AN: Note that this originally started as OC until I realized that the names I chose fit perfectly in line with those of FOP. I do not mean to ruin anyone's experience with the story, I promise that was not my intent. However, this is also stemmed from a thought I had when I was younger. When I was about 12 I always thought Trixie would become a hooker, so here is my chance. Again, sorry if I ruin the story for everyone that was not my intention.
I also am well aware it's not the best fanfic ever written. My apologies if it isn't up to your standards. Also, it's totally AU and OOC, so please don't hate me for it. If you don't like it that's fine but I don't need you to tell me how awful it is and how I should never write again. It's a Just For Fun fanfic so just enjoy or leave it alone, please. It is messed up, it is very strange. That was the point.
The techno throbbed through the club, the computer generated bass dropping in time with the flashing neon lights that lined the square stage. Horny men whooped and hollered, thrusting handfuls of bills down my thong and between my breasts. Most of them were drunk, and those who weren't were quickly on their way there. Just your typical late night crowd.
Two years of twirling on poles, of unhooking flimsy bras and throwing them into the crowd, of showing her body for just enough money. After awhile it was just a rut, a constant loop of the same moves, the same tricks, the same nights, the same patrons. Trixie didn't have to command her arms to grab onto the pole anymore, didn't have to tell herself to climb onto it, didn't have to make the conscious decision to flip upside down or spin. She just went through the motions.
Trixie wanted more. A larger challenge. It was too simple to just wiggle a little and be handed my living on a silver platter. That's when Tad entered the club.
His hair was thick and curly, his eyes a sparkling blue, and his teeth perfectly straight and white. He reeked of upper east crust, the best and the brightest of the best and the brightest. But he wasn't like the others. He didn't turn his nose up at Banxana, instead he waltzed right in and took a seat front and center. He had a beer, and then another, and then another; so many Trixie lost count after around six. But Tad never stopped looking at her.
It was too easy, like leading a lamb to the slaughter.
Timmy was just a kid she had known so long ago, yet she remembered him better than any of the kids from elementary school. He was always so alone, either following her around or sitting by himself and talking to his milk cartons. Frankly, he was one of the weirdest kids she'd ever met, yet she had always been so intrigued with him.
Part of her wondered what had become of him, but when Tad closed the door she forced his memory from her mind and focused on the task at hand, unbuttoning her shirt and letting it fall to the ground. This would be her first time doing this and the butterflies in her stomach were all but killing her. But that didn't matter, she would have to mount this obstacle like she always did - as a seasoned pro.
It started with Tad, and then Chad, and then Remy, with A.J. and Chester following soon after. The owner of the hotel himself ventured into her room one brave night, hearing the rumors and decided to find out their merit for himself. A different night, a different man, the same story: the bed springs squeaking as they rolled and shifted, drowning out the deep groans of the boy who mounted her. The sweat rolling off his forehead and dripping onto her chest, wetting her breasts with the smell of degradation.
It was just like her time spinning on poles: a different game but the same story. Night after night of the same sex, the same moans, the same rough handling. Ten guys could grab her breasts in different ways but it still felt the same to her. Again, she was in the position of wanting another, harder challenge to conquer.
And then Veronica stumbled into the club one night, bobbing her head with the techno beat she was more than likely pretending to know. She was drunk, or high, or possibly both. She had been perpetually slammed or in the air since graduation, only stopping on her binges to sleep it off. She had done three stints in rehab, lasting at most a week each.
She would be a new challenge. Trixie turned this over in her mind as she slid her rhinestone studded bra over her head, allowing her breasts to hang freely as teenaged kids, too young to be in Banxana, shoved a ten down her thong. The bouncers didn't care anymore, seeing as Dimmesdale strip clubs weren't exactly the most happening spot and they needed all the patrons they could get. Even if that someone was a hammered girl or underaged boy.
The bouncers didn't discriminate, so why should she?
Trixie pushed Veronica back against the bed, straddling her waist and sliding her hands down Veronica's chest. Drunk or not, Veronica was along for the ride. She didn't do anything besides giggle hysterically as Trixie's hands went under her shirt, rubbing up and down her smooth stomach and brushing over her breasts. No bra, so typical. Even in high school she never wore a bra, so of course now it would be no different.
It was exhilarating, Trixie admitted to herself, to be taking control this time. There was no awkward fumbling or gruff hands gripping her chest. Instead it was fun, flirty, like two drunk high school girls. Except it wasn't high school, and only one of them was drunk. But even sober, Trixie was enjoying her...game, so to speak.
Veronica threw her hands up by the side of her face, turning her head to the side and laughing uncontrollably as Trixie ripped her blouse open, a few buttons flying and scattering around the room. She probably didn't understand what was going on, just thinking it was good old fun times. So she let Trixie have her way with her, permitting her thong and skirt to be slid down her legs and allowing Trixie to stroke her.
She closed her eyes as Trixie's lips fell on her bosom, taking in a breath as Trixie's hands rubbed up and down her stomach. She didn't do more than gasp and groan for a while, her eyes staying closed as Trixie moved down to her nether regions. But when Trixie's tongue brushed against her southern lips, Veronica let out the first sign she understood what was going on.
A moan of pleasure.
Trixie stood backstage, her back to the rest of the girls as they bustled around doing their make up and making sure their boobs looked just right. Instead she just crossed and recrossed her ankles, sucking on a lollipop as she studied the mirror of one of her fellow strippers.
Vicky had a picture taped to it of her and another brunette, their arms wrapped around each other and smiling at the camera. Was it her daughter, her friend, her sister? Whoever it was, she was rather exquisite. And Trixie knew just how to get her.
She turned on her heel, the stilettos clicking on the linoleum floor. "Hey, Molly...is Vicky on the stage?" she called to the wannabe goth girl.
"No, she's trying to get her skit done. Her solo/duet, the one Doug allowed her to write."
"Does she have a duet partner?" Trixie's heart beat a little faster in her chest, the anticipation killing her.
"No."
"She does now."
It was her sister in the picture. Tootie, two years younger than Trixie. She looked nothing like Vicky, but that's what made Trixie lust after her. She had a sort of youthful and naive beauty, the kind of beauty that no one would appreciate until long after high school. But she also had a naive manner, something Trixie was willing to take advantage of.
But it soon became apparent that Tootie was more than Trixie expected. She wasn't the same girl Trixie barely remembered freaking out about Timmy in elementary school. Instead, her affections for Timmy turned out to be mutual. Who'd have thunk? Certainly not Trixie.
Tootie kept her head high and her back stiff as she walked away from Trixie that night. Ignoring every word Trixie said, ignoring the looks and the gestures. You just didn't turn Trixie down like that. But Tootie did, instead choosing to leave the half naked girl out in the cold, the overcast sky mocking the fury that started to boil inside Trixie.
She was more than just some chick trying to get lucky, Trixie was desirable, at least she used to be. But now to be snuffed by a girl previously so obsessed with Timmy she died to be like Trixie, wanting Timmy to find Tootie appealing as well, was more than she could handle.
And it wasn't just then. It was the next night and the next night. The moon rose and the moon fell, and Tootie still wanted nothing to do with Trixie. Her persistent rejection of Trixie, ignoring the cat calls and the not-so-subtle hints as to Trixie's desires raised an obsession in her that she never knew she could possess. It overcame her life. It was strange, it was frightening, but at the same time it was a challenge.
And everyone knows how much Trixie likes challenges.
The house was quiet and still. Tootie was probably asleep in her room, with Timmy laying beside her, holding her close. Shame on Tootie. She's only 17, her boyfriend shouldn't be sneaking into her house late at night. But Trixie couldn't judge. After all, Tootie didn't even know Trixie was the one creeping up the stairs.
Tootie's face flashed through her mind again, the youthful joy that continued to haunt her. She saw the old Tootie, with braces and Timmy Dolls, and the Tootie of today, with straight black hair and big eyes that would make any man go rubbernecked. Some women, too, as Trixie recalled the wistful stares Tootie received when she had walked through the dressing room at Banxana to drop off Vicky's...uniforms, you could say. Tootie had become so much more desirable from the awkward stages of her childhood.
The door to her room was wide open, revealing her curled up in a ball holding a pillow tightly against her chest. She was probably wishing it was Timmy she was holding against her, but it didn't matter. In only a few moments, she wouldn't be concerned with Timmy anymore. Trixie was sure of that.
Tootie's cries were just loud enough to be heard through the duct tape, but not loud enough to be discernable. Just as Trixie liked it. She enjoyed it really, the muffled cries as tears rolled down Tootie's cheeks. She didn't understand what was going on. But she was terrified. And the fear in her eyes satisfied the burning lust for domination Trixie felt.
Tootie closed her eyes and turned her face away as Trixie pulled her pajamas from her body, leaving her body exposed to the cold hair. Her nipples became erect almost instantly. Tootie tried to cross her arms over them, but Trixie bound her arms to the bedpost. She tried crossing her legs to hide her personal area but Trixie bound those, too. She was going to have fun.
And as she straddled Tootie's waist, reaching up to rub her breasts, she realized how much fun she could have. She was conquering the challenge, showing Tootie why it would have been easier just to submit. She continued to rub and pull on Tootie's bosom, leaning down to lick the nipples on both. Tootie kicked and shaked, crying into the duct tape as Trixie slid down, stroking her vaginal area.
"Are you ready for the fun?" Trixie asked, winking as she pressed her lips against Tootie's - her tongue pushing into Tootie, and then out, in and out to a slow tempo. Tootie's body bucked and her muffled cries got louder.
She was crying something that sounded like "Stop. Please. Don't. Please. Stop." Words Trixie knew she would say but, like every predator, chose to ignore.
She continued to lick Tootie, reaching up to fondle her as she pressed her face harder against Tootie. From the nights of sitting in the car outside the house, studying the comings and goings of the house, she knew Timmy would be sneaking in the window or up the stairs - seeing as the parents were gone - any moment. Maybe she could get the juices out of Tootie before then and leave.
That was when the bullet from Timmy's prized gun entered her head.