The showroom of an Ohio strip club was teeming with excitement and horniness. The headlining feature dancer had just teased the fans nearly to the breaking point with her opening number. She'd bounced her enormous implant-enhanced breasts all over the place without unveiling them ... doing some of the naughtiest things you can imagine that might involve putting things into her vast exposed cleavage. Now the men were chanting for her to come back onto the stage.
"Vick-y, Vick-y, Vick-y...!"
A funk number kicked off over the club's sound system. A bleached-blonde bundle of dynamite strode back onto the stage, getting her out-of-proportion breasts to jump mightily to the beat. Flashing a brilliant smile at the audience, she whipped off her pink satin panties and flung them at a patron. When the customer seemed to fumble with them, the dancer reached from the stage to his table and pushed the undergarments playfully into his nose. The other men roared their approval. Now the tantilizing busty dancer whirred her lower body around, waving her exposed genitals at the men. She knew, though, that all eyes were focused on her gigantic — and still-covered — breasts. She pretended to click her tongue and wag her finger at them in disapproval. Then she walked sexily to the short stairway at the front of the stage. Picking out the shyest-looking specimen from the crowd, she invited a mousy young man to unhook her overloaded pink satin bra. Her colossal boobs hit the air and bounced with renewed freedom. The fans went wild. The dancer continued her descent into the audience as the follow-spot tracked her every move. She locked eyes with a burly man waving a twenty-dollar bill. She arranged herself between the legs of the seated man and began writhing sexily. Her oversized casabas brushed the man's unshaven face and moist lips.
The blonde reached for her pink garter belt and plucked out what looked like a satin handkerchief. She danced to one side of the man, never letting her knockers stray far from his grateful face. With a theatrical flourish, she waved the hanky through the air and plunged it downward until it was out of the audience's sight. She did everything possible with her boobs and the man's head — all three of which were roughly the same size. The man delighted in the way the dancer traced his facial features with a hard nipple ... wedged his head into her roomy cleavage ... and raised both breasts into the air and dropped them onto his shoulders like bombs. All the while she kept up her furtive manipulations below the man's waist. Finally, she raised the silky hanky skyward to display it to the audience. It was covered with unmistakable wet evidence of the customer's excitement! The audience clapped and cheered as the dancer sashayed backstage in pride and triumph. An attractive but comparatively flat-chested woman was waiting in the dressing room. Well ... perhaps it's not fair to say flat-chested. It's just that anything, no matter how lovely, would pale by comparison next to those two huge implant-emphasized sacks of sex appeal. The woman handed the dancer her street wardrobe.
"Nice show, Vicky," she said.
"Thanks, Karen," smiled the dancer, peeling off her garter belt and stepping out of her sky-high heels.
"Shake a tit, will ya?" said Karen. "We've got to be in Pennsylvania tonight."
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Victoria Bardenwerper opened her sleepy eyes. She'd fallen asleep in the passenger seat of the van. "Karen..." she croaked drowsily. "Where the hell are we?"
"Somewhere in Pennsylvania," said the Karen, the driver. "We'll be in Wilkes-Barre soon. You can sleep in a motel bed when we get there ... 'stead of in the van."
"Wilkes-Barre?" said Vicky, staring at the road ahead. "Oh, boy. A friend of mine told me that's an armpit. Actually, I think the exact term she used was 'hell-hole'."
"I hope she told you wrong," said Karen. "We're booked there in three weeks. I figured we'd stop there on the way to Boston and stay overnight. Give us a chance to check out the club."
"Okay, whatever," said Vicky. She wasn't crazy about this life on the road. But since Karen — who was now her manager and agent — convinced her that there was a whole lot more money in being a traveling feature dancer, than sticking around one town and one club — life on the road had become Vicky's life.
"I suppose we'll have to go on the radio shows, and have the local imitation of Howard Stern leer at my tits," Vicky said, wearily.
"Yep!" said Karen.
"And I'll have to let any sweaty moron who wants to have a Polaroid taken with me," muttered Vicky.
"Yes," said Karen.
"And I'll actually have to pretend I enjoy this," said the dancer.
"Yes, you will!" snapped the manager, getting a little irritated. "Vicky, nobody forced you to do this! You wanted to make more money!"
"I know," said Vicky.
"And aren't you?" asked Karen.
"Yes. A lot more," she answered.
"Well, then you forfeit your right to complain!" said Karen, hoping that would close the subject.
There was a pause.
Karen decided to smooth over that brief unpleasantness with some more small talk. "I never worked this club in Wilkes-Barre," she said. "Back when I was dancing. I think it's new."
Vicky started to giggle. "What was your billing back then?" she asked.
Karen puffed up her chest — which was now a good deal more modest than it had been in her dancing days. "Karen Kenyon — the grandest cleavage you ever saw!" Both women laughed. "You know — Grand Kenyon? I'm glad I had the implants taken out. I like being behind the scenes better!"
"Well, I'm glad you took me on as a client," sighed Vicky. "Dancing for tips in that penny-ante club in the Midwest was getting me nowhere."
"Right!" agreed Karen. "And with those huge sacks of saline we had put in there, you're making thousands every night! Do you like 'Vicky Syn' for an alias? I thought it was a nice change from all those titty names."
"Yeah, it's good," agreed Vicky. "I was gonna use 'Vicky Voluptous' — but it sounded like some kind of joke. 'Syn' is nice. Kind of elegant."
"We've got to keep working on your table and lap dance technique," said Karen. "Every feature dancer has to have her own little style."
"Well, hey," said Vicky. "I'm just using all those gimmicks you used to use, Karen."
"If you're gonna steal, steal from the best!" laughed Karen. "I think your price will go up now that we got you in some of the titty mags. The video coming out will help, too."
"Yeah, probably," agreed Vicky. "I can just see the guys coming to the club, holding their magazines, to get Vicky Syn herself to autograph them!"
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Do you think he'll come to the club?" asked Karen, finally.
"That guy who's been trying to follow me from town to town? He might," said Vicky softly. "I hope not."
"I've told you before, Vicky, stop chatting with guys on the Web!" scolded Karen. "You're just asking for trouble."
"Maybe you're right," said Vicky. "It was harmless 'I love you, I love you' stuff at first. Lots of guys like to say that kind of thing in the chat rooms. But then it turned to 'I've got to have you, we were meant for each other' kind of stuff. It got a little bit more ominous." Vicky shifted in her seat. Her upper body bulk was still a little new to her. "Oh, let's talk about something else!"
"Okay!" said Karen. "Do your mom and dad know that their precious little girl, Victoria Bardenwerper, is now sex star Vicky Syn?"
Vicky laughed again. "Boy, I sure hope not!"
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