Hello. My name is Hazel Brown and I'm a 22-year-old stripper. I've been dancing ever since I was 20-years-old. It's not a hobby. It's just a job. I'm saving up for college. My stage name is Honey Hazel. Oh. I haven't said anything about myself besides my demeaning job. I have long, silky, black hair, large, perky breasts, no stomach, slim hips, and a nice, round, big ass. I guess that's why I get all the attention at Mark's Boob Bar and a lot of tips.
I hate this job. I didn't even want to do it, but there weren't any other job openings. So, unfortunately, I had to do what I had to do, which was strip. I work five days a week, and for what? To have guys drool over me like dogs and smack my ass whenever they want to?
And don't even get me started on the owner, Mark Stower. He's the biggest jerk I've ever met. He always tries to have sex with his employees. He still hits on me. He's tried to have sex with me twenty times in the past week. He would open up a strip club. He just wants to see practically nude women walking around in 6-inch heels. What a jerk.
Well, I'm here, in the club, doing what I get paid $22 an hour to do, plus the tips that get thrown at me. I climb up the pole, wrap my leg around it, and spiral down it. Men throw money at me and smile, cheering like they're watching football. I squat down and start twerking. Money showers me and I feel it bounce off me. I change my position and put both of my legs under my ass and make my cheeks clap. After awhile, I get off the pole and an attractive man that looks wealthy approaches me. "I'll give you $200 for a private dance." He says, cheekily smiling, dimples fully showing. "Alright." I reply. I take his hand in mine and lead him to a door that says "Private Area" on it.
