Being a Jett Girl

By: Meghan Quinn

Book Two of the Bourbon Series


Chapter One

“Bang Bang”





Lo

“Uhhhhh, yeaaaaaa. Hmmmm, uh, uh. Heeeee.”

There are three different types of men that show up at the Lafayette Club for a good lap dance. There are the men who try to act like your scantily-clad ass dancing across their bean pole is not affecting them even though they are biting their lip while staring at your tits and sweating like a heavyset man in a sauna. Then, there are the men who are so ashamed of asking for a lap dance they don’t look at you, don’t acknowledge you and don’t even breathe until you’re done, but their southern friend reaps all the reward as he stands to attention, taking in every last pelvic thrust. And lastly, there are the heavy breathers who communicate to the lap dancer by hissing through their teeth, humming from their throats and gurgling on the foam that has collected in their mouths. Fucking nasty ass men.

I had a heavy breather at the moment.

When I sounded off at the beginning of our presentation for the local Rotary Club, yes, the Rotary Club–do gooders my right tit–I knew right then and there, the man who eye-fucked me as I dropped my ass was going to ask for a lap dance.

We were all wearing gold one-piece bathing suits, blond wigs, gold masks with feathers and a gallon of glitter lotion. My cleavage was so glittery, I was afraid a gaggle of unicorns were going to start sprouting from my nips. Now that would be a show! Torpedo Tits and her Unicorn Breeding Glitter Cleavage. I would pay to see that shit.

“Oh boy, oh boy….heeee, haaa, heee….uhuhuhuhuh.” His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the jowls of his face shook.

What.The.Fuck?

The man stiffened under me as my hands were on his knees and my ass was in his crotch. I couldn’t see too well but I was pretty sure he just blew his load, all over my lotion bedazzled ass. I looked over at Babs and Tootse who were giving lap dances as well and gave them the thumbs-up. The music died down and our job was done.

Slowly, I got up off the man’s lap, trying not to show how repulsed I was as I turned to smile at the heavy breather. When I glanced down at his crotch, I saw a giant wet spot at the tip of his crotch. Minor panic rolled through me as I tried to recall if he just blew a giant load or if I peed on him. I was so caught up in what I was doing that I couldn’t remember if I let loose. I did have to pee…

Fuck!

Casually, as I smiled at the man, I ran my hands down my body to give him one last show but really was checking myself. I ran my hand to the front of my body, cupped my Little Lady P and casually checked for drainage. I was clean! Victory, the man was just backed up in the old orgasm department and blew it right there and then. That was when I looked up at him and his eyes were sedated as well as his tongue that was practically hanging out of his mouth.

Eck, gross.

Time to bail.

I squeezed my tits together for him, to give him one last show, patted his knee and went to the back where the other girls were waiting for me.

Francy was still out in the Toulouse Room serving while Pepper sat in the back with Kace, discussing tomorrow night’s presentation.

It’s been a week since Jett officially made me a Jett Girl and I know it might sound weird, but I couldn’t be prouder with myself. I’ve nailed every single routine since I’ve been here, with the exception of my first night when some members decided to partake in some alcohol abuse and drench me with their wrong drinks. But we won’t go there.

Settling into my new role was pretty easy actually. Now that I was an official Jett Girl, I was able to start looking through what kind of educational classes I wanted to take, I had the chance to help the girls with theming out presentations and Pepper even let me add some moves to her choreographed pieces. I really felt like I belonged, plus, I was fucked by Jett almost every single night.

Currently, I hadn’t had sex in three days because Jett has been out of town on business but he was supposed to be returning tonight, or so I thought. I was dying to see him. He still kept his distance, was very closed off but there were moments, when we were in the Bourbon Room together, where he would twirl my hair in his finger ever so lightly or press his palm against my cheek as he stared into my eyes and I knew that was him communicating to me about how he felt.

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