Stripping for Daddy

Stripping
for Daddy

Gia Blue

Copyright ©
2011 Gia Blue

All digital
rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Cover art ©
2011 Gia Blue

This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.

A Coming Together
Production

www.EroticAnthology.com

Kindle edition

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About Coming
Together:
Tabooty

Coming Together: Tabooty
is an ebook line of taboo erotic
fiction inspired by Amazon.com's blocking of certain titles due to the fact
that they contain incestual relationships. The
Tabooty
line will feature
erotic fiction considered taboo by current social standards. This includes not
only incest but unusual fetishes and/or sex with clergy. Regardless of the
taboo, all material will involve (a) consensual relationships and (b)
participants of legal age. There will be no sexual activity involving minors
and no coercion (i.e., blackmail, rape, etc.).

Proceeds from the sale of
Tabooty
titles will benefit the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom Foundation
(ncsfreedom.org), which is committed to creating a political, legal and social
environment in the US that advances equal rights for consenting adults who
engage in alternative sexual and relationship expressions.

For more information, visit:

http://www.eroticanthology.com/tabooty.htm

~ * ~

Stripping for Daddy

I've been on my own since I hit
thirteen, walking the streets, doing what I could for money (well, not that)
and trying to make my way in the world.

Alone.

Course I had parents at some point,
but they died when I was eight. Then there was foster care and I finally ran
away from the last home when one of the other kids tried to touch me. The
"mom" didn't believe me, called me a slut and that had been
it
.
Time for me to go.  It'd been my fifth placement and something similar had
happened at every one. I'd been over the whole program.

I've survived, I've thrived, and all
with my virginity intact,
thankyouverymuch
.

Now, I'm about to apply for my very
first job as an adult.  Happy birthday to me an all that. I check my watch, a
little theme park mouse just smiling at me.  I hit eighteen fifteen hours ago
and I'm dressed to impress.

I bought my outfit at the local
lingerie shop. The one that caters to local strippers and bored housewives. 
They take cash and didn't ask questions, which made them the perfect shopping
spot. 

I've got break-away clothes, a teeny
thong and clear six-inch heels. Cause, clear goes with everything and until I'm
making mad money, one pair is all I can afford.

I'm standing outside Roxy's, staring
at the darkened sign. The sexy shape of a woman that's usually neon pink taunts
me.  Like I'm not good enough to be a Roxy's girl and never will be. 

It's only three and the club won't be
hopping, sign shining, until much later this evening.  With any luck I'll be on
stage, shaking, gyrating and earning tips that'll cover rent for the next few
months.

God, my heart is racing, pulse
pounding and all I'm doing is standing on the street in a trench coat and
stripper heels. I've done the nude thing before, not for strangers, but I've
practiced for some gay friends.  They don't get hard watching me, but they
always promise that if I had a dick between my legs, they'd be all over my
shit.  Though it's hard to keep a straight face or sexy pout when all they do
is squeal about seeing icky girl parts. But, hey, it's close enough to having
guys in a crowd drooling over me…–ish. I probably wouldn't have gotten a better
response from them if I'd worn a strap-on.

But, yeah, I can do this.

I check my watch and I'm still five
minutes early. Fuck it.

I approach the door, gate steady since
I've been practicing walking in these things every day, and knock. It's not
long before a big, burly guy pushes it open, looks me up and down. His frame
practically fills the doorway, broad shoulders and I realize that the term
"barrel chested" would have a picture of him next to the term in the
dictionary.

Big fucker.

I tighten the tie of my coat around my
waist. "I've got an appointment with Jack." 

I smile wide. I've got ID in my purse,
just in case anyone questions my age.  It's real and everything…This time.

 The guy raises a single, bushy
eyebrow but opens the door wider, lets me pass.  I skirt by him, careful not to
touch. I may want to strip for cash, but that doesn't mean I want to get up
close and personal with random people. And until I know his name, he's
random…Roxy's employee or not.

The interior is dim and it takes a
moment for my eyes to adjust to the lower lighting.

"Watch your step, sweetheart.
This way." The guy has a gentle voice, deep and smooth and I almost giggle
at the absurdity of such a soft sound coming from such a fierce looking man.

I follow him through the club, weaving
around tables and chairs, taking in my surroundings.  There're the requisite
raised stages and poles, straight-back chairs without arms for lap dances and
doorways along the other side that probably lead to private rooms,
"champagne" rooms. The space around the stages, perverts row, is
cleared out and ready for the night's group of pleasure seekers.

Which, it seems, is where I'm headed.

The big guy stops in front of a door
marked "5" with a single, swirly golden letter, rhinestones accenting
the design. And, hey, it's probably a strip club's definition of classy.

"Jake will meet you in here. His
normal MO is a pole dance, then lap.  'Luck kid."  With that, he turns the
knob, pushing the door open and leaves me to my nerves.

The room looks a lot like I thought it
would. With its red interior, gold accents and a few areas for armless seating,
it's a creepy, yet swank, place.  The stage isn't as high or as large as the
ones in the main area, but it looks as if there's enough room to get the job
done.

I untie my coat, slip it from my
shoulders and drop it onto a seat then approach the stage.  One step up and I'm
on the shiny, slick surface.  I wrap my hand around the brass-hued pole and
swing, then wrap my knee and spin, familiarize myself with the space I've got
to work on.  Not too bad.

I know I'm good on the pole. Classes
have taken care of that. Honest to God pole-dancing classes. I'm ready for
this.  Roxy's is the premier club, best tips, decent kiddies, and excellent
staff. 

I smile at the thought of the
"kiddies". It's what peeps in the biz call the customers.  They're
grown men acting like they're five and begging for a treat, a look, a smile or
a lap dance. I'm more than happy to hand some of that over for the right price.

I've been prepping, researching, for a
while.  I know what should be charged and Roxy's rates. Money shouldn't be an
issue.

The sound of the door opening yanks me
from my practice and I finish my rotation, stop my movement and turn toward the
door.  The guy there, the man looking me up and down like I'm a treat he'd like
to lick, steals the breath from my lungs.

"Daddy?"  Oh, dear God, it's
him. Jack Lincoln, the last foster father in my long string of foster fathers. 
The one I'd connected with most. He'd treated me like a near adult, one who'd
been through hell and lived.  It didn't matter that I was thirteen. He'd known
what I'd survived and saw me for what I was: a force to be reckoned with.

He froze, mouth hanging open like a
fish. "Holly?"

I laugh, delighted to see him after
all this time, and launch myself at him from the stage.  His strong arms wrap
around me as he hugs me tight, then pushes me away and holds me at arm's
length, looking me up and down.  I'm not a kid with a child's body any longer. 
I've got perky, large breasts, a trim body and a round ass. Basically, I'm a
woman men would kill to fuck. Repeatedly.

"You're all grown up."  His
smile turns to a frown. "What are you doing here? How have you been? 
Where have you been? What are you wearing?" His questions fire at me, take
me back to the last time I'd snuck out of the house and been caught sneaking
back in.

I smile wide. "I'm looking for a
job."

He quirks a brow and I roll my eyes.
"And I'm good. I wandered for a while, lived in shelters, got jobs. Now
that I'm legal, I want to make some decent money so I can go to school, get my
GED and then on to college." 

He's shaking his head before I finish
my speech. "You're not working here, baby girl."  Baby girl is what
he'd called me for the six months I'd lived with him and his wife, Betty.

I turn his attention from his denial
and on to neutral ground. "How's Betty?" 

I'm being polite. I couldn't care less
about how the bitch was doing, but it's a distraction.

He shrugs. "No idea. We got a
divorce. I bought this place." Jake releases me and turns his attention
away from me, stares at the carpeted wall. "After you left, a lot of
things came to light."  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Including what happened with you. I'm so sorry, Holly. Sorry you went
through that and then she was such…"

"A bitch?" I toss out.

"Yeah," he barks out a
laugh. "She is that." A shake of his head and he's not distracted any
longer. "Anyway, you're not working here."

"Come on, Jake. Let me audition at
least, and then you can decide. I promise I'm good.  Really, really good."

"I can't watch one of my
daugh-"

"But I'm not." I cut him off
and hop onto the stage. I'm not taking no for an answer. "Turn on the
music and you'll see.  I swear." 

I bust out with my signature "I
swear" just for him. I'd "sworn" about everything when I'd lived
with him and Betty.  Only, Betty never believed me.  Jake always did.