Bianca's POV
I was sitting in front of the cracked mirror in the dressing room, fixing my lipstick when Nina, one of the girls, popped her head inside.
"Bianca," she said, chewing her gum like always. "Madam wants to see you. Now."
I blinked at her. "Madam?" I asked, confused. "Why? I'm up in twenty minutes. This is my solo. Biggest night of the year, remember?"
She just shrugged. "Don't ask me. She said it's urgent." Then she walked away, swinging her hips like she was already on stage.
My heart gave a nervous jump. Madam never called me before a performance, especially not tonight. I had worked for months to get this solo. A full house of hockey players who'd booked the entire floor just to watch me dance. If I were lucky, such tips could cover my rent for a whole year.
With a sigh and smoothing my sequined bra, I left out of the dressing room and proceeded toward Madam's office at the end of the hallway.
Madam looked up from her desk when I stepped inside. Her face softened before that familiar warmth climbed back into her eyes. To me, Madam was not just the owner of the strip club. She was more like mother: very strict and protective.
She said, "Bianca, my girl," smiling. "Come in."
I closed the door behind me, leaning against it. "Why did you summon me Madam? Remember I have a big night ahead. Solo. Hockey Team. Tips. Rent. Need I say more?"
She dropped a pen on the desk. "There's a man. He's got two days left of bachelorhood, and he wants to spend it with a private performance. His last gift to himself before he ties the knot."
I blinked at her, unsure if I heard right. "Wait… he's getting married? And he wants a strip performance from me?"
Madam nodded.
"That's cheating," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Isn't it? He's about to marry some woman, and this is how he spends his last days single? That's wrong."
Madam gave me that look—the one that always made me feel like a kid. "Bianca. You're getting paid to dance. Not to worry about morals. Leave the right and wrong to preachers and wives. You just do your job."
I bit my lip. My chest felt tight, but she wasn't wrong. Morals didn't pay rent.
"How much are we talking about?" I asked carefully.
She smirked. "Add a couple of zeroes behind your annual earnings."
My eyes widened. "What?"
She laughed at my expression. "That's right. Enough to cover more than just your rent. You could start fresh if you want to."
I sank into the chair opposite her desk, stunned. Who would pay that much for one dance? But then again, it wasn't my business to ask.
I forced a smile. "Thank you, Madam."
She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Don't thank me yet. The man is already waiting in the VVIP room. Go change into your best outfit, and make sure you give him the performance of his life."
I swallowed hard and nodded.
I went into the dressing room, digging through costumes until I found what always earned me the most tips. No, it wasn't that lame bra that did nothing for me but get me feeling cocky. It was a real black lace number with a matching thong and a glittery sheer robe that clung to my hips when I moved. Put it on, touched up lipstick again, looked and stared at myself, squared shoulders and walked toward the VVIP room.
I pushed the heavy door open, and the room was lit by red and blue lights. The scent of costly perfume mixed with a whiff of cigarette smoke coming from a man seated on a leather couch.
I cleared my throat. "Did you order a dancer?"
He raised his head slowly, and I saw his face.
"Goddam! This man is fine as fuck!" The voice in my head screamed.
"Are you here to dance or interview me?" He answered my question with his own.
Heat crept to my cheeks. I pressed play on the music so that the slow and sensual beat filled up the room. Without another word, I just started moving, body swaying with my hips, hands gliding on my body as I touched myself.
His gaze never left me.
Halfway through, he leaned forward, a little less easy. "Put the strip in strip dance."
I hesitated just a moment, and then slipped the robe from my shoulders. It fell to the floor. My body tightened, and I tried to move gracefully.
He stood up and walked towards me. The air seemed heavier. Just his presence made my pulse race. I told myself I had handled this before; men come close, men stare too much. I could deal with it.
But when his fingers brushed against my waist and he pulled the removed the hook of my bra, my breath caught.
I pulled back, lifting my chin. "Touching isn't part of the deal."
He smirked, pulled out a blank chequebook from his jacket, and placed it on the table beside us. "Write any amount you want. Cash it tomorrow. Just keep me company tonight."
My heart skipped and I nodded slowly. "Fine."
That night, I gave in. I let him take me to the hotel upstairs, and I spent the night with him. I felt guilty, but with each lick of his tongue against my nipple, each flick of his thumb against my clit, each thrust of his cock against my swollen pussy, the guilt faded away, replaced by my moans and his groans.
When it was over, he went into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, my legs trembling, pussy still sore , pulling on my clothes in silence.
Then my phone rang.
It was my neighbor.
"Bianca," she whispered urgently. "There's a man outside your place looking for you. Says he knows you. Been waiting for hours. I thought I should tell you."
My stomach tightened. I hadn't had visitors in years. Who could it be?
I stood up, and walked out of the room, heading straight for my house.
And sure enough, when I turned onto my street, I saw him. An old man standing by a black sedan, his hands clasped in front of him like he'd been waiting all night.
I froze. My neighbor was right.
The man looked straight at me, and his voice was steady when he called out—
"Bianca Hayes."