Enter Sectian - Sex Stories

Enter Sectian

... foot off the brake.

The frightened Pamela stood halfway down the aisle, clutching a vertical pole. The accelerating bus toppled her into an aisle seat. Pamela's heart raced, but she fought to slow her panic breathing. She looked around the seats. A couple dudes acting very tired or drunk, sat by the windows. In back, a black woman wearing a full length denim jacket stared down the aisle as if hopped up on some drug.

Pamela closed her polyester fill jacket around her throat and began to calm. It was the worst night yet. She hated the city. She hated her job. She looked into the plastic bag she'd carried madly into the bus.

The stuffed opossum inside was for her daughter. It was large enough to fill the bag's width. Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to get home before Adeline threw a fit. She knew she should hire a sitter, but most of them didn't feel comfortable being responsible for a retarded twenty-two year old. Sometimes a social worker could be convinced to allow Pamela to work late, but it cost nearly as much to bribe them, than what she would make from her terrible job during those extra hours.

Pamela worked at a gentleman's club. The manager did a decent job of keeping the place clean, inside and out. He'd hired graffiti artists to 'protect' the building's exterior, and the sexy ladies rendered around the cement block exterior attracted extra business.

Pamela was not a whore. That was the first thing she told people who asked about ...

... her work. She was not a stripper or even a lap dancer. She hoped to start tending the bar, but until she got her mixology license, she had to entertain guests in the old fashion way, talking.

Her manager, Dale Sykes, got the idea from watching Japanese Adult Videos. He had hired Pamela and two other women to keep lonely men company, but her real job was to spur the men (and sometimes women) into buying plenty of expensive drinks. Pamela had a degree in theater arts, which gave her a great background for making up shit to appeal to half drunken, middle managers and supervisors.

Her greatest suffrage was the occasional hand exploring where it didn't belong. Pamela could move the hand away but wasn't allowed to complain. If a customer got pushy or rough their bouncer, Michael Brown, patrolled ready and able to stop them. She felt safe enough at work, but she hated being groped while strippers danced on the stage under swirling lights and heavy beat music. In the back rooms, lap dancers accepted big tips for special favors. She didn't condemn those women. She wished people wouldn't think she was one of them.

Still she hated her job, the lying, the lewdness and lasciviousness, the annoying lights and constant thump-thump. Her boss would occasionally hit on her, lightly suggesting a hook-up. So would Michael, but they understood that "No," meant no. Their memory of the "no" least for a few weeks. It was however, bearable, and the money was decent, a couple hundred bucks a ...