Confessions of a Lapdancer

When I worked my next shift, I wondered if I…

Chapter Twenty-Two

My heart was in my mouth, which made it difficult…

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next day in the office, I was now more…

Chapter Twenty-Four

I spent the first half of my life wanting to…

Chapter Twenty-Five

Some nights hit you completely unawares. This particular Saturday night…

Chapter Twenty-Six

Back in the club, I spotted Declan moving away from…

Chapter Twenty-Seven

In the back of the tasteless stretch limo, Suzy immediately…

Chapter Twenty-Eight

My legs went weak. Now I had to do something.…

Chapter Twenty-Nine

How do you describe black hole? All I know is…

Chapter Thirty

The next day Irena was released from hospital, and that…

Chapter Thirty-One

After that night with Desmond and Dublin and Tony, Linda…

Chapter Thirty-Two

Two days later I was still reeling from the revelation…

Chapter Thirty-Three

I left work early and arrived at the Pearl with…

Epilogue

‘I knew the moment I saw you that somehow, sometime,…

Read on for an exclusive extract…

Madam

Original Titles from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Prologue

‘No physical contact. No fraternising. No wandering about. No extras.’ Jackie reviews the rules while Suzy sips champagne and I strip out of my business suit. ‘We are wheels up in two hours, no exceptions. Once our limousine pulls clear of the security gates, we were never there.’

‘Very James Bond,’ I say, contorting to remove my bespoke silk suit. Thank God for tinted windows, or the commuters on Regent Street would be getting an eyeful.

‘More like Pussy Galore,’ Suzy retorts, refilling her glass with more bubbly.

I don’t normally work Tuesdays but Jackie practically begged – and Jackie doesn’t beg. I planned to pull an all-nighter at the office until I got her call on my mobile. Daryll expects my investment analysis with recommendations on his desk by Thursday morning. But I don’t often get the chance to make £1,000 for a few hours’ work.

I slipped out while the rest of the team went to reward themselves at the local Corney & Barrow. Daryll’s got a big client and we are all working our balls off to develop a kick-ass portfolio. I’m the only one on the team who doesn’t even technically have balls, which makes life more difficult, but ultimately more interesting. It used to be that my job in the city paid the bills and my night job helped with extras – like Zeus, my stallion, and a stable in Sussex. But lately it feels like the other way around.

Jackie said our engagement is strictly black tie. That means no latex or vinyl or any other kinky fantasy shit. Suzy’s best in the leather so I get to play the belle of the ball. Jackie unzips the garment bag. She’s loaning me one of the Pearl’s best gowns. I refuse to risk cum stains on the new Christian Dior strapless number I bought as a little bonus. I might as well give myself one since those tightwads at Sloane Brothers save the big bucks for the blokes.

I slip out of my bra and knickers: unsightly panty lines would spoil the flow of the crepe-backed satin. A few months ago I was a buttoned-up investment banker who barely exposed her wrists in public. Now I’m stark naked in the back of a limo sent by some European ambassador. Limos ooze sex. Long moving phalluses. Dark windows. Once I almost fucked the son of a sheikh in the back of a limo. I love fucking while in motion – cars, airplanes, motorcycles, double-decker buses. But that’s on my private time. Tonight it’s strictly cum dancing.

Jackie hands me a scarlet Vera Wang, with a plunging neckline and a side slit that almost meet. I wiggle into the gown.

‘Have I ever told you what nice tits you have?’ Suzy slurs.

‘You’re just buttering me up for some girl-on-girl action, you slut,’ I say, and flick my lacy black thong at her.

‘That’s enough,’ Jackie says, smoothing her long brown hair. She may be ten years my senior, but she’s got a rock-hard ass and tits that would make any 16-year-old bloke stand to attention. ‘We’re almost there.’

She hands me my wig. I exchange my short black spiky locks for shoulder-length auburn curls and transform from Geraldine Carson, investment banker, into Ginger, high-class lap dancer.

I can only imagine what you’re thinking, but please don’t judge me. I’m just a modern woman trying to make her way in a man’s world.

You think you’re different; it’s different.

Really?