EXTRACT FOR
Stripper
(Argus)

      I yawned loudly as I dropped my books on my desk and took off my coat. I hated Tuesdays. I had an Economics course at 8 in the morning, and the day didn't end until Marketing class was over at six.

      But at least I had the afternoon off tomorrow. I could get in some studying.

      I took off my shoes, then sat down at my desk to go over the mail. I felt the buildup in tension when I saw the letter from my father. Lately he only wanted to talk about one thing...money.

      My parents were middle-class, not rich, and it was costing them a lot of money to send me to university. This hadn't bothered them much when my two older brothers had gone, but my mother, and to a much greater degree, my father, thought it was a waste of time and money to send me here.

      They were from Ireland, you see, not the modern Ireland of Dublin and Cork, but the rural farming lands of Munster. They were staunch Roman Catholics, and their views of women were from the last century.

      I think the only reason my father agreed to allow me to come in the first place was the argument my mother made that I'd be able to meet a nice law or medical student here, and marry him, of course.

      Then I could quit this silly place and go and keep house like a good girl should.

      I opened the envelope and gloom settled on me, along with frustration and anger. My dad was all but giving me notice that I should find some nice guy quick or I'd find myself back home in Pennsylvania working as a waitress or shop clerk, both of which were much more respectable jobs than this silly Business stuff I was studying.

      He said he was almost broke, but I knew that wasn't true. My father always moaned about money, but he had more than enough to keep me in university, and would have if I were a man. It was so unfair!

      I'd been here two years now, and it wasn't my fault that I was so busy studying that I didn't have much time for a social life. Anyway, I didn't want to meet some guy and get married so I could play wifey for the rest of my life.

      The door opened and Shauna came bouncing in.

      "Hi!" she said, in her musical voice.

      Shauna was a bit of an airhead.

      "Hi, Shauna," I sighed.

      "Oooo, big depression. Not another letter from your old man?"

      I nodded.

      "Tell him to go fuck himself," she said.

      My parents would have been shocked, and I was two years ago, but I'd gotten used to her language and it hardly bothered me at all any more.

      "I can't do that as long as he's paying the bills," I said.

      "So get a job."

      "I've looked," I sighed, pushing my chair back. "It's not that easy finding a part-time job that's going to pay for everything and still leave me time to study. Most of what I'm qualified for only pays minimum wage. Do you know how many hours I'd have to work at that to support myself?"

      "Lots?" she asked.

      I rolled my eyes. Shauna didn't have to worry about money. Her parents paid for anything she wanted, clothes, car, and trips, whatever.

      "I know a job you could do!" she said excitedly. "Maria mentioned there's an opening at Owl's, the restaurant she works, and they make really good tips."

      "Owls? Isn't that the place where the waitresses wear really tight tops and short shorts?"

      "I think so. All the girls are pretty and well-built anyway. That's why Maria asked me," she giggles.

      "I don't think so," I snorted.

      "Why not? You're real pretty, and you got a better body even than me. I've seen your boobs, remember."

      I blushed a bit, then shook off the embarrassment. Shauna was completely open about sex and nudity. Nothing embarrassed her.

      "I can't wear stuff like that," I said. "In the first place I'd be too embarrassed. In the second place dressing like that is degrading to women. I'm going to be a financial analyst, or maybe a stock broker. I can't walk around looking like some tramp just to get tips!"

      She sighed and sat on her bed. "Well, if you work at minimum wage you'll get about four dollars an hour. If you work, say, twenty hours in a week, you'll get...uhm..."

      "Eighty dollars," I said, rolling my eyes.

      "Right."

      "Minus taxes and withholding, so probably seventy dollars."

      "Seventy dollars for twenty hours work. Maria works four hours shifts at Owls, and she says she gets over a hundred bucks in tips a night."

      "That much?"

      She nodded. "That's twenty dollars an hour."

      "Twenty five," I said absently.

      "You wouldn't have to keep writing home asking for money for shampoo or books or stuff," she said. "Maybe your old man would shut up then."

      "I don't knowwww," I said, getting up and going to the mirror.

      "Come on! You're really pretty, and stacked too."

      "Please," I said, embarrassed.

      "You're a thirty-six D cup," she said, coming up behind me, "And you got great legs, and really nice hair, for a brunette, and a pretty face."

      "And my father would have a heart attack if he saw me working in that place," I grinned. "A fucking heart attack."

      "Right!" she laughed.

      "I feel so... trampy," I said, making an embarrassed face.

      Maria grinned and shook her head.

      "Don't be dumb. Look, I'm Catholic too, but there's nothing wrong with flaunting yourself a bit to get ahead. It's all in a worthy cause, remember."

      I nodded, unconvinced.

      "Anyway, you can see people dressed like that all over the place. Of course, that's partly because you're not dressed right."

      "Huh?"

      She took my arm and led me back into the locker room.

      "Take off your top."

      "Why?"

      "Just do it."

      Feeling awkward, and glad I'd had to get used to changing around Shauna, I lifted up the T-shirt and took it off.

      "Now the bra."

      "What!?"

      "You see me wearing a bra?"

      "Well... no... but I wasn't gonna mention it."

      "You'll get twice as many tips if you don't wear a bra."

      "Maria, I have to wear a bra, otherwise I... uh..."

      "Bounce. No, you won't. Just take it off."

      Her hands went to the straps and jerked them down.

      "Maria!"

      "Come on. We gotta go out there in a minute."

      "I... can't go out there with no bra," I said, face red.

      "Sure you can."

      She helped me take off my bra, and I blushed even more as I bared my soft, rounded breasts.

      "You're only nineteen, for God's sake. Look how firm they are. They won't sag or anything."

      "But when I move..."

      "We'll take care of that. Put your shirt back on."

      I pulled it on quickly, and Shauna grabbed the bottom, which I had had tucked into my shorts, and kind of rolled it up, then turned me around and yanked the material together in back of me, tying it off. The thin T-shirt pressed in so tightly against my breasts that they we both well-supported and very clearly outlined.

      "Much better," she said, turning me around again.

      "I'm practically naked!"

      "Oh bull. Oh, and here."

      She gripped the waistband of my shorts and yanked them up hard. I yanked them back down again, and she yanked them back up.

      "Just show a little bit of cheek and you'll get those tips pouring in."

      "I feel like a whore," I said.

      "Don't be. We're taking these suckers for their money and not giving them a damned thing in return except heartburn."

      She reached up to my hair and jerked the clips out that I'd put to hold it back.

      "It'll get in my way when I work," I protested half-heartedly.

      "This isn't a regular restaurant, Alexandra. The guys want to see a pretty girl, and pay you big tips for it. Tying your hair back will cost you. I know it's not fair, but in this place, the prettier you are, the better looking and more leg and tit you show, the better your tips."

      I was incredibly embarrassed for about the first half hour out in the restaurant, then I kind of got used to things. I mean, you can only remain embarrassed for so long before something doesn't bother you any more, even wearing a shirt so tight everyone could see just how big your nipples were at a glance.

      I was still a little embarrassed from time to time, when I caught some guy really staring at my breasts, or when someone made a lewd comment about them, or about my behind, and I dropped a plate when some guy squeezed my ass, but the first night wasn't too bad, and I did get nice tips.

      The funny thing was that the more I did it, the more... well... the more... cocky I got, the more I flaunted myself.

      See, I'd always dressed very demurely, but now I found that flaunting my body as I was there was incredibly exciting. It turned me on to see guys so...excited at just looking at me, to know how hot they thought I was.

      They lusted after me, and thought I was beautiful, and made it so clear and plain that they would love to get me alone somewhere and do lewd things to my soft, white body.

      I felt quite safe, though, since there were bouncers, and anyone who got out of line would be tossed out. I kind of flaunted myself a little more, wagging my ass when I walked sometimes, talking in double entendres to some of the guys a the tables, returning their lewd jokes.

      I liked having those guys drooling over me. It excited me, and made me feel proud and...and beautiful...and sexy.

      Not that I knew that much about sex, being a virgin. But it was more and more on my mind as the days passed, as I sashayed around in the restaurant half-dressed, guys staring at my ass cheeks and tits.

      Sometimes Jerry, the bartender, would turn the heat down so the room would get chill and our nipples would get hard. At first that really embarrassed me, but after a while I kind of liked it. It meant better tips, got the guys more excited, and let me kind of... show off myself without taking any responsibility for it.

      One evening I got so excited that when I got home and got undressed and got into bed, I felt my pussy throbbing in such a delightful way that I slid my hand down and squeezed it repeatedly.

      I'd never masturbated before, because my priest said it was a terrible thing to do. Anyway, I hadn't really been much tempted until lately. But now I thought of all the things I'd overheard from girlfriends, and thought of how hot I'd been at the restaurant, and I slowly pressed a finger against my pussy opening.

      I felt wicked as I ran my finger up and down the tight little slit. Yet I knew most people did it, and that it couldn't really be that bad if most people did it.

      I rubbed especially hard at the top, where my clitoris was, and the pleasure began to grow and grow, my insides getting hot and tight, the pressure building up inside me. 

      I eased my finger down between my soft pussy lips, feeling the moistness of my inner body. I probed against the tight hole that lead to my pussy tunnel, dipping my finger inside as my other fingers continued to stroke along my slit.

      I felt a powerful burst of pleasure as I pressed my thumb against my clitoris and rubbed it back and forth. I imagined myself as I was now, legs spread, with a man mounting me, plunging his great organ into my belly, up through the virginal folds of my pink pussy tunnel.

      I screwed my finger in a little deeper, eyes closed, body pulsing with heat as I stroked my clitty. My behind was grinding into the mattress as the pleasure seemed to roll over me in waves, and I couldn't control myself any more, couldn't stop from thrusting my finger deeper in my pussy, pumping it in and out.

      I was breathing faster and faster, my head throbbing, my breasts swollen and aching as my arms crushed them down and together.