Space Games

Chapter 1: Space Games

__________________

Cursing ahead, ladies and gents. Should this displease your boat, float on, bro, float on.

______________

When I was little, my mother told me that I could be anything I wanted to be. So I became an intergalactic stripper in the hands of one of the galaxy's most wanted criminals.

Correction- I wasn't in the hands of her. Just sort of in her lair, with guns pointed at me and slit-pupil eyes narrowed at me as pearls fell out of my leotard. I pasted a shit-eating grin on my face and clutched the coins to my bosom.

"Don't mind me, boys," I said cheerfully.

I continued smiling at them for half a second, then I hauled my sparkly sequined ass up and proceeded to outrun men with guns in my 6-inch heels.

Approximately 1 and a half minutes later

"No!" I shouted as the rough hands of the guards dragged me out of the room.

 "Do you know how hard I worked to spread this glitter shit?"

They pointedly ignored me. Customers and dancers stared at me through the pulsing lights. I blew them a kiss to save face.

A tentacled Hoovian ran its suckers through my curly blonde wig as I was unceremoniously drug past it.

"Hands off, Davy Jones, this package is reserved for Clydia," I hissed, swatting at him with my wig.

Down a dark hallway...past some red doors...and in front of a shiny ass metal one.

"SWISSHHHHH!" I mimed the sound of the door as it opened.

"You're crazy lady," one of the guards muttered as they threw me into the opening.

I scrambled up with as much dignity as I could and whirled to face the retreating backs of the men.

"What the hell, guys, I thought we had a bonding moment back there!" I yelled.

The opening shut before my face and left me staring at the reflection of my pale face and darkly shadowed eyes. I closed my eyes and silently cursed my greed. A low cough interrupted my self-reflection. 

Fuck.

I turned around, ignoring the fact that my ass was clad in fishnets and a leotard, that I was wearing death traps, and had pearls falling out my boobs.

There she sat, the infamous Clydia. No last name. Like Usher.

Her blonde hair was let loose in big, fat golden curls. Her gold lips pouted perfectly at me, her purple eyes thickly rimmed with dark eyelashes. Her pale blue skin softly glowed in the golden lighting, and her finely manicured nails tapped the golden arms of her elaborate chair. 

I briefly wondered if her pubes were also gold.

Her purple eyes narrowed sexily at me, as if she sensed my thoughts. 

"Drop the pearls," she said.

Her voice was silky, cultured, and alien.

I stared her in the eyes and pulled my sequined bra away from my chest. I stood in awkward silence as the small orbs cascaded from my body. I blinked rapidly as the bouncing of the pearls on the tiled floor resounded. She sat in silence, lips pursed. The last pearl bounced and then we stared at each other for a few more seconds.