The Black Star

The Black Star. A strip club run by Moorfield. It was filled with businessmen, dads, uncles, and geezers — all greasers. But Moorfield had a generous and wholesome mentality compared to the cool ruthless Volkov. So The Black Star was a mostly well-mannered joint.

Its manager — Jackson — a large Black gentleman with a harsh face. Good for the initial scare — but he relaxed into a jovial smile once you knew him. Broad. Tall. Bald. He always wore football shirts and lots of jewellery.

The Black Star was dim lit. A stage under lit with golden orange. Spotlights. The smell of perfume. Smoke. A comfortable atmosphere — a mom & pops strip joint if you’d imagine. You could get chicken wings and pizza.

Beautiful babes. Skimpy sequined bottoms. Bare breasted. All types of girls from busty to flat. All with big spankable asses.

Jackson had been out of sorts — Alice had been killed. She wanted to stay out of this world. Jackson had tried to pull her back in — she was killed anyway… Like some cruel joke.

Jackson saw Nadia crying at the funeral. He recognised her. She was the girl who fainted on the road. Brought her in. Her boyfriend came to pick her up.

He was surprised to see Nadia show up with Katherine one night.

”Nadia would like a job…” Katherine said. Katherine had offered Nadia a better job — fashion modelling for their label — but Nadia insisted on anything else if possible.

The Black Star was the only other business Katherine could think of. She made sure that the strip joint was ethical. Nothing shady. Escort services yes… But only if the girls wanted to do that sort of thing. No pressure.

Katherine had reassured Nadia, “Don’t worry — if you aren’t comfortable with stripping — you can be a waiter or reception staff. You have a pretty face. It will sell…”

Nadia gulped. This was new territory.