Outstripped (23 page)

"Okay.
Leave it with me, and hey Jody
........
Knock ‘em
dead."

"Thanks
Lucy, you're a star."

The
girly gossip got around like wildfire. Luke and his mates were duly taken care
of and given a few distractions (girls that is) to keep them entertained and
occupied whilst Lucy and Jody got on with their performing arts. Jody made sure
they would both be on guard and appropriately distanced to avoid any
unnecessary or unfortunate coming together. Big picture stuff was in play, and short-term
flirtations or plan-spoiling recognitions could derail everything.

Back to
Jody's big 'Blissful' moment, the lights dimmed and a spotlight came on.
Silence fell over the place as the music died and everyone realized it was show
time again.

The
'Bliss' version of a
Super Trooper
lit up and waved round the room like an air raid spotlight. It steadied itself
on the open cage lift shaft, and then she appeared.
A
dangerously sexy cowgirl in chaps, boots, tassels and ten-gallon hat.
Denim and leather and lace.
A low-down,
dirty cowgirl with an angel's face.

The lift
came down slowly to ground level. The inner and outer concertina cage doors
were opened for her by one of the large and obliging bouncers, and she stepped
out, smiling.

Music
started. An acoustic guitar began with a catchy but unfamiliar melody, and Jody
began her journey to the stage. The sea of people parted as she strutted and
swaggered her way, thumbs in pockets, straw in mouth, and bottom in time.

“Hitchin’
a ride” was intro'd by Saraya herself and as Jody reached the top step to
centre stage, her beautiful bare buttocks gave the audience a taste of her
demeanour, her daring and her devilish intentions.

She
posed for a few seconds as the song wound its way up. Hands on hips, long
blonde hair halfway down her waistcoat, heels poised, legs slightly parted,
panties peeking. And as the distortion pedal power chords came thundering
through for the change up to electric rock guitar licks, Jody spun round to
take on her crowd. The big hat came off, feistily Frisbee'd to the mob. Her
hair whipped and wheeled and she ground out some jaw dropping opening moves to the
lick and the beat.

 
Raunchy, rampant and outrageously rude, Jody
was giving it her all. High kicks, hip thrusts, hot legs and wet lips.
A cowgirl to put the Dallas Cheerleaders to shame, or at least to
take their intentions to the next level.
Gutter level, that is.

There
were plenty of whistles and cheers. The crowd couldn't help themselves, but
they were mostly drowned out by the power of the momentous and rhythmic rock.
Jody had paid attention to Sarah and dug this one out from somewhere. That
Internet thingy sure does come in handy. There aren't many hot chicks that can
pull off rock music (singing it that is) but once she'd heard it, Jody just
knew it was
her
all over. It could even develop into a signature number for her.

Anyway,
back to the grinding. The waistcoat was long gone, the denim shirt was undone
and the leather coned companions were now welcomed to the world. Jody caressed
her boobs in their
second skins
and
got the audience worked up a little more before spinning round, bending over
and giving them all an eyeful of her matching black thong.

What a
picture. Perfect pussy, thinly disguised, minimally protected, yet hardly
hiding, suspended by a bottom made in heaven (or hell), and all set off by open
top chaps which serve no other purpose (on a dancing girl that is) other than
to accentuate the horny, incredibly sexy,
come
and get me
intentions of the bearer.

Jody
stroked herself, tenderly from below with her long, painted, fingers. She could
almost hear the licking of lips in the crowd. She stood up straight again,
flicking her hair back, as is customary, then turned to face her admirers once
more. Off came the bra. The twin peaks
were
on full
beam. She played with her brazen, bare boobs then pinched her nipples and
grinned, naughtily as if to say, "These little beauties are mine, and I
can play with them whenever I want."

She
dropped to her knees, spreading her legs as she did, and began bumping and
grinding and humping and gyrating. Her tousled hair shouted filth. Her eyes
gave away all her shameless intentions. Her breasts teased and taunted her
helpless onlookers. Her hips charmed and hypnotized the drooling fools and her
pussy
simply
promised paradise.

Climbing
all the way back up her high heeled cowgirl boots she danced and paraded for them
again before finding the quick release toggles on either side of her scanty
panties. She arched her back and bent over, ever so slightly this time, and
then there were none!

A few
fine fingers imitated and feigned a hint of cover up and dignity, but the crowd
saw through this little charade and took it more for what they knew it to be.
It was a stroke, a caress, a slipping and a sliding of delicate digits over
moist minge and labia.

They
loved it, and she knew it.

Jody
dominated her stage and captivated her audience. A few more moves, a whip of
her hair and a lick of her lips to accompany unabashed pride in her private
parts, and she finished her routine.

The
crowd was enthralled, Jody was on fire, and Sarah
even
smiled.

The
'Grand Opening' was a complete success.
Far beyond any of
their wildest hopes and dreams.
The girls individually, and personally,
congratulated Jody and they collectively thanked her with an embarrassingly
huge bunch of flowers. They must have guessed (or known) it would turn out
well.

The
evening's
performances,
dirty dancing, and private,
intimate interactions, went on until the early hours, as they tend to in these
sorts of places and the crowd thinned accordingly. Die-hard body watchers, voyeurs
and connoisseurs of such saucy and salacious entertainment were obviously the
last to leave. Bill and Jody stayed till the end but Sarah had seen enough and
left in a waft of arrogance and an air of confidence that should have seen her
through the next millennia.
Purely from a business
perspective that is.

The
scene was set for ‘Bliss’ to command a faithful following and create a
reputation that would seed and permeate male dominated hang outs, clubs and
conversations for years to come. Such is the power of word of mouth in the wake
of a night like this.

London
had seen it before, but Jody hadn't. And though she would revel in her moment
and reminisce in the delight of hard work and the dividends it paid, she
wouldn't be letting it go to her head. It was back to work on each and every
following day. The Travel Agency needed management, the Club needed nurturing
and then there was the prospect of the international toy trade.

Rachael
had been hard at work keeping the agency ticking over and building the client
base. They couldn't use Jody's name any longer as she needed to remove herself
from the limelight, and in any case a more fitting and business-like branding
exercise was required.

Jody's
first choice of The Wanderer's Accomplice Travel Agency seemed perfect until
Rachael pointed out it could spell out T.W.A.T. if shortened. They settled on
the far more acceptable acronym of T.A.A. Travel Agency, which was short for
The Adventurer's Accomplice Travel Agency.

There
were many foreign journeys to be enjoyed, soirees to be savoured and sun to be
soaked by both of them over time. One such entertaining egress to pastures
warmer, and metaphorically greener, opened up yet more opportunity for personal
and business development (and mischief) for Jody.

It began
in the Balearic Islands of Spain and involved a delightfully vivacious and
uninhibited pair of young ladies from Holland. Aya and Famke enticed Jody in a
number of ways but for our deliberations herein we need only concentrate on
one. The rest of that particular story will need to be saved for another
occasion.

As luck
would have it, the Dutch girls were on a sun-soaked, frivolous and
care-free
working vacation for the summer. Jody met up with
them on the beach. They were Go-Go dancers at one of the huge Ibiza nightclubs
made famous as much for the stage and podium spectacles as the music and
dancing
itself
. Needless to say, Aya and Famke were no
'wall flowers'.

Cutting
a long story short, after spending some time together, Jody decided to
investigate the possibilities of a second Strip Club. But this one was to be in
Amsterdam. She'd need to do some in depth homework (again!) and a number of
visits and reconnaissance missions would be required before any decisions could
be made. It would be
her own
private venture this
time. There'd be no 'Bill' to hold her business hands or 'Sarah' to control her
purse strings. This was a bold venture indeed, but if she got it right, it
would not only prove her acumen and mettle on an international level, but it
would also set her on course for total business independence. She loved working
with Bill, of course, though he was more of a supportive crutch rather than a
business partner.

Ultimately,
Jody wanted to be 'Queen'.
The true instigator, controller
and mistress of her own destiny.

Now, in
the process of running strip joints and providing avenues for the more
inebriated and less inhibited of the population to explore their vices and
usually unobtainable visual Utopias, one is always going to come into contact
with the objectionable, the rude and the wayward. As previously mentioned way
back in Jody's 'Vamp' days she'd learnt a trick or two for extricating suitable
financial recompense from such "tossers". Now that she had a club of
her own she decided it would be both prudent, and helpful to her cause, if a
more formal form of forfeiture were introduced.

On the
one hand this would help the 'tip and fringe benefit jar' no end, and on the
other, it would form the backbone of financial philandering for a far greater
good.

"How
d'ya mean, 'we need a charter' for fining tossers, gropers and dirt bags?"
Asked Grace during one of their informal one-to-one meetings.

"I
actually said,
'I think'
we need a
charter. That's why I'm asking everyone what
they
think about it. Can we get
away with a formal list of all the things we can fine them for? I'm not sure.
We all know a little bit of slap and tickle is acceptable, and the odd grope
even helps the money spending along nicely, but you must have had a few
unwelcome advances of an evening. There's always one or two 'pricks' out there
who
seem hell bent on spoiling the mood. And even though
they might be pissed, they just think they can get away with anything. Well I
think we're a damn sight better judges than they are on what's appropriate and
what's taking the biscuit, don't you?"

"Well,
now you put it like that, I suppose you're right. So what does this charter
say? Or is it just a list of unapproved activities?"

Jody
thought for a moment. "Some of the others say we just need a
'Good Behaviour or Else'
poster at the
door, but we already have one of those. It's a legal requirement stating we
have the right to turn anyone away. But I think what we need is something in
the club rules that actually details the amounts we can fine people."

"So
a slap on the bum is ten quid, then."

Jody
drew in some highly unsure breath through exposed and clenched teeth, in the
same way your average mechanic does when he's looking under your car bonnet.

"It
doesn't sound right, does it? Bugger! Maybe it'd be better if we used some
lingo about the club being able to use our discretion regarding fines for
indiscretions, and if they continue to misbehave then we just throw them out.
Minus even more money."

"I
dunno," said Grace.

Clearly,
she didn't know!
Along with half the other dancers and staff.

Jody
concluded it wasn't that easy to formalize such subjective and 'arbitrary'
incidents. In the end she wrote a statement into the almost illegible club rules,
just inside the door for everyone to
miss
on their way in, rather than publishing a potentially silly list of
misdemeanors and charges. After all, the old practice of cleaning the punters
out of their club money, or taking a good slice at least, always seemed to work
before. Especially when she had hold of their nuts in anything other than a
passionate embrace. She did want to instill a sense of them all being in it
together though. So the collection of these gratuities or 'penalty monies', as
she called them,
was asked to be done
, 'by the club,
for the club.'

And it
soon mounted up. Luckily most of the contributors saw the errors of their ways
in suitably gracious, embarrassing and apologetic fashion, so no real harm was
done. But occasionally there were some prize plonkers involved that required
swift and unceremonious attentions involving shirt collars, seats of pants and
large boots. These folk were not encouraged to return.

At the
end of every month Jody would hand out a fair share of all the tips collected
to everyone at the club, once a decent contribution to her highly select
'charity' had been siphoned off and very purposefully invested.

The
money changers, or rather Bureau De Change booths, scattered around various
cities came in very handy for keeping things as impersonal as possible when
changing sterling or Euros into dollars. Over the years Jody would utilize a
few of her solid comrades to exchange, deposit and transfer lump sums in a
multitude of banks around the globe. They were always for the same account and
in the name of W.A.I.F.A.

They'd
also take the 'special' W.A.I.F.A mobile phone away with them sometimes so they
could make one or two important and strategically logged calls back to
'Blighty' when transactions had occurred. It was important to get the money
mounting
in the account without any positive,
or rather provable identification of Jody or her handlers, but also to get a
definitive secondary log of events and locations through the call logging on
the mobile phone bills.

Coincidentally
(sarcasm) the timing of these activities also gave a perfect match up for
Charlie's flight patterns and Carmel's international ports of call. Jody's
tracking of their itineraries, work schedules and whereabouts was quite
impressive. As mentioned much earlier in the piece, her many close, and
sometimes, personal contacts within the trade certainly helped make this kind
of activity less laborious and it would all be done with a complementary smile.
It really does help to 'know people' in high (and low) places.

Rachael
was returning on the 'red eye' from yet another idyllic palm tree paradise in
the tropics and Jody had volunteered to pick her up from Heathrow. She'd
managed to not only check out a few hotels and activities in pursuit of some
special packages for their clients, but also change and deposit a few thousand Euros
for good measure.

"Bloody
credit ran out before I could call you," she said, after the usual
greetings, hugs and niceties were over and they'd clambered into the car, ready
to deal with the early morning rush hour entering London.
A
daunting task for any sane person.
Though, why any sane person would
even try it remains a mystery.

"I
had to get a local card."

"You
do mean for your company phone, don't you? Not the other one?" Replied
Jody, now seriously concerned and trying hard to contemplate the ramifications
of this potential
fuck up
.

"Yes,
yes, it was the 'T double A' phone, not the other one. Duh! I'm not that
stupid. And I paid cash. And I need to claim it on me expenses."

"Thank
God for that," sighed Jody. "Anyway did you have a good time, or a
'Good'
time?"

"Nosey
cow. You always want to know the dirt first."

"Naturally,
and since I paid, you can spill," she ordered in her most demanding girly
nature.

"Actually
this time it was just a good time. The local talent wasn't up to much and the
guests were a pretty boring bunch. Well, not boring really, just, well, too old
for my liking. There were a couple of guys running the jet skis and diving that
were alright but they were never around in the evening, and you know me, I was
far too hard at work during the day."

"Bullshit,"
chirped Jody as she sneaked through yet another
orange
light. "Half way between amber and red." She'd say
to anyone questioning her integrity or driving skills.

"It's
true! I had to try out all sorts of tours and swimming pools and spa
treatments. It was knackering!"

"Poor
thing!" The sarcasm oozed. So you must have burnt out 'Black Beauty'
then?" This was Rachael's pet name for her favourite vibrator and she
wasn't ashamed to share the secrets of his travels.

"Only
got a couple of rides in this time. Too many Piña Coladas, if you know what I
mean? Hey, tell you what though, the customs guy didn't know where to look when
he opened me suitcase. You'd think they'd have seen everything, wouldn't
you?"

"You
would indeed," said Jody, smiling to
herself
,
thinking and knowing this just backed up and sweetened her planning all over
again.

"Anyway,"
she started on another seemingly huge and exciting conversational tack.
"You remember I told you about the 'Presentation Case' from heaven. Well
it's arrived. It came via Xanadu, Valhalla, Zion, Utopia, and Shangri-La. And I
haven't shown it to anyone yet."

"Bloody
hell!" Exclaimed Rachael. "You'd better step on it then."

The
package, addressed to Jody at The Adventurer's Accomplice Travel Agency, had a
letter included which
had been handwritten by Vincente
himself
.

"Let
me see too," said Rachael trying desperately to read past Jody's shielding
arms.

"It's
personal."

"I
know it is. That's why I want to read it. You ask me all my personal shit every
time I do something. It’s your turn to spill the beans and the dirt."

Jody
gave in to the mounting pressure and read aloud,

"My
dearest Jody,"

"That's
a good start" interrupted Rachael.

"Listen
"
snapped Jody and she re-gripped the letter with both
hands and gave Rachael her best 'Paddington Bear' hard stare.