Chapter One

Hey everyone! I'm back with more delicious B-squared! You may have already read my collab story with Seraphina Greene, _, but if you haven't, I suggest you do! On with the story!

Summary: Slight AU. Everyone is about twenty to twenty-five years old. Baljeet works as a university professor during the day, but at night he becomes Bally (I'm so unimaginative :P), an exotic female pole dancer at the XXX Girls. Only his fellow employees and his boss know his secret, but what will happen when a depressed mafia boss gets dragged to the club by his goons and finds a 'girl' who looks startlingly like his childhood friend and crush? AND she's being molested by a group of underage students?!

Warnings: Cursing, smut, citrusy goodness, yaoi (aka homosexual relationships), cross-dressing! Sultry?Baljeet, and tough!Buford.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! If I did, everything would scar straight men all over the world for the rest of their lives.

Enjoy!

Baljeet sighed as he applied makeup backstage. Isabella was out on her pole right now, stealing all the customers away from the other girls with her new boob job. Like him, she only worked here part time, and spent most of the day as a housewife, cleaning the house she and Phineas had bought when they were newlyweds, and taking care of the twins.

Baljeet hoped today he could take out his frustration on the pole, and get paid for it. The last week at the university had been hell, and he had not been able to stop in everyday to give a show like he would normally. His students were hellish, bombarding him with blank assignments and doodled on tests, spitballs and thumbtacks and-GOD! Do not let him rattle on about the innuendo. Every single day, they complimented on his choice of clothing, his face, and his hands. Only they added to the compliments by stroking him, touching him, and molesting him! He worked at an all-male body university, and what boy wouldn't go for the cute little teacher with perfect grammar and a white smile, add to it an exotic Indian look that just made him seem all the more desirable. He also took the train, and he always got stuck in rush hour, and that was a lot of fun! If you enjoy being groped, molested, and fondled by strangers on a train for two hours a day.

Baljeet sighed again, applying the finishing touches to his ensemble, and stepping out on stage, instantly getting catcalls and customers as he stepped up to his pole. He's been an especially good seller, so he got his own personalized pole which he could decorate if he chose to. (He chose to leave it blank; he didn't think that he'd sell quite as well if he decorated it with long words and Shakespearean quotes.)

He wrapped a leg around his pole, and began to grind against it, tilting his head back and gazing heatedly at his audience, locking eyes with several customers before turning around and eyeing the boys on the other side of the pole, showing off his ass to the ones he'd just locked gazes with.

He trailed a hand up his side; resting it on his hip while he spun around, and then allowed his hand to travel up to his mouth, darting out a tongue and trailing it down his fingers, licking them in a way he knew was sure to get a man hard.

In his high heels, he got off his pole, and began to simply swing around it, so close to the crowd as he twirled that he could smell there putrid breath. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at their open, panting mouth and bloodshot eyes.

He worked in a seedy establishment, but it had its morals. No prostitution, no groping unless paid for or allowed by the dancer, and no drugging the girls. Baljeet had fallen prey one night to one of the stupid ones that decided they didn't need rules.

~Flashback~

Baljeet had just wrapped up his last show for the night, and was mingling with some of the more respectable customers. They knew the rules, and the consequences for not following those rules. They treated him well, and he was as relaxed as he could be in the place when some man had asked if he could buy 'her' a drink. In his lethargy, he accepted.

Three drinks later, he was feeling woozy and he couldn't think straight. He could feel hands on his hips, massaging, and he tried to get up and walk away, but the hands just tightened their grip, dragging him onto the stranger's lap. The newbie started to rub his erection up against his ass, and began massaging Baljeet's 'breasts'. Baljeet moaned out as he rubbed against his nipples, and feebly tried to escaped, growing more panicked as his body refused to listen to him. He let out a cry, quickly stifled by a hand, but noticed by the bouncers. Two of them dragged the protesting man to the back alley to be punished, and one brought him backstage, where Matilda, another dancer, who worked part-time as a nurse, gave him a pill so he could sleep through the affects.

He had woken up with a pounding headache, and promised himself never to accept a drink or a meal from another man since.

~End of Flashback~

And he'd stood by that promise since. He went down on all fours, crawling along the platform, like a jungle cat about to pounce. Slinking along, he took bills thrown in his face, and stuffed them in his underwear and bra, making them appear fuller and more tantalizing. Baljeet smirked as he stood back up, stretching and sauntered back to his pole, sliding his leg up, up , up the side of it, 'til he was almost parallel the cold metal, bending his back and smirking at his drooling fans upside down.

Taking this chance, his eyes drifted across the sea of faces, taking in those who were regulars and treating them to a wink, and those who were new and giving them a little grind. But then he saw them.

His eyes widened and his mouth parted in a gasp as he saw a few fellows sitting in the corner of the club. They were staring at him intensely, hands on their crotch as they eyed him hungrily, undressing him with their eyes. But what was even more disturbing was the fact that he recognized them.

They were his students. His problem students, who were bombarding him with unfinished work and extreme innuendos. Who never showed up to class on time. Who were always well behaved in other classes, to a point.

His students.

And they were looking at him like they were about to eat him.

Baljet shivered, spinning on his pole to try and avoid their gaze. He had to get out of here, and quick.

He had to escape.

He quickly wrapped up his show, pasting a fake smile on his face as he sauntered off stage, and quickly got into more comfortable and less revealing clothes, putting his bills in his pay jar, to be split among his bosses and then given to him.

He didn't take his makeup off; walking out of the employee entrance would be a sure-fire way to alert anyone to who he really was. He grabbed his bag, carrying the bare essentials. His tennis shoes splashed in a puddle as he rushed away, to try and get to his car. Walking past an alley, he realized it was too late.

They were already there.

He felt a hand on his mouth and another on his waist as he was smashed against the dirty wall of a slummy apartment. He tried to struggle as he felt hands lift up his shirt, rubbing his chest and multiple hands thrust themselves into his pants, squeezing his manhood and causing him to cry out in pain and forced pleasure. He dropped his bag as he felt hot breath in his ear and he shivered as a tongue licked his ear, leaving a wet slimy trail behind.

"Stop struggling, teach. It'll only make things harder."

And they knew who he was.

He kept silent as they ravished his body, silent tears coming to his eyes as he panted through the hands still covering his mouth.

Would this be how it ended?

Suddenly, he heard a shout of pain followed by cried of alarm and running footsteps as the boys restraining his body ran away, the lack of support causing him to slide down the wall, his head resting on the dirty brick and his body shaking terribly. He heard a voice say;

"Pack 'er up. I want her taken to my place NOW."

And that's when the stress became too much for the exhausted male, and he fell unconscious as he was lifted up by strong, muscular hands.