It Can Always Get Worse

Chapter 1

1

Kimberly looked at the Caller I.D. and cried. For the second consecutive week her mortgage company was calling, and each message left was worse than the one before. The message yesterday told her that foreclosure proceedings would begin immediately if she did not pay the four months past due mortgage payments. It was money that she did not have.

The phone beeped indicating another new message.

Kimberly wept.

2

Six months earlier her husband of eleven years had left her for another woman saying that Kimberly was not adventurous enough in bed; that she did not satisfy him. In Kimberly's estimation it was a lie, an excuse to do what he wanted, her feelings be damned. While she was not a slut, she was more than brave enough and doting enough to try, and even enjoy, most of the thing he had wanted. She dressed provocatively for him, stripped in public for him, even enjoying the feeling of knowing that she was not only exciting her husband, but anyone else who may have seen her performance. Thanks to her husband, her ex-husband, she had a secret turn-on with exhibitionism.

She had participated in threesomes for him even though she had not enjoyed it. She had dressed in costumes for him; acted out his fantasies; spanked and been sparked by him and others at the swinging parties he would drag her to both willingly and unwillingly.

She was not a stupid woman; she could see the end coming. It was the vindictiveness of it that surprised her. He had emptied the joint bank account, removing his name from the account while she taught Freshman English at the local Junior College. She had returned from work to find the furniture all but gone, the electricity and phone turned off and the bank account empty. Her clothes were in shreds except for the most outlandish and revealing items she owned; the clothes that he knew she liked to wear in private during their game time. It was not the type of clothes that she would wear to teach the young men and women in her care during the day. Only her most revealing and humiliating clothing remained untouched by the scissors he left stabbed into their marital mattress where her head would normally lay.

It was an act of hate, the way he left her. She did not cry that day. That day she vowed to herself that she would land on her feet and do it with dignity. She would prove that she was stronger than he was; that she was more man than he ever could have been.

It did not work out that way.

3

"Miss Turner," she cringed hearing the distaste in the voice of the unnamed woman on the answering machine. "This is our fourth attempt to contact you this week. As of today we have begun foreclosure on your property and unless full payment of the past due balance is made by the close of business..." Kimberly stopped listening. She had heard it before. A certified check (they would not take a personal check they had told her) for the past due amount as well as the current payment that would be due in less than a week, must be presented to the bank or the bank would take her home. Take the only thing she had.

Following her husband leaving and using the few dollars that had been stashed away in the house in their emergency fund for new work clothes, she had slowly rebuilt. She had purchased a new bed; theirs having a huge hole in the mattress and seeing it had made her cringe in shame and anger. It meant nothing to him and it would mean nothing to her.

She was living paycheck to paycheck, her meager third year salary at the college just enough to make ends meet. Then, as life will do, things went from bad to worse. She had had to buy a second hand car as they had only had one and since she got the house, he got the car. The car she purchased froze up and refused to start one day and that turned out to cost her almost a full check to repair and she was now a month behind.

Then the refrigerator's fan motor seized, making the house smell like a fire was about to erupt and a second payment got missed. The first calls started then; polite ones. We'll work with you. Pride stepped to the plate and Kimberly just knew she'd be okay. She would work it out.

Her newly fixed car got stolen from the teacher's parking lot on campus. Restitution...none. Cost: another two months behind.

Kimberly looked at the ad she had circled in the paper. Dancers wanted; nudity required. She exhaled a sad, weepy sob and picked up the silent phone. She needed another job, one that paid well and paid quickly. She had taken dance when she went to college, and she knew she had an attractive body; her ex-husband told her often enough with both words and his obvious arousal at her provocative shows. With her secret thrill of exposing her body and her desperate financial situation, she figured it would be a short-term solution for her monetary problems.

Dialing the phone, she made the call.

She cried when she hung up. She had an interview that she did not want to make but knew she'd have to and she just knew she would get the job.

4

Kimberly looked at the black door that lead into Pussy Cats. Why, she wondered, did these places always have such suggestive names? Well, she supposed, it did draw customers. With a sharp exhale she opened her car door and made her way inside.

The place was empty and the overhead lights were on. She had, of course, been inside strip clubs with her ex-husband. She had even appeared on stage during an amateur night contest. She did not win but felt pretty good about herself coming in second to the nineteen year old strumpet that had won. She had been twenty six at the time, twenty nine now, and she was certain it was just the age of the young woman that had won that put her in second place.

"Can I help you," a young man asked standing in the corner next to a wall of electronics that controlled the clubs sound system.

"Yeah, uh, yes," Kimberly said. Her mouth was dry. "I have a meeting, an interview." She was tripping on her words.

The man nodded his head, "through there." He indicated a maroon curtain hanging to the right of the main stage.

"Thanks," she said.

Kimberly walked through the curtain and peered down a short hallway with three more dark curtains, one to each side of the hall and one at the end. "Hello," she called out in a small voice.

"In here."

She followed the voice through the back curtain and saw a fat man with a stained T-shirt and black shorts sitting on a stool before a large mirror. There were about a dozen stools in the room, six spanning each side with two wall-length mirrors and along the back wall there was another curtain and twenty small lockers stacked two high, most of them having a small lock in the silver hasp. To her left was a sink with a medicine cabinet above it. "Can I help you?" The fat man asked.

"Um," she swallowed, "I have an interview."

"Can you dance?"

Kimberly nodded.

"Can you get naked?"

Again, she swallowed.

"Show me."

She looked around the room seeing herself countless times as her reflection bounced between the twin mirrors. "Here?"

There was no patience in his voice, "look, you want the job?"

No, she thought, I do not want the job. "Yes."

"Then dance."

Kimberly wiggled her hips and slowly began to dance. She kicked off her sneakers and turned, pushing her ass out in an invitation to the man watching her. She spun around and with a quick move pulled hem of her blouse out of the waistband of her jeans. Kicking her legs she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and with a flourish she pulled the halves apart revealing the white bra that she wore. She shrugged the shirt free of her shoulders and threw it to the sink behind her.

She felt a stirring in her crotch as she exposed her half-naked chest to this stranger. It was the same feeling she got when her husband had made her strip for him in the car or at the beach or once in a Macy's fitting room. Reaching up behind her she unfastened her bra and bending at the waist so that her breasts hung free she dropped the bra down her legs and to the floor. She swung her long, brown hair in a circle, almost hitting the fat man with her hair.

She stood up and still shaking her hips and now her naked breasts, she unfastened the snap of her jeans. Her breasts were not overly large, but were not tiny either; her husband...ex-husband...had called them perfect and seeing this man before her staring at them she knew her B-cub did indeed look good. She turned again and inched her jeans over her ass revealing a small, black thong. She stepped out of the jeans and with a spin and a flourish kicked them away.

Her nipples were hard points and she knew it was not just because of the cool room; she was sexually aroused. She could see the excitement in the fat man, his black shorts not hiding his obvious approval at her revealing performance. She could also feel her own excitement; her panties were damp with it.

Still, she danced. She turned two complete circles and then staring the man straight in the eyes she dropped her panties to her feet, stepped out of one side, and lifted them to her hands with the other foot. She grabbed them, held them to her nose and inhaled the evidence of her arousal. She then spun again and threw her panties behind her. She stood before him, her hands at her sides not covering her breasts or the thin triangle of her pubic thatch and pussy. She wondered if she had taken one breath during her dance.

The fat man just stared at her. The seconds ticked by, slowly to Kimberly. He was watching her. She needed the job, and she could not help but wonder what he was thinking.

"You work Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Start at nine, work till close at 1 A.M. All tips you split with the bartenders, and they split theirs amongst the girls. You keep all money you earn in the two private rooms behind the stage. We pay you 100 bucks a night. Sound good?"

Kimberly nodded. "Yes."

"Good. You look good; you dance good. See you Thursday. Come in early to do some paperwork and meet some of the other girls. Bring a lock for one of the lockers. Be here at eight. Any questions?"

She shook her head.

"Then you can go."

Kimberly got dressed, feeling how wet her panties were as she slid them up her legs. She had definitely enjoyed the rush she had gotten stripping for her new boss, the thrill of it, the humiliation of it; she knew how red her face looked, she had seen it staring back at her in the mirror.

Dressed and with a second job Kimberly rushed home.

She masturbated to two satisfactory orgasms reliving the excitement of stripping for a stranger; hell, she thought, she didn't even catch his name. More importantly, she smiled, I can keep my house. With luck, I can keep my house.

5

"I really hate her," Sharon Reed said to herself as she watched that bitch Kimberly Turner enter her classroom. She stared at the closed classroom door fuming over what she knew was going on in there. Kimberly's students were listening to her; being quiet; obeying her. That was what bothered her the most, she knew. Somehow little miss perfect tits had her students obeying her. They would sit obediently listening to their young teacher. They would raise their hands and ask pointed, intelligent questions about the subject matter. Sharon heard nothing but rude jokes and useless queries about irrelevant subjects and her kids, no her kids did not listen.

Sharon walked down the English Departments hallway and peered into Kimberly's class. There she sat behind her desk smiling as she engaged her students in their lecture. The students participated and did not mock. How had the bitch pulled that off, she fumed. Shaking her head and walking away in anger she could hear the commotion from her own classroom full of monkeys.

Again, as she entered her own unruly class she could only think, "I hate that bitch."

6

"Hi," she heard a young woman say as she entered the dressing room from the rear of the building, passing through a maroon curtain. "You must be the new girl."

"Yeah, hi. I'm Kimberly." She had to really listen to the young woman as loud music poured into the room making it hard to hear.

"I'm Robin but everyone calls me Rascal, it's what I go by on stage. Have you picked your stage name yet?"

She shook her head, "no."

"Well, we need to think of something. You don't want people knowing your real name, do you? I know one girl that did that and two days later she had to change her phone number. You wouldn't believe some of that calls she got and at all hours of the day and night. People can be real sickies if you ask me."

Kimberly could not imagine receiving so many unsolicited phone calls all with her naked body being the topic of conversation. She had never given any thought to why strippers always seemed to have names like Bubbles, or Candi and now she did. "Thanks, Rascal," Kimberly said.

"No problem." She stopped and listened to the throbbing music die down from the main dance floor. "That's my cue," she said and dropped her robe so that she was standing there in just a small pink bra and panty set. "Time to shake my thing." Rascal turned and walked out playfully shaking her ass as she did.

Kimberly opened an empty locker and pulled a small lock from her purse. She locked her purse away and waited for her boss to come find her. She sat thinking of names, quickly discarding names like Bambi and Candi as too cliché. Finally she opted for Jaybird; cute, playful and just a tad too descriptive she thought.

A few minutes passed and another woman entered from the rear of the building. She nodded a greeting and without pausing made her way deeper into the club. A moment later the fat man entered the dressing room. "Good," he said nodding, "you're here. You ready for tour?"

A little to quickly Kimberly said, "yeah."

He showed her around the club, back up the short hallway past the two private rooms which he explained is where the girls made most of their money. The better they were at flirting and making eye contact as she had done during her interview, Kimberly remembered with a flash of heated shame, the more money you could coax from a customer, he explained.

He led her into the club where a girl Kimberly had not seen was tying her ankles together with her stockings. Her breasts were bare and her panties where pulled down to her knees. She sat on her naked ass and danced with her bound feet pointing from one site of the stage to the other. Walking by Kimberly could see the thin line of her sex as the dancer raised her tied legs even higher. There were four men sitting at the stage and Kimberly could see all of them men waiting anxiously to give the young dancer some money.

Kimberly blushed. All too soon she'd be taking her clothes off for money. Without realizing it she grabbed the throat of the yellow blouse she was wearing. You can do this; she chided herself, think of your house.

The fat man introduced her to Tommy, the guy that ran the sound equipment on weekdays. Shaking hands, Tom explained he'd pick songs for you based on what you wanted to do and judging from how the naked and semi-bound woman on stage shifted her legs with the beat, Kimberly reasoned he knew what he was doing. She thanked him and followed the fat man across the darkened room, only the stage was brightly lit. They passed the main entrance to her left being guarded by two very large men that the fat man ignored and stopped at the bar directly in front of them.

"This is Carlos," the fat main said, and Kimberly shook his hand as she had Tommy's. "He mixes the drinks. You share tips with him and he with you."

"I remember."

"Okay. This way." He led her to the right of the bar and into a short hallway, behind and to the left of the stage. There were three doors in the hallway, one labeled Men's, one labeled Ladies and the third marked as the office. They entered the office.

The man sat as a desk and offered Kimberly as seat in front of him. Behind the desk a large wall of computer monitors was hanging; 2 rows of four displays. Each was showing a scene in the club, Kimberly could easily recognize the dancer as she stopped and stood up, her legs now untied and her black stockings hanging around her neck. She could see the parking lot in one monitor, the stage and bar in another and two rooms she had not seen before, one empty and the other currently occupied by Rascal and a man receiving a very intimate dance in the other.

The fat man, David he said his name was, showed her the paperwork that she needed to fill out. She was surprised about an emergency contact page and about the W-2; she had not thought of paying taxes with this job. David explained everything to her, telling her that her salary was indeed taxed but she didn't really make any money with tips, right?

Kimberly understood.

Twenty minutes later, both private rooms empty and the parking lot filling up she was escorted back to Tommy where her first dance was arranged and her songs chosen. Finally she heard announced by Tommy in a surprisingly melodic voice, "let's give a big hand to Jaybird."

Blushing, Kimberly approached the stage.

7

Sharon sat at Kimberly's desk and imagined her students as well behaved as Kimberly's. She rummaged through the desk and found that most of the drawers were empty. The one in the center held pens, pencils and paper, chalk and a stapler. The drawer to the right held the course book and syllabus and a few hand-outs but the two drawers on the left were empty. Sharon knew her desk was a cluttered mess. This realization made her mad, Kimberly's life was simple and neat while Sharon's was disorganized and cluttered. The area under Kimberly's desk was wide and empty and a kick plate descended all the way to the floor; it was a much nicer desk that Sharon had.

She stood up and slammed her fists against the desk, hurting her hand and making her even angrier. "The bitch," she muttered. Turning around she grabbed a piece of chalk and with large block letters she wrote BITCH on the chalkboard and then in a rage snapped the chalk in half.

Slightly mollified Sharon spun from the desk and marched out the door into the vacant hallways. She returned to her own desk, finished grading some papers and made her way outside. The sun had set, she always seemed to work late while little Kimmie never seemed to have to. Walking to her car she just fumed with anger. She'd get that bitch.

8

"Yes, ma'am," Kimberly said. "That is what I am proposing. I know I did get behind but I have a second job now that pays weekly and I want to work this out." She listened and made the appropriate replies to the questions that she was being asked. "Monday, no wait, Tuesday," she said knowing she'd be stripping on Monday.

Kimberly listened as the woman on the phone reiterated their deal. Kimberly would make a mortgage payment every 2 weeks instead of monthly with the first one coming on Tuesday and every other Tuesday following. The normal house payments would continue to accrue, each payment being assigned to the one most in arrears but with the double payments in four months she'd be current. If she missed one payment the foreclosure would continue and only payment in full could stop it then. Kimberly planned on stripping for maybe one additional month to get a payment ahead and then return to single employment at the college. Listening to the woman on the phone finish, Kimberly agreed.

She hung up the phone, satisfied her house was saved.

9

Friday morning Sharon watched Kimberly sit demurely at her desk in a tasteful skirt, matching jacket and white blouse, talking to her student who sat there and listened and participated. The chalkboard was clean, nothing written on it. She had enjoyed the feeling of writing on it and wondered what she would write the next time she had the chance. She doubted that Kimberly had seen the word BITCH written there but she secretly hoped she had seen it. Wouldn't that have been fun; little miss perfect reacting to being called a bitch...or worse. Sharon could see it in her mind and the thought made her shiver. One day.