Double Dance (Love and Lapdances, #4)

By Katie de Long

The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.
When a voyeuristic regular pays Krissy and Athena to show off for each other, they have no idea how a little harmless teasing will change their lives.

Double Dance contains a lesbian pairing, and explicit content. It's a standalone, novella length work.It was originally published as Queen of Clubs: Krissy & Athena.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie de Long
• Release date: Feb 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507014028

Katie de Long

USA Today bestseller Katie de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library. For more information on Katie's work, visit delongkatie.com.

Book preview

The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.

When a voyeuristic regular pays Krissy and Athena to show off for each other, they have no idea how a little harmless teasing will change their lives.

Double Dance contains explicit adult content, including a f/f pairing.

Dedication

For all the whores, sluts, and bad girls I've known who turned those names into compliments.

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There is a glossary in the back, for some strip club terms.

Double Dance

Love and Lapdances #4

Coming up, I had this friend, Theresa, real churchy girl. And whenever we had a sleepover, her family took me to church the next morning, and Sunday school too. Her preacher thought he was good with the kids, used soundtracks when he lectured and all.

So this one time, the guy is going on, accompanied by threatening music, about how to resist the sins that come with puberty and rock music, and the shitty cassette—an honest-to-god cassette—cuts to erotic moaning as it changes side. Sounds like he recorded a mixtape of his last phone-sex tryst. He freezes. Awkward. But he works it into the lecture, pretends it isn't him, telling this sea of dutifully concerned teens that they are listening to the Devil's war cry without admitting his own hypocrisy—and I've just about had enough.

So I pull out my Kindle and spend the rest of the class reading mommy porn—as in for, not strictly starring. Theresa peeps over my shoulder, sees what I'm reading, and reads along too. Her breath is warm against my face, and her breasts press against my arm, and that's when I realize I'm bi-curious, at the least. I can’t acknowledge it, and I freeze, not sure whether to push her away or smile and let her push closer. We never have another sleepover, because I'm 'trying to corrupt her with my sinful ways,' as she says a week later, when her guilt gets the better of her and she tells her parents. At the time, it felt like just another grade-school betrayal, but since then, it’s shaped my life.

Funny how a dude who hung out with prostitutes now leads a flock who refuse to recognize them as people. Pastor Ron doesn’t seem to recognize me, but I’d recognize his hypocritical eyes anywhere, boring into my tits as I grind on him. It's hard to pretend not to see the irony. Every week he comes for at least one dance, spends the whole thing telling me I'm disrespecting my body, tattooing it like butcher's meat. He pops a boner at the 'good' he's doing, and twists his wedding ring as though he wonders if he could do more good if he spent more on me.

The answer is yes. Always yes. I've got bills this month, and I want to save up to add a few more colors to my sleeve. But he's tapped out for today, and I wave goodbye to him as I walk back to the bar. Tomorrow, I'll see him quoted in the paper, championing law enforcement's efforts to raid clubs like ours and force the girls into rehabilitation programs with a 'good Christian foundation', because surely only trafficked victims would find themselves topless dancing.

Tonight though, he'll probably pick up a streetwalker on the way home. He's asked me in the past, but even if I was willing to, it would cost much more than he would be able to spend.

Marina's on stage, with a look on her face that says the DJ wanted too heavy of a tip to remove her from stage rotation, with as few girls as we have right now. Repetition burns out the barflies and all. She casts a look at him that speaks of a desire to make him prance naked for five bucks. Cry me a river. Stage work is good advertising.

One of the guys at the bar is, well, he's not really a regular of mine. But he buys dances from a few girls, including me. I should go up and chitchat for a few, see if he wants me today. I won't stay more than five minutes, though. He'll take as much free time as a girl will give.

He’s nervous, but he’s kind of an anxious guy. I sit with him for two full minutes before he does anything more than nervously mutter about the weather, and some kind of cup, but I can’t hear him enough to know if he’s talking about golf, soccer, or hockey.

Then he gets to why he’s covered in flop sweat, why even though he knows me well enough for me to call him ‘regular,’ he’s had trouble peeling his eyes off the bar, and for once it isn’t because he’s staring at Kitty’s tits. Have you ever danced for another girl? he asks, and then looks up at me.

I frown. Yeah.

Would you? he asks. For me? I eye him, because couples’ dances, especially with this much anxiety in tow, sometimes get weird. I have to wonder if his little lady is going to be the awkward ‘we’re all girls so why can’t I snap your thong’ type, or the ‘oh god oh god get her off me’ type. Generally, women in the club are a bad idea.

I was thinking her, he says, and points to another dancer I know by sight, Athena. I sigh with relief, at the prospect. She’s sitting with a customer, working on him, but I can see from her face she’s already figured out he isn’t buying yet—but that she can’t leave now, or he won’t be buying later, either. She looks sweet, he says.

He’s right about that; she does. I’d really like to see her blush, he says. Getting a dancer to blush is a tall order, but now that he’s put the thought in my head, I’d like to see it, too; I’d like to cause it.

I’ll pay two and half times the usual fee, he says. Your time, hers, and a little extra, for the special request. I hardly need the persuasion; it’s a slow day, and she’s cute.

I’m game, I tell him. And we can ask her.

I lead him by the hand to where Athena’s sitting. Can I borrow her for a song? I ask the man she’s been chatting