There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet – T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

 

Out of the pink again.  Fuck.  It’s the only thing that goes with the outfits I have planned for tonight.  I’ll have to go with the green instead, and that just doesn’t go at all.

But who cares, really?  It’s club light, and nobody is going to notice but me.  Standards?  In a strip joint?  Who am I kidding.

So I’m out of pink again, doing green and gold and all that instead.  Big flashy eyes, big flashy lips, lots of glitter and shine.  The Bills will pay for anything if it sparkles enough.

Twenty minute drive to the club, enough time to get in, change, and sit at the bar for the first shot of the night before I even have to think about telling the DJ to put my songs into the rotation.  It’s a heavy night, especially for a Friday.  Bills all over the place, most of them already half in the bag.  But hey, half in the bag means they’ll go half over budget, so great.

 

Before I talk to the boy about throwing me into the list for the runway sets, I spot My Bill.  You know, the guy you see who is just drunk enough to be stupid, but not stupid enough to get handsy.  The one who looks a little like the guys who want to date you, but has the tan line from the ring he took off.  The one who locked onto you as soon as you walked out of the dressing room, and has been trying to work up to come buy you a drink ever since.

Your Bill is your moneyman for the night, maybe longer if he’ll be a regular.  Finding Your Bill doesn’t happen too often if you’re a niche market girl like me, but when it happens it’s always a hell of a payoff.  So I sip my drink, and let him get one more in him, then go over and perch my ass on his lap.

“Hi, sweetie.  Couldn’t help seeing you watching.  You like the look of me, huh?”  I give him a wink and a smile that might be an invitation, might be a warning.

He stammers, and stares at me.  Grant you, it’s a great picture.  Fishnets, of course.  Heels, of course.  Long sleeve shirt, collar cut off, slit down to show more cleavage, hacked off right underneath the tit line.  Shorts that might be a belt if they get any smaller.  All of it in black, picked out in bright pink, details showing off the shape in all that dark.  They say pride’s a sin, but the wages of this particular sin pays my rent.

That’s not what he’s staring at, though.  He’s staring at the garter.  Well, okay, everybody does.  All us girls wear something to hang a sack on, but nobody else I’ve ever seen keeps a sheath on theirs.  He’s looking, trying to figure out if it’s a prop or not.

I stretch my lips wider, duck my head just a little, give him the little glance that tells him this is our little secret, just between me and him.  Lean in close, brushing my tits up against him.  “It’s real, sugar.”  His breath comes faster, and I know I’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker.  “I’ve got one for the stage that isn’t as sharp.  This one’s just for very private shows, as I’m sure a gentleman like you understands.”

More stammering.  His pupils are blown so wide now he might as well be stoned, even though there’s nothing else on him says he’s out of his skull on something.  Well, other than me.  This is My Bill, and I’ve got him for good.

“Very… um… private shows?”  They’re the first full words he’s said, and very sweet ones to begin with.

“Of course, sugarplum.  We have to pull the curtain to do the really interesting stuff, because otherwise too many people get nosy.  You DO understand, I know you do. ”  I give him a sweet, polite kiss, just underneath the point of his jaw.  “I’m not going to set you a price, because it’s crass to haggle about money.  I’m just going to tell you that whatever you bring with you behind the curtain with me, you’ll be getting more than your money’s worth.  This is the only time you’re going to get to go behind the curtain with me for a good long while, so make sure you know just EVERYTHING you want before you decide to come join me.  I’ll see you in a minute or two, precious.”

 

I slide off his lap, unfold into an inky brush stroke disappearing into the back of the club.  Just before I’m out of his line of sight, I pull the dagger from its sheath, and slide it gently, so gently, up my leg.  It whispers across my skin, the fishnets sighing apart and leaving a long line of red inside the frame of black lines.

I’m in the champagne room in seconds, and tip the bouncer to forget I came back here, or anybody came with me.  My Bill will be good for what I just spent, and more.  I have a hunch.

That booth, all the way in the back.  Only one way in and out, and nobody will be close enough to hear a thing from outside.  My Bill is there only seconds behind me, trembling with eagerness, eyes glassy.

I plant him on the bench inside, and pull the heavy curtain closed behind us.  The thumping of the music from the club is muffled now, just enough to give a girl a beat to grind to.  I spread his knees wide apart, then plant his hands on the little tables on each side of the bench.

“Move just one hand, sugar.  Show me what you brought, so I know what you want to do.  Then put that hand right back where it came from, and don’t move it again.  Be a very good gentleman, and I’ll be ever so good to you.  I promise.”  My voice is a husky whisper, designed to skip his ears entirely and run teasing fingernails down the back of his brain.  He reaches hesitantly into one pocket, pulls out his wallet, and sets it on the table the hand came from, before putting the hand back.

“I… I need… Please.  Please.”  My Bill is so cute like this, so pleading and frightened.  I pick up the wallet, skim through it, and smile at him – nice and wide, sharp white teeth gleaming in the half light.

“Such a generous gentleman.  I’ll have to show you exactly the kind of time you came here for, won’t I?”  I push the handle of the dagger down the seam between the cushions, right at his zipper.  Down on my knees in front of him, I slide my spine up like a snake, just touching the edge of my blade with my shirt.  The fabric hisses apart, and my tits pop out.  Nice and perky, nipples hard.  There’s just a little line of blood from my sternum to my cleavage line, and that’s what he’s staring at.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it, gorgeous?  That lovely, red, hot flow.”  He nods, then shakes his head, then swallows with a mouth so dry it clicks.

“Please.  Please.  Just.  Please.  Not you.  Me.”  He’s very afraid now, My Bill, but the tent in his pants says it isn’t just fear.

“Don’t worry, pretty Bill.  There’s no judgment behind the curtain.  Once the curtain drops, every girl goes just Bill’s way if she’s smart.  And you are such a very good Bill, I think I’ll give you what you’ve been dreaming about. ”

I put my knees on either side of his hips, slide myself just a breath apart from the outside edge of the blade, leaving it between us.  A suggestion, a promise, a threat.  Everything important in the world trapped in two sharp edges.

Quick as a wink, my hand is on his throat, cutting off blood and air and sound.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamed about, my sweet precious Bill.”  My smile gets wider, and wider still, as I grind forward onto the blade, sinking it deep into both of us.  It burns, and I can feel him through the steel.

It’s not the best way to start, because it means I have to be a little over hurried in finishing.  They go so fast when I start that way, but it’s so very satisfying to feel that first push right where they’re most afraid of, most drawn to.  It feeds me in a way nothing else does.

And he’s a Bill, after all.  So he gets his three songs’ worth, and I make sure he feels every beat of it.  Afterwards, when he is all wet and used up and not any fun, I take what he brought me out of his wallet.

Even after accounting for having to tip out, and finding another club, My Bill was worth it.  They always are.  Such good little Bills, all lining up to sacrifice themselves to the girl of their dreams.

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