Page 21 of Claiming Atlas

She winks. “Watch this.” She stands quickly and strips out of her tiny black dress, standing naked before me, giving me Spirit Fingers. “There. Seductive enough for you?”

Shaking my head, I focus my attention on my reflection. “Yes, save for those hickies all over your tits.”

Scarlet giggles, then strolls to her locker and starts getting into her black corset and thong.

I’ve caked on plenty of white face makeup, so eyelashes as black as the night and twice as long are the final touch. While I secure them in place, Scar walks up behind me, holding her arms out to her sides. “Better?”

I smile. “Yes.”

She sits back down and darkens her eye makeup, adding extra black shadow and liquid liner, then finishing up with her own false lashes. “So, what’s going on in that overthinking brain?”

I sigh, then swivel my seat so I can face her.

She stops what she’s doing when I don’t say anything, then turns to me with one eyelash strip hanging from her right eye. She blinks repeatedly so it bounces up and down.

I laugh, then shake my head. “I thought I’d feel different tonight.”

She purses her lips. “How so?”

Shrugging, I reach for her eyelash and secure it in place. “I don’t know, like, I guess I was expecting some crazy explosion of emotions, you know?” I finish and she blinks a few times, then smiles.

“Kayla, you’ve always kept your feelings close to the chest.” She shrugs. “It’s just what works for you.” She licks her lips and shakes her head. “And maybe it’s that it’s time to move on and you’re less conflicted because you know that on some level. You feel this. Or, youwill, when you’re ready. Especially the part where you’re moving away from me. That shit’s going to hurt like hell.”

I laugh and place my hands on her shoulders. “I’m definitely going to miss you.”

She leans forward and kisses me, then pulls back. “Don’t make me cry, babe.”

Scarlet stands and I follow, then we both pull our wigs on. Mine is tall and impossibly white like chalk, and hers is long and straight and black as night. We’re complete opposites right now, in contrasting colors; devil and angel.

We step up the stairs and stand behind the black curtain. As the speakers start spilling the opening bars of an amazing old nineties song by a band no one but me and like, five other people have heard of, I lift up my colossal hoop skirt and Scar wiggles between my legs. She play-bites my inner thigh and almost gets a stiletto to the face.

I let the skirt fall back down and settle around my feet, swishing it back and forth as we get ready to walk out onto the stage together. She’s positioned so her face is practically smooshed into my ass crack, her hands gripping each leg tightly right above the knee, and as I take one slow step, she follows immediately, so we move as one unit. I’m sure if you removed the ruffled skirt, there’s nothing about this that’s graceful, but the audience is none the wiser. We look like one person as we step onto the stage.

For this routine, since I’m walking in five inch heels with a fully grown woman between my legs, the curtains open up before us and Des steps up beside me to help me walk out. She’s dressed as a colonial soldier, complete with her long braids tucked up into a hat.

The crowd roars when the spotlights find us at the back of the stage.

Des holds my hand up in the air and we slowly make our way to the center of the stage, then she releases me and bows before exiting.

I spread my white lace fan open and wave it toward myself, then slowly take a few more steps, smiling and winking at the crowd, bending over gracefully to give them ample view of my chest and the way it spills out of the top of my corset.

And they eat it up, following my every move.

For this routine, I sell them grace and beauty, simplicity in my sexuality; Scar’s part brings the sex. Raw, and dark, and borderline terrifying.

When we’ve reached the point in the song when the second vocalist begins the darker lyrics, I strip off my white corset, then reach down and slowly lift up the edge of my skirt. Scar emerges, looking like a sex demon in all that black, crawling across the floor like she’s ready to suck the life force out of everyone in the audience, and those in the crowd who have seen this act before cheer right along with those who have not. Because this routine is a freaking hit.

She eventually makes her way back to me, then undresses me until I’m in nothing but a tiny white thong, and we finish the song together, dancing along the edges of the stage. She gets a little more touchy feely with me than usual, and I let her, giving both my hyper sexual best friend and our hungry audience one amazingfinalroutine.

When the music stops and Scar releases my breasts, my nipples throb in the absence of her fingers. She looks down at them, then up at me, smiling wickedly.

“Careful, babe, I might think you’re finally into girls,” she yells over the sound of the crowd.

She might be an actual sex demon.

Laughing, I shake my head, then grab her hand so we can take a bow.

Confetti and balloons burst from the ceiling and, one by one, the other girls make their way to the stage. Some have more balloons in their hands, while some carry bouquets of flowers. The telltalepopof a bottle of champagne opening only precedes the spray of bubbly by a split second. As Des douses us in champagne, Scar leans forward to lap at my chest... always looking for more ways to thrill the audience.

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