Chapter 19 Strip Club Rules #2
He’s buried all the way inside me, and I squeeze his dick with my cunt as tightly as I can.
I’m rewarded with a strangled moan that sets every nerve ending on fire, and I rub myself against him, in tiny motions, letting the tip of his cock stroke across my cervix, pleasure building until I’m coming on top of him, writhing in place, squirting all over both of us, a choked gasp escaping my throat.
Mark’s eyes are wild, and he looks as though he’s about to lose it.
“Touch me,” I whimper. “Please fucking touch me, Mark.”
He locks one hand in my hair, smashing our mouths together as his other goes around my waist, lifting me off him and pulling me back down onto him again and again. His motions grow more frantic until he’s filling me with cum, pushing me into a second orgasm.
He’s still hard inside me when our bodies stop moving and he pulls his mouth from mine. “What the hell was that?” he asks, sounding awed.
“Hmm?” I murmur as I slump against his chest, enjoying the feeling of him still buried inside me.
“You, squirting all over me. You’ve never done that before.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes. That.”
I shrug lazily, luxuriating in the heat rising from his skin to mine. “I don’t know. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s not correlated to how much I enjoy it, if that’s what you’re wondering, but it happens more often when I’m in control.”
“That was amazing,” Mark whispers, his hand stroking across my hair.
“Mhmm.” I glance at my watch and then sit up abruptly. It’s a quarter to one. “You need to get up.”
“I just did that,” Mark quips.
“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan. “I have a patient coming in fifteen minutes. We need to get cleaned up. You can’t be here,” I tell him as I stand to sort through our clothes.
The couch is a mess. I can flip the cushions for now, but I’ll have to take them to the dry cleaners this weekend and…
“I should ban you from my office,” I mutter. “You’re a menace.”
“It was worth it.” He grabs my wrist and tugs me toward him as he stands. “Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead before heading toward the small bathroom off my office. “Besides, I had to pick up my costume,” he comments as he moves away.
“Yeah, you’d better not forget it,” I grumble as I pull on my shirt, then open a window and flip the couch cushions over.
“I want to meet him,” Katie says, ambushing me as soon as I walk into the condo. I have the distinct feeling that I’m the gazelle in one of those nature documentaries she’s always watching.
“Hi, happy Halloween to you too, Kay. So you’re talking to me again?” I reply, trying to keep my tone mild as I set the grocery bag I’m carrying on the counter. “I think that’s the most you’ve said to me in the past week.”
“Yeah, well you deserved it, springing the info on me like that.”
“Should I have made you play Twenty Questions? Told you whether you were getting warmer or colder?”
“Fine. You’re right. I would’ve been mad no matter what. But I want to meet him now.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll find out when he’s free. What changed?”
“I’ve been researching him,” she informs me.
“Okay. That still doesn’t explain what changed.”
“You don’t know,” she states, sounding confident as she pushes her blond hair back.
“Don’t know what?” I probe.
“You should ask him what happened at college in Wisconsin,” Katie states before turning and heading toward her room.
“Hey,” I call after her. “You’re not going to watch Halloweentown with me? I bought marshmallows on the way home!”
“Can’t,” she replies over her shoulder. “I have tutoring sessions with international students all night.”
“Seriously?”
Katie stops and turns back to me when she reaches her door. She gives a small shrug, then says, “Sorry. I booked them when I was still mad at you.”
“Does that mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” I ask.
“I’m considering my options,” she replies, but she smiles as she says it, and relief washes through me.
“Fine. But I’m going to watch them and make s’mores without you.”
“We can watch them tomorrow if you want. An All Saints’ celebration. Burnt marshmallows as an offering.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I grumble. “What am I supposed to do tonight?”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” she snarks.
I roll my eyes and huff as she goes into her room. Then I turn and head for mine. It gives me extra time to get ready, at least.
I start by putting on the hip padding I got to make myself look curvier than I actually am.
Unfortunately, the lingerie I bought isn’t going to allow for a pushup bra or any kind of cutlets—I’m already in danger of my tits popping out if I bend over too far—but my nipples will be on full display, which will probably make up for it.
Plus, it’ll be sure to get me past the bouncer at The Rose Room without having to give a name or show an ID.
Next, I pull on two pairs of shimmery tights to obscure the padding, and then two pairs of fishnets on top of those.
It’s ridiculous, but it hides the padding, and it’ll help keep me warm, because the teddy I bought to wear for my costume is nothing but see-through black mesh embroidered with little pink flowers. It goes on next.
After that, it’s the thigh-high stockings, which I tuck two small vials of GHB into.
Each vial contains three milliliters of GHB.
I measured the dosage out yesterday from the larger bottle Vaughn gave me.
Technically, anything over two milliliters puts the victim at risk of an overdose, which is what I want, since part of an overdose is the loss of consciousness.
These are street drugs, though, so the purity is questionable.
And even though three milliliters should be enough to knock Brandon Miller out, it shouldn’t be enough to cause respiratory distress.
Probably. It’s always hard to say with street drugs.
In addition to the vials, I slide six hundred dollars into my stocking—five hundred-dollar bills, with the last hundred being composed of a mix of tens and singles. I’ll probably need cash for The Rose Room, since I can’t risk using a credit card.
I wrap a robe around myself, twist my hair into a low, flat bun, pin it in place, and sit down to do my makeup.
I begin by covering my face with white cake makeup, before outlining my eye sockets with black liner and filling them in.
I do the same with my nose, and then overline my lips with blood-red liner, and fill those in too.
I continue applying makeup until my face looks like a very elaborate skull.
I fit two wig caps onto my head before carefully placing the dark red wig over those and securing it in place with eyelash glue rather than wig adhesive to make it easier to remove later, since I’ll have to do a full costume change prior to reappearing at The Rose Room to meet Mark.
I pin a few fake flowers in the hair at the front of the wig to complete the look.
The only thing left to do is to take off the robe and put on the thigh-high boots and black satin gloves that complete my costume.
I stand in front of the mirror once I’ve done that, trying to decide how likely Mark will be to recognize me.
I stare at myself for a while. I think if he’s there early enough to see me luring Brandon Miller away, which he probably will be, the makeup combined with the wig and everything else should stop him from realizing it’s me—as long as I don’t go near him, anyway.
Finally, I leave my room. Getting ready took the better part of an hour and a half, and Katie is in the kitchen getting a drink when I come out.
“Whoa,” she says, staring at me.
“Too much?” I ask.
“Well, aside from the nipples,” she begins teasingly. “No. You look great.”
“Thanks. Okay. I’ve gotta go.”
“Knock ‘em dead,” Katie suggests as I move past her.