The Heat Is On (Potentially NC-17)

[shelby]

Carson City, NV

Sure working at the Moonlight Bunny Ranch would pay a hell of a lot more but working there was a step that Shelby wasn't sure she'd ever be able to make. It was a lot easier to sell the hint, the idea of sex to those drooling idiots that came into the clubs to drink the watered down well drinks and over priced beer than it was to actually fathom having to engage in sex with them.

She shuddered at the mere thought of it as she stared at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. It was ringed with those bare bulbs to cast as much light on the face as possible. Her long auburn hair looked crimson where the bulbs illuminated it. She tossed it over her shoulders and went back to dusting her cheek with the ultra soft blush brush. It was almost her time to go on stage. The Cherry Bomb to make her appearance for the first time in Carson City. Sometimes they'd get the high rollers in there. Ones that were on their way up to the Ranch but usually it was those that couldn't afford it.

Either way, she'd heard that the tips were good here and so she went through her routine in her head even as she popped the pill in her mouth, chasing it with a vodka tonic. Gotta keep the nerves down to a minimum tonight or else the fire will get out of control and she'd roast the place. That'd be a quick way to ensure she never could come back. And she needed the money. To others it might seem like she's sitting pretty but living on the run is never cheap. No plastic, no paper trail. Her old car was the one that she had in college and high school. She was supposed to have gotten a brand new Porshe when she graduated college. That had been the deal. It had already been picked out in her mind. A sweet candy apple red. Convertible of course. and with buttery black leather interior.

A soft sigh escaped her as Shelby ran the brush through her hair one more time and adjusted the straps on her little black bikini top. The leather looked good on her pale skin but it wasn't really her style. Neither were the six inch platform boots that hugged her legs to the knee like a second skin. Black on the bottom with leather flames that varied in color as it ran upwards. All part of the schtick.

She pretended to check her batons and the whip that she twirled on stage to let the others think it was a rigged show. Can't let the other dancers know she's nothing but a freak after all. But there was the announcer now. Slick Rick he called himself. The other dancers called him Rick the Prick.

Stepping up to the stage entrance she attached the whip to the belt that was around her black hot pants (which left little to nothing to the imagination, more 'cheek' showed than was hidden) and shifted her batons to her hands. She felt that familiar rush of heat as her power coiled within. As long as she kept a 'cool' head it'd be alright she could control it that much. Call it forth. Control it's intensity and size. As long as she wasn't upset or angry or well.. or turned on she could focus.

The light blinded her as she stepped on the stage and began her routine, thankful that the lights made it hard to see the patrons. Sure it made getting tips a little more of a challenge but at least she didn't have to see their faces. She lost herself in the music, the familiar routine of the work, the thrum of power through her body as she called the fire to her and the ends of the batons flared to life with the song and she dragged the heat down her body to the crowd's catcalls and whistles.

Just another day in paradise.

Can't stay at home,
Can't stay at school.
Old folks say,
'You poor little fool'.

Down the street,
I'm the girl next door.
I'm the fox you've been waiting for.

Hello Daddy,
Hello Mom,
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.
Hello world,
I'm your wild girl.
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.