Lapdancing Girlfriend Ch. 05

They discussed some of the more technical aspects, how many sets they needed, where the performance would be held, and whatnot. Mr. DeWight said he expected at least three sets as a group with the girls, as well as one solo routine from her.

"I'll have Elsie email Velvet with more specifics," Mr. DeWight told her as he smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Jen did not know what to expect from the syndication party, or even her debut party tomorrow night. The more Mr. DeWight talked, the more apprehensive she became; however, thinking of Mary and Denise being present at the next party, she hoped nothing too bad would happen.

"So that is all I had for you," Mr. DeWight said at last. "Is there anything else you need or that I can provide?" he asked her.

Jen knew this was the time to bring up her ideas on new strippers and dancers and teaching them the 'tricks of the trade' so-to-speak with her mentoring program. She began describing her observations—first how the new girls did not have anybody to teach them 'the ropes' and having to learn to sink or swim on their own, and then explained some of the inner rivalries going on at the clubs she had discerned from her e-mails. She stated she could easily deal with some of the pettiness visiting each club and meeting with the girls during her tour, but she needed Mr. DeWight's backing to provide the clout.

She then outlined her thoughts about the mentorship plan, explaining to him even sending a girl out-of-state to learn how to be a better dance would be a good and sound investment in the long run, as better quality girls would be at the clubs earning more money.

Mr. DeWight did not say anything the entire time she relayed to him her thoughts she had been working on all week, but he was definitely listening to her, his expressions thoughtful, so without pause she next talked about her vending machine idea on stripper essentials. At this point Mr. DeWight became extremely interested, and although Jen knew he would undoubtedly overprice everything in the machines considerably, this was one of her ideas he definitely would implement. Even overcharging the items, Jen figured since most girls would be bringing in their own items and these were for emergencies, the girls could afford them as needed.

Finally she broached the subject of the interviews and how she felt travel expenses should be paid for by the company, explaining her reasoning behind it and ultimately the better quality of dancer for the company.

After she finished reading from her list Velvet had put together for her, she sat back as Mr. DeWight remained silent, looking at her intently. Although his eyes roamed up and down her body, his look was more like somebody taking stock in somebody after discovering they were capable of doing something they never thought possible. His look actually gave her more confidence; however, after several minutes of silence she began to squirm, becoming more and more nervous.

Finally he leaned back in his chair, telling her, "You seem to be taking this position serious," he said thoughtfully, surprising her with his comment.

"And shouldn't I?" she asked honestly. "You said my contract put me in charge of the dancers. How did you say it—sort of the proverbial 'housemother' to all of them. If that is part of my job why should I not take it serious?" she asked.

Mr. DeWight smiled. "You know as well as I do I hired you for your pretty face, nice tits, and round ass and how it would look on media getting fucked. I didn't know there was actually a brain beneath all that packaging," he chuckled.

Jen did not know whether to take his statement as a compliment or not as he went on.

"You know, the last two DSA Spokesmodels didn't do anything," he told her. "I mean when they were in the office. Sure they fucked and sucked on command, but during the days they were on site they basically watched television or slept. This week alone, after listening to you, I think you've thought more about this job in a week than they did in years," he told her without any expression on his face.

Silence filled the room as he continued to look at her, again making Jen feel uncomfortable.

Finally he asked somewhat enigmatically, "Are these things important to you?"

His question took her by surprised as she told him emphatically, "They should be important to you!" Jen gathered her courage as she again explained her position. "The better you can support these girls, the happier they'll be and the more profit they will turn around," she told him. "It's an investment well worth it in the long run. Even if we don't hire as many girls who interview the ones we do hire will be higher quality," she explained to him, "because they will be trained and be in an atmosphere that is less tooth-and-nail and more amicable for the girls."

"Yes, yes," Mr. DeWight said waving his hands as if the quality of dancers was not important, which she assumed he would not, merely interested in their bodies and what they did with them as he continued. "What I mean is are these objectives and seeing them through to the end important to YOU," he stressed. "For me, I can continue as we are. Although I agree a better quality of dancers may earn more profit, I see it as only a marginal investment; whereas the cost of travel for your 'mentorship' program and interviews is considerable," he told her, his fingers making imaginary quotation marks over his head.

"I believe the benefits will outweigh the costs of interviews, even sending somebody to a mentor. Keep in mind girls only need to be sent to a mentor elsewhere if there is nobody in their particular club who is worth being a mentor. After looking at some of the profiles of currently employed dancers, I can tell there are only one or two clubs that I don't think anybody there would be a good fit for what I have in mind," she said.

Mr. DeWight was again silent as he looked at her, again not as a piece of meat, but as somebody worth consideration, although his silence made her nervous.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I know your contract states any profits earned through your involvement factor into your bonuses, and I just handed you a twenty-five grand check. So I need to ask, is this an interest in more money?" he questioned her.

Jen looked at him in surprise, as earning more money had never even crossed her mind and told him as much. "It just seems like the right thing to do," she finally said.

"So I ask again Diamond, how important are these concepts to you? How much of a difference do you want to make?" he queried.

Jen suddenly realized she wanted to see something positive come out of her being placed in this predicament. There was a reason for everything she believed, and if she could help out even one of the girls currently exploited by DSA she would feel better.

She recalled her thoughts earlier in the week, thinking of the 'little people' who worked at DSA and how if she was successful with the FBI, they could lose their jobs. Although a small thing in the grand scheme of putting Mr. DeWight behind bars, if her plans would at least ensure a better future for the girls if any of the clubs closed. It would be something she could provide and make a positive difference, a sort of legacy to the trade.

Mr. DeWight seemed to read her mind and thoughts as he smiled at her before she answered.

"Yes," she finally said, putting her conviction behind her statement, "they are important."

Smiling wickedly Mr. DeWight said, "OK then, how about a deal," he said to her.

"A deal?" Jen asked, confusion and mistrust clear upon her face.

Looking intently at her he said, "Although you have done extremely well this week—even above and beyond my own expectations—we both know the truth," he said with a sneer.

Jen looked at him with her brow furrowed in question as he continued.

"Let's be completely honest with each other. The bottom line is you were forced into your position and do not want this job," he told her as her eyes widened in surprise. "We both know I forced you into your contract," he said bluntly to Jen, shocked at his candor and how easily he admitted it. "I drugged you, I manipulated you, and then because I could and to show you I owned you, I fucked you, finally having you sign a binding contract when your defenses and willpower were completely down," he smiled evilly at her.

Seeing her socked expression at his blunt confession, Mr. DeWight laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "It's not the first time I've done something like that, and believe me, it will definitely not be the last," he smiled wickedly at her. "And it's not like you can run and tell anybody," he laughed, seeing her understanding.

"I have spent years refining those contracts. You and I both know I have you by the proverbial balls," he once again smiled evilly at her, "otherwise you would not be here in LA at all," he told her. "Any hint of a breach in your contract and I pulverize you into financial oblivion. I can put you in places so remote from civilization even you would not know where you were, and would gladly sell your body for a cracker" he told her candidly, once again frightening Jen with his blunt statements.

Mr. DeWight paused as he opened a box on his desk, pulling out a cigar and casually clipping the end off before igniting it with a lighter from his desk. A cloud of noxious smoke rose from his face giving him an even more evil appearance as he leered at her from across his desk before speaking again.

"The fact of the matter is you are fucking hot. Your body is pure perfection. And you don't just have the physical attributes," he said to her with a leering smile, "you can move and shake those attributes like nobody I have ever seen. God has given you the complete package to personify sex, and you are going to earn me and this company a fucking shitload amount of money," he told her bluntly, "both by shaking those fantastic tits of yours and that fine ass at clubs or any dick near you," he stated candidly.

It was a raw, brutal, and open admission of the horrors he would enact upon her she had predicted all along, finally laid out to her in black and white. Mr. DeWight was tearing the Band-Aid off of any disillusions she may have ever had about her role within the company and his grand scheme for her. She could only sit there mutely as Mr. DeWight declared exactly what he planned to do with her.

"Whether you like it or not, and whether you do it willingly or not, I really don't give a flying fuck. If you defy me, I will sue you for breach of contract," he said, looking at her intently. "If you go against me, I will crush you. There is not a God-damned thing you or anybody can do about it," he told her, "I own you."

Jen could not believe how candid Mr. DeWight had been, finally stating the truth. Although she had discussed her predicament with Dan and the FBI, thought about it non-stop, having Mr. DeWight blatantly admit everything in the open without any more subterfuge was complete validation of her fears, bringing a new reality to her mind she had to accept, as his words were the truth.

She felt true fear as well as hopelessness, knowing she was no longer in control of her life.

And then, as if stranded on an island and sighting a ship on the horizon she remembered her jewelry, hoping the recording devices were getting every word of her boss' confessional.

Mr. DeWight's chuckle caused her to look back up to him. "I never expected anything from you but shaking your tits and ass and selling movies of you spreading your legs, but you definitely have some balls and a mind in that package as well. And although I know you probably despise me with every fiber of your being, for some reason you seem to want to help out," he said to her, taking a long puff from his cigar. "And fuck me, what you're asking for is already stated in your contract," he again chuckled.

Leaning back in his chair as if he reached a decision, Mr. DeWight said, "So here's what I will do. I will agree to give you the latitude to make your changes, but on certain conditions," he told her with a pointed look.

Jen looked back at him suspiciously as he grinned, her mind in turmoil from the whole meeting and his blunt confession. This was an aspect of Mr. DeWight she was not used to, this direct conversation leaving her feeling completely hopeless.

"The conditions are that you stop fighting me. You comply with everything I ask of you within the boundaries of your contract and I will allow you to have complete control over the dancers. I'll even announce it in today's staff meeting so there will be no opposition from the managers," he told her. "You in turn will abide by your contract—and I mean the complete contract. You want to work on improving the girls in your role as DSA Spokesmodel, then that is fine and dandy and stated in your contract, but there are other obligations in that contract as well. You cannot pick and choose Diamond, if you're going to be the liaison for all the dancers you have to take the rest of your contractual obligations as well," he told her with a smile, knowing she understood what he meant.

"That doesn't seem to be much incentive," she told him. "I either give in or fight—but you yourself said the outcome will be the same."

She knew it was the truth. Whether she agreed to his terms or not the end result was she would be his sexual slave. The only difference was her attitude.

She was about to speak her thoughts when he held up his hand, instantly quieting her.

"I'm not finished yet. I will allow you the freedom to do what you want with the girls while you comply with my own wishes. In return, IF you prove your methods are profitable beyond the costs invested for the travel, time, and other resources the company will be investing into your ideas over the next year," he told her, looking at her expectantly, "then I will agree to renegotiate your contract at that time," he said to her.

Jen was stunned, unable to believe her ears. Did Mr. DeWight, the devil himself, just offer her a way out of her contract? That she could have another chance at not signing her contract, being able to refuse it and be free of him and his despicable company in only a year?

She knew the man was a liar, and could be right this moment lying to her face, but she knew she had an ace up her sleeve—the entire conversation was being recorded. There was no way Mr. DeWight could deny what he offered.

The more immediate question was not his truthfulness in a year's time, but whether she could become exactly what he wanted, a willing porn star, debasing herself without objection for the next year.

The silver lining in Jen's mind was she was no longer bound by a lifetime commitment as originally feared. She was not so naïve to believe the FBI could bring Mr. DeWight to justice in any shorter time. Although they might eventually find something to arrest Mr. DeWight for—and her continuing to work for them was still an option—the FBI had been investigating him for YEARS without any results. She completely understood they had no time table to offer her or even whether they could ever arrest Mr. DeWight. Now she was being offered a way out with a definitive end date.

Suddenly Jen's body jerked as her tattoo began vibrating—not a short zap like Nick had done in the past, but a continuous long thrilling that almost became uncomfortable. She realized it was the FBI telling her to not accept this agreement. She understood this could be a further entrapment by Mr. DeWight and him come back in a year and say he never offered any such deal, but once again she knew she was being recorded. In addition, she had to admit the FBI had a vested interest in keeping her bound to her contract as long as possible to build their case against Mr. DeWight. She remembered how excited Agent Geiger had been at the prospect of having an informant within the company. Once again she thought how for all she knew, their investigation could go on for years while she would still be at the mercy of Mr. DeWight.

In the end, she had to do what was in her own best interest and Dan's, not Mr. DeWight's, not the FBI. The sooner she could get out of her contract and her and Dan could once again lead a normal life, the better.

The reality that Mr. DeWight could force her to do whatever he wanted was real and something he admitted, but he was giving her a way out, a light at the end of the tunnel. All she had to do was give in to his lecherous plans—something she knew was inevitable, he himself stating she could be beaten down until she no longer cared.

Her tattoo once again began to vibrate through her skin, the sensation becoming increasingly annoying as she realized the FBI had too much of a biased interest in her remaining the DSA Spokesmodel. This was her life and she had a chance to end this nightmare in year; they could not offer any such timetable.

Deep within her, Jen was convinced her ideas were worthy and would lead to a profit. If the company's dancers were more organized, better trained, and in general have a happier demeanor, the money they made would significantly more. She had already seen it for herself amongst the girls at the Satin Kitty. She had created an atmosphere at that club where the girls who had been around longer helped out the newer girls, and everybody made out in the long run. It was why the Kitty was so successful and other clubs were not. Jen had worked at a few of those clubs in the past. She knew the reason her club did so well was the dancers being higher quality. There was no question in her mind about it, it was a certainty. She realized the Satin Kitty had been her own pilot, and now she could expand that methodology to the rest of the company.

"Agreed," she said quietly, knowing within her heart she could do this.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Mr. DeWight asked sarcastically with an evil grin.

"I agree if you allow me the liberty of working with the girls, I will abide by my contract until I show you this will be a profit" she said at last. "But I agree only as to what my contract already states," she said, fearing he would try to have her do something beyond what she had already read within the contract—although she could not fathom what else there was left for her to be forced into.

Mr. DeWight grinned like a Cheshire cat as he looked at her. "Agreed," he told her finally, sticking out his hand which she reluctantly shook.

Jen felt like she had sold her soul to the devil, but once again reasoned she now had a time period with a finite ending, unlike her agreement with the FBI.

The incessant vibration of her tattoo had ceased, and she knew they would not be pleased, but once again she reasoned this was her life on the line. Again she understood why they would be upset. She had just made it apparent if they did not find enough evidence within the next year, their investigation— or at least both how own and Dan's involvement—would be over. Agent Geiger had even admitted her and Dan's participation was the FBI's last and only option before the case went cold indefinitely.

In the end, Jen only cared about ending this nightmare she had been thrown in, and currently Mr. DeWight's offer was the best she could hope for.

With a smug expression Mr. DeWight looked at his watch. She could read his thoughts plainly upon his face—he believed he now had her completely on a leash; however, she was confident about her suggestions improving the clubs. She had a year to prove it and she felt it would be enough.

"It looks like that is all the time we have today," he said to her, "but I believe it was time well spent, don't you agree?" he asked her.

Jen nodded in agreement as she quelled her misgivings and asked where the board meeting was held, grateful for something new to distract her. She would have plenty of time alone in her hotel room to think over her decisions.