Stripped (WWE Fanfiction) (Bullet Club / The Shield ) (AU) (BWWM) AEW

Chapter 1

"I'm fuckin' dyin' out here Corey! You can't play nothin' better?! No Cardi? No Nicki?!"

"You know the rules, Lola. New management, new music."

Lola rolled her eyes and turned away from the elevated booth where the DJ continued to play some non-descript slow jam. Corey Graves was usually a decent DJ, but he's been less-than-spectacular since the handover of the club.

Despite the darkness of the club, she was able to see clearly that there was only a handful of men present. Men with their guts brazenly hanging over their beltline, glistening bald spots at the crowns of their heads, eyes that were filled with sadness and desperation: The Regulars.  From the club's opening to close, these men watched intently from their posts at the various round tables scattered about the stage

The money they had was not limitless, and so they held onto their bills tightly, watching hungrily as their favorite women gyrated against silver poles or writhed on the black floors in faux ecstasy.  Beautiful bodies snaked around the notes of the songs, their curves pulsing so sensually, so enticingly that finally one of the regulars would tuck a sweat-soaked bill into the garter of a dancer. It would be a long game, but most of the girls were okay with it, always repeating the mantra: "At least it wasn't a free show."

Lola Jeanine Blanc was one of the few women who did not repeat that mantra. She actually had another mantra she repeated in the locker room "Less than 50 is a free show."

"How about a dance, Lola?" She looked down from her perch beside the Corey's booth. Her sparkling platform heels were eye-level with an old balding man. The reflective sparkles shone and scattered across the man's balding spot. His weary eyes were hopeful, looking up at the statuesque woman with a bill in one hand, and the other hand conspicuously adjusting his dad-jeans.

She flinched at the sight of the decrepit man, and snarled down at him. From his view though, he couldn't see her disgusted expression. The patron was too focused on her long, smooth, terra-cotta stilts that were her legs, leading up to her sparkling costume.

That night she donned her favorite 1920's Hollywood starlet get-up. A silver sparkling bodysuit that left little to the imagination, paired with her favorite platinum blonde short bob wig and a thick diamond choker. The lightness of her costume contrasted with the deep, reddish-brown of her skin. Red lips and a painted-on beauty mark completed her ensemble.

"A dance? From who?" A bit of the dancer's southern drawl crept out.

"You, silly girl!" His papercut-thin lips stretched back into a smile that made Lola want to shower. His pale skin was tinted a bright pink under the lights, and he reminded Lola of a goblin, only one kick away from death.

"And is that a twenty in your hand?" She raised her dark brows, fighting not to laugh.

He looked at the bill in his hand and back up at the woman, not understanding why Lola looked so bemused. Corey shook his head behind her, a knowing grin on his lips as he ran a hand through his perfected pompadour.

"Yeah, it's a twenty. The sign over there says twenty for a lap dance, it's always been that way."

"Okay sweetie." She squatted down, sinking closer to the man's level. "Let me break it down for you: I don't hop off this stage for anything less than a fifty. But considering how dead it is tonight, I'm not getting down for less than a Benjamin. So, you can keep walking or pony up."

"B-But the sign-" The man began to point to the white board beside the entrance.

"Honey, do it say anything about Lola B. on that sign? No. That's cause a dance from Lola B. ain't worth a twenty."