Anything For Georgetown (Part seven–Monica entertains–and gets blackmailed)

December 27 was bitterly cold. Monica picked up Nick at his home. As usual, he used the excuse that he was helping someone study. He didn’t want his parents to know he was a bodyguard. He got in Monica’s Mustang and they headed off towards Sycamore Forest, a subdivision of mini-mansions on the southwest side of the city. Trees bordered the neighborhood, giving it an air of seclusion, and one had to drive a quarter of a mile before seeing the first house. Tim’s house was on the far side of the subdivision. The street dead-ended into a small grassy field, then further on, the trees started again. It was only one of two houses on the street. There were several cars parked all around. Monica didn’t feel good about this. Usually she looked forward to these dance parties, as almanbahis a form of making money and expressing herself, but she’d never done a party this big. They got out and approached the house. All the lights were blazing, and some kid they didn’t know let them in. The parties were usually downstairs and tonight was no exception. The huge basement ran the length and breadth of the house. There was a small bathroom downstairs she could change into. She’d brought her CDs, but sometimes the guys had music they wanted her to dance to. Monica found Blake. “Where’s the money?” “Right here.” He fanned the money out so she could see it. She’d never seen this much money at once, except for her stash at home. She counted it, then handed it to Nick. “I’m gonna go change. I’ve almanbahis yeni giriş got my music right here. The CDs are in this order. Track one for the first song, track six for the second, track nine for the third, track two for the fourth, and track seven for dance five.” Monica changed into her first outfit and shivered. She just wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. When she was dressed, Nick, who was hovering by the door, asked one of the guys to cue the music. Monica strutted out to whoops and yells. Britney Spears’s “I’m a Slave 4 U” pounded out of the speakers. Monica had seen the video for the song, but hadn’t liked Britney’s outfit. For this particular routine, Monica wore a little black velvet dress, stiletto heels, and almanbahis giriş what looked like diamond jewelry. Sort of cocktail-party-meets-jewelry-smuggler. Underneath it all, she had the push up bra, panties, stockings, and garter belt. Strategically-placed zippers made it easier to get out of the dress smoothly. She made her way around the room, rubbing up against some of the guys, rolling around on the bar, and basically making use of whatever was in the basement to make for an interesting show. She threw in a few belly dancing moves, which was her own private joke. She’d studied up on the art form, and while the western world seemed to mistake it for pornography, Monica had discovered it was something women could call their own. It was empowering, and even though she didn’t need that, it was kind of a fuck you to stick an ancient art form that was created for women, by women in her routine. Besides, there was something about her belly roll, especially when she reversed it, that really got the boys going.