Page 350 of Bad for Me

I bowed like a fucking snapped string on a guitar, flopping like a fish on a roasting spit, fighting the tension in my entire being as I squirted around his dick, the fluid mingling with his own and leaking down my legs and his, no doubt. This whole place was a fucking slip-and-slide at this point, a mess of bodily fluids that would make any janitor blush. I almost felt bad for the man who cleaned these rooms at the end of the night, but not for long. My brain wouldn’t focus. I was a spent, used-up whore, and with a groan, the dick in my pussy slipped out, as did the fingers there and in my ass and mouth, and I fell to the surface of the platform with a grunt. My hands wouldn’t even come out and break my fall, resulting in a slightly painful slap of skin against polished wood. The men let me lay there in all our combined fluids, panting and blinking back into semi-consciousness as they crowded around me and petted my head, my shoulder, my ass.

“Good girl, yes, you did so well–”

“What a perfect fucking slut. I love this place–”

“God, I wish we weren’t leaving tonight. You look like you’d be fun on the regular–”

I listened to their praise and managed to roll off the platform and sit on the floor, still heaving to catch my breath. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the muscular one stuffed a few more wads of cash in the bag on the floor and then grabbed for his pants, which hung from a convenient hook on the wall.

“Make sure you tip her well. I’ve not had that much fun in a long ass time, and she earned every fucking cent we brought.” Their leader had already slipped back into his slacks and was currently buttoning up his fancy shirt as he watched me carefully. “You alright down there, sugar tits?”

I nodded weakly, the self-hatred for letting them use me like that already slipping in under my skin, sneaking into my mind and shaming me on a base level. Usually, it didn’t sneak up on me until after a shift, but now, I was crashing from a submissive high, and I didn’t want these men to see my fallout.

I didn’t share that vulnerable part of me with anyone.

“It’s been real, guys. Thanks for the fun. Maybe next time you’re passing through, I’ll be on shift, and we can do this again.”

They all slipped out after thanking me again, and with a weak spirit and an even weaker body, I crawled over to the bag of money on the floor, pulling out the bills to count them meticulously, fighting back the wave of sorrow that threatened to drown me. If I could focus on the money and counting, perhaps I could avoid the fallout.

Like always, though, it didn’t work, and I was left sitting in a pile of money, sobbing silently, naked and alone–just how every Friday night ended for Secret, the highest-paid stripper and whore inSatan’s Playthings.

A shell of my former self.

All I’d ever be.

3

SCARLETT

The phone callfrom the local blood bank was one I’d been expecting, but certainly not one I wanted to answer at six in the fucking morning. Still, I was a good girl, and like everyone expected me to, I lifted my cell phone from the side table near my bed, barely managing not to knock over a glass of water in the process as I brought it to my ear.

“Hello?” I mumbled, trying for light and pleasant and failing miserably. It was Saturday morning, and I had a hell of a hangover, thanks to the double shots I’d been suckered into taking with a client last night before close.

Ms. Pickering, the lead organizer for the annual blood drive, tittered on in my ear, her shrill voice grating on my nerves as I focused on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. “Oh, did I wake you, dear? I’m so dreadfully sorry–”

“No, no, it’s alright, Ms. P,” I muttered, throwing the blankets off my lower half as I stumbled from the bed and towards the bathroom. A simple glance in the mirror showed me I was a little worse for wear, and I rolled my eyes as my free hand fumbled through my medicine cabinet. I’d need the heavy-duty concealer today. “What can I do for you?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and flicked on the speaker setting, listening to her prattle on about the details of the drive as I brushed my teeth, swiped makeup across my cheeks, and dragged the concealer beneath my eyes to hide the bags forming there. More and more often, they greeted me when I woke, less a product of my late nights and more a result of the guilt slowly eating me alive. “Well, you see, there’s a new priest at the local Catholic church, and we know you frequent that one, so we were hoping you could talk him into approaching the congregation for their participation in this year’s annual drive.”

As I processed her words, I froze, the lip gloss wand an inch from my face. “New priest?” I hadn’t heard about any changes being made in the church. Then again, I hadn’t gone last weekend or the weekend before, as I had too much on my plate and was obligated to attend an out-of-town event for a local church group. I was sure God would forgive me for such a transgression. After all, I was doing his work. “I must have missed that announcement.”

“Oh yes! He’s a transplant from overseas. Sister Claire said his name was Mc-something or O-something. I think that’s what she said. O’Malley? McCreary?”

I knew for a fact those were two Irish names of popular TV show characters. She wasn’t even aware she was just pulling shit out of thin air, and I sighed heavily, using my free hand to flick open my texting app. I found the thread labeled ‘Bible Study Girl’s Group’ and shot off a quick question, knowing they’d surely have all the details.

I miss all the good gossip. Who’s the new priest?

I waited a moment, humming to myself as Ms. P rattled off the numbers from last year’s event, not even paying her a lick of attention as I waited for some of the more gossipy women to chime in like I knew they would. Without fail, Annabelle, the biggest mouth in the congregation, texted back almost immediately, her response full of deeper meaning that intrigued me.

Annabelle

He’s been here a week. So handsome–and young. From Ireland, I hear he’s had his own church over there for years now. Barely looks old enough to be out of diapers, if you ask me.

Not to be outdone, her best frenemy, Clarice, an older lady across town with three daughters she was desperately trying to marry off before they fucked their way through half the town, chimed in with her two cents.

Clarice

Someone said the circumstances around his leaving there were a bit suspicious. Almost like he was hiding something. Does anyone else feel like maybe there’s something he’s not telling us?

---