It was this reputation that drew the troupe's two newest members to the little burlesque house by the sea. Ginger the saucy redhead is master of the Comedy Striptease. New to the business, Wild Orchid embodies all that is innocent--or so she'd have you believe! Secrets abound at Les Trois Dames Jouissantes, and it takes more than slippery fingers to bring them to the surface.
"I'd like to see your figure," Mireille told the girl. Nudity was part of the application process at Trois Dames. She had to be certain new applicants were completely comfortable in their bodies. One must be to do this type of work. By now she shouldn't feel so giddy about viewing new meat for the first time, but she couldn't conceal her love of nubile bodies. The curse of the invert.
Leili stood centre stage, wiping nervous hands against the skirt of her cotton dress. Her tan skin flushed shades of scarlet at the request. With the toe of her work boot, she itched the back of her leg.
"Just a quick once-over to make sure everything's in the right place," Mireille assured her, leaning back against a table in the centre of the house. She'd worn her John Wayne outfit: dungarees, a men's shirt, red hankie 'round her neck and even the pair of cowboy boots. Did Madame's clothes make the girl ill at ease, or was she just staring too eagerly? Either way, this new addition would have to get used to dozens of eyeballs tracing the boundaries of her flesh. And if she was looking to earn some real dough, their eyeballs were just the beginning.
"If you're uncomfortable taking off your clothes for an audience of one, you're in the wrong place," Mireille said as she turned from the stage to pour herself a cup of tea. "There's no room for modesty in this business, sugar tits. You're backstage making quick changes in a room full of girls, you're out here strutting your stuff every night before a house full of leering, jeering jerks. Now, I'm not saying you must bare all--that's entirely up to you--but the costumes in burlesque are skimpy to say the least. You won't last long in my house if you're not comfortable..."
Even the unmovable Mireille stopped short when she turned to find Venus herself centre stage. Glowing golden in the spotlight, her blanched hair glittered. Her shoulders shone like the wings of an angel. Nubile breasts sat against her chest like pools of cream peaked with pink meringues. The girl pressed those smallish orbs together with lithe arms as she folded her hands before a tuft of wild hair. She was a sight to behold. "What did you say your name was?" Mireille asked.
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