The Kit-Kat Klub affords its employees at best substandard accommodations. As just one example, the dressing rooms lining the back wall of the basement are exceedingly spare: Jamie had to supply her own mirror and cinderblock, necessary to stand upon if she wants to see more than her face when she applies makeup, not that Jamie needs makeup, but best to go through the motions.

With the building’s boiler almost adjacent, the clank and rumble of the furnace allows the ticket taker and MC, Mister Sneakers (as he’s known by the dancers), to achieve an untoward proximity to the talent while they dress or undress or relax between acts.

Here we see Sneakers hugging the wall behind Jamie’s as she relieves the pressure of her work. One might ask why Jamie stands upon her cinderblock to masturbate. Certainly she doesn’t need to see herself in her mirror in order to come. The answer is simple. Rats.

Sneakers has no fear of vermin. Or maybe it’s that the thought of Jamie’s orgasm overrides any concern. As well, he’s too cheap to purchase his own cinderblock.

But no harm. The show must go on. Sneaker’s jism will splash the wall with surprising force, so strong is Jamie’s allure. Her own pleasure, I’m glad to report, is significant—witness the girl juice rivering her inner thigh. She’ll soon take the stage, no need to clean away the sexual evidence. Not only do we not mind, we relish it.