eleven was one of the exclusive tables reserved for VIPs. Thanks to the lighting, you never really got a good look at who was sitting in the curved booth, but from their vantage point, they could see everything. It was one of the attractions, besides almost naked women, in Kitten’s Castle businessmen appreciated. They could be total horn dogs in the back and never be seen…by anyone.
As I approached, all I saw were the dark shadows of two men, one sitting slightly taller than the other. They both had broad shoulders and what looked like full heads of hair. A vast difference from the men I usually got to take orders from.
“Hi, can I get you two something to drink?” I asked, looking at two dark shadows, desperately trying to make out some features. I was always curious to find out who chose the blackout booths.
