It’s very dark in these booths, intentionally so. The nude dancer is on all fours on the little table. Mr. Barker, her biology teacher, gently tugs on the down-pointing nipples. Technically contact isn’t allowed but Marty, walking back and forth, pretends not to see. Now the perpetually depressed Yale graduate watches as Patty reaches around and stuffs another of the big beads past her sphincter. She nods and lets him push in another one. That makes ten. They are the size of walnuts and are on a string. The whiff of Patty’s ambrosia enema is detectable.
As usual, he’s talking about his low salary and problems with his wife. Patty is more therapist than dancer here. As he stuffs in number eleven she says, “They -- unhh -- must pay more in Crompton. It’s a ritzier place.”
“Yes, but they want that Master’s degree.”
“How long does that take? Is it semesters or years?” Patty is not that knowledgeable about higher education.
“Another two years. Can you take another one?”
“I -- unhh -- think so.” Another walnut gets stuffed in. Patty’s toes wiggle. She has to open her knees to accommodate the increase in cargo. She gulps. He pulls gently on her nipples and squeezes them, which Patty enjoys. “Th - thanks. . . Tomorrow night they’re -- locking the doors at -- t - two.”
“Susan will get suspicious if I’m out that late. . . How are things with you?”
“We’ll -- unhh -- make the mortgage this month. With -- eight days to s - spare . . . I c - can finally buy those shingles for the roof. Unhh. I can take -- one -- more.” She gulps. “Maybe -- your wife -- can -- get that -- extra -- class -- in -- UHHH!!” As the thirteenth walnut pops into her already overloaded gut she sweats and takes deep breaths, putting her head down on her hands. Now she turns to him and nods. Carefully he pulls on the string and pulls the beads out, one by one. As each pops out of the girl’s anus her whole body trembles. The thrills are genuine.