My Michelle Ch. 07

"Excellent point. Never buy diamonds at the mall anyway, the little Armenian and Jewish places have the best connections."

"And aren't open on weekends. Better to take our time and do it right."

So we began another "quiet" night at home.

********

It was far from our first drive to Memphis together. After all, we'd run up for the backup costume's shoes just days before. But there was an edge to this drive. Michelle was practically glowing with anticipation. She was just in a T-shirt and sweat pants, not wanting to mess up her costume on the car ride.

When we got to Tiffany's, Michelle grabbed her bag and enthusiastically bounced out of the Lexus. She ran around to my side of the car and gave me a big hug. "Wish me luck, Master."

"Get out there and knock 'em dead, sexy."

She and I got to the door. The doorman looked at us, took a long look at her, and asked "Costume contest?" She just held up her bag in reply. He jerked his thumb toward a side door in that front hallway, one that led back to the dancers' dressing room. With a last glance at me, she went in the back to get ready. Me, I went through the main door into the club.

I don't have to describe the scene too much for most of you. Tiffany's in those years had left its old location down by the airport and was in a newer, larger club with a balcony out in the eastern suburbs. In time, it would end up back at the old one, but this was in that brief heyday where stripping was almost mainstream. It was big enough to park buses in, as loud as an aircraft carrier flight deck, and was typically lit. Bright on the stages, dark everywhere else.

I swung past the bar rather than wait for a waitress. I splurged for a Sam Adams. I was only going to have one anyway since I was driving. I found a spot halfway back to where I could overwatch the stage and not have to go through my supply of dollar bills before the contest.

There was a pale blonde on stage down to a red pleather-looking thong with tall red boots grinding to Nine Inch Nails' "Closer". Red just didn't work on her though. It sort of washed her out. Black would have worked better. Damn. Fashion critic to strippers. How I had sunk in life.

Three more dancers before the music stopped. I used to really love strippers, but none of these quite measured up. Since I had Michelle at home, and, to quote her on Day 2, "her holes were available to me in ways others weren't", there hadn't been a great deal of point since.

The music stopped, and the contest host came out. He was one of Memphis' best-known classic rock DJs, who had gone through a messy high-profile divorce the year before and who was probably hosting in the hopes of meeting and fucking at least one of the contestants. They'd probably had to promise him all he could drink and a couple blowjobs from the dancers just to get him here.

The contestants filed up onto the stage. I counted two nurses, a blonde and a redhead, an Alice in Wonderland, a plaid-skirted schoolgirl, one girl in mostly Mardi Gras beads with a harlequin mask and metallic gold bikini, a Little Red Riding Hood in hooded cape and red bikini with heels, an underdressed blonde cop swinging handcuffs, a vampire in an Elvira-style dress and fishnets, my Michelle, and then a cheerleader who looked a little too MILFy to pull it off bringing up the rear. Good tactic. The guys would remember the last girls the drunker they were.

The DJ fairly howled "How y'all doin'?" There was typical drunken screaming at the chance to see some ass the guys hadn't already seen that night. "All right, the way this works. Each lady here will introduce herself. She'll walk down front, let you see the costume, or anything else she wants to show off, then walk back. Then we'll put it to a vote. Whoever gets the loudest reaction during the voting wins. Easy enough?"

More cheering, including from me. Even in the shadows at the stages' edge, Michelle was positively glowing. None of the nerves or jitters of the other contestants for her. Her eyes were clear and bright, and I could tell this since she'd skipped the sunglasses. If I hadn't searched her luggage before we left, while she was in the bathroom, I might have suspected she was on something again-

Hey, I was supposed to be helping her out with her addiction problem and I wasn't going to let her KNOW I didn't trust her to be one hundred percent cured yet. I just had to be discreet about it, you know?

Anyway, I broke off my train of thought. The girls were taking their turns up and down the stage. "Hi, I'm so-and-so. Hi, I'm so-and-so." Miss Mardi Grad Beads actually did a pretty good job of vamping it up and down the stage, and flashed her tits at the end. She looked familiar, I think she danced at Platinum Plus sometimes.

The DJ held the mike over to Michelle, and unlike the other girls who'd leaned into the mike as he held it, she snatched it out of his hand with a smile.

"Boys, no one cares what my name is. You don't need to know it. You just need to know that I'm the bitch who's not going to fuck you tonight. Out of deference to my uniform, call me Major Bitch."

The silence was almost staggering.

She broke ranks and walked forward on the stage, the opening scene of Patton as redone by Bob Guccione or Andrew Blake. Her heels clicked as jaws dropped.

"Think this one through, boys. Think of me as your worst cockteasing nightmares come to life. Oh, especially you. I can tell by the way you're staring at my boots, not my ass." She stopped, and pointed her toe at the edge of the stage. "You like the boots. I can tell. Kiss one. I don't mind."

I was watching the bouncers, but they were staring slack-jawed too. Meanwhile the unlucky foot fetishist Michelle had spotted was delicately kissing and licking her booted toe. The crowd howled. The cheerleader behind her turned back down the stairs, throwing her hands up in disgust.

She reached the end of the stage, and unbuttoned the top button on her uniform jacket.

"You want to see more, boys? Scream for it. Scream for me." The crowd obliged.

She undid another, flipping the cleavage open a little further. "See the bra, boys? Black leather. Vicious cockteasing bitches should wear almost nothing else, right? She then pulled up the hem of the Class A jacket and neatly twirled. "Matching panties. Under those is the pussy you'll never have."

More screaming.

"Oh, and we can't forget my ass. There is a man out there who has the privilege of spanking it and fucking it whenever he likes. For him, I am a dirty submissive slut. But he doesn't mind you looking though. Let me give you a good look."

She undid the last two buttons, and dropped the jacket to the floor, and slowly turned. The DJ was making no effort to interrupt. She'd just gone with the black leather and chrome buckles bra and panties set. Dammit, I knew I should have laced her corset for her before she went back. Her leather gloves went high up on her arms, just as her boots (the zip-up ones) went over her knee, showing only a little bit of stocking. She smacked her ass idly, winking at the crowd.

She twirled and posed for a couple long minutes. "Now, you'll have to excuse me, boys. I have a terrible itch in this wet, needing pussy of mine, and I've only given myself to that one man in the world to scratch it. She teasingly licked a leather-gloved finger and ran it down the glossy front panel of those leather panties, rubbing just a little extra. Then she abruptly turned and walked back down the stage. She handed the mike back to the DJ with a dazzling smile, waving and blowing kisses to the screaming fans. The blonde nurse said something that lip-read like "Fuck this" and walked off stage. And then there were eight.

It visibly took him a minute to pull it together. Finally, shaking his head a bit, the DJ walked down the line. "OK, guys, we'll go by sound. Who won?" He moved from #1 all the way down to Michelle at #8. When he got to Michelle, the crowd went nuts, especially the guy down front who'd kissed her boot.

"All right, I score that the Major Bitch in first place, Alice second, and Nurse Redhead third! Congratulations, ladies!" He handed out the cash, and the upstairs DJ announced that all lap dances for the next hour were two for one as Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls" thundered out of the speakers to mark the top of the hour. If I remembered right, it was a $2000 contest, with 1000-600-400 for the split.

I headed over to meet her as she moved back toward the stairs. The bouncers were moving the same way. We did not need one of Michelle's new admirers developing an attraction or an angry loser wanting the cash.

After she came off the stage, Michelle was suddenly surrounded by three of the regular strippers I recognized from the weekend night shift. Shannon in particular stood out. She'd been my regular in my pre-Michelle days, and we'd even dated off-duty a few times. She was a 5'9" brunette who was fixated on Bettie Page, Dita von Teese, Goth music, and had a large collection of shiny black fetish wear. Imagine someone who'd listened to "Black Number 1" by Type O Negative five hundred times and still didn't get the fact the joke was on her.

I cut into what appeared to be an animated "I love your costume..." conversation.

Shannon turned, looked at my proud smile, Michelle's costume, and back at me before putting two and two together. "Oh, I get it, no wonder I never see you anymore." She then looked over at Michelle. "Well, I can see what he sees in you. You're way too hot for this guy." She looked back at me and winked. Like I said, Shannon and I had gone out a couple times when she was off-duty, but she was too far out on the far edge of bi to stay interested in any guy. "I don't suppose you go for girls?"

Michelle slid over next to me. "I am kept in my place very happily, but of course I have experimented a bit and might be interested sometime..." she teased back. Shannon, who I knew had a sideline as a professional dominatrix (albeit a rookie, enough to make money off Memphis' rich white guys) and also knew my proclivities, picked up on the subtext to the statement and nodded knowingly.

One of the other dancers, a spectacular tall blonde I knew only as Bambi (how original, right?) chipped in. "Darlin', you're beautiful. You'd make a fortune at this business. Just don't do it here. I don't need the competition. Though of course watching you and Shannon in the locker room would be fuckin' hot."

Michelle smiled wickedly. "A locker room isn't really my style. But sometime we could all split in on a nice hotel suite, a few drinks, and see what happens. Actually we have a room at the Sheraton two blocks up if you want to stop by..."

Bambi and Shannon looked at each other and shrugged. "We just might."

"Though I have to ask Scandalous," Shannon added. I had forgotten her real name, but Scandalous was Shannon's live-in girlfriend. I knew that because I'd helped them move the year before.

I looked around. "Well, should you come on by, you're welcome, but meanwhile we're out of here. My fun-meter is about pegged out."

Michelle slid an arm around my waist and cuddled close. "Yes, I have important duties to perform that I can't do here without getting us thrown out and arrested."

And with that, we walked out to the car, en route to the hotel. As we walked, I leaned down and kissed her. "I'll probably tell you another fifty times, but you were great up there."

"Master, I wasn't lying when I said I had a terrible itch in my pussy I need scratched..."

"First chance we get."

*******

Author's note. As you can tell, Chapter 7 was long-delayed. 8 will now be 9, and 8, which was going to be the last several pages of 7, will be a new creation.