The Billionaire stripper

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After getting changed, I grabbed the champagne at the bar table and went into booth seven. As usual, it was some of those well-off men showcasing their little wealth with finely tailored suits. Like every other night, I did my job: display my dancing skills. Over the months Abbys efforts to teach me dancing have finally started to pay off. But that was just it, the deal is to give you a lap dance and thats all I ever allow myself to do, leaving the men satisfied. Theres no kissing, no groping, and no sex. Id made it clear enough that I wasn a prostitute but a lap dancer and thankfully, they pretty much understood that thanks to Donovan though.

Unlike many other girls who would kiss their customers just to steam up their seducing skills, I never really cared. I never actually wanted that. That was a great violation of myself to me. Most of the time after getting the job done, I leave with a tip which I give to Donovan like we
e all expected to do but tonight, like many other nights, he asked me to keep the tip.

I showered quickly, getting the mans cologne off my body before jumping into my faded blue jeans and black flats, pulling on my red hoody. Then I made my way out of the stripper house premises.

It was past midnight when I got to the apartment I shared with my father. I passed the security who quickly let me through.

My father had some liver problems. He was an alcoholic and was mostly violent so I always made sure not to wake him up whenever I decided to crash in in the middle of the night or late mornings.

I slowly pushed the door open, as gently as I could but the sound of an empty bottle rumbling over, away from the door as I pushed made me shut my eyes tightly. I open my eyes again, pushing the door a little bit wider only to see my Dads rocking chair backing me and facing the window. The room is still pitch black, thank God.

I gulped hard as I crouched down to get a hold of the bottle with my hand on the floor. After getting ahold of it, I set it aside and pushed the door wider to let myself in.

I reached for the light switch just beside the door and switched the light on, positive that my dad was probably sleeping in his bedroom but, boy was I wrong.

I saw his rocking chair turn around and his wrinkled eyes blinked at me. The apartment reeked of strong alcohol. It smelled like puke and it was slowly churning at my stomach.

He was drunk and his eyes looked bloodshot- also judging from the number of empty alcohol bottles littering every nook and corner of the room and on the center table.