Chapter 2 The Beautiful Trainee

• Chapter 2
• The Beautiful Trainee
• That Saturday night promised nothing special. It was just another ordinary evening when Peter decided to distract himself. Randomly choosing a destination, he thought a nightclub might do the trick. Something low-key, no commitments—just an escape from his busy life.
• Standing in front of the mirror, Peter adjusted his suit, spritzed on his favorite cologne, and admired his reflection. He saw what everyone else did: a successful man with sharp features, a devil-may-care smirk, and just the right amount of charm to get whatever he wanted. Confident and impeccably dressed, he was ready for another night of indulgence.
• Instead of heading to a crowded nightclub or noisy bar, Peter decided on a strip club. It wasn't a place he frequented often, but the anonymity, dim lighting, and beautiful women offered a certain kind of escape. He’d searched online for a spot that caught his eye, landing on a place called the Venus Club. It seemed discreet enough, but Peter knew better than to risk his reputation.
• As a well-known lawyer with a price on his head—metaphorically speaking—being spotted entering a strip club could spark rumors. Photos of him in a place like that would circulate faster than wildfire. But curiosity got the better of him. He needed to know why Allyson Mitchell, his beautiful but often exhausted trainee, was always slow and nodding off at work.
• When Peter arrived, he didn’t bother queuing. Men like him never did. Slipping through the side entrance, he moved with calculated ease, careful not to draw attention to himself. The dimly lit club was alive with music, laughter, and the hum of conversations that faded into the pounding bass.
• Peter's sharp eyes scanned the room. He asked a few patrons where he might find the owner, and after navigating the smoky atmosphere, he finally spotted him. Sitting on a plush couch surrounded by scantily clad women, the man exuded an air of sleaze.
• Peter sized him up in an instant: greasy hair, cheap cologne, and the self-importance of someone who profited from exploiting others. A pimp, through and through.
• “Barry?” Peter asked, stepping closer, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
• The man looked up, startled for a moment, before regaining his composure. He leaned back lazily, sizing Peter up from his pedestal as if he were the king of the world.
• “That’s me. Who’s asking?”
• “Do you know Allyson Mitchell?” Peter asked, slipping a few crisp dollar bills into his hand.
• Barry’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face. “Police?”
• “No,” Peter replied smoothly. “Relax, sir. Nothing like that.”
• Barry barked an order to one of the nearby girls, motioning for her to grab the cash. He leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.
• “What’s she done now?” he muttered, more annoyed than concerned.
• Peter ignored the question, keeping his voice calm and deliberate. “I just want to know if she works here. Behind the bar, making drinks, anything like that. I’m looking for information.”
• Barry gave him a long, scrutinizing look before bursting into laughter.
• He laughs, clearly amused, for a few seconds. Peter narrows his eyes, feeling as though he's being made a fool.
• “Daisy doesn’t make drinks,” Barry finally says, his grin widening. “She dances. And she’s my most beautiful girl.”
• Peter’s jaw drops in disbelief. She dances? Mitchell dances? That sweet, professional girl who works for him is... a stripper? He must be dreaming.
• “She dances in private?” Peter asks, his voice carefully neutral.
• Barry smirks. “All my dancers perform in private, behind glass.” He pauses, then leans forward, his tone growing suspicious. “What do you want with her?”
• Peter senses the tension in the air as Barry glances at a few of his men nearby. Trouble could be brewing if he doesn’t respond quickly.
• “I came to buy a dance,” Peter says coolly, keeping his expression unreadable.
• Barry’s demeanor immediately shifts. His face relaxes, and then he breaks into a grin. “Why didn’t you say so?”
• Peter offers a tight, wry smile. What a disgusting man. But the shock of discovering that his diligent employee moonlights as a stripper lingers in his mind. Allyson doesn’t serve drinks or wait tables—she dances behind glass, one of the most sought-after performers in the club.
• Barry explains the setup. The private dances are designed for discretion. High-paying clients can remain in total darkness, unseen by the dancers or anyone else. The performers don’t fully strip—only their tops come off—and even then, they use their arms or hands to conceal their breasts toward the end of the show. Masks are worn by the dancers, adding an air of mystery.
• Peter listens, his mind racing. Perfect. He decides to pay for a private session. To further protect his identity, he insists on remaining in total darkness and even requests a mask, just in case.
• Despite his disdain for Barry and the entire operation, Peter ensures that almost all the money from his payment goes directly to Allyson. She deserves it, he reasons, even if he doesn’t fully understand how she ended up here.
• The venue itself is impressive, in its own gaudy way. The walls are painted a deep black, swallowing light, while the plush red carpet stretches across the expansive floor. The room is massive, lined with gigantic round tables, each with a pole in the center reaching up to the ceiling. Some of the poles are occupied by graceful, scantily-clad dancers, while others stand empty, awaiting their next performer.
• Dollar bills rain down from the hands of men seated at the tables, their eyes glued to the mesmerizing movements of the performers. Beautiful women are everywhere, moving to the rhythm of the music. At the far end of the room, a grand stage rises like the centerpiece of this decadent palace.
• Peter takes it all in, his expression unreadable. He has no idea what to expect from the night ahead, but one thing is certain, his perception of Allyson Mitchell has changed forever.
• The dancers slowly draw sighs from the men as they peel off pieces of their already sensual outfits, exuding elegance and grace.
• “Shall we go, sir?” the owner asks, subtly fishing for a name.
• “Donald,” Peter lies without hesitation. Revealing his real name isn’t an option.
• He follows the man past a round table where a dancer winks at him. Despite the setting, there’s a surprising air of refinement. They move down a dim corridor lit by small floor lights until they stop at a red door. The vibrant hue is striking, fitting for a place designed to heighten desire.
• “Please, go ahead,” the owner says, opening the door.
• Peter steps inside. The room is dark, its walls covered in black velvet. In front of a glass partition, there’s a large armchair positioned to face a small, unlit cage on the other side. Slowly, Peter takes a seat, crosses one leg over the other, and leans back. As the light in his room fades to black, he feels an odd mix of safety and anticipation.
• Suddenly, colorful lights burst to life on the other side of the glass, illuminating the figure now standing there.
• Mitchell. It’s her. There’s no mistaking it, except for the pink mask hiding her face.
• Allyson, meanwhile, senses something unusual. She’s never danced for someone who requested complete darkness before. Whoever this man is, he clearly doesn’t want to be recognized.
• She’s dressed nothing like the polished navy blue suits Peter sees her in every day. Instead, she wears a dark leather vest, a skirt that reaches her knees, and black tights. A pink gala mask conceals her face, leaving only her delicate lips, slender nose, and brown hair visible. Gripping the pole, Daisy—her name here—begins a graceful, hypnotic performance.
• She moves fluidly, wrapping herself around the pole, her hands gliding along its shimmering surface. Her strength and flexibility are evident, every motion deliberate, blending curves and provocative poses that accentuate her sensuality. Her hair sways with the rhythm, adding allure to the performance.
• Then, she pauses. Her hands slide down to her skirt’s hem, and in one swift motion, she tears it off, revealing an outfit designed for dramatic flair. The lights dim, and when they brighten again, she stands in nothing but her panties, her hands modestly covering her chest. Blowing a kiss, she ends the dance, her masked face tilted towards Peter in the safe shadows of his private room.
• As she leaves, she opens the door slowly, patting her skirt. Peter, uncomfortably aware of his reaction, can’t deny she stirred him. The fact that this is his employee, someone he’d never imagined seeing like this, leaves him unsettled.
• Seeking answers, Peter finds Barry again. “How long has Allyson been working here?” he asks, adjusting his tie. “And why? She’s my trainee. Is she struggling?”
• Barry smirks, lighting a cigar. “I can’t share that, my friend. But I’ll say this—she’s my most beautiful dancer, and the one who makes me the most money.”
• Peter doesn’t need convincing; Allyson’s beauty is undeniable. Her graceful body, flawless skin, and perfectly proportioned curves radiate elegance even here.
• Frustrated and without answers, Peter leaves the Venus Club, climbs into his car, and speeds home. His thoughts remain fixed on Allyson. Why would someone as capable and stunning as her need to work in a place like that?