Page 348 of Bad for Me

“If you come over here, I’ve got a ten with your name on it, hot stuff!”

These calls and more went up as I spun around the pole, hoping the night would simply fucking end already. I had two more hours on the clock before the club closed, and if I managed to skate through them without having to endure some creepy old guy’s hands all over my body in the private rooms for a hundred bucks, I’d classify it as a success. It rarely happened–I was a hot commodity here inSatan’s Playthings,the hottest strip club this side of the Mississippi River. They called me Secret, because I never took off my mask, and I never dated the clientele, no matter how much money they were willing to throw at me. Some of these girls were dating the wealthiest men to ask them to spread their legs for money, and I had no desire to get into all that.

I mean, I’d fucked a few, but sometimes, you had to pay the bills, and desperate times called for desperate measures and all that jazz. But I didn’t often stoop to such degrading levels. I would be beholden to no man. I didn’t do love, and I had an image in my personal life to uphold, one I couldn’t ever chance tarnishing.

I was Scarlett McKeen, a volunteer, animal lover, and generous soul. I couldn’t ever show my face in church on Sunday as a Good Catholic Girl if anyone ever found out about my little Friday night secret escapades.

Every other day, I was that beautiful angel everyone thought me to be. But Fridays were for me to be my true self, to let the hellspawn I’d always been deep at heart out to play. When night fell on Friday, I took off the prim, high-necked Catholic schoolgirl dresses, the stupid pearls I told everyone were an heirloom but were really something I’d taken as payment in the club, and slipped into slutty skirts and bralettes under a trenchcoat, slapped on fire-engine red lipstick, black eyeliner, and heels that would make a grown man drool, and skipped on down to the club for a night of pure, sexual enjoyment. I got a thrill out of using my body to control these men, to part them from their money and render them weak, desperate toys.

But when the sun rose on Saturday morning, I was Scarlett McKeen again, rolling up the sleeves on my 50s-inspired dresses to serve lunch to the poor and disenfranchised homeless at the local mission.

As I flipped my hair over a shoulder and swiveled my hips for a particularly deep-pocketed man in the front row, my eyes caught on the glimmer of a shiny new watch at the end of the row, his hand gripping a fucking roll of bills. Had to be at least a hundred there, if they were all ones–maybe more. So, with a last little wink at the man who’d been stuffing singles into my g-string, I sauntered to the end of the stage, crouching sexily as I met the new man’s eyes.

A shiver ran down my spine as the men on either side of him offered up their own rolls–a group. I knew what that meant.

Gangbangs were pretty frequent here. As a matter of fact, there were a few girls who specialized in taking on several men at once. Groups were usually good payers and good tippers, too. Their money was free-flowing, especially because some of them were friends who liked to share and got off on fucking into one hole while their buddies used the others. I’d had one or two group interactions in my time, mostly just lap dances and a few circle jerks who’d paid well to spurt their baby batter all over my tits and face.

I didn’t mind getting degraded here and there. And the fat wad of cash they left behind wasn’t too bad for the ego, either. But they always managed to ruin my masks, which meant I had to buy a new one. After the first incident, where I’d spent an hour in the bathroom scrubbing the only one I had clean, I learned to keep a spare or two in my bag.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the man purred, his eyes caressing my body like a physical touch. They were gorgeous blues filled with danger, excitement, and maybe a little bit of shame that he was trying hard to hide from himself and the rest of the world. “What about you and us three go to a private room after this dance and have a little fun?” He waved the wad of what I could now see were twenties in my face, and his buddies did the same, matching leers on their faces. Mister in-the-lead grinned salaciously, and I did the mental math in my head.

Rent for the year.

And then some.

That’s what they held in their hands, waving in front of me like I was some sort of gold-digger. Like the money itself was what I was in it for.

I smiled in that way that made men think I might eat them alive if given the chance, and licked my lips before eyeballing their crotches pointedly, still swiveling my body and dancing for the other patrons who continued to throw money onstage. “How’s about you show me what you’re working with, and we’ll talk?”

The man on the right lifted his shirt, showcasing a flawlessly sculpted torso, before cupping his junk with a laugh. “Baby, I’m packing more than the average man, I assure you.”

Not to be outdone, the bigger, more muscled man on the left grinned and flexed his massive biceps, winking to punctuate the way his veins popped out along the rigid lines of his skin. “If you get tired, I’ll hold you up so we can keep you coming until you pass out.”

“Big claims from such bold men,” I teased, turning away from them to grip the pole as I slid down the length of it, spreading my legs around it. “But I wonder if you can back them up. And what your friend here has to offer.”

The man in the middle who’d initially grabbed my attention didn’t flinch at the perceived slight, nor did he let on that I’d taken control of the situation. He simply undid the latch of his watch and threw it on stage, pulling a second roll of cash from his pocket to join the first. I bent over and gave him a prime view of my ass as I snatched up the damn thing, realizing very quickly it was an authentic Rolex. I was holding several thousand dollars of refined metal and gems in my hand, and all that without actually doing jack shit for these dudes.

He leaned closer, propped up on his elbows at the end of the stage. “That enough to convince you? Or do you want our pedigrees, too?”

When the music stopped, I gathered the rest of my cash on my my hands and knees, scooping it into a bag I kept near the stage while I danced. When I’d made way for the next girl, I slipped off the edge of the wooden platform and stalked over to the three men in the corner of the booths with a knowing gleam in my eyes.

Maybe this would work out nicely. If they actually knew how to fuck, I'd pull bank and get a good lay tonight. I hadn’t had sex in a while, and while I could go forever without it and be perfectly fine, I liked sex. I wasn’t about to turn down a night of enjoyment. When I wore my mask, I was whoever I wanted to be. And tonight, I wanted to be a whore. The itch to take more than a single dick, to be filled in the most primal of ways, to stuff myself with cum and cock and spit and slick until every one of my orifices was leaking in some manner, was too strong to ignore.

“Let’s find us a room, playboys, and we’ll have some fun.”

***

Ten minutes later, I was bent over a fucking pole-less platform in a private room while the muscled man fucked into my mouth, his hands holding my hair out of the way as tears streamed down my face, mingling with the snot and spit that covered my face and spread out from my lips. Strings of saliva clung to the head of his cock as he pulled out and then rammed it back in my mouth, fucking my throat like it was his own personal sex toy. I was mindlessly blissed out, being used for pleasure while receiving some of the highest order.

These boys hadn’t been lying about their stamina, their sexual prowess, or their silver spoon-laden pockets. They’d already thrown three grand in my money bag, and got to work stripping as soon as the curtain closed.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight,” I heard their ringleader moan behind me, his cock so deep in my ass I could feel him in my damn gut. He wasn’t the biggest, but that didn’t bother me–I didn’t like taking monster cocks in my ass, anyhow. It was never comfortable, no matter how much lube you used, and I wasn’t into size queening it. The way he filled me was just enough, and I relished the slow glide of his dick as he pulled out and pushed back in, a little vibrating cock ring at the base of it only working to heighten the pleasure.

I rocked back on him, pleased with the groan he let out when I usedhimas a fucktoy. I wanted more, though, and with a low whine, I pulled my mouth off the muscle man and groaned, glancing to the side of the room where mister ab lounger sat in a chair, watching, his hand on the biggest dick I’d seen on a white boy in awhile.

My eyes turned to that puppy dog look that undid the most hardened of customers, and I reached out a hand to him, batting my eyelashes seductively. “I want you in my pussy, please,” I begged, “make me feel good.”

He cocked his head in that way feral men did when they were entertaining a slut’s demands. The dominant inside him had risen to the surface and was here to play. I liked that in a man–I liked them all for different reasons. The simp, for his unparalleled devotion to a woman’s desire; the dominant, for his control and presence, both in the bedroom and out; and the kinky ones, for their many flavors of fun.

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