Page 1 of Bubblegum Pop

Candy

Iscanned the grey room, picking out the sallow faces of alphas with nothing else to do except watch a starved omega strip in one of the dirtiest parts of London.

They were the ones I wanted to tempt.

Every night I was out here, trying to earn enough to stay another night in the bed I rented from Stevie. He used the bar to take advantage of us, packing all thirteen of his girls into a tiny attic space. He took most of our earnings for it, but at least it was somewhere warm to sleep. And I’d rather have that than stand on a street corner in November.

This was my tenth night in a row on stage, shaking my ass as my G-string rode up my crack, my feet absolutely killing me. The cheap mascara they gave us itched like hell, but the stage light shining straight into my face was so blinding that it didn’t matter, really. I had one more set and then I’d be on my back for the rest of the night, either fucking or sleeping.

Whatever used to be attractive about Stevie’s had faded over decades of cigarette smoke, spilt drinks, and the smell of piss that escaped from the bathroom. No matter how much bleach we used, it always stank. There were five round tables below the stage, and a row of stools along the bar, all wood, all seen better days. They’d been worn down by the heavy arses of anyone who found themselves parked up with a shitty beer and an empty look as we stripped and occasionally sang.

People came here to get pissed and look at tits and, if we were lucky, one of them would pay for a fuck.

I pranced around on stage singing ‘Feeling Good’ with a single small speaker behind me and no microphone, perfuming with every step.

That was my thing. None of the other girls could do it, but it didn’t make a damn difference when half the guys out there were so drunk they probably couldn’t scent me.

Though there was this one guy tucked away in the back. A glance at him and it was obvious he didn’t belong in a place like this.

A sharp suit, a relaxed pose, and he didn’t have a drink. He just quietly watched.

He might have seemed unassuming in the dim shadows of the pub, but I could feel his powerful alpha energy from all the way on the stage. The more sober customers were shooting him looks, picking up on it, too. Alphas like him didn’t come to places like this, not to drink, anyway.

I was on stage for half an hour. Stevie liked the young ones out at the start of the night, before the customers got too drunk to tell that they were leering at a forty-year-old omega who was so skinny her tits looked like fried eggs.

It was Friday night, payday, usually a good one for me. If I caught a customer’s eye, he’d pay Stevie to take me into one of the back rooms, and I could make an extra fifty quid.

It meant I wouldn’t have to work the weekend, and I could actually afford some decent food. It had been instant noodles all week.

I finally finished my set, and the posh guy hadn’t moved at all.

I used to wish everyone a good night, but I quickly learned that no one gave a fuck. The only way they paid me more attention was if I showed off more of my goods.

Instead, I headed straight for the stairs behind the stage. One bouncer checked out my ass as I left, and I flipped him a finger. He wasn’t as bad as some of the others, all he did was look. We had to look out for the ones who thought they could get a free ride just because they worked here.

I made it halfway down the steps before one of the girls pushed off the wall.

“What’s it like out there?” Clarity asked hopefully, Her jaw grit as she prepared herself for the show.

Her red sparkling leotard would be on the stage floor in the next ten minutes. She asked the same question every night, and every night I gave her the same reply. Except tonight. “Man in a suit, back left. Might be some good cash if you can score him.”

It was rough forcing ourselves out there every night, but we had to be grateful. And the door was always open to come and go. Stevie didn’t give a shit about who was dancing, just as long as someone was on stage.

We threw each other a nod before I weaved through the dark corridor to reach the dressing room.

It was just an old storage closet that Stevie had fitted out with mirrors and a clothes rack, but it was ours. With one dull bulb hanging from the ceiling and heavy with the smell of mould and perfume, it barely fit all thirteen of us, but we made it work.

A bunch of the other girls were already in there, and they lit up with smiles when they saw me. Stevie’s place might be a shithole, but we looked out for each other.

“What’s the scope?” Sandy asked, handing me a can of cheap beer. It was all we could afford.

“New guy,” I said as I cracked it open. “I dunno if he’ll be around for long, though, but it looks like he’ll be worth it. Let’s see if Clarity can bag him first.”

The girls started chattering, some of them primping in the mirror, others going back to their make-up. We were all types, most of us off the streets, most of us willing to put up with anything as long as we had somewhere safe to stay.

“He could be a billionaire!” Velma said.

“Or mafia!” Sandy laughed, as Velma shot her a bright grin.

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