Around the Way Girls 9

Book 9: Around the Way Girls

by Ms. Michel Moore, LaTonya West, T.C. Littles

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Urban Books' popular Around the Way Girls series is back, bringing readers more dramatic tales about the lives of some tough, resourceful women who can hold their own when things get rough on the streets. Growing up poor and biracial, Shannon never quite fit in. Not truly accepted by either side of her family, the confused teenager turns to the one thing that loves her back unconditionally--the streets. With a bottle of liquor at her side and a worthless mentality in tow, Shannon allows the local strip club and the pole to become her new family. When one of her best customers turns out to be her long lost brother, all hell breaks loose. For Brionna "Breezy" Lee, life has been hell for as long as she can remember. Being mentally, verbally, sexually, and physically abused at the hands of her mother, it seems as if she will never get a break. The only thing keeping her sane is her best friend King, who's always been by her side; but even he is starting to become frustrated, as she says she's fed up with the abuse, but continually makes excuses for why she won't seek help. Will Breezy's loyalty to a mother who couldn't care less about her cause even more tragedy, or will she listen to her friend and get out before it's too late? Cori and Nique are tired of living bottom barrel in Detroit, with shut-off notices and eviction threats a constant reality. Seeing no other way out, the duo sets a plan into motion, becoming the go-to girls from the hood. From robbing an off-duty cop to running stolen gas cards, smash and grabs, or stealing bundles of expensive weave, they definitely don't play about their grind. In their world, sometimes being "Down 4 Whatever" is your only option!

Release date: June 24, 2014

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Um, excuse the hell outta me, but since when did you start giving a fuck about me and my well-being, Ma?” Rolling my eyes with intensity, everything about this out-of-the-blue conversation was starting to aggravate me in the worst type of way known to mankind. “You know we ain’t even like that with each other now don’t you?”

“Shannon, enough is enough. You really need to let go of the past, sweetheart. If you haven’t noticed from all your destructive behavior, look around, it’s practically eating you alive. I’ve been telling you for years now I’m a changed person. For God’s sake, can’t you see that? I’m not that woman anymore.”

Shannon knew her mother. She knew right about now her mom was tightly clutching her blue spiral notebook of handwritten faith prayers she kept nearby. It was common knowledge Fly Shawntay, as she’d once nicknamed herself in a former life, prayed her daughter would at least give their relationship a chance to heal. Wanting to try anything to make things right, Shannon knew, her mother figured that having her estranged daughter’s cell phone number was at least a start.

“Oh, please stop it, Ma. For once try to keep it real with me and get off your soapbox. It’s not enough days in the week or weeks in the years in the entire world to undo what the woman you allegedly are now,” she snidely mocked, sucking her teeth, “used to do to me. So you can do me a favor and fall all the way back with that ‘get over it and move on’ routine you running. Me, trust, I’m straight on all that. Save your sob story of redemption for the Lord you all of sudden love so damn much more than the bottle, or some random stray-ass man you picked up from the gutter the night before; I’ve gotta go. I got real shit to do with real motherfuckers who care about me!” Hanging up the phone in her ear without so much as a second thought, I could only shake my head in regret of my childhood. See, there wasn’t nothing Ms. Fly Shawntay could tell me about being a Christian woman that I’d go for. In my eyes, flat out, she’d always be that over-the-top alcoholic I learned my addictive behavior from, so for that, among a thousand or so countless other reasons I could easily name, she wasn’t about to get treated with nothing more than a swift “Fuck you long and hard and good-the-hell-bye.”

Taking a long look in the floor-length mirror propped in the far corner of my room, I hated myself more each passing day. Seeing a small but ever-present reflection of my mother in my eyes and my father in my skin tone, I pawed at my natural hair down the middle of my back. “Damn!” I fumed, angry at what most weave-wearing females walking the streets prayed for. “Why’d I have to be born like this? Why couldn’t I just be as black as her or white as him? Not some ‘stuck in the middle,’ out-of-place mute everyone hates on!”

Taking a few sips of the Avión on ice I’d been slow nursing all morning, I was ready to guzzle the entire bottle down after listening to my mother front like she gave two sweet fucks about the way my life was turning out. That rotten-intentions bitch had figured out long ago how to get inside my head and mess it up. But after a few stiff drinks and a couple of “get right” pills, I’d be right back on track as if she’d never called. I ain’t never been Shawntay’s prized possession like most daughters would be to their mothers, so I knew the Clair Huxtable game she was trying to run on me was for the birds. As usual, Shawntay wanted something; that much was crystal clear. She might’ve been saved, or so she said, but I was still Butter, baby, and my shit was too smooth to fall for her old tricks.

Walking into the bathroom, I ignored my ringing cell knowing it was only her trying to recite some scripture or beg for forgiveness; all part of the scam she was probably running. Damn, leave me alone and drop dead! Making a mental note to get my number changed, I rolled my eyes with disgust over who’d given it to her from jump. I couldn’t control how she was acting and I hated it. This was nothing more than her dose of drama for the month. Taking another sip of the eighty-proof liquor that was getting my mind right for work, I popped the rubber band from my long, wavy hair, letting it cascade down my back. Damn, I wish I could catch a break in this cold-hearted-ass world. Ain’t shit ever been easy for me. Nothing like these bitter hoes think. Rubbing my temples trying to relieve the throbbing and pressure, I couldn’t wait to totally transform from Shannon into Butter and get my night started. Dancing had become more than my crutch for living my upscale lifestyle, but my escape as well.

With a lust for relaxation, I slid my pink robe off. In a daze, I watched the floating mist rise from the heated water. Letting my garment fall onto the cold marble floor, I took another sip of my drink before setting the long-stemmed glass down on the window’s edge. Taking a deep breath, I dipped my freshly manicured toes into the Jacuzzi tub of water, testing the temperature before happily easing my entire down body inside. Turning the jets on high, the bubbles started to engulf me as the warmth soothed my aching muscles. Oh yeah, this is exactly what a bitch like me needs!

As much self-hate as I had stored up in me for this half-breed, moneymaking body of mine, men, young and old, black and white, completely adored it. They couldn’t get enough of their mulatto baby doll. So, by nature of loving that almighty dollar I worked long hours to fulfill their every, sometimes extremely perverted, desire; every lap dance was a quick twenty a song. Not interested in the desperate life I once led, I wasn’t trying to go back to broke. I’d made up my mind, long ago, that bullshit wasn’t an option. I was true to the game of my craft and played my role to the fullest. There wasn’t a center-stage pole I couldn’t climb to the top of and do a few of my signature twist-and-turn moves on without being guaranteed a pile of money at the bottom once I seductively slid back down. As most men remarked, I had the total package. If it wasn’t my green cat eyes inherited from my sperm donor father that lured them in, it was my curved black-girl body I most certainly got from Shawntay that kept them blessing me with tips. I might’ve ultimately hated her and James for my creation but if it weren’t for them giving me the perfect blend of black and white, I wouldn’t have the exotic look that kept the nameless cake customers consistently throwing cash my way.

I’d been headlining at Bare Faxxx for almost a solid two years, seeing both up and down days inside the dimly lit palace of seduction. But never before had it been cranking like this past weekend. The owner had been promising better days to come and it seemed like his half-good-ass word actually had some truth to it. The drinks were flowing and the dollars were raining. Stan Dilbert and his puppet-master mayor were in the midst of transforming downtown Detroit from a dilapidated, crack-infested haven into a white-businessman-money Mecca. Low-key, they’d been buying up property, successfully evicting the crud out of the heart of the city, taking it over one block at a time. The housing of heroin pushers and junkies that the area was notoriously known for had been replaced by the working class, suit and tie briefcase carriers, who were once afraid to drive into the D from suburbia let alone party after dark. Where did I fit in? Let’s just say me and my girls were just good-looking trinkets to fulfill their freaking fantasies.

Damn! Maybe I’m more like Shawntay than I think; she was Daddy’s whore too.

Grabbing the vanilla body wash, I poured a generous amount into the loofa before rubbing all over the top half of my body. As much as I tried to get lost in the soft, lingering scent, I couldn’t push the echo of harsh voices and cruel images out of my mind that were starting to play out.

“Scrub harder ’til that black comes off your little monkey body! Schultz genes gotta be stronger than that nigger blood.” As far back as I could remember, my so-called grandmother, my dad’s mother, had been nothing but callous and cold to me my entire life. As a youth, on some days, I felt like she took pride in punishing me for my own conception. It was like living in pure hell on God’s green earth. Come to think of it, that’s why I have little faith and hope now in people. While seemingly forced, giving me baths as a child, Sally Schultz would put damn near a whole gallon of milk into the scalding water, hoping the mixture would miraculously soak into my skin to lighten my complexion up more. From bleaching creams shipped from third world countries to consulting every dermatologist her money could buy, she was on a mission to make me appear not such an embarrassment to her uppity, judgmental, prejudiced friends.

“I can’t believe he done made me a colored grandbaby. Your father is just downright disgraceful to our race, Shannon; well, mines anyway.” Grandmother Sally used to shake her head as I stared up at her with six-year-old innocent doe eyes. Confused, but eager to please, I’d sit in the same ice-cold tub of milk for hours waiting on it to “make a miracle” as she’d call it. But never once was I pure white enough to fully be her precious, unconditionally loved grandbaby.

Emotionally scarred from my trip back down memory lane, I shook off the constant flashback coming back to reality. Standing up, I shivered. Glancing into the steam-filled mirror, I instantly gasped. Seeing my body had turned beet red from me trying to scrub away the slight tan I’d gotten in the mild summer heat, I dropped the loofa, immediately jumping out of the water cooling down. “Shit, I am fucked up in the head. Maybe that bitch Shawntay is right for once and my past is eating me alive!”

Running through the house spraying the cheap can of aerosol spray trying to mask the pungent smell of marijuana, the last thing I needed was for James to come up in here complaining about the way I lived. I didn’t owe him much of nothing but this sweet black juice he loved to drink two times a week on the regular; but for some reason, like all white people, James felt entitled to run my life. As much as he claimed he was bored with Beth, running over here to me two to three times a week, James still wanted me to be just as dainty, prissy, and stiff as his white wife while being his black fetish freak in the bedroom.

The year was 1996 and BET was just premiering its music-oriented talk show Planet Groove. I was dancing through the unkempt, junky living room, tripping over trash, snack bags, and liquor bottles, trying to be just as sexy if not sexier than Foxy Brown. Her video with Blackstreet, “Get Me Home,” was blasting through the television as I watched her hard, wishing I had at least a quarter of the confidence she was displaying for the world to see. Foxy was flossing in luxury cars with flamboyant clothes while I was stuck driving a beat-up Ford Tempo struggle buggy, rocking Dots’ fanciest clearance sale apparel. Females like Foxy were my idols; I just could never get on their level. It damn sure wasn’t from lack of trying though. Men found me attractive but I never made it further than the bed or sofa they were making me orgasm on. I finally came to the conclusion that’s just how it was in Fly Shawntay Jenkins’s life: I was the foolish forever dreamer.

Sounds of a horn rang out. Back to reality. Running to my dingy curtains, I peeked through them, seeing James’s shiny white Mercedes-Benz pulling into the broken concrete driveway of my rented flat. He might’ve hated the hood, so he said, but he loved getting the attention poor black folks were known to give if they saw “the man” flossing. My neighbors were no different from the norm. They stayed gossiping about the blond-haired, green-eyed devil I welcomed into my home every time they’d blink.

“Hey, lover boy, long day golfing?” I swung the door open, cooing softly while smiling.

“As a matter of fact I did have a long day at the course. It was nothing but a relief to get a breather from that stuffy conference room to cater to some potential clients over tee time.” Enunciating every single syllable with exactness and clarity, James properness matched his swag: 100 percent straight-gate nerdish.

He was dressed in a pair of pleated khaki shorts that came right above his knees, a hard-pressed white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and matching Polo boat shoes with no socks. I laughed on the inside because he was the perfect prototype for Barbie’s Ken, only I wasn’t Barbie. Ken was talking a walk on the dark side fucking Chrissy. “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been doing with your day.” He snobbishly turned his nose up, waving away the smell I had tried to hide from his Inspector Gadget nostrils.

“Nope, you don’t. I ain’t trying to hear that shit today, James, so don’t.”

“Stop.” He threw his hand up in front of my face as if he was a school crossing guard. “You know I’m not a fan of your bitching. So I won’t say another word on the subject, I swear!” Sitting down onto my taped-together leather furniture, I could tell by his square jaw being locked tight that he was fighting off coming at me with another smart comment or insult, but held it back. “Here, make use of yourself. Fix me a stiff drink.” He handed me the brown paper bag.

I didn’t bother peeking inside. My Caucasian meal ticket stayed consistent. Every Monday, Wednesday, and sometimes on a good week Friday he’d come here with an unopened fifth of Absolut vodka, a half gallon of orange juice, and a tiny blue pill to get him just right. After about an hour of us drinking and me seductively dancing for him, I’d be posted down on my knees getting them bitches dirty or twisted in some crazed porno position, getting his less-than-meaty dick roughly rammed inside me. Jimmy wasn’t the best fuck I’d ever experienced, but he no doubt was the most consistent. Besides him hitting it on the regular, I couldn’t keep the black-ass weed man out of my hot pocket either.

After getting him comfortable with a drink and a hard on, I disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed for my hustle, which paid my bills. My everyday street-ready wardrobe might’ve been meager to say the least, but my silk, lace, and satin lingerie collection could easily shut any one department store’s selection down. Once a week for sure I always knew James was going to walk through the door with a sexy pair of panties for me to model for him. That was “his thang.” Now I wasn’t judging him, because we all got some shit with us, and that sexy lingerie plastered on a hot black female body was his. Now I didn’t know if he treated his wife like a sex kitten; but if he wasn’t concerned about his supposed sacred marriage vows why should I have been? As for me, I played whatever role my “big daddy” wanted me to play, including his sex slave, because his dollars spent long and at the end of the day money was all that mattered.

Grabbing the dollar store container of Shea butter from my nightstand, I scooped out a half-dollar-sized amount, sliding it up and down my ashy legs, working the grease in. Making sure my whole body was smooth, I sprayed on the Elizabeth Taylor White Diamonds perfume he’d brought me during one of his many visits. I hated this loud-smelling white woman scent but he wouldn’t touch me without smelling it on my dark skin. In that weird motherfucker’s head, he probably wanted me to smell like Beth so he could fuck his fantasy while smelling his true love at the same time. Sliding on the red bustier set he’d brought me from Victoria’s Secret, the thong disappeared into my forty-two-inch ass while my thirty-six C-cup tits set lovely. Damn, I was a fly bitch.

Coming out of the bedroom seeing James stripped down to his tighty-whitey Polo drawers and crisp white Hanes undershirt, the little bulge was a clear sign his pill had taken full effect. He seemed out of place in my scanty, stale-smelling house full of mismatched furniture and outdated electronics. But I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about the way I lived. He’d made it perfectly clear the first time we met through the call service I worked for that he had a fetish for thick black girls. I’d heard it all before: white guys loved our thick curves, fat asses, and the massive explosion they’d get from having our nappy hair wrapped in their hands. I didn’t mind playing the stereotypical role. Once he became a regular client, it was easy for me to cut my madam out, allowing him to come straight to my house so I could keep the entire profit for myself. He didn’t turn the proposition down because it allowed him to get more uninhibited.

“What are you over there hiding all of that fine chocolate sexiness for?” James looked up from his drink, already drooling. “I done already seen all of what you got. Bring that body over here.” He sounded like a true redneck, like he always did once the liquor got into his system.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, daddy,” I purred. Modeling across the room, I kept my brown eyes glued to his while they eagerly lit up. Once I got in front of him, I started to sway sexily, trying to further arouse him. Turning around, I bent over, letting him smush his face into my round behind as I jiggled knowing it was turning him on. My juices were starting to flow. I loved getting down with this kinky white man. “You love this ass huh? Smack it up, massa!” I was getting all the way into my role and he was also feeling it.

James smacked my ass a few rough times making me jump and breathe hard. He loved taking control. Grabbing my waist, turning me around, he ran his tongue across my neck then to my ear. “You smell delicious, my little blackberry—almost good enough to eat.” As much as “my Jimmy” loved my cunt and I begged for it, he’d never stick his tongue into this juicy peach. “Get on them knees, girl, and put that smart mouth of yours to use.” Dropping down, seeing his hard pink cock staring me in the face, it was time to get to work and earn my revenue.

Shawntay was a fucking wet dream come to life. I was mesmerized by her dark beauty in every way. Her black body was thick, perfect, and available when I needed it to be. I’d had plenty of black girls service me growing up in a Confederate household, but none were grown up enough to take the degrading things I liked to do. Shawntay fulfilled every fantasy I dreamed of, mimicked every porn star I was in love with, and never once turned her face up when I asked for a rim job. She was the absolute best in bed, nothing like my wife. Beth had been threatening to leave me and end our marriage since finding out my fetish had been happening more regularly; but I wasn’t getting ready to give up carrying on Schultz man tradition in any way. We lived dirty by doing filthy things to the help behind closed doors but our family motto was to take our unclean deeds to the grave.

Besides needing Shawntay to fulfill my sexual fantasies, I needed to release this nut because the tension of waiting on multiple investors to help me get my company even further off the ground was overbearing. Beth was pregnant, our bills were growing, and my mother was slowly running through the estate money my dad left to her. The burden was heavy on me to provide for my entire family; my father would’ve expected no less.

Shawntay was going to town on my pink pecker. I could feel the mixture of drool and my pre-cum running down to my ball sac but never once did she slow down or come up for air. This bitch is the fucking best! Moaning loudly, I was getting lost in how hot she looked gripping my white cock with her dark fingers. “Slurp it all up you little slut,” I whispered through clenched teeth, grabbing her head. Feeling her tongue tickle my shaft, I gripped two handfuls of her kinky hair, using them as reins as I used all of my force to thrust my hips to meet her mouth. Her slurping sounds were turning me on even more. “Get down on the floor and spread ’em wide, tootsie.” I gotta give it to her good. I know she’s accustomed to horse-hung black men.

I bet he couldn’t let fuck Beth like this; her flat booty and prude attitude probably couldn’t take all of Jimmy’s stamina. I allowed him to climb on top of me to do his business until he fell over drunk and sweaty. I worked hard for my dollar. “Damn, Jimmy, you’re working this fat cat out. You’re so big and good!” It was all part of the game, even though he wasn’t half bad at this.

After twenty minutes of him panting, trying his best to be the best fuck of my life, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he let out a loud scream. “I’m about to unload this thick cream up in you!” Within two seconds I could feel his hot sperm shooting up in me. “I love black pussy!” After Jimmy pulled out, letting his now-flaccid penis fall limp to the left, my vagina was leaking globs of his semen.

I keep telling his Shawnta-loving ass I ain’t on no birth control pill.

“What up, Butter baby? I see you came in early to take some of these bum bitches’ money.” Dazz, the DJ of Bare Faxxx, laughed when he saw me walk in.

“You already know it, my baby.” I smiled, making my way to the bar. “I’m trying to get winning and stay that way.”

“Don’t I know it. Well, if you ain’t too tired after mopping the club with these bitches, holla at ya mans for a private dance. I’ve got dollars.” Dazz stayed flirting with me and every other dancer in the club. None of us took him serious but all of us took trips into the booth with him. He always made good on his word to fill our thongs with even more.

“We’ll see how the night goes no doubt.” I winked before turning to order my drink from the bar. I might’ve had no problem getting raunchy for some greenbacks but I had to have my liquor to do so. “Hey, Dolly, let me get a double shot of Patrón.”

Dolly was the bartender who kept all of us extra fucked up while we got our jobs done. She’d always put a little extra in the dancers’ drinks knowing we’d have to take any and every patron getting as frisky as they wanted. Frank, the manager, with his dark-haired, musty, Chaldean self didn’t believe in giving his paying patrons rules—especially with so many of them owning business around this small dump.

“Afternoon, Butter.” Dolly slid the shot glass across the bar. “Imagine seeing you up this early after last night.”

“Girl, bye. You know this shit is like water to me; it’s nothing.” Tilting the glass back, taking the shot down halfway, I had to remember I’d be here for the long haul, probably ’til two o’clock. I was on a paper chase, hungry to feed my habits, so getting drunk straight in the door wasn’t a good idea. Plus I had my own bottle stashed away in my duffel bag to keep the money I made pocketed.

“I would get hammered too if I had to deal with these petty-ass bitches.” She rolled her eyes, running her hands through her long weave. Dolly was never part of the drama but always stayed in the drama. I knew these wannabe skeezers had it out for me so she didn’t need to add her two cents. But it was all part of the club mentality.

“I ain’t worried about them, Doll. If it ain’t green with dead presidents on it, Butter ain’t meltin’.” It was a daily endeavor to deal with the amount of attitude these girls served up to me because of my natural beauty. I couldn’t help that I could serve what my momma gave me.

“I feel that, honey. I wouldn’t be slowing up either for these hating bitches. Make that money!” Reaching over, giving me a high five, we laughed for a moment ’til I caught Isis staring coldly from the sideline. She was the main mad-hating trick. Isis wasn’t ugly in the face if you liked ’em extra black with thick lips and a big nose. If it wasn’t for her DD chest, forty-inch ass, and pole climbing techniques, she would’ve been an alley cat for sure. I ain’t give a fuck though ’cause her hustle wasn’t slowing my grind.

“Here we go!” Taking a second thought then gulping my drink, it was time to get in rare form so I could handle Isis. “Is there something I can do for you, babe? Can I buy you a drink or something?” Turning toward my nemesis, I was taunting her on purpose. “I know shit around here has been slow for you lately.”

“Bitch, you ain’t in my pile. It’s definitely straight over this way.” She looked herself up and down, admiring her own body. “Every nigga who walk through this door ain’t checking for your mix-breed ass. Believe that!”

“Again I ask then, Isis, why you all in my grill over here checking for me?” Rolling my eyes, snatching my bag up, I wasn’t getting ready to entertain this li’l monkey any longer with the lunch doors getting ready to open. “Today ain’t the day, Isis. Please do you and let me do me. It’s money to be made.” Turning my back on her and walking away, I wasn’t the least bit intimidated or worried about her attacking me from the back. Not only was Dolly there to break us up if something popped off, Isis didn’t have her homegirls to back her up. No one moved in the club solo-dolo but me.

“Yo’ drunk ass probably gonna be passed out before dinnertime. Keep clutching that bottle.”

I ignored Isis, letting the locker room door close out her still-irritating voice. She wasn’t getting ready to say anything I hadn’t already heard. Growing up in the hood with light eyes, long, soft hair, super light skin, and getting picked up in a Mercedes-Benz once a week made me stand out to be bullied by all the kids in the neighborhood. I’d been called everything from an Oreo to a wigger. It ain’t shit these money-hungry heffas could call me that the cruel kids in the hood hadn’t already run into the ground.

Unzipping my duffel bag, pulling my first custom-made outfit out, I was getting ready to stunt on these hoes big time. Stan Dilbert was hosting a Rebuild Detroit conference at Cobo Hall, so the tables were expected to be overflowing with associates paid out of their mind like him. I’d worked the Friday nightshift when all of his low-level employees partied hard, tipping me their checks. And if their hourly paychecks afforded to pay my car note, rent, and bills while accommodating my wardrobe and alcohol taste, I could only imagine what the real CEO/owner was working with. Signaling for the makeup artist so she could put me down for a spot, I slid my clothes off in preparation to transform.

“A’ight you filthy-rich bastards, get them cards out ’cause we’re now accepting plastic. Coming to the stage for your lunch special delight is the infamous Butter!”

Bare Faxxx was packed with white faces all with loose-collared business shirts and hanging ties. With hunger in their eyes, they watched, drooling like dogs as I walked onto the stage. These men were craving to see my lustrous body bend over, twirl, and gyrate. Their wish was my command as I saw big bills, dollar bills, and credit cards fly up into the air. Dressed in an electric-blue sequin stretch leather set, the G-string itself had been swallowed by my two cheeks while the bra barely held my tits up. Stripping the tip off, I jiggled then played with my nipples, making even more dollars fly. Yeah, Butter, let’s take these white boys for a ride. Moving across the stage, giving them all equal attention, I needed to milk their pockets just right so Butter could become more than just a household name. I was trying to be bigger than the game.

“Let me see that fat ass bounce, girl! Climb that pole! It’s definitely Butter, baby!” Rolling my eyes, biting my lip, I fell right into line hip rolling then twerking for my fans. G’on and take their money. You can drink, smoke, and snort hella good tonight. It didn’t take much for me to fall into my “get money by any means” trance. I could tell why the other dancers felt inferior when I came on the set; no matter how much I hated myself, my flawless beauty and curved physique couldn’t be denied. These men were craving me like addicts but I was down to fulfill whatever dirty desires they had. Bending over, letting the cold pole slide up and down my chubby cheeks, I saw dollars flying onto the stage but I was just getting warmed up.

“You want some of this?” I ground my kitten while whispering to a few of the men who’d become brave enough to come front and center to the stage. “G’on and pay for it.” I was more like Jimmy than I liked to admit. I loved the power and control I’d get over guys with my pussy. It was more than amazing! Feeling their clammy palms gripping on my legs, running across my inner thighs, and trying to steal feels on my twat, I pulled back a little all in the game of trying to tease them. Dropping to the floor, I cat-crawled across the stage toward the pole, getting ready to put on an all-star performance. I could see Isis standing to the side with her face curled up, knowing I was shutting any chances she had at making money today down.

“Come on, redbone! Don’t keep us waiting; work that motherfucking pole!” These suited-up men were ready for me to get the party started, obviously. Scanning the club, I saw Dolly keeping the drinks flowing while Frank watched me back with a stern eye. He took his breadwinners very seriously. Seeing Isis griming me from the sideline, I winked then twerked a little harder just for her. I know it’s hard to see your money dwindle down, baby girl. I’ve been