The Wicked Preacher

Cheryl tied her bikini top strap in place after finishing her final set and counted her take for the set. One-hundred-ninety-seven dollars. That gave her over eight hundred for the night—her best night yet. The hard-core roosters were quite generous not to mention especially rowdy tonight and she had gotten particularly worked up—more than usual. Only thirty minutes to go until I get off and can go home to Tommy. God, I feel frisky. I hope he's as keyed up as I am.

As she entered the dressing room at closing time, Mike—the new manager—waited for her by her locker. "What are you doin' in here?" she asked in an accusing tone.

"Hey doll, don't get your pretty puss in an uproar. There's one last live one in the VIP Dance Room for you to take care of."

She turned her face and scrunched her nose and lips. "Aw, Mike, do I have too. I really need to get home."

"C'mon babe, you know the rules. The customer is king and this one's paying extra."

"Yeah. How much?"

With a smile as wide as Texas Stadium he held up five fingers.

Cheryl's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened wide. "Five hundred?"

Appearing to hold back a chuckle, Mike took hold of her shoulders. "Baby, tonight you are the five…thousand…dollar…lady."

Excitement shot through her. "God all mighty, what in tarnation does he want?"

Mike shrugged. "Don't know, but he says you know him." Mike counted out ten hundred dollar bills and handed them to her. "Here's a thousand. He said he'd pay the rest when the dance was over."

I wonder who… Cheryl smiled and cheerfully said, "I guess I better get in there."

Since Joe had first forced her to do lap dances, to her surprise, she'd grown to like them. Turning the customer on turned her on and since she'd started doing them topless, she'd even allowed a few of the customers—the ones she especially liked—to fondle her or even suck on her nipples. This usually gave her a climax. She didn't think it was wrong because no one but Tommy had ever put their c**k in her—nor would they. Now, she was about to get five thousand dollars for doing a lap dance. She couldn't wait.

Heading toward the VIP Room, a tall bull of a man stood beside the door watching Cheryl as she approached. "What are you doing here?"

The man looked her up and down. "You Cheryl?"

She nodded. "Ah-huh."

He opened the door. "Go on in."

She stepped in, and the door closed behind her. Was that a lock click? She shrugged. Panning the room left to right, she thought the room was empty until she spotted him in the right corner—Jamie Lee. "What do you want?" she snarled.