Club Paradise Ch. 02

The table closest to him on this side was empty, but the one past that had a party: there were four guys dressed in Grease style leather jackets. Frank admired the effort -- they had even slicked back their hair, like the T-Birds; with them was a trio of gorgeous dancers. A tall, willowy blonde in a bright green schoolgirl tartan was clearly the center of the social dynamic at that table -- she was directing the actions of her friends, instructing them how to dance on the men. The other two dancers, the Korean girl he'd seen last time, and a new face, an inked strawberry blonde with a pixie cut, followed the leader's instructions with passion and vigor.

While Frank was scoping out the place, two different dancers approached him -- a tiny little spinner in 1980s neon green leggings with a bouncy topknot, and a Sasha Grey lookalike in a blue blazer and white button down. Both were gorgeous and tempting, but he politely declined each one. He had to keep his eyes on the prize. And the prize was a pair of bright blue eyes and a natural rack of substantial size.

His discipline lasted right up until the third dancer sashayed up to him. She was just too perky to ignore.

"Hi! It's your girl, Jelly!" Her mass of tight curly hair was reddish blonde, obviously dyed, but looking like a million bucks. Her waist was so tiny Frank thought he'd be able to wrap his entire cock around it, and her C-cup breasts looked spectacular, thrust out above it.

"I'm the school slut!" She leaned forward and squeezed her tits together, bouncing up and down. Her flesh and hair jiggled wildly with the motion. Then she pursed her lips and touched them with one finger, as if puzzled.

"Well, there are a lot of sluts here; but I'm definitely the biggest! I mean, yeah my body is tiny -- except for my boobs -- but I'm SO slutty. All the boys say so! It's me, Angelica! Your very own Jelly belly!"

Jelly giggled like the schoolgirl she was cosplaying.

"You know I'd totally be sucking your cock now. You know, if we were..." she cupped her hands to her mouth and stage whispered, "... over there. Whaddaya say?"

She was somehow even more in his face, and superhumanly peppy. "Wanna take the school slut for a spin? See what all the boys are talkin' about? We can start with a dance, right here!"

Frank relented and nodded. He didn't even know if the pale goth was working today -- and Jelly was pretty damn mouthwatering.

"Yay!" She clapped her hands, managing to make her bounceables shake even more. "Lemme give you a hug!"

And then that bouncing cleavage was bumping into his face. That was her opening move -- a precarious lean forward, arms thrown around his neck and her chest up his chin. The skin between her tits smelled like fresh flowers, and her soft breast flesh dented in as he moved his face around.

After the intense hug, she pulled back and gushed, "There! Aren't I so fun?"

Her hands on his shoulders supported her as she hopped up onto his lap. She wiggled around on his nascent boner, and pulled his face back down into her tits. She was a deliciously little dessert, but Frank was ultimately after something different, than what this bouncy, bubbly co-ed seemed to be offering.

He needed equal parts mind-fuck and body-fuck to get off -- both Audrey's oral submissive roleplay, and the tantalizing disdain of the goth fit that bill to a tee.

Jelly, as sweet as she seemed, had a schtick that was a little too straightforward. So when the dance was done, Frank respectfully declined a second. He knew himself well enough to know that if he opened the door for her now, he'd succumb to the sugar before too many more dances.

So he tipped her an extra ten and said thanks. She gave a little pout, but then flounced off towards a table on the other side where a group of four college age kids had just been seated.

Just then, the lights started spinning, and the DJ came over the mic: "Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time for the famous Club Paradise Floor Show. I guarantee this one is gonna knock you guys over!"

This was followed by an air horn blast. "And for all you guys on the floor NOT getting dances right now, this is the song to get that dance -- it's a long one!"

The moving lights snapped into two tight spotlights, revealing two people standing at the mic stands.

"Paradise by the Dashboard Light" by Meat Loaf started playing over the speakers, and lights came up on a man and a woman. They were dressed in billowy white clothing, like in the music video.

They sang along to the track Rocky Horror style as they dramatized the story of teen love, sex, and eternal consequences through a masturbatory sex show that was equal parts athletic and bombastic.

At the climax of the song -- "What's it gonna be, boy, yes or no?" -- the woman jacked the man off him to orgasm; his cum spurted high in the air and glistened in the stage lights.

The floor show ended with the two singers stark naked downstage as the song finished. The applause overtook the fade-out of the song.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for Beat-Your-Meat-Loaf, only at Club Paradise, right here in the heart of Las Vegas, USA!" The DJ thundered, topping even the applause.

The two principles linked arms and took three bows as the lights ballyhooed, one to the left, one to the right, and a last deep bow right down center. The crowd roared their appreciation.

Then the dancers ran off into the wings, as a pair of stagehands rushed in to clear the chair & mic stands in ten seconds flat. Frank was professionally impressed.

A jangly guitar intro burst in, as the applause died down, and the DJ came back over the mic: "Yes sir, here in Paradise City, the grass is legal and the girls are are so fucking hot, you want to take them home!"

Clearly he had rehearsed that bit, because as soon as he finished, Axl Rose took over: "Take me down to the Paradise City..."

The night was kicking into high gear -- the second shift dancers were starting to arrive on the floor to work the crowd.

Frank ordered another beer, and then sat back to watch. His eyes were on the girl with the pink pixie cut hair, as she bent over to push her thong-clad ass in the face of a big, fat Black man in his fifties.

And that's when he saw her -- she was moving in and out of the tables on the far left. From the back at first, he recognized the hair. It was the pale angel -- the one he had come to find. She was dressed in a different outfit than before but was the same overall alt/goth archetype: pale, stacked and radiating attitude; but absolutely irresistible, every square millimeter.

She was perched atop a pair of platform high heels, black with a peep-toe. Hot-pink polished toes peeked through the opening. Her pink flared skirt stopped a foot above her knees, and swayed when she walked. The stockings were thigh-highs this time, white and sheer. They ended a foot below her skirt, leaving a mouthwatering expanse of pale bare skin between.

A silver stretch top with a deep cleavage cut tried valiantly to contain her full chest, but with her already large breasts pushed up even further by the pink bra underneath, it didn't stand a chance. Her straight, black hair was pulled back into two low pigtails. She looked every inch the precocious alt scene girl.

All thoughts of other dancers left his mind at once. This was the white whale he'd been hunting -- literally, because skin didn't get much whiter than hers.

Last time she had turned her heel and walked away. Would this time be different? How could he approach her?

He was never comfortable starting conversations with women -- it was supposed to be easy in clubs like this, but Frank was flummoxed. Maybe the high school surroundings were working too well.

All of a sudden it hit him -- the music! It was gonna time out perfectly.

He waited a few bars as she got closer, and then he stood up quickly as she was passing in front of him and echoed the chorus, right to her: "Oh, won't you please take me home!"

She clocked this and stopped short, slowly turning to face him. Her shock-blue cobalt eyes, rimmed in black eyeliner, were even more vibrant than he remembered.

She gave him a long once over as he stood, frozen for the moment, staring at her. Then, she took another step closer. "Slow down, Spicoli. Let's start with a dance." There was a bit of vocal fry; a warm rumble in her voice.

Another step, and she now was almost touching him. Frank's heart was beating a mile a minute.

"Nothing special -- we're just hanging out," she breathed, audible only to him.

Her face came in towards his, her nose just barely brushing his. Her eyes looked down and Frank could see the details of her smoky eyeshadow, with little black points sticking out.

Wordlessly, she pushed her hand against his chest and forced him back onto the couch. Then she stood in front of him swaying from side to side, saying nothing, just looking at him. She played with her skirt hem, and Frank's eyes were drawn to her bright fingernails.

Without warning, she bent at the waist and put her hands on his legs. Her cleavage hung deep before him, her breasts bulging up from their bra, but he only noticed this in passing because her face was down by his again. Her preternatural sapphire eyes locked on his.

"My name is Darcy," she stated archly. "Do I know you?"

"No, Darcy, I don't think so. I'm Frank," he replied. Her eyes were compelling enough to hold his gaze, despite the astounding cleavage she had in this position.

"No, I definitely do -- I remember you." She moved her torso from side to side, and her tits swayed back and forth in front of his face. "You were here last week. I was doing doubles with Raven."

Frank didn't say anything. He was clearly busted.

"You gave me those puppy dog eyes like you're doing now. It looked like you wanted me baaaaad." Her arms squeezed in against her sides, and her tits bulged out even further.

"Uh..." Frank was still a little thrown off by being recognized so quickly.

"Don't fucking lie to me, stoner. I felt your eyes burning a hole in my ass the whole time."

"Yikes... uh, yes -- busted," he admitted.

"Well you're in luck, because I am bad. Bad to the bone. I am filthy naughty on the outside, and tasty sweet on the inside. You wanna find out what I taste like?" She blew him a kiss.

Frank gulped and nodded vigorously.

"Not on the first dance, cowboy. That's advanced territory." She smiled when she said it, though, so Frank knew she was just messing with him.

Almost as if the DJ had heard her, the song began to fade out, the rock drums transitioning into a hip hop beat.

"Oh how about that? This song is ending. Do you want another dance?"

"Darcy, you're amazing! I definitely want another dance." Frank realized he was babbling but couldn't help it -- he had obsessed about this moment for the whole week, and here she was!

Darcy moved forward, straddling his legs, sitting up on his lap. Her tits, under her shirt, were pushed up against his chest, and her fingers closed around the back of his neck.

"Amazing?" Her face was right up in his now, barely a handspan apart. Her perfume surrounded and intoxicated him, like a tangible manifestation of her sensual aura. "Me?" Her otherworldly eyes were like a portal into another dimension.

She was writhing and shifting in his lap, rubbing up against his stiffening cock, under his pants. "I can be," she oozed, smiling a giant smile, "... or not." Quick as a cat, she slapped him lightly on the cheek, and then in almost the same motion, came in to kiss him on the mouth. Her tongue plunged between his lips, deeply and urgently, but only for a moment.

She pulled back and said, "I'm a fucking bitch like that sometimes."

"Oh my god, I love it," Frank murmured.

Darcy looked like the cat that ate the canary. "So, Frank, do you know what goes on behind those doors?" Darcy gestured at the double doors.

Frank nodded. "One of the dancers I met last week told me about it. I didn't check it out for myself, though."

"Who was it?" Darcy demanded.

"She called herself Audrey." Frank knew stripper names could be pretty fluid sometimes.

Darcy pulled back in surprise. "Wait, you resisted Audrey? Damn, that's impressive. I've seen her innocent seduction routine and it is hot as fuck."

Frank nodded in agreement. "I didn't have the cash last week, or I would have succumbed." He took a breath, and then charged on, " And yes, you're right -- I did come back tonight looking for you. I've been dreaming about you ever since I saw you."

Darcy's smile was ear to ear, like a cat might grin at a mouse, or a spider a fly. "Oh, then this is gonna be lots of fun."

"So how much is the entrance fee to that particular side of Paradise?" asked Frank, inclining his head toward the doors.

"$1500. Half for the club, half for me. Unlike most of the clubs in this town, Club Paradise takes care of the DJ & wait staff tip out from their end. One of the things that makes us Paradise girls so loyal."

"Fifteen hundred, eh? For how long?" Frank knew he wasn't going to be able to say no to her no matter what -- but he wanted to at least be informed.

"That gets you an hour and a half with yours truly." She adopted a faux innocent pose, wide eyes downcast, arms clamped in pushing out her breasts. "No holes barred."

That had the intended effect.

"Yes, okay." Frank eagerly agreed.

But she wasn't done yet. "Aaaand there's a couple of add-on packages too! Those go 100% to the performer," she said looking at him slyly.

"Such as..." Frank began, but trailed off.

"Things like groups, or doing a BDSM session as a top -- they have an extra price tag involved. But the one I think you'll be interested in is the Souvenir Program. It's $500, and it gives you a little something to remember me by -- a keepsake for those lonely nights when you're... ahem... remembering me."

Darcy waggled her fingers and winked at him. Frank blushed a bit.

"You'll be able to get pictures of me, as I look right now. If you go on the website later, you'll get a code to view them."

"How does that work?" he asked.

"Before we go out on the floor every night, we have a short modeling session with Dennis, the in-house photographer. Dennis is set up in the photography classroom, and once we're all dressed, and Marissa has finished our makeup, we then head down to Dennis to shoot some softcore."

"Wow, so every stripper here is also a model?" Not all that surprising, considering how gorgeous all the women around him were.

She laughed, "That's a bit circular, but yeah, kind of. It's mostly Dennis, though -- he's a fantastic photographer. He does the posters in the entrance hallway, too. Did you like those?"

"Yeah, they were pretty fucking hot," Frank admitted.

"Anyway -- the pictures aren't all. With that package, you'll also get to keep this outfit." She touched her top, pressing into her chest.

"I'll retire it, like a jersey number, and it'll be just for you. If you're married, and don't want it, I'll just retire it, and promise not to wear it here anymore. No more men will get the privilege of drooling over this specific version of me -- she'll be all yours, forever. I'll be all yours forever."

Her hands crept up to her silver top, pressing against it. Frank watched her curves shift and move under the silver fabric.

"But first, I'm gonna drag this fabric over every inch of your body. Your cheeks are gonna know how my skirt feels, and your tongue is gonna know how it tastes. Your wrists are gonna find out what it feels like to be tied up with my bra."

She leaned in and whispered, "You're gonna push my pretty pink panties all the way up inside my pussy and then I'm gonna shove them all the way down your fucking throat." Darcy half-growled like a cat and bit his earlobe.

"Yes! I'll take it," Frank blurted out. $2,000 was in line with what he'd been estimating.

Darcy pulled back to look at him. She was smiling

"And I am most definitely not married." Frank added.

"I thought not." Darcy said, pertly.

"Won't you need your clothes for, you know, the job?" Frank gestured at the club around them.

"Oh baby, I've got so many slutty outfits, it's kind of absurd. With a body like mine --" She winked and squeezed her shoulders in. Her cleavage mountained out, rippling and jiggling. "-- it'd be a crime against nature not to show it off."

Frank nodded, "I'm certainly happy to see it up close like this."

"Yeah, this isn't close. You have no idea how close we're gonna be in an hour. I'm gonna practically be inside of you and you're gonna definitely be inside of me," She was grinning evilly as she said this.

Frank's tight pants were getting even tighter. This was shaping up to be an unbelievable night.

She popped off his lap and extended her hand. "Well, you fucking wannabe cool kid poser, let's get goin'."

Frank stood and took her hand, following as she led them across the club to the double doors. Pushing them open, she pulled him through to the other side.

After a short hallway, and another pair of big double doors, they came up to the foyer in front of the main school office. It was a large, glass-walled space, with a central secretary desk and row of chairs to one side for students to wait. On the other side were four iPad kiosks, with partitions between them. There was enough room for two or three people to stand next to each other at every iPad. In the shadows behind the office foyer was a bullpen of vacant, empty workspaces.

Staffing the front desk was an attractive blonde in her late thirties or early forties, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Hello, I'm Ms. Mandible, the student activities coordinator." Her voice was rich and musical.

Frank remembered what the bouncer outside told him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mandible," Frank nodded his head respectfully. "Coach Jackson told me to give you his good word."

Ms. Mandible's stone face cracked into a smile. "Oh, he did, did he? Well then, we'll take good care of you, young man."

Frank smiled at the 'young man' bit -- he was pretty sure they were about the same age. He was probably older than she was.

"Why don't you and your friend there have a little talk, and decide what you want to do." Ms. Mandible gestured at the line of iPads.

Darcy tugged his arm and pulled him over to the side of the room. "Well how do you want me, big boy?"

Frank didn't quite know what to say to that. "Uhh..."

Darcy grabbed his arm and spun in to face him head on.

"You like this look on me right? I know you do... I can tell, even though you look like a normie, deep down... you like dirty dirty sluts." She said that last part with such lascivious glee, that Frank's cock -- which had mostly softened during the walk over -- began to press against his pants again.

She was right, of course -- the more confident, assertive, flirtatious, nasty, and liberated a woman was; the harder he fell.

Darcy kept going, "Ordinarily I'd recommend 'Detention' to a new client -- It's one of my post popular requests -- "

Frank nodded. "I overheard a couple of guys rave about your 'Detention' session last week."

"Oh, them? Last Sunday? That was an interesting pair -- something definitely up between those two. One of them made all the decisions, and I mean all of them -- he told his friend how to touch me, what positions to take, everything; but they both acted like macho players, even the dude that was following orders."

"Hmm," Frank said. "Maybe they were brothers."

"Haha maybe. I made sure they had a good time, though."

She waggled her eyebrows and continued, "Anyway, 'Detention' is my standard favorite, but I can tell you're not exactly standard, eh?"

Frank felt a little awkward at that, but he couldn't deny it.

"I think the costume you chose is leading me to favor 'A Joint Under the Bleachers'."