Bulma presently found herself in a tatty dressing room that smelt of perfume and deodorant and throbbed with the bass of the music from the stage. A wardrobe was flung open before her with some silly outfits hanging higgledy-piggledy on the rails, and a rummage box of fancy dress accessories, thongs, bikinis and lingerie.

'How am I supposed to find an outfit in this mess?' she asked. 'And how do you expect me to wear some other woman's underwear?'

'Well, I suggest you hurry,' said Tony. 'And these don't really belong to anyone – they're more communal. Don't worry, it's all been washed.'

Bulma grimaced and rubbed a hand over her face, then took a swig of tequila straight from the bottle. As she put the bottle down on a dressing table she glared sidelong at Tony.

'I hate you.'

Tony grinned.

Then Vinny's announcement could be heard through the speaker in the corner of the room.

'Good evening, gentlemen! I apologise for the wait, but our precious dancer Bunny Hopper suddenly took ill and had to return home. In just a couple of short minutes though, we have a replacement dancer making her debut tonight!'

'Shit!' she swore, grabbing the first thing from the rack – an absurdly over sexualised blue-and-white gingham baby doll dress - and throwing it back again in horror.

Tony turned serious again. 'Look, in two minutes were going to announce you onto the stage! Be out there when the music starts or the deal is off, okay?'

Bulma grabbed the dress again, and Tony left her to it.

Bulma stripped off in the middle of the room, then began her preparation in panic.

Layers, layers! That's what I need!

She ploughed into the rummage box finding stuff that seemed to match and ramming it on. This and that, stockings, this thing, what was that? That was going on too, and the babydoll dress. She grabbed a wig from the row of stands on the top shelf of the wardrobe – a long, strawberry blonde one with an improbable wave to it and shoved it on – then bent to put some shoes on – too big, but there was no time for finding a good fit. Then she was rifling the dressing tables, daubing her eyes quickly in some other woman's eye shadow, applying a wobbly, shaky attempt at eyeliner, mascara and bright red lip stick.

The music outside faded down.

'And now a real treat for you all,' she heard Tony announce over the PA. 'In her debut performance, please welcome to the stage, the daughter of Bunny Hopper; Baby Bunny!'

'Ohmygod,' whispered Bulma. She took one last gulp of tequila and tottered out to the side of stage.

Some weird, automatic imitation of Tyra Banks's Fierce Walk got her all the way to the front of the stage before abandoning her there with no idea how to proceed. She was not walking a runway, after all. For a start, the clothes she wore looked like Little Red Riding Hood was turning tricks in the woods on the way to Grandma's. She'd thought the scarlet hooded cape would go further in disguising her face, at least at first, but she could barely see. Despite the drinks she felt awfully self-conscious, and she made the mistake tilting her head back to look under the hood at the expectant faces of the audience, which jolted her further into a state of mind closer to sobriety. At the back of the room was Mr Cheap with his college buddies, watching her with scepticism, and near the stage was Tony, hooting and clapping in what she was sure was a 100% sarcastic manner. She hissed. Dammit, she'd show him even if she had to die of mortification to do it!

She chucked the hood back onto her shoulders, careful not to dislodge the wig, and let the audience get a look of her face. What was this music? It had such a stripped back, cold beat, totally at odds with the outfit she had put together.

'Stripclubs and dollar bills; I still got my money,' went the lyrics.

Well, at least that's true, she consoled herself.

She had a cape on, so she used it, twirling away from the edge of the stage, then back the other way, swirling it dramatically with her arms to give a glimpse of the outfit she wore beneath. Teasing; that's how it was done, right? Actually, she had no idea. She'd never been into a strip club before tonight.

'Dracula!' cried Mr Cheap in jest, and his buddies cracked up, obviously rather drunk already.

Scowling, she reached for the clasp of the cloak and dropped it to the floor. Underneath the red riding hood she was dressed as some sort of sexy Bo Peep or Dorothy Gale mash up – the super short, gingham baby-doll dress with white fishnets and heavy mary-jane platform heels. A fully cohesive costume was not possible in the time she'd had. Well, she may as well riff on some sort of cutsie fairy-tale ingénue, right?

She clasped her hands to her front and bobbed her knees, attempting to dimple her smile for the audience. Then she raised her right foot behind her. That was a cute pose, right? The reaction from the audience was underwhelmingly passive, with just a hint of befuddlement. Okay. I guess I should actually dance, she told herself. She rolled her eyes, silently asking for deliverance as she started to bust out her usual dance moves, attempting a sexy twist here and there, but her shoes handicapped her somewhat, as did her self-consciousness. She found herself turning red even before the fat man in the business suit started laughing. Bulma turned her back on her audience to gather fortitude before continuing. How had her mother been dancing? Could she do that?

She spied the pole and made a dash for it. Grasping the thing she let her weight slide past it and carry her around, but then she toppled on the heels, losing her feet, leaving her hanging from the pole while she scrambled to haul herself upright again. How can anyone dance in shoes like this? Maybe if she wasn't on her feet…

She hopped up the pole, wrapping her hands and legs around it. Now what? She tried to spin, but couldn't. She let go of the pole with one hand and reached out behind her, trying to arch her back, but her grip on the pole with her legs started to fail with her skirts and stockings in the way. She tried to wriggle back up with her legs, but she continued to slide until her butt hit the stage. More laughter.

Cheeks burning, she hopped to her feet again. How long was this damn song? When would this torture cease?

'Pro tip!' yelled Mr Cheap. 'Strippers strip!'

Bulma flipped him the bird before remembering herself, and the audience kind of hissed and ooh-ed and laughed a bit at her audacity. Fine, whatever. She started to pop the domes on the front of the babydoll dress, still wiggling from side to side a bit before remembering that she'd wanted to get some mileage out of the short, flounced skirt first. Spinning around she bent over like she'd seen her mother do (memory wipe!) to show off the frilled underwear she'd rammed on. This got a bit more of an appreciative reaction, but the platform shoes did her in again. Their rolled-front caused her to tip forward and before she could correct her balance she found her hands hitting the stage. She was now stuck in downward-dog, mid-routine. More chortles came from behind her.

Maybe that was too much tequila after all? she wondered. Flustered, she crouched to stand and then popped the rest of the domes down the front of the dress and pulled it off. Now she stood there in a white bustier, the frilly, high-waisted knickers, suspenders and fishnets – technically underwear, but she was still decently covered. Apparently the audience thought so too, and were entirely unimpressed by this reveal. Bulma tried to dance again to fill in time, losing her head entirely and distractedly pulling out the only routine she knew by heart – The Timewarp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

'Oh, why are we waiting?' the fat man sang loudly.

'We are salivating!' Tony joined in. She gave him a vicious scowl.

'Take some clothes off!' clarified one of the college boys from the back.

'Take a fucking chill pill!' she yelled back and the audience booed. 'Fine,' she muttered, looking for the next thing that could go. The suspenders? She undid the hooks that kept it closed – it was kind of a mess anyway, a red suspender belt with white stockings and underwear? The lack of co-ordination bothered her. Once free of course, she realised the stockings were still attached to the suspenders so had to undo the clips. That took a moment, and then the worn stockings fell down her legs, pooling at her ankles over the Mary Janes. Mr Cheap fell into hysterics.

Glowing with fury now, she suppressed the realisation that she hadn't thought this through very well, and danced on the spot as if she had meant to hobble herself with her fishnets.

'Fuck you,' she muttered to the universe at large. 'And you too.'

Tony came to the front of the stage and tapped his wristwatch. Did that mean the song would be over soon? Then he mimed ripping his bodice open.

God, I don't want to do this! she thought, but was provoked enough to go through with it. The sooner she did it the sooner she could be off the stage.

She turned her attention to the front busk of the bustier, undoing it in one move. One of the metal hooks stuck though, and with her boobs half busting out of the top she had to press the two edges back together to undo it. More hooks caught, and in frustration she struggled with it, trying to align the two sides of the busk enough to get it off again.

'Do you need a hand, love?' yelled another dude, and the audience cracked up.

The corset came loose and fell to the floor at last, and Bulma stood her in knickers and humiliating dollar sign pasties that she'd found on one of the dressing tables. A bunch of strangers weren't going to see her nipples. Again.

Grin and bear it, grin and bear it, she'd ordered herself, but though the bearing was unavoidable, the grin just wouldn't come. She had never failed in something so utterly as she was right now.

And then things had gotten much worse.

A minute and a half later Bulma stood panting in the dressing room, too overcome with wrath to actually do anything. It wasn't that she was purely angry – that would be easier to process. No, on some level she was deeply amused by everything that had happened since she'd entered this establishment. This had to be the absurd cherry on top of an already tutti-frutti life, surely? She also felt something else... Some kind of weird feeling of freedom... Some kind of powerful.

'Screw those clowns,' she said to her reflection in the mirror, with her fake blonde curls sticking in her naked cleavage. She wiggled her breasts from side to side and rolled her eyes. 'They have no idea what fire they were so close to today! No idea!' She had practically bared her all to strangers – would any situation ever be more awkward? She was set free! She had loosed the last chains of modesty! She pulled the finger at her wounded modesty, her ruined public image, her crippling embarrassment over how her recklessness really got her places she didn't expect.

'Screw that, Bulma!' she insisted, raising the middle fingers of both hands now, ramming them up the metaphorical ass of the public and giving them a hearty swivel.

Starting to snigger, she finally made a move to one of the stools in front of a dresser, plucking a make-up wipe from a dressing table and scrubbing the lipstick away. She took a sip of consolation tequila and then had to put it down again as she suddenly snorted. Laugher started to erupt from her like crude from a freshly drilled oilhead, thick and messy. It shook her from the inside, and she was almost silent as it welled up so hard that it jammed in her throat and made her gasp for air.

'Oh, no! No, no!' she snorted when she could air back in her lungs. 'What the fudge, Bulma?' she asked her pastie-clad reflection. 'How do you life so well?' Tears of laughter made her mascara run, so she reached for another make up wipe and started taking that off too. She was still angry, but there was no denying what a tale this would make for the grandkids once she was ninety and senile.

She was still panda-eyed when Tony burst in and she remembered to be angry.

'What?' she asked, looking at him over her shoulder in the mirror and wrapping her arms over her still mostly naked breasts.

'Not as easy as you thought, then?' he teased her, grinning from ear to ear. 'I gotta say though, that really goes down as one of the all-time worst debut dances I've ever witnessed, but at least it wasn't boring.'

Bulma gave him the evils in return. 'Ha-ha, I guess you win.'

'That I do...' Tony's grin turned into a grimace. Sensing danger, Bulma turned around in her seat to face him properly.

'What?' she demanded.

'Well...there was one other thing that your mother was going to do which she skipped out on.'

'What?' Bulma repeated.

'A guy was waiting out back for a private dance from her. He's been waiting a while, but since she's buggered off...'

'I didn't agree to that!'

'I know. But if you want to... I mean, we'd give you your fair share of the fee.'

'Do you think I need the money?' she asked. 'Your partner is blackmailing me for seven million!'

'Yeah, well. No. But this guy's seen you on stage, and for some reason he wants a private show – go figure.'

Bulma pursed her lips, considering the reasons someone might want a private dance with her after that show. Worse case – they had recognised her. Best case? They were super turned on by her Drunken Master stripping skills, and as far as best cases went, that wasn't that great. But perhaps it was Mr Cheap finally forking out? In which case, maybe she should relieve him of his birthday money and give him a dance he'd not forget in a hurry.

Tony gave her a shrewd look and walked further into the room. 'If you do do the dance, well the girl makes the rules. You can dance however you want, as little or as much touching as you want, talk to him or not, and if he breaks the rules we throw him out.' He plucked a couple of thin silk scarves off the corner of a mirror and tossed them at her. 'You can even tie his arms to the chair to make sure he doesn't get handsy.'

Bulma had a vision of herself dancing about and garrotting Mr Cheap with a polyester silk scarf and snorted. Or hurling abuse and shoes at whatever creep awaited her. The mood she was in right now, the idea did have some appeal. At the very least she wanted to see what kind of guy wanted a dance from her.

'Can I at least see the guy first?' she asked and then almost went cross-eyed as she realised she was slightly considering doing this.

'Sure,' said Tony. 'We'll stick our heads through the curtain; you can let me know if it's a go.'

'What then? If it's a go? Which, by the way, I highly doubt it will be.'

Tony grinned. 'The music will play for fifteen minutes, and when it stops you're done. If things go sideways before then and you don't feel safe, just yell out and I'll be there to end it. You make the rules, remember.'

He turned to lead the way, and Bulma called out.

'Wait, what do I wear?'

'What you're wearing's fine.'

Bulma looked down at herself. She wasn't wearing anything that counted as clothes. Walking to the door she grabbed the first thing off the top of the rummage box, finding it was a mesh body suit, and she slipped her bare feet through the leg holes as they went. Tony stopped outside a curtain and she finished yanking the body suit up over her shoulders. It had a deep V down to her belly button and was so sheer it really didn't do a damn thing to hide anything. She'd be basically still naked in front of whoever was in that room.

I'm not going to dance, she told herself. I'm just going to look. Probably.

'Ready?' said Tony. She nodded and twitched the curtain aside. Peeking through the gap she could see no one. Then a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her right through the curtains.

She screamed as she found herself faced with a terrifying visage of fury, caught herself, and then screamed again, this time in annoyance and embarrassment.

'Vegeta, you ass!'

Vegeta had recognised the kind of place it was the instant he walked in. The grey, greasy haired man standing at the desk, guarding the entrance to the hall and the pulsing lights could have indicated a number of things, but Vegeta recognised the smell. It stunk of stale alcohol, sweat, perfume and arousal, mostly male, and despair. Vegeta had not been surprised to see a scantily clad woman stalking the stage, gyrating for the thirty or so punters that stared at her, mesmerised while they sipped their drinks.

It was while the gatekeeper had been trying to extract a seven hundred zeni cover charge from him that an unfortunate event occurred.

'I object to paying for your plebeian pleasures, when I'm only here to talk to someone,' he'd been telling him.

'And who's that?' the man had demanded.

And that was the precise moment a sudden movement from the stage had caught his eye. Vegeta had looked up to see what had made a few spectators hoot. The woman had shirked her mesh top, freeing two heavy breasts that swung enchantingly at her movement. Vegeta hadn't been able to help the momentary distraction, or the momentary surge of arousal at the sight – he was a Saiyan, but still only a man after all. The dancer spun, her eyes nearly closed, blonde curls flying, a huge smile on her face-

Then! Then came the horror he would spend the rest of his days trying to forget, he was sure! He'd had fallen back against the door in confusion, his thoughts racing - Gods, no! What? What am I seeing? One thing was for sure – he'd needed to stop seeing it, immediately. He'd torn his eyes away, his arousal murdered in an instant and perhaps never to rise again; that blasted woman had been up on stage!

'Hey, mate, who do you want to talk to?' he man had prompted him out of his catatonia.

'Her,' he'd wheezed, pointing with one hand while he shielded his eyes from the stage with the other. He could not let her know he had seen her. He would never live it down, and he was sure she'd never let him forget it.

'Well, Bunny is working tonight, but she won't be doing much talking.'

'That doesn't matter to me. I need to talk with her privately.'

'Look, mate, we don't sell conversation at this establishment,' the man had replied, as if Vegeta was an idiot. 'If you want to see her privately you can get some one-on-one after she's finished her set and if she wants to talk to you after that, that's her business.'

'How long will she be?'

'Another ten or fifteen minutes, I'd say.'

'Fine. Where can I wait?'

'You can wait at the bar.'

But the woman would be sure to spy him at the bar. 'No!'

The man had made a face. 'If it really bothers you mixing with the other punters you can wait in one of the rooms until she's ready.'

'I'll do that. Take me there.'

And then the man had extracted two thousand zeni for the privilege of privacy! Vegeta had exclaimed in outrage, but then he had no real idea what Earthling money was worth, nor was he spending his own, so he'd put aside his natural tendency to strike the hardest bargain possible that still left the other party alive, and handed over the credit card that Dr Briefs had given him for any emergencies of a fiscal nature.

The card was swiped and the receipt signed, and Vegeta had followed the guy down the back of the club, shuddering as he saw some very small panties drop to the stage out of the corner of his eye.

Then he was consigned to this dismal place for what he was sure was far longer than ten or fifteen minutes. Not so much a room as a nook, seedy and poorly lit, with cheap gilded mirrors and faded velvet drapes, a stained chaise lounge against the back wall and in the centre, an ornate, wooden arm chair upholstered in more worn velvet and the ghost of jism-past. Beginning to figure out exactly what kind of "privacy" he had purchased for two thousand zeni, he paced the room, not wanting to be mistaken for an actual customer, and wanting to be ready to dispel any wrongful notions the moment that ridiculous woman showed up. Besides, knowing what his nose told him about the furniture he was not inclined to sit on it.

The music filtering through from the bar changed several times until finally the annoying doorman had made an announcement.

'…our precious dancer Bunny Hopper suddenly took ill and had to return home…'

'WHAT?' Vegeta had roared. He'd been wasting his time in here all along! Sure enough, when he checked, the buzzard's chi was nowhere close by at all.

He'd torn through the curtains again and made his way back to the main hall. Before he'd gotten there though he sensed something that confused him. Though the mother's chi was gone, Bulma's was now behind him, backstage somewhere. After a few seconds pondering he'd figured that perhaps she was gathering her mother's items. With no terrifying matriarch exposing her body on stage it was safe to linger at the doorway to the corridor, taking in the ambience of half-assed hedonism and the sullen, topless wait staff while he waited for Bulma to show herself.

He hadn't been expecting her to show herself in quite the manner that she did.

Then the second announcement had been made, and he stood up straight.

Daughter of Bunny could not be the literal daughter of Bunny, could it?

But yes! The woman that walked out on stage was heavily disguised, but it was incongruously her. A red velvet cloak sheathed her down to her knees, with a hood drawn down low over her face. Only her red lips and tumbling synthetic tresses could be seen from under it. She strutted, then lurched, laddered white fishnet stockings tottering about, weighed down with clunky, stupid looking shoes that seemed designed to break her ankles. The cloaked figure regained her balance, then continued to stomp the stage, stopping at the end, and then moving about a bit in what might have been a dance, but just set the cloak swaying a bit.

Vegeta had no idea what was going on, but he was fully prepared to watch and find out.

Then the dance had gotten underway.

Vegeta was no expert by a long shot, but even he knew that this was not good. Bulma had the grace a freshly awoken Nappa and the poise of a turkey on stage. She had fallen, tumbled, sworn and still somehow stripped to underwear while he stared. He had not, could not understand why he was seeing what he was seeing. His woman was standing on front of the crowd of uncouth, unworthy, unwashed rabble with nothing but a scrap of polyester around her hips and the Earth symbol for money covering her perfect nipples. Possessiveness struck him through the core. He should go up there and drag her off the stage! Or should he? Why should he care? He gave her a hard look. It wasn't his place to be telling the Earth woman what she should be doing with herself, and he was curious as to how she had ended up in this situation. No, he would watch and see where this was going even though it disquieted him.

Besides, even though he was sharing the sight with a roomful of others, it was a very amusing sight indeed. She was being utterly humiliated, yet wasn't going down without a fight.

He saw her hook her fingers on the back of her frilly panties and he stood straighter again the door frame. Was she going to entirely expose herself? He was gripped by the urge to stop her, but grit his teeth and held still instead. The rowdy room seemed to catch its breath all at once as the underwear swept her hips…Ah! More, smaller underwear underneath, but these ones didn't leave much to the imagination. Arousal warred with anger inside him.

The bigger panties fell to her ankles and joined the tangle of stocking there just as the music stopped. Bulma tried to take a shuffling step; all that the mess would allow her, and the audience howled with laughter. She turned around and tripped right over, tumbling to her hands. Crouched down on the stage she struggled to yank one shoe off and free herself of the stockings.

'You suck!' cried one of the young cretins from the rear. In a flash of motion, Bulma stood on her one free foot and launched the heavy shoe at the heckler with devastating accuracy. He was felled, disappearing behind his friends who doubled up with laughter. Vegeta laughed too, feeling a flicker of pride at her unexpected attack. Another man was speaking to her from the side of the stage while she pulled the other shoe off. As soon as she had it free she launched it at the older man, which he sadly ducked, and then she flipped him off with no small amount of gusto. She strode away back stage leaving Vegeta entertained but no less confused.

The man who had taken his money was shaking his head at the display, but caught Vegeta's eye as Bulma disappeared backstage. He headed over to him, and Vegeta remembered his original purpose.

'Where is the blonde woman called Bunny?' he asked as soon as the greasy man was in earshot.

'Well, about that – she had to go home suddenly. So, sorry about that, you won't be getting your private time with her. If you wait a bit longer I can get you one of the other girls.'

Vegeta's gaze swept the rest of the room and he lifted his lip. 'I don't want any of your other girls. The only person I want to see to right now is the one who was just on stage.'

'Bulma?' he asked, incredulous. "I mean, Baby Bunny?'

'Yes.'

The man continued to stare at him like he was crazy. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

The man frowned. 'Look, I'm don't know if I can arrange that. If she doesn't want to I can't force her, and something tells me she's going to say no.'

'Bring me that woman!' Vegeta ordered, his temper getting free of him. Whatever his face was doing made the older man take a step back.

'Jeez, settle down, or you won't get any private time at all! I'll ask her, and maybe you'll get lucky.'

Vegeta stared down his nose at the man; quite a feat for someone who was four inches shorter than the one he was intimidating.

'I will wait in the private chamber.'

Now at last, she was here.

'You have some explaining to do, Woman!'

Bulma's mouth was popped right open in surprise, and yes, anger to match his own. So, she was indignant? Well, this might be interesting.

'Hey, what's going on?' said a heavyset old man, appearing behind Bulma. 'Let go of the dancer!'

Vegeta pulled her to his side instead.

'Hey!'

'Vegeta, stop it!' said Bulma, pulling out of his grasp.

'Do you know this guy?' asked the man.

'Yes, I do, don't worry about him, Tony.' She glared at Vegeta while she said this, looking him up and down, her arms crossed in front of her breasts like she hadn't just been walking around showing them off a moment ago. 'And I think it's you that has some explaining to do!'

'I think you have more.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Let's just go home. Mom and Dad have already ditched us.'

'Are you two brother and sister?' asked Tony, looking confused. They both baulked at that.

'Hell, no!' cried Bulma. 'What do you think of my family? Sheesh!'

Bulma turned back to the curtain, but Vegeta was not ready to leave.

'I paid for fifteen minutes; I want fifteen minutes.'

Bulma rolled her eyes. 'Why? Come on, it's been a shitty couple of days. Let's just go home.'

Vegeta set his feet wider, crossing his arms and lifting his chin.

'Woman, I want my fifteen minutes of privacy,' he said with a pointed glare at Tony.

Slowly she realised an upside to his insistence. 'Oh. Yeah, okay then.'

Tony frowned. 'You are doing the dance?' he asked her.

'Sure,' said Bulma.

He made a face of concern. 'O-kay...' Then he wagged a finger at Vegeta whose eyes gleamed dark at the insult of it. 'Behave yourself or you're out, friend of Bulma's or not. A strip club is no place for a domestic barney.'

He withdrew, but Bulma kept her eyes on Vegeta. He was staring back at her, kind of simmering, but then his eyes raked down her and back up, and a small tremor passed through him. Obligingly she uncovered her breasts and his gaze switched to them with a corresponding hitch in his breath. Bulma glanced at the mirror on the back wall and checked herself out. Yep, she could see why he was impressed.

Eventually his eyes made it back to hers.

'At least take that awful wig off,' he said.

She did, and gladly. It didn't smell the best.

'What the hell happened here tonight?' he asked as she tossed the synthetic thing to the floor. 'It was shock enough to find your mother on the stage, but I have no clue how you could have found your way up there.'

She opened her mouth to tell him and then stopped. She imagined his reaction to her telling him that she'd been blackmailed into it. Would he care? Something in his eyes and agitated manner told her that he would, that he was very bothered by what he'd seen. If he was bothered by the thought that she'd voluntarily stripped would he be even more upset if she told him that she hadn't wanted to? It would be no problem for him to destroy this place literally, to rough up, beat or kill Tony and Vinny, and though she kind of hated their guts they didn't deserve that.

The piped music started up and Bulma decided to bury the question with distraction.

'Can we leave the explanations until later? We've only got fifteen minutes here, and I don't want to waste them all talking.' Talking certainly wouldn't be as fun as what sprang to mind when she'd agreed to the private time.

'I would rather find out-'

'Ladies make the rules in the private rooms,' she interrupted him. 'Those are the house rules. If you break the rules I make the session end, and Tony comes running in to throw you out.'

Vegeta snorted. 'His rules are not made to hold me back from anything.'

'What about my rules, then, huh? Tough guy? Care about what I say?'

Vegeta clenched his teeth hard on his reply, and fearing that she would push him to a less than desired answer she said, 'Just play along, then!'

Vegeta's mouth softened a little, twisting a like into something that could almost be a smile as he asked sullenly, 'What are your "rules" then?'

'You paid for a private dance, so I'm going to dance.'

Vegeta sniggered, making her cross. 'Like you did outside?'

'Maybe, maybe not. Now sit down!' she ordered pointing at the chair.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 'You would not want me to sit if you knew what has happened in this chair.'

Bulma cast a look over it, but it looked clean enough to her. 'Quit niggling, and sit. Hands on the armrests.'

He did as told, and then she brought forth the silk scarves. Vegeta made a low rumbling noise just a shade off growling, his eyes roving down her body again. 'What game are you playing at?'

'My game.'

She leaned over to tie the scarves and she could feel the warmth of his body on her skin. Her fingers brushed his wrists as she tied him down and she looked up at his face, catching him looking at her breasts again, trapped in the mesh suit. Her nipples hardened under the pasties, which was an odd sensation. He quickly adjusted his gaze to her face again, a soft blush creeping up his own, and the flame of boldness that had carried her in here ignited again. She was practically naked in front of him, and yes, she was going to dance, but it wasn't going to be like before.

Vegeta tested the give in the scarves and then quirked a brow at her. 'This is supposed to restrain me how?'

'If you break the scarves I'll scream for Tony, and he'll come running back in here. I don't think you'll want that.'

His lips curled up another tiny amount, though somehow he retained his scowl.

'I had no idea you were such a harlot.'

'You don't really know anything about me,' she said, choosing not to be insulted by the word. Fine, tonight she was a harlot, just for the fun of it.

'I know you can't dance worth a damn.'

She stamped her foot as he poked at her earlier embarrassment. 'Well, this is a private dance, so it's something different. Something special.'

'You don't have any shoes on, so I don't have that to look forward to.'

She squealed at him through her teeth. 'Keep going that way, Buddy and you'll regret it!'

Vegeta grinned. 'Last time I was tied to a chair like this a fool tried to torture me. Is that what you're going to do?'

Bulma was seriously tempted to slap him for ruining the mood, but this gave her an in. She leaned over and pushed his shoulders so he was flat against the slightly reclined chair back.

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Torture by dance?' he pondered. 'I've never heard of that one, but if anyone can pull it off, it's you.'

She jerked his shoulders roughly as she pulled away, giving him the stink eye as she wondered how to begin. This music had a good beat, but it was softer and more melodic than what she'd had to dance to on stage. Closing her eyes, she swayed her hips, letting it move her. Her fingers began to twitch and then her shoulders moved a little, keeping up with the beat.

Vegeta didn't know what to make of any of this. He was lost without answers to his questions. Was this a weird Earth thing that he hadn't encountered yet? His first concern was that she and her mother had somehow been taken as pleasure slaves, but Bulma's indignation and saying that they should go home earlier didn't line up with that scenario. Was she secretly a courtesan on the side? He'd never seen or smelt any sign of it. Half of him was mournful at the thought; angry and hurt, and the other half was asking why the first half gave a crap. He only wanted to bone the blue-haired brainiac, so what did it matter what she did in her spare time?

The parts of him that wanted to just bone her were stirring with heat and blood. In this chair he was about eye level with her crotch as she minced her legs about. The overtly erotic scraps she wore were almost as good as the sight of her naked, and the acres of bare skin flooded his nose with her scent. He had had a short acquaintance with the soft skin of her inner thighs and was more than ready to renew it. The scarves pulled taut on his wrists as he unconsciously leaned towards her, trying to get closer to her. The mesh body suit hugged her breasts and belly, moulding her G-string over her nether lips, and he wanted them swollen and weeping with desire for him.

He took a deep breath, wondering if she had been telling the truth about the torture. If that really was her game then it was going to suck for him, but he wouldn't let her win.

Her dancing game was weak. He'd never seen tweens dancing at a school disco, so couldn't make the comparison, but rolled his eyes and snorted.

'You dance like Nappa,' he said.

Her eyes flew open, flashing with annoyance. 'Did Nappa do this?' she asked, and raised her arms above her head, then wiggled her body down towards the ground, spreading her knees so that the narrow band of fabric that covered her naughty bits had to really earn it's keep. Then her hands dropped down over her body, snaking over her breasts and reaching down to stroke over her inner thighs and then over those naughty bits like Vegeta's eyes were trying to, imagining her imagining him touching her.

'Ahh…!' she moaned, and Vegeta came to the edge of his seat – straining on the scarves again. Nope, Nappa had never done that.

'Uh,' he said, eyes glued, the question forgotten before he had time to answer it.

Bulma was satisfied enough with the reaction to that dance move. She'd seen it in a few movies – usually crime dramas with gratuitous scenes featuring police detectives meeting perps or witnesses in strip clubs. She planted her hands on the seat of the chair either side of Vegeta's legs and then surged forward and up, arching so that her body rose in front of his face as she stood. Vegeta's nose skimmed her so closely that the V of the body suit got caught on it for a moment.

He grunted and blinked, but seemed unable to look away from her.

She smirked and swayed from side to side. 'Is that all you have to say?' she teased.

Suddenly his eyes snapped to hers, and with unexpected steel he replied, 'Is that the best you can do?'

Her smirk hardened. She didn't know what his attitude was about, but he'd seemed plenty enticed by those moves, but now he was pretending he wasn't. Well fine – she would take him to the point where his lust for her was undeniable!

'No,' she purred, and put her knees where her hands had been, straddling Vegeta's. He leant back now, though she was more than close enough for him to stick his nose in her belly button if he wanted.

Vegeta wanted all right. She began to sway again in time to the music, her hips swaying back and forth now, rolling like a rider in the saddle. He wanted to break the stupid scarves, but he didn't want the dance to end, and he wanted to lick her stomach, but that would give away how much she already had him.

His eyes moved up and down. Bulma saw his gaze settle on the cleft of her legs and felt giddiness surge down her belly to blossom there with wonderful heat. He suddenly sat straight again, and she bumped against his chest softly on the next beat, and his parted lips brushed her abdomen. Another pulse of giddiness hit her with Vegeta's hot breath on the skin of her belly. He pulled back the next moment though.

'Having fun yet?' she asked.

His pupils were dilated to pools of darkness and all her instincts told her that that meant he was. 'Well, you certainly are,' he said.

Bulma blushed hard. 'Ho, ho, ho, Vegeta, don't deny it.' She reached down to where the crotch of his loose chino was bulging, and gently squeezed it.

'Uh,' he grunted, involuntarily pushing against her hand. 'How do you know that's for you?' he croaked out.

'What are you saying?' Bulma asked. 'That's it's for my mom?'

Vegeta jerked so hard that the chair rocked on its legs and he hissed. 'Why would you even mention that woman at a time like this?'

Well, that was a strong negative reaction. 'It was you that suggested that you're sporting wood for someone else!'

Vegeta glared up at her.

'Do you admit it's for me then?'

He didn't answer; he just rocked his hips to press himself into her hand again. Now it was Bulma's turn to moan as the hopeless gesture of arousal swelled hers. She leaned forward, putting her hands on the back of the chair to steady herself as she rocked her hips lower and lower, her thighs scraping the cloth of his trousers now. Vegeta lay back, his eyes travelling up her throat to her face, and it was almost as if she could feel his gaze touching her. She hovered over his face as her hips mimicked the movements of sex, feeling a jolt when Vegeta moved his own to meet with a gentle grind in the middle. Vegeta's mouth was open, practically panting, and she found she was too, their breath mingling. Now that she'd embarked on this course she found there was nothing she wanted more than to kiss him hard, unzip his pants and go for it.

Her eyes drooped half closed, and before she realised what she was doing her open lips brushed against his. His tongue came out to greet them and she remembered herself, pulling away. No! She wasn't just going to just hand herself over to him if he was going to be all casual and dismissive about her effect on him. She held the power in this situation, so she was going to wait until he asked for it! No, begged for it!

Kneeling up tall, she grabbed a lungful of cool air (the air around Vegeta had become all hot and fuggy feeling somehow) and then stood up, turning around to show him her back.

Vegeta leaned forward, snapping his teeth as she slipped out of his reach. The view of the back of her was nothing to be sniffed at though. She did her wiggle-dance again, and now somehow it was far more erotic with the bare cheeks and the thong like floss between her buttocks. She leaned forward, shifting her hips from side to side as she reached down to touch the floor and he was entranced as she offered him a view, and yes, those lips were plump now and he yearned for the feeling that went with the sight.

Looking over her shoulder she backed up onto the chair, placing one knee either side of his, gripping his wrists as she started to grind the air above him. The shape of her back, the smooth line of her spine and the small muscles sliding under her skin as she worked herself had him opening and closing his fists convulsively. He needed to touch her.

Bulma could feel the muscles of his strong forearms moving under her hands and their movement excited her more. Then something soft and silky brushed over her back and she halted, trying to work out what he was touching her with when both his arms were under her hands. Then the thing snaked around her ribs, rising up to drag over her breasts and she saw.

'Hey, that's cheating, Vegeta!'

'I didn't know tails were against the rules.'

'Well now you do. Be grateful I didn't tie that down too.'

She shivered as it withdrew, tickling her along the way. Damn, why did she have to be such a spoil sport to her own self? But she had to reign herself in somehow or else this wasn't going to be just a sexy dance. Each rock of her hips, each thought that he was watching her from behind, being teased by the sight of her was making her centre pulse with lazy sparks of lust. One thrust accidentally bumped against the bulge of his trousers, and then she couldn't stop herself, bouncing against him again and again; the small touches were driving her crazy. Vegeta groaned, pushing back, and she lost it, moaning as she pushed her pussy against him.

She was losing control of herself. She'd wanted to give Vegeta a sexy dance that they would both enjoy, but now her blood was thundering and she wanted sex, not a sexy dance.

The skin between her hands and Vegeta's wrists became slippery with sweat, and she lost her grip with one. Vegeta tangled her fingers in his as her hand slid past.

'Admit it, this is a pretty good dance,' she panted out.

'It's awful,' he groaned, and she shook her head, climbing off the chair again.

'Oh, really? How about this then?'

She turned around again and straddled him close to his body, positioning herself so that as she moved up and down her breasts moved past his face. Vegeta closed his eyes tightly and then opened then again, the chair jerking as he forgot about his wrists being tied again. He rested his head back against the chairback as if trying to get away, and then surged forward again like he didn't know what he wanted. Suddenly he turned his head and caught the mesh of the bodysuit between his teeth. Bulma squeaked, but he pulled it aside, freeing one breast. She slowed and almost stopped her movement as he went after her breast like he was bobbing for apples. His tongue slid against her skin and then his teeth scraped and hooked on the bottom of the pastie. Before she could register what was happening (not that she was thinking at the top of her game right then), he ripped the pastie off with his teeth and spat it on the floor. She yelped at the sensation of the body glue coming off, but then sighed loudly as Vegeta salved the skin with his lips, taking half her breast into his mouth, rolling her nipple around with his tongue and sucking, lips moving greedily as he suckled her bosom.

Bulma found her knees melting and she sat down in his lap. He bucked against her, growling, moving her whole body up and down as he ground up into her, and she whimpered, her willpower unequal to the task of lifting her up again.

When he let go of her breast she pressed the other one to him, silently demanding the same treatment for that one too. He obliged, and her thighs trembled. She could feel wetness at the top of her legs; she was surely making a mess of his pants.

'Uh, Vegeta!' she mewled, but that wasn't right; he was meant to be begging her.

He rocked into her, friction sending electric trickles of pleasure through her loins, but finally, against her basest wishes she pulled away.

'Hey!' said Vegeta, chest heaving. 'Where are you going?'

'Well, as I'm the only one enjoying myself I thought I'd take things elsewhere. Just "dance" for myself, maybe.'

She started to slide off backwards, but Vegeta raised his legs, trapping her on his lap. Seeking another way free, she stood on the chair, getting both feet on one side before stepping one foot down to the ground. Vegeta caught one nipple on his teeth again as she went past, and she stopped, afraid he would bite her, stuck straddling his arm with one foot on the floor.

'Be careful with me!' she warned, and then his teeth were gone, replaced by tongue and lips, laving gently, over and over and over. Oh dear, she couldn't leave that sensation behind, and she hovered where she was, letting him pleasure her.

The crotch of her bodysuit brushed his forearm and she knew he'd be able to feel the slickness there. She was so turned on that just that tiniest of touches excited her, and she couldn't help it – desperate for more she rolled her hips, dragging her swollen clit against him. Vegeta groaned against her breast, then turned his hand in the binding of the scarf and grabbed her ass, kneading her cheek. She edged herself backwards until his fingers were under her, trailing along the soaked fabric of the bodysuit and thong. With a twitch of his hand she was exposed, and his fingertips glided over her opening, one sliding ever so slightly inside. Bulma almost sobbed.

'Vegeta,' she whispered, her hand reaching down to the button of his trousers. 'I want to take you out and play with you,' she crooned, tugging the button undone. She had never talked like this to Yamcha during sex – it just would have seemed too silly, but she felt so incredibly sexy right now the words just dripped out for Vegeta. The zipper came next, and then she was in the humid space of his pants. He had left the house commando, and his member was lodged in there pretty tight, like an iron bar bent in half before she eased it out. She gripped him tight and he pressed into her hand, letting out a shuddering breath that was the closest to begging that she'd heard him make.

'Don't you think…this is a pretty good dance?'

Like a machine run out of oil he seized up, then spat her boob out, breathing hard. 'You are good,' he admitted at last, his voice husky. 'Do you do this every Saturday night?'

The music cut out, and in the sudden quiet Bulma stared down at him, mystified by the digression from the script she thought they would be following.

'Huh?' Of course not.'

'But you've done this before.'

'No.' What was he on about?

He was glaring at her, hazy with lust, but now that she was paying attention she could see he was still angry.

'I don't like to share my women,' he said coldly.

It was strange that Vegeta felt like he did, but he did and he couldn't abide the thought. It wasn't a rule he'd ever had before. He'd never spent more than one night with a woman, just as he never spent more than a night in any spot except on one of Frieza's planets or ships. That had just been the reality of his life. He could have been sharing those women and he'd never have known – all that had mattered to him was that they were ready, willing and able. They could have been whores or housewives for all he'd known, and as opportunity had knocked as infrequently as it did he hadn't bothered making such enquiries. And now he wanted Bulma so bad it felt like the difference between life or death hung on the act, but he hated the thought that she was just fitting him in her schedule of men.

Bulma was silent for a moment as she digested each part of that sentence. My women was a puzzle. Did he mean "his" as in his girlfriend, in a kind of possessive and chauvinistic way? And he doesn't like to share his girlfriends?

He thinks I'm a slut or possibly a prostitute. Where the hell did he get that idea?

She tried to lift herself from the undignified position she realised she was in and caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror between the faded red drapes. Well, maybe the wrong conclusion was not so hard to jump to right this second. Damn, why was everything to do with jumping Vegeta complicated and confusing? She just wanted to fuck right now!

She eased herself back down, trying to look as sexy as she could in a one-legged crouch.

'I am not a professional stripper or a man-eating nymphomaniac, if that's what you're thinking,' she said calmly. 'And I don't share my men, either, AT ALL, so think about that.'

Vegeta was relieved, but still confused. The particulars of this situation were obviously still not apparent to him. Then he thought about the second half of what she said.

'Are you referring to me?'

'I don't know,' she said, and slid her hand up the shaft of his dick. Ugh, he couldn't think when she did that! 'Am I your "woman", Vegeta? Does that make you my "man"?' She rocked her hips again, spreading the warmth over his hand. 'I want you to know that I don't have sex with just anyone. Only the special men in my life – one special man.'

Some part of Vegeta glowed at that. Damn right, he was special.

'You won't meet anyone more special than me!' he told her and she laughed, but quickly agreed.

'You're right, I don't think I will!'

Feeling put at ease, he let her work her fist up and down his cock. Her breasts bounced with the movement, and he leaned forward slightly, letting them bump against this face like the softest, most pleasantly fragrant pummelling of his life, licking the skin and passing nipples.

The sensations were starting to build in Bulma again; his face and stubble tickled against the skin of her chest and that tail of his had gotten free again and was coiling up her thigh. Vegeta's fingers curled against her clit, beckoning, sliding, promising…She moved against them again – why had she tied him to a chair? How silly of her!

'Oh,' she sighed breathlessly. 'Vegeta, do you…do you want to fuck me?'

He throbbed with lust at the dirty word coming from her lips, and pushed into her fist faster. 'Yes.'

'Am I your woman? Are you my man?' Her hips swung harder, impaling herself deeply on his fingers, hot and tight and slippery.

'Hurhh,' he groaned.

'Are you?'

'Yes!'

Bulma felt him lift her – at what point had he broken the bonds? - and drop her into his lap. For a second she couldn't move as his hands and tail mobbed her, taking their fill after being sidelined for so long. His fingers swept her back and hips and ribs and he kissed the base of her throat, then sucked, licked his way higher as he let her lower herself, shaking with anticipation.

Oh, sweet bliss!

He filled her, each inch a silky caress of pleasure that cleaved the ache of emptiness between her legs, but of course that alone wasn't enough. As she reared up and came down on his lap again he caught her by the back of her head and brought her face down to kiss him. Kissing her deeply, plunging into her deeply, his hands gripping her hips tight, his grunts of unfettered gratification muffled in their kiss – they were riding their way to ecstasy. Each moment felt like it could be Bulma's last before she lost it to blinding orgasm, but she wanted this to last as long as it could; her plateau went on and on, and if it lasted forever she would spend eternity awash in pleasure. The curtain opened but Bulma didn't give a crap. Vegeta wasn't turning into a giant monkey, the paparazzi weren't there, and she wasn't stopping for anything.

'Jeez, what the…!'

The curtain was shut again, and Vegeta and Bulma clutched at each other, trying to come closer with each thrust. The tingling started coiling out of Bulma's core, snaking up through her stomach and down through her legs, like embers stirred by the relentless and quickening pace of their rutting. Just when she thought she was about there, Vegeta gripped her under her ass, stood and pressed her up against the wall, pounding into her in a mad pace that pushed her past the point where she would normally come, and instead she was winding higher and higher, hyperventilating as she felt her body turn boneless like putty and then harden again from her core outwards, desperately needing that hardness of Vegeta to slam into her, push her, push her, push her over that edge…

She screamed as she came; the wave making the hair on her head stand on end as it rushed over her, and all the way down to her toes it went, her whole body alight with pleasure. She recoiled, muscles jumping helplessly, eyes closed and gasping out as her orgasm pounded through her. Vegeta cried out once, then twice, and then with a shudder and a roar he came, his legs giving way. They fell down the wall, still moving weakly against each other as they rode it out.

Vegeta collapsed on his back and Bulma landed on top of him, as limp as a fresh fish fillet, and when she tried to move the muscles of her thighs trembled and decided to go on strike. She settled for lifting her head from his shoulder and looking down at him. She couldn't help grinning. Not only had she just had sex with Vegeta. Not only was that was the best sex of her life. That had been the best sex of her life and it was with Vegeta! She'd really been on to something when she'd asked him to come live at her house.

'Fuck me,' croaked Vegeta, still panting hard.

'Didn't I just?'

Taken by surprised, Vegeta laughed and Bulma goggled at his face, all curved into lines of happiness for a few seconds, up close and personal, and her heart swelled and overflowed. Oh, damn, she would do a lot to see that expression more often. She could see it as her new life's goal to make Vegeta laugh every day. She laughed too, but with joy. With panic she felt tears prickle in her eyes.

I've got to get away, my head's been melted by sex and I can't let him see me brought to tears of happiness by his laughing!

'Well, I guess I'd better go get cleaned up so we can get out of here,' she said briskly, pushing herself up on her arms. 'Are you hungry? Stupid question, huh? We could get some food in town before we go home.'

Vegeta smirked, watching her go. 'For once your blathering makes sense.'

She was stuck to Vegeta's polo shirt by sweat, and she couldn't help creaking with the effort of getting to her feet. They had made quite a mess of his clothes actually. Maybe they would have to go directly home after all.

With a grin over her shoulder she pulled the body suit back in place and stuck her head out of the curtain. No one was in sight in the corridor, so she trotted down it back to the dressing room with her knees locked together. Oh dear, she needed Kleenex!

Vegeta lay on his back for a minute. He should feel revolted by his surroundings, the circumstance, the lowliness of the position he found himself in, but all he could feel was deep contentment. All this time he'd been striving so hard for success, but now he'd achieved a success that washed all sense of failure out of him. He would barely acknowledge the desire he'd been feeling for Bulma two weeks ago, and now look at what had happened. What a dangerous woman – a few servings of that a week and he'd probably forget all about destroying androids, Kakarott and turning Super Saiyan.

Abruptly, some of the weight settled back in his stomach.

You had to go spoil it, he complained to himself.

Yes I DID! Nothing is more important that our pride! Or have you forgotten the humiliation our life has become?

He got up, scowled at the state of his reflection in the mirror and began to straighten his clothes. His woman had some kind of power of him to make him forget himself and that was dangerous. Next time, if there was a next time, would be on his time, his terms, and his territory.

Making it to the dressing room, Bulma sighed with happiness and helped herself to some handfuls of tissues from someone's dressing table. She was busy making use of them when she realised there was someone else in the room. A young red headed woman was sat at another table watching her. Bulma froze, taking in the girl's wide-eyed expression.

'Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here, I was-'

'Oh, it's okay,' said the girl quickly. 'Well, I gotta go do my set. See you.' And she hurried out to the stage.

Bulma had turned completely red, and she shook her head at her own life. She found her dress and sneakers dumped on the floor and was looking for her underwear, though she'd dumped half the contents of the rummage box on the floor too when she was putting her outfit together. Her phone rang and she fished it out of her dress pocket, so expecting it to be her father that she didn't check the caller ID.

'Yeah, I'm okay, thanks for checking!' she said.

'Oh, good,' said Yamcha's relieved voice.

'Oh, sorry, Yamcha! I was expecting my dad.' She had to appreciate the sense of dislocation at hearing her ex-boyfriend's voice while she was still basking in the post-coital glow given her by her new man. Hmm, new man! 'What's up?'

'I got this call from a woman called Sweda Turnup who said she was from Capsule Corp's PR department. Does that sound right?'

Bulma gawped. The nerve of that woman! 'Yes, and no! What did she say?'

'She wondered if you were all right and if I could tell you to answer her calls. She said that she'd been trying to call you all day and it was very urgent. I was starting to get worried too, 'cause this is the third time I've tried to call you tonight. Is it about the press conference you did?'

'I haven't done the press conference yet,' she said, irritated beyond belief that Sweda was stalking her.

'Really? I thought you said it was going to be today.'

'No, it's-' Bulma's heart stopped. Oh god, it was today! She took her ear away from the phone and glanced at the time – 6.45pm.

'Fuck! Yamcha, I've got to go!'

'Oka-'

Hanging up she saw an incredible list of missed calls and texts from Sweda's number. Cringing, she dialled the number and didn't even wait one ring before Sweda answered.

'Ms Briefs, please tell me you were involved in some sort of major traffic accident or similar!'

'I…I…' Bulma didn't know what to say. 'Yes, similar, in that it was a complete disaster, yes!'

'Where are you? Can you be here in ten minutes? I've been stalling the press for the last half an hour, telling them that you're stuck in traffic.'

'I don't know,' said Bulma. She didn't have a hoverjet on her and her car was back at her mother's apartment building and that was a good twenty minute drive from the house…

'Do it!' barked the woman. 'If you miss your own press conference it will destroy what's left of your reputation! I may as well hand in my resignation if you don't front to the public. You look like a flake and a coward right now!'

'Shit!' cried Bulma, standing up. 'I'll get there, Turnup – keep stalling them!'

She hung up, dropped the phone to ram her dress back on over the bodysuit – no time for finding her underwear now. She shoved her sneakers back on, grabbed her phone and went tearing down the corridor to where Vegeta was just emerging from the alcove.

'Vegeta, Vegeta, you gotta fly me, please! It's an emergency!'

'What?'

She wrapped her arms around his neck desperately as if he would run off before she could get him to comply.

'I need you to take me to Capsule Corp headquarters as fast as Saiyanly possible! Please, Vegeta!'

'Why?' he asked, looking outraged by the request. 'You have your vehicle. I thought being caught flying about the city was a bad thing. That's what you always told me!'

'Well, you'll have to not let anyone see.'

'What could be so important?'

'It's a matter of pride and reputation!' she said. 'My pride, my reputation are on a knife edge! I've got to get to HQ in the next ten minutes or I'll be finished!'

He frowned into her face for a moment, and then pulled her to him hard.

'So you see that the loss of one's pride is no laughing matter? Just this once, I'll do it.'

Author's Note: So, I have two more chapters planned-ish for this story, but given that it took me two years to create these last two chapters, who knows how long it will take for me to write them? Believe it or not, I wrote these NSFW chapters mostly at work (hope no one goes poking around my hard drive!) in such teeny piecemeal...

I feel extra sorry for Adli, who had to beta this lunatic drivel. Take a bow, woman! Adli has been extra good to me lately, betaing three chapters in two days.

And yes, there was reference to another Rhianna song in there.

Just remember, if I made you laugh you have a moral obligation to review and let me know! I can't hear your lols over the internets!