The Stripper's Sister

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Kathleen watches her sister's debut.
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Cybotic
Cybotic
597 Followers

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

Kathleen swaggered off stage, feeling the men lusting after her g-string clad ass. She wiggled seductively for their benefit. It was her last set of the day. Back in the locker room, she put away the nightie and chose a short dress, barely longer than a t-shirt. Now that her business day was done, she removed the g-string.

The bar had the special coffee Kathleen had ordered. She doctored it appropriately and carefully climbed the stairs to the big office.

When Eric Rogan had purchased and renovated the Sweet Hearts strip club, he had turned the upstairs storage space into a huge, imposing office. Floor-to-ceiling tinted windows allowed him to keep an eye on his naked beauties strutting the stage and on the customers who came to ogle them.

Kathleen had stood on that stage and looked up at those dark windows, trying to sense the voyeuristic presence of her mysterious new boss. She loved to be watched. Every stripper loves the feel of hot, hungry eyes exploring her secret places. But when she couldn't see the men who plundered her with their gaze, it added a delicious extra potency to the pussy-watering excitement. Feeling helpless and vulnerable turned her on.

And Eric Rogan would make anyone feel vulnerable. He was a man with secrets. Terrible, horrible secrets. Secrets Kathleen had no desire to learn. Rogan was the monster under the bed. He was the reason nice girls didn't walk down dark alleys.

Rogan was a suspect in hundreds of white-collar financial crimes. He was believed to be heavily involved in smuggling, piracy, and counterfeiting. His money and influence had so far protected him. Prosecutors knew that if they filed charges, and failed to convict, their careers would be over and they'd be bankrupted in the ensuing lawsuits. They also knew that a man like Eric Rogan would have no trouble bribing and blackmailing anybody he needed to in order to derail a criminal case against him.

But it was the crimes he wasn't suspected of that caused the greatest dread among those who knew him. You only needed to look in his eyes to see the hidden menace burning there. Without question, this man had committed murder. His victims were unknown. He was not a suspect in any specific act of violence. But his friends, enemies, and employees understood the dangerous privilege of having his attention.

When Kathleen moved on that stage, shedding her clothes for the pleasure of men, the caress of Rogan's dark eyes was enough to give her an orgasm in full view of a hundred club patrons. Their lust, and his ominous gaze, combined with her own fear, was a powerful erotic rush.

And now, she was courting the Devil in his den, climbing the steps to his private office. Her hands were occupied with the tray she carried. She used her hip to push open the door. Rogan could lock the door with the touch of a button, and there were cameras on the stairs and sensors under the steps, so he knew of her approach. The door swung inward at her push. Permission to enter had been granted.

Kathleen carried her tray to the enormous desk and set it down. She had brought him a tall mug of rich coffee, seasoned with ginger and cinnamon, and laced with moscato brandy. It was a gift, to show respect. The favor had already been granted. Any attempt to repay his generosity would be viewed as an insult. But a gift could be offered at any time.

Eric ignored her approach. His chair had been turned to face the windows and the club floor. Kimber was onstage now, wearing only a thong, and hers was a body few men could ignore. But the heavenly scent of Kathleen's coffee was also a powerful lure. He swiveled his chair to face her and smiled in appreciation.

"Let's do this thing," he said.

Rogan's original goal had been to own the best gentlemen's club in the United States. He had spent a lot of money upgrading Sweet Hearts to that purpose. He would provide the most beautiful women, a five-star steakhouse, and the finest collection of wines, beers, and spirits in North America.

But the club's previous owners had stupidly lost the liquor license by running illegal sports betting through the bartenders. Kathleen had persuaded Rogan to not renew. As a favor.

Kathleen's sister, Megan, was eager to start her own career as an exotic dancer, and Kathleen wanted to guide her little sister through the rough spots. But Megan was still three years shy of her 21st birthday.

So, Kathleen had explained to Rogan that without alcohol on the premises, his dancers could be as young as 18, fresh out of high school. And since the laws required performers to wear at least a thong or g-string where alcohol was served, ditching the booze meant the dancers could ditch the last bit of cover and strut the runway totally nude.

Rogan had followed Kathleen's advice and gotten the club's paperwork updated to cover fully nude entertainment. It had required a few bribes and other methods of persuasion. The county had not approved a fully nude strip club in twenty years, and after Kittens had closed, the intention was to deny any further license requests. But Eric Rogan was not a man who took no for an answer. Tonight was to be the debut, both of the newly relicensed Sweet Hearts, and of 18-year-old Megan.

It was going to be a delightful surprise for the customers. Except for the DJ, even the staff didn't know what was coming.

And the regular customers had already figured out that If they brought their own booze, the valets would hold it for them outside. The waitresses would sell a $10 plastic cup that could be refilled with soda or juice for as long as the customer was at the club. An ink stamp on the wrist allowed them to go outside for a smoke and come back in without paying the entrance fee again. If they happened to take their cup with them, dump the soda, and fill it from the bottle the valets were holding, that was not the club's responsibility. The valets were an independent organization, working only for tips, and therefore not under any obligation to keep alcohol out of the club.

"What about that other matter?" Rogan asked. He had intended to install a state of the art surveillance system, but Kathleen had persuaded him to wait, despite the fact that three cameras didn't work at all.

"We have twelve private rooms," she reminded him. "When a guy wants a thirty minute lap dance, where the bouncers cannot watch, that's where we take him. He pays a lot for the private dance. If he gets a little touchy-feely, we generally allow him some leeway and the cameras prevent anything illegal from happening."

"But three cameras are broken. And you want me to keep them that way."

"I'm sure you can figure out why," she said.

"Walk me through it anyway. I don't like surprises. Let's make sure we're on the same page."

"I'm just a silly girl with a ditzy brain. Sometimes, I make a mistake and take a guy into one of those rooms with a broken camera. I know which rooms they are. I know I'm not supposed to go in there. But it just keeps happening. And I make a lot more money when the camera isn't on.

"I think you should fine me $200 for using the wrong room yesterday," Kathleen suggested.

"$300," Eric countered."

Kathleen glared at him, but agreed. "Fine. $300. And since it will probably happen again tonight, I'll give you another $300 in advance. And $300 for my sister, who is also expecting to forget which rooms don't have surveillance."

"Clever," Rogan admired, as the girl handed over the money.

"You just made $900 by keeping the cameras broken. You and the club are legally protected. Each night, you fine the girls who enter off-limits areas of the club. If we go in there to suck a dick or get fucked, you have no way of knowing."

"A good system," Eric approved. "We'll try it."

Kathleen let out a sigh of relief. It's a scary thing to ask your boss about using his prostitution. And when your boss is Eric Rogan, if the cops investigate him for an illegal business, a lowly stripper could very well find herself buried in a landfill before she can be called as a witness. But his agreeing to the proposal meant his layers of legal representation would be engaged to protect him and the lowly stripper would get to keep breathing. Bringing the proposal to him was much healthier than doing it behind his back.

"Is your sister ready?" Eric asked. Kathleen nodded, silent now that she'd gotten everything she wanted. He smiled at her, and she knew he saw right through her. All her planning and practicing in front of the mirror had been essential, but he'd always been several steps ahead of her.

"Come," he invited, spinning his chair back toward the window and patting his leg. "Let's watch the show."

Kathleen settled herself in his lap, one arm hooked behind his neck, her ass planted firmly on his thigh, her knees resting on his other leg. She put her head on his shoulder, as cozy and familiar as a though she were his daughter home from college.

Behind her back, he tapped the intercom on the armrest to talk to the DJ. "Put Kelly on next. Let's get this party started."

Kathleen looked down on the stage. Rita was on right now, bent almost double, sweeping the runway with her long hair. Nine men had seats by the stage, dollar bills scattered in front of them.

Rita finished her set clad only in heels and a red thong. She gathered her money and clothes, blew kisses at her fans, and sashayed backstage.

"And now," the DJ announced, "We have a special surprise. Tonight, we will stop apologizing for losing our liquor license. Tonight, every last one of you will want to thank your lucky stars that we lost that license.

"Tonight we debut a new dancer, Kelly Green, sister to our own Irish Rose. And because we serve no booze, she is able to join us tonight, on her 18th birthday!

"Yesterday, she was a felony. Today, she is legal to fuck. So get up to the stage, gentlemen, and bring our teenager a birthday gift. She's partial to American greenbacks and all of us want to watch the unwrapping."

The club lights went out for ten seconds to build anticipation. When they came back up, Megan was on the runway in a cheerleader outfit.

Megan was 18, yes, but she was still four months from her high school graduation. Kathleen knew, as nobody else did, that the cheerleader garb was genuine. Megan, now rechristened Sweet Hearts' Kelly Green, was part of the McKinley High School Tiger Squad and she was currently wearing the uniform.

She started off with an energetic solo routine Kathleen had seen a thousand times in her parents' living room and backyard and performed at McKinley High football games. I the season hadn't ended, Megan would have delayed her stripper debut and Sweet Hearts would have missed her 18th birthday.

But this was not high school. From her first high kick, Megan established herself as every red-blooded American man's adult fantasy. The cheerleader was bare beneath that short skirt. She teased and twirled and shook her hips, letting the skirt flip and flare, showing her naked pussy to any who happened to be looking at just the right moment.

Which was everybody. The customers, dancers, and waitresses were all staring in stunned surprise. And it was slowly dawning on everybody that neither the DJ nor the bouncers were doing anything to stop this. That could only mean that the club's management must have approved this.

"That's right!" the DJ announced. "No alcohol means totally nude 18-year-old girls. Exclusively at Sweet Hearts."

While everybody else was watching her sister, Kathleen observed the reactions of her fellow dancers. Some of them would welcome this change in policy. Others would be angry and offended. It was ridiculous, but sex workers could be terrible snobs. Some girls would shove their naked tits in a man's face for twenty dollars, but thought that showing a little pussy was sleazy. And fucking for cash was somehow beneath contempt.

The snobs would either have to find a new place to dance or take it all off for the appreciative boys. Megan finished her first dance standing on one foot, her other leg high in the air in a gymnast's pose. The cheerleader's skirt hid nothing Megan's pussy was fully exposed to the crowd.

Megan started her second dance by taking off her top. She had rigged it to come apart with one sharp tug. She threw it backstage and began a new, risque cheerleader routine that no high school would ever permit.

Sitting in Rogan's lap, Kathleen felt the results of her sister's performance throbbing beneath her. Her boss was clearly enjoying Megan's debut. That hard bump in his pants was a standing ovation.

Kathleen had begged Eric Rogan to change the club to an 18+ fully nude establishment, for her sister's sake. And she had begged him to allow prostitution on his property. He would make money on both circumstances but she was aware that a powerful, dangerous man had done her two favors. Powerful men seldom do favors without expecting some reciprocity.

And inviting her up to his office to watch her sister's debut was an extra-special favor Kathleen hadn't even asked for. Eric Rogan was offering her his friendship. Friends do favors for each other without being asked. Having accepted his invitation, Kathleen was well aware that it was clearly her turn to demonstrate her own friendship.

She was far from wealthy, but she did have one thing of value to offer. Kathleen took Rogan's wrist and brought his hand between her thighs. She opened her legs to issue her own invitation. He gladly accepted, sliding his fingers up under her very short dress and rubbing the soft lips he found there.

As Rogan stroked her pussy, Kathleen watched her sister cavorting onstage. The skirt was gone now, and Megan was absolutely naked in front of the crowd. Never before had Sweet Hearts allowed a fully nude female to display herself to the customers. And never before had Megan shared her naked self with upwards of eighty people at once.

Kathleen gasped as Rogan's thick finger slid up inside her. The invasion of her body was always an alarming shock, but she welcomed it. As a twenty-five-year-old professional whore, she had lost count of how many cocks she'd taken into herself. But she was still a heterosexual young woman. Penetration turned her on. If anything, the steady traffic of men in and out of her vagina had made her even more appreciative of the sensations caused by hard flesh entering soft flesh.

It didn't take a pretty boy, a jock, or a cowboy to get Kathleen's juices flowing. Pudgy nerds, scrawny geeks, and creepy fat boys who lived with their mothers all had a shot. If their cock worked, Kathlen wanted it.

But, like many women, she still had a special attraction to power, And the fingers probing her unt were very powerful indeed. With the stroke of a pn, those fingers had paid for the new hospital on Davis Avenue. If rumors were to be believed, those fingers had squeezed Morris Pascal's throat until his nek broke. With a snap of these fingers, an army of lawyers, accountants, judges, and Senators would come swarming to do his bidding.

Kathleen was thrilled to have Rogan's powerful fingers deep in her sex. She looked at his dark eyes, then followed his gaze back down to Megan. Kathleen was proud that her own sexy sister was making him so hard.

Megan was naked now, in the last song of her set. She was on her hands and knees, with one leg lifffted high, like a male dog marking his territory. But the pose proved without any doubt that she was 100% female, her girly anatomy on proud display.

The song ended, and Megan collected her ones and fives. It wasn't much, maybe fifteen or twenty dollars, but Kathleen was sure her sister would be in high demand for lap dances, private dances, and broken camera encounters. That's where the real money was.

The DJ announced Emily as the next dancer, but Kathleen wasn't interested in the stage any longer. Gently, she took Rogan's wrist and removed his hand from between her legs. Shivering with anticipation, she got on her knees in front of her and opened his legs to make room for herself between them.

Rogan watched without expression as Kathleen unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper. He lifted his ass cooperatively when she tugged his pants down to his ankles. He slumped down in the chair, so the throbbing tower of male flesh would be closer and more accessible to the girl preparing to service him.

Kathleen kept her eyes on her boss's face as she stuck out her tongue and liked his cock. He tasted like pussy. Clearly, he'd fucked somebody within the last few hours. But that was to be expected. It was a given that his dick probably always tasted like pussy.

The man was married to Lola Davenport, the gorgeous princess of the Davenport hotel chain. He was often seen in the company of beautiful actresses and singers. And he owned the Fresh! Modeling agency, where he surely helped himself to the inventory.

Men like Eric Rogan were a special breed. They were somehow entitled to all the pussy they wanted. It wasn't fair to ordinary guys and it annoyed the hell out of feminists, but every woman knows that some men get a free pass on fidelity. Famous men. Rich men. Powerful men. Girls will line up and take turns to be in such a man's bed. It was an honor and a privilege to be part of the parade.

Kathleen took him deep into her mouth and tried to taste the hundreds of women he'd fucked. She traced his veins with her tongue. She sucked on him slow, like a milkshake through a straw. And she kept her eyes firmly on his, worshipping him, letting him know how honored she was to suck his cock for him.

But it was Eric Rogan who broke eye contact. He lifted his gaze to the office door as someone came through it. "Come in, my dear," he called.

Kathleen stayed focused on the task at hand, taking Rogan as deep into her mouth as she could manage, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her sister Megan had just entered the room. She was back in her cheerleader uniform. Kathleen assumed it was just comfortable. For the past four years, her sister had practically lived in that outfit during the football and basketball seasons.

Megan came toward the desk and her eyes went wide at the sight of her sister's face speared by a hard cock. Megan knew her sister was a whore and had she had committed herself to following the same path. But she had never before witnessed Kathleen performing the duties she was paid for.

"I'm sorry," Megan apologized. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," Eric reassured her. "Your sister isn't stopping."

And Kathleen was glad Megan was here. She decided that it would be a wise move for her sister to make her own offer of friendship to Mr. Rogan. Quickly, she motioned for Megan to come closer.

She though about getting Megan to take over, but a blowjob requires skill, and Kathleen was sure that Megan did not have the experience to perform well. Fucking, on the other hand, requires nothing more than a willing pussy.

Kathleen released Rogan's cock and backed off to give her sister room. "Happy birthday, Meggie. I've got a really pretty penis wet and ready for you."

Megan's expression was confused, but she understood what was expected of her. She stepped between Kathleen and Rogan's chair, flipped up her skirt, and lowered herself slowly into his lap. Kathleen held his cock and guided it, watching in fascination as the penis slowly disappeared into her sister. Kathleen loved the feel of a thick, hard cock buried deep in her body. But seeing another girl's pussy getting fucked close up was almost as exciting.

Kathleen leaned forward and touched her tongue to Rogan's balls. The scent of pussy was powerful. She let her gaze wander upward, from Megan's stuffed pussy to Rogan's fierce eyes, staring down at her from over Megan's shoulder.

Cybotic
Cybotic
597 Followers
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