This Girl Stripped
Read This Girl Stripped Online
Authors: Dawn Robertson
Table of Contents
T
HIS
G
IRL
S
TRIPPED
Copyright 2014 Dawn Robertson
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of these publications may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.
These books are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
October
The music blared in my ears as the lights damn near blinded me. My heels were far too fucking high, and the club was packed. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Oh, that's right! I’m fucking broke.
I kept telling myself I could do this. I tried to ignore the cat calls surrounding the stage. One drunk in the corner whistled before throwing back a shot. Another man shouted at me to take my clothes off. Twenty-four years old, and instead of being a college graduate or settling down, I’m taking my clothes off for money.
That morning the owner of the small motel I’d been living in for the past three months gave me until the following morning to come up with three hundred dollars, or I would find myself homeless in Daytona Beach, far from any friends or family. I could’ve called my sister, Star. However, that would’ve meant admitting failure and that would never fucking happen. I’m just way too proud for that.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when some scumbag with a matted beard grabs my leg.
“No fuckin' touching!” My voice failed me. Instead of the authoritative tone I was aiming for, I sounded like the scared little girl I really am. I seductively danced back toward the pole in the center of the stage. I started to untie the barely there triangles of pink fabric covering my tits. I’ve never been shy about being naked, but everything about this screamed run for your fucking life, Paisley!
“Yeah baby! Shake that ass!” The rowdy men get louder, and I moved my thong -covered ass to the front of the stage again. The Buckcherry song, Crazy Bitch was almost over and I wanted to get as many singles stuffed in my crotch before I walk out that door.
I dropped down onto my knees, and thrust my pussy into the faces of three men sitting center stage. My hand slide over my bare breasts, and make their way for the tiny piece of fabric that kept me from being entirely naked. I rubbed my hand repeatedly over my cunt giving them the show of their lives.
When I open my eyes, I meet the most piercing set of green eyes I’d ever seen. His jaw was square. His hair was long and brown, pulled back into a lose ponytail at his nape. Theres a long scar that runs under his eye, and when our eyes meet, he flashes me the most beautiful smile. I forget that I’m on stage in front of hundreds of perverts and focus on him alone.
He was the man that would make my every nightmare come to life. I just didn’t know it yet.
I'm Not in Kansas Anymore
A fist crashes into my face and my body is flung like a rag doll across the shitty motel room I’ve called home for the past month. My back slams against the wall and I gasp for air. The wind is knocked out of me, and I panic as I struggle to fill my lungs with my next breath; but it's not coming. The smell of vodka burns my nostrils, and when I open my mouth struggling to scream for help, not a sound comes out.
A rough hand wraps around my throat and squeezes. His mouth presses to mine, but I’m paralyzed. I can't push him away, my arms simply won't fucking move. My brain screams at my body to react. Save myself from the assault that is imminent. I should have known better than to accept a ride home from him tonight. Everything in me screamed to call the bouncers and run as far away as I could get. The other part of me let me think there are actually good people left in the world.
“You deserve this, you disgusting little bitch.”
His words hurt. Cutting deep into my soul that had been so wounded throughout the years. I feel tears pooling at the corner of my eyes, but as many times as I blink they just don't fall. My vision begins to blur when I only want to see my surroundings. The fight slips out of my body, and I am lifeless in his unforgiving grip.
The short plaid skirt wrapped tightly around my waist is ripped from my body just before the room goes black. I can't see or feel anything. I can't hear his words. I’m blissfully ignorant to the disgusting assault. He takes something from me I can never get back. Something I’ve held onto with my life as I watched my sisters dish out their cunts to any man who showed a vague interest. Not me.
I don't know how long I’m unconscious; but when I finally wake from the coma like rest, he’s gone. My room is eerily silent and dark, just the way I left it before I left for the strip club. My bag is packed on the dresser and, surprisingly, my purse is still full of the cash I made during my shift. All four hundred and eight dollars - every cent I have to my name. I roll over onto my side and a surge of pain shoots through my entire body. My hands fly to my ribcage and I hold onto my side as if it will help the pain subside.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “Something’s fuckin' broken.” I talk like there is someone else in the room to hear my complaints. Stupid, I was so fucking stupid. I swing my legs off the side of the bed and try to blink my eyes. I can see, it is really blurry, but I can see, thankfully. My left eye is swollen almost shut. I try to force it open further to no avail. My face feels like it came in contact with a fucking brick wall.
I limp my body into the bathroom and flip on the light switch. My face looks just as bad as it feels. My cheeks are covered in black and blue bruises, there is dried blood caked to my skin with strands of my fiery red hair stuck in it. I look like holy fucking hell. And it’s all my fault.
I slowly hobble to the shower, pull the curtain back and turn the water on as hot as it can go. Each movement is more painful than the last. I know I shouldn't wash the evidence away, but I want the filth of his touch off of me. I want to wash him away. I want to wash the memory away, even though I doubt that will ever happen.
I pull my ripped white, blood stained t-shirt off, and let it fall to the floor. I kick off the white cotton panties that were placed on my body after
he
had his way with me. I can feel the tenderness of my womanhood. He was rough.
Dried blood sticks to my thighs and pussy. The remnants of the one virtue I held onto into adulthood. He took it like a fucking savage animal. I’m sure it really got his fucking rocks off knowing what he took. I’m silently thankful I wasn’t conscious for any of it.
I step into the shower and quickly wash him away. The tears flood out of the one eye I can open while I lather layer upon layer of soap. Nothing can get rid of him. The bruises leave behind the memory of what he did, even if I can't remember it.