Hope Rutherford started her shift at the Platinum club in Mt. Vernon. The same club where she met Ian.
Bad karma.
This was what she was doing now that Ian had kicked her out of their house and divorced her for cheating on him. She was doing it for fun, for something to do. She would eventually get a divorce settlement from Ian, so money didn’t matter.
She didn’t mind exotic dancing for a living. It was glamorous compared to what she had been through with Ian.
She didn’t turn tricks like the other girls because she didn’t have a drug habit, so it was just a matter of turning her brain off for a few hours to make it through a shift if she was having a bad day.
The club where Hope worked was nicer than most because the owner was a woman, and there weren’t the same kind of problems that surfaced when men ran a place like this. Hope was also being groomed to become a headliner, so she saw exotic dancing as a stepping stone to get to somewhere else.
It was a slow Thursday night at the club, and Hope was talking to one of the other girls on the floor when she noticed a man at the other end of the bar who looked familiar. He was young and handsome with warm-brown eyes, light-brown hair, and a great body.
Hope couldn’t quite place him, but that was because the two of them had only met one time. Still, she had seen him somewhere before, and for some reason, it bothered her that she couldn’t think of where it was.
Suddenly, she remembered his picture and where she had seen it, and then she remembered where she had seen him in person.
Standing at the other end of the bar was Foster Prentice, the Orchard Park city planner. He was also the husband of Dr. Aubrey Prentice, the bitch she had met at the Orchard Park Country Club.
At the country club, Dr. Aubrey Prentice had ingratiated herself with Hope’s current husband, Ian Henshaw, but she had been dismissive of Hope as introductions were made.
Even Foster wasn’t included in the conversation.
“Well, what do you know,” she said to herself, “No wonder Mr. Foster Prentice is slumming it at a gentleman’s club. His wife must be as cold to him as she was to me.”
Here’s what Hope knew: Dr. Aubrey Prentice was someone whom Hope wanted to hurt badly. This was because Dr. Aubrey Prentice was the one who ruined her marriage with Ian.
She was the one who advised him to divorce her.
Dr. Aubrey Prentice was the psychiatrist who pushed her way into the Henshaw family at the Orchard Park Country Club and then tricked her husband Ian into therapy.
Not only did Dr. Prentice convince Hope’s husband to leave her, but Hope also suspected that Dr. Aubrey Prentice did this because she wanted Ian for herself.
After Ian kicked her out, Hope saw a picture in the society pages of the local newspaper showing a happy Mr. Foster Prentice and his wife, Dr. Aubrey Prentice. They were at a charity ball, smiling and appearing so happily married.
But now, here was Foster Prentice, sitting at a titty bar.
This was good karma.
“Well,” thought Hope. “Two can play at the husband-stealing game, and I believe it’s my turn.”
Hope put down her drink and walked to the end of the bar where Foster Prentice was standing.
“Would you like a lap dance?” she asked him, hoping so badly that he would say yes.
What Hope didn’t know was that she bore a striking resemblance to Foster Prentice’s former secretary, Hollis, another blonde whom he was obsessed with and who had recently dumped him.
Foster had been having an affair, of sorts, with Hollis. But when she abruptly left her job as his secretary because of his grabby hands, Foster was completely shattered, but not defeated. He was searching for a replacement for his dead wife, Brooke, and Hollis had been so perfect.
Hollis’s physical appearance was of the utmost importance to Foster. He had been trying to find Hollis’s lookalike for some time, and now he had found her in Hope.
“What’s your name?” Foster asked.
“It’s Hope,” she said.
“Hope,” he said, staring. “That’s a pretty name.”
“So do you want a lap dance or not?” Hope didn’t want to press too hard.
“Sure, is there somewhere private we can go?” Foster was more eager than Hope expected.
“Yeah, there’s a VIP room in the back. Follow me.”
Hope laughed to herself in glee at the thought of getting back at Dr. Prentice in the best way possible, and without having to lift a finger to do it. Maybe Foster Prentice would become a regular at the club, and she could blackmail Dr. Prentice to keep it quiet.
Despite her anticipation, Hope was completely unaware of the depths of Foster Prentice’s excitement as she prepared to give him a lap dance. While she intended to relish every moment of her subtle revenge on Dr. Aubrey Prentice by entertaining her husband, she had no way of knowing how much Foster was going to revel in the experience. Nor could she have guessed what plans Foster might be envisioning for their encounters yet to come.
Hope took Foster to one of the private VIP rooms and offered him a seat.
She closed the door.
“That’ll be two hundred dollars for thirty minutes.”
Foster Prentice took out his wallet and gave her three hundred dollars.
“Well, well,” thought Hope, “Let me do the math. My ex-husband Ian pays Dr. Aubrey Prentice for advice on how to leave me—and then her husband takes that money and pays me to dance for him. Well, karma, you are indeed a bitch tonight.”
Hope started her dance for Foster, like she always did with a heavy-tipping customer, just barely touching him to tease him at first.
Foster Prentice had other ideas, though. He reached out and touched Hope’s breasts without being invited.
Touching the girls without an invitation was not allowed at the strip club.
“There’s no touching,” Hope brushed his hand away.
“What if I gave you another hundred dollars? Can I touch you then?” Foster asked.
“The rate for that is three hundred more.”
“Four hundred more, then,” Foster said as he pulled out more cash.
Hope took the cash and tucked it into one of her boots. She went to the door and propped a chair under the handle to prevent anyone from entering.
You never could tell in a place like this.
Normally, Hope wouldn’t provide this kind of service, but she was rejoicing about the fact that Aubrey Prentice’s husband was so hard up for sex that he had to pay for it. It was also the perfect way, in her mind, to get back at that fucking Dr. Prentice.
Although, as she thought about it, just having sex with Foster Prentice under any circumstances would be fine, as he was a very attractive man.
Hope straddled Foster and put her hands on his shoulders. Foster took in the amazingly sweet scent of her breasts, which she had recently perfumed, and closed his eyes. He placed his hands on Hope’s breasts and started to fondle them. In Foster Prentice’s mind, however, Hope was gone. The only person he could see in front of him was his dead wife, Brooke.
Hope’s initial feeling of revenge started to melt into passion as Foster began using his hands more liberally on her body. He was gently caressing her breasts, over and around her bra-top, handling them like they were his own precious objects, completely fascinated by them.
In his own time, after what seemed like ages of stroking her upper body, Foster unfastened her skimpy top and freed her breasts. When he put his finger into his mouth and ran the wetness around each of her nipples with it, Hope let out a little cry. Her nipples were getting hard and sensitive, and Hope was losing herself in the moment.
She had forgotten where she was and only wanted Foster to continue sensuously caressing her body.
“Where did Foster learn to take care of a woman like this?” she wondered. “And why did Dr. Prentice want my husband Ian when she had this guy to come home to?”
“Do you want to be my darling angel?” Foster asked.
An odd request, but Hope answered yes.
Revel started to unbutton Foster’s shirt, but he pushed her hand away.
Foster Prentice had a no-touching rule, too.
Revel put her hand on Foster’s growing manhood, and again he pushed it away.
“I don’t know quite what’s going on here,” thought Revel, “but I want to see where this goes.”
Foster motioned for Revel to stand up, and then had her turn around and sit back down on his lap, facing away from him. He started kissing her neck while he gently and lovingly stroked her hair from behind.
There was a warmth to his touch and a kindness, but there was also such a sensuality to it.
Revel usually had to pretend she was somewhere else when she performed a lap dance for the assholes who came into the club, but Foster was different. Oddly enough, it was the smell of Foster’s cologne that first got her attention. It wasn’t musky or citrusy; it was manly. Clean-smelling. Appealing. Expensive.
Revel loved being in Foster's embrace; she could feel his strong upper body muscles as he held her, and his well-developed thigh muscles flexed and contracted as she shifted around on his lap. And the way he was gently taking his time was heaven.
“Who’s my darling angel?” Foster whispered into her ear.
“What is it, baby?” Revel replied.
He stopped stroking her hair and repeated it.
“Who’s my darling angel?”
He brushed back her hair and kissed her neck.
“I am,” Revel instinctively replied, getting lost in his deep, reassuring voice.
Foster continued to kiss her neck with just the right amount of pressure.
Revel tilted her head back and sighed.
This wasn’t supposed to feel intimate. This wasn’t supposed to feel safe.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like being cherished.
So Hope forgot revenge, forgot Ian, forgot Aubrey Prentice, forgot the club. She closed her eyes and melted back into him.
And that was when Foster whispered again.
“My darling angel…”
His tone changed, softening into something reverent, fragile. Not lustful. Not hungry.
Worshipful.
“Say it again,” he breathed. “Tell me.”
Her voice came out in a whisper. “I’m your darling angel.”
His cheek brushed hers, and Hope felt dampness near his eyelashes.
Was he crying?
“Hey,” she said, trying to shift around to face him.
“Don’t turn,” he whispered. “Just stay. Just like this.”
“Angel,” Foster murmured again, lips brushing her ear. “You always come back to me. You always do. I knew you would.”
“Are you okay?”
Alone with Foster in the cramped space, Hope was worried.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t ruin this.”
Foster dragged a hand down her face. “You just look like someone I loved. Someone who slipped through my fingers.”
Hope had seen men broken before. Men begging. Men angry. Men pathetic.
She had rarely seen one look haunted.
“Well,” she said, slipping back into the seductive mask she knew so well, “lucky for you, I’m here tonight.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You are.”
Hope realized something unsettling:
Foster Prentice wasn’t just going to leave after this.
He was going to follow her.
Bad karma.