Candy Girl by Candy Girl (epub)

Author:Candy Girl (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-04-24T01:05:22+00:00

Around 1:00 A.M., one of the Mustaches cornered me.

“Can you do a panty auction in VIP?” he asked me. “No one else is available.”

“Sure,” I said, pleased to be the last-resort panty-auctioneer-of-choice. “How does that work?”

“We give you a pair of Deja Vu panties to wear. You go onstage for two songs, and the guys at the tip rail bid on your panties. The guy who puts down the most money gets them.”

“I can do that,” I said. Mustache tossed a pair of green satin panties at me. They had shamrocks on them (it was June) and fit like a diaper, but I figured I could make do.

“Guys, now’s the time to head up to the VIP room for a chance to win Cherish’s panties!” the DJ hollered into the mic. He always sounded so smug because lots of strippers were fucking him.

I took the stage, and was greeted with surprisingly hearty applause. The tip rail in VIP wasn’t very large, but it was crowded with drunk university boys who grinned as though it were Christmas morning and Santa had brought them a sleigh loaded with semiconscious Hustler honeys. I smiled and smoothed my Irish diaper enticingly. (Remember those old Victoria’s Secret satin bikini panties that always looked pouchy in the ass? These panties were exactly like that.)

“Give ’em to me!” a boy shouted, laying a five-dollar bill on the rail. On the other side of the stage, another boy retaliated by constructing an elaborate pyramid of folded singles.

“The pyramid guy is winning,” I declared, dancing up to the front lip of the stage and twirling around the pole. “I award extra points for effort.” I figured I’d make the bastards work for my skanky green drawers, you know?

In response, the first guy pulled out more money and laid it down. He pointed to his chest wildly. “Pick me! I gotta have your panties!”

The pyramid guy’s creation increased from modest Mayan scale to ancient Egyptian grandeur as he added more dollars. He smiled at me conspiratorially. A few more guys pulled out money, eager to join the competition. They began tossing handfuls of money at the stage, which I wallowed through delightedly, shuffling the bills about like dead leaves. I was literally ankle deep in cash, and it kept coming. The sound of legal tender hitting my legs was exquisite.

The second song began. I pulled off the panties and dangled them teasingly in front of the tip rail. Naked but for my black stilettos, I sat down on the edge of the stage, leaned back and spread my legs for the big finish. A flying dollar hit me square in the crotch. I scooted backward onto the stage and began rolling around dramatically in the scattered pile of money. (I couldn’t pass up an Indecent Proposal moment.)

“Panties! Panties!” the guys chanted. I waved the panties in response, giggling as I writhed in my bed of crumpled money. This was the zenith of my adult sexual life. Had I even lived

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