A Cheerleader in the Hood Ch. 04

I hadn't really predicted this turn events of all. As a cheerleader I wasn't particularly used to performing lapdances.

I protested nervously.

"I...I...you didn't say anything about a lapdance, Sir."

"There's always a fuckin' lapdance. The lapdance raffle is what make us the money. Now pick a ticket."

It seemed that I was going to have to endure a measure of further indignity before I would be able to get my taxi across town.

Nervously I selected a ticket and handed it to Leroy.

"137!" he called.

I saw men checking their numbers.

"Me!" said a voice from the back. There were groans as a smallish old man came to the front.

"Well done, Ralph," said Leroy, now please take your seat and the lovely...uhhh...what was your name again?"

"Cherri," I repeated.

"The lovely Cherry will now entertain you further. Don't think she's a cherry after that last performance though, hey fellers?"

There was ribald laughter.

Some more music began. If anything the choice of music was even more humiliating than the previous 'number', and now, in addition, I had to pleasure this old man sitting expectantly on stage, with his legs widely parted.

I licked my lips nervously.

"Me so horny, me so horny, me love you long time." went the music.

It seemed that they had picked the most humiliating, misogynist soundtracks possible for my performance.

I tried to gyrate as sexily as I could before the seated old man, my insides still boiling from my recent orgasm. I saw his wizened eyes taking in my body, dropping from my well-formed breasts and down to my most intimate area. I knew that my sex juices were shiny on my nether lips and the upper part of my inner thighs.

I had never felt so ashamed in my life, and yet somehow, even now, a perverse element of arousal was pervading my body. I moaned quietly, trying to ignore the words of the song.

The old man gestured to me. I realised that he wanted me closer to him. Nervously, I complied, swaying my body, my hands tousling my now unkempt blonde mane of hair.

With his finger he motioned that he wanted me to turn around. Tears in my eyes I obeyed. I guess he wanted to see my back side, my bottom, rather than my breasts and sex. By this manoeuvre I was now once more facing out. The searchlight was still on me, but I could easily make out the drooling, leering faces of my audience.

I wondered what Chloe would think now, if she could see me. No doubt she would be satisfied with her revenge, even though it had been essentially inadvertent. I imagined them all at the Sake Lounge now, wondering where I was, probably thinking that I hadn't turned up for my squad dare, and coming up with further indignities for me to do, and unpleasant names to call me.

To my surprise I felt the old man's hands at my hips, gripping me surprisingly tightly. I let out a small moan of protest. Surely he wasn't allowed to manhandle me in this humiliating way? But I could see from the eyes of the black men clustering around the stage that there was nothing untoward in his behaviour from their point of view. Their faces were grinning, several licking their lips, as if in anticipation.

The old man's hands pulled me back, to sit on his lap. As I did so, I felt something underneath me, touching me between my legs, something hard, fleshy. I let out a gasp of dismay. Was it what I thought it was?

I was quickly left in no doubt as he firmly held my hips and I found myself impaled upon his fleshy rod. His hands were still at my bare hips, manipulating me further onto him. I grimaced. Was there to be no end to the humiliations heaped upon me on the small stage?

Despite myself, the feeling of him, now inside my sex brought a renewed surge of desperate arousal into my belly. I had been longing, in the heart of me, for such penetration ever since I had been on my knees in front of Coach Lafitte. Neither he nor the taxi driver had obliged. My yearnings and frustrations had no doubt contributed directly to my embarrassingly brazen performance at the pole, when I had undoubtedly allowed my baser urges to completely get the better of me.

Now I was being penetrated by an old black man, in public, on stage, spotlights trained on my quivering white nude body. He began to push up and down, jiggling me, and after only three or four such thrusts inside my hot, willing body, the effect on me was electric.

I arched my neck, pushing out my breasts, spiralling close to the edge of my chasm of lust. Oh God! I was going to come again!

"Aiiiiiii" I cried out, bucking and writhing upon his intrusive piston of flesh.

"Oooooohh! Goddddd!"

I was totally out of control once more. What had happened to me? A demure and shy young English rose just a few hours before, now reduced to a wanton white slut spasmodically climaxing on a stage in front of an audience of black men. I closed my eyes tightly letting the amazing orgasm wash over me like a tidal wave of wanton lust.

I wanted it to go on for ever.

I suddenly felt a crack of pain across my left cheek, then another across my right. Panic-stricken I opened my eyes. Above me towered a furious looking black girl. She wore a tiny top and a pair of denim hotpants, heavily made up, with eyelashes that were manifestly false.

"What the fuck yo' think yo' doin' white girl?" she said.

For a moment, I thought it might be the old man's wife. I was surprised to see that she was so young and pretty.

"What yo' doin fuckin' up on stage, ho? This is my gig."

I was impaled upon the old man's rod and at her mercy.

The girl looked down at me furiously. I realised that the music had stopped. She tried to hit me again, this time with her fingernails out, to scratch me, but Leroy had come up behind her, and held her hand. She turned angrily towards him.

"What the fuck is this white ho doin' on my stage?" fumed the woman, gesturing at me.

"Now hold on, Tammie-Mae," said Leroy, "You late. Guessed the agency sent this white slut along instead."

"Instead?" yelled Tammie-Mae, "Instead? You think I go round letting guys fuck me on stage? What the fuck yo' doin' Leroy. You know the agency don't let us fuck on stage."

I must have been crimson with embarrassment as they discussed me as if I was not there. Yet what could I say? I suppose I should have realised that there was a possibility that the real stripper would turn up, but events had happened so fast I had not really considered it.

"Alright," said Leroy, "I din't mean to piss off the agency. This slut turned up claiming to be a stripper, so I put her on stage. Didn't realise she was some sort of exhibitionist white ho-slut want to fuck on stage."

"You think the agency employ girls who fuck on stage?" screamed Tammie-Mae.

"We just gave her your fifty bucks and she got down to it. How was i supposed to know?"

"You gave her my money?" screamed Tammie-Mae.

"I'll get it back," said Leroy looking pointedly at me, "Won't I?"

I swallowed, trying to think what to say for the best.

"Y-yes Sir," I said, quietly.

I was still impaled on Ralph's rod, but it had gone limp inside me now.

"Get up," said Tammie-Mae.

With difficulty, I got to my feet, disengaging myself from the seated old man.

"What about my goddamn lapdance?" said the old man, "I won it fair and square."

"Alright," said Leroy, "Tammie-Mae'll give you a lapdance."

"But I want a fuck now," he grumbled, "This white ho got me goin' now - ain't been so far gone since the Rockets won the World Title."

"You won a lapdance," said Leroy, "Not a fuck. Give him a lapdance, Tammie-Mae."

"I'm gonna do a pole dance," said Tammie-Mae, "Then a lap-dance later, but no fuckin'"

"Aw, come on," said the old man.

"No fuckin' way," said Tammie-Mae.

They argued away. Leroy shrugged. "Alright, Tammie-Mae do what yo' wanna do," he said, "Ralph, go sit down, I'll have Eli bring you a free beer."

The old man got up and left the stage, muttering to himself.

"Yo' gonna come with me, white girl," said Leroy, "Get this mess all sorted out."

Nervously, my head down, I followed him, back into the little room.

"Yo' caused me a lot of trouble, white girl, comin' to our bar an' tryin' to steal money off the regular strippers. Got me in trouble with the agency. Folk round here, we don't like people who try to steal money."

I saw him take the envelope containing the fifty bucks. How was I to get across town now?

Before I could protest, Tammie-Mae burst into the room. She threw two objects at me. I realised that they were my discarded crop-top and skirt. I began to pick them up and put them on.

"You know the fuckin' pole's wet Leroy?"

Leroy almost sighed.

"I guess it might be," he said, "She got a bit-over-excited on stage."

He pointed at me. Tammie-Mae glowered at me, close to my face, as I pulled up my skirt.

"You normally do that, white girl? Get the fuckin' pole wet, huh? What if I'm slidin' down the pole head first and can't get a grip, huh? Cos yo' fuckin white whore juice? Crack my goddamned skull on the floor. Yo' tryin' to kill me white girl, huh?"

She prodded me just above my bare breasts, hard, insistent.

"I...I...didn't mean...," I began.

"Yo' didn't mean, huh?" she went on," Well you gonna clean it up, huh? I ain't cleanin' no white girl's whore juice off no fuckin' pole."

"Alright, Tammie-Mae," said Leroy, resignedly, "She'll clean it, won't you?"

I nodded bleakly. To be honest, the idea of going back out on stage and cleaning my own sex-juices off a stripper's pole did not particularly appeal, but I sensed that I did not hold many cards in my present circumstance.

"May I have a rag or something to use?" I asked.

"Yo' can use that fuckin' rag you got in your hand," said Tammie-Mae, pointing at my crop-top, clutched in my hand, "Fuckin' white mans flag."

"Do it," said Leroy, unsympathetically, "Then come back in here and we'll sort this out."

Nervously I went back onto the stage, under the supervision of Tammie-Mae.

I could sense the hostility, and heard raucous catcalls and mutterings of disapproval.

It was one of the most shaming episodes in my life to clean my juices of arousal from a stripper's pole, under the supervision of a black stripper, and the gaze of leering, catcalling men. I wiped up and down, trying to get every drop of my 'white whore juice', as Tammi-Mae had so delightfully put it, off the pole. Tammie-Mae, meanwhile went around the stage picking up all the dollar bills that had been thrown at the climax of my act. I saw that she was putting them in her little bag, but I was too frightened of her to point out that they were really mine. She frightened me more than Leroy.

Eventually I got the pole dry enough for Tammie-Mae's satisfaction and was allowed to leave the stage once more to a chorus of disapproval, and humiliating comments involving my race, wantonness, and looks.

Leroy was there in the backroom. An older lady had joined him, once more with a familial resemblance, and was looking at me with intense disapproval.

"So, white girl," said Leroy, "You owe us four bucks. What yo' proposin' to do about it?"

"F-four bucks," I said, "Wh-what for?"

"For Ralph's drink," he said, "Compensation fo' the goddamn fuck-up yo' made o' yo' lapdance."

I stammered, aghast, "B-but, I never said I was a stripper," I blurted out.

"Yo' still took our fifty bucks," pointed out the older lady, "Folks roun' here, we don't take to folks that steal. Now we got that sorted out, no thanks to yo' but there's still Frank's drink to pay for."

"I...I'll pay when I next come in," I stuttered, "I promise."

"What if yo' don't never come back in?" said the lady, menacingly, "No, girlie, you gon' pay us up 'fore you leave, or I call the po-lice."

"N..no," I said, quickly "P..please don't call the police."

I saw her eyes narrow, and immediately realised that I had made a mistake by showing that I was apprehensive about them calling the police.

"Yo' scared of the po-lice, huh, white girl?" asked the lady suspiciously, "Yo' a blackmarket whore or somethin'?"

"N...no!" I protested, urgently, hating the way that the conversation was turning. How could anyone imagine that I was a blackmarket whore? Whatever that might be. Despite the rights and wrongs of the situation, I certainly didn't want to tell them that I didn't have a valid visa and that I might be deported back to England should the police came across me.

"We don't have to call no po-lice, Ma" said Leroy, "I got a better idea. You ever wait on tables, white girl?"

"I...I...a little bit," I said.

This was true, as I had, briefly, had a Sunday waitress job at a little tea shop in my home village in England.

"Well, yo' not wearin' too much and yo' shown us yo' got a pretty li'l pair o' titties. Now, our regular waitress, she sick today, an' we always wanna try out a topless waitress, so how 'bout yo' wait some tables? Just 'til you got enough tips to pay what yo' owe?"

"Not that topless waitress shit again, Leroy," said Ma, dismissively, "How many time I tell you we runnin' a respectable bar. Don't want no topless waitress here. We ain't that sort o' place, just a bit o' innocent strippin' every weekend..."

"Hell, Ma," retorted Leroy, "Topless waitress the thing now in Bayton. Lotta places usin' topless waitress. This l'il slut won' mind doin' it, so let's try it, see what sort o' take we get."

Ma sighed, "Well, if yo' want to, boy, maybe shut you up goin' on 'bout it all the time," She glared at me, "You do a bit o' waitressin' for us girlie? So I don't have to call the po-lice on yo' pretty white ass."

"S...sure," I stammered. Needless to say, I was very frightened that they were going to call the police, and I did at least know how to wait tables. I wasn't keen on working topless of course, but I knew that I possessed a lovely pair of breasts, and that Americans were generous tippers. It shouldn't take me long to get enough in tips to pay for the drink, and hopefully enough to order a taxi back to the University I thought.

"Alright then girle, it's a deal, huh? That top ain't much good now you used it to clean up after yo'sel anyway. Hand it over."

Reluctantly, I handed over my top and followed Ma and Leroy to the bar where Ma gave me a little round tray. I immediately used it to cover myself as best I could.

"Alright," said Ma, "So we got ourselves a topless waitress fo' the evenin'. Happy now Leroy?"

Leroy grinned. I noticed that Tammie-Mae had started her routine over by the stage.

"Now, girlie," Ma continued, "When folks want service round here, they bang on the table, an' yo' go runnin'. Got it?"

I nodded, desperate not to show anything in the way of disagreement.

Almost on cue I heard a thumping on a table.

"Go to it, white girl," said Ma, pointing to where the thumping was coming from, "Ol' Charlie, over there, he wanna drink."

Doing my best to cover my breasts with the tray in the other, I scampered over to the table she had indicated, as best I could in the high red heels, wearing only my little skirt besides.

I found myself beginning a new career as a topless waitress.