Dirty, dirty, beautiful dirty rich.
a/n- Obviously the title isn't mine. It's Lady G's.
Coating her lips in sticky, scarlet gloss, she checked the mirror. Her face was illuminated from the tiny lights speckled around the frame, highlighting her features. She looked somewhat exotic, the bold, feline flicks drawn with liner pen over her lids emphasising the almond shaped orbs, while the light gold she had dusted below her lash line brought out the hazel green colour in a way that was mesmerising. Finishing with a coat of black mascara over her thick, extended lashes, she then reached up and pinched the clip holding her hair to the top of her head, releasing a waterfall of thick, rich, dark brown curls, which just fell short of her slender waist. Teasing the roots with her fingertips, she separated them into soft waves, before coating her hair in a generous mist of spray.
Reaching down, she tugged at the lace band around the silky black stockings, adjusting them against her thigh, before attaching the suspenders which fell from the matching basque, keeping them taut against the toned legs. She stood expertly in strappy stiletto's, balancing without a single wobble, while she misted her skin with a light, fragranced spray, which gave her skin a shiny, sleek look.
There was no denying she wasn't beautiful and maybe she could have looked elegant and classy, if it weren't for the nature of why she was dressed so seductively. She looked dazzling in the mirror, framed with tiny, twinkling lights and sometimes she got lost in the parallel world, living in the lights, living some other, starry life.
The music was coming to an end in the other room, she could hear cheering and clapping, laughter, and she could see the other girls, being thrown fistfuls of notes. This was a way to get rich quick, but by no means was it easy, and that was before the judgement of other people. But she wasn't a stripper, she didn't expose her body for money, rather just dressed to coincide with the guiltless imaginations of willing punters. And danced in a way that further fuelled this. There were worse jobs out there. She lived almost luxuriously with her pay, though vowed that one day, she'd have power and status of her own. Maybe her own little firm of dancers, or any business, really, just something that she was in charge of…
Lost in her imagination once more, she barely noticed as the room started to fill up, with the previous dancers coming into the dressing room and beginning to scrub off their make-up, either to go home if their shift was complete, or brush up for the next half hour. Coughing as the room filled with a million different sprays and scents, she blinked the moisture from her eyes, desperate to keep her make-up in pristine condition.
"Looking good, Carla!" Whipping around, she eye'd the girl who had just spoken to her and smiled. They were friends, inside their little dance group. Though Michelle seemed to disappear once they reached the outside world. She only did several nights a week, though had been offered more. The girl was slightly breathless, her skin shining, though her make-up perfectly intact. Her eyes were smoky grey and smudged softly below her lash line, just enough to make her look sultry. With only a hint of gold tinted gloss left on her lips, she picked up the tube from her own dressing table and applied a little more. Carla watched as her friend pouted softly once she'd finished, smoothing down slick, jet black hair, which fell just a couple of inches below her jaw, ending sharply and neat. She was definitely one of the better looking girls in the group, in fact from an outsiders point of view, it wouldn't be hard to see that the two girls who were talking together were heads above the rest. It wasn't just their looks, it was the fact that their faces didn't adorn the dopey, dazed expression of the other girls, who seemed to have no other ambition but to perform, almost-naked, in front of aging, balding business men, for a wad of notes. Not that they'd ever put them down for it, afterall they were in the same position, so who were they to judge?
"Thanks, 'Chelle. What's the crowd like, tonight?"
Raising one perfectly arched eyebrow, Michelle turned to face Carla. "They're really on one, tonight. I'm going to be worn out after this shift! And Zimmer Frame's in, tonight."
Carla chuckled, lightly. 'Zimmer Frame' was the nickname they'd given to a little old man, with white wispy hair and wandering hands, who liked to think his age allowed him to get away with touching the girls, though sometimes blamed his 'cramps'. He was especially fond of trying to tuck his notes into the girls chests, though his arthritis often caused him 'issues', meaning his hands sometimes seized up, and 'accidently' caused him to grab a handful of something he couldn't handle.
"Did he get you?" She grinned, automatically running her tongue over gleaming white teeth after the action, in case she'd stained them red.
"Almost! I thought he preferred blondes."
"He prefers anyone who doesn't look like they need an oxygen tank. And boobs." Carla finished, raising her eyebrows as she stared pointedly at Michelle's well-endowed chest.
"Don't stare at them like that, not unless you're going to slip me a couple of twenty's." Michelle giggled, pretending to be offended as she crossed her arm over the front of her red corset. "You're looking quite chesty yourself, fillets?"
"Er, you cheeky cow I'll have you know these are all my own! With a little added push…" She bit her scarlet lip, sheepishly, her tongue swiping once more over her polished teeth.
"Yeah, yeah!" She laughed, though this soon turned into a yawn. "I can't wait to get into bed tonight, I've got to get up early tomorrow ."
"I thought it was your day off? Are you going anywhere nice?" Carla had often invited Michelle on nights out, days out shopping, spa weekends, but the girl had always refused, claiming to have other plans.
"Not really, just…It's a cleaning day, my place is a tip, clothes everywhere…"
"Oh, shame. We'll have to do something, one time." Carla murmured, though didn't press the matter. She often thought that perhaps Michelle had a second job, but didn't want to say in case it jeopardized her employment with the club.
"We're back on." Saved by the bell. Michelle stood up on her heels, shot Carla an apologetic smile, as though she was sorry she'd been forced to stop the conversation. Flicking her curls over her shoulder, Carla joined the line 'backstage', already able to hear the beginning of their starting music. As much as she hated being ogled at, she couldn't deny that it sort of felt like she had the upperhand, like she was snatching the hard-earned cash of business men with a shake of her backside or the grinding of her hips against expensively clothed laps, should they choose to pay her for a personal dance.
"Chest out, 'Chelle." She joked, taking the shoulders of her smirking friend and pushing them down slightly. "Time to shine."
