I’m bent down over by the mirror once again, sucking down what’s left of my drink that I had picked up at the bar when I see the doors open. I quickly set it down and grab my lipstick out of my clutch that I brought back here with me for this very reason. I reapply the red to my already numbing lips so it’s fresh. Some of it had rubbed off on the bottle of champagne that me and Sadie finished off. I toss it by my now empty drink and walk back toward the pole, looking down at my heels. Slowly dragging the toe of them on the stage as I take my time.
“I can Tell” by 504 Boyz begins to fill the large room, and I smile, letting the pole swing me around, giving my audience my back as they get seated to enjoy the show, knowing Sadie is on the opposite stage.
This is what I love about my job. So many women look down on us and will talk shit about what we choose to do with our bodies. Saint made me comfortable with my body. And why not make money off it while I’m young? I know this type of job has an expiration date, so I’m going to use it to my advantage while I can. You only live once. And when you were once as close to death as me, you learn to take that saying seriously.
Turning around, I spread my legs wide open and slide my back down the pole, eyes closed. Once my ass hits my heels, I open my eyes, and I gasp at what I see sitting at the front of the stage.
A guy leans back in his chair—center stage—legs spread wide. His hands rested on his jeans-clad thighs and a black hoodie on. It’s the mask he wears that throws me off. They dressed up. Sadie had said.
It’s a devil mask. But unlike any one I’ve ever seen. It’s mainly white, faded to gray and black in places. The eyes are red and so are the horns that curve up out of the top where eyebrows would be. The jaw comes to a point, the lips are black, and there’s an upside-down cross between the eyes. It looks ridiculously sexy under the neon lights.
My heart races when he leans forward, placing his forearms on the edge of the stage. The mask tilts to the side, and my body heat rises while my breathing picks up. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them on me. Scorching hot and unashamed. I lick my already numbing lips.
I’ve always had a mask kink. It’s one of the reasons I love Halloween so much. Give me a group of men with nothing but masks and jeans on, and I will drool all over myself like a fucking idiot while begging them to fuck me. I blame Saint, Haidyn, and Kashton for that. The Lords in general always wore masks.
Some women want roses and diamonds, candlelit dinners and I love yous. Not me. I want to be choked and told I look pretty with your cum covering my face.
I get to my shaking legs, and he sits back in his seat, slouching, getting comfortable once more. I notice a hundred-dollar bill lying on the stage, and I walk toward the edge, turn around and bend over. Grabbing my ankles, I balance on the balls of my heels so I don’t fall over on my face. I watch him upside down as he leans forward once again.
I right myself only to fall gracefully. Lowering my right knee first, then my left. I place my chest and the side of my face on the cool stage and lift my ass in the air. Pulling my knees toward my face, I arch my back even more. I spread them wide giving him a view of my glowing white G-string before I raise my chest and face up off the floor and start bouncing my ass while pushing myself backward, closer to him.
I sit up on my knees, looking at him over my shoulder, my hands in my dark hair as he stands. Fuck, he’s tall. Something about a man who could overpower me just makes me want to fight them. Force me to submit to you.
My pulse races when he leans over the stage and places his hands on my thighs. They’re allowed to touch at Glass. How far they can go is up to us. But the Fountain room? You don’t reserve and not touch whatever you want. If you’re an entertainer and don’t want to be groped, then you decline any invite to this room. It’s always your decision how far you want to go.
I release my hair, reach down and grip his wrists and guide his hands up and over my waist. I let go and his hands slowly continue upward to run over my ribs.
I’m panting, my skin tingling in his wake, making goose bumps cover my sensitive skin.
His right hand wraps around my throat, forcing me to arch my neck and stare up at the blinking fluorescent lights while his other travels downward to my thigh.
My heavy eyes fall closed, and I let out a moan as he squeezes my throat, and his other hand slaps my thigh before he lets go of me.
Biting my red-painted lip, I lean forward, placing my chest on the stage again, pushing my ass up in the air for him to look at. His fingertips graze my spine—I shiver at the contact as he touches my tattoo—before trailing over my bare ass and down the back of my exposed thighs. His fingers dig into my fishnets, and he pulls on them, tearing them in the process.
I moan at the tenderness of his fingertips yet the power of his grip. The pills makes me feel better and better every second.
Opening my eyes, they land on the second guy who I hadn’t noticed until now. He’s perched on the white leather couch, his hands on Sadie’s ass while she straddles his hips, giving him a dance. He’s dressed the same—ripped blue jeans with a black hoodie and a mask on. The shape of the skull and horns are identical except it’s white and gray. No red. The eyes as black as night and the two holes for the nostrils in the nose match.
His fingers pull down her G-string and her hands go to her hair as she begins to bounce up and down on his lap.
The man standing behind me slaps my ass, and I rock back and forth. A moan escapes my parted lips when he digs his fingers deeper into my thighs. My legs spread wider, begging for another slap to my sensitive skin.
My body tenses, and I hold my breath when I feel his fingers slide into my G-string and ever so slowly down inside the material. He pulls it from my pussy just the slightest to where I can feel his knuckles graze my cunt.
I want to beg him to touch me, but I refrain. Instead, I bite my lip to keep in the whimper that wants to escape. You can do whatever you want in these private rooms. As much as they want to pay for. I can tell you right now, I’ve fucked worse for free. My body tingles, all hot and bothered. Whether he pays me or not, it’ll be worth it.
If Sadie and I become uncomfortable or worried at any time, all we have to do is press the red button on the wall by the stage. It alerts the security guard standing outside the door. He will kick down the door if he has to and break fucking bones to get to us. Armed guards are always on the property. That’s one thing about the owners, our safety is important to them.
It’s happened before. Once, there were over fifteen guys in here with ten dancers. Things got out of hand, and one of the girls pressed the emergency button. All fifteen men were escorted out by the police and taken straight to jail. Broken noses and all.
He lets go of my G-string, and I wonder if he felt the wet spot I know is there. The song changes to “cult leader” by KiNG MALA, and I lower my hips to the stage before turning around onto my ass. I spread my legs wide and lie my back on the stage. My hand goes between my legs, and I run my fingers over the G-string that glows under the black light, silently telling him I want more.
I keep my eyes trained on the man standing at the edge of the stage. His tatted knuckles are on full display while his fingers wrap around the edge as he leans over. The flashing lights make it too hard to see the details of the tattoos. I rise up, grab the back of his mask, and bring his face down to my pussy as I lift my hips off the stage at the same time.
He surprises me by grabbing my hips and yanking me to the edge. I scream in surprise, but you don’t hear it over the music. My heart hammers in my chest when he guides my legs to wrap around his waist. The material of his hoodie and jeans seems so rough against my skin. When I tighten my legs, his belt digs into my skin. I like pain. It turns me on.
Running my hands up my ribs and over my breasts, I push the crop top up, exposing my chest to him.
Fuck, I’m so horny. The subtle red lights have my vision going in and out, and the room spins. My hands move to my hard nipples, but they’re grabbed and pinned down to the stage by my side.
I lift my hips, moaning and the guy standing between my legs thrusts his hips into me, letting me feel how hard he is. “Fffuuucccckkkk,” I groan, my eyes rolling back into my head.
My mother’s worst fear has come true—I’m an addict when it comes to sex. She believed sex was a duty, not something we should enjoy. Saint taught me that it’s okay to enjoy it. Want it. Crave it. I honestly thought I’d be with him the rest of my life, but ever since I left him, I’ve been chasing that high that only he was able to give.
The man pulls on my wrists, yanking me to sit up. His hands drop to my ass and fingers dig into it painfully as he carries me over to the other end of the white leather couch that runs the length of the back wall.
My hands go between our bodies to his belt, and I undo the black studded leather. Once done, he grabs it and yanks it from the loops. He pushes my arms behind my back and ties them together with the belt. The metal studs dig into my skin in the most delightful way.
I push my breasts into his mask now that my arms are behind my back. His hand comes up and wraps around my throat, and my pussy clenches. I stare into the black circles where his eyes should be as his free hand pulls my G-string to the side. This time, he runs his fingers over my cunt, feeling my wetness, and I groan, rocking my hips back and forth, wanting him to fuck me.
His fingers are rough, making me whimper, and his hand tightens around my throat, restricting my air. It’s as if he can read my mind and knows what I need.
He fucks me—two fingers, three fingers—in and out while I ride them as if it’s his cock. My head falls back, and I close my eyes. My chest heaves as I try to breathe, and my nipples are hard aching to be pinched.
I have no shame when it comes to what my body likes. I love to be degraded and praised at the same time. Make me a wet, sobbing mess while you tell me how pretty I look with my face covered in your cum. I’m a slut for that.
I’m convulsing, my lungs burning, and I can feel my heartbeat in my face from lack of oxygen when the wave hits me like a hurricane. If I was standing, the force would knock me to my knees. He releases my throat, and I suck in a deep breath as he removes his fingers from inside me. The loss makes me cold, and a shiver runs through my body.
My eyes are heavy, and my heart races as he picks me up off his lap and lays me flat on the couch. The studded belt digs into my lower back and wrists in the new position, but I don’t even care.
His hands fall to my G-string, and he pulls it down my shaking legs and then pushes them wide open as he kneels between them on the couch. The white leather dips with his weight. He runs his tatted knuckles over my pelvic bone as if he can see the brand that’s been covered for the night. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I’d flinch from the contact.
He unzips his jeans and removes his cock. It’s darkly lit under the couch, but I see the silver balls that run up and down under his shaft—Jacob’s ladder. Four more silver balls show in the head—a magic cross piercing—it’s two barbell piercings that go straight through the center of the head, making it look like a cross.
I arch my back, swallowing as he rubs the head of his pierced dick along my swollen and soaking cunt. When he slides into me, my breath catches at the burning sensation of him stretching me so wide for his size.
He tosses my shaking legs over his shoulders, leans over, and grips my throat once again. My body rocks back and forth on the leather couch as he starts to fuck me. The studded spikes rip into my back. I arch my neck, trying to relieve the pressure on my shoulders, but he tightens his hand, choking me once more.
My skin is on fire, I’m sweating, and my body fights his. But I love it. Need it. I’m one of those women whose will to be fucked is greater than my will to live. Fuck me, leave bruises, and remind me who I am. A fucking slut for cock. I’ll heal, eventually.
He pulls out and slams into me. My pussy clenches down on his pierced dick, and if I could breathe, I’d beg him to fuck me harder. Faster. Make me bleed for him.
He leans over my body, and his mask stares down at me. It’s what nightmares are made of, but it turns me on so much. The thought of fucking a stranger I’ll never see again. That I don’t even know his name. I could pass him on the streets and have no clue. The mystery turns me on.
I feel his eyes looking down at me, watching my face turn blue at the lack of air. My numb lips are probably turning white. They’re numb, along with most of my body. All I feel is his dick pounding in and out of my pussy as I clench down on him. My body begs to breathe, but my mind says I don’t need it.
He slams forward, his free hand slapping the side of my face and that wave washes over me once again. My skin grows hot and sweaty. Then a cooling sensation followed by a tingling all over. My eyes grow heavy, blinking. His mask blurs in and out before my vision goes black. My body softens into the leather couch and tears run out of the corner of my eyes and into my hair.
The last thing I see is his mask lowering to my face as he slams into me one last time before his dick pulses inside me.
