Page 44 of Saved By My Buyers

“Are you okay?” Hailey asks. She’s been working at the club since before I started, and is really sweet. She invites me out sometimes, but since she usually wants to go clubbing and I’m underage, I decline the invite.

Keeping so many secrets is exhausting.

“I am, just got a little stuck in my head is all,” I explain with a smile.

I’ve become a seasoned pro at walking and dancing in heels over the last few years while working here. When I need to practice my sets, I’ll come in early to the club, which is typically fine since it’s what everyone else does as well.

Percy is actually a woman, the owner of the club, and a hardass. That doesn’t mean to say she’s not a great boss though, because she is.

It still doesn’t change what I do for a living.

There are girls who do what they call “extras” for the club. A portion of the money goes to them, and Percy keeps the rest. She’s asked if I want to be considered for it, but I’ve abstained.

I’m getting tired of the Michigan winters though, because my apartment doesn’t have any heat. Instead, the only difference between sleeping on the streets and my small room is indoor plumbing, a roof over my head, and a mattress on the floor.

It’s still better than nothing.

I’ve been thinking, and I think I’m going to begin looking at Florida schools. I may be able to find one that’ll take me, and if not, community college will do just fine while I get a job down there.

I still need money though, so it’s time to stop daydreaming and start dancing.

Heading to the changing rooms to take my coat off and check my makeup, I look in the mirror at myself. Setting my coat aside, I thank Percy and the curly girl Gods that she provides hair products and makeup for us.

There’s more than enough clientele here, so most of the girls aren’t catty either. The one thing I’m responsible for is my outfits, and there’s a store that sells lingerie and accessories for cheap around the corner from my apartment.

There’s only so much sharing I can handle. This is where I draw the line.

I guess it also helps that I do more pole dancing than private dancing, and I refuse to do any “extras”. The thought of being passed around night after night makes my skin crawl. Call it the trauma of my past and Gareth raping me repeatedly the night I left the mansion, but I just can’t.

Not even if it’ll allow me to get the fuck out of here.

A tiny thought always crawls through when I think about this. What if it was one and done? Would I do it then?

Working some water into my hair, I tame my wild brown curls a little. The crowd loves how long my hair is, so it works for me. My bra is pushing my tits up high, my tiny thong is leaving little to the imagination, and my heels make my legs look long and lean. I guess I’m ready.

“Ready, kid?” Percy asks, lips twitching as I turn around.

She’s probably in her fifties, but her skin looks flawless, outside of the lines around her lips due to smoking. It makes me wonder if she gets botox, just not enough to ask. I do enjoy working here, after all.

Her blonde streaked hair is always pulled up into a high ponytail with curls, and she vacillates between wearing too tight dresses and jeans.

It’s as if she’s two different people warring for dominance. The one that likes wearing jeans and a tank-top always finds some way to dress even that up, and she only dresses down while working in the office. If she’s on the floor, the dresses are in full force.

“Ready,” I say, adding a little bit of special lotion to my palms that will ensure my hands will stay sweat free so I can grip the pole better. Walking toward the door that’ll take me up to the stage, I think about how each day is the same.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

In a lot of ways, dancing saved me. As the music washes over me, I find a way to be someone else for exactly as long as the music plays. Nothing else matters as my eyes heat and my lips curve in a sultry smile.

It’s one of the reasons so many people request me when I’m done dancing. The issue is, I’m not this person when the last notes fade away.

I think my personality started to fracture when Gareth introduced me to keeping secrets with his late night visits. The threats ensured my screams were locked up tight, so I threw myself into living fully in the light as much as possible. I’m used to being multiple people now depending on the situation.

My high, strappy heels hit the stage as I dance, my hands reaching above me to grab the pole, so I can lift myself into a slow turn around it. My routine builds with the music until I flip myself upside down on the pole and remove my bra, tossing it to the side.

The catcalls and yells don’t seem to touch me outside of letting me know that what I’m doing is working.

By the time I’m done, there’s a lot of money on stage, and one of the guards scoops the cash into a hat for me as I grin at everyone. Topless, I walk back to the changing room to wear something else to walk the floor, after I put away the money I just made.

---