Title: Je Suis Retournée
Featuring: Roxy Phoenix
Date: August 2012
Location: Paris, France - Rev 249

The slick red pencil shaped the luscious pouty lips that pursed at the gorgeous reflection. The luminescence from the frame of bulbs dimly illuminates the soft face to assist the makeup artists with their task. Blush flushed across one cheek and the other with a quick flick of a brush. Another stiff brush met the wisp of her eyelashes in a series of flutters, tinting them the color midnight.

She swore she’d never end up here, and here she was again… rounding out the end of some lame promotional tour shit for Devin Shakur. Taking off the clothes and shaking the naughty bits in the name of “marketing.”

First, it was that lame sushi dinner with Katt �" well, she rather enjoyed that event, not the sweaty palms of overweight gamers with their pimpled faces, WOW t-shirts, and thick glasses. She’d like to block THAT part from her memory, but the three hour mind-blowing threesome between the two of them and Milena brought a lascivious grin to her face.

Not that she minded showcasing her amazing assets, if the money was right and the crowd stooped to have manners. But she had never signed up as a fucking marketing intern to peddle this lame shit about nor make appearances. Just because she refused to sign autographs or do some stupid “Meet & Greets” at local high schools or whatever, she had been assigned to a multi-continent promo excursion.

Of course, she was thankful to not be in Sofia back at “Khluzgav” or “Slick” as it was so affectionately known �" that place had burned down, and surprisingly, she wasn’t the culprit. Bad lighting, quite cliché for a strip club. Nor was it Pink in New Orleans, her next step up the stripper ladder. She was at the “World Famous Crazy Horse Cabaret” in Paris, France.

Unfortunately, the gorgeous Roxy Phoenix has been known to have the patience of a petulant child, and tonight was certainly no exception. She waved the agile set of hands away with her lithe fingers and exasperation, desperate to insert a slim white cigarette in between her lips.

“J’ai besoin d’une flamme.” Her request was rebuffed, as the female returned to penciling a shade of brown into the trimmed arch of Roxy’s eyebrows. She ended with a polite plea, “S’il te plaît.”

Nothing. Her brown eyes surveyed the table top of the dresser; hair pins, a makeup bag, brushes, and other paraphernalia. Not an item capable of producing fire. She was creative, but she wasn’t MacGyver.

“Tu m’as entendu.” She reminded the makeup artist that she wasn’t deaf. “Je dois fumer. Get me a light.”

The blonde female shook her head with a shift roll of her blue eyes and continued to diligently refine the siren’s makeup aesthetic as she traced the ridge of her eyelids with a combination of hues ranging from bright pink, white, silver, and black to complement the midnight color outlining the shape of her eyes.

“Y’a t-il quelqu’un qui puisse m’aider?” Roxy continued to prod the silence for any nearby listener who could possibly assist her with her nagging desire for nicotine.

Another blonde strolled behind the seated vixen, and she gave a slight tug at each end of the wavy red tresses atop her head.

“Fuck!” The word flew out of her mouth just as quickly as the cigarette. Roxy scowled at the nagging jerks at her locks, but her irritation had been once again snubbed by a cloud of hairspray.

“You mess up your hair,” The blonde tousling about the hair remarked with an indignant smirk. Despite the resistance, she returned the cigarette to her lips.

The two blondes exchanged a few giggles and mumbles regarding Roxy’s wavering temperament. Incensed to release some of the tension with a smoke, she leaped out of her chair to reach a hidden matchbook with the Crazy Horse’s logo and location details. She flipped the book open to discover four fresh matches. She retrieved one and struck it along the sweet rough strip �" success. The flame met the end of the cigarette, and she inhaled a deep and satisfied breath.

Fuck. Yes.

Now that the stylists had completed their work with her hair and makeup, another duo went to fussing about with her outfit. Hardly shy about her gorgeous figure, she shrugged off the sheer black robe to expose her naked frame. Though the immodest French girls were certainly not stunned by this sudden visual stimulation, they still paused to survey her physique and the art that traced the bends of her body. She always looked fucking amazing.

Once the momentum had been regained, the girls returned to their original task. A pair of two black “X’s” was taped symmetrically over her perky pink nipples. A sequined corset with black and hot pink stripes snugly enveloped her torso and generously complemented her feminine curves and ample cleavage. Fishnet stockings were also gracefully slid up her legs to the waist underneath her the impending thong. One of the women worked on hooking each clasp while the opposite crouched to her knees to slip the black thong up Roxy’s legs.

Roxy took a long drag of the cigarette and politely flicked the ashes away from the outfit. The nearby fan placed on the dresser buzzed and sucked in the debris.

“Fuck, I’m sexy.” She swiveled about on the balls of her feet to regard her reflection. Once the skimpy black pleated skirt hugged her hips, she winked at the brief glimpse of her round bottom with the flounce of the skirt.

Despite the great satisfaction Roxy had been achieving from surveying her likeness in the tri-fold full height mirror, she needed to return to her seat to permit the black heels to be placed on her feet and the complimenting black straps to be laced up to her knees.

With another round of girls adding accessories, Roxy definitely had exceeded her patience limit for the day. Six sets of hands were poking and prodding her to conclude her beauty routine before she went on stage for the night. She still had to achieve her own mental state of focus before she busted a move in front of the amorous crowd fawning over her. Of course, her strategy for preparing included knocking back a fair amount of flavored vodka �" either whip cream or cotton candy flavored. The round of chain smoking and masturbation would follow suit too.

“Laisse-moi…” She shuffled away from the crowd of women who continued to busy themselves with perfecting her final appearance. They ignored this request again.

Though it had been a while since she had been formally approached to strip in a venue (save for the occasional proposition Tyler Rayne had committed her to in the ring for his adoring fans), Roxy was never one to shy away from being the main attraction, but she was thankful to be in Europe rather than the Vegas strip with boozing tourists. Not that these tourists hadn’t jumped on a transatlantic flight to witness this spectacle.

Who wouldn’t want to cash in their IRAs to fly half-way across the world and see the once great female high flyer Roxy Phoenix tastefully dancing topless? Grateful to have been given carte blanche with her music selection, she selected a set of erotically charged industrial songs rather than a song belonging to an 80’s hair band which used to be her backing track when on stage.

Okay. This was fucking enough. Roxy released an exasperated groan, “Get the fuck off me!”

The sextet of young French assistants finally took the hint and stormed out of the room, with pessimistic huffs and curses under their breaths.

“Ne retournez pas sans ma vodka!” Roxy snarled as she hurled the bottle of Perrier on the dresser at the wall inches away from the frustrated girls. It shattered instantly. That pathetic excuse for a beverage certainly would not quench her thirst.

Just as the crowd of women exited the room, the male patron named Guillaume followed in. Couldn’t Roxy get a fucking minute of privacy?

“Wow,” The patron greeted Roxy with his heavy presence, “You look… gorgeous.”

She could feel his eyes undressing her, and the physical movement to adjust the growing bulge in his pants was not a subtle gesture either.
Roxy was not about to let another person interfere with her mental preparation. She crashed onto a sleek black suede sofa nearby the rows of dressers. Another puff of the cigarette allowed her to relax fully and stretch out the length of the sofa.

She sighed, “It’s only a matter of time before those twats come back in here and bitch about me messing up my hair. Mon dieu.”

As annoying as the attentive females were, she had to admit that she rather enjoyed six pairs of hands on her body… fuck, she was horny.

“Roxanna, I had no idea you were so… well-versed in our language,” he nervously chuckled, approaching the sofa.

Without invitation, he forced his way under her crossed outstretched legs and onto one of the cushions. He returned her legs to his lap, and his sweaty palms were awkwardly resting on her shins.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat. She could imagine he was unbuttoning his shirt or loosening his tie to become more relaxed as well.

Puff, puff. Fuck… what now?

“So, uh, Monsieur Shakur certainly underestimated your beauty…” He sighed, “Mmm, you truly are…”

Roxy bit her lip in frustration, “Fucking sexy, amazing, beautiful, gorgeous… bonorific… pick your adjective. Yes, I know.”

Guillaume snorted at her honesty, “Quick wit too.”

“Yep, I’m pretty badass.”

“M. Shakur also told me you have a few appetites that are insatiable…” He dilvulged, “If there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable, I’m more than willing to… accommodate your requests.”

His hand snaked his way up the outside of her thigh slowly disappearing below her skirt. Bothered by his obliviousness, Roxy opened her eyes to get a better look at her aggressor. Was he worth indulging this request… Holy fuck, no! The sweaty French twin of ECW’s once color commentator Joel Gertner was panting just to draw his hand up her thigh… looked like she’d be signing up for another solo round.

“You’re right.” She nodded, “Get me a fucking drink. Something strong.”
That instant, he hopped up and darted out of the room, almost expecting this would grant a sexual favor in return. It certainly wouldn’t, but at least he had a sense of urgency which could not be said for his employees.

Alone with her thoughts and another cigarette, she was finally able to reflect on the state of her business and personal affairs she would soon have to encounter when she returned to the US in a few days.

Just as this promotional tour had died to a close, she had gotten wind of the recent departure of Devin Shakur. PRIME was now under new management, and she’d likely not make the cut. Regardless of having friends’ in high places, politics often reigned supreme in similar situations. With this new wave of “good guys” on the forefront, she’d more than likely have to find a new venue for her talents.

It wasn’t long after this news of PRIME’s unstable future made its way to her in Europe that she had also received a subtle text message from the Ol’ Golden Boy Tyler Rayne himself. The text eloquently read, “Yo, back in town.” The Underground Pimp kept his breadth of vocabulary underground as well �" he wasn’t a man of many words or explanations. There were too many unanswered questions that would, well, remain as such. She certainly couldn’t waste her time entertaining what avenues of mischief that Ty had sought out during his sabbatical.

With this return, Roxy knew he would be carting around his girlfriend Leslie �" whatever the hell her name was, so it was a blessing she wouldn’t be a witness to their “sexcapades.” Should she decide to return back to the states, she assumed that she wouldn’t be forced to leave, but she hadn’t been invited to lengthen her stay either… Besides, she could have listed a myriad of other things she would have rather done than listen to Tyler Rayne bang his cheap girlfriend around the mansion.

The white iPhone adorned in a red rubber protective cover topped with devil horns buzzed on the glass coffee table two feet from her head. Boy, did she ever wish that was in between her legs. She retrieved the phone to find that it was Katt… again. She had called and texted hundreds of times, and each one Roxy ignored. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Katterina… she just didn’t know what the hell to do with the latest PRIME drama. It may have been best to leave her alone to succeed under this new management rather than get mixed up in Roxy’s nonsense.

Perhaps she could just bow out of PRIME herself as well, without having to endure any awkward or unpleasant encounters with her future patrons. She was sure Tyler Rayne and even Katterina Wylde would have their opportunities to misbehave without Roxy slugging around in the background like a 5th wheel.

Staying in Europe was looking more attractive with each second. Besides, a permanent vacation in Europe would be a wonderful idea �" the last time she was here was with Jason. She didn’t want that to be her last memory of these countries. The sex in random places, sure… the company, no. The latter could be easily interchanged.

She hated when she went off on those self-pity tangents. Shit, she needed a drink. It did not this long, unless they were harvesting it from the fucking source. Where were those fucking French bitches? If she saw another Perrier, she’d slit someone’s throat.

She scowled to herself, “Would someone just get me a motherfucking drink?”

Almost as a response to her complaint, the door opened and briefly closed after a person came into the space. At the sound of a female’s graceful fingers placing a shot glass next to a full bottle, Roxy could smell the Pinnacle’s Cotton Candy vodka and released moaned in ecstasy. Thank God! The booze was here.

Well… that solved one problem. She took another drag on the cigarette. She couldn’t exactly pour it herself. Fuck that, she was the star of the show.

“Don’t think osmosis will get that drink into the glass, honey.” She sighed with a wistful shut of her eyes.

The trickling of vodka into the glass was music to her ears. Unfortunately, the voice accompanying it interrupted her pleasant moment of reflection.

“You, my dear, are a tough one to get in touch with,” The Dark Angel hummed.

Fuck.

“Look, I don’t give a shit what you do, but you can’t quit like that fucking coward Shakur.”

Ugh… she had to bring him too. That was Tyler Rayne’s way of saying, ‘No, please. You’re better than him. Give it another chance. Come on, you know you’re awesome.’

“I wouldn’t be a coward… or a loser. I’m leaving on a high note, and I have a championship belt to prove that.” Roxy dismissively waved her hand around in the air. It was somewhere in the dressing room… probably collecting dust. It was too heavy to wear.

Assured that she would not get another second to herself, she sat up and widened her eyes to witness the two of them straddling a pair of dresser chairs opposite her. The furniture arrangement was planned similar to an intervention… oh, boy.

God, Katt looked fucking sexy as always. Adorned in a black leather catsuit that zipped from the fold of her breasts to inches above her crotch… no doubt she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. While Tyler’s misery seemed to be the main thing he chose to wear that night along with some lame Star Wars shirt, the man could wear a pair of jeans well. They always seemed to hug him in all of the right places… including her favorites, his crotch and that tight ass.

“I ain’t doing any begging, kid,” He grumbled.

“No, you never liked being a sub, Ty,” Roxy responded with a cross of her legs and a quick blow on her cig. “Katt, not that I don’t enjoy your company and right now, I am restraining myself from pouncing on your incredible body, but what the fuck are you two doing here?”

Katt chuckled, combing her fingers through her long chocolate tresses.

“Don’t give me some lame excuse about how you came to see me dance,” Roxy rolled her eyes. “You’ve both seen me naked… and fucked me, which is more than you’ll get out of this performance.”

“Rox, you know you miss us.” Katterina’s soft lips curved into a flirtatious smile. She could win anyone over with that expression. Damn her.

Phoenix turned her gaze towards Tyler’s. His arms had crossed to brace his weight against the chair, and his chin was cradled in one of his palms.

“Where’s your girl?” She posed, arching her back to give a full view of her heaving chest and slim figure in the exquisite outfit.

“Around,” he answered. Of course, Tyler Rayne’s translation, ’I’m not going to fuck you. God, do I ever want to, but I’m not going to because I have to fit this whole ‘decent guy’ role that people love.’ His “girl” could have been "around" thousands of miles away or outside in the damn car, but she was still present.

Ty reached into his back pocket to produce a crumbled up manila envelope and tossed it to Katt on his left. She attempted to smooth out the wrinkles before handing it to Roxy to review.

Roxy stared with intrigue at the envelope, hoping it would at least have a severance check including her wages for this latest promotional stint, and she remarked, “I can see you took great pains to get it to me, Ty.”

“Nothing but the best for you, babe.” He winked.

“It’s your new contract.” Katt explained, “There were a shit tons of revisions that needed to be done after Shakur left.”

Her white teeth came down suddenly on her pouty bottom lip. She removed the documents and quickly flipped through the pages, skimming the lines and sections where she was expected to leave her signature and return to the life she had recently left. It was a huge decision.

“Your job’s still there,” Wylde stated, “that is, if you still want it.”

“Why would I?” Roxy asked.

Tyler sighed, “That’s up to you.”

“I mean, I signed on expecting the three of us to run buck fucking wild all over the place,” she admitted. Months of unresolved anger were spewing out of her mouth as she carried on, “What’s to say you don’t disappear again, Ty? Leaving Katt and I high and dry to figure things out… No answers, no excuses �" what the fuck?”

“I’m here now,” He stated. “That should be enough.”

That was his answer. That would always be his answer. He would never explain his reasoning for making decisions, and he never would. That just had to be sufficient for Roxy Phoenix to deal with.

“We’re all back,” Katt concluded, “And this time, we will make sure PRIME goes out with a bang… on our terms. Now… sign that fucking contract.”

Sighing, she knew she had to give this opportunity another shot. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the PRIME 5-Star Championship Belt resting on the neighboring end table where she had placed her other belongings. She had busted her ass to get that, and certainly, she still had some more miles to go before she packed it up for good. Maybe she could make her final run in PRIME worthwhile, with these two fucking hot bastards at her side.

Roxy's fingers wrapped around the shot that had been generously poured by Katterina and waiting for Roxy's smooth lips to wrap around it and indulge in the tasty liquid. She downed the perfect fiery combination of sour and sweet, and she slammed the glass down onto the table top.

Her wickedly sensual lips spread into a smile, and Katterina knew the decision had been made. The auburn haired beauty chuckled, “Get me a fucking pen, Ty.”
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