The Keep

Pussy Cat Club (Reluctant Rough Anal Sex) She’s a firecracker, a stripper without compare, and her bouncer friend is worried that her ego is too big to contain. Legrasse knows what she needs in order to get back on the straight and narrow. She needs to be treated like a slut, to be used and whipped and spanked until she cries. It’s a bitter pill to most, but Scarlett isn’t most people. She willingly gives him full control over her. This work contains graphic scenes of rough anal sex, a dominant man, a wicked belt and a horrible tease of a stripper that gets what’s coming to her. There’s also some lesbian action between two hot strippers as they’re watched by a customer – and an interloping bouncer. It is intended for adult readers. An terrifyingly hot short of over 7,000 words. Get updates through our Newsletter and receive Pussy Cat Club free!

Excerpt: 

The bass and drums of the band boomed throughout the packed club, cigarette smoke mixing with various herbs in a heavy cloud hovering a few inches above the crowd. A few people sat around on the navy and silver plush benches, though most stood, either surrounding the bar or pressing against one of the small circular stages with the silver poles sticking out of the ground, a lithe woman straddling each.

Altogether there were four of the small stages, spread around the room to allow proper space to stare, to tip, to hope for a fleeting glance or a brush of skin against skin. The strip club was packed; it hadn’t been this busy in many weeks, and the people at the front of the stages were all being crushed into it, though most didn’t seem to mind, their eyes inevitably working their way up and staring between the thin legs of the dancers.

The main stage was larger, with plenty of room for movement and play. While the girls on the mini stages twirled and shimmied, the main stage was alight with more elegant, graceful movements. Large motions of legs and arms, the nudity of the woman aglow in the vibrant lights, not a hint of modesty or insecurity in her buxom form.

Her legs were shapely, with a prominent curve to her calf, and thicker thigh, rounded hips and a sumptuous rear. Her waist was petite, the soft outline of her abdominal muscles apparent, and her large breasts topping her ribs. Her shoulders were narrow, her neck thin and graceful, her ebony hair pulled into two, long pigtails.

The outfit that she had so recently worn was strewn carelessly to the side, over top of her purse, covering it from the greedy eyes. A few stray bills were pushed politely into the bucket as she used the pole to slide to the ground, parting her legs and lifting one up straight, revealing her most guarded area. It was a quick and teasing gesture before she curled onto her knees, her back arching as she presented her rear towards the crowd and then crawled away, her motions serpentine in nature.

The music paused at the end of the song and she sat on her rear, her legs folded in hiding, her arms cupping her chest, teasing the onlookers.

When the music began once more, she stood with absolute grace and beauty, her long hair flicking off her tanned shoulder blades as she curved her neck and back. Again she was on her feet, adorned in nothing more than the heels she skilfully moved, the silver jewellery clasped above her hips, and the tight collar she wore on her neck.

She spun around the pole, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched straight, her toes pointed towards the crowd as she masterfully commanded her body to grip and stretch and display, her large breasts on prominent show. As she slid down from the pole, her shoulder and butt pressed into it, her lower back slender and arched, she gave the crowd a knowing smile, assured that not a man alive could resist her curves and her grace.

A drunk in the crowd, however, disagreed. He taunted her, his bulbous head flushed from the drink, his meaty hands motioning to her. Though she couldn’t hear him over the music, she already had plenty of drugs coursing through her system and pressing her on. Immediately her sex kitten façade was broken and she looked with rage at those standing at the stage, their clammy fists clamped on their meagre bills, her tip bucket only half as full as usual when the club was three times as packed.

She stared at the meathead, and took a few steps back, her azure eyes narrowed in her rage. With a few long strides, she was in the air, soaring over the crowd before landing clumsily on the drunk’s head, collapsing him to the ground, her own body striking it soon after. The drugs numbed the pain in her elbows and knees, her hands scratched from a broken bottle on the ground as she quickly moved to take advantage of the stunned oaf.

The tiny stripper began pummelling the much larger man, her fists flying and full of malice for the crappy tippers and those who want way more than they can afford, her face red with anger as the crowd moved from the stage to try to get a better look at the little firecracker.

It felt like eternity, but it was only a few seconds before the bouncer pulled her off, his strong hands and arms easily moving her, even in her frantic fury, lifting her into the air. Two other bouncers moved in right after, lifting the heavyweight drunk off his bewildered arse, promptly bringing him to the door and shoving him into the cool evening.

Scarlett stropped her struggling, though she turned at yelled angrily at the bouncer, “I need my money!” and she squirmed away, running back to the stage and collecting her purse and clothes, storming back into the mirrored changing room, the bouncer hot on her step the entire way.

“What was that?!” he growled, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him. Bangs clung to her wet forehead, though all her anger had faded away to light amusement. She reached into her purse and withdrew a joint, bringing it to her lips and waiting, expectantly, for him to light it. Instead he grabbed it from her lips and pointed at her with it, “This stuff is making you crazy!”

His voice was loud and commanding, matching the rest of his look. His hair was short, clipped close to his head, his neck broad, and his jaw strong. His body was muscled, tanned, and his hands were rough and large. He once got stabbed by a guy he started pummelling the face of after nicking a drink. Two days later he asked if he could come back to work, after losing two pints of blood.

They said he was crazy, but Scarlett liked that he was strong. She smiled up at him with her typical, smarmy grin, shimmying her narrow arm from his hand and turning to look in the mirror, idly fixing her hair and any minor imperfections in her makeup.

“He was rubbing me the wrong way. Besides, what’s with all the cheapos tonight?” she groaned, folding her arms under her chest, perking them for his benefit. His pale green eyes didn’t move from her mirrored gaze.

“You’re our feature, you can’t behave like this,” he said gruffly, and she responded by a simple shrug of her shoulders, going back to rubbing her finger along her lips, then reaching to grab her red lipstick.

“But I do,” she responded simply, an impish smile raising her cheeks.

He glowered at her, pocketing the joint and moving in, his large body towering over hers. He was easily a foot taller than her, even in her heels. His head moved downwards, resting it on her shoulder as he spoke darkly in her ear, “The manager is going to try to get you kicked out again, you keep this up,” he stared at her mirrored reflection, “if I tell him, you’ll be gone before you could bitch.”

She narrowed her eyes at the threat, “Then you won’t tell him.” Her voice was laced with promise, even as she moved to press a large sum of money into his expectant palm. The light flickered above the mirror, casting a long shadow along the length of her nude form.

The wad of bills was clasped in his hand, then pressed into his black pants, his fingers resting atop the tip of her rear, “I’ll need something more.”

Scarlett sighed and turned to face him, hopping her bottom up on the makeup table, her legs wrapped around him, the heels digging into his calves and beckoning him closer. He easily turned from her and barked over his shoulder, “Just go finish your set properly. We’ll work out payment later.”

Her face flushed hot with another rush of rage and embarrassment at the coarse man’s refusal, and she threw her clothes down on her bag, snatching her purse and returning out to the club, nude.

They stared, and it wasn’t hard to see why. She was a beauty, with firm, generous curves, and a tight waist. Her long, black hair flowed easily around her shoulders and always seemed to find its place. She stuck out, but that wasn’t any good to her if she wasn’t rolling in bills. Her favoured vices were not cheap, after all.

Legrasse had come with her when she needed to get away from the drugs last time, and she kept him along because she trusted him to protect her assets. Still, he took his job seriously, and on nights like this she hated him for it.

Her body undulated in the movements of her hard and confident walk, her legs one in front of the other, graceful, even under the influence. She took the stairs, stepped onto the stage and once more the sex kitten took over, spinning and shimmying and rolling on the ground, flexing and posing for the crowd. The tipping had picked up in her absence and she rewarded the generous even more graciously.

A small, mousy man in the front stared up at her with pure awe and she crawled close to him, leaning in to whisper into his stunted ear, “Would you like to see more after I’m done up here?”

She pulled back, coyly, sitting on her calves, her torso upright. Her finger darted in between her lips and she sucked it teasingly, biting the tip and enjoyed as his hazel eyes traveled up her body, pausing on all the important bits. His eyes didn’t rise above her collarbone before he nodded. Scarlett grinned and turned over, exposing her rear to him, leaning her ass close to his face, then pulling away, crawling and standing, grabbing the money and ducking offstage.

Walking straight over to her target, she whispered low, “Did you want me to start out dressed?” A soft purr was followed by his nod. She quickly turned to dash back to the dressing room and grab her clothes. A true expert in her field, the thong and the triangle top was laced around her body easily, the material a fine and innocent white, contrasting against her bronzed skin.

By the time she got back out to her mark, however, there was a black woman laughing in his lap, fawning all over his ugly maw. Scarlett’s brow narrowed and she immediately stomped over, her lips finding his ear once more, “I’m ready for you, baby,” she pulled away and smiled, inviting him. He glanced from her, to the other woman, his mind obviously reeling with the choice. Scarlett licked her lips, the other stroked his balding head; Scarlett’s fingers found the edge of her bikini top and traced along it, her competition stroked his chest.

The other woman was narrow up top, not much to gloat about, though her hips and thighs were large and pleasing, a full pear shape. She wore a pink bikini top with a full back boy shorts, ribbons laced around her midsection and calves, her skin a smooth toffee colour. Her eyes were almonds, a rich hazelnut brown, and her lashes were long and dark. Her hair was a brilliant auburn with hints of gold flecks that caught in the light as she moved.

His voice came out high and unpleasant, choked with cotton balls, “Can I have you both?

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