Racquel Darrian vs. Dyke Protester

Racquel Darrian, pornstar and Penthouse Pet had the run of the roost at any strip-club she was booked into. Most of the high-end ones were top of the line luxury. The talent was well taken care of and treated like goddess'.

Some the dumpier clubs were seedy, but her agent told her there was really no way of telling sometimes. The appearance fee to reel in a big-name pornstar, although high, was met by some fairly run-down establishments; sometimes it was a last resort to ignite a fading business

"Money is money, Racquel," her agent would tell her. Racquel would shrug it off, as if she was disappointed, but she secretly enjoyed slumming it on stage at some of the rat-holes. The seediest were in big cities by the airports, but just as nasty were some of the strip-clubs in rural areas, just off the interstate.

Ace of Spades - a click from the Joplin, Missouri turnpike was just the kind of place Racquel liked to find herself on a Friday night. She'd driven her rental car by there in the daylight and could tell it was on its last legs. She parked and watched two black kids putting up her name up the Marquee. To her, seeing RACQUEL DARRIAN up there was pure excitement and adrenaline. Soon, men from all over would converge on the Ace of Spades to watch their favorite pornstar performing under the lights. She could feel herself getting wet thinking about all the hard dicks and jacking off that would follow later that night. Her fans drive home and get themselves off thinking of Racquel, or maybe bang their wives imagining Racquel in their place. At that moment she wanted to slip her hand down her jeans and touch her pussy, but decided against it. "Save it for the show," she convinced herself.

Without even going into the club, Racquel knew what to in a place like this: the stage for the girl's to perform on would be in poor condition. The dressing room area would be tiny and provided the girls with little privacy. And to top it off, the strippers who worked there were sometimes miffed to have a pretty girl drop in for the night and soak up all the tips.

The crowd would mostly be truckers, bikers and local farmers. They tipped well, and she liked to imagine them jacking off in the parking lot about fucking her - not able to even get home to do it. She was supposed to project an image of class and sophistication, but there were times she just wanted to unzip every guy in the place and start sucking. Man, she liked turning men on. And she was good at it.

A few hours later she drove back into the parking lot of Ace of Spades. It was dark, but she could there were a group of protestors holding up signs. As she headed to the secured parking area for the staff, she could see it was a group of angry women. As she spied on them from her car, she could read from the signs that they were fed up with pornstars coming to their town and wanted to let Racquel Darrian know what a fucking whore she was. That was the jist of it.

As she continued watching, she could see they were a motley crew of ugly feminists, dykes, boring-ass teachers just off from school and high-and-mighty college girls with bulging waistlines, no make-up and unkempt hair. "Christ, what a mess," Racquel thought. "Don't these girls know how to present themselves? No wonder they can't get laid."

Racquel exited her car and ducked into the kitchen entrance unrecognized, but felt annoyed she'd had to sneak in under the low light. She caught a glimpse of a pissed off skinhead dyke with a ridiculous Mohawk. She was making most of the racket and was using a megaphone to do so.

Racquel tried to forget about it all as she put on her make-up. The management nervously assured her there would be no trouble. Ricky would be her go-to-guy and would make sure her show went off without a hitch. The masses would be at the club soon and would no doubt be surprised by the protests. "This could be bad for business," Racquel thought absently. She imagined some men driving right by Ace of Spades and heading home. If enough of a fuss was made the media might show up. And the cops, of course. Damn.

Racquel sat alone in her private dressing room, lit only with her mirror lights. She was topless, wearing only a pair of tight-fitting blue panties. She then put on her above-the-knee white boots. They were made of cheap latex, but they shone brightly under the lights. She had worn them in some her pornos and knew some of her die-hard fan would recognize them. As she put on her earrings, she called out to Rick. She instructed him to go outside and 'Tell that fucking loudmouth dyke-bitch with the stupid Mohawk to come and see me. Now."

She was pissed. Rick stood there stunned, but he knew she was serious.

"Just do it. Be quiet about it, but tell her come speak to me face-to-face. Alone."

Rick left and Racquel finished up putting on her eyeliner. A few minutes later the door slowly opened. She looked in the mirror and could see it was the Mohawk bitch from outside. Delivered to her as per request. "Good," she thought. "This should diffuse things a bit."

The dyke stood by the open door. Racquel instructed her to close it and come in. The dyke seemed quiet, nervous and sweaty. A cigarette hung between her fingertips. Racquel almost offered her a drink, but decided to cut to the chase. She spun in her leather stool, facing the girl. She was probably about thirty: stubble skin-head of course (check), tattoos (check), black painted nails (check), multiple piercings (check) black combat boots (check), a filthy wife-beater (check) and that god-awful Mohawk (check) .

'What a cliché', Racquel thought.

As she faced the dyke, she leaned back against the counter, spread her legs and pulled her panties to one side, exposing her perfectly trimmed mound of pussy. She had only a vague notion of what she really wanted with this girl, but in that instant she knew it could all be resolved if this thick-headed lesbo could just get a taste of some pornstar pussy. Just so she would finally know what all the fucking fuss was about.

She beckoned the lil' dyke over with a commanding wave of her hand. The dyke came forward and dropped to her knees, staring at Racquel's unbelievably pretty face and then down to the equally perfect pussy.

Racquel gave the girl a nod. The dyke then placed her dirty hands on Racquel's legs and stared between her legs. Racquel then grabbed the smoldering cigarette from between the girl's knuckles, noticing for the first time her dirty chewed down fingernails.

Once in her mouth, she drew back on the cigarette letting a plume of smoke drift upwards as she grabbed the girl's stubbly scalp and pushed it against her pussy. Racquel watched the dyke devour her, licking and kissing Racquel's muffin. Racquel stabbed the heels of her boots dig into the carpet, spread her legs and allowed the dyke to chow down on some grade A pussy. Racquel then leaned back, closed her eyes and casually puffed on the gal's cigarette as the room filled with smoke.

After a few minutes, Rick knocked at the door to make sure all was well. Racquel confirmed everything was getting "worked out."

Racquel continued watching her newest fan slobbering all over her pussy; sticking her fingers up inside her. The girl was practically hyperventilating. It was then Racquel decided to read this girl the riot act. She grabbed her Mohawk, shoving her face deep inside of her.

"Yeah, you like that pussy don't you? You're a fucking pussy hound lil' bulldyke is what you are, you know that? A real little loudmouth, muthfuck'n white-trash bitch. You just needed to get some Penthouse snatch in your mouth to shut you up. Am I right, Joan-of-Fucking-Arc? You got nuth'n to say now, do you?"

The dyke continued eating, but stared at Racquel, now almost in tears. Racquel drew back on the remaining end of the cigarette, noting her lipstick all over it now.

"Yeah, I think you've learned your lesson. Almost. I want you to lick my asshole deeply before you go. I then want you to go outside and tell all your bitches to clear off the premises. My fans will be here soon."

The dyke then pulled the underside of Racquel's panties aside as Racquel leaned back on the counter, spread her legs apart again and watched triumphantly as the girl methodically went down on her asshole. Racquel could see the dyke reaching down the front of her torn jeans to finger-bang herself with one hand as she massaged Racquel's ass with the other. After a few seci nds the girl immediately came in her pants and let out a quivering moan.

The dyke rested her head on Racquel's pussy in exhaustion. She was beaten. Racquel ran her long nails through the dyke's stubble and Mohawk to relax her defeated foe. The dyke then rose respectfully to face the victor. Racquel took the dyke's cum-drenched hand and drew it to her mouth and proceeded to seductively lick and suck the cum off the girl's filthy fingernails as she stared at her; a flicker of a smile visible. She then placed the last wanes of the now lipstick covered cigarette back in the dyke's mouth.

"Now get out." Racquel commanded. And the dyke obediently turned to leave.

As the dyke reached the door, Racquel surprised herself by saying: "Come to my motel room tonight and I'll return the favor. Room 314." The dyke slowly turned to her, smiling for the first time. They stared at each other for a few seconds. A deep understanding passed between them.

As show time neared, the dyke's army cleared out. She had no clue how the girl was going to sell such an abrupt 180, and she didn't care. She didn't even know the girl's real name - but knew she'd find out later when she was eating her unshaven pussy at the Motel 6! Racquel watched her from a tiny bathroom window as the defeated dyke lit up another cigarette, got on her 1960's Triumph and rode away into the night. Racquel could feel her hand reaching between her legs, her panties still soaking with the dyke's wet mouth, but knew she had to be on-stage soon. "Save it for the show." She said under her breath.

"That was fun." Racquel thought.