Strip Club

Nicole seems bored with riding the subway for tonight; at any rate, once the girls have left the apartment, she pulls out her cell phone and calls a cab. Then the girls proceed to the lobby, where Nikki plays on her phone while they wait.

Tiffany, being significantly less addicted to social media than most of her peers, wanders around the lobby, looking at the view of the park and examining the old marble construction inside. Then she notices the concierge, who seems to be paying a lot of attention to her in particular. In fact, his eyes are basically glued to her ass.

She rushes over to Nikki, trying without success to move without wiggling her bottom at him, but it's essentially a lost cause. Her hips, and especially the heels Nikki's saddled her with, make moving without wiggling just impossible.

Nikki quickly - almost surreptitiously - closes out the app she's on as Tiffany approaches. "What's up, babez?"

Turning her gaze back to the concierge but holding onto Nikki's free hand, Tiffany says, sotto voce, "That old creep at the desk has had his eyes glued to my ass since we got here! I told you this dress was a bad idea... can we get out of here, please?"

The old man coughs and returns his attention to his security monitors where, unbeknownst to Tiffany, he returns his attention to her ass, wondering if she'll still be living here once her new life gets going and if maybe he can arrange for a "special" Christmas bonus, one involving her ass and a ping-pong paddle.

In the meantime, Nikki has gathered her friend into a hug, pulling her close and looking over her shoulder, down at her butt. She notices that Tiff has, apparently unconsciously, allowed her tiny skirt to ride up just enough to expose the bottom swell of her ass cheeks. She rubs the upset girl's lower back, raising the hemline just a bit more and advertising her wares to the world. Nikki is, after all, Tiffany's friend even though their social circles are soon to be worlds apart, and free advertising is something no small businesswoman should look down her nose at.

"Oh, honey, he's just a harmless old codger. Don't worry about him." She cocks her head at the old man, "But y'know, I bet he'd give you a month's pay for a blowjob ... a year's for a fuck. Why don'tcha go ask 'im?"

"Nicole! That's disgusting!"

Nikki laughs in her face; she can't help it, knowing the future the world is working on for the outraged girl in front of her. "And how would YOU know, V-girl? You give it half a go, you might discover you LIKE old man baby batter! But enh..." she pulls Tiffany towards the entry doors, "You can do better than security guard pay, anyway..."

Out on the sidewalk, Nikki decides to finish uploading the "New Call-Girl Uniform" pics Tiff almost caught her playing with just a moment ago. But first, maybe she ought to get a shot of those bared bottom cheeks.

*Click* Advertising.

In the taxi, Tiffany sits nervously, certain the driver is looking up her skirt by the way he keeps adjusting his rearview mirror. She'd only discovered how her skirt had ridden up when she felt the seat's cold vinyl on her ass; Nikki had been too busy with her Tweetspace feeds to even notice. Now the poor girl, knees clenched tightly together, is still convinced the Bangladeshi driver can, and is actively trying to, see her panties ...Hah! More like see the pair of overlong shoelaces wrapped around her waist and between her legs. For just a moment, for about a picosecond, remembering what Nikki had said about advertising what the plebeians could never have, she's tempted to flash her barely-covered pussy at him, but... no. She doesn't use her sexuality that way.

As they (finally!) exit the cab way out near the airport and escape the driver's stare, Tiffany looks at the converted warehouse where they've been dropped. "A strip club?" she asks acerbically, "Really?"

"GENTLEMEN'S club, hon. This is a classy joint, and besides, I know the owner. They won't pay any attention to that pathetic excuse for a fake ID of yours. Now," she continues, grabbing Tiffany's butt, "That guy TOTALLY wanted you. You should'a flashed your panties at him, just to see the look on his face." Tiffany, remembering her brief desire to do just that, can't bring herself to disparage the idea this time.

The club is called "The Landing Strip;" Tiffany groans inwardly at the innuendo. It seems to be a fairly popular place, with a short line of men, women and couples gathered near the entry doors. Nicole takes Tiffany by the elbow and guides her right to the head of the line. "Lines are for peasants and assholes," she murmurs in Tiffany's ear, "And tonight, we ... YOU ... are royalty, and we're gonna act like it."

There are two bouncer-slash-cover-charge-collectors at the entryway. They bear a strong resemblance to shaven, tuxedo-wearing gorillas, or possibly grizzly bears. The bigger of the two looks the girls over and says, "Sorry, ladies. Talent entrance is in back; you should know that."

Tiffany starts to blush and prepare a retort at the insinuation - accusation, really - that she's a stripper, but Nikki beats her to it. "Wrong, buddy. We are guests ... INVITED guests of Mister Mezzano." She hands him what looks like an engraved business card.

He glances at it, tucks it into a vest pocket, and gives Nikki a guilty smile. "Sorry, ladies. Welcome to the Landing Strip. There's a wet tee-shirt contest tonight, if either of you's interested. First place prize is two hundred bucks."

As the two girls are about to pass them by and enter the club, there's a buzzing noise from a smartwatch on the big one's wrist. He looks down at it, grimaces, and says, "Sorry, ladies. Random security pat-down. Let's see ... You." He points at Tiffany, actively avoiding Nicole's gaze. "We need to make sure you're not carrying any weapons or other contraband."

Tiffany suddenly feels as if her brain is separated from reality by a layer of bubble wrap, but she manages to say, "You're kidding. In this?" with a gesture indicating her abbreviated, skintight dress.

"Sorry, Miss. Just policy. If you'd just place your hands and feet in the yellow circles over there, please?" He points to a section of wall near the entryway.

Tiffany gulps as she approaches the indicated spot. The yellow circles the bouncer mentioned are about a foot across, but obviously placed for the convenience of somebody taller than she. She can reach all four circles, but only by extending her arms to their full length and spreading her legs uncomfortably wide, an action that, unbeknownst to her, causes her skirt to hike up just high enough that the swell of her ass cheeks appears again, prompting a cheer from nearby observers. The bouncer kicks her legs just a little further apart before he pats down her hips, then drops his hands and squeezes her ass cheeks, again lifting her skirt just enough so a tiny sliver of her ass crack appears... to more cheering. He then goes to one knee and begins 'patting down' her stocking-clad legs.

"Are you kidding me?" Tiffany cries, "I can't hide my legs in these things, much LESS anything between them and my legs!"

"Just being thorough, Miss," he replies, smiling over at Nikki... and at the crowd. He then demonstrates more thoroughness by running one finger under the lace at the top of each stocking, 'accidentally' touching her perineum several times with his thumbs. Then his thumb slides up her ass crack, lying between her cheeks as if he's hotdogging her with his thumb.

"You got any contraband up here?" he asks, his voice suddenly husky, "Anything I need to check for?"

"N-no," she replies through clenched teeth, blushing to her shoulders.

Tiffany stands still, practically paralyzed with confusion. She knows, KNOWS, this bouncer is breaking all the rules of propriety and probably a few against sexual ****. Half of her wants to scream for a cop, but almost as much just wants to get the entire humiliating ordeal over with. And a tiny, tiny piece of her... is enjoying this. The bouncer's strong, calloused hands, slowly and methodically touching her - intimately but publicly - make her feel wanted. Desired. She's felt desired before, but it's never felt like this. God DAMN Nikki and her too-goddamned-revealing 'party dress'!

"Are ... are you done yet?" she asks, maybe a little breathily, but overall she's proud of her self-control.

"Just about," the bouncer rumbles. He removes his thumb from between Tiffany's ass cheeks and stands, placing his hands on her hips again. He pulls her backward a little with his strong arms, forcing her to bend over a bit further to keep her hands in the circles and accentuating her ass just a little bit more for the crowd. Then he ran his hands up and down her sides before reaching around and 'patting down' her belly. His hands roam over her torso, stroking and squeezing, and as Tiffany feels the strength and warmth of those calloused hands, she also feels something else. She's... getting excited. It feels good to... to have this man's hands on her. She can feel her... her nipples...

Then he pulls her a little further back, until his crotch is pressing against her ass. He's erect! His boner presses between her ass cheeks, and he's not letting her go. Instead, his hands rise until they're cupping her naked breasts. Tiffany gasps, and then he pulls her backwards once again so that her hands lift off the circles and she backs into him... into his erection...

He squeezes her already-stiff nipples. "What've we got here?" he chuckles, "You aren't tryin' ta smuggle any contraband in here, are you?"

"Nn..." Tiffany pulls at his hands, but she's not strong enough to challenge him physically and seems to be having trouble forming words. Or coherent thoughts. One does come to mind, though.

"St... stop. Please."

"Hey!" yells Nikki, who's been unobtrusively filming the whole scene with her phone, "She usually gets forty bucks for lettin' a guy do that!"

The guy immediately lets go of her. He spins her around and says, "Well, looks like you're... clean." He takes a pair of twenties from his shirt pocket, folds them twice around a business card, and slides them in the cleavage of Tiffany's dress.

"Thanks for bein' a good sport," he says much more loudly, to applause from the crowd. Then, more quietly, he says, "Name's Parker. You ever need any protective services, call me." Then he gestures rather grandly toward the door, saying, "Welcome to The Landing Strip ... ladies."