Fredrica's ch2 pt1

Filling out the paperwork with Gary took far longer than you had anticipated. You weren’t too sure about the usual employment procedures in the food/showbiz/adult entertainment business, but damn was there a lot of contract signing. You skimmed them all of course and nothing seemed too suspicious. You’re not exactly an expert in legalize, but nothing seemed like it was going to make you required to whack people or something. They were probably no where near as harmful as all the credit card contracts you had signed, then tried to escape.

After finishing up the last document and another handshake, the doorman and you parted your ways, him returning to the front, and you retiring to your new base of operations. With a smile, you pulled out your new copy of the key and unlocked the door. The room wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t claustrophobically small either. You took a seat on the surprisingly comfortable chair and looked over all the monitors. Your inkling back in Mama’s room had been right; she had about a third more cameras on her feed than you. With how Chica had regarded her, perhaps she was the real security around here.

You were a little disappointed the contracts took so long, since it made you miss Mama’s act, but you figured, being open all night, she would more than likely do an encore performance. As the hour ticked along, every 15 or 20 minutes, another girl would come on stage and do an act.

The first one you got to watch was Foxy. She wasn’t in her usual pirate attire, but instead it was something more like a leotard and tights, again coated in a fine dusting of jewels and glitter. Her hook was no longer a hook, but instead a hand. She probably could pop it off and exchange them you figured. On stage were various kinds of gymnastics equipment, as well as ropes hanging from the ceiling. Remaining posed and expressionless and silent, the classical music started and she hopped onto the bars, spinning and holding herself up, and flipping onto another set piece after another. You had seen something like this in the olympics, but to see a robot do it was just unreal. In the process, her outfit was coming off, bit by bit, and falling to the stage below. She hung from a bar with one hand, then tore off the remaining costume with the other, leaving her in a thong and black pasties. She posed and twisted along the bars, giving some spectacular highflying views of her lithe, robotic form. She jumped from the highest bar, landing stiff on her feet center stage, her back to the audience. She bent over as far as she could and the patrons at their tables went nuts cheering. She straightened back up and turned, giving a curt bow before the curtains closed. You remained seated, but were indeed giving her a silent standing ovation.

Chica came on next, dressed in another clingy gown. This one hid even less than the last. She took her microphone and sung a sultry song about ways to please a woman. The entire thing dripped with innuendo and terrible dirty puns. She got down on the stage at one point, sitting at the edge and directly singing to a lonely looking fellow with a slice of Hawaiian pizza on his plate, as well as 5 or so empty highball cocktail glasses. He grinned like an idiot while she drew a hand up his chest and to the tip of his chin. He nearly looked like he was going to faint. Her eyes shot from him, to directly at your window. While the customers were none the wiser about the one way mirror, Chica knew. Her lusty expression felt like it was penetrating your soul. She got back up and slipped out of the gown, a shimmering belt of beaded fringe barely covering the expanse of her g-string clad behind. As she shook, the beads shivered and you were pretty sure you did too. She cupped her chest with an arm as she removed her bra and finished her song, apparently going without pasties, or giving the illusion of such, until she left the stage. With another wink in your direction, she was back in the wings. Before the curtain fell, you saw Bonnie scurry out and collect the chicken’s dress. She paused when she realized the audience could see her, then the fabric cut her off from your view. You glanced down at your tight, straining pants. How were you going to be able to stand this job if this kept happening every 20 minutes?

A few minutes after Chica’s act while taking a moment to kick back, you were startled by a sudden alarm going off on some of the equipment on your desk. Frantic, you scanned the monitors, then found the culprit. A figure in a black trenchcoat and brimmed hat was getting in the backstage through a firedoor! You shot out of your chair and grabbed your maglight. You had never clobbered anyone, but the blood pumping in your system made the idea of it pretty cool. And maybe defending the place from a real life crook would convince Foxy that you had more security prowess than she believed. Without missing a beat, you rushed out of your office and down the hall, ready to work for your job.