A cryptic sign for 'Cumbat Chicks'

Turning the corner you see a money-making opportunity immediately, as if fate had heard you and acted on your request so suddenly it nearly smacked you in the face.

'Girls wanted,' the sign says, and at first you're sure it's something seedy like a strip club. No way are you going to get naked in front of a bunch of strangers, you tell yourself, but a nervous quiver within seems to argue.

A closer look at the sign, after you look both ways and cross the street, reveals nothing on the sign about stripping.

'Cumbat Chicks, no experience needed' the sign reads. You can't help but smirk at the spelling error. What idiot spells combat wrong, after all? Emboldened by the mistake you decide to take a look, at least to satisfy your curiousity. After all, you do have about an hour to kill and who knows, maybe it's a modelling job or something. You can look fierce enough, you're sure.

"Hello?" you call as you push through the front doors. The place is dimly lit, like a theatre between shows, and your voice echoes a little like the room is large. "Anyone here? I saw the sign."

You wander in farther, giving it another five seconds... make that ten.... maybe just until you reach the end of the aisle you seem to be walking between...

"Well hello, chickie," a voice says from behind you, making you yelp and stumble on your heels as you turn. Your tendency to high-heels lets you turn like a cat without spraining an ankle, and you stare in alarm at the man blocking your retreat to the door.

"Hmm... cute, obviously fit, and not shy," he says, assessing you like a racehorse as his eyes go up and down your body, taking in the bold thrust of your nipples through the net-like material of your top and the tiny skirt that has twisted enough that if the light were better he'd see one of your labia lips.

"I, uh, I saw the sign," you say dumbly before remembering that you'd already called that out. Great, now he'll think you're dumb as a brick. "I was hoping to make a buck or two," you add, feeling anxious as you realize how big and strong he looks. He's built like one of those wrestlers from tv, his muscles cartoonish in their size.

"You experienced?" he asks, never once looking you in the eyes as he moves toward you. Alarmed by his advance you try to move backward, only to find yourself up against a row of chairs. The man moves around you and the breath you've been holding escapes, relief at having the escape route clear surging through you, perhaps emboldening you.

"I'm experienced," you say without thinking, mentally smacking yourself as the words leave your lips with a saucy wink.

The man chuckles, and you realize his eyes are on your ass as he says, "I bet."

Smirking, you feel the familiar sense of power over a guy fill you, and you wiggle your buttocks a bit. "Do you think I could make a few bucks?" you ask.

The man reaches forward, and you tense, but all he does is touch your side, running his hands across the abs you've worked hard to make flat. "One way or another," he winks, then guffaws, sounding more like a smoker **** than a man laughing. "Tell you what, we're about to open. We're short a girl today, and you're cute enough that even if you suck at it you'll probably still be a hit."

"Great!" you say, clapping your hands and jumping a little. "What do I do?"

"For starters go through that door and pick a costume. I'll be opening the doors for the audience," he says, and before you can ask what exactly you'll be doing he walks away, leaving you hesitating between calling out, running away, or pursuing this chance at money.