On a warm Friday afternoon in May, Anna found her way to Mandy’s for her now weekly “check in.” More of a gossip session than anything else, Anna and Mandy chatted about what had become their familiar subjects: hair, nails (Mandy had been giving Anna a manicure and pedicure for the past several weeks), eye-lashes (Mandy had roped Anna into getting fake eyelashes about a month ago), and the quality of Mandy’s tanning bed. Anna had been participating, somewhat unwittingly, in Mandy’s so-called “promotional” program—by now an open, shared joke between Mandy and Anna about Mandy’s still nascent salon, piercing, tattoo (and now, also, makeup, nails, eyelashes, and tanning) business. As part of this promotion, repeat hair customers were entitled to get a free “bonus” (worth no more than $50), like an hour in the tanning bed, a spray tan, a piercing, or even a small tattoo, on every subsequent visit. Anna had just used her last promotion on an hour in the tanning bed, on the strong suggestion of Mandy, to “give her some tone.”
Anna’s still-bronzed skin revealed itself under acid-washed, ripped jean shorts, and a top judiciously showing the straps of a fire engine red bra. The bra had been Mandy’s idea, procured on a trip to the mall in which Mandy convinced Anna to buy, among other things, her first thong (Anna hadn’t actually worn it, yet, but Mandy insisted on her buying it). Anna was, that week, rotating through a range of neon-colored, lacy bras. Despite only revealing their straps, Anna was aroused at the mere thought of wearing them—a thought she shared with Mandy. Anna quickly realized that every enhancement to her appearance led to more, and more tips from her customers—and the approval of her managers, leading to more and more desirable shifts. As vapid as Anna initially felt on focusing her job solely on the money (particularly as an exchange for her looks), she quickly comforted herself in the idea that not everyone looked as good as she did. After all, Anna rationalized, she was young and newly single—why not make some money and have a little bit of fun?
Similarly, and, surprisingly, to Anna, she felt as though she was starting to fit in with her bubbly-eyed, blonde, tanned co-workers—if not quite in appearance, then at least in shared interests. She had taken an interest in the celebrity gossip, TV shows, and similar that her fellow waitresses seemed to live and die by, and had become conversant enough in the sort of loud, bass dominated, electronic music that they all loved (mostly due to the restaurant’s constantly playing of it).
Far from her formerly taciturn disapproval, Anna found herself legitimately interested in these topics: a way to turn off her brain, relax, giggle and, most importantly, socialize. Although Todd was never far from her memories, it was in these moments at work, or at home staying up to watch the newest episode of whatever reality TV show was trending at the time so that she cools excitedly chat about it at work, that she found herself the happiest and most free. She had forgotten how nice it was to have friends, and consciously determined to make an effort to further ingratiate herself into her new peer group by closely watching, and then adopting, their habits. Each approving comment from a co-worker—about music, TV, or celebrities—made Anna feel closer to a “normal” waitress working at Max’s.
“Alright girl,” Mandy said on Anna’s arrival, “we’re going out next week.”
“Yea, that new nightclub just opened up last week down the street. It looks fucking lit and we have to go. You told me you’re off next Friday, and I’m closing up at 10, so we’re pre-gameing here, then hitting the club.”
“Ok!” Anna’s voice said, wavering. Although the bar at times seemed to appear more nightclub than restaurant, Anna had never been to an actual “club,” and, besides, except for a few shots she did with customers to juice tips every once in a while, she had never really been drunk. Still, she was excited at the thought of going out with Mandy, and the new nightclub Mandy referred to seemed to draw in a louder, excitable crowd than she had ever seen, even at her college’s most wild parties.
“Oh yea, and this week, you’re getting your belly button pieced. That’s your week uh... whatever week it is promotion.”
Anna and Mandy giggled, masking Anna’s momentary hesitancy. Anna approvingly turned over on her back and laid down on the table. Although Mandy and Anna hadn’t talked about it before, Anna had long given up disagreeing with Mandy, at least to her face. Basically every girl working at M’s—the just-announced new name for Max’s, stylized with a huge, italicized, neon M—had their belly button pierced. Her mind fluttered with excitement at the ability to show it off to her co-workers sometime in the next week.
The piercing further fit into Anna’s ascendant self-image: attractive, desirable, and just a little bit, well, “bad.” And that Mandy thought Anna should get one made the whole process somehow even more alluring. Anna longed for the lustful feeling she now felt so frequently at work as the demonstrable (and well advertised) object of M’s patron’s sexual desires. Her clitoris, awakened for the first time in years throbbed, calling out for attention, below her red bikini-style panties.
The piercing hurt more than she thought. The clamp on the top of her belly button seemed to be an ever compressing vice only alleviated with a sharp, distinct pinch of a needle. “Owww!” she reflexively screamed.
“Here, let’s give you a dange-ly one, OK?” Mandy said. “You can change it out in a few months if you don’t like it.”
Anna stood up to find a long, silvery set of jewels hanging nearly an inch and a half down from her belly button. Now rail thin from walking to and from work, and being on her feet for most of the day, the piercing seemed to highlight her flat, taught, sun-kissed stomach, almost constantly on display one way or another at work, either due to her low-cut jean shorts, or mid-drift barring tops, or, most frequently, both. Momentarily shocked, then giddy, she jumped up and down, her dangly belly button piercing bounding correspondingly with every hop, “I love it!” Anna said, each glimpse of herself in the mirror drawing her more and more into a world she hadn’t even known existed.
“You’re a fucking smoke show girl!!” Mandy screamed, caught up in Anna’s excitement. “I’m going to finish up here, why don’t you stop by the mall and get a dress for next week. Actually, here,” Mandy shoved a piece of paper into Anna’s hands, “I was thinking about this yesterday, and I know this is going to be weird, but I have a fucking vision,” Mandy said with an a put-on intensity, shattered only when both girls burst out giggling. “Seriously, though, buy this stuff.”
“Haha, OK!” Anna responded, nearly thoughtlessly, and made her way to the mall. True to Mandy’s detailed instructions, she bought a skimpy, backless black mini-dress, a bevvy of thongs (for future use, Mandy had noted), and bras, and two 4-inch and 5-inch heels, all from various shops around the mall. Though by herself, she was having more fun than she could remember frolicking almost effortlessly through shops in the mall that she wouldn’t otherwise have dared to set foot in, and had only even heard of second-hand from her M’s co-workers. She felt empowered, likely assisted by the trailing looks she got from almost every guy she passed while walking around. Even entering the various stores that carried the clothing Mandy had chosen felt naughty, let alone the process of picking her size and checking out at the register. Store employees, apparently nonplused at what Anna thought were utterly scandalous purchases, treated her like a regular customer, so Anna thought, as though Anna were accustomed to wearing such clothing—an arousing, alluring thought to Anna, far from her previous demure self image. Flooded with adrenaline, joy, and arousal, she cracked only a wry smile when she realized she had spent almost $1,000 on clothing.
Being in mere possession of what Anna demonstrably thought of as “slutty” clothing and a belly button piercing had a unique power on Anna. Since her almost six months in Jackson Falls, Anna had, consciously or not, envisioned herself as somehow superior to her co-workers. Her initial lack of interest in their lives only seemed a re-affirmation of her assumed intellectual and moral superiority. Rather than being some sort of community college bimbo, she had thought of herself as a highly educated, professional woman, temporarily passing through Jackson Falls on her way to, presumably, bigger and better things. After all, she was only 22, and, so she thought, she could certainly find another Todd to make her life complete. The past months, though, as Anna’s outward appearance, interests, and even way of talking dovetailed closer and closer to her co-workers, began to confuse Anna. What was so bad about their lives? They had fun, laughed, enjoyed life, and looked amazing. They had sex—anonymous, even—with whoever they wanted. Their lives didn’t seem notably empty or sad. And Anna felt truly happy, too, for the first time in years, with real, developing friendships with other people her age that she cared about. Slipping in and out of their world, even being mistaken for one of them in whatever context, enlivened Anna in a way she had never before felt.
Could Anna be like them? What about her parents, her family, and Todd? Could she enjoy life, like them, act, and be, like them? And, for Anna, the more pressing question was, did she want to?
Anna muddled through the week in an extended existential haze, until Friday night arrived. Nervous to nearly the point of nausea, she brought, in her purse, her backless, black mini-dress, along with a pair of her brand new, 4-inch heels. She took a deep breath and rapped on the door to Mandy’s place. Still uncertain if she would even have the courage to don her new outfit, she tried to calm her now-racing heart.
“Oh my God, you look amazing!” Mandy screeched as she flung open the door, mere moments after Anna had knocked. As though practiced, a chorus of Anna’s own co-workers joined in, cooing, amid a biting wash of Victoria Secret perfume that billowed out the door.
“What the fuck?” Anna panicked: she hadn’t been told anyone else was coming, let alone people she worked with almost everyday. The exuberance with which she had, less than a week ago, so effortlessly floated from store to store seemed to pool out of her, amassing in a puddle of embarrassment at her feet. They would see Anna wasn’t one of them, she thought. They would realize she was the shy, conservative girl she always had been. She wasn’t ready—maybe she never would be. Embarrassment locked her knees, her arms bolted reflexively to her side.
“Anna you look so, so, s-fucking great” one of her co-workers, Jess, blurted out, jerking Anna’s consciousness back to the moment. Jess was clearly already drunk, although it was sometimes hard to tell. She recently got her tongue pierced by Mandy which caused a noticeable lisp, which, Anna, noticed, the guys at M’s couldn’t resist. Jess was doubtlessly the most slutty of the bartenders, often stripping near nude in the break room when dressing into her work clothes, always revealing a neon-colored thong—or, rather g-string—and push-up bra. Sometimes Anna was convinced she wasn’t wearing any panties at all. Her clearly bolted-on Double D’s probably didn’t hurt the fact that she always seemed to leave the night with the most hefty tips, and, sometimes, with a guy in tow.
Anna surveyed Mandy’s shop, for the moment resembling something between a hair salon, sorority house, and spring break pool party. Perhaps a dozen or more girls were in various stages of undress, zipping in and out of the main room, as EDM music blared and the unmistakable smell of marijuana permeated from somewhere in the gaggle. Bobbed, perfectly coiffed blonde hair abounded, flowing in seemingly all directions and every variety of curl, down, on each girl, to almost uniformly bronzed skin, resting itself on the petite shoulders and backs of girls dolled up in doubtlessly the sexiest makeup they could muster. Breasts—no, tits—rippled like waterfalls over, underneath, or just outside of, plunging dresses, bras, or tube tops, crowning mini-dresses of all varieties, each seemingly more revealing than the next, with cutouts judiciously placed to draw the eye to those parts each girl found most in need of exposure. Anna was thrust into the center of the coterie, ushered in by cooing words of approval and the insatiable energy of a crowd of blonde, 20-something girls itching to flaunt their nubile bodies.
“Let’s all do shots and then we’ll get dressed,” Mandy intoned. Anna, speechless, wordlessly acquiesced, shoving a shot of vodka down her own throat. “Girl, you have to catch up!” Mandy said, pouring her another shot, which Anna quickly downed, more out of fear than desire. Mandy handed her a mixed, fruity rum-based drink. “Enjoy!” Mandy said, knowingly.
Never before had Anna gotten so drunk, so quickly. In what amounted to an almost continuous motion of activity, Anna changed—or, rather was changed—into her new outfit for the evening, replete with red thong. The plunging back of her new dress stopped mere inches above where her panties began. The dress wasn’t suited for a bra, so Anna wore none. The girls did her makeup for the night: dark, dramatic eyes, with big, puffy, fire-engine red lips, and blew out her dirty blonde hair into delicate, wavy curls resting on her shoulders. She consciously quelled her pangs of hesitancy, embarrassed at the thought of expressing them lest she fall out of her favor with the increasingly drunk and manic mix of girls around her.
Finally catching a glimpse of her new self in one of the mirrors Mandy had arrayed around the shop, Anna paused to look. She was overwhelmed at what she saw. Her curled, dirty blonde hair framed luscious lips, expertly contoured to match her colored cheeks, along with big, luxurious eyes and lashes adorned with black eyeliner and mascara, all framing her still innocent, if not frightened, face. Her breasts were pressed against the front of her black, backless dress. The black fabric ran taught against her torso, bumping out just slightly to reveal the tiny outline of her just-pierced bellybutton. Her slender waist, now accentuated by the dress and its slimming color, seemed just right to be picked up by a muscled, football-player type, or so she deviously though to herself. Like Todd, or, maybe, someone even better. The dress, stopping not more than ¼th of the way down her bronzed thighs, led into long, flowing legs, now perilously arched upwards by 4 inch black heels, making her 5′9″ frame seem even more slender than her physique. Her ass, perked out by her posture, was tantalizingly draped by form-fitting black fabric—taught, and shapely.
Drawn in by her own image, Anna found herself in a doldrums of her identity: not quite self-identifying with the person she saw reflected, but, increasingly, wanting to. The prim, proper, heartbroken Anna of a year ago was now only just barely recognizable. Unsure of whether to resist, or to give in—and whether giving in was a conscious choice, or something else—the alcohol, music, and atmosphere billowed inside her. Her running thoughts eased, her mind calmed, as the vision of herself: a scantily clad, drunk, 22-year-old in a backless mini-dress, wearing a thong underneath filled her conscious mind. Her till then largely wordless, though seemingly successful, integration into this group of well-seasoned club going coeds emboldened her newly desperate desire to be seen as one of their crowd.
At last, an eruption. “Wooo, fuck yea!” Anna yelled at the top of her longs, her eyes closed, enveloped in the music and emotion. The memory of her hometown, of college, of Todd, washed away, replaced by a primal scream of joy, excitement, of emotion, that she’d never before felt. She downed another shot as a chorus of “fuck yea,” and sloppily coordinated hugs and jumping ensued.
“Here,” Mandy thrust a joint into Anna’s hand, “you’ll like it.” Anna imbibed, her inhibitions for the evening now well past her. What began as a panicked blur of a night quickly devolved into another type of blur—this time enveloping, enthralling, and thrilling, of lights, smells, and sounds. She barely remembered the Uber to the club, or stumbling inside, using all of what remained of her senses to keep her balances over towering 4 inch stiletto heels. The parade of scantily clad M’s bartenders quickly drew the attention of virtually every guy in the club, and Anna was no exception to their desires. In the strobing lights, Anna quickly ground her ass onto the dick of the nearest guy, fueled by a deep desire she had just uncovered, pressing her hands against his butt to push her ass closer to his crotch, observing and recreating the actions she saw her practiced coworkers partaking in. Her hands, clumsy and awkward at first, seemed to gain strength as her inhibitions faltered. Her only salient emotion in the moment was lust, and her only thought was about Todd. “Fuck him,” she said aloud, as one of the t-shirted, muscled guys around her turned to thrust his tongue deep into her waiting mouth, Anna acting and reacting as much for herself as for an imagined performance intending to get even at Todd. Before long, stern, practiced hands made their way to the smooth fabric covering her butt, then, inside her dress to her tits, finally cupping her bare ass exposed by her scanty thong. Somehow, Anna whirled away to another, anonymous guy, her nipples now obviously hard against her dress, her pussy throbbing and wet, as all conscious thoughts finally yielded to her primal sexual urges.
What Anna knew is that she made it back that night with, as Mandy remarked the next day, “her panties and shoes on,” suggesting that she hadn’t gone home with anyone. Anna’s few memories from the evening involved teary-eyed conversations in the club’s bathroom in which she, and others, gushed about how they loved each other (and would be friends forever), and what Anna pieced together was a time smoking a cigarette with Jess, of pierced tongue fame—Anna’s first cigarette, if she had, in fact, even smoked it. That and a parade of guys—so many—all drawn as if by force to Anna’s taught, girating body in the middle of the dance floor, all tall, strong, dominant, forceful, willing and capable of imposing their will onto Anna’s spry body.
Anna awoke the next morning, nauseous, but comforted by the sight of Mandy looking down on her. Anna was on a makeshift cot at Mandy’s, and, by the light, it must have been near noon. “You’re a fucking rockstar girl,” Mandy said. “I thought for sure you were going to let that guy fuck you right in the club,” Mandy continued.
“What? Who?” Anna mustered.
“Haha, I don’t know, just some guy there. He was fucking hot though, I think you gave him your number. I think he was Asian or something. You were pretty fucked up. We both were.”
“Oh, and, I, hah, got some action,” Mandy slapped her ass, clothed only in a oversize t-shirt, seemingly slightly embarrassed. She pushed through, “This Puerto Rican guy. Holy fuck, an Adonis. He ate my pussy all night long, and we fucked probably 3 times. Right over there.” Mandy gestured several feet from Anna’s cot. “Not sure how you slept through it. Guy kind of wanted a three some but they always do, you know. Jesus Christ though, you were smoking hot girl. When we go out next weekend, you take your pick of who you want. When’s the last time you had really good sex, you know?” Mandy ‘s flow of conversation masked her obvious unease at exposing Anna to Mandy’s world of fuck buddies and clubbing, as Mandy flicked open her lighter to ignite a waiting cigarette.
Momentarily stunned at the conversation, Anna haughtily smiled, consciously swallowing the embarrassment that wafted over her upon realizing the scope of the events of the last night. She took respite in the approval of Mandy who, by sharing, implicitly welcomed her into a secret world she had never known, but now realized she had always desperately needed to be a part of. “Was this what all the bimbos Todd was fucking did?” Anna mused to herself. “Was this their lives?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. Never?” Anna manage to slur out, in delayed response to Mandy’s question. “God I, I... I want that,” she desperately thought to herself. “I want to be fucked,” her thoughts raced, shocked almost immediately by the raw sexuality of her desire, but suddenly freed—finally unhinged from the shackles of the prim, proper societal norms she had unconsciously, but desperately, clung to all her life. She was through filtering her inner thoughts. Her clit, still pushed up against her tight thong, throbbed at the thought of being dominated, controlled. She knew she was an object capable of being satiated only by the hard cock of someone equally compelled to fill her with one. She reached for her pussy as if in agony, to stroke it.
“Oh girl,” Mandy said, “we’re going to make it happen. You’re gonna ride some guy’s cock like you were in a fucking theme park.” At ease, they both burst out laughing. “You got to get to work though, right?” Mandy took a drag on her cigarette, motioning towards a clock.
“Fuck!” Anna blurted. It was 11:15, and Anna’s shift began at 11:30. Wretched from her fantasy, Anna ripped off her clothing, and threw on the closest things she could find: a denim mini-skirt on the floor doubtlessly jettisoned from an M’s girl last night, and a ripped M’s t-shirt that more resembled a bra than a shirt. Both must have been from a midget, Anna thought, because, even at 125 lbs, she could barely fit in either, having to adjust the skirt down such that at least the cheeks of her mostly bare ass were covered, and barely fitting her B-sized tits in the top. Her dangle-y belly button shimmered in the light of the day flooding Mandy’s shop. She touched up her makeup from last evening, still dramatic and ready for clubbing, and tried to gather her hair into something resembling a hairstyle. Her only shoes were her 4 inch heels that she had struggled all night to even stand in, let alone walk. Unbalanced and still woozy, she managed to stumble into the changing room at M’s just in time to clock in at 11:30.
Anna blushed at the cheers, clapping, and screams of elation that greeted her. “You go girl!” said Madison, one of the girls from the night before. Jess slapped her ass as she walked by, “you’re fucking hot Anna,” she said. Anna barely even noticed the revealing nature of her outfit, although, even by M’s standards, the amount of skin Anna was showing was surprising. The floor manager, on seeing Anna, gave a brief chuckle, and gave her the OK to start work for the day.
With her thong and bra almost constantly in need of adjustment—and on almost constant full display to anyone who choiced to glance her way—Anna, perhaps still drunk from alcohol or adrenaline from the night before, flaunted her body in ways she had never explored before. Newly unbridled, she sexily leaned over tables to take orders such that her customers could see down her shirt, “accidentally” dropping a napkin and bending over such that customers could catch a glimpse of her bare ass, needlessly playing with her new belly button piercing, which quickly became an obsession. Anna nearly tripled the best day she had ever had with tips—and all on a lunch shift. With no fear, and no embarrassment, she giggled readily at the oftentimes bawdy comments made by her customers, thoughtlessly twirling her hair around her fingers, as she asked mindless questions about the sports being played on TV, or what they did to make money. The dumber the question, the more they looked at her scantily clad tits and ass, seeing her increasingly as the fuck object she couldn’t resist but display to them. The feeling of the fabric of her skirt over the cheeks of her ass was itself arousing—Anna had never even worn a thong before last night, let alone under a mini-skirt, nearly on constantly display for dozens of strangers.
“I made like $500,” Anna beamed to Jess at the end of her shift. “Hah, that’s great girl, but look at this,” Jess pulled out a wad that must have been nearly $1,000.
“Holy fuck,” Anna exclaimed.
“It’s mostly the girls,” Jess said, giggling and gesturing to her ample, bolted on, DD tits. “You know, if you want to make real money, I’m picking up some shifts at Deja Vu as a cocktail waitress,” Jess said. “You should stop by, if you want. We could grab a drink—I get free drinks during my shift, at least I think. I just started there.”
Deja Vu was the local adult entertainment club, what was, when Anna first moved to Jackson Falls, seemingly a front for the seediest kind of prostitution (Anna used to see skeletal girls smoking cigarettes shivering throughout the night when she passed by). Over the past year it had, along with the rest of Jackson Falls, birthed itself anew into a combination night club and strip club, with bass music bumping deep into the night, and a bevvy of ample-breasted, scantily clad women ushering patrons inside.
“Oh, cool,” Anna giggled, confused at even what exactly occurs in a strip club, let alone the prospect of stepping inside one, still mesmerized by her huge, gravity defying tits.
“Yea I just want to make some extra cash, you wouldn’t believe the tips in there. Though I think to really make money you have to dance.” Jess continued, unabated, seemingly wistful at the thought.
“OK, yea, maybe like, sometime soon? I think I have, like, a bunch of night shifts coming up,” Anna responded, vapidly, now secretly allured by the thought of entering a strip club and at what seemed to be the intimacy and vulnerability of Jess’ inner life being revealed to Anna.
“Awesome!” Jess seemed excited and undaunted by the vagueness of Anna’s answer. “I never have any friends visit me there, but I mean, it’s just a strip club, right?” Jess fluttered out, as Anna, confused, stood dumbfounded. Were she and Jess actually friends, she wondered? Someone so, well, hot, so sexually vibrant. Such a... bimbo. Did Jess consider her an equal? The thought momentarily terrified, then thrilled Anna, as she took one last look at her sultry body in the changing room’s floor length mirror.
“Strip club?” Anna said to herself audibly, nearly a half hour later as she walked home, tottering increasingly confidently on her new heels, finding her thoughts increasingly centered on the idea of a strip club. “I bet those girls get all sorts of cock,” she smiled, emboldened by the vulgarity of her thoughts.
Finally succumbing to her exhaustion, Anna laid down to sleep. “I’m a naughty, slutty little bimbo, just like Jess,” she repeated, stroking her throbbing clitoris into the night, still wearing her tight thong to feel the fabric pressing against her vulva, and then deep through her ass.
Reborn by the weekend, Anna spent most of the next few days on a manic spree of sorts, acquiring skirts, dresses, shorts, heels, bras, panties, at a near alarming rate. It didn’t occur to her to even keep track of what she was spending, and she found herself drawn, in her free time, to mindlessly watching the newest reality TV shows, or browsing the internet fantasizing about wearing whatever article of clothing her mind flitted to. She was drawn to websites specializing in clubwear and lingerie, ogling in amazement at the tanned, fake tit’ed models showcasing the clothing, aroused by the thought that she could look like them.
For work, she settled on a consistent outfit for her shifts: jean skirts that covered just enough of her hips and thighs to pass M’s wardrobe standards, but revealing enough to show her ass or thong if Anna desired. Her tops would be judiciously cut to show bra straps, and as much as her taught, now constantly tanned belly as she could. She decided she’d wear heels everyday, mostly to accentuate her ass, and to accustom herself to them for what she now knew would be wild nights out with Mandy. She bought a new, dangling belly button ring—almost three and a half inches long—in imitation of a model she saw on one of her adult lingerie websites.
She was set to destroy the vestige of that young, innocent girl she still saw a hint of in Mandy’s mirror: free herself from the bonds of what she now framed as her repression under her parents, her school, under Todd. Her transformation, from the outside in, would finally reach her deepest self, and liberate it. She wanted to live: laugh, party, and fuck.
Nightly, she drove her pink, manicured nails deep into her pussy, thrusting manically at her clit until she orgasmed, dreaming of huge dicks, bulging muscles, and her taught, fuck-me body the center of it all.