Chapter 10

The next morning, I woke with a lingering warmth from the night before. Mistress had been unusually tender, her embrace sweet and grounding. For a moment, I’d felt more than just her slut. I’d felt cared for, appreciated. The memory sent a tingle through me.

Mistress was different this morning—her presence just as commanding, but there was a softness behind her eyes, a subtle change I couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was the way she brushed a lock of hair off my cheek when she met me in the kitchen, preparing her breakfast. Or how she kissed my forehead, the faintest ghost of affection. Being her perfect little slut had earned me this—her care, her attention.

I shivered as the memory of last night washed over me, the sweet, dizzying mix of her praise and pleasure still tingling under my skin. I wanted her to look at me like that again. I needed to be perfect for her, to prove myself even more.

But she was still Mistress, still unrelenting. As I knelt obediently in front of her, her voice cut through the air, soft but firm. “Today, Liz, you’ll wear the sluttiest look a stripper would pick. Something so obscene it’ll make men ache for you just looking at you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my cheeks heating at the thought.

She tilted my chin up, her eyes locked onto mine. “I want you to look like a tramp, like the filthy little whore you are.”

My stomach twisted in a mix of dread and excitement. “Yes, Mistress. I’ll make you proud.”

In the bedroom, I laid every option I owned across the bed, my hands trembling as I picked through them. Nothing felt slutty enough. I needed to give Mistress exactly what she wanted. My gaze finally landed on a tiny pink two-piece I’d tucked away—a glittery, barely-there top that struggled to contain my fake tits and matching micro shorts that rode so high my cheeks practically spilled out.

“Perfect,” I whispered to myself as I slipped into the outfit, my nipples already pressing hard against the thin fabric.

I slid on the stripper heels Mistress had made me practice walking in—clear platforms that added impossible inches, forcing me to sway my hips with every step. I painted my nails again, bright pink and white, long and perfect. My platinum blonde hair went up into a high ponytail, the strands falling in soft, playful waves that made me look almost doll-like.

Then the makeup. I took my time, painting myself into something obscene. Thick black eyeliner that winged out dramatically, extra mascara to make my false lashes heavy and seductive. My lips—plump, glossy, and exaggerated—gleamed under the soft light as I applied layer after layer of bubblegum-pink gloss. The silver Monroe piercing above them shone like a sinful little spotlight.

I stood in front of the mirror, biting my lip as I adjusted my top to push my tits up higher. Mistress’s words echoed in my head: Play those buds. Make them stand proud. I pinched my nipples through the thin fabric, gasping softly as I felt them harden instantly. My fake tits jutted forward, obscene and impossible to ignore.

I looked like a walking invitation for trouble. A tramp. A stripper.

The shame made me tingle.

When I walked back downstairs, Mistress’s gaze swept over me, and the smirk that curved her lips made my heart race. “Very good, Liz,” she purred, circling me slowly. “You look like every man’s dirtiest fantasy. Turn around.”

I obeyed, my heels clicking softly as I turned to show her every angle.

“Push your tits out more,” she ordered. I arched my back, presenting myself shamelessly. “There we go. That’s my slut.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I breathed, a thrill shooting through me at her approval.

She stopped in front of me, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to meet her gaze. “You dread going out like this, don’t you? Looking like the tramp you are?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I admitted, my cheeks burning.

“But it excites you too, doesn’t it?”

My lips trembled as I whispered, “Yes, Mistress.”

She played with my nipples through my tight top, making them hard as rock. She started pulling me towards her by hardened nubs, for a luscious tongue kiss. I started dripping. I gave a small moan. “Such a slut.” Mistress smirked. “Now just follow those hard nipples and fake tits and you will be fine.”

“I will follow my slutty hard nipples everywhere you ask me to, Mistress”, my wet cunt was talking for me.

“Good girl.” She gave my cheek a soft pat before gesturing for me to follow. “Come along, slut. You have a lesson to learn tonight.”

The strip club was dimly lit and throbbing with music, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the mingling scents of sweat and cheap perfume. My heels clicked against the sticky floor as we walked inside, my bare thighs brushing together with every step. I felt exposed—too much—but it sent a thrill straight to my core.

Everywhere I looked, there were women like me—or at least close. Fake tits spilling out of barely-there outfits, heavy makeup, gleaming heels. The stage pulsed with colored lights as a dancer swung lazily around a pole, men staring slack-jawed at her. I felt a strange sense of belonging among them, like my body finally made sense here.

Mistress led me deeper into the club, her grip firm on my wrist as we moved past lingering gazes. And then it happened.

A man—a middle-aged guy in a rumpled suit with too much cologne—stepped in front of me, his eyes dropping instantly to my tits before drifting down my body.

“Hey, sugar,” he drawled, his voice slick. “How much for a lap dance?”

I froze, the heat in my face spreading down my neck. My lips parted, and I heard Mistress’s voice behind me, low and approving. “Answer him, slut.”

I blinked, my tongue darting out to lick my glossy lips as I leaned closer to the man. “Do I look like I’m for sale?” I purred, cocking my hip as I let one pink-nailed hand trace slowly over the swell of my tits.

He grinned, unbothered. “Sure look it to me, baby. I bet you’d make it worth it.”

I batted my lashes, leaning in just enough for him to smell the sweet perfume Mistress had chosen for me. “You couldn’t afford me,” I whispered, letting my tongue stud flick out as I licked my lips provocatively.

Mistress’s voice cut through the moment, calm but sharp. “Very good, my slut. Now show him how wet this makes you.”

My cheeks burned as her order sank in, but I obeyed. I let one hand drift down the my tiny skirt, slipping into my wet folds, tickling my pierced clit first. My fingers found the slickness between my thighs, and I couldn’t hold back the soft gasp that escaped me. I pulled my hand free, sticky and glistening, and brought it to my lips.

“See what you did?” I teased softly, sucking my fingers into my mouth, my tongue stud flicking against the tips.

The man’s face turned slack with shock and lust, his eyes wide. Mistress laughed softly behind me, the sound dripping with satisfaction. “That’s enough, Liz. Come.”

I turned sharply on my heels, following Mistress as my body hummed with a dizzying mix of humiliation and arousal. My clit throbbed with every step, the feeling of power and submission swirling together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“You’re learning to enjoy it,” Mistress said as we stopped outside a velvet-draped doorway. She turned to face me, her hands cupping my face as she looked down at me. “A slut like you thrives in places like this.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I breathed, my voice trembling with want.

She smiled, wicked and knowing. “And now it’s time for your surprise.”

She pushed open the curtain to the private room, her hand guiding me forward. My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly on the floor.

Mistress guided me through the velvet curtain, her hand firm on the small of my back as I stepped into the dimly lit private room. My heels clicked softly against the polished floor, and my pulse quickened as I took in the space—a low leather couch, a small stage with a gleaming pole in the center, and a soft, pulsing beat vibrating through the walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, perfume, and something dirtier that made my skin tingle.

“Sit,” Mistress ordered, her voice smooth and commanding.

I obeyed immediately, sinking onto the couch, my tiny pink shorts riding higher on my thighs as I crossed my legs. The leather was cold against my bare skin, and I shivered as Mistress’s gaze pinned me.

“Tonight, you sit and enjoy,” she said, smirking faintly. “You’ll learn what it means to be played with. You’ll see how far you still have to go.”

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and in walked her.

Roxy.

She was a vision of excess—something wilder, sluttier than I had ever imagined. Her platinum blonde hair tumbled in teased waves down her back, her lips plumped and swollen into a glossy pink pout and her tits ... Jesus. Her tits were massive, two perfectly round globes straining against a hot-pink bra that barely contained them. Tattoos covered her arms, a lacework of roses and dirty little slogans inked into her skin. Her waist was impossibly tiny, her fake ass exaggerated and high, squeezed into a pink thong that left nothing to the imagination.

Her heels—clear, sky-high platforms—clicked with deliberate seduction as she sashayed toward me, hips swaying with every step. She looked like a living cartoon, like every filthy fantasy I’d ever had shoved into one perfect, plastic package.

“Well, well,” she cooed, her voice bubbly and ditzy as she stopped in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you a cute little thing?”

I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away as she leaned closer, her tits practically spilling into my face. The sweet scent of her perfume—sugar and something filthy—invaded my senses, and I felt my body heat instantly.

“She’s all yours, Roxy,” Mistress purred from the corner of the room.

Roxy grinned, her pink lips stretching into a wicked smile as she swung a leg over me, straddling my lap without hesitation. Her thighs pressed against mine, her fake tits grazing my chin as she leaned in.

“You’re a nasty little babe, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice soft and breathy, dripping with playful seduction. She ran a manicured finger down my cheek, her nails long and sparkling. “I can smell it on you.”

I whimpered softly, my fake tits rising and falling as I tried to steady my breathing.

Roxy giggled, wiggling her hips in my lap, making me gasp. “Oh, honey, don’t be shy. Sluts like you love this.”

She leaned back just enough to look at me, her lashes batting flirtatiously as her lips curled into a grin. “Look at you. All dolled up like a little bimbo. I love it. You’re like a baby stripper.”

The humiliation sent a thrill down my spine. “I-I...”

She cut me off by grinding against me harder, her hands cupping my cheeks as she brought her lips close to mine. “Shh, baby,” she cooed. “Let mama Roxy show you how sluts have fun.”

Her tits pressed into my face as she danced—slow, deliberate movements that made me ache with arousal. I could feel the heat between my legs pooling as she whispered filthy little things into my ear, her voice light and ditzy.

“You like this, don’t you, sweetie? All dressed up like a slutty little whore, getting teased by a real bimbo.”

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice trembling.

She giggled again, pulling back just enough to flick her tongue across her glossy lips, letting her tongue stud glint at me. “Mmm, you’re gonna be so much fun.”

Mistress’s voice cut through the fog in my mind. “Very good, Liz. You’re learning to feel it. Watch her. Learn from her.”

I looked up at Roxy through heavy lashes, my body buzzing with arousal as she danced on top of me, her hands tangling in my ponytail, her hips grinding until I thought I might lose myself completely.

The next day, I was still reeling from the night before when Mistress handed me my orders.

“Go back to the strip club, Liz. Noon. You’re going to learn.”

I blinked up at her. “Learn what, Mistress?”

“How to move. How to seduce. How to take everything men have. Roxy will teach you. You are going to earn me back the money for those fake stripper tits, by stripping. Isn’t that ironic.” Mistress gave me a stern humiliating smile.

Dread filled my core, me a stripper. I knew I could fail her.

I swallowed hard, my clit throbbing at the thought of seeing Roxy again. “Yes, Mistress, I will earn for you.”

The club felt different in the daylight—empty, quieter, the stage bathed in stale light instead of neon. Roxy was already there, perched on the edge of the stage, twirling a lock of her platinum hair around one finger.

“Well, look who it is!” she chirped when she saw me. “Little miss baby stripper!”

I smiled shyly, shifting on my heels. “Hi, Roxy.”

She hopped off the stage, her pink pleather shorts barely covering her exaggerated ass as she swayed toward me. “You ready to get nasty, babe? Mistress said you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“I’m ready,” I said softly, the words feeling more like a promise.

She clapped her hands, grinning wide. “That’s the spirit! Now come on. Let’s get you moving, slut.”

Roxy was a cheerful teacher—ditzy, bubbly, and relentless. She showed me how to walk, how to roll my hips just right, how to arch my back until my fake tits looked ready to spill out of whatever top I wore.

“That’s it, baby! Work those hips. Make every man in the room think about bending you over.”

She taught me how to grip the pole, how to spin slowly and let my legs wrap around it just so.

“Yeah, girl! Look at you! Own it. Own those big fake tits—you paid for ‘em, now use ‘em.”

Her encouragement made me laugh, made me smile, made me feel. I didn’t hold back—I let myself enjoy it, enjoy her.

“Now show me a lap dance,” she said, dropping into a chair with a dramatic flop. She smirked, wiggling her fingers at me. “Come on, baby. Get nasty. Make mama proud.”

I blushed, but I moved toward her, swaying my hips as I let my hands roam my body. Roxy cheered me on, laughing and hollering as I slid into her lap.

“That’s it, slut! Work that ass! Make ‘em throw their wallets at you!”

By the end of the day, I was panting, sweaty, and grinning like a fool. Roxy slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we sat on the edge of the stage.

“You did good today, babe,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’re a natural. Just gotta let go a little more, you know? Sluts like us—we’re meant to shine.”

I smiled, my heart swelling. For the first time, I felt like I had a companion—someone who understood me. Someone I could be wild and filthy with, without shame.

“Thanks, Roxy,” I murmured, leaning into her.

“Anytime, baby. Now go practice. Tomorrow, we’re taking it up a notch.”

Roxy’s hand gripped mine tightly as she pulled me into the back room of the club. My clear platform heels clicked against the floor, the sound swallowed up by the buzzing energy of the other dancers already getting ready. The air reeked of hairspray, cheap perfume, and cigarette smoke—everything about it felt gritty, raw, and intoxicating.

The girls turned to look at me as we entered, their expressions cutting through my already jittery confidence. I felt their eyes rake over me—my pink two-piece straining against my body, my fake tits pushed so high I swore they could touch my chin, and my glossy duck lips set in a nervous pout.

“Fresh meat,” one of them muttered. She was a striking brunette with sharp green eyes and tattoos twisting up her toned arms. She barely spared me another glance before turning back to her mirror.

I froze, but Roxy looped her arm through mine, her energy cutting through the tension like a blade. “Don’t mind those bitches, babe,” she whispered, her voice loud enough for the brunette to hear. “They’re just jealous. I mean, look at you. Big tits, juicy lips, that sweet innocent vibe? You’re the total package. You were made for this.”

Her words dripped sugar, her confidence contagious. I felt myself straighten, jutting my tits forward just the way Mistress had taught me.

Roxy dragged me over to an empty vanity and handed me a tube of glittery pink gloss. “First lesson, babe: your lips are your moneymakers. Keep ‘em shiny, pouty, and kissable. Men are like moths to a flame when you’ve got a perfect pair of duck lips like yours.”

I uncapped the gloss and leaned closer to the mirror, tracing the sticky shine over my already plump lips. The glitter caught the light, making them look even more exaggerated. I pouted and blinked at my reflection. It was obscene—cartoonish—and it felt so right.

“Perfect!” Roxy beamed, snapping her gum. “You look like a walking wet dream, babe. Now, let’s talk movement. Men don’t care about subtle. They want bounce, jiggle, and sway—so give it to ‘em.”

She stepped back and strutted across the room, every part of her body moving in ways that felt impossible. Her massive fake tits jiggled with every step, her hips rolled like a wave, and her tongue peeked out to lick her glossy lips as she giggled.

“Like that!” she said, spinning around and planting her hands on her hips. “You’re not walking, babe—you’re teasing. Every step says, ‘Look at me, but you can’t touch.’”

I bit my lip and tried to mimic her movements, feeling ridiculous at first. My heels wobbled, my sway felt forced, and my face burned as the girls shot me looks from their mirrors.

Roxy just giggled. “Relax, girl. You’re too stiff. You gotta feel it. Pretend you’re the hottest bitch in the room—because you are.”

I took a deep breath, let my shoulders relax, and started again. This time, I let myself exaggerate the sway of my hips, rolling them slow and deliberate, letting my tits bounce naturally with every step.

“Yes! That’s it, slut!” Roxy clapped, her excitement bubbling over. “Now stick out your tongue and lick those lips. Real slow, like you’re about to suck the chrome off a bumper.”

I smirked and did as she said, letting the silver stud of my tongue piercing glint as I dragged it over my glossy lips. My confidence bloomed, my movements becoming easier, sultrier.

“That’s my girl!” Roxy cheered. “Men will be throwing their wallets at you in no time.”

Throughout the day, Roxy drilled me like a bubbly drill sergeant, her voice bouncing between encouragement and teasing mockery.

“Work that pole, babe. It’s your best friend now,” she said as she spun effortlessly, her legs wrapping around the pole like a serpent. “The trick is to make it look easy. Like you were born on it.”

I gripped the pole, feeling the cold metal under my palms, and mimicked her movements as best I could. My fake tits wobbled in the tiny top, my thighs trembling as I tried to slide and spin. Roxy’s giggle rang out behind me.

“Loosen up, Lizzy! Don’t look so serious! Pretend you’re teasing the love of your life. Make it nasty.”

By the time I stumbled back to the floor, sweaty and breathless, she grinned. “That’s better, babe. You’re getting there. Now let’s practice your lap dances.”

I blushed as she flopped onto a chair and patted her lap. “Come on, slut. You’re a stripper now. Own it.”

I swallowed my nerves and sauntered over to her, letting my hips roll the way she taught me. I straddled her lap, leaning in so my tits nearly grazed her face.

“Atta girl,” she teased, gripping my hips. “Make me feel like I’m the luckiest bastard alive. Go slow. Real slow.”

I moved deliberately, grinding my hips in her lap as she guided me. Her voice stayed bubbly and encouraging, but there was a sharpness to it—a knowledge I knew I needed to learn.

“Use your body like a weapon, babe,” she cooed, her hands sliding up to “adjust” my top so my tits spilled out more. “Eye contact. Smiles. And when you talk—make it filthy, but sweet. Like this.”

She cupped my face, her pink lips curling into a wicked grin. “You like this, daddy? You wanna throw all your money at me?” she purred, the words dripping honey. “Make them believe you’re only doing it for them.”

I bit my lip, breathless as I repeated, “You like this, daddy? You wanna throw all your money at me?”

“Perfect!” Roxy beamed, smacking my ass playfully. “You’re a natural, babe!”

By the end of the day, I felt raw, exhausted, and exhilarated. Roxy’s constant encouragement had chipped away at my nerves, leaving me with something stronger—confidence. I stood in front of the mirror, licking my lips and flicking my tongue stud like I’d been born to do it.

The other girls still watched from the sidelines, some glaring openly.

“She won’t last a week,” one muttered under her breath.

Roxy spun on her heel and shot her a glare. “Shut it, bitch. Lizzy’s gonna be the top earner here in no time. Watch.”

I smiled at her gratefully, my heart swelling. Roxy wasn’t just my teacher; she was my cheerleader, my bimbo sister. Someone who saw me for what I was and made me love it.

As we walked out of the club that night, she linked her arm with mine. “We’re going shopping tomorrow, babe. You need even sluttier outfits. The guys are gonna lose their minds.”

I laughed, the sound light and real. “Thanks, Roxy. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She winked, her grin infectious. “That’s what bimbo sisters are for, babe. Now, let’s make you unforgettable.”

For the first time, I felt like I belonged. Mistress had molded me into Liz, but Roxy was helping me live it.

The sun was barely up when Roxy pulled up outside the house, her bright pink convertible blaring pop music loud enough to shake the windows. I was already ready, perched on the edge of Mistress’s pristine white couch in a pair of skintight jeans and a crop top that showed just a sliver of my fake tits. I’d curled my platinum blonde hair into bouncy waves that fell down my back, my lips painted a glossy pink that practically begged for attention.

When I heard the honk, I practically skipped to the door, my new clear platform heels clicking against the marble floor. Mistress had already given me her blessing for today’s trip.

“Have fun, slut,” she’d said, smirking knowingly as I grabbed my purse.

Roxy was waiting for me, leaning against her car like she owned the world. Her shorts were smaller than underwear, her massive fake tits spilling out of a white halter, and her lips glistened with the same sugar-pink gloss she always wore. Her energy radiated pure bimbo confidence, and I felt a jolt of excitement as I slid into the passenger seat.

“There’s my little bimbo-in-training!” Roxy cooed, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the lips, her tongue teasing against mine for just a moment. “You ready for today, slut?”

I giggled, biting my lip. “I’m ready, Roxy.”

She winked as she peeled out of the driveway. “Babe, by the time I’m done with you, no one’s gonna know what hit ‘em.”

The first stop was a rave store on the grittier side of town. Neon lights blinked in the windows, and the mannequins wore outfits that looked like they belonged in a fetish movie. Vinyl, latex, fishnets, and glitter covered every inch of the space. I hesitated at the entrance, but Roxy grabbed my hand and yanked me inside.

“This is where sluts like us thrive, babe,” she said, her voice bright and bubbly. “Now, let’s slut you up!”

The first thing she pulled off a rack was a tight pink crop top with the words I ❤️ COCK printed in glittery white letters. She held it up to my chest, grinning wildly.

“Oh my god, babe, this is so you,” she giggled.

I blushed but couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a bit ... bold.”

“Pfft,” Roxy scoffed, shoving the top into my arms. “You’ve got stripper tits now, Lizzy. Bold is the only way to go.”

She grabbed a pair of white booty shorts next, holding them up and tilting her head. “These with the top? Babe, you’ll look like every man’s wet dream.”

I bit my lip, already imagining how the outfit would look. “You think so?”

Roxy gave me a playful smack on the ass. “I know so. Now go try it on.”

In the fitting room, I slipped into the tiny outfit, my heart pounding as I turned to face the mirror. The pink top barely covered my fake tits, the glittering words stretched obscenely across my chest. The white shorts hugged my ass, the cheeks peeking out in a way that made me blush and grin at the same time. I twirled a little, feeling giddy.

Roxy’s voice echoed from outside the curtain. “Come on, babe, show me!”

I pushed the curtain back nervously, stepping into the open. Roxy let out an exaggerated gasp, clapping her hands together.

“Bitch, you look hot!” she squealed, running her hands up and down my arms. “You’re like a walking porn star with that body! Look at those tits!”

I blushed, adjusting the hem of the top, though I secretly loved the way she was hyping me up. “You think it’s enough?”

“Enough? Babe, men will be on their knees throwing bills at you.” She grabbed my hand and spun me around, making me giggle. “Okay, now let’s slut this up even more. We’re getting you boots.”

The next stop was a shoe store that specialized in stripper heels—rows and rows of towering platforms, glittering in every color imaginable. Roxy made a beeline for a pair of pink PVC thigh-high boots with impossibly high platforms and a glossy finish that screamed bimbo slut.

“These,” she announced, thrusting them toward me. “You need these.”

I ran my fingers over the smooth pink material, feeling a shiver of excitement. “They’re ... tall.”

Roxy laughed. “Babe, the taller the heel, the sluttier you look. And trust me, you were born to strut in these.”

She was right. Once I slipped them on, I felt ten feet tall, my legs looking longer, my hips naturally swaying as I took a few careful steps. Roxy whistled low, clapping her hands.

“Look at you! Fucking gorgeous, babe. Every inch of you just screams sex.”

As the day went on, Roxy guided me through racks of latex skirts, vinyl dresses, and glittery bras that left nothing to the imagination. She had an eye for the perfect mix of trashy and teasing, and every outfit she picked seemed to push me further into my new identity.

“Bimbo rule number one,” she teased as she zipped me into a pair of skintight vinyl pants. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Men don’t deserve subtle.”

We laughed together as she grabbed a sparkly pink latex dress that made me look like a living Barbie doll. Every outfit made me feel more confident, more like Liz—Mistress’s creation, Roxy’s bimbo sister.

We ended the day at a boutique tucked into a quiet corner of town. Inside, Roxy found the outfit. She wouldn’t let me see it—she only grinned wickedly as she handed it to the cashier.

“Innocence meets nasty bitch,” she said with a wink. “It’s perfect for your debut.”

“What is it?” I whined playfully, trying to peek.

She tapped my nose with her manicured finger. “No spoilers, slut. You’ll see soon enough.”

As the sun set, we finally collapsed into a booth at a diner, bags of clothes piled high beside us. Roxy ordered milkshakes, and as we waited, she leaned across the table, her lips curling into a grin.

“Today was perfect, babe,” she said. “You’re getting it. Like, really getting it.”

I smiled, twirling my straw between my fingers. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Roxy.”

Her grin softened, her bright eyes catching mine. “That’s what bimbo sisters are for, babe. We gotta stick together. Sluts like us? We’re unstoppable.”

She leaned closer, pressing her glossy lips to mine in a quick, teasing kiss that made my cheeks burn and my heart flutter. “Now,” she said, pulling back with a giggle, “let’s get you ready to blow their minds.”

As I leaned back in the booth, sipping my milkshake, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—joy. Roxy was more than a teacher. She was my friend, my companion in this new life. With her at my side, I could unleash every part of me I’d been holding back.

The moment I stepped into the dressing room of the club that night, my nerves felt like they were about to swallow me whole. My hands trembled slightly as I adjusted the delicate white lace of my debut outfit—a babydoll dress so sheer it was practically invisible, the matching thong barely covering anything at all. The outfit teetered on the edge of innocence and debauchery. With my glossy pink lips and my towering pink vinyl thigh-high boots, I was a contradiction made flesh. Sweet and filthy.