The Perfect Gift

“Personally, I’m hoping those Russian guys come back,” I replied. I pulled up the straps on my body suit, adjusted my tits so they would pop, and pulled the g-string up, so I got the jiggle effect. “They liked my giant ass.”

“I hope those rich Chinese businessmen come back,” Sveta replied, before taking a shot and sucking on a lemon. “I didn’t understand a word they said, and they were obsessed with my tits. They paid me just to jiggle them in their faces.”

“Nice, or those two Irish boys vacationing on daddy’s credit card,” I replied, laughing. “They liked my English ass. They kept asking me to say things because they thought my accent was fucking hilarious.”

“Whatever,” Sveta said, pouring another shot. “You’re still waiting for Prince Charming to walk through the door and whisk you away from this place.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, laughing. “Like Reg would ever let that happen.”

“Asshole,” we said in unison, clinking our shot glasses and tipping them back.

Prince Charming. That’s funny. I hadn’t thought about a Prince anything since I was a little girl, back when I’d still been oblivious to the cold hard truth about men. I had given up on the fairy tale dreams a long time ago. Mostly as a result of my mother getting wasted and banging a new guy every night, and the string of creepy “uncles,” as my mother called them, hugging me a bit too long and looking at me with their nauseating stare and greasy palms. Now, I was just determined to make enough money to continue on my way. Sure, I could go back to Liverpool, but there was nothing there for me anymore. I was pretty sure my mother didn’t even realize I was gone.

Even when I’d been standing completely broke and scared in Prague, auditioning for amateur night at the Caspian seemed like a better idea than calling my mother. So, three shots and two drinks later, my tired ass was shaking it for a bunch of dirty old men, whistling from the audience. Surprising to me, I actually won the contest. Not surprising, the owner, Reg Evers, refused to pay me. He was a bastard of a man with huge muscles and a bald head. He had a knack for covering up his deadly persona with bad jokes and cutesy stripper names. But there I’d been, facing off with him.

He offered me a job and an apartment. I stood there under the giant stone entryway and considered my two options. I could stay here, dance a little, make some cash, and then be on my way. Or I could walk out into the cold streets of Prague and find myself homeless with a little less pride than when I started. So, I took the job. As I shook Reg’s hand and stared into his cold eyes, I could feel part of me float away into the red lights of the stage.

In the end, I guess it wasn’t really that bad. I had a crappy apartment, just like in Liverpool, except the rent wasn’t quite as expensive. That might be because I share it with six other girls, but what’s the difference? It was like staying in one of the hostels I visited on my travels, except with a lot more nudity and way more crazy women. On my one night off a week, Sveta and I would hit the city, dancing with each other, shooing off the guys, and laughing until dawn. When you work at a job where you are constantly ogled by dudes, the last thing you wanted to do was pick one up on your night off so they could grope you for free.

The money I earned was actually pretty decent, despite the amount taken out for rent, and whenever Reg wanted to be an asshole. I probably could have left, but I was afraid I’d find myself just one country over, doing the same thing again, but probably not in an elite place like the Caspian.

“Okay I’m up,” Sveta said as her music came up.

“Titties out and only accepting twenties,” we said, as if it was our motto.

I smiled as I watched Sveta bounce on stage, wearing her g-string, tiny tutu, and a push-up bra.

Sometimes I wondered why we even wore anything at all out on the stage. The men didn’t let us keep it on for more than a minute after the song started. But, once I got my top off and I heard the roar of the crowd, my nerves would calm. I would pretend, for just five minutes at a time, that I was the most desired woman in the world. Well, at least in Prague. The longer I worked here, the more I realized something strange about myself. Deep down, I liked the rush of the lights, the smell of hot lust from the men waving money at me, and the feeling that I could seduce just about anyone. It was also incredible, feeling the control.

I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, even though Reg highly frowned upon turning a client down for a lap dance. But, in reality,

if all I wanted to do was dance on stage, I could do it. If I wanted to give a hundred lap dances a night, I could do it. Even if I wanted to let some perv rub his dick all over me, although I wouldn’t, I could do it if I chose. It was all about my control, something I didn’t have growing up in the sleaze house in the junky, run-down part of Liverpool. What am I saying? Every part of Liverpool was junky and run down.

I took a deep breath and strapped on my six-inch heels, knowing when Sveta was done, I would be called up on stage. Reg liked my long legs and had this weird thing with the eighties. He always dressed me in leotards, cut abnormally high on the hips and incredibly low in the front. He also made me wear huge, flashing translucent heels. But I didn’t care, the men seemed to like it, and it’s not like it stayed on very long. Good thing, too, because this g-string hurt.

I looked in the mirror and grabbed the eyeliner, going for the deep, sultry look tonight. Dark, thick eyeliner always made my bright blue eyes pop, and out here, they loved the blonde look. So I made sure that I teased my hair extra high with big, bouncing curls. I could see the men’s eyes moving up and down my body when I bounced across the stage. My huge tits, my curls, and their eyes danced in unison. During lap dances, when I spoke in my British accent, the men went absolutely fucking nuts. I didn’t know how many times I got three seconds into a lap dance and watched as the guy busted a nut in his pants. That was fine with me because that meant I did a little work for a whole lot of money, and they would most likely come back the next night and do it all over again.

I stood up and stretched my ankles, getting ready to twist and turn on the stage. No one wanted a sprained ankle, and no one liked a stripper falling to her doom from the red velvet stage. I climbed the steps to the curtain that opened up out onto the walkway, bending my neck and stretching my legs. Reg poked his head around the outside door and looked at me.

“You’re on in one minute,” he said, staring at my ass before ducking back out.

Asshole. This was the part I hated the most, the initial explosion out onto the stage. You never knew what kind of reaction you were going to get. It was really tough on slow nights when you grab your inner diva and strut out, just to see two guys sitting in the audience, too drunk to even notice you’re dancing.

I turned and leaned over to grab my second shot. I held it up in the air. To future journeys, never telling my future kids I was a stripper, and kicking Prince Charming right in the balls. I slung the shot back and giggled at my own little cheers. I had become such a little hard ass, but that was good. It meant I didn’t get drug down into the depths of hell with the rest of the girls here, who came for a little while and ended up staying years.

Sveta’s song ended, and she walked in through the curtain, carrying an arm load of cash, as usual. I stepped to the side, tapping elbows with her. With the amount of bills she was carrying, it must be a full house tonight, which meant they were selective about who they let in. Knowing that, I sucked it in tighter and reached into my suit to adjust my cleavage.

Sveta ran over to the stairs and waved for me to bend over. I closed my eyes, and she blew a dusting of glitter on my tits. I turned and walked out onto the stage. The initial hit of the lights wore off, and the audience became clear. I posed, ready for the music to begin. The sound of the beating bass got the vodka kicking, and off I went down the runway, a spiteful sassy girl, wrapped up in a sexy kitten smile.

Chapter 2: Milos

I looked down at my expensive leather shoes as I shuffled down the sidewalk. Alcohol fogged my brain. The streets of Prague were packed tonight, and the clubs were bumping with loud music and beautiful women, just how I liked it. I could feel my knees wobble as I squinted at the signs, trying to find my way to the exclusive Caspian Cabaret, one of my favorite places in Prague.

There was nothing like ending my night with more booze and sexy girls, fighting for my attention, throwing their tits around just for the chance to have a private lap dance with the Prince of Silesia. Who fucking cared if they didn’t actually know where Silesia was? All they cared about was my stack of Euros and my entourage. Every girl dreamt, at one point in their life, of being a princess. So why not give them a chance to feel like one for a while, even if it was just while grinding on my dick?

The neon lights around me blurred. I stumbled down the street, trying to keep myself upright and moving in the right direction. Who could blame me for the way I behaved? I was born a prince and took everything that came with that, including the huge allowance, the notoriety, and the ability to pretty much do whatever and whoever I wanted. The only people who ever questioned me were my parents, and even they were too busy with royal affairs to pay much attention, really. I learned at an early age that as long as I stayed out of the papers and out of the news, they stayed off my ass.

Of course, when alcohol entered my life, staying out of the papers was a little more difficult than I thought it would be. The media loved a bad boy. They loved the drama and suspense of not knowing what the Prince would do next. I kept it low key for a while, but I was addicted to the rich life.