Her shorts were riding high. The crop top that was part of the uniform was riding even higher as she adjusted it for the four time in the better part of an hour, each time was less inconspicuous that the last as her dignity had long since been taken out of the equation. The prying eyes were paying customers, each simultaneously turned on and disgusted by the motions that her body made in the crawlspaces where she could hear her own thoughts despite the warnings they continued to put on repeat. Each time she managed a moment alone, they said the same thing which left her struggling to keep up the facade of nothing more than a pretty face with a tight body put on display.
D i g n i t y funny word for a girl that’d left it outside the club a few weeks earlier when she’d accepted this job.
It was a job, right? It wasn’t like her gaze drifted at times, that her body moved without thought, or that she found herself lingering later and later as the hours melded together with the beat of the club that never seemed to stop or take a breath. Heran a tight ship. He was rarely anywhere else than in the club. He was the reason she was there. And He was the cause of her distress. If it could even be called that. It was more like making her work for her paycheck, both the one he was providing and the one that had lead her to the club in the first place. The one that was tucked away behind the offered ample amount of skin and painted on smiles that got her better tips with the customers.