Page 9 of Thanatos' Craving

But Amanda, this girl I’d known but a week, reached for me. Like I was her savior.

The wall I had built around me, to protect myself, to keep myself alive and not to die and fall into the dangers of disappearing into the room in the back, was falling, crumbling.

I wasn’t sure of Amanda’s age, but she looked so damn young. Maybe eighteen? If not younger? I watched her retreating body being escorted by the guards back to the dressing room.

“Know your place,” the other guard growled, and crossed his arms. “You know this.” He shoved me in the shoulder.

These guards. They wanted us separated. To be fearful.

Amanda let out a cry, and more bricks fell away from the wall inside me. There would not be a second chance for her to step upon that stage to redeem herself, to put herself above the pack like I did.

The guard snarled at me when I didn’t step away.

“Go, bitch!” He pushed me again. I stumbled but caught myself before I fell.

Fine, pimple dick, I’m going.

“What did you say?” The guard lunged forward and grabbed my arm.

Oops, said that out loud, didn’t I?

I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘I’m going, you have a big dick!’”

He stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line.

I ripped my shoulder away from him, stood tall despite the clothes that hardly covered my body. I pushed my breasts out, the curve of my body completely on display.

That was way too close. I let my emotions slip in front of a guard. I wiped my hand down my face and continued my walk down the hallway to the stage.

The first time I stepped on that stage, I felt humiliated, but I knew the consequences if I didn't. I learned to be numb.

I stood tall, unashamed. I wasn’t doing this because I wanted to, however. I was forced into this, like the rest of the women here. Nudity, sexuality, it was all to feed obnoxious men that could not get a woman to lie with them, and they would rather pay to see an exotic dancer and stuff bills into their panties.

No offence to the women that did it that enjoyed it, but this wasn’t the life I wanted, nor agreed to. None of us did.

I strutted down the hallway, my breasts and ass jiggling. They swayed like the owner wanted. The girls’ eyes grew wide, seeing my angry stare. They backed away when my gait turned angry, my thighs rubbing together so quickly I might’ve started a fire.

As my anger simmered within, the fiery surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. It pulsated with every step I took towards the platform where I would soon present myself. Thedeafening thump of the music abruptly ceased and created a sudden void in the air. I Inhaled deeply, and cleared my mind, steadied myself for what was to come.

In that charged moment, two figures emerged from the shadows, known to us as the oil boys. Their hands, slick with an oily sheen, glided up and down my body, leaving a trail of sickening sensations in their wake.

The perfect shine, the perfect glitter to let the light bounce off my more than curvaceous body.

“Gentleman, I give you one of our favorite attractions!”

The oil boys—more like the eunuchs of the club who didn’t seem to care about the women’s appearance—took their hands and pressed them to my chest, dipping into my bra and rubbing it against my nipples. I stayed silent, trying not to show my disgust. Fighting made everything worse.

“I give you—”

I tightly gripped the curtain, my fingers sunk into the soft fabric. With a subtle sway of my hips, I angled my body seductively, positioning one leg gracefully in front of the other. As I stroked my thumb along the plush velvet, its velvety texture soothed my frayed nerves.

“Go to your special place,” I muttered. “Go to your special place.”

“Ginger, your curvaceous burlesque dancer of the night.”

I opened the curtains, swiftly pushed them behind me. The bright lights filled my vision, and the crowd goes black.

I didn’t listen to music. I heard my breath, my heart, and the blood pumping through my veins as I sauntered toward the middle of the stage and to the chair that stands in the middle of it.

---