Page 53 of Fighting the Odds

He’s right where he was when I got here, except this time he has a raven haired, tan skinned, busty stripper on his lap. Her hands cupping his crotch and he has a grin on his face.

“I’m here for time with Lilac.” I step up to him, my eyes perusing the length of the beauty on his lap. Too bad she’s a whore.

“Yeah man, hold on a sec.” He leans into the woman on his lap and whispers something that has her smiling from ear to ear as her cheeks pinken.

She rises from his lap, turns and kisses him deeply, before walking away. Her hips swing and just as she reaches the first table, she glances over her shoulder and winks.

“Okay, let’s go this way. You know the rules. No touching Lilac. Only thirty minutes and nothing more than dancing. Someone will be outside the door at all times, so don’t try anything or they’ll be taking you out of here on a stretcher.”

“Yeah, I heard them.” You’d think this bitch is the Queen of England with how many times they tell me I’m not allowed to touch her. Like I’d want to catch a disease.

He leads me down a dark hallway with doors on either side until we reach the end and he takes hold of the doorknob and opens it, gesturing for me to step inside.

“She’ll be in shortly,” he tells me before closing the door.

I take that moment to look around the room. It’s dimly lit, with strobing lights. In the middle of the room is a pole with a semi-circle couch around it. My stomach churns and I shiver, thinking of the bodily fluids it’s covered in.

The sound of Lizzo comes from above my head, and looking up, I see speakers mounted in the ceiling. On the wall across from me is a light dimmer switch and I move over to it, lowering the lights a little more, then slip on my mask.

It’s game time, baby.

Moving over to the couch, I sit directly in front of the pole, resting a hand on each of my thighs, and spreading my legs wide.

I keep glancing at my watch, watching the minutes pass until it clicks over ten PM. She should be here any minute.

A euphoria takes over my body, knowing I’m moments away from confronting one of the people responsible for fucking with my family and tearing my parents further apart.

The door opens and the purple-haired woman steps into the room. She’s in sky high heels, a sparkly bra with rhinestones and a skirt so short it barely covers her pussy, and I wonder if she’s bare underneath.

“Hello, sweetheart. Is there anything in particular you want?” Her voice is soft, almost inaudible over the music, but something is nagging at me about it.

“No,” I reply, lowering my voice, making it sound deeper. People have told me I sound like my father, so I’m trying to mask.

She moves across the room to the pole in front of me, her movements graceful, like a trained dancer instead of a paid whore. She takes hold of the pole and spins her body slowly around it before pressing her back to it.

Lilac faces me, as she seductively slides her back down the pole, her legs spread wide, exposing her barely covered pussy to me. The black lace fabric covering her cunt is partially see through and I can’t help how my cock stirs in response.

Hell, I’m a man. I expected it to happen!

She moves around the pole, rotating her hips until the first song is over. The next one begins to play, but it’s more sultry, and her moves match it. Lilac steps closer to me, then spins around so that her back is to me, swaying her hips, before sliding her fingers underneath the waistband of her skirt.

She slowly slides it down her legs until it drops to the floor and she steps out of it. Her ass cheeks are firmly on display in the G string she’s wearing. Bending over, she takes hold of her heels, peering at me through her spread legs as she wiggles her ass back and forth.

I can’t help but take in her body. At least my dad has good taste. She’s hot as hell with a body to die for. Her ass is plump as shit, and legs that I wouldn’t mind squeezing my head as I devour her cunt.

That’s what a whore’s good for anyway—fucking!

But then I see something that has me sitting taller, leaning forward to make sure it’s not a figment of my imagination. She stands back up and begins to dance again, but all I can fixate on is the scar right above the crease at the back of her knee. It’s jagged and identical to someone else’s.

“Do you like dancing?” I ask, needing to hear her voice again.

“I do. Especially for you,” she coos, only this time I can distinctly tell who she is. But has she recognized my voice?

She’s not let on that she recognizes me, and I’ve never been as thankful as I am now for choosing to wear a mask.

The rest of the time speeds by until she’s dancing before me in nothing but her G string. I’m ecstatic, plotting how I’m going to use this information.

Lilac is none other than Sierra fucking Jones. The bitch who ruined my life. And she’s gonna pay.

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