Chapter Three
It was the last night of the convention, with everything wrapping up, and Krissy was in a foul mood. She didn’t mind dressing up like some middle-aged man’s fantasy w***e. That was just part of the job of being a floor model, and all of the other women working the convention had had to dress up in the same way: Sleeveless white shirts, worn unbuttoned with the tails knotted tightly together just below their t**s, uncomfortable push-up bras underneath, and tight black hotpants, the whole ensemble topped by identical wigs that looked like they’d been made from Christmas tree tinsel. They’d also had to wear knee-high black boots with stiletto heels, but the convention organizers didn’t supply those. Each woman had to provide her own. She had a pair tucked away in the back of a
