My blood is fucking burning. It roils and burns through my veins. I'm holding it in tight, wrapped up and squeezed. It leaks out in my work. Each undulation of my heaps, each line traced by my hand over my body is wrought in fire and sin. The patrons are entranced, and Rose doesn't mind so long as the money keeps flowing and everyone keeps their hands to their self. Even some of the newer dancers get distracted and stare. I remember what it was like. Before I got used to this, a few choice moves would have me throwing myself to my knees in front of Poppy, begging to let me eat her out. I've been learning from her and copying the skill ever since, and now I see the new girls looking at me the same way.
God, I can't wait until this party. Rose needs to figure her shit out and soon or I'm gonna explode. Or throw myself on the closest patron. Whichever comes first.
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