Sara.
There was no time to dwell on it further, she
reflected. The mystery client was waiting. Taking a deep breath,
she headed across the carpeted hallway and opened the double doors
in front of her.
The noise and music of downstairs was snuffed out
when she closed the doors behind her. The din was replaced by a
thick silence, and Sara looked about nervously. She’d never been in
this part of the building before.
A long corridor faced her. It was tastefully
furnished with dark blue wallpaper, and an expensive blue carpet
stretched beneath her feet. Wall lamps in the shape of burning
torches lined the walls, their low yellow light creating brooding
caverns of shadows. It was ominously quiet.
Very slowly, Sara started off down the passageway. On
either side, she saw there were doors spaced evenly. They were made
of a polished black wood, and ornate handles. Each one had a number
underneath which was a stylized Devil's Playground symbol embossed
in gold. Sara stopped in front of Room Nine, and tried to stop her
legs from shaking.
Despite Al’s assurances, the reputation of the
private rooms was too terrible to shrug off. She might have been a
stripper, but she was no whore and she’d never do the sort of
things expected here. In fact, the only man she’d ever had sex with
was Bobby, and that had been long before she started working at the
Devil's Playground.
For long moments she stood looking at the door,
unsure what to do. Was she supposed to knock, or walk straight in?
From the room directly behind her she thought she heard a woman
crying. Tensing up, she rapped her knuckles against the door to
Room Nine, and turned the handle.
It was unlocked, and she stepped in to a large dimly
lit room. It was furnished in the same dark blues as the corridor,
and elegant standing lamps punctuated the gloom. Sara’s scanned the
room, taking in the large bed that looked to be made of black
leather, and the black leather couch taking up the far wall. Sara’s
client was lounging on it watching her.
Sara caught her breath. It was the elegant man she’d
seen before. He looked her up and down, an amused look scrawled on
his elegant features. It made him look like a cruel bastard.
“Come on in sugar,” he drawled in a warm Southern
accent. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He brushed strands of his
thick hair from his eyes as she closed the door, and moved deeper
in to the room. It was swept forward in a pronounced fringe that
made him look boyish, an intriguing counter-point to his sharp
features. His eyes glittered with reptilian cunning.
“Hi,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. “You
wanted me to dance for you.”
“I sure did sugar, spotted you soon as I walked in,”
he replied. “My, my but you’re a fine piece of tail and no
mistake.” He eyed her breasts with a leering smile, and without any
sense of self-consciousness, he began rubbing his slender hand
along the large bulge between his legs. “Girl, I could shoot my
load right here and now on those delectable puppy dogs of yours.
What they call you sugar?”
Sara stared at him, caught between a feeling of
instant disgust and shock. His manner was nothing like she
expected. She’d done private dances before, and despite the
horseplay downstairs, none of the customers were as brazen as this
creep. She tried to ignore the faint tingle of arousal as she
looked at his package, and forced a fake hostess smile on to her
face.
“My name’s Trixie,” she said. “You want me to dance
for you now?”
Still rubbing himself, he grinned like a Cheshire
cat. “Trixie is it? How delightfully trashy.” He cocked his head to
one side and tapped at his porcelain white teeth. “Nope,” he said
at length. “You ain’t no Trixie, sugar.” He stopped rubbing
himself, and gave her an appraising look. “I’d say you were more of
a Sara.”
Sara’s heart missed a beat. The fake smile vanished
and she gave him an openly hostile look. “So, you got Al to
There was no time to dwell on it further, she
reflected. The mystery client was waiting. Taking a deep breath,
she headed across the carpeted hallway and opened the double doors
in front of her.
The noise and music of downstairs was snuffed out
when she closed the doors behind her. The din was replaced by a
thick silence, and Sara looked about nervously. She’d never been in
this part of the building before.
A long corridor faced her. It was tastefully
furnished with dark blue wallpaper, and an expensive blue carpet
stretched beneath her feet. Wall lamps in the shape of burning
torches lined the walls, their low yellow light creating brooding
caverns of shadows. It was ominously quiet.
Very slowly, Sara started off down the passageway. On
either side, she saw there were doors spaced evenly. They were made
of a polished black wood, and ornate handles. Each one had a number
underneath which was a stylized Devil's Playground symbol embossed
in gold. Sara stopped in front of Room Nine, and tried to stop her
legs from shaking.
Despite Al’s assurances, the reputation of the
private rooms was too terrible to shrug off. She might have been a
stripper, but she was no whore and she’d never do the sort of
things expected here. In fact, the only man she’d ever had sex with
was Bobby, and that had been long before she started working at the
Devil's Playground.
For long moments she stood looking at the door,
unsure what to do. Was she supposed to knock, or walk straight in?
From the room directly behind her she thought she heard a woman
crying. Tensing up, she rapped her knuckles against the door to
Room Nine, and turned the handle.
It was unlocked, and she stepped in to a large dimly
lit room. It was furnished in the same dark blues as the corridor,
and elegant standing lamps punctuated the gloom. Sara’s scanned the
room, taking in the large bed that looked to be made of black
leather, and the black leather couch taking up the far wall. Sara’s
client was lounging on it watching her.
Sara caught her breath. It was the elegant man she’d
seen before. He looked her up and down, an amused look scrawled on
his elegant features. It made him look like a cruel bastard.
“Come on in sugar,” he drawled in a warm Southern
accent. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He brushed strands of his
thick hair from his eyes as she closed the door, and moved deeper
in to the room. It was swept forward in a pronounced fringe that
made him look boyish, an intriguing counter-point to his sharp
features. His eyes glittered with reptilian cunning.
“Hi,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. “You
wanted me to dance for you.”
“I sure did sugar, spotted you soon as I walked in,”
he replied. “My, my but you’re a fine piece of tail and no
mistake.” He eyed her breasts with a leering smile, and without any
sense of self-consciousness, he began rubbing his slender hand
along the large bulge between his legs. “Girl, I could shoot my
load right here and now on those delectable puppy dogs of yours.
What they call you sugar?”
Sara stared at him, caught between a feeling of
instant disgust and shock. His manner was nothing like she
expected. She’d done private dances before, and despite the
horseplay downstairs, none of the customers were as brazen as this
creep. She tried to ignore the faint tingle of arousal as she
looked at his package, and forced a fake hostess smile on to her
face.
“My name’s Trixie,” she said. “You want me to dance
for you now?”
Still rubbing himself, he grinned like a Cheshire
cat. “Trixie is it? How delightfully trashy.” He cocked his head to
one side and tapped at his porcelain white teeth. “Nope,” he said
at length. “You ain’t no Trixie, sugar.” He stopped rubbing
himself, and gave her an appraising look. “I’d say you were more of
a Sara.”
Sara’s heart missed a beat. The fake smile vanished
and she gave him an openly hostile look. “So, you got Al to
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