Club Paradise

Frank opened the door and looked around his new hotel room. It was clean and modern, smooth grey walls with inset LED lighting and a floor-length window on the far wall. Pretty slick.

He had just arrived in Las Vegas for the week, on the job. The event he toured with was loading-in to the small stage at the SLS Casino, up by the top of the strip.

But today was the travel day. And his site survey tomorrow wasn’t until 2 p.m.—a wedding was in the space currently, and the house guys would be loading it out all night long, and into the morning too.

He wheeled his suitcase inside and closed the door, dropping his backpack on the bed. He threw the deadlock and bar as a matter of habit—after two years of being on the road in a different hotel every other week, it was second nature.

Frank was the lighting tech for an experiential marketing event, a gig that involved supervising getting the gear off the trucks and into the air, and then rehearsing and running the event for several days before striking it all back down to the road cases again. He had it down to a routine by now.

The rest of the four-person tour crew lived in California & Phoenix, and were flying in the next morning, but Frank was a New Yorker, with a 5-hour flight, so the production manager had brought him in a day early.

Which meant he had a hotel room on the Strip and zero responsibilities until the next afternoon. He was gonna have some fucking fun tonight.

Frank wasn’t the best-looking guy out there. Only 5′-9″, a number of extra pounds, and nearsighted with glasses. He was kind of alright with it, now that he was in his early forties. There had been three semi-serious girlfriends throughout his twenties & thirties. They were fun, cool people, but all of them had been a bit on the frumpy side. The relationships had drifted apart gently, but inevitably.

Unfortunately, years—decades! —spent in a business full of pretty people, staring at what he couldn’t get, and a healthy porn habit skewed toward the young and the thin had left him with a fetish for gorgeous, beautiful women, glamorous and made up, dressed in daringly flirtatious outfits. Girls who were way out of his league.

So naturally, when he got this job that paid him well, took him from city to city, and housed him in nice hotels, he had explored some of the professional options available.

He had sampled escorts, dominatrices, massage parlors & foot-fetish parties, but one of his favorite dirty, guilty pleasures were strip clubs. There was something about the model-beautiful women, made-up like porn stars and dressed in tantalizing outfits, who were scandalously forward in their manner. and who rubbed their lush bodies up against his – all of that just did it for him.

After an unfortunate overindulgence in Miami early on that cost him a pretty penny, he had learned to moderate, to make his money last. He didn’t go to the clubs in every city, but he had sampled most of the big markets.

He had a thing he had started doing sometimes, during lap dances: he would reach down to her leg, if she was standing astride him, and massage it sensuously. He was an excellent masseur—all of his girlfriends had made him give them massages, raving about his strong fingers. Believe it or not, most strippers actually seemed to like this. In Washington DC, the last stop that he had gone out to a club, one of the dancers had moaned into his ear, “I’m melting. No, for serious, I am melting,” in her tantalizingly erotic Russian accent.

He had been in Vegas two years ago, and had gone to the Spearmint Rhino for an unforgettable Sunday-funday. It was as big as a Costco, it seemed like, with hundreds of dancers. The most memorable had been a pair of lithe Latinas, who had spoken to him only in Spanish. Frank didn’t speak Spanish. But they hadn’t been too interested in talking, so that didn’t matter.

Since then, something about the changing laws in Vegas—he wasn’t sure quite what—had led to a recent spate of new and independent clubs opening on the outskirts of the city.

There was Mary-Jo’s Old Time Rowdy Saloon, a classic old-west themed brothel, pretty much right out of Westworld, and across town was Diamond Ravers, half legit dance club and half strip joint. A new palatial and ornamented Moulin Rouge was down practically right next to the airport, and then there was his target for tonight, Club Paradise, at the Paradise High School.

Yeah, that’s right; it was a schoolgirl-themed strip club located at an actual high school building.

In 2016, the old Paradise High School had gotten too overcrowded to function. The parking lots were full of temporary trailer classrooms, which didn’t have the air conditioning for hot Nevada summers.

Some parents had complained online, and it went regionally viral, and caused a big stink. Then Maxim Winnuz, the Russian casino mogul, had very generously and very publicly built a brand new state-of-the-art high school campus, about 3 miles away. It was so overblown it could hold twice as many students than needed. It even had an Olympic-sized pool and an instrumental performance hall right there on campus.

So, with much fanfare, the township moved the entire staff and student body over to the new palatial Winnuz Circle High School, west of the Strip.

The old Paradise High building was emptied and forgotten about for a while, and then eventually cleaned out and put up for auction last year to raise funds for a Christmas decoration display downtown.

These two brothers from Austin Texas had bought the vacant building after they sold their startup and retrofitted it into a 21st century den of sin. One of them was a Japan-o-phile, and he had gotten the idea from the clubs over there which were like subway cars full of schoolgirls in miniskirts that you could pretend to creep on. He had a hunch that sort of thing would go over well in Las Vegas, the city of grand fantasy.

The girls were supposed to be amazing, gorgeous and personable, and they all had to have some kind of acting background. Apparently, the audition process involved actual acting, in addition to twirling around a pole.

That’s what Reddit said, anyway. Frank followed r/BarStage, which was a small group of club aficionados. The subreddit was their public face, but there was also a members-only forum where they would post reviews and write reports about their trips.

This club only had three reviews so far, but they were absolute raves. Each one mentioned a surprise inside, but nobody actually gave the details. They just said it was better experienced in person.

Over on r/ClubThumpers, there was just one review. It was wordless but whoever had posted it had pasted in a GIF of endlessly scrolling stars and the heart-eyes emoji.

So, Frank had been pretty jazzed about visiting this club. High School hadn’t been a particularly good time for him, and a lot of that had to do with unrequited attraction to the alpha girls in his class. If there was a chance to play on that field again, especially on fantastical transactional terms, he wanted in.

It was off the Strip, out in a neighborhood to the east, and there was a $100 cover charge, but they dropped that to $30 if you came dressed as a high-school archetype: prep, goth, jock, nerd, teacher, coach etc.

It was all very ’80s movie’, he thought. But if it left him with $70 more to spend on lap dances, he’d do it.

He had researched this all back in New York before flying out, and he had come prepared: a tan tweed blazer, a pair of fake black glasses, a pocket protector. “Nerd” it was.

He got out of the shower and dressed in new silk boxers and fine black slacks and a blue button-down shirt.

He brushed his teeth & oiled up his upper body & arms with a musky skin cream. He’d had several dancers in the past comment that he smelled nice, so it was part of the routine now.

Then he donned his jacket. His shoes were black Blundstones—a little off theme, but comfortable.

He took his ID, bank card & room card out of his wallet and put them into a thin leather bifold. His cash went into $100 stacks of $20 bills, a couple in each pocket. And he fired up his secondary phone, a cheap Nokia Android he kept for nights like this. And from the bathroom, a pack of chewing gum, a travel-size packet of sanitary wipes and a foil pack of Advil. This all went into the pockets, and nothing else.

He opened the curtains, turned off the light and left his room, descending through the hotel into the casino. The SLS was bustling, full of both restless people pumping away at the slot machines and too-happy revelers at the high roller card tables.

Gambling wasn’t his thing, but Frank liked Las Vegas. There was something compelling about the scale of the place — it was like a fun-house mirror on America. And it was also very fun, in more ways than one.

A long block off the strip was a dispensary, in the shadow of the Stratosphere casino, where stopped for a pair of disposable vape pens and a couple of pre-rolls. He’d do most of his flower shopping later in the week, but he wanted something for this evening. The joints were protected in little plastic tubes and didn’t smell like weed at all. The vape pens went into his pocket protector—no reason he couldn’t be a little cooler up close than he looked in this costume.

Suitably prepared, it was time to start the mission. Club Paradise was south of the Strip, down below above the airport and to the east.

He had learned about the Las Vegas taxicab-strip club partnership last time he’d been there, when his cab driver had explained it on the way to the Rhino. Now that he knew what the deal was, he did not want to participate. He valued his privacy and did not want stupid bro banter with a cabbie, so he ordered a Lyft car and directed it to a municipal park a mile and a half away from the old school.

When it arrived, he popped out of the car and walked inside the park, under the shadow of the trees. As the Lyft was pulling away, Frank tipped out one of his pre-rolls and sparked up.

He had started smoking grass in high school, in a park not unlike this one. The sight of a quiet, darkened neighborhood lit by distant streetlights seemed so natural. The indoor hydro had his head rushing from the first pull, and he felt himself getting excited.

It had been two months since he had been to a club, and he’d been really anticipating this one in particular. The schoolgirl look was in regular rotation in his porn queue, and he loved it when he encountered strippers dressed in plaid skirts. A whole club full of them? This was gonna be awesome.

When the joint was half smoked, he started walking through the quiet town. A half-hour later, the J was history, and his blood was pumping as he rounded a corner and saw his destination: down a long driveway, past several large parking lots, was a large mid-century American school building.

It looked a lot like his old high school from home—classic brick two story campus, large central section in the middle that was three stories tall, with matched two-story wings of classrooms emanating from either side.

To the right side he could see a gym building, with tennis courts across from it, and an empty football field off in the distance behind them. On the left side was the auditorium, with a classic double-tall fly gallery attached to the main space.

What was distinctly different from any high school he had ever seen was the purple spotlights that outlined the front entrance. Above the double doors was a giant neon sign that said “Club Paradise” in bright pink, flowing, glowing script.

Frank walked down the sidewalk that ran by the driveway, past the parking lots and up to the front doors.

In front of the door was a huge man, clearly a bouncer. He was dressed as a gym teacher, in orange athletic shorts and a white t-shirt, with a big whistle around his neck.

“Hey, nerd!” The man bellowed in his direction.

Then he let out a resonant belly laugh.

“Excuse me, sir—I was just kidding. We at Club Paradise are very happy you’re here. That’s a good costume.”

“Thanks, I think?” Frank shook the offered hand.

“You’re quite welcome. That’ll be 30 bucks.”

He handed over the money and tipped another $10 – sometimes it paid to get the bouncer in your side.

The man pocketed the money and then handed Frank a clipboard with a pen under the clip.

“Thank you very much, sir. Now I’m going to need you to read this and then sign & date it.”

Frank looked down at the form and read the disclaimer.

‘Club Paradise offers a fantasy entertainment experience for consenting adults. All dancers and customers are above the age of eighteen, as are all characters they play, and any taboo relationships depicted are merely character-driven role play—just imagination. Club Paradise does not recommend or condone any activities depicted within outside of the context of this fantasy setting. I, the undersigned, being of sober mind and legal age, assent to this statement.’

Frank signed with the blue pen, scribbled the date in next to his name and then handed the clipboard back to the bouncer.

“You’re all set, sir. A word of advice—the school thing is a lot of fun, and the girls love it. Play along and you’ll have an amazing time tonight!”

With that, he pulled back the rope and pushed the door open.

Frank walked inside.

The wide linoleum hallway immediately brought back a rush of sense memories, and for a split second he was an awkward teenager flooding in through a hallway just like this one among a mass of other bodies. Early mornings for orchestra practice, afternoons with the A/V Club in the library, French Club once a week.

A parade of old faces flashed through his mind—some friends & teachers, but mostly it was girls: Becca from science class with ringlet curls and deep cleavage; Natalie, tall and tan with her shirts so tight, in the desk beside him in homeroom; Rock and Roll Allie had been dating his best friend, but Frank always fantasized the what-if’s. He shook his head clear of the past and centered himself.

He heard the muffled bass thump-thump of music in the distance and walked forward. The locker-lined hallway had doors to classrooms on either side. The doors originally had vertical glass windows, but most of them had been covered over with shiny foil.

In between the doors and the lockers were tall posters on the walls, showing staged setups of beautiful girls—the dancers presumably—in school uniforms, acting out different scenarios.

“Cheerleader Tryouts!” featured a troupe of girls in red cheerleading uniforms with Halloween-short, flared skirts and red platform heels, out on the football field. The scoreboard showed all 69s. They were arranged in a V line, facing off against a hunk of a coach. He was blowing a whistle at the girl in front, cheeks all puffy, as she thrust her pompoms and her tongue out at him. At the bottom was a caption that read, “Do You Make the Cut?”

Another door in and he could hear the snare & hat as well as the bass. Definitely hip-hop.

“Detention” showed a classroom from the teachers’ point of view. Big hairy male arms, one with a silver watch, stuck into frame on either side. On the other side of the desk were three model-hot schoolgirls, in short plaid skirts, all done up with dark eyeshadow and shiny lipstick. All three had their hands cuffed with silver handcuffs. The black-haired girl on the right was sneering, while the blonde on the left had a pleading look on her face. The one in the middle, a redhead, had a smoldering stare and a pencil between her lips, held in one cuffed hand, the other dangling from it. The text on the bottom of this one read, “Some Good Old-Fashioned Discipline.”

Down the hallway, past the next door, and the music was getting clearer—it had a 90s East Coast sound that went quite well with his buzz, but he didn’t recognize it yet.

“Chess Club” featured a skinny little nerd boy with coke bottle glasses, sitting at a chess table in a classroom, playing white. This time the arm reaching into frame was female, with exquisite French-tipped nail polish. She had the black queen between her fingers, about to put it down decisively. The boy was flanked by a pair of mouthwatering teenybopper firecrackers, one blonde and one redhead. They had pigtails and sparkly eyeshadow and big barrettes, and they each were kissing the boy on his ears. The redhead had his earlobe between her teeth. A third bubbly beauty perched above him, her cleavage resting on his head. The tag at the bottom read, “Are We Distracting You?”

The song resolved into Naughty by Nature’s “Feel Me Flow” and Frank smiled large. He had already been walking in time with the music, but now that he knew the song he was energized.

“Homecoming Dance” showed a line of beauties in fancy sequined dresses, scandalously short with miles of leg and cleavage on display. Their hair was styled over their heads in intricate up-do’s, with ringlets and braidlets and barrettes and little claw-clamps. To one side, just on the edge of the frame, was a male teacher. There was a blonde kneeling in front of him. The back of her head masked his crotch, but the look on his face made it obvious what was going on. On the other edge was a pair of female teachers looking at the girls, and the blowjob, shocked and appalled. This one didn’t have a caption.

And then he was at the end of the hallway, facing a pair of double doors. The sign over them said “Multi-Purpose Room”.

Beside them was a man in a suit standing at a valet podium. The man greeted Frank as he approached.

“Welcome to Club Paradise. I’m Vice Principal Johnson. Is this your first time here?”

“Yes,” Frank replied.

“Wonderful. Thank you for joining us this evening. You’re just in time—one of the stage shows should be starting soon.”

He pushed open the doors and showed Frank the inside with an outstretched arm.

“The main room is through here, sir. There are tables down by the stage, or you could start at the bar.

He gestured as he spoke, and Frank took in the scene.

It was a cafetorium, sure enough. They had added a runway to the old stage, and it stuck out about halfway into the room. There was a pole where it ended, and another one up on the main stage. There were trusses on the ceiling, and concert-style moving lights spun around the space. Frank’s eyes went to them first, out of professional instinct. But they didn’t linger there long.

On the center pole, a cocoa-skinned dancer moved languorously yet vigorously to the groove of the music, naked save for a fishing-line thin g-string and a thick diamond choker. Her Ariana Grande topknot of straight black hair spun behind her as she twirled.

The tables that ringed the stage were mostly full, and guys were waving singles in the air, hoping to attract some attention.

One guy down front kept throwing fives down on the stage and waving his arms around. It was clear that somebody wanted some one-to-one study time with the dancer when her stage shift was over.

Frank looked back at the host. “I’ll start at the bar.”

“Very good, sir.” Frank passed him a twenty, and his smile broadened.

“VERY good, sir.” he repeated, with emphasis, throwing his arm out like a maître’d.

Frank walked past him and over to the bar, as the song was a winding down. The tall blonde bartender had a punk look going, with half of her head shaved. She whipped up a gin and tonic in a flash, and Frank settled back to watch the dancer onstage.

She ended theatrically on her knees in front of Mr. Fiver. The front tables clapped, and she slipped off the stage. Then all of a sudden, all of the moving lights snapped to the stage at once.

A snare drum cracked like a gunshot as the hip-hop beat was replaced with a strident marching band drumline cadence.

The DJ came over the mic: “Stooooodents of Paradise High! It’s time for a Pep Rally! Let’s get ready to get peppy. Here come the Paradise Pussycats!”

The curtains upstage swagged back and a troupe of six cheerleaders strutted onstage. They were in tiny red skirts with flimsy white tops tied around their waists, the same as Frank had seen on the poster outside. Full red bras underneath were defying the laws of physics. Red stripper platforms completed the look. They all had little differences in their accessories—the blonde with obvious falsies had big hoop earrings, the tall Black girl with crimped hair had bedazzled knee pads and a Korean hottie wore—of all things—an eye-patch.

The unseen drums beat out a vigorous tattoo as the cheerleaders spun and gyrated in a rehearsed Bring-It-On style routine, with plenty of stripper flair.

Midway through they made a pyramid and lifted the Korean girl up to the top. She pulled the ties of her flimsy white shirt and flung it aside before gracefully leaping down to the stage. The other cheerleaders followed suit and cheered now in their red bras and skirts. The bounce quotient was significant.

Then the drum cadence simplified into just a kick and a snare, a familiar 1-2 beat. A gritty vocal track cut through the air: “Come on feel the Noize! Girls rock your boys! We’ll get wild, wild, wild!”

Guitars wailed in and the cheerleaders threw their pom-poms up into the air. The crowd down front cheered and threw singles up onstage.

“Wild, wild, wild!”

The girls pulled off their bras now and danced in just skirts and heels. Titties were everywhere, flying left and right and up and down, a variety of shapes and shades and shimmies but all appealing,

The guitar solo started, and the girls broke their formation, fanning out across the stage & down the runway. Each cheerleader played to two or so tables and got on their hands and knees, working the people in front.

Frank watched the Korean do a split in front of some guy who had a dollar rolled up in his mouth. She snapped her legs together, just missing his face but snagging the bill neatly between her knees.

Next to her, the blonde was running her implants all over some guy’s face. The others were arrayed down the runway, plying to the bleachers. Above it all, the Black girl spun gracefully around the pole over their heads, her long supple legs stretched out.

By the drum breakdown, the whole room was singing along with the chorus: “We’ll get wild, wild, wild!” Frank joined in, too—he was juiced. It was fair to say that the girls had indeed rocked their boys.

As the song came to an end, the cheerleaders stood up and began to collect their clothes, still shaking and shimmering.

“Are you not entertained?!?” the DJ thundered over the end of the song. “They’re coming to cheer you up, guys; show them some love!”

Naturally, “School’s Out” by Alice Cooper followed on the playlist, and the cheerleaders strutted off the stage, pulling on their bras and uniforms, and began to work the room.

The blonde with the big hoop earrings skipped right up to meet him. Her impossibly firm D-cup tits were back inside the red bra, showcasing smooth round cleavage that did not bounce when she cheered. It was great looking cleavage, though.

She waggled her pompoms at her sides and flashed a thousand-watt smile at him.

“2-4-6-8! Don’t you think my legs look great! Yaaaaaayyyyyy!”

Then she spun away from him and bent at the waist. She was twirling her pom-poms in front of her now, but she was really showing him an upskirt. Her white panties matched her cheer uniform, but he could see the red thong he saw during the show underneath.

“Hi! I’m Kayleigh!” She gushed at him. “I saw ya in the bleachers while we were cheering. You want a dance? It’ll pep up your school spirit!” This with a giant wink.

“Sure Kayleigh—I’d love that.” He told her. The first touch of the first dance was always thrilling to him.

Kayleigh took his hand and pulled him away from the bar. He grabbed his drink and followed, familiar with the ritual.

All around the room there were armless plush leather couches lined up against the wall, where the lighting was more shadowy. There were small round cocktail tables every six feet or so. It looked to Frank like about half of the available seating space was occupied by women doing private dances.

There was always a mix of sitting & talking versus writhing & smushing of bodies in this part of a club, but Frank thought he could see more talking than usual.

Kayleigh ably steered him to a more sparsely occupied section that still offered a good view of the stage, playfully pushing him down onto the couch when she got him there.

Frank put his cocktail on the round table nearest him and leaned back.

Kayleigh did her cheerleader thing again, twirling the pompoms and saying “2-4-6-8! Use me while you masturbate! Gooooooooo Baby!”

Then she shucked the pompoms to the floor and untied her shirt. The red bra underneath was perfectly round and the breasts they contained were shaped the same.

She leaned past him and out her hand on the couch back behind him. Her bra pushed into his shoulder, her tits springy underneath.

“So!” she burbled excitedly, playing her character. “Is this your first time here?”

She stood back up again, and then turned to show him her ass, the skirt flipped up on her back as she touched her toes. She was wearing two pairs of panties, but both of them must have been extremely thin, because he could see a definite cameltoe.

“Yes.” he answered. “I’ve been to Vegas before, but never to this club.”

She looked at him upside down from between her legs. Her hair touched the floor.

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “You been to any of the other clubs here?”

“A couple. Most memorably the Rhino a year or two ago.”

“That’s a good one,” she admitted. “But you’re gonna love it here, even more.”

“I’m getting that sense.”

She didn’t reply right away, and danced through a few of the classic stripper combos—the down-front slide, the sitting lean-back, the usual.

“You know, I’m breaking you in gently, with a little old-school dance style.”

She swirled her hair before continuing, and put her hands on his legs.

“But usually, the girls here offer a more, let’s say, ‘character-based’ or ‘fantasy-driven’ frictional experience. It’s our ‘house specialty’, if you will.

“What, uh, precisely does that entail?” he asked, without thinking that over. He knew you didn’t talk openly about what went on in places like this.

Kayleigh didn’t answer. She just kept dancing in front of him, considering.

“You know what? You…” she bopped him on the nose playfully, “…are gonna have much more fun discovering that on your own.”

“So, I’m not going to take up your time right now. Get out there and hang with a few of the other girls here. See what we have to offer.”

The song ended, and Kayleigh pulled back. She smiled her Disney smile again, and pulled on her white top, tying it up underneath her bra.

Frank fished out a twenty, handing it over. She slipped it into her cleavage and then, thanking him, walked back to the club interior.

Frank sat back and adjusted his pants.

The Cure’s “Lovecats” had picked on the sound system, staying in the 80’s but creating a more sophisticated vibe than the arena rock.

Up on the stage, the Korean girl who had been in the cheerleader squad was coming on again, this time dressed as a preppy. The eyepatch was gone, and she had a pink blazer on over a silver sparkly bra. Her tan skirt had a slit that went all the way up, showing the tops of her white thigh-highs, and her shoes were tan platform pumps with pink bottoms.

Frank watched her work through her moves: first the blazer came off, thrown upstage with dramatic flair. The guys down front really liked that. Then she unfastened her bra as well, but was holding it over her breasts, teasing the crowd.

At that moment, the doors beside the stage opened and out came a pair of girls dressed in goth punk style. Frank forgot about the stage altogether.

The dirty blonde in front was in a jangly leather jacket and big-hole fishnets. There was ink up and down her legs under the mesh, and her Doc Martin’s had 4-inch platforms. Underneath the jacket was a tight, slashed wifebeater, with a blue bra showing underneath. Her eyeshadow was rich red and her lips were darker red, almost blood red.

Just behind her floated an absolutely angelic Kat Dennings lookalike—a divine vision of jet black hair, pale white skin, blood-red lips under blue-shadowed eyes, fine cheekbones, chest for days.

And those eyes! They were shock sapphire blue. They practically glowed in the dark. Frank couldn’t tell if they were natural or if they were contact lenses. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

Her eyes were captivating enough that his gaze went to them first, instead of straight to that stupendous rack.

She had on a thin blue shirt, with bare midriff, stretched to the breaking point over her large, luscious tits. She was wearing a half-cup black bra—he could see it through the blue fabric—but above it her cleavage rippled & shook as she moved.

Her black-and-white plaid schoolgirl skirt didn’t cover much, and long, smooth, curved legs disappeared downward into a pair of silver stripper platform heels.

Frank was blindsided by this pale angel, and knew immediately he wanted to get a dance from her.

As they walked past his table, he raised his glass and said, “Hi.”

He was not at all prepared for what happened next: the blonde in the lead stopped and turned to him, taking in his outfit.

“What the fuck you lookin’ at, nerd?” she snarled, and then bent down towards Frank and got right in his face.

“You think you can handle us?” Her black painted lips brushed against his as she spoke, nicotine on her breath along with a distinctly more feminine scent.

“No, of course not.” She slapped his face, lightly, and then stood up again. “You’re too much of a nerd.”

Frank was overwhelmed with a mix of feelings, surprise & anger & desire, but he looked past the blonde, at her pale friend.

The other woman saw him staring and met his gaze with her own. Frank felt like he was tripping out on her electric blue eyes, falling deep into their seductive whirlpool.

She let him stare for a moment, and then rolled her eyes visibly and said, “Lame.”

She looked at him with a look of disdain that instantly brought back memories of his own high school experience, decades old.

Frank’s cock just about tore through his trousers. He wanted her as bad as his awkward teenage self had ever wanted anyone.

No stripper had ever treated him like this. It just made him want her even more.

He was used to the faux seduction routine—that was one of the things he liked about the clubs. He wasn’t the best-looking guy, but in a strip club, that didn’t matter. Gorgeous beauties treated him like he was Brad Pitt if he was in a strip club, oozing charm and desire. He knew it was all fake, but it worked—it stroked his ego in a way nothing else did, and of course where his mind went his dick wasn’t far behind.

But this girl—she had taken her perfection and denied him.

Holy fuck that’s hot, he thought to himself. Surely, she would dance with him if he asked. Frank wasn’t good at asking. That’s why he liked clubs—in here, the girls asked him. But she was worth making the effort for—

But they were gone, moving in down the couch line towards a pair of Wall Street looking guys in suits.

The DJ started spinning “Young Americans” by David Bowie, and Frank nodded unconsciously with the beat, fixated on the movement of their swaying skirts as they walked. He watched them come on to the businessmen, acting very differently than they had with him. They were laughing, flirting with these guys.

Still watching the goths, he adjusted his pants and pushed his cock back flat against his leg, and then took off the fake glasses and the pocket protector. The whole “nerd” thing wasn’t working out quite like he expected. With just the blazer he could say he was a teacher if anyone asked.

He was looking down, stashing the vape pens into his jacket pocket, and didn’t notice when someone walked up to him.

“Hi, mister!”

He snapped his head back when he heard a high-pitched voice right in front of him

A lithe little Latina stood there, all of five feet tall. Her dark straight hair was bound up in two high side pigtails, and she had on black frame glasses. Her eyeshadow was yellow and silver, and her lipstick was bright baby pink.

She was in paperthin white yoga pants, with red panties clearly showing underneath and a baby blue micro t-shirt that said “sweetheart” in white cursive letters. Despite her small breasts, there was a bra under that shirt, outlined by the flimsy fabric.

She looked absolutely mouthwatering, a perfect combo of innocence and flirtatiousness.

“Hi, I’m Harmony! What’s yours?”

Frank started at that—this girl totally reminded him of someone he had seen recently online.

“I’m, uh, Frank – wait, are you…an actress?”

She did not look surprised by the question. “If you mean, am I Harmony the porn star you jerk off to, the answer is no.”

She made an exaggerated pouty front face.

“But I totally look like her, right? That’s why I picked Harmony as my stage name. It also lets me find out early who the real perverts are!” She gave him a big wink. “My friend Kyler did the same thing.”

She pointed towards another waif-thin girl a few tables away. Kyler was mid lap dance, her long straight hair whirling around as she sat on someone’s lap. Her shirt was off and Frank could see her pert, puffy B-cups jiggle with her movements. She looked like five feet of absolutely adorable trouble.

“We’re actually friends in real life! We started together.”

“Aaaaannnyyyyway.” She bit her lip cutely for a moment after that.

“I wanted to tell you that you look just like my father’s friend, Mister James. Like, under the jacket I mean.”

“I thought maybe I could give you a dance and tell you all about it?” It wasn’t exactly a question, but her voice went up at the end.

For the time being, Frank was hypnotized. The goth girl in his immediate memory took a backseat to the petit sweetheart in his lap, looking up into his eyes. She smelled so fresh.

“For sure, Harmony. I’d love that.”

She slipped down all the way onto Frank’s lap and flung her arms around his neck.

“Ok. Where were we?”

“You were going to tell me about Mr. James.”

“Oh yeah.” Her smile grew to the edges of her face.

“I’ve known Mister James my whole life. He was a business associate of my Daddy. My daddy can be a little gruff sometimes, but Mister James was so nice. He would always look at me and smile. It looked so good on him.”

While she was talking, Harmony’s leg was shifting up and down, pushing her body back and forth against his. Her face came in so close to his that their noses brushed.

“You have a nice smile, too!” She beamed at him. “I want to just eat it up!”

Her tongue flickered out of her mouth and brushed against Frank’s lips. Endorphins surged up his spine and he shivered.

A look of smug satisfaction came over Harmony’s face, and she pulled back a little. She slowly spun in his lap, sliding her ass around his crotch. When she was facing away, she bent down to touch the floor, and then stood up. The action lifted her skirt covered ass right up to his face.

She reached around and started playing with the skirt fabric, flipping it up and around, showing off her baby-blue thong.

After wiggling around for a minute, she pushed backwards as she sat back down, dragging her butt down his chest. She was on his lap again, leaning back to sing the Bowie’s quoted Beatles line right into Frank’s ears.

“I heard the news today, oh boy!”

She nuzzled down into his neck, and then pulled back to face him.

“I think Mister James would want me to sit on his lap, like this. Do you think he’d like it? I think you like it…”

She grinned naughtily, then took a deep breath and opened her mouth to continue.

But just then the David Bowie began to trail off.

“Oh, sounds like that’s the end of the song, Frank. Do you want to get another dance?”

The effervescent plunkiness of Fine Young Cannibals “She Drives me Crazy” picked up, matching his pounding heartbeat.

“S-a-sure.” Frank stammered and nodded.

“Good boy.”

One of her hands came up and she began to stroke his cheek with her index finger.

“The thing about Mister James, is that in the last year or so, now that I’m in college, he’s been looking at me a little different.

The finger wandered down to Frank’s lips.

“His gaze lingers on me when my Daddy isn’t watching. He thinks I don’t know how much but I always do. And sometimes…”

Harmony’s finger probed its way between Frank’s lips. He opened his mouth, and she pushed her finger inside. Her leg was still sliding rhythmically up him.

“Sometimes I tease him a little. I may look innocent but I’m a bad, bad girl!”

A few tables over, Kyler finished up with her customer and pulled her tight stretch top over her shoulders.

Past Kyler he could see the goths with their customers. The tattooed one was bent at the waist, shoving her ass in her man’s face and wiggling it. The other one, the pale angel who captivated him, she was facing her man, slathered all over him. Her shirt was on the couch next to them, and Frank could see a pair of angel wings tattooed on her bare white back.

She was either kissing him or pushing her amazing tits into his face, and the thought of either one gave Frank a thrill.

The man’s hand was squeezing her ass like it was a stress ball. Her skirt had been flipped up to reveal a pair of shiny hot pink panties, with tiny little black skulls all over them. He had two fingers under those panties, and Frank watched the outline of his knuckles distort the smooth pink fabric as he groped her perfect body. Those fingers were probably all the way up inside her –

He snapped back to the girl in front of him when she called across the room to Kyler.

“Baby!” Harmony’s high voice was just barely audible over the music, but Kyler heard. She sashayed over and stood before them.

“I was just telling Frank here about Mister James. Do you remember when we were back home on summer break? You came over to use the pool and Mister James was there?

“Oh, yes.” Kyler’s eyes lit up with excitement. “We had on nothing but our teeny, tiny little bikinis.”

“They were so small. Just strings, really.”

“Can you imagine that? Our little bodies out in the bright sun, wearing scandalously small swimsuits. They were like this.”

Harmony gestured up at Kyler.

“Baby, show him your panties.”

Kyler straightened her back up, eyes beaming with pride, and she pulled up her little skirt with both hands.

She was so thin that Frank could see her ‘bikini bridge’ hip bones clearly above the skirt band, and her thigh gap was prominent. He could probably lay three fingers side-by-side in that gap. Or one cock, he thought, salaciously.

Her thong was white with a hot-pink border. There was a picture of a pair of cherries in the middle. It almost glowed against her fine smooth skin.

“That day, her bikini bottoms were cut like this,” Harmony said earnestly.

She traced her finger up the edge of the thong. Kyler moaned, and visibly shivered.

“This part was covered.”

She ran her finger up the very middle of the shiny thong, pausing over the cherries to scratch around for a moment.

Kyler squeaked like the Pillsbury Doughboy and Frank saw a shiver run through her little body.

“But this part…” Harmony slipped her finger under the fabric a centimeter and ran it back down again. “This part was exposed.”

She pulled her finger out and held it up in Kyler’s face. Kyler sensuously licked the tip. Then she dropped it, and Harmony turned back to face Frank.

“So, you can see why Mister James might have been distracted.”

“She Drives me Crazy” echoed out as it ended, and Kyler dropped her skirt back down over her panties. Without even a second of silence, the xylophone trill from “Girls just Want to Have Fun!” kept the tennybopper vibe going. The DJ paged “Bailey to the Main Stage; that’s Bailey Baby, up next on the stage,” over the intro.

Harmony looked into his eyes and asked him again, “Do you want to have a dance with both of us?” She cocked her head to one side and tugged on one of her pigtails.

Frank nodded vigorously. Harmony clapped her hands cutely, and then tugged at Kyler’s skirt again.

Kyler obligingly fell down to her knees. Her eyes never left their lock on Frank’s as her chin came down on his crotch, right on top of his burgeoning erection.

Harmony was back in his face now, running her hands through Frank’s hair as she kept telling her story.

“Mister James and Daddy were working from the table up by the house, and he was sitting in just the best way to see us in the pool behind Daddy.”

“We saw him looking and I gave him a little wave. Then Kyler leaned in and whispered into my ear. She said we should maybe tease him a little.”

“I am really such a slut.” Kyler chimed in, from her place between Frank’s legs.

As she spoke, her chin moved around on his pants. His dick squirmed inside his underwear.

“We laughed at this, and I saw him blush. Daddy was focused on his stupid paperwork, like always, and didn’t notice.”

“We were splashing around and giggling and having so much fun.”

Kyler chimed in, “And we made out a little, too!” Her chin jousted with his encased wood again.

“Oh yes, we did,” gushed Harmony.

“Like this!”

She leaned down toward Kyler, who responded by popping up onto her elbows—which she put right on Frank’s pants. The pressure was exactly what his cock craved for.

The two girls locked lips in a passionate French kiss. Frank stared at their made-up faces and watched their tongues weave in and out each other’s mouths.

After a long minute they broke, and Harmony came back up. She wiped her mouth with the edge of one hand and beamed at Frank. “Like that.”

“Thanks, babe.” Kyler looked up right at Frank and said salaciously, “Her mouth tastes incredible – like ice cream and smiles.”

After she finished speaking, she lay her head down sideways on his pants, pressing her cheek into the bulge.

Frank was on the moon with sensation.

Harmony looked down at Kyler.

“Oh, yes, we totally smooched! We made sure to keep looking over at him while we were kissing each other.”

“Then Daddy’s phone rang. It was something for work and he needed to go deliver something somewhere.”

“We could tell that Mister James was a little nervous, being alone with the two of us. He tried not to look at us. But he couldn’t help himself.”

“So, then we— ”

The song started to fade down and Kyler’s head lifted back up off of his pants.

The intro to Prince’s “Kiss” jangled out over the speakers.

“Oh, the songs over. Too bad.” She made a pouty face. “Would you like to have another dance?”

“Yes, Please!”

Kyler’s chin pushed back down, but this time she used it to push his hard-on over to one side.

She opened her mouth and began to slowly French-kiss his tent pole. Her lips went over it and pressed in lightly, then slipped off again. She kept this going as Harmony picked up the story again, lifting her head up to mouth the word “Kiss” every time Prince reached the chorus.

“So, then we got out of the pool. Our wet bodies glistened in the sunlight as we walked over to the table. We walked like we were in high heels, swaying our hips and waggling our butts.”

Down below, Kyler stifled a laugh.

“He saw us coming and I could tell it took his breath away. We got right up close to him – almost touching.”

Harmony put her face right in front of Franks.

“I said ‘Hi, Mister James! It’s so hot out here, don’t you think?’

“He could barely answer: ‘Uh, yes, Harmony.’ he stammered.”

“‘Do you want some pink lemonade?’ I cut him off like that, just to keep him off-balance.”

“Kyler just watched us, licking her lips slowly. Didn’t you, you naughty naughty.” Harmony reached down and ruffled Kyler’s hair. Frank felt the vibrations through her chin and his pants.

“Of course, he said yes, so we went inside to let him stew for a little bit. His eyes were locked on our asses as we sashayed away.”

Kyler’s hands came up and gripped Frank’s legs, squeezing first one and then the other.

“We could see him from the kitchen, and he was blushing. One hand was under the table.”

“It was so cute—I wanted to gobble him right up then and there,” Kyler piped in.

“Later!” Harmony smacked her playfully. “That’s at least two dances from now.”

“You’re bad!” Kyler shot back. Then they both giggled.

“We made a pitcher of pink lemonade and brought it out to him, still in our mini-kini’s.

“I leaned on the table right next to him to chatter. The little slut in your lap was across from us, her eyes open wide as she sucked her lemonade through a curlie-cue straw. She was basically going down on the straw.”

“I have an oral fixation.” Kyler blew him a kiss from between his legs.

Harmony continued: “‘Mister James, we saw you watching us while we were in the pool.’ I tried to look as innocent as I could while I was talking to him.”

“He sputtered something about how he wasn’t, it was an accident, and he turned bright red.”

“It was sooooo cute!” Kyler shook her head as she said that, rolling her chin back and forth over his cock.

“‘We don’t mind, silly. We like it when men look at us.’ I told him.”

“‘It makes us feel pretty.’ chimed in this one.” Harmony gesture at Kyler.

“Well, it does!” squeaked Kyler. “I can tell when a guy is undressing me with his eyes…it makes me so wet.” She shivered.

“After that,” Harmony looked down at Frank, “Mister James was putty in our hands.”

“We had him judge our bikinis, how they looked and how they felt.”

Frank’s eyes went wide at this.

“Oh, yeah,” Harmony bragged. “We dragged his hands all over our suits.”

“All over,” Kyler moaned.

He thought about a middle-aged man feeling up these two willing minxes, who were encouraging and inflaming his lust the while time, just like they were his.

Harmony waggled her eyebrows at him. “And then we took him inside.”

“He didn’t want to get up from the table—we had to drag him out.” Kyler was gleeful at this detail.

“When he was out from under it, it was clear why.”

At the same time, both girls exclaimed, “He such had a massive boner!”

“Kind of like yours,” added Kyler.

The song tapered off and, as they had earlier, each girl eased off and looked at him for the ask.

“Do you want another dance, to hear about what happened inside?” Harmony asked again.

“Or maybe you want to take us next door?” Kyler stage whispered up at him.

The next song, Katy Perry’s “Slave to the Rhythm” had started, its Gloria Estefan vibe a natural bridge back out of the 80s, but Frank knew he had to take a pause—another five minutes of this treatment and he’d be done for.

“Oh my god, girls. You are too good at this. I’m not sure I could hold out for another dance.”

Harmony and Kyler looked at each other, and then both leaned in towards his face.

Harmony gave him a lush French kiss, running her tongue all around his lips.

“It was very nice to meet you.”

Then she made room for Kyler, who did the same. “Until next time.”

“You did two with me and four with both of us, so that is $200.” Harmony told him.

Frank had been counting too—never lose count—and had the money ready, with an extra 20 each for a tip. He kept his stash as folds of $100 each, so he could take out only as much as he needed. No reason to let anyone here see your whole wad, he reasoned.

They gathered their clothes and rose as one. Holding hands, they walked off back into the club.

He looked down the row of couches, and saw the goth girls stand up, dragging their men up after them. The pale one was pulling her tight top back over her head, facing away from Frank.

They took their pair of businessmen by the arms and led them through the room towards the double doors at the end. As they were leaving, the pale one caught Frank staring and leered back at him. She flipped him the bird and made a kissy face before she was pulled through the doors and down the hall by her customer.

Frank took a deep breath, and exhaled. When he was centered again, he waved over a waitress.

She was an exception to the schoolgirl theme, wearing a wispy little black tutu-like dress and black stockings. Her lip piercing glinted as it caught the lights.

“What can I getcha?” she said, with a New Jersey accent.

Frank ordered another gin and tonic, paying in advance and tipping her a ten.

In a jiffy she was back, cocktail in hand.

“Here you go, sir. By the way, what kind of faculty member are you?”

Frank looked up at her, startled by the question.

“Asking for a friend.” She winked down at him. “You’ll like her!”

He thought fast. “I’m a math teacher.”

He pulled out the pocket protector and showed it to her. “See?”

“Of course. Have fun!”

She hurried away, back towards the bar.

Up on stage, a woman in her thirties dressed as a schoolmarm was just beginning. She had a tight bun of jet-black hair and was dressed in a translucent silk blouse and a pencil skirt with a slit. She was carrying what looked like a riding crop.

Frank pulled out one of his vape pens and took a hit.

The rolling piano arpeggiation of Elton John’s “Teacher I Need You” started, and the DJ came on the mic. “Give it up for the luscious Mizz Marian the Librarian! She is long and she is lean, and none you boys better make a peep during study hall, or else…”

Marian slapped the crop against her leg with a loud thwack and grinned evilly.

The guys down by the stage hooted their approval.

He settled back to watch her work, but before he really could get comfortable, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a girl almost running towards him.

This woman wore an actual schoolgirl uniform, not one of the Halloween-style micro skirts. Hers was red and black plaid, and fell down to a handspan above her knees. Her button-down shirt was tight, fairly translucent, and half-unbuttoned. The bra underneath was black. Her straight, shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back straight with a headband. On her feet were black and white patent leather saddle shoes, with three-inch heels. She was a mouthwatering vision of class picture day.

“Oh Professor, thank goodness I found you!” Her look was so intense that Frank was momentarily taken aback.

“I’m Audrey, from your fourth period calculus class.” She was nodding up and down as she spoke. “Right now, I’m getting a B in your class, but I need to get an A or else my father will be really mad at me.”

“So…” Frank began, but she cut him off by putting her index finger over his lips.

“I need you to give me some extra credit to change my grade.”

“I want to give you a dance to help make up for it. Do you want me to give you a dance?”

She clutched her arms in front of her, ballooning out her cleavage, and cast her eyes downward. She was still bouncing up and down on her toes. “Please, please, please, let me dance for you, Professor.”

Frank was hooked. She looked mouthwateringly delicious, in that outfit, with her shiny lipstick catching the lights in the room.

Frank thought of himself as fairly liberal, even feminist on certain issues. Certainly, an ally. Which aligned well with his slight femdom proclivities—not only was it woke but it was also hot to take orders from women.

But the sight of this girl, acting submissive, sparked in him a lust that was honestly conflicted. He had guilt for ‘reenforcing the patriarchy’ by condoning male dominant relationships – they were counter-revolutionary, as Kate, his college friend, would say.

Naturally, all this guilt activated feedback loops in his brain that made his dick even harder.

She looked SO good. And she smelled so good, too. Somehow, he knew she would taste amazing.

“Yes, Miss— ”

“Audrey,” she burst in immediately. “I’m Audrey, from your afternoon calculus class. I sit up front, you know.”

Her commitment to the role almost had him believeing he actually taught math. “I’d love a dance, Miss Audrey.”

She flung herself onto him and immediately kissed his right ear, slathering her tongue all over it and briefly biting the lobe.

“Thank you, sir.” she breathed into his ear, in between kisses. She was half kissing, half moaning and crying into his ear, and his nerves were on fire.

Her hand was running up and down his shirt, and her legs were doing that stripper pulse just like Harmony had.

“I studied. Honest, sir, I studied hard for you, I swear.” The hand had come up to his head, and was massaging it frantically, pushing it towards her sinful lips on the other side. He was in her clutches now.

The Katy Perry crossfaded into another pop song, the Kygo mix of Whitney Houston singing Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” with an apocalyptic intensity.

Audrey pulled her face back and looked at him. Her eyes were brown, but they sparkled with tears. Her leg did not stop its up and down rhythm.

“That was the end of the song. Do you want another dance?”

“Oh, yes.”

Audrey leaned back in, sliding her cheek past Frank’s. She murmured her words right into his face.

“I tried studying with Brad. But we get too distracted. He can’t keep his hands off me.”

“Brad’s your boyfriend, I take it?”

“No.” She looked downcast, pouting.

“He says we’re just friends—Brad’s girlfriend is Mallory. She’s the head cheerleader. We were all in high school together, and now we’re all at the community college. But he lives down the block, so sometimes he studies with me.”

She licked her lips.

“We read the book, and do problems for a little while, but Brad has a short attention span. Like most boys do.” She raised an eyebrow at him with that last one.

“So…” Frank prompted her to continue.

“So, after a few minutes, he starts poking at me and hinting. It’s all a big game to him.”

Her eyes bored down into his.

“But I know what he wants—he likes it when I go down on him.”

She licked her lips again with obvious sensuous pleasure.

“Sometimes he makes me suck him off for hours, when we’re supposed to be studying for your class. What do you think of that, Professor?”

Frank didn’t have a response at the ready—his brain was picturing the scenario she had just laid out.

“And Brad is very particular. I need to do it just right or he gets mad. He’s got me so well-trained—I suck his dick just the way he likes it.”

She licked her lips again, in a full circle, lavishly and lushly.

0ver the PA, “Higher Love” finished its last chorus and tapered off.

“Do you want to hear more?” Her voice oozed with passion and need.

Frank nodded eagerly.

The DJ’s voice rang out: “Ladies and Gentlemen, five-foot-two, times two, coming for you…it’s Kia and Karina Smalls, the Pixie Twins, taking you to Paradise!” With a cue like that it was no surprise when “Two Tickets to Paradise” roared out over the speakers.

But Frank never saw what the Pixie Twins looked like, because he couldn’t take his eyes off the girl on his lap.

Audrey leaned back from him and fiddled with the buttons on her shirt.

“It’s a new song, though—you do want another dance, right?”

He kept nodding, excitedly.

Audrey brushed her hair back behind her ears and unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way. Her chest looked like a nice C-cup—not huge but large enough on her trim frame. They were perky and well-shaped, above the bra.

She flexed her arms in against her bra for a moment before she leaned back in.

“So, this is how Brad makes me suck his cock.”

“First of all, it’s about the eyes. I have to look at him as often as I can.” Her stare was captivating—it was as if she was studying his face as much as he was studying hers. Her eyes were rich brown pools of intensity.

“If I wasn’t looking at him, sometimes he would slap my face. Not too hard. Just to remind me where to look. And he would grab me by the chin, too, and push my head around.”

Frank couldn’t tell whether her voice was trembling out of need or nervousness.

“But I can’t just get to the blowjob too quickly. ‘Where’s the romance in that?’ he’d say.”

Frank watched her mouth move as she spoke.

“No, first he makes me get his cock fully hard before he shoves it in between my lips.”

“I have to play with his pants, pushing against his cock with my hands and my face, feeling it start to firm up.”

Her leg, cycling up and down against his bulge, pressed in even harder. She took Frank’s wrist in her hand and pulled it up to her face, right in between their heads.

“Then I take off his pants and began to make out with his underwear. I put my hands all over it, and then I use my face. I can feel Brad’s massive cock stirring to life as my cheeks are dragging against it, through his boxers. Finally, when those poor shorts can’t take any more abuse, I have to pull them off.”

“His big, big, cock springs into shape, right in my face. Sometimes it hits me.”

With a quick motion of her arm, she pulled Frank’s hand in to smack lightly against her cheek and made wide eyes of exaggerated shock. Frank felt chills surge through his spine when their flesh connected.

“Sometimes he smacks me with it on purpose, and then I give it cute little kisses, all over the head.” She demonstrated on his fingers, kissing his fingertips with her lips pursed tight.

“He likes me to talk dirty, with my eyes locked on his and my lips brushing up against the underside of his cock head. So, he can ‘really feel’ my words, he says.”

She opened her lips and brushed his fingers with her teeth.

“But when I start talking, then he cuts me off!”

“He says, ‘Women want men to listen to them, right?’ and then I’ll start talking again, gushing on and on in my cute voice about how big his cock is—that’s his favorite thing to hear—and right when I start, he’ll shove his cock all the way inside, totally cutting me off! With his cock! My eyes get so big and wide when he does that.”

This whole time her lips had been touching his fingers as she spoke.

“Gosh, he can be really rude sometimes, don’t you think?” She winked at him as he stared down at her.

“Then sometimes he makes me keep still, and he just poked my face with his dick. Sometimes he slaps me with it. He says I’m not supposed to flinch—if I flinch, he gets to punish me.”

The song ended, and Frank knew what was coming. He also knew that he was getting pretty close to the edge himself.

“Do you want another dance? I can tell you all about how Big Brad punishes my cute little mouth when I don’t suck his big cock just right.”

As if he had a telepathic link somehow, the DJ spun ‘Carry On my Wayward Son. “It’s Kelly from Kansas, boys—show her some love.”

“Yes, yes!” Frank could barely get the words out; he was so enthralled with the imagination of this domineering blowjob. He needed the next part. She knew he was hanging on every word.

“He punishes me in so many different ways.” She made it sound like the best thing ever.

“Sometimes he slaps my cute little face.”

She took his hand and slapped herself on the cheek with it, much harder than the first time. Frank felt a stinging sensation on his palm and could only imagine what it must feel like for the tiny girl with her soft and delicate face.

“Sometimes he chokes me.”

She folded his palm around her throat, gasping in air. Her eyes were wider than ever, and he could feel her pulse through her neck.

“But if I’m really bad, he shoves his massive cock so far down my little girl throat that my eyes glaze over.”