Janet & Cas

Love and Murder

Cassandra stopped the music. The young guy she doubted was more than 16-17 years old was still breathing hard. She didn't even have to remove much clothing before he finished. When he entered the room, she was dressed in light blue denim shorts, fishnets, high heeled boots that stopped right below the knees, and a bra. After a little bit of flirting and suggestive dancing, she stood with her crotch only millimeters from his face, and slowly begun to unbutton her shorts. That had made him grunt and shake, a pretty obvious sign that he was done.

That was easy, she thought to herself, while she buttoned up her shorts again.

The whole scene left a sour taste in her mouth. She'd just given a lap-dance to a kid. Turned him on. Well, turned him on even more, as he was obviously already horny when he stepped in.

It's really not my problem, she thought, trying to justify it all. It wasn't her problem that the doorman let him in. It wasn't her problem that nobody asked any questions when he paid for the lap-dance. And it wasn't her problem that the guy didn't have the sense to wear something dark colored. He was wearing light beige pants, who now had a quite visible, growing, dark stain to his left below the zipper. Nobody in their right mind would attend a strip club wearing light colored pants, let alone having a lap-dance. All the men she'd seen in the club always wore dark pants and jackets long enough to keep a secret.

It wasn't the first time she'd made a guy get off in his pants during a lap-dance, it happened once in a while, but it wasn't standard. Most men managed to hold their balls during the 3 or some times 4 minutes the song of choice lasted. But of course, a few men had "accidents". Cassandra didn't care as long as they behaved and followed the rules.

The kid's song of choice had been Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me", which is about 4,5 minutes long, and he came after 2 minutes. A shame, she thought, as she hadn't heard it for a long time, and would like to hear the whole thing. Then she smirked about the thought that the song would never be the same for him again. Every time he'll hear it, he's going to think about how he busted a nut, and would have to walk all the way home with his stain showing, as he probably pissed away all his money on that dance.

It's not her problem, not her responsibility. Yet she can't help feeling a bit sorry for the guy, even though he brought this on himself. She doesn't fancy the idea of wondering if he made it home safe. She turns to him. His breathing is almost normal now.

"You ok?", she asked.

"Yeah, thanks", he replied, looking kind of embarrassed. She grabbed a chair and sat next to him.

"How old are you?", she asked in a low voice, not wanting anyone outside to hear it.

"Um...twenty....twenty-one. I mean two!"

"The hell you are." He looked down.

"Eighteen...."

"Eighteen, huh...."

"In a couple of months", he added. Cassandra nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Greg...."

"Tell me something, Greg. And I want you to be perfectly honest with me. Do you live nearby?"

He shook his head.

"Ah. Next question. Do you have any money left, or did you use everything on this." Greg cleared his throat.

"The latter."

"I see."

Cassandra stood up, and walked over to her purse she'd left in a corner. She grabbed her wallet, and took out some money.