A More Lasting Solution

Elizabeth Castle took a deep breath, smoothing out her dark purple skirt that ended mid-thigh. It had a plunging neckline, exposing the heavy breasts that had nursed its fair share of offspring, white and Black. She opened the familiar large doors to the neon trimmed fuckpalace of the ghetto.

Lamar whistled low, seeing the beauty enter his domain, her hips shimmying seductively as she strode towards him.

"It ain't Tuesday, bitch," he said gruffly, admiring the prize. "What brings that sweet ass here?"

"I need more money, Daddy," Elizabeth purred. "I need more than Tuesdays."

"I can probably fit your ass into the weekends," Lamar said. Elizabeth shook her head.

"I need more," she said plainly. "I can't make ends meet. I need equity." Lamar chortled loudly.

"Equity? Ain't no equity in this joint, bitch," he said, sniggering.

"Sweat equity?" Elizabeth said, a little more hesitant now. Lamar smiled broadly.

"Well, shit bitch, you'd need to earn every penny," he said, laughing more. "And bring in business."

"Like men?" Elizabeth asked, a bit confused.

"You're the only white bitch," Lamar said, sighing. "More white bitches...more sweat. More money. You dig me? But you'll still have to ... perform."

He didn't mean stripping, Elizabeth knew. She tied her long dark mane back into a ponytail, sinking to her knees before him. She tugged out his cock, wrapping her soft lips around the tip, nursing it. It smelled distinctly of pussy. She started to bob her lips up and down, his coarse, large hands sinking into her hair, the fingertips pressing into her skull as he took control.

She was a willing fucksleeve, letting the strip club owner fuck her mouth and throat freely. When he came down her gullet, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She had work to do now ... in the club ... and building a place in this debauched community.