Trust Fund Baby Pt. 15

At the suggestion of Jade, I decided to host an "Amateur night" every Tuesday evening. Lasting just one hour, it was an opportunity for non-professional dancers to perform for an enthusiastic crowd. Depending on the number of participants, the young women were given two or three songs to showcase their wares, with the winner determined solely by the reaction of the crowd. The cash prize was initially five hundred dollars which was fairly standard in the industry, although after experiencing a decline in the number of applicants once the novelty wore off, I increased this to twenty-five hundred, which had the desired effect.

Newport Beach is a tight-knit community, and "Amateur night" initially attracted college co-eds and young, unattached females. However, once the cash prize was increased, I was besieged with applicants from all walks of life. Apparently, twenty-five hundred dollars was a significant amount of money for many of these desperate women, causing them to suppress their shame and willingly cavort for the assembled masses.

It must have been humiliating for some of the less attractive women who showed up to amateur night. I am sure as they looked around the waiting room and noticed that their competition included college cheerleaders and gymnasts, they knew that they had no chance of winning the cash prize.

Occasionally, we would discover a hidden gem, a natural-born stripper whose rocking little body and sensual movements elicited erections from the all-male crowd. I think most of us are familiar with the discovery of Pamela Anderson, whose image was shown on the stadium screen at a British Columbia Lions football game. Responding to the raucous cheers from the fans, the stadium crew escorted Pamela to the football field, and as word of the reaction to her introduction spread among the main-stream media, Pamela signed a commercial contract with Labatt's beer to be the Blue Zone girl. This led to more advertising assignments, and soon she was approached by Playboy Magazine.

While I wasn't expecting to discover the next Pamela Anderson, I did uncover some undeniable talent, hidden amongst the grocery store checkers and the myriad of young restaurant staff working in our coastal city. In fact, three of the winners, after undergoing a lengthy secondary interview with yours truly, got hired as full-time dancers in my club.

After the first two events, during which several of the older, less attractive competitors backed out before they got their time on the stage, I instructed Jade to offer words of encouragement to those who were inclined to quit. It was amazing how the positive reinforcement of a few well-chosen words could inspire a forty-something year old woman to don a ridiculously sexual outfit, and gyrate on stage in front of half of the town's adult males.

In fact, it was during one of these embarrassing performances, that Jade floated the idea of having two separate cash prizes for Amateur night. As we watched the Saddleback College librarian, who was well into her forties, dance her heart out while dressed as a naughty nurse, it became apparent that we needed a prize for effort, and the second cash award was conceived. Given to the woman who had demonstrated the most heart, despite their obvious physical limitations, this twenty-five hundred dollar cash prize, was voted on by a few members of my staff. Tonight it was awarded to the chubby librarian, who had stripped to just her bra and high-heels, before impaling herself on a large, black strap-on phallus, wielded by Jade.

As the weeks went by, the crowd continued to increase in size, each week bringing a noticeably larger gathering to Amateur night. I guess it was inevitable that one of the Newport Beach millionaires would bring his hot girlfriend to the event, and force her to perform for the salivating males.

I didn't know the first guy personally, although I knew that his name was Jon Dodd, and he was a local developer who had made a fortune building several high-rise luxury condominiums along the shoreline of Newport Beach. Jon was brimming with self-confidence when he grabbed the microphone from the emcee, and gave a brief speech before introducing his "Toys," as he collectively referred to them. To my astonishment, Jody and Rachel shuffled out nervously, identically attired in their Patriots Cheerleader Uniforms, and clearly ruffled by their forced humiliation.

Even in the highly sexually-charged environment of the strip-club, and despite the fact that I had already busted a nut twice during the evening's festivities, my cock throbbed in my pants at the mere sight of Jody. She was just so fucking hot, an indisputable Newport Beach ten, and yet she had once again been reduced to being a rich man's fuck-toy.

Jody and Rachel quickly gained their self-confidence under the sustained cheering from the assembled men, who could not believe the beauty of the two identical-looking platinum blondes. As they moved through their obviously choreographed routine, which included synchronized dance, a slow strip-tease, sensual kissing and a multiple-position, prolonged sexual encounter involving each of them wearing a strap-on, two things happened.

Firstly, the timekeeper, a young man in his twenties responsible for terminating each act after six minutes in order to keep things flowing, simply put down his stopwatch, and enjoyed the performance. Twelve or thirteen minutes elapsed, as the crowd went crazy with each new sexual position, before Jody and Rachel finally stopped fucking, and lowering themselves slowly to the stage, began to make out. In anticipation of an orgasm, the DJ killed the music.

Secondly, the predominantly young, male crowd quieted to a hushed whisper, as the two blondes tenderly kissed before Rachel entered Jody, and they started to rock together in the missionary position. The whisper became silence, and you could have heard a pin drop, as Jody began to moan softly under the sustained invasion of her tight, young pussy by Rachel's strap-on phallus.

The crowd remained silent as Rachel skillfully brought Jody to three stupendous orgasms, before withdrawing the latex cock from her slick pussy, and forcing her to suck it clean. It was such an erotic performance, and it elevated my level of desire for Jody, to the point where I would have paid whatever it took to have her as my own.

Of course, every man in the club that night was thinking the same thing, although I imagine most of them had come to terms with the fact that it was never going to happen for them. I couldn't go there in my mind, and as their new benefactor walked onto the stage with two black trench-coats, and covered them up to allow them some modesty before they left the brightly-lit performance platform, I wanted Jody more than anything on earth.

Jade, my manager, swiftly entered the stage gathering up the remnants of their Cheerleader Uniforms, although I saw three young men grab the two discarded pairs of panties and a garter-belt, as a memento of the performance.

Despite being a multi-millionaire, the developer went to claim his cash prize, as Jade escorted Jody and Rachel to the dressing room to get changed. I knew the protocol of the strippers' changing room. I knew it was a female-only environment, a safe haven for the dancers to toss down a couple of shots, or to ingest some cocaine or MDMA, in order to take the edge off. Jade had even shared with me that some dancers would enjoy a pre-show climax in the privacy of the dressing room, so that they were more in the mood to perform.

For these reasons, I knew it was wrong of me to enter the room, but my lust for Jody had impacted my judgment, and before I could stop myself I went to the door. I knocked first and identified myself, waiting several seconds before entering to allow the girls time to cover up, if they so desired.

Luckily for me, only Jade, Jody and Rachel were in there, the two platinum blondes listening intently as Jade made an impassioned plea to hire them full-time. It was laughable really, Jade blissfully unaware of the girls' financial situation, as she assured them that they could earn eight grand a month if they worked a regular schedule. I had offered them fifteen thousand dollars a month to be my live-in girlfriends, and I am sure that they had upped the demands for their monthly stipend, as their popularity increased.

"Hi Papa," Jody said, as I entered the dressing room, my face visibly flushed from my arousal, and my erection jutting out from the front of my pants.

"Hi Jody," I responded quietly, in awe of the power that she had over me.

"I don't have long, Papa," she whispered. "If you have something on your mind, spit it out. Jon gets very jealous if I talk to other men."

It was an excruciatingly embarrassing conversation to have in front of Rachel and Jade, but I had let this woman slip out of my life too many times before, to allow it to happen again.

"Jody," I began shakily. "You are too good for this. You deserve better. Jon obviously doesn't love you if he makes you perform for the amusement of other men."

"Fifty grand a month," Jody said, without a hint of shame. "If you want to revisit our memorandum of understanding."

I knew she was being deadly serious. The object of my fantasy was offering herself to me completely, for the ungodly sum of fifty thousand dollars per month. That would have included Rachel of course, an unrestricted, all-access pass to the six orifices that they collectively possessed.

"Fifty thousand?" I repeated incredulously. "How? Why?"

Even though I was trying to establish how the fuck she had come up with such an outrageous amount, I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth. Sensing that I was considering it, Rachel added her two cents.

"Our time spent together has strengthened our connection," Rachel added softly. "We know exactly how to pleasure a man. Jody and I would keep your nuts completely drained at all times. I know that you love rim-jobs and we would be honored to eat your ass, Papa."

"Let's go Rachel," Jody said cheerfully. "Jon is waiting for us in the limousine. Pete's hesitation tells me all I need to know."

As the two of them arose from their chairs, each wearing the remains of their cheerleader uniforms and a long, black trench-coat, I took in their collective beauty one last time. I felt the same pang of jealousy that I had experienced the day that I picked up my Lamborghini, upon realizing that I couldn't afford the Bugatti Chiron that was also available to be driven home. As much as I desired Jody, I just couldn't afford her.

As she passed me on her way to the door, Jody placed one of her perfectly manicured hands on my arm, and leaned into me, whispering in my ear.

"You are right, Papa," she said softly, as her lips grazed my earlobe. "Jon is an asshole and doesn't deserve me. I needed to hear it from someone I trust. Thank you."

I wanted this moment to last forever, Jody's scent permeating my nostrils as she snuggled up next to me, her fingertips raking across my forearm, her warm and minty breath in my ear.

Seconds later they were gone, with just their intoxicating scent lingering in the room. Jade was staring at me with an inquisitive look on her face, and as I passed her I tried to shed some light on my obsession with Jody.

"The one that got away," I said ruefully, as I entered the stage area.

Jon was heading towards the main exit, Jody and Rachel snuggled in tight against him, as he pushed his way through the crowd of admirers. When I reached the exit, I saw his stretch limousine parked right in front, his driver holding the rear door open for the trio. A few moments later the Lincoln Town Car drove slowly away from the club, and Jody disappeared from my life yet again.

Whatever words were exchanged between us that night in the dressing room, ended up impacting all three of our lives. The following day I received a text from Jody.

Short and sweet, it read, "Thank you, Papa, for always telling me what I need to hear. See you around."

I knew that she wouldn't respond, even after I sent her multiple texts over the next several days. I heard through the grapevine that she and Rachel had gone back to Baldwin, although I highly doubted that he had agreed to meet their fifty-thousand dollars per month stipend.

Baldwin and Jody got married shortly after she returned to his arms, a lavish local affair to which I was invited. I just couldn't stomach attending, as the highlight of my sexual life was betrothed to another man. The high-society event was documented in the Orange County Register, Jody looking angelic in her bridal dress. Inexplicably, Rachel was in the back of the Convertible Vintage Rolls-Royce as the happy thrupple departed for the airport, suggesting that she was joining the newly-weds on their honeymoon.

Baldwin, ever the asshole, texted me numerous times from Mauritius, where they spent three weeks soaking up the sun. Attaching several lewd photos of him enjoying the two young blondes, he included a picture of Jody on her knees in her bridal outfit, with his semen splattered and matted across the exquisite lace veil. When I failed to respond to his taunts, Baldwin threatened to bring Madison to "Amateur night" at my strip-club, promising a particularly demeaning show. I had no way to know whether or not he was bluffing, but I blocked his number after that latest threat.

It was several months later before I saw Jody again, in a Pink Bentley SUV, and quite obviously pregnant. It was her pregnancy, and the inevitable change in her priorities as she embraced motherhood, that finally made me forget Jody. Baldwin's threat to force Madison onto my Amateur night stage weighed heavily on me, and I contemplated canceling the event. It was Jade who talked me off the ledge, insisting that the popular evening was great for the club, both in the number of new customers that it attracted, and also in the plethora of new-hires that could be directly traced to the competition.

I dreaded the prospect of Baldwin dragging my ex-fiancée up onto the dance stage on Amateur night, even though she wasn't technically a newbie, having been made to dance for Barry's friends when she dated the sadistic attorney. Every week, right before showtime, I checked the roster of scheduled amateurs, their legal name which we used to check their age, printed next to their chosen stage-name.

One week I was running late, and as I sped towards the club in my bright Orange Lamborghini, I called Jade and asked her to see if Madison DuPont was on the list. I breathed a sigh of relief as she informed me that there was no such name on the list, but when I arrived about twenty minutes later, Jade ushered me into my office.

"Madison DuPont?" she asked, with a worried look on her face. "Who is she to you?"

As I began to try and unravel the fucked-up reality of who Madison was, Jade stopped me in my tracks.

"It's none of my business, boss," she said quietly. "However, I want to inform you that Madison DuPont is not eligible for Amateur night. She is far from an amateur. In fact, she used to work here."

As my jaw dropped open, Jade handed me a worn personnel file, bearing the name Madison DuPont, with the date of hire being nearly eleven years ago.

"I checked our old employee records," Jade said softly. "Madison danced here for a few months, using the stage-name Tramp. She took a few months off and returned under the new name Jugs," she added. "Once you see the pictures, it will make sense."

My hands were shaking as Jade handed me the old file, and I was grateful when she excused herself to go and judge the amateur dancers. The file contained some head-shots of Madison as a young woman, the beautiful pictures putting to rest any doubt I had about how stunning she was as a twenty-year old. There were also a few bikini shots, then some topless ones, culminating in full-nude pictures of the clean-shaven young woman, to whom I was recently betrothed. "Tramp" was inscribed on the bottom corner of each of the photographs, although after Jade had briefed me, I realized that this was a reference to her stage-name, rather than her perceived status within the club.

I knew from talking to Madison that she had worked as a stripper prior to becoming an escort, and that one of her regular clients, Barry, had allowed her to live at his Newport Coast mansion for two years. During their extended period of co-habitation, an increasingly controlling Barry had installed a pair of obnoxious 38Ds onto Madison's lithe, one hundred and fifteen pound frame.

As I continued to root through the personnel file, I came across the second set of pictures, which judging by the huge increase in the size of Madison's tits, were taken shortly after Barry had purchased her 38Ds. Each of these photos were inscribed with the moniker "Jugs," on the bottom corner, as Barry had apparently changed her stage-name.

Madison wore a pained look on her face in the second set of photos, and I remembered her telling me that Barry had modified her without her full consent. Granted, she had never actually voiced her objection to the over-sized breast enhancements, but a plastic surgeon that was doing his job would have quickly ascertained that Madison wasn't in favor of the mammoth implants.

Barry had assured Madison that she would enjoy a substantial increase in the gratuities at the club, but as soon as her breasts had healed, it became evident to her that Barry just wanted to fit-fuck her every day.

There were a few more photos of Madison cavorting in the VIP room with a bunch of older men, in expensive suits. These executives were presumably Barry's management team, with whom he shared Madison as a perk of the job, a bonus. Lastly, there were several pictures of my ex-fiancée engaged in lewd acts with a much older man, who I have to assume was Barry. Madison had apparently come to terms with her comical breast enhancements, and was even wearing a large gold necklace with the word "Jugs" embedded within it.

Whoever Barry was, and however he had managed to exert his influence over Madison, he had definitely enjoyed her at her prime. In fact, I thought, as I perused the naked photos of her, if I had spent one night with Madison in her prime it would have altered the trajectory of my life, and made me less obsessed with Jody.

After I put the photos away, I was trembling with anxiety. The two most important women in my life were gone, Madison in the wind despite Baldwin's threats to force her onto my dance stage, and Jody wedded to that fat prick, and pregnant with his baby. I knew it was Baldwin's financial superiority over me that had tipped the scales in his favor, and it was eating me alive.

Growing up with wealthy parents I was shielded from the myriad of financial difficulties that a lot of my peers faced. It was a complete shock to me when both of my parents were killed just before I turned seventeen, and I was too young to process the magnitude of my Trust Fund disbursement. When a team of attorneys and financial advisers sat me down and informed me that I was going to receive one hundred and sixty thousand dollars per month starting on my eighteenth birthday, I felt like I was the richest man on earth.

I just couldn't comprehend that vast amount of money, and with no parental guidance, I felt like there was nothing that I couldn't afford.

My first lesson to the contrary occurred when I went to pick up my Orange Lamborghini at the Newport Beach dealership. A member of the sales team had navigated me through the myriad of options available on the bespoke exotic, and I had checked every box that floated my boat. I had just turned eighteen years of age, and was old enough to sign a contract, and with my uncle willing to act as my co-signatory, I committed myself to a six thousand dollar per month payment on a Lamborghini Aventador.