365 Days Of Pleasure: Please Me!

“Please Me”

In the dressing room, everyone’s eyes bore into the back of the woman who owns it all. Her back is turned because she’s angry, doesn’t know how to contain it. She’s upset. And who’s the cause?

Me..

My head is downturned, Taylor and Gigi snicker but jump as Rachel’s fist slams onto the desk. It hurts, I know. Can tell from how hard she clenched her jaws.

“What happened out there?”, she turns, slowly, and almost shakily from how much her anger is consuming her.

Nobody speaks. Rachel’s eyes are red behind the pair of glasses perched on her nose bridge. I gulp, my fingers pick at the lace of my dress.

It’s too short, riding up my butt, it’s uncomfortable but it’s what my life has come to. And my toes feel like they would burst in my high heels, the shoes are a size smaller, and I dare not make a face of discomfort.

I look down, not cowering, but guilty of the crime that would soon be mentioned. It’s not a crime if I stand up for myself. The fool felt too full of himself.

‘“Bust a nut for a dollar’”?

Please, he’s lucky I didn’t actually connect my foot with his crotch. He would’ve lost a generation of kids if he didn’t already have some. That’ll teach him to respect people like us.

We don’t wanna be here. We just have to be here. I don’t know about others though I think Taylor and Gigi do it for the passion seeing their dedication.

I hear the shuffle of feet, boots specifically, thudding heavy against the floor as she marches towards someone. It’s me. I know, because a pair of feet stop right in front of me.

Her cold fingertips brush against my jaw, lifting my chin up, slowly. I let her, facing her with that stone cold gaze, one that she’s seen so many times already.

Her eyes are soft, gentle, convincing. No, it’s a mask, waiting to slip up at the slightest bit of provocation. Doesn’t care if it tricks us, might work for her but doesn’t really bother putting it up for long.

“Stella? It was a mess out there. And he was so upset”, she sings in a sickly sweet voice, head bobbing along with each word uttered.

Fuck that douche. I hope he never returns home and I hope he actually busts that nut in the worst ways unimaginable.

“He insulted me first, he’s a d**k”, I say softly, eyes staring deep into Rachel’s own.

Her brows shoot up in surprise. The confidence, she might think. The audacity I have to ruin her night and still be proud of it, she might wonder. She releases her grip on my chin and takes a step back.

I don’t even know when her hand swings back and collides with my cheek. Only when the stinging sensation sears through the sensitive skin, head jerking to the side that I notice her mask slip up.

Nothing a slap can’t fix, she might be thinking. Needs a slap to juggle up her memory and remind her who’s paying the bills around here, she might be thinking.

And oh, it hurts like a b***h. The fact that I didn’t even touch that man, but I’m the one in pain right now. f**k, i should’ve done more damage. Then it’ll be worth this slap.

“There. Well, I slapped you first.”, she states, hands on her hips.

Oh, I’m not a p***y. First time laying her hands on me but I’m not about to give anyone in this room the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Heck she’s just testing the waters.

“Do it, try it”, she urges on, inching her face closer to mine.

I lick my lips, turning my head away. Taylor and Gigi are in the corner, as well as the other girls, scared out of their minds. I don’t blame them. Rachel can be scary but I’m the only one who doesn’t give a s**t.

Seeing my reluctance, she smiles victoriously, turns on her heels and heads back to her desk to lean on it.

“Every single one of you, in this room, once you set foot in here, you’re here to work. Treat your customers right. They’re your life”

She pushes herself off the desk once again, seeing how hard my eyes are burning invisible holes in her.

“Especially you, our star dancer”, she mumbles, fingers reaching up to soothe my reddening cheeks.

“But he touched me without my permission”, I say, my tone firm and defiant.

She hits me again, raises a brow, dares me to do it to her if I could. And truly I would love to if it wouldn’t risk my position in the club as well as that paycheck. So I just suck it up, biting the insides of my cheeks.

The door suddenly opens, creaking, a sign that the hinges are ages old and needed a replacement. In steps a man, a mask carefully secured around his head, the jewels on his black and red corset waistcoat shimmering in the light.

I recognize that red dress shirt and those black trousers, but most importantly those piercing eyes of his that bore into me as I danced for him and his companions.

I remember how he seems to be so interested in my business, watching my moves keenly. I remember how his hands firmly gripped his companion’s, stopping it from landing on my face. The man, pot bellied, bald and possibly years older didn’t like this interruption.

And I vividly recall how readily he pulled off the other’s mask. Something that’s never been done in the history of the club so long as the VIP session is concerned.

He saved me…

And now he’s here…

“Umm..Mr Dèmon, I wasn’t expecting you here”, Rachel pipes up, scrambling to find a place by his side.

He ignores her though, his eyes steadied on me. Or at least, I think it’s one me. I’m equally staring back at this stranger. Even with his identity concealed, I could tell that he’s a pretty attractive man. His style says it all.

“Yh, me neither”

His voice…it’s the best sound to reach my ears, smoothly gliding through my canals, a sound so rich and powerful that I find myself blinking hard.

“You…I want you”, he says pointing his finger at me.

And then he’s out the door. My heart thinks so hard that I can almost hear it. Rachel claps, ordering the rest of the girls to get out and get back to work. They whisper amongst themselves. How lucky I am, they might be thinking. Their words ring out and die down quickly as I’m sucked into my own world.

Rachel walks up to me, grips my shoulders firmly, smooths out my dress. I’m too lost to feel her touch, too distant to react to it.

“Be sure to satisfy him. If he's well pleased with our services, he will come again. Don't f**k it up,", Rachel warns, smiling sarcastically.

"Who's he?", I ask finally, my curiosity piqued.

Rachel turns to me, brows raised.

"We don't know who he is. But you might get lucky enough to know."

My nervousness grows.What if I don't satisfy him enough and I get in trouble with Rachel again? The taunting remarks would never end. I’m strong enough to stand against her but I can’t deny how hard she hits.

I can’t even tell when I’m out the door, heading straight for the private rooms, my feet moving on their own. Before I know it, I'm right outside the first door of the private rooms. Plastered on the door is a sign that says "booked”. He's the first VIP client for the night to book a private session.

With a nervous sigh, I push the door open and step into the dimly lit room, the door shutting behind me. My heels click as I step further into the dimly lit room. The mysterious client, masked and anticipating my arrival, sits patiently on a plush sofa.

As I try to make out his features in the slight darkness, Rachel's whispered words echo in my mind.

“Make him want you."

Those words sting to hear but it’s work, no hard feelings. I approach him, my movements seductive as I sway my hips. I walk to the stripping pole in the room, my hooded eyes becoming hazy as I set my gaze on the man.

"Welcome...", he says, his deep husky tone sending shivers down my spine.

The man is seated comfortably, with his legs apart. His shirt's button is undone, his buff physique barely contained in the dress shirt. His left hand rests on his thigh, and his long slender fingers grip the skin slightly. In his other hand is a remote, which he presses. A slow song begins, and I start swaying to its rhythm in a slow sensual dance.

As I dance, the man's eyes follow my movements keenly, his gaze burning intensely. My eyes lock on his, and I bend over, deliberately flashing him with my underwear as I unbuckle my shoes.

I dance closer to him, my skin gleaming in the dim lighting through the dress' slits. I lean in, our faces barely inches apart. His plump lips part, letting a puff of warm breath fan my face.

I let my hands run over his hard chest and buff arms, stopping at his chiseled thighs. He tucks in his lips, trapping the bottom one between his teeth, as his eyes flash with desire.

My confidence grows, and I slowly cup his jaw, letting my hands run over his jawline and then clasp around his neck.

Suddenly, his hand shoots up, his slender fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist in a gentle grip.

“No touching," he whispers hoarsely, his sense of control hanging by a thin thread.

My brows scrunch up in confusion as my mind whirls around his instructions. However, before I can utter my thoughts, he directs my hands towards his crotch.

"Please me."