2 comments/ 25103 views/ 28 favorites A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 01 By: Mischiana CHAPTER 1 - I discover that I am an illegal alien The moment that I stepped out of the University sports facility changing room showers I sensed that something was amiss. Chloe and three other girls from the cheerleading squad were around my locker, trying to force it open. One of her companions saw me and nudged Chloe. The pretty brunette turned to face me. "Well, well," she said, "If it isn't our sweet little Cherri Pye. You were quicker in the shower than usual." "That's my locker. What are you doing?" I asked as indignantly as I could. Chloe rather scared me, and she was squad captain. "We're just setting up your 'squad dare', bitch." "But Coach Lafitte says we're not to do squad dares any more," I said, feeling the colour rise to my cheeks. "Bullshit! It's a Bayton tradition. Every new cheergirl has to do one, even Goodie Two Shoes Coach's pet, blue-eyed English bitches like you." She smirked, unpleasantly. I wasn't really surprised at the name calling. Chloe had seemed to resent me from the moment that I had arrived in Bayton, and I had heard her claim that simply by being on the squad I was denying an opportunity to a local girl. The fact that I had obtained a scholarship seemed irrelevant to her. "Coach Lafitte says we mustn't," I reiterated, pouting somewhat. "Coach Lafitte says...Coach Lafitte says..." mocked Chloe, mimicking my English accent. She suddenly went quiet, and I sensed that there was someone behind me. "Cherri Pye," said a peremptory voice, "Come to my office immediately." I turned to see Coach Lafitte himself. "Sir, I...I'm getting dressed, Sir. Could you please give me a moment or two, Sir?" "I said immediately, Miss Pye, come along now." "Sir, yes, Sir," I responded, immediately and deferentially. I pulled my towel around me as best I could. It was quite small and it was all that I could do to tuck it in, just below my left shoulder. Even so, most of my left flank was exposed and I hadn't had a chance to dry myself. I was still dripping wet. I could hear the other girls snickering behind me as I walked out of the changing room. I meekly tailed Coach Lafitte, my bare feet leaving high arched footsteps in the hallway, my long blonde hair sticking to my face and shoulders. It seemed unjust that I couldn't have been given five minutes to change, but I knew that it did not do to argue with Coach Lafitte. I followed him into his office, and he sat down at his desk. He didn't offer me a seat. I stood in front of him, clutching the small towel about me as best I could, dripping water onto his office floor. "Now, Miss Pye," said Coach Lafitte, "What's this that I hear about your visa application?" "Sir, my visa application, Sir?" I replied uneasily. Coach Lafitte had a slight accent, and apparently was not originally from America, but he had been in the army or something, and demanded to be addressed in what he called the military manner. This involved putting a "Sir" at the beginning and end of sentences when talking to him. I must admit that I found it quite exciting to address a man in such a fashion. Especially a strong, powerful, black man like Coach Lafitte. "I have been informed that there is a problem with it." "Sir, I...I didn't know, Sir." He looked at me sternly. I'm sure that I blushed from tip to toe. I colour easily, and under male scrutiny, my curves only partially concealed by the small towel. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "You can confirm that you are Miss 'Cherry Pye'?" "Sir. Yes, Sir." "Spelt C-H-E-R-R-Y-P-." "Sir, no, Sir," I interrupted him, "'Cherri' is spelt with an 'I', Sir." Coach Lafitte grunted disapprovingly. He looked me up and down, his fierce eyes taking all of me in. "What a ridiculous way to spell it. Did you not notice that the spelling was incorrect on the student visa application that was provided for you?" "Sir, no, Sir," I responded, quietly. In truth I had paid little attention to the application, having been so thrilled to have obtained a cheerleading scholarship that I had, wrongly as it turned out, assumed that the University Admissions Office would not make such a basic error. "So you can't even spell your own name?" he chuckled, "And they say all cheerleaders are blonde bimbos." Despite his jocular tone, I felt myself blush even redder. Was he insinuating that I was a blonde bimbo, or was he merely being sarcastic? Or even ironic? I am a blonde, it is true, but I had, after all, been awarded a scholarship to study "Hospitality Management" , even if this was contingent upon me making University cheerleading squad. "Sir, I'm very sorry, Sir," I said. "Well, it is certainly a regrettable slip-up on your part," he went on, "You could of course be sent back to England immediately. We wouldn't want that now, would we, Miss Pye?" "Sir, no, Sir," I answered swiftly. I could feel tears begin to prick my eyes. Obtaining this cheerleading scholarship was probably the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I could hardly bear to think what it would be like if it simply came to an abrupt end after a week or two. "Well, Miss Pye," said Coach Lafitte, "The good news for you is that I have a blank replacement visa application here. But how do you propose to persuade me to sign it and make it official?" "Sir, persuade you, Sir?" I looked at him perplexed. What did he mean? "Yes, Miss Pye. Why should I expend time and effort in my busy schedule to sort out your self-inflicted problems? What do I get out of it? It would be simpler to send you back where you came from. There are plenty of local girls only too eager to take your spot on the squad." "Oh...oh no, Sir. P...please, don't do that, Sir" I stammered. I knew that all of my dreams of becoming a professional cheerleader were in danger of being crushed. "Well," he said, looking at me sternly, "You'd best start persuading me then, hadn't you, Miss Pye?" With that he got up from his chair and walked casually around his desk towards me. I swallowed. My throat felt dry and constricted. It was just a trivial administrative error on a visa application and yet he was turning it into such a big deal. Indeed, it seemed that he expected something specific in return for sorting it out. He came and stood close to me. He must have been at least a foot taller than me. I looked up at him quizzically. I wasn't at all sure what he wanted me to do next. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, but it occurred to me that perhaps what he wanted was a friendly kiss or a hug. I had found Americans of both genders to be a lot more "touchy-feely" than English people, and I reasoned that a kiss wouldn't be too bad. Even though Coach Lafitte was fairly old, at least thirty-five, he was kind of ruggedly handsome, and still had a fit body. As I puckered up to kiss him, to my dismay, I felt his strong hands upon my bare, wet shoulders, pushing me down, and further down, until I was on my knees in front of him. My face was now level with his groin and I noticed the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. I realised with a disconcerting shudder of apprehension in my belly exactly what it was that I was going to have to do to persuade him to sign my replacement visa application. I must admit that I hadn't considered that such things were part of administrative procedure, but I did, of course, desperately want to stay at the University. If this was what it was going to take then I decided that I might as well make the best of it. I looked up at him nervously from my knees. I had performed oral sex even before becoming a cheerleader, and I knew, in fact, that I was reasonably proficient at it. I have a delicate mouth, full lips, and an agile tongue, with one or two little secret tongue moves that I had discovered that boys liked. Even so, I had never had to operate under such circumstances, with my whole future at stake, depending on how well I performed. "Drop the towel, and undo my pants, girl," said Coach Lafitte, matter-of-factly. I gasped at his request. Surely he could undo his own pants? And why did I need to take my towel off? It seemed to make sense that I get things over as quickly as possible, and secure Coach Lafitte's signature, so I untucked the towel, feeling the air cool upon my still moist body. Then I reached up and ran my hand over the large domed swelling at Coach Lafitte's crotch. It felt very hard indeed and as I squeezed I even felt it move slightly. I slid down his zipper to find his manhood straining hard against the thin material of his underwear. I reached hesitantly inside the gap and felt my fingers close around his rod of flesh, warm and surprisingly thick. I released it from the confining garment and it practically sprang to attention in front of my eyes. I cannot deny that it was an exciting spectacle - long, and black, with his scrotal sac dangling beneath. I already felt a little hot and bothered. My upbringing in England had been somewhat sheltered, and in fact I had never seen a black man's organ before. Desperately anxious to please him, I gently ran the tips of my fingers up and down the solid flesh, sliding his foreskin back to reveal more of his already glistening glans. I felt a strange little shudder surge through me as I moistened my lips. It felt somehow right that I was here, down on my knees, wet and nude before this large black man, he looming over me, his hands on his hips, looking down on me, waiting for me to attempt to convince him to reapply for my visa. I opened my mouth widely and moved forward, placing my lips lightly around his member, pressing against his tip with my tongue. I knew, even from my limited experience, that men liked this, and sure enough he gave a guttural moan of appreciation. His taste was saltier and somehow more manly than the few English guys that I had sucked. Doing it to them had felt more like a chore, a duty, but now I could feel myself going gooey inside, all my thoughts suddenly centred upon the task at hand.. I moved my hand to grip the upper part of his shaft. That way I would only have to suck the lower half of his manhood, and by using my hands on him, should cause him to climax faster. "No hands, girl. Put them behind your back, and don't move them unless I say." I obediently put my hands behind my back. Coach Lafitte was obviously a man who liked to be in control. I gazed up at him, feeling terribly submissive, as I began to suck and lick up and down his sleek male organ. I felt amazingly helpless and incredibly vulnerable, kneeling nude on the floor, my hands behind my back, utterly at the mercy of this powerful man who could make or break my whole future as a cheerleader. I had never been used in such a controlling and demeaning manner before, and yet his abrupt command sent a quiver of pleasure coursing through me, and I could feel a warm wetness seeping into my sex. I was shocked at my own reactions. Could it be true that deep down I craved a man who would dominate, a man who would tell me what he wanted me to do, and would demand that I do it? I tried to persuade myself that I was not that sort of girl at all, and yet I was unable to prevent a stifled moan as I sucked him, and even felt a little of my love fluid seep out of me. I desperately hoped that he wouldn't be able to sense my arousal. Why was I feeling and behaving like this? I was a nice, well mannered English girl - the sort that wouldn't say boo to a goose - and yet here I was, kneeling before a large black American man, sucking and licking him as if there were no tomorrow, and getting thoroughly turned on by the whole episode. He was even bigger in my mouth than I had expected. His glans alone seemed to fill me. Yet even after I had opened as wide as I had ever opened, he continued to press forward. More and more of his shaft rammed into my face and throat until I feared that I might gag. I felt the throbbing power of him as he began to thrust into me. His pace was fast and demanding, and he gripped my mane of blonde hair, using it simply as a handle, a device to pull my head to and fro, demonstrating to me the pace that he required of me. It was hard work, and painful on my neck, but I compliantly accelerated to the rhythm that he demanded, his male member deep now in the back of my throat. I looked up at him once more, and saw his eyes, hard and masterful, dark brown, staring back down at me. I felt another surge of moisture and a thrilling shudder pervade my naked body. When previously performing in this manner, I had always been able to suck and lick at my own pace. The English boys that I had known had hardly dared to breathe whilst I serviced them, almost as if they were in fear of annoying me somehow. Coach Lafitte, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and demanded simply that I supply it. And my whole future depended upon how well I pleased him! I sucked eagerly, even devotedly, using my tongue and lips for all I was worth, concentrating on giving him as much pleasure as I possibly could. My head bobbing back and forth, my mouth gobbling and throat gurgling. My pert breasts jiggling fitfully with every vigorous jab of his thrusting, athletic hips. There were electrifying tremors of excitement deep inside me now, perverse feelings of a kind that I had never felt before. Not being able to use my hands made my task more difficult, more onerous, yet somehow more exciting, more thrilling, more submissive, and even more appropriate, and I worked yearningly and sensuously, pleasuring him deep in my mouth and throat. As I began to near breaking point, aghast at the possibility of finding myself climaxing whilst servicing him, I felt his huge manhood twitch and jerk, with the grunts coming from his throat suddenly turning louder and more urgent. Then, to my joy and relief, he erupted - thick, viscous fluid pumping imperiously into the back of my begging throat. I struggled to take in his copious discharge, so warm and salty and masculine against my little lapping tongue. "Swallow it, girl," he said, casually, "All of it." I had never previously been given such a command. The English boys had always allowed me to spit out their ejaculate. Yet I was so desperate to please and obey this masterful man, that I tried frantically to swallow every drop of his male juice, looking up at him obediently from my knees as I did so, trying to show him my willingness to comply with his orders as I gulped it all down. Spurt after spurt flowed into me and despite my best efforts the warm fluid began leaking from the corners of my mouth, dribbling down my chin and onto the smooth white mounds of my bare breasts. Coach Lafitte continued to pump his hips back and forth until every last drop of his semen had either disappeared down my throat, or was on my body. Only then did he release his iron grip of my blonde hair and ease his still twitching member from between my widely parted lips. I remained where I was, kneeling before him, his semen running down me. I felt as if I could no longer as much as move without his express permission and I anxiously awaited his assessment of my performance. Had I done well enough that he would agree to sign my replacement visa application? He took my blonde hair once more and, casually, as if my tresses were nothing more than a cloth or a rag, used them to wipe his member clean of my saliva and stray drops of his man juice. It was such an offhand manner in which to use my prized locks, which mean more to me than anything, and I know that I should have been terribly horrified and offended about it, and yet I found it absolutely thrilling. My only regret and concern was that he hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to my own sex, now practically throbbing with desire, wet and hot, as if beseeching the penetration of a man. My own desires seemed basically irrelevant to Coach Lafitte, as once he had completed wiping himself on my hair, he simply pulled up his zip. "Well, Miss Pye," he said, "You certainly give very good head and most of the coaching staff agree that you're the hottest little number on the squad this year. Furthermore you can't even spell your own name correctly on an important form. From all of that I would say that you're definitely cheerleader material, wouldn't you?" From my knees I looked down, blushing. Did this mean that he would sign? "Sir, yes, Sir." I said meekly. I didn't know what else to say. "Well, you can get up now and I'll sign your application." I felt tears of gratitude prick my blue eyes. I picked up the discarded towel, rose to my feet, and wrapped it tightly around myself once more. "Sir, thank you, Sir." He scrawled a signature on a form. I saw my picture on it, and various of my details. "I'll inform you when your new visa comes through. In the meantime, please bear in mind that you are technically here in America illegally. Do not attempt to leave the country. or have any dealings with the police or customs. You can't afford any more slip-ups - you are on your last chance now. Is that clear, Miss Pye?" "Sir, yes, Sir. I promise i won't let you down, Sir," I had never been in any sort of trouble with the authorities, and certainly didn't expect to start now. "See that you don't, girl. Don't bother closing the door on your way out, I am now leaving." "Sir, Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," I replied, and walked slowly back to the changing rooms, my mind in a whirl of conflicting emotions. Behind me I heard him leave his office and walk away in the opposite direction to the staff car park. I was practically on fire with desire. A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 02 CHAPTER 2: I am given a new uniform and travel to a new part of town In my absence Chloe and friends had forced open my locker, and all of my things - clothes, money, keys, 'phone, purse, make-up and so on - had been emptied out. In their place was just a shoe-box, with a post-it note attached. With a sinking heart I read the note. "Dear Little Miss Goodie Two-Shoes, We couldn't wait for you any longer. What were you doing in there with Coach? (as if we didn't know, slut!). We've gone to the restaurant to set up your squad dare. We've ordered you a pre-paid cab. Go to the Sake Lounge where we will give you your stuff back in exchange for a forfeit. P.S. As an extra penalty for being Coach's slut, we decided that you don't get to wear panties. Love and kisses, Chloe." I smiled ruefully, trying to compose myself. I dried myself down a little and cleaned myself up before opening the package. I felt my heart sink even lower as I saw the outfit that I was to wear. The most conspicuous part of it were a pair of bright red, high-heeled shoes. I wondered where Chloe had got them, and how difficult it would be to walk in them. My highest heels, those that I wore for special occasions, were not even half the height of these. The other items in the shoe-box were two scraps of cotton. On further examination they revealed themselves to be a skirt and a crop top. Eager to be wearing something at least, I put them on. The skirt was bright red, matching the heels, and absurdly short. On the front and back of it was a motif, a diagonal cross in blue, with each limb of the cross containing white stars. It was even shorter than our official uniforms, which were already, in my opinion, too short to wear off the field. Furthermore it was split on one side, all the way up to the waist band with two buttons, one white and one blue, just an inch or so apart, all that held it together. It brought a new meaning to the term 'skimpy', and I was in little doubt that wearing such a mockery of a skirt, without panties, in a public restaurant, would be a nightmare. I put on the crop top, which was tight and low cut, revealing plenty of my cleavage and also baring my midriff. It was also held together by a couple of buttons, at the front, in the middle, which made it easy to put on, but it seemed as if they might give way at any moment. I strongly suspected that Chloe had especially chosen one that was a size or two too small for me. It would be just like her. It had the same diagonal cross motif as the skirt. I checked the corners of my ransacked locker. Nothing. I sighed again then sat down and began to put the heels on. I knew that it would require careful concentration just to walk in them. Once I had the heels in place I stood and, wriggling, pulled the skirt as far down upon my hips as I could make it go, straining the little blue and white buttons as I did so. Even when I had pulled it down so that they were practically popping off it was still only just long enough to afford any basic decency and I could see that even the slightest breeze was going to compromise my modesty severely. The anticipation of being out in public wearing such an ensemble, no doubt coupled with the memory of my encounter with Coach Lafitte seemed to combine to send an insistent surge of sudden desire through my body. Almost without knowing I was doing it, my hand was gliding over my right breast, feeling my nipple hard and projecting through the tight top. My fingers sliding down over my taut, bared midriff. I tilted my head back slightly and parted my lips, feeling down still further over the thin material of my skirt, and then up and underneath it. I moaned quietly as the questing tips of my fingers found the little nut of my protruding love bud. I felt a quake of excitement course through my provocatively clad body. I ran my finger back and forth over the hard little nut of flesh. Then I caught sight of myself in the changing room mirror, standing, knees bent, hand exploring under my tiny skirt. For a moment I thought that I might climax there and then. It was as if sucking off Coach Lafitte had triggered something deep within me. I had always been a shy girl, determined not to do anything that might be regarded as 'naughty' or 'scandalous', and yet I had just pleasured a black man, much older than I, at his command, nude upon my knees, my hands behind my back. Now, just thinking about it, here I was wantonly touching myself in the squad changing room. These did not seem to be at all the actions of a shy, demure, English rose, and yet, as I glanced down at my half-clad body once more, I whimpered softly, and almost without realising that I was doing so, pressed my slim fingers inside myself, pushing gently. The muscles of my dripping sex contracted about them, as I began to work back and forth. A further, louder, moan of pleasure escaped my parted lips and I threw back my head and closed my eyes tightly, allowing the thrilling sensations to wash over me. I was lost in the pleasure that my actions were eliciting from my body. I groaned loudly, my breasts pressing forward against the thin fabric of the crop top. I knew that my climax was already close, and that it was going to be immense. I began to move faster and faster, ramming my hips forward, lost in myself, oblivious to everything except my wanton desires. I felt the juices from my sex soaking my fingers. "You order taxi, girlie?" I gasped, opening my eyes to see that, to my shame and mortification, a man was standing at the changing room door! He was bearded, and wore foreign dress including a turban. He was staring at me with a mixture of shock, contempt, and lust. I quickly moved my hands away from between my legs. I did not know whether he had knocked, nor how much of my lascivious exhibition he had witnessed. I'm sure that I blushed crimson. "Y...yes, Sir," I stammered. "You late," he said, "Taxi only paid to go to Downtown, not to wait for long time." I recalled the note from Chloe saying that a pre-paid taxi had been ordered to take me to the restaurant for my squad dare. "I...I'm sorry," I said, lamely, "I was getting ready." I got unsteadily to my feet, still aflame with desire, and tottered over to the door in the high heels. I could feel my juices trickling down the inside of my thighs and hoped desperately that they wouldn't show beneath the little skirt. As we stepped outside I feared the slightest breeze as we walked from the changing room to where the man's cab was waiting. How long had he been standing there? Oh God! And yet still I felt on tenterhooks, on the very brink of a precipice of arousal, my body practically quivering as I, trying to ignore his staring gaze, climbed awkwardly into the back seat of his vehicle. He got into the front seat and I could see him checking my body out in his rear-view mirror. "Where you want go?" he asked, brusquely. "Th...the Sake Lounge?" I said, nervously. I fortunately remembered that that was where the note had said they were going. "Where you say?" asked the cabbie truculently. I repeated the name of the place and then spelt it out. "S...A...K...E...Lounge," The driver nodded, "Okay, gashti, I know that place. I see that place many times. I take you there." I found it amazing that in Bayton the taxi drivers seemed to want a medal simply for knowing where places were. Surely that was a basic part of their job? In this case, I was glad that he knew where it was, as I had no idea. It had been talked about before, being one of the squad hang-outs, and I knew that it was a swish and overpriced sushi restaurant, although I had never been invited along before. I guessed the reason that this particular restaurant had been chosen for my dare was that I had let slip that I disliked sushi. No doubt Chloe's plan was to make me eat some. I was sure that I could probably manage to eat a little of the disgusting stuff. Perhaps they might give me my clothes and other possessions back first. I wasn't really familiar with what squad dares entailed. Surely they didn't try to embarrass you too much? We were all meant to be on the same team after all. It was quite a long journey and the driver seemed to spend more time looking in his rear-view mirror than anything else, and several times he almost drifted off the road. Still aflame from my antics in the changing room, I found myself practically squirming in the back seat of his cab, my sex still wet and throbbing. I tried to think of other things to calm myself down a little, but it was exceedingly difficult to do so, dressed as I was. I pressed my bare legs tightly together to try to stop him looking up my skirt. I didn't dare cross them. I felt like a taut bowspring, my body in a kind of delicious torment, as if some sort of hot trigger had been pulled deep inside me. I just couldn't get out of my head the way that I had felt kneeling before Coach Lafitte, my hands behind me, servicing him with my lips and tongue, desperate to persuade him to sign my replacement visa application form. I was sure that I had been on the very brink of the most glorious feelings in my life, yet it had been shattered by the sudden appearance of this gruff, disapproving cabbie. I was practically panting as I sat, unable to suppress a slight whimper that brought another disapproving look from the rear-view mirror. Determinedly I suppressed the strong urging that almost seemed to come independently from my fingers - to allow them to recommence their delicious and salacious explorations. After what seemed an age the cab pulled to a halt and the man hurried out and almost ran round to open the door for me. "This the place," he said. He waited for me to get out, and I blushed, guessing that he was not opening the door for me out of simple courtesy. I have no doubt that his excessive vigilance for my welfare was rewarded as I attempted the practically impossible task of manoeuvring myself out of his cab without displaying all of my charms and assets. Once I managed to get out, he stood there, obviously waiting for a tip. I shrugged my shoulders, nervously. "You are pre-paid, aren't you?" "Tip not pre-paid," he said. "Well I'm sorry," I said, "but I don't have any money for a tip." He scowled. I wondered for a moment if he was going to demand the same sort of services as I had given to Coach Lafitte, this time in exchange for a tip. In my heightened state of arousal I might even have complied! Partly to my relief he walked back to his cab. "Seeing you fucking yourself have to be my tip, gashti," he cackled, dismissively, as he climbed in and quickly pulled away. So he had seen me! Even without anyone around I felt myself cringe with embarrassment and mortification. What sort of girl allows herself to be caught masturbating in a public place? The same sort as sucks off her coach so that he reapplies for her visa, I thought to myself. I looked around to find myself standing on a street very different to those that I had previously encountered in America. Whereas the university sector of Bayton abounded with designer clothes stores, coffee shops and hair salons, here it seemed that almost every shop front was boarded up. The few that were not had heavy grilles in front of them, and revealed themselves to be mostly pawn shops and so forth. The road itself was full of pot-holes, and the few cars parked on the side of it were generally burnt out and derelict. Some of the vehicles had bricks propping them up rather than wheels. All that I wore was the pair of bright red six inch heels, the matching little skirt and the crop top. I could hardly have been more conspicuous had I been totally nude. There was a gust of wind, and I felt my little red skirt blow up. I tried to hold it down and desperately hoped that no-one was watching me from the dingy alleyways that branched off from the street every few yards. I shivered, glad that the thoroughfare seemed deserted. It seemed a very strange venue in which to locate a fashionable sushi restaurant, although I knew that shabby chic, distressed warehouse walls and such, were all the rage. There was an old-fashioned, no doubt fashionably retro, neon sign that said "Sake Lounge". The 'S' was made up of what looked like a large green eel. I thought with some trepidation that pretty soon I would probably find myself swallowing eel or even worse if the squad dare went as I expected. I sighed to myself. I didn't want to go through with it, yet it seemed that I would have to, if I wished to reclaim my possessions from Chloe and the others. Perhaps too, once I had eaten the sushi, or whatever other forfeit she had in mind, I would be accepted more by the rest of the squad. Even so, just to enter a crowded restaurant dressed as I was seemed an ordeal, and I hesitated, trying to get myself ready for whatever lay ahead. To my dismay, one of the scruffiest, ugliest men that I had ever seen lurched out of the alleyway closest to me and staggered towards me. "Hey, Blondie! How 'bout a buck for a cup o' coffee?" I shuddered. He was one of the most disgusting examples of humanity that I had ever encountered. I could smell the pungent aroma of strong alcohol on his breath, mixed with the even more unpleasant smell from his unwashed body and ragged clothes. I absolutely loathe being solicited in the street for money. Have these people no shame? "I...I...don't have any money on me, Sir," I replied, which at least was true in this instance. He squinted at me. "H...hey," he said, "You're...you're a cheerleader, ain't cha? You girls always put it about, how 'bout a li'l kiss or somethin, doll?" He lurched towards me, and got a hand on the top of my skirt. I managed to shake it free, but as I did so, I felt a hard digit take the opportunity, with my defences down, as it were, to grope between my legs, and a goosing finger suddenly exploring my still moist private area. Desperately I pushed him away, and he, unsteady on his feet, lurched back. To my intense relief his finger dislodged from my love hole. I backed towards the door of the bar. "Hey, look Blondie, you're all wet! I make you hot, huh?" He waved his dripping finger accusingly, and then lunged for me once more. In my high heels I knew that I had no hope of outrunning him. I had only one option. Any reservations that I might have had about entering the venue were dispelled there and then. If I could just get in I would be in a public place with the rest of the squad, and safe from the unwanted attentions of this horrid tramp. I pushed open the door and went in, turning to close it forcefully in his face. For a moment I leant with my back to the door, panting a little, trying to catch my breath. I expected him to try and force open the door, but no pressure came. I saw dim shapes through a fug of smoke. I had never seen anyone smoking inside a bar in the University District, and had thought it to be illegal. A television in a corner of the bar was showing a basketball match. On one side there was a small raised area like a stage, that for some reason had a pole in the middle of it. I had never been in such a dingy looking establishment. There was a hum of conversation that stopped just after I came through the door. I had the uncomfortable feeling that every eye in the room was turning to stare at me. I squinted through the smoky gloom, but could see no sign of Chloe and the others anywhere. As far as I could make out through the smoky fug, every face was black. In addition, the expressions on their faces as they took me in seemed to be of disdain or even outright hostility. Several shook their heads as if in disgust. As a strikingly pretty girl, I could never recall provoking such a reaction when entering a bar. For an instant I felt my nerve diminish somewhat and briefly considered turning tail, but then remembered the disgusting hobo who would still no doubt be lurking outside. I swallowed, hard, trying to settle my fluttering tummy, then made for the bar counter trying to look less nervous than I felt, smoothing down my little red skirt with the blue diagonal white starred cross motif. A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 03 CHAPTER 3 - I make my stage debut I was, at least to some extent, relieved when a large man came up to me, smiled and said, "Hello girl, we bin' expectin' you, I'm Leroy. Come with me and we'll get yo' ready." I tried to smile back, but inside I was nervously wondering what Chloe had in store for me, and what role this man was going to play in it. He led me towards a door next to the small stage. Behind was a small room with a mirror and a dressing table. "This here's where yo' get prepared," he said, "But look like yo' all set to go." "I suppose I'm 'tonight's entertainment'?," I asked, trying hard to keep any trace of bitterness out of my voice. "You sure are," he replied, "Along with the basketball o' course. That's what yo' gon' wear is it?" "Well, I guess so," I said with a note of sarcasm. It wasn't as if they'd given me any choice. "Well," he said, "It's up to you, but yo' gon' cause quite a stir in that li'l number." I nodded, impatient to get the whole thing over with. Yes, my outfit was skimpy, but there was, I thought, no need for him to make reference to it and add to my discomfort. "When does it all get going?" He looked briefly at the television. "In a few minutes," he said, "At half time. Yo' not from roun' here are you?" "No," I said, "I'm from England." He looked at me doubtfully "Yo' got a pretty accent," he said, "But yo' soun' kinda nervous." He was definitely right about that. "I haven't really done anything like this before," I said, "I'm not really sure what it will involve." He nodded sympathetically, "First-timer huh? Yeah, can be nerve-racking first time 'round I guess. Tell yo' what, how 'bout a little drink to settle yo' nerves?" I looked at him gratefully. I was jolly thirsty. "Oh, yes," I said, "I'd absolutely love a cola." He laughed. "You wan' somethin' stronger than that, girlie." He opened a draw in the dressing table and pulled out a half-full bottle and a rather grimy glass. He poured out a measure and handed it to me. "Here you go, girlie, we keep this here specially for backstage nerves. Gulp it down in one, and you'll feel a whole lot better." I looked at it curiously. "Is it sake?" I asked. "Hell, no," he answered, "Moonshine. We make it ourselves. Drink it up in one, girl, and you'll feel fine and dandy in no time at all." "That's a nice name," I said, nervously holding the glass. I don't generally drink alcohol, but my nerves certainly needed a bit of steadying both after what I had been through, and for what presumably lay in store. I closed my eyes and poured it down my throat. I began to splutter. It felt like my throat was on fire. I couldn't speak and looked up at him in horror. He laughed. "Don't worry, white girl, it'll soon get yo' goin' a bit. Reckon yo' gon' need it too, dressed like that in front o' this audience. I smiled nervously, still unable to speak. I already felt a little dizzy. Another man came in. He looked so much like the other he must have been his brother, and might well have been his twin, however he was somewhat larger in both height and girth. "This here's my brother Eli," said Leroy, "He helps out sometimes, don't you Eli?" Eli nodded. He seemed a man of few words. "I'm Cherri," I said as pleasantly as possible.. "E-li," he said, slowly. As he looked me up and down I felt my flesh crawl. I'd say he was undressing me with his eyes, but given my outfit, there wasn't really that much to undress. He was bigger than Leroy, bigger even than Coach Lafitte, although tending much more towards fat. "Well, Cherri, look like yo' ready to go on straight away, huh? What music yo' want me to play?" asked Leroy. I shrugged, "I don't really mind. Choose something you like." He looked surprised, "Yo' sure?" he said, "The girls normally pick." I suppose it was a nice gesture but I didn't really want to spend lots of time coming up with music. It was a squad dare, not my wedding. "I just want to get it all over with quickly," I said. "Alright," he said,grinning now, "Well, I'll put on somethin' appropriate for ya'" "When do I get my stuff?" I asked. He handed me an envelope. "There yo' go, babydoll," he said, "Fifty bucks in there." I felt mystified. "You're giving me fifty dollars?" I asked. "Sure," he said, quickly, "Plus you get to keep any money thrown on stage o' course. Yo' do a good job out there, babydoll, an you'll triple that, I guarantee." "So what do I have to do for this fifty dollars?" I asked, curiously. The whole thing was getting bizarre. Was I going to be paid for doing the squad dare? "What d'yo' have to do?" he asked a note of incredulity in his voice, and then chuckled, "Hell, babydoll, yo' have to take your goddamn clothes off. Ain't too complicated, is it?" "You want me to strip?" I gasped, my eyes wide, "On stage? In front of people?" "Sure we want yo' to strip," he said, "What the hell yo' think I'm givin' yo' fifty bucks for?" I swallowed, trying to take this in. "But I'm a cheerleader," I said. He shrugged his shoulders again, "Don't matter to me what the fuck you are. Cheerleader, stripper, pretty much the same thing, ain't it?" "Hasn't Chloe been in touch with you?" I asked, "Isn't this my squad dare?" "Don't know what the fuck yo' talkin 'bout, sweetcheeks," he said. I looked at the envelope trying to work out what was happening. If this wasn't my squad dare then what on earth was going on? "This is the Sake Lounge?" I asked, a horrible suspicion dawning in my head. "The Sake Lounge?" he looked at me incredulously, "What the fuck is the Sake Lounge? This the Snake Lounge." I gasped. The big green thing outside on the sign that I had presumed to have been an eel had been a snake. That explained the fangs. I was in the wrong place entirely. I silently cursed the cab driver who had brought me here. He waved the envelope in front of me, "Now, quit messin' aroun', doll, we 'bout to start. Yo' want this money or not?" I felt my breathing constricted as I tried to weigh up my options. If I was in the wrong place, then it meant that I was going to have to get right across town, wearing the tiny outfit, without money, 'phone or even knowing where I was going. I thought of the scruffy tramp outside, and of who or what else might be lurking in those squalid alleys. I knew too that if I should find myself in any sort of trouble the police would in all likelihood discover that I was in the country without a valid visa, and that I would probably be deported. If I took the envelope, on the other hand, I would have enough money for a cab and some left over. However, I certainly didn't want to take my clothes off in public. "Do I definitely have to take all of my clothes off?" Leroy looked at me, as if a little bit disappointed "Princess type, huh? Well, some girls just do topless," he said, "But you'll get a damn sight more tips if you go all the way." I thought about this. I didn't really need the money from the tips, as the fifty dollars would surely more than suffice. Going topless in front of an audience would be terribly embarrassing, but, after all, I had gone topless on holiday in Europe last summer, and I could still recall the tingle of excitement that I had felt inside when the European men had ogled my bare breasts. I knew that I had lovely breasts. Perhaps it was the 'moonshine' inside me, or my residual feelings after sucking Coach Lafitte, but I felt a wave of excitement wash over me as I considered baring my breasts on stage in this seedy establishment. I found that I could hardly speak. I barely managed to croak out in a whisper "I..I'll do it." Leroy smiled. "Alright, sweetcheeks, I'll go an' introduce yo'. Eli, you go and collect some glasses or somethin'" "Aw Leroy, can't I watch her?" "No, yo' got work to do." Eli went through the door leading to the bar, pouting like a small child, while Leroy opened another. I could hear raucous whoops as he emerged onto the stage. My mind was racing. I considered that I could probably get away with a few basic cheer moves, repeated a few times, giving them a final thrill by removing my top a few seconds before the end of the song. My main worry was that I wasn't wearing any panties, and I knew that I would have to keep high kicks and similar manouevres to an absolute minimum. I heard Leroy on stage, "Ladies and gen'l'men, for your half-time entertainment, we have a real hot little number, just dyin' to come out here and show you what she's made of. Please give a Snake Lounge welcome to the lovely Cherri." I heard a few bored sounding claps. My stomach was churning in anticipation of what I was to do. To find myself having to dance in this scruffy backstreet bar was something that I could barely have imagined even an hour or two previously. Yet the intense feelings of arousal that I had experienced earlier, whilst sucking off Coach Lafitte, were now stronger than ever, as if the prospect of stripping in front of a rowdy crowd of black men had triggered something in some dark exhibitionist part of my brain. I recalled Coach Lafitte's words about all cheerleaders being 'blonde bimbos'. I felt a wetness seeping into me. I was finding it harder and harder to think straight. I checked that my top and skirt were straight and then, feeling a little giddy, stepped through the door and onto the stage. I was immediately dazzled by a strong spotlight shining right into my eyes. I couldn't see a thing and involuntarily raised a hand up to my face. Rather than cheering there was a strange silence, as if the audience were somehow stunned. The music began. To my dismay I heard the opening bars of a song that I loathed, and hardly one that I would have chosen to have danced to, in the circumstances. "I know I may be young, but I've got feelings too. And I need to do what I feel like doing. So let me go and just listen." The so-called stage was nothing more that a six foot square platform raised about eighteen inches from the rest of the bar. On one side was the door that I had just come through, the second side was just bare wall, and on both other sides there were seats right next to the stage. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the spotlight I could see Leroy sitting right next to the stage and other men moving to these 'ringside seats', doubtless to obtain a better view of my performance. I began to dance slowly at first, trying my best to be alluring and graceful, although i must admit that I had no real idea of what was expected of me. "All you people look at me like I'm a little girl. Well did you ever think it be okay for me to step into this world." I like to dance of course, and as a cheerleader I was reasonably confident in what I was doing, even in the high heels. I tried to blot out of my mind the men sitting up close to the tiny stage, ogling and leering at my skimpily clad body, picked out by the spotlight. I tried to imagine myself cheerleading with the rest of the squad, or at a swish nightclub dancing with friends. I began to hear boos coming from the audience. Surely my dancing wasn't that bad? I tried to move a little faster, and sway my hips a little bit more. I thought about executing a pirouette but thought better of it as the tiny skirt would in all likelihood fly up as I twirled. "Always saying little girl don't step into the club. Well I'm just tryin' to find out why 'cos dancing's what I love." Something fairly light hit me on my nose and then something on my bare midriff. I realised with surprise that some members of the audience were throwing beer mats at me! "Racist bitch!" "Wearin' that goddamn flag in here!" "Fuck off, you dumb white whore!" I really couldn't understand this reaction. With the spotlight shining on me as it did I couldn't see a great deal of my audience, but I could certainly sense that they were dissatisfied with some aspect of my performance. I tried to step up my dancing even further, wriggling and writhing my hips. putting my arms above my head. "I know I may come off quiet, I may come off shy. But I feel like talking, feel like dancing when I see this guy." There were more boos. A cigarette butt bounced off my left thigh, luckily for me the unlit end Alright I thought, I'll show you all what I can do. I hadn't been planning on the next step so early in my improvised routine, but it seemed that urgent action was called for. I undid the two buttons on my little red crop top, where the limbs of the blue diagonal cross with the white stars met, and then opened it, holding it for a little while teasingly in front of my body. The booing diminished. I cast it to one side and a small cheer went up, accompanied by whistles and whoops. I realised that my nipples were bullet hard, protruding from my firm breasts as if begging to be fondled and sucked. I heard lewd remarks over the sound of the music and the whiny voice of the singer. My breasts bounced freely now, jiggling up and down in front of this audience of leering, shouting black men I let my body sway to the suggestive beat of the pop song, my arms over my head. "What's practical is logical. What the hell, who cares? All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there." "Bitch still got that fucking flag on her fucking skirt." "Racist little whore!" Once more I could sense that my audience was growing somewhat restless, although if they thought that I was going to take my skirt off, then they had another think coming. The chorus of the hideous song began, and I gyrated to it as best I could. I could feel wetness seeping onto my sex lips. "I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it. I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it." I suddenly felt myself drenched and realised that someone had thrown beer at me. I felt something like a few spots of rain and wondered what was happening. I found then to my considerable consternation that I was being spat at. "You fucking white bitch." "Booo!" "Take that fucking racist skirt off!" This was getting ridiculous. I decided that I had had enough, fifty pounds or no fifty pounds. I certainly wasn't going to stay up there and be spat at and have beer thrown on me. I waved, as if to say goodbye and went to the door at the back of the stage. To my chagrin it wouldn't budge. It appeared to be firmly locked! "Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me, To another time and place. Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me, " I was no longer in control of the situation. I was trapped on the little stage, with a baying horde of black men ogling and insulting me. I spluttered as the contents of an ashtray were thrown in the direction of my face, luckily mostly missing me. "You ain't goin' nowhere, bitch." "Take yo' fuckin' skirt off before we do it for ya'!" I needed to think carefully. There seemed now to be no sign of Leroy. "You little white racist whore!" I knew that I had to do something and my options seemed somewhat constrained. Reluctantly, I reached for the buttons on the waistband of my skirt. I undid them and the garment dropped away. At least the spitting and throwing of beer stopped as the men took me in. I dare say that they had expected me to be wearing something underneath. The thought that I was nude on stage, apart from my heels, hit me with a shock. I had gone far further with my disrobing than I had initially intended. To add to my growing trepidation, I felt a new bolt of desperate arousal course through me. It felt as if my whole body was on fire with excitement. "I really wanna dance, tonight with you. I really wanna do what you want me to." The men's attitude seemed to have changed now that I no longer had any clothes on. It certainly wasn't so hostile, but there was a different edge to it. "Get on the goddamn pole you filthy little white cunt!" "Show us how a white slave dances!" There was laughter. With a trembling hand, I reached out and took hold of the pole. Not sure of the technique, I began to swing tentatively around it. There were a few cheers, and I moved closer to the pole, pressing it between my bare breasts. The abrupt contact of the metal with my pliant flesh made me shudder and I was unable to suppress an involuntary moan of desire. Almost automatically, I pressed myself to the pole lower down, my legs astride it, and as it came into contact with my damp lovebud, I felt a vivid, unprecedented, sensation of pure lust course through my nude body. My knees suddenly felt weak, my body wobbled, and I had to practically hold myself up against the pole. "Oh God! Oh God!" I moaned softly, and tried to pull myself away from the pole, frightened. Dancing naked in front of all these shouting black men shouldn't be affecting me like this. It should be disgusting me, shouldn't it? Yet, I could not deny the lightning bolts of arousal that seemed to shoot through me, nor the wetness seeping out between my sex lips as I pressed against the pole, displaying my hot, nude, white, cheerleader's body to these leering black men. "The fuckin' pole's wet!" "Fuck me, the bitch is gaggin' for it!" The chorus of the song came round again. "I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it. I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it." I closed my eyes and pressed myself hard against the pole, eager now to feel the sensation of the smooth metal against my swollen love bud. I was moving my hips up and down against the metal, my movements now on a flimsy border between dancing and pure self-pleasure. I spread my legs wider, bending my knees, arching my back. I was no longer in control of my movements. I could hear the audience cheering raucously now, their hostility replaced by lewd laughter as they watched me grind my lower body against the pole. I found myself on my knees, at the bottom of the pole, and then on my back, legs wide, knees bent, pressing myself against it for all I was worth. The men cheered more loudly, sensing that all pretense of dancing had now vanished, and that they were simply watching a wanton, lascivious girl, out of control, pleasuring herself against a metal pole, dripping with her own sex juices, for their viewing pleasure and amusement. My body arched up as I began to move my sex up and down the pole more urgently, close to utter rapture as my clitoris rubbed against the smooth metal, my love hole absolutely leaking with my arousal. Oh God! I knew that I was about to come, but I was so far gone, I could do absolutely nothing to stop myself. The chorus repeated again. "I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it. I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it." As the raucous music came to a climax, so did I, my nude body writhing on the stage, against the pole. I could heard my shrill, primitive cries of pleasure mingling with the cheering and whooping of the audience. I sensed them pressing closer, some of them even on the stage now to get a closer look at what was happening. I felt someone touch my thigh, the feeling sending me higher still. My spasmodic climax seemed to go on for ever, but as the music stopped I felt my passion ebb, my body lying on the floor, my breasts heaving. I sought to regain my breath after the exertions of my dance and inadvertent orgasm. The sensations of ineffable pleasure began to be replaced by those of utter shame and mortification as the realisation of what I had done began to hit home. The cabbie catching me pleasuring myself in the changing rooms had been bad enough, but now I had brought myself to a shuddering climax on stage in front of a whole audience! A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 03 I heard the men call out for more, and I felt more light objects hitting me, this time not beer mats and cigarette ends, but dollar bills. I pulled myself wearily to my feet, aware of the eyes staring at my nudity, picked out so starkly by the glaring spotlight in front of these ogling, drooling men. I had certainly earnt my fifty dollars, I thought, but now at least I could get a taxi home to the University district. Leroy was back on stage, carrying a chair, and a bucket full of tickets. "Alright," he said, to the audience, "Thanks to the lovely Cherri, and her..umm...unique dance moves. Now, for the next part of our halftime show we have the draw to decide which of you lucky guys gets to join the lovely Cherri for her lapdance." A roar of excitement went up from the men, as he held the bucket out so that I could pick the winning ticket. A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 04 I hadn't really predicted this turn events of all. As a cheerleader I wasn't particularly used to performing lapdances. I protested nervously. "I...I...you didn't say anything about a lapdance, Sir." "There's always a fuckin' lapdance. The lapdance raffle is what make us the money. Now pick a ticket." It seemed that I was going to have to endure a measure of further indignity before I would be able to get my taxi across town. Nervously I selected a ticket and handed it to Leroy. "137!" he called. I saw men checking their numbers. "Me!" said a voice from the back. There were groans as a smallish old man came to the front. "Well done, Ralph," said Leroy, now please take your seat and the lovely...uhhh...what was your name again?" "Cherri," I repeated. "The lovely Cherry will now entertain you further. Don't think she's a cherry after that last performance though, hey fellers?" There was ribald laughter. Some more music began. If anything the choice of music was even more humiliating than the previous 'number', and now, in addition, I had to pleasure this old man sitting expectantly on stage, with his legs widely parted. I licked my lips nervously. "Me so horny, me so horny, me love you long time." went the music. It seemed that they had picked the most humiliating, misogynist soundtracks possible for my performance. I tried to gyrate as sexily as I could before the seated old man, my insides still boiling from my recent orgasm. I saw his wizened eyes taking in my body, dropping from my well-formed breasts and down to my most intimate area. I knew that my sex juices were shiny on my nether lips and the upper part of my inner thighs. I had never felt so ashamed in my life, and yet somehow, even now, a perverse element of arousal was pervading my body. I moaned quietly, trying to ignore the words of the song. The old man gestured to me. I realised that he wanted me closer to him. Nervously, I complied, swaying my body, my hands tousling my now unkempt blonde mane of hair. With his finger he motioned that he wanted me to turn around. Tears in my eyes I obeyed. I guess he wanted to see my back side, my bottom, rather than my breasts and sex. By this manoeuvre I was now once more facing out. The searchlight was still on me, but I could easily make out the drooling, leering faces of my audience. I wondered what Chloe would think now, if she could see me. No doubt she would be satisfied with her revenge, even though it had been essentially inadvertent. I imagined them all at the Sake Lounge now, wondering where I was, probably thinking that I hadn't turned up for my squad dare, and coming up with further indignities for me to do, and unpleasant names to call me. To my surprise I felt the old man's hands at my hips, gripping me surprisingly tightly. I let out a small moan of protest. Surely he wasn't allowed to manhandle me in this humiliating way? But I could see from the eyes of the black men clustering around the stage that there was nothing untoward in his behaviour from their point of view. Their faces were grinning, several licking their lips, as if in anticipation. The old man's hands pulled me back, to sit on his lap. As I did so, I felt something underneath me, touching me between my legs, something hard, fleshy. I let out a gasp of dismay. Was it what I thought it was? I was quickly left in no doubt as he firmly held my hips and I found myself impaled upon his fleshy rod. His hands were still at my bare hips, manipulating me further onto him. I grimaced. Was there to be no end to the humiliations heaped upon me on the small stage? Despite myself, the feeling of him, now inside my sex brought a renewed surge of desperate arousal into my belly. I had been longing, in the heart of me, for such penetration ever since I had been on my knees in front of Coach Lafitte. Neither he nor the taxi driver had obliged. My yearnings and frustrations had no doubt contributed directly to my embarrassingly brazen performance at the pole, when I had undoubtedly allowed my baser urges to completely get the better of me. Now I was being penetrated by an old black man, in public, on stage, spotlights trained on my quivering white nude body. He began to push up and down, jiggling me, and after only three or four such thrusts inside my hot, willing body, the effect on me was electric. I arched my neck, pushing out my breasts, spiralling close to the edge of my chasm of lust. Oh God! I was going to come again! "Aiiiiiii" I cried out, bucking and writhing upon his intrusive piston of flesh. "Oooooohh! Goddddd!" I was totally out of control once more. What had happened to me? A demure and shy young English rose just a few hours before, now reduced to a wanton white slut spasmodically climaxing on a stage in front of an audience of black men. I closed my eyes tightly letting the amazing orgasm wash over me like a tidal wave of wanton lust. I wanted it to go on for ever. I suddenly felt a crack of pain across my left cheek, then another across my right. Panic-stricken I opened my eyes. Above me towered a furious looking black girl. She wore a tiny top and a pair of denim hotpants, heavily made up, with eyelashes that were manifestly false. "What the fuck yo' think yo' doin' white girl?" she said. For a moment, I thought it might be the old man's wife. I was surprised to see that she was so young and pretty. "What yo' doin fuckin' up on stage, ho? This is my gig." I was impaled upon the old man's rod and at her mercy. The girl looked down at me furiously. I realised that the music had stopped. She tried to hit me again, this time with her fingernails out, to scratch me, but Leroy had come up behind her, and held her hand. She turned angrily towards him. "What the fuck is this white ho doin' on my stage?" fumed the woman, gesturing at me. "Now hold on, Tammie-Mae," said Leroy, "You late. Guessed the agency sent this white slut along instead." "Instead?" yelled Tammie-Mae, "Instead? You think I go round letting guys fuck me on stage? What the fuck yo' doin' Leroy. You know the agency don't let us fuck on stage." I must have been crimson with embarrassment as they discussed me as if I was not there. Yet what could I say? I suppose I should have realised that there was a possibility that the real stripper would turn up, but events had happened so fast I had not really considered it. "Alright," said Leroy, "I din't mean to piss off the agency. This slut turned up claiming to be a stripper, so I put her on stage. Didn't realise she was some sort of exhibitionist white ho-slut want to fuck on stage." "You think the agency employ girls who fuck on stage?" screamed Tammie-Mae. "We just gave her your fifty bucks and she got down to it. How was i supposed to know?" "You gave her my money?" screamed Tammie-Mae. "I'll get it back," said Leroy looking pointedly at me, "Won't I?" I swallowed, trying to think what to say for the best. "Y-yes Sir," I said, quietly. I was still impaled on Ralph's rod, but it had gone limp inside me now. "Get up," said Tammie-Mae. With difficulty, I got to my feet, disengaging myself from the seated old man. "What about my goddamn lapdance?" said the old man, "I won it fair and square." "Alright," said Leroy, "Tammie-Mae'll give you a lapdance." "But I want a fuck now," he grumbled, "This white ho got me goin' now - ain't been so far gone since the Rockets won the World Title." "You won a lapdance," said Leroy, "Not a fuck. Give him a lapdance, Tammie-Mae." "I'm gonna do a pole dance," said Tammie-Mae, "Then a lap-dance later, but no fuckin'" "Aw, come on," said the old man. "No fuckin' way," said Tammie-Mae. They argued away. Leroy shrugged. "Alright, Tammie-Mae do what yo' wanna do," he said, "Ralph, go sit down, I'll have Eli bring you a free beer." The old man got up and left the stage, muttering to himself. "Yo' gonna come with me, white girl," said Leroy, "Get this mess all sorted out." Nervously, my head down, I followed him, back into the little room. "Yo' caused me a lot of trouble, white girl, comin' to our bar an' tryin' to steal money off the regular strippers. Got me in trouble with the agency. Folk round here, we don't like people who try to steal money." I saw him take the envelope containing the fifty bucks. How was I to get across town now? Before I could protest, Tammie-Mae burst into the room. She threw two objects at me. I realised that they were my discarded crop-top and skirt. I began to pick them up and put them on. "You know the fuckin' pole's wet Leroy?" Leroy almost sighed. "I guess it might be," he said, "She got a bit-over-excited on stage." He pointed at me. Tammie-Mae glowered at me, close to my face, as I pulled up my skirt. "You normally do that, white girl? Get the fuckin' pole wet, huh? What if I'm slidin' down the pole head first and can't get a grip, huh? Cos yo' fuckin white whore juice? Crack my goddamned skull on the floor. Yo' tryin' to kill me white girl, huh?" She prodded me just above my bare breasts, hard, insistent. "I...I...didn't mean...," I began. "Yo' didn't mean, huh?" she went on," Well you gonna clean it up, huh? I ain't cleanin' no white girl's whore juice off no fuckin' pole." "Alright, Tammie-Mae," said Leroy, resignedly, "She'll clean it, won't you?" I nodded bleakly. To be honest, the idea of going back out on stage and cleaning my own sex-juices off a stripper's pole did not particularly appeal, but I sensed that I did not hold many cards in my present circumstance. "May I have a rag or something to use?" I asked. "Yo' can use that fuckin' rag you got in your hand," said Tammie-Mae, pointing at my crop-top, clutched in my hand, "Fuckin' white mans flag." "Do it," said Leroy, unsympathetically, "Then come back in here and we'll sort this out." Nervously I went back onto the stage, under the supervision of Tammie-Mae. I could sense the hostility, and heard raucous catcalls and mutterings of disapproval. It was one of the most shaming episodes in my life to clean my juices of arousal from a stripper's pole, under the supervision of a black stripper, and the gaze of leering, catcalling men. I wiped up and down, trying to get every drop of my 'white whore juice', as Tammi-Mae had so delightfully put it, off the pole. Tammie-Mae, meanwhile went around the stage picking up all the dollar bills that had been thrown at the climax of my act. I saw that she was putting them in her little bag, but I was too frightened of her to point out that they were really mine. She frightened me more than Leroy. Eventually I got the pole dry enough for Tammie-Mae's satisfaction and was allowed to leave the stage once more to a chorus of disapproval, and humiliating comments involving my race, wantonness, and looks. Leroy was there in the backroom. An older lady had joined him, once more with a familial resemblance, and was looking at me with intense disapproval. "So, white girl," said Leroy, "You owe us four bucks. What yo' proposin' to do about it?" "F-four bucks," I said, "Wh-what for?" "For Ralph's drink," he said, "Compensation fo' the goddamn fuck-up yo' made o' yo' lapdance." I stammered, aghast, "B-but, I never said I was a stripper," I blurted out. "Yo' still took our fifty bucks," pointed out the older lady, "Folks roun' here, we don't take to folks that steal. Now we got that sorted out, no thanks to yo' but there's still Frank's drink to pay for." "I...I'll pay when I next come in," I stuttered, "I promise." "What if yo' don't never come back in?" said the lady, menacingly, "No, girlie, you gon' pay us up 'fore you leave, or I call the po-lice." "N..no," I said, quickly "P..please don't call the police." I saw her eyes narrow, and immediately realised that I had made a mistake by showing that I was apprehensive about them calling the police. "Yo' scared of the po-lice, huh, white girl?" asked the lady suspiciously, "Yo' a blackmarket whore or somethin'?" "N...no!" I protested, urgently, hating the way that the conversation was turning. How could anyone imagine that I was a blackmarket whore? Whatever that might be. Despite the rights and wrongs of the situation, I certainly didn't want to tell them that I didn't have a valid visa and that I might be deported back to England should the police came across me. "We don't have to call no po-lice, Ma" said Leroy, "I got a better idea. You ever wait on tables, white girl?" "I...I...a little bit," I said. This was true, as I had, briefly, had a Sunday waitress job at a little tea shop in my home village in England. "Well, yo' not wearin' too much and yo' shown us yo' got a pretty li'l pair o' titties. Now, our regular waitress, she sick today, an' we always wanna try out a topless waitress, so how 'bout yo' wait some tables? Just 'til you got enough tips to pay what yo' owe?" "Not that topless waitress shit again, Leroy," said Ma, dismissively, "How many time I tell you we runnin' a respectable bar. Don't want no topless waitress here. We ain't that sort o' place, just a bit o' innocent strippin' every weekend..." "Hell, Ma," retorted Leroy, "Topless waitress the thing now in Bayton. Lotta places usin' topless waitress. This l'il slut won' mind doin' it, so let's try it, see what sort o' take we get." Ma sighed, "Well, if yo' want to, boy, maybe shut you up goin' on 'bout it all the time," She glared at me, "You do a bit o' waitressin' for us girlie? So I don't have to call the po-lice on yo' pretty white ass." "S...sure," I stammered. Needless to say, I was very frightened that they were going to call the police, and I did at least know how to wait tables. I wasn't keen on working topless of course, but I knew that I possessed a lovely pair of breasts, and that Americans were generous tippers. It shouldn't take me long to get enough in tips to pay for the drink, and hopefully enough to order a taxi back to the University I thought. "Alright then girle, it's a deal, huh? That top ain't much good now you used it to clean up after yo'sel anyway. Hand it over." Reluctantly, I handed over my top and followed Ma and Leroy to the bar where Ma gave me a little round tray. I immediately used it to cover myself as best I could. "Alright," said Ma, "So we got ourselves a topless waitress fo' the evenin'. Happy now Leroy?" Leroy grinned. I noticed that Tammie-Mae had started her routine over by the stage. "Now, girlie," Ma continued, "When folks want service round here, they bang on the table, an' yo' go runnin'. Got it?" I nodded, desperate not to show anything in the way of disagreement. Almost on cue I heard a thumping on a table. "Go to it, white girl," said Ma, pointing to where the thumping was coming from, "Ol' Charlie, over there, he wanna drink." Doing my best to cover my breasts with the tray in the other, I scampered over to the table she had indicated, as best I could in the high red heels, wearing only my little skirt besides. I found myself beginning a new career as a topless waitress.