Smash the Sweetheart (Part 1): A Female WAM Story

Scene 1: Have You Ever Considered Using Your Good Looks for Money?

For as long as she could remember, Reese was a dancer. She practically lived in the studio growing up, she was on the Dance Team in college, and now, at the ripe old age of 23, she had landed a coveted spot on the dance squad for the Washington Wild Things hockey team.

For all intents and purposes, dancing was her identity.

The only issue was, the pay was meager and she had expenses. A lot of expenses. She was in graduate school, pursuing an MBA, one of the most expensive degrees out there. Her future was as bright as her mind, but potential doesn’t pay the bills, and neither did this dance team gig.

For her fellow dancers, this job was either a hobby or a stepping stone. To the Rockettes. To Hollywood. To a spot as a backup dancer on a musician’s world tour. It was great fun, but it didn’t cover living in one of the most expensive cities in America.

Despite her current station, Reese had never been the prom queen type. She was a striver. Introverted. Avoidant of attention. As with most women, she took great care of her appearance, and underneath her bookish nature was a young woman with a petite body that she could, but didn’t, use to get her way. She had wavy, shoulder-length dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could light up a room. She wasn’t really the hot girl next door, but maybe the hot girl next door’s sister.

Again, more untapped potential.

Confident in the classroom but unconfident in her social life, Reese often questioned whether the person she was becoming was the person she wanted to be. Late at night, Reese often peeked around various corners of the internet to explore whether her true identity lay elsewhere.

And in some ways, it did. She felt drawn to exhibitionism, and thought that stripping for people’s entertainment was something she wanted to try out. She saw how men looked at her at hockey games. The girls always talked about setting her up with someone, but she always demurred, saying her schedule was too hectic, or she wasn’t interested in dating.

So it seemed like fate when, one Saturday night, after another Wild Things victory, the girls went out to a bar near the arena. They were no longer in their uniforms, but in cropped running jackets, black tank tops, and black leggings that made them look like an anonymous group of women out for a girl’s night. As the first round of drinks came by, one of Reese’s dance teammates, Alexis, approached her. They hadn’t gotten to know each other yet, and frankly, Reese was intimidated by her. She looked so confident with her dance moves, was pitch perfect in practice, and was perhaps the most attractive woman on the squad. Her long brown hair always looked silky smooth, her breasts were huge, and her thighs looked like they could crush a Chevy. And her ass, my god, Becky, look at her butt.

“Hey girl, I’m Alexis,” she said. Alexis offered open arms to give Reese a hug, as if they’d known each other forever.

“Reese.” She went in for the hug.

“Listen,” Alexis said, “I’ve been seeing your confidence grow this season. I can tell you have talent, and you put in the work. I really think you have the potential” – there’s that word again – “to be a captain someday. Plus, look at you! You’re smokin’ hot!

“Have you ever considered using your good looks for money?”

Reese was taken aback by this come-on. “Oh no, I’m not like that. I’m not looking to be some kind of escort. Thanks, though.” She began to walk away.

Alexis gently held her by the left shoulder. “Girl, no, it’s not like that at all. No clients, no standing on street corners, nothing.”

Alexis guided Reese out of the main room with its throbbing music, to settle on a back deck that was much quieter and more private.

“This is different. I’m a talent scout for a high-end gentlemen's club. We look for all kinds of girls to perform at the club, and with the way you present yourself, I think you’d be perfect.”

Reese was surprised, though with her secret background, very obviously intrigued. “Are you sure you’ve got the right girl, though? I don’t have, like, size DDs. Or big lips. Or platinum blonde hair. I’m as nerdy as nerdy gets. Why me?”

“No, no, no,” Alexis interjected. “I think you’re misunderstanding me. We’re looking for all kinds of girls. Our clients like girls of all shapes and sizes. And they LOVE nerdy types like you. The hot nerd, if you will.

“Plus, this isn’t your average strip club. This is the most upscale club in the city. Our clients are all well-off, there’s an entry process to become a member, and it’s all totally discreet. Plus, you can’t just apply for a job here. We scout people, which means you’d be part of an exclusive club, one of the best of the best, performing for some of the wealthiest people in the city. What that means for the girls is a TON of earning potential, as long as they have what it takes. With the money I’ve made, I’m taking a loooong backpacking trip across Europe after the season ends. It’s serious cash, love! So, do you have what it takes?”

“I dunno,” Reese said. “I mean, secretly, I think I’m an exhibitionist, but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Relax, honey,” Alexis said. “All it takes is a good attitude and a willingness to learn, and you’ll be taking home fat stacks in no time. I mean, look at what they pay us. There’s NO WAY you can afford all these nice clothes on your student loans and these game checks, am I right?”

Reese looked down at the ground, embarrassed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You don’t even have to say yes yet. Come down to the club, meet some of the girls, get to know us a little bit. No pressure, and if it’s not your thing, totally cool. You’ll never hear from us again. What do you say?”

“Who’s the owner?”

“Oh, to be honest, she’s rarely around. I’ve been working there for about eight months and I’ve only seen her maybe once a month. I think she has a whole portfolio of businesses, so we just never see her. It’s mostly me and one or two other girls who run the club day-to-day.

Thinking nothing of it, Reese agreed to come by for a visit. She liked that this club was both high-end and female-run.

“Girl, you’re a superhero. This is gonna be great.

“You should know though, this is the big leagues. Because of the high bar for men to get in, they’re really looking to be entertained. So you gotta learn on the job quickly. Are you cool with that?”

Reese pauses, as if reconsidering. Am I crazy for even considering this?

But this offer was like manna from heaven. Among Reese’s vices was a propensity to buy expensive, designer clothes. Clothes for going out, clothes for working out. Gucci, Prada, Ultracor. She was on the verge of hiring a personal trainer. All of this took giant chunks out of her discretionary budget. Her wages from the dance team weren’t cutting it. On her budget, it would be lenient to say she was stretched.

Reese shrugged her shoulders. She was ready to explore her inner stripper. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

Reese’s club visit went as well as it could have. The girls were all nice to her, with a kindness that rarely got extended to her by her snobby, upper-class classmates on campus. They were either indifferent to her, or outright hostile. On campus, she was that aloof, preppy girl who the geniuses dismissed as the class’s token hot girl, and who the attractive people in her class dismissed as a nerdy loser. She just couldn’t win. Here, she was seen as someone else entirely. One of the girls.

As predicted, the owner of the club was absent that day, but Reese already expected this, and wasn’t torn up about it.

Nevertheless, she was sold. Alexis interviewed her on the spot, more as a formality than anything else, and before she knew it, Reese was walking out the door with a new job, one that both she and Alexis knew would be much more lucrative than prancing around a hockey rink.

Except it wasn’t. Or not really. Whether it was due to her inexperience, a lack of chemistry with clients, or her general awkward nature, Reese had struggled to pull down tips in her first month on the job. She was still bringing home decent cash, more than enough to give her breathing room, but she had a nagging feeling – whether it was seeing other women with bigger crowds around them, or through the locker room talk in the back – that she wasn’t pulling her weight.

But the chatter amongst her fellow performers was positive. People struggle to find their footing at first, one of them said. You just need to find the right clients, said another. Pick up extra shifts, regulars come at regular times and if you catch the right guy on the right night, he’ll take care of you for as long as you work here, said yet another.

This was all good advice, and Reese intended to start doing those things in the month ahead.

Scene 2: Monthly Dues

“Our monthly ‘Smash the Sweetheart’ event. Tonight. 8pm at The Club.”

The text message was short and to the point. It went to all of the club members on this, the first Tuesday of the month.

Tuesdays were traditionally slow nights. So the club owner came up with this idea to drum up business on a night when most of her members would ordinarily stay home, especially after a long day of work. It was like doing a trivia night, strip club style.

Performers treated it as an all-hands-type event, where everyone had learned to be there as a condition of their employment. Coincidentally, Reese had been scheduled for a shift on this night, her one month anniversary of joining the club. Whether it was intentionally withheld from her or not, she was totally unaware that Smash the Sweetheart was a monthly occurrence. Or that it occurred at all.

In her first couple of weeks at the club, she found that the clients who did seem interested in her wanted to see her in the kinds of outfits she’d wear on the Dance Team. She was more of a runner or a yogi than a voluptuous, full-bodied woman, and she leaned into that, dressing up almost exclusively in lycra: tight shirts, tight pants, tight shorts. Lululemon had been her go-to for these kinds of clothes, and this job only gave her more of a reason to shop there, as she sought out skintight clothes that accentuated the features she did have: a broad chest, toned (if not exactly muscular) arms, and a plump, round butt that was bigger than it had any right to be.

When performing, these clothes would come off pretty quickly, revealing some sort of skimpy underwear that sent her clients into a tizzy.

Reese walked into the club about 20 minutes before her shift began, dressed in what resembled her now-standard outfit: a glittery, satiny, shiny red cropped tank top that was low cut to accentuate her ample boobs; and sky blue yoga pants that made her ass look enormous and her thighs look thick and strong. She was especially proud of this outfit, a brand new pairing she just bought the day before with some of her tip money. A spotlight shone on the rarely-used stage in the back, and several rows of chairs were set up to face it, with the entire first row roped off with “RESERVED” signs on each seat.

A few of her fellow performers had already been seated in those chairs, so Reese approached them and asked what all this was about.

“You don’t know?” one of them said incredulously. “Tonight is Smash the Sweetheart. We hold it every month to honor one of us for their hard work. Ms. Johnson, the club owner, even comes by to give the lucky lady her prize.”

The performer purposely painted the proceedings in a positive light, knowing that this was Reese’s first time and knowing she had been a poor performer thus far. If past versions of Smash the Sweetheart were an indicator, there was no way Reese would be able to avoid some ridicule tonight.

Meanwhile, Reese figured she was too new to be honored in any type of way. She hadn’t been getting the astronomical tips of some of her peers, but many told her that was normal for someone just starting. She was just excited to meet the club’s mysterious owner, this “Ms. Johnson” lass. She hoped to shake her hand, to thank her for the opportunity to work here, especially as someone with her look and no prior experience.

A few minutes later, members started filing in, taking seats in the rows behind the performers. Reese recognized a few of them, a couple of whom waved and blew kisses in her direction. She never knew how to feel about this, especially with these guys being 15, 20, or 25 years older than her. Some surely had wives and kids to go home to. But she knew she was playing a role, and winked right back at them.

Still, Reese had only worked weeknights, so she was amazed at the sheer number of members in attendance. This many people can just come here on a random Tuesday? she asked herself incredulously. There had to have been 40 to 50 people there, and they filled up all the seats. The fact that this event would eventually become standing room only was both intimidating and exhilarating to Reese. A lot of people to perform for, but if for some reason she was brought up to be honored by Ms. Johnson – maybe she’d be introduced as the club’s newest performer and get a round of applause – she could attract some more clients and earn more tips.

Before long, the clock struck 8:00 and a trance music beat began to play. Out came the emcee, none other than Reese’s recruiter, Alexis. She walked right up to center stage, beneath the bright spotlight, and rested her hand on a single metal folding chair. The chair itself was on top of what looked like a massive plastic sheet that covered most of the stage. It crunched underneath Alexis’s feet as she moved.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome! Thanks for coming to the March edition of Smash the Sweetheart! As always, we’ve got a fantastic show for you, and if I may say so, this could be the most epic show yet!

“As you know, every month, we ‘honor’ one of our lovely performers with a wonderful prize she’ll never forget, and this month’s honoree is someone truly near and dear to my heart.”

Reese looked around at her peers. Many of them looked amused, but some of them looked genuinely worried. What could cause a reaction like this? she thought.

“I met this great lady on my dance team a couple of months ago, and once I started talking to her, I knew she’d be perfect for the club. She’s just so cute! She’s so shy, but as some of you know, she has a hidden wild side that no one on the dance team knows about. She’s just now beginning to explore that side of herself, and I think she’s got a bright future ahead!”

Reese is frozen. Against all odds, she might just be the one to be brought on stage to be honored. This club is awesome! she thought. Way to make a girl feel welcome!

“So without further ado, please welcome up to the stage, one of my best friends at the club, and the club’s newest performer, let’s give it up for Reese, everybody!”

There is rapturous applause as Reese slowly stands up. She takes a look back at the crowd, smiles, and waves. She simply cannot believe this warm reception. She’s only worked here a few weeks! She had been told that getting a job here was extremely difficult, but with how easy her interview was, and now this, it felt like she was living a dream.

Reese bolted up the few steps to the stage, and greeted Alexis with a big hug. She found it amusing that Alexis was wearing one of those tuxedo t-shirts cut off at the waist along with a pair of glittery booty shorts, but this was a strip club after all. Whatever kind of fake award show this was, everybody had to at least pretend.

“Reese, thanks for joining us, and congratulations! You’re this month’s honoree!”

“Thanks, what do I get?” Reese said naively.

The crowd chuckles and groans. This one has no idea what she’s in for.

“Hold your horses there, sport,” Alexis says. “First, I’d love it if you could take a seat in this chair here.” She tapped the seat back of the metal chair with her hand. Reese obliged.

“Now,” Alexis says, “Have you ever met our club’s owner, Ms. Johnson?”

“I haven’t!” Reese replied.

More groans from the crowd. she really, truly, doesn’t know.

“Oh, well in that case, we shouldn’t keep you waiting! Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the owner of our little community here, Ms. Johnson!”

A swell of applause ensues, as Ms. Johnson’s entrance music – “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” from the Kill Bill movie – plays and Ms. Johnson purposely stomps her way on stage. She cuts an intimidating figure: she’s 6 feet tall, long and leggy with and massive arms, wearing black high-top combat boots, black fishnet stockings, a black mini-skirt, a black, shiny spandex long sleeve shirt, long black gloves, and a Catwoman-style mask. In the darkened room, as she stands just off the illuminated part of the stage, she looks like a reaper. In real life, she was a dominatrix.

Reese’s demeanor immediately changes from excited to intimidated. Maybe this ceremony is not the “honor” it’s been made out to be.

Ms. Johnson has a wireless microphone behind her ear, and in her smooth contralto voice, she thanks Alexis for the introduction and takes over the proceedings.

“Gentlemen, we all know why we’re here today, right?”

A wild roar from the audience as they all shout YES in unison.

Turning her attention to Reese, she says, “I understand your name is Reese, is that right?”

In a suddenly timid voice, Reese replies, “Yes, Ms. Johnson.”

Ms. Johnson: “And you’re our newest performer, I hear. How long have you been working with us?”

Reese: “About a month, miss.”

Ms. Johnson: “A month. Excellent. Well, thank you for your hard work, I’m sure many people here appreciate what you do. Did you attend last month’s ‘Smash the Sweetheart’?”

Reese: “No, m’am, I didn’t. I didn’t even know it existed until today, to be honest.”

“Aha, interesting.” Ms. Johnson pauses. “So you must have no idea why you’ve been brought up here, is that right?”

Reese: “N-n-not a clue.”

Ms. Johnson: “That’s an interesting outfit you’ve got on. Satin crop top. Blue yoga pants. What’s the idea behind that?”

Reese: “Um, well… I’ve been told by some of my clients that with my body type, they’d like to see me dress in street clothes that don’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. I’ve been told it looks good on girls like me.”

Ms. Johnson: “Yes indeed, you do look great. And these are your own outfits?”

Reese: “Yes, m’am. As a matter of fact, I just bought this one yesterday. It’s Lululemon. It was pretty expensive, but it’s worth it.”

Ms. Johnson: “Oh, that’s a shame. Especially because of what we’re about to do to you in it.”

Reese: “I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson?”

Ms. Johnson: “You mentioned your clients. Any idea how many regulars you have? How many are in the audience tonight?”

Reese relaxes just a tiny bit at this question. “Oh, definitely a few. But it’s growing. And there are a few there in the second row.” she waves at them. “Hey guys, thanks for coming!”

The three guys snicker, and shake their heads in reply. Reese is taken aback by this.

Ms. Johnson: “You see, Reese, I know quite a bit about you. I know you’re our newest employee, I know how many regulars you have, and I also know that you haven’t been bringing in much in terms of tips, have you?”

Reese’s heart begins to race. This is turning into an inquisition. “Well… no, m’am. But I figured it’s because I’m just starting out. It’s getting better though. Especially last week, I was–”

Ms. Johnson sternly interrupts her. “Reese, we have high expectations here at the club. And the fact of the matter is, you’re not meeting them.

“Alexis was being kind when she said we were going to honor you. The fact is, ‘Smash the Sweetheart’ is a monthly event where we look at all of our performers, see who has the fewest clients and who’s brought in the lowest amount of tips, and we give them, let’s say, a bit of a warning.

“In the last month, that person… is you, Reese. And for that, you, and this cute outfit of yours–” Ms. Johnson grabs the strap of Reese’s  tank top and snaps it back against her body “–have to pay the price. Alexis?”

During this dialogue, Alexis had disappeared backstage. Upon receiving her cue, she returned to the stage, pushing a giant seven-tier bakery cart containing literally dozens of cream pies, a few large sheet cakes, buckets of colored slime, jugs of various syrups, and even a couple of water guns, their nozzles dipped into a large bucket of what looks like white cream.

The crowd is whipped into a frenzy. Normally, ‘Smash the Sweetheart’ features maybe a dozen pies and a couple of other messy items, but apparently Reese’s performance this month was so poor that it warranted a response equivalent to a five-alarm fire.

Meanwhile, Reese’s eyes are wide open, her hands cupped over her wide-open, shocked mouth. She knows exactly what’s about to happen to her.

Ms. Johnson continued. “You see, Reese, we’re paying you quite a lot to be here, and so far, you haven’t been worth the investment. So, we need to show you what happens if you don’t pull your weight around here.”

At least Alexis is an ally, right? Reese thought to herself. she recruited me, she’s been supportive of me all month, giving me all this advice. she won’t let Ms. Johnson do this to me. Maybe I could bargain my way out of this…

Reese barely finished the thought before she swung her head around to see Alexis holding the first cream pie and staring daggers right into Reese’s eyes. It looked so dense and heavy, so overflowing with cream that some of it dropped to the floor at Alexis’s feet.

Desperate to stop this from happening, from ruining her outfit, from starting her shift this way, Reese resorted to begging for mercy.

“Please, Alexis! Ms. Johnson, please! I’ll do better!”

“You ever been pied in the face before?” Ms. Johnson asked.

“Just once,” Reese said nervously. “It was a college fundraiser for charity.”

“Well, consider this a fundraiser, too,” Ms. Johnson replied. “In that you better start raising some funds or else this will keep happening to you.

“Let her have it, Alexis.”

The crowd rose in unison. One loud voice shouted, “YEAH, PIE HER ASS!”

Alexis shouted in her direction. “I’m sorry, Reese. But you deserve this.”

Reese screamed. “No!!”

BLAM. No longer her ally but instead back atop the Wild Things food chain, Alexis showed off the incredible throwing arm that made her a star pitcher in college, launching the pie hard and straight at Reese’s face, shutting the sexy nerd up with a devastating direct hit.

The crowd roared at the very moment Reese got obliterated. The tin clanged against her face with a loud BANG, while whipped cream, graham cracker crust, and an entire can’s worth of blueberry pie filling exploded all over Reese’s face, hair, and upper body.

Blueberries and cream began cascading down Reese's half-clothed body, staining her skin and her pristine red tank top, before settling in her lap, wrecking her brand new, extremely expensive yoga pants.

In response to the suddenness and violence of the pie hit, Reese yelled “OH MY G–BLERGH!” but was forcibly silenced by a pie she didn’t even see coming, this one filled with cream and vanilla pudding, which Ms. Johnson had picked up and slammed even harder into Reese’s face.

Reese’s neck arched backwards from the force of the hit. She let out a muffled scream, kicking up her legs in a desperate attempt to restore her balance. The crowd went berserk a second time.

After just two pie hits, Reese’s entire top half – her carefully styled hair, her acne-less face, her sexy crop top – was completely destroyed. Ms. Johnson swirled the pie around Reese’s head three or four times before shoving it up into her hair, where it came to rest looking like a crumpled hat.

Reese’s face was revealed, though it was entirely featureless, with globs of cream, crust, and pie filling covering every square centimeter of it. Gobs of pie came flooding out of Reese’s mouth, dribbling onto her breasts and into her lap, where pie remnants were rapidly collecting.

And there was so much more to go.

Next, Alexis grabbed the back of Reese’s head, held it in place, and mashed another pie right between her eyes. Reese’s arms flailed in response, her body shuddering as it reacted to the most violent hit of the three. More cream exploded in all directions, and more slop slid down the red top. Pie filling began seeping inside it, forcing itself between her breasts.

The cheers only grew louder.

Not to be outdone, Ms. Johnson approached Reese from behind. With a pie in her right hand, she placed her left hand just underneath Reese’s chin and pushed it upwards. With a shocked, open mouth, Reese looked up to see her boss staring right back at her with the massive cream pie. she shook her head “no” in Ms. Johnson’s hand, but it was of no use. The bossman reached high over her head with the pie and theatrically slammed it straight down on Reese’s face. Reese’s feet kicked in shock from the hard hit.

Chocolate pudding, whipped cream, and pie crust collided with the pile-up already on her face and showered the rest of her body, leaving only slivers of clean skin and clean clothes left.

Several people in the crowd were on their feet at this point, cheering on the carnage like a mini-Roman colosseum. A couple of Reese’s clients were among the most vocal in the audience, howling at her, knowing it was their girl getting taken for a ride. They had developed a bit of an attachment to her, so to see her being honored, even in such a brutal, humiliating way, was a point of pride for them. Everyone associated with this place, it seemed, was just a little fucked up in the head.

Meanwhile, Reese sat in the stool gasping for air and pathetically trying to wipe pie off her face and body. She ran her hands over her breasts and down her body, but all she really did was smear it all over herself further, which looked so incredibly sexy to many in the audience. She thought back to how Alexis had approached her that fateful night at the bar. She had no idea it would have ended like this. No matter how much money she needed, was this worth it?

Reese’s stupor was suddenly interrupted when, out of her peripheral vision, she saw Alexis and Ms. Johnson on either side of her, re-armed with a pie in each hand, four pies total.

With her wireless microphone, Ms. Johnson could easily rile up the crowd even with her hands full, and that’s exactly what she did, calling for a three count before burying Reese in a barrage of pies.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

THUNK-PLOONK-DUNK-BOONK. Reese’s head whipped back as three of the four cream pies exploded all over her face at practically the same time. The fourth was aimed right at her chest, where it detonated on her breasts in a shower of cream, blueberries, deep blue pie filling and chunks of crust. Whatever vibrance was left in the pink crop top was instantly destroyed, as was the rest of Reese’s face, buried beneath inches of thick cream. Her hair was literally blown away, splaying out in all directions, frozen in place by the pie mess, giving new meaning to the phrase “frosted tips”. She could feel its weight pulling her down. All that pie stuck in it.

By now, any poise that Reese had was gone. She wailed for mercy, begging for the onslaught to stop. All it did was rile up the crowd more, and made Alexis and Ms. Johnson get even more creative.

The two executors looked at each other, nodded as if knowing what the other person was thinking. Each grabbed yet another pie and moved toward Reese, who had her palms out at them, trying to get them to stop. Instead, each of them grabbed one of Reese’s arms, pulled her up to stand, and forcibly turned her around, making her ass face the crowd. The crowd rustled in anticipation of what would happen next. They knew.

And so did Reese. Powerless to stop it, Reese felt each woman place a hand on her back and push it downward. she obliged, putting her big butt in the spotlight in her clean sky blue pants. Needless to say, they didn’t stay clean very long.

Reese could hear the audience count, and she braced herself on the folding chair for the impact.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

THOONK! Alexis gave Reese her first ever pie spanking, blasting her right ass cheek with a cream pie filled with butterscotch pudding. Reese emitted an agonizing groan in response.

Alexis nodded at Ms. Johnson. GOONK! Another elongated scream from Reese as she took a second pie spanking, this one to her left cheek. Cream sprayed everywhere as both pies got rubbed in for good measure. The tins were lifted to reveal an explosion of red cherry pie filling and cream mixing in with the butterscotch to leave an unholy blast zone of white, yellow and red.

Both women followed that up by rubbing their hands all over Reese’s ass, driving the muck deeper into the fabric of her pants, ensuring they would never be worn again and that the $128 price tag was $128 not well spent. Reese was costing Ms. Johnson’s business money. This was her way of getting revenge.

The assault on Reese’s butt was not over, however. She was once again turned around to face the audience, now applauding her for her bravery (even if she had no choice in the matter). Ms. Johnson took Reese by the shoulders and forcibly shoved her back down onto the chair, where she felt yet another gooey, cold situation underneath her butt. Alexis placed a round, pink frosted vanilla cake on the seat and Reese’s fat ass crushed it!

Reese screamed. The audience shouted OHHHHH as they saw the once pretty cake disappear for good, and saw Reese’s ‘O’ face in reaction to the surprise. Reese immediately stood back up, twisted at the waist and looked down at her once-cute sky blue pants stained pink from the cake’s intense food coloring. Large chunks of cake fell off her butt and onto the floor, leaving a sticky coating of pink all over her bottom.

Reese gently sat back down on the now-flattened cake, looking carefully at where she placed her bottom. she once again turned to face the crowd, and with her mouth still wide open in shock, Alexis saw the perfect receptacle for one more treat: Pie in hand, Alexis waited until Reese’s eyes met hers, then launched a banana cream pie straight at her, generating another loud CLANG as the dense dessert bashed her face, filling her mouth yet again with pie cream and rich, sweet filling.

Reese almost surely lost a few more brain cells from the force of the hit, the answers to her upcoming accounting exam spiraling into oblivion along with the pie tin. More pie came pouring out of her mouth, her saliva mixing with the cream to create long wet strands of goo that stretched from her mouth to her lap.

Alexis raised her arms toward the audience, who responded with some of the loudest cheers of the night. As Reese cleared her eyes, she braced herself to see another pie or another cake flying toward her, but as she looked out at the crowd, she saw nothing coming. No pies, no cakes, no Alexis, no Ms. Johnson. She could see many of her fellow performers giving her encouraging thumbs-up, though some of them admittedly were pointing and laughing at her plight. Meanwhile, the club members were all seemingly mocking her in one way or another. Some twisted their closed fists in front of their eyes to simulate a crying child, some licked their lips at her, others mockingly tried to point out where she had something on her face.

One man caught her eye though. She was one of Reese’s regulars, and she was pointing to the area above Reese’s head, as if to say, look out!

Just as Reese looked up, she saw four hands: Alexis and Ms. Johnson had teamed up to lift a 60-quart container above her head and slowly dump its contents all over her: it was an ungodly amount of thick green slime. Reese’s shoulders shot up to her ears, a desperate attempt to protect herself. her hands went upturned at her face, and they caught some of the slime as it cascaded down her body. She could hear the crowd continuing to roar, looked up once again and quickly looked away as her mouth was instantly filled with the green goo.

The slime started seeping inside her crop top, collecting between her breasts, weighing it down, then flooding out of the bottom when it couldn’t take anymore. She briefly opened her eyes, looked down at herself, and saw there wasn’t a speck of red left on her top; it had all been smothered with the green stuff.

As the deluge kept coming, Reese kept sliding around in her seat, the cake she sat on providing no traction for her squirming body. Her blue yoga pants were slowly going the way of the pink top, slime collecting in her lap, pouring down the sides of her legs, pooling at her feet. Whenever she tried brushing it off her legs, a new layer oozed down to replace it. Eventually, the pants finally gave up, the sky blue having turned completely green from hips to ankles.

FInally, the onslaught ended, and Reese could hear the empty container hitting the floor behind her with a shallow thud. The crowd was on its feet yet again, but Reese couldn’t even acknowledge it. All she could do was complain.

“This is so unfair!”

“Alexis, how could you? I trusted you!”

“These clothes were so expensive!”

“Please god, no more pies!”

Alexis’s eyes met Ms. Johnson’s. Reese could see them conspiring again, but couldn’t hear or read what they were saying. They cupped their palms in front of their mouths as they planned their next move.

What Reese couldn’t hear them saying was:

Ms. Johnson: “This is your girl, huh? She’s a whiny little bitch.”

Alexis: “I know. I’ll get that out of her.”

Ms. Johnson: “I can’t take it anymore. Do we have anything that’ll shut her up for good?”

Alexis: “I know just the thing.”

Alexis left the stage again, leaving Reese with Ms. Johnson. Even though Alexis had been just as mean to her today as Ms. Johnson had been, at least Alexis was still a friend. Sort of. Now, left standing here with just her scary boss, Reese was frightened. From an introvert in class to being covered in pies and slime at a strip club. All because of Alexis. What could her fucked up brain think of next?

“You know,” Ms. Johnson said, “Reese, we were going to stop right here. But you’ve been so whiny, such a little bitch, I think we need to keep going instead.”

“Please, Ms. Johnson, I’m begging you!” Reese begged.

“See,” Ms. Johnson replied, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I can’t deal with that anymore.”

Alexis re-emerged from the back. This time, she was carrying scissors, handcuffs, a paddle, and a ball gag.

Ms. Johnson: “So now, we’re going to make it so you can’t complain anymore.”