by Lexie Ray
“Go on and take Mr. Lamprey upstairs, Jazz,” Mama said. “You remember the way.”
How could I gracefully refuse at this point? I didn’t know how much of a cut Mama would take from five grand, but that still left a ton of money for me. I couldn’t extricate myself from this situation without embarrassing Lamprey, Mama, the nightclub, and myself.
As I led the man upstairs by the hand, it dawned on me that Mama was only in it for the money. Did she care for any of the girls at all? It didn’t seem like it—certainly not for me. She was charging an exorbitant amount for this man to sleep with me. How much had she charged the Don for the first time?
It was obvious that I was just another paycheck to her, a commodity that she could use to make her money.
In the room, Lamprey was already practically panting. I could see his boner through his trousers.
“Is this the same room you were in with the Don?” he asked, loosening his tie.
“Yes,” I murmured. It was. Don Costa had taken me several times on that very bed. The curtains and lighting looked less romantic to me and seedier than anything. How could I have been impressed by the décor my first night in here?
While trying to woo Lamprey, I realized it wasn’t necessarily me he was titillated by—it was Don Costa. Or at least the premise that he could have what the Don had already touched and claimed for his own.
“You know,” I said slyly, “I was even wearing this lingerie when the Don took me for the first time.”
That was a lie. The set I was wearing was new—bright polka dots over a nude background. I’d had on black lace for the Don.
Lamprey almost tore my panties in his haste to get them off my body and examine them.
I helped him take off the rest of his clothes, as the Don had liked for me to do for him. Lamprey’s penis was pathetically small, which gave me some relief. He wasn’t going to hurt me. At least the man had his money.
“What about his cock?” he asked. “Who was bigger—me or the Don?”
I smiled against his ear, kissing him softly. “The Don said that if I ever told another living soul about the size of his dick, he’d make me disappear.” I took hold of Lamprey’s penis, squeezing it and pumping it. He moaned.
“I’ll give you a hint, though,” I whispered. “You’re bigger.”
The moan Lamprey gave at that little lie was almost delirious.
The sex that came after was nothing to me. I felt nothing, thought nothing. It was easy to moan, to cry out, to act like Lamprey was really giving it to me. My mind was on Mama.
She told me she’d look out for me. She told me that she was my Mama now. Why would a mother push her daughter into prostitution? Was everything Mama had told me a lie? I wanted to get out of this place, but where could I go?
I didn’t have a home. This place certainly wasn’t my home. It was as much my home as Jack’s house had been.
Lamprey sprayed his seed into me, and I swore he moaned “Don Costa” as he came. I remembered to screech ecstatically, then rolled off the bed to get cleaned up.
Lamprey was only the first of many men to follow the Don. Mama had to be making sweet money off of my body. Her wardrobe got even fancier and I got skinnier and quieter. I withdrew from my friends—at least the girls I thought were my friends. They shared their sex stories cheerfully, laughing hysterically about the shape or bend of a customer’s cock. I knew they’d love the story about Lamprey murmuring the Don’s name as he had his orgasm, but it just wasn’t that funny to me.
I even stopped talking to Cocoa. She tried to draw me out of my shell, inviting me to lunch or shopping dates, buying me little trinkets like earrings or magazines. I could barely get out of bed in the afternoon in time to make it to open the nightclub.
Finally, in a fit of desperation, Cocoa grabbed me by the shoulder before I walked out of the room to take a shower.
“What is your problem?” she demanded. “What’s going on with you?”
Something inside me snapped. “I’m a fucking prostitute is what’s the matter!” I hissed. “If I knew this is what Mama’s nightclub was all about, I would’ve just turned tricks on the street by myself. At least I’d know how much money I was getting.”
“Mama’s always fair with her money,” Cocoa said. “Has she ever denied you any money you asked for?”
I shook my head. “But if you ever tried to withdraw all your earnings at once, do you think she’d let you?”
That made Cocoa pause. “I—I don’t know.”
“Do you even know how much money you’ve made during your time here?” I asked. “Is anyone keeping track?”
I knew I had Cocoa there. She looked confused and hurt.
“My old roommate, Candy, did,” Cocoa said slowly. “She tried to withdraw all her money when she decided she’d made enough and wanted to move on with her life.”
“And did she move on?” I demanded. I had to know the answer to this. I was making so much money that I knew I could leave the game soon if only Mama would let me out.
“She moved out,” Cocoa said, “but she wasn’t happy. She was really upset. She wouldn’t tell me what was going on, what was wrong. She just told me to have a happy life and left.”
“Think she got all that money she earned?” I spat. “Think you or I ever will?”
I left Cocoa gaping in the hallway and took a shower. The show must go on, even as I lamented my situation.
I wasn’t surprised to see the Don at the nightclub. He came in a little more than once a month. I was, however, surprised to be paired up with him. I thought his tastes had changed for good.
“Don Costa, what a pleasure,” I said, kissing him on his cheek.
“Look how skinny you are,” the Don remarked. “You’re even lovelier than I remembered.”
It was difficult to maintain an appetite when different men were consuming me each night, but I didn’t say so.
“Can I get you your usual?” I asked once we were at his table.
The Don took me on his lap and put his lips against my ear. “I actually thought we could do something different tonight,” he murmured. “A very close friend of mine is celebrating his birthday and I thought you would be perfect for him.”
“Anything for you,” I said automatically.
“There’s another thing,” the Don continued. “He’s a bit eccentric in his tastes. But if you please him, you will be able to swim in the cash. Mama doesn’t have to know. It can all be yours.”
I weighed this statement. Surely the Don’s friend couldn’t be any more eccentric than everything else I’d experienced. And if I had cash on hand, I could leave this place.
“I’d love to help your friend have a happy birthday,” I said.
I took the Don’s order and served drinks and dinner to the occupants of his table. The music that night was a swanky big band quartet. I returned to the table at one point to find someone new had joined the party.
I’d never seen this man before, or else I would have recognized him. I’d spent that long serving the Don. The new man had a long scar running from his eye to his chin. It was wicked looking, but I found myself wondering what the other guy looked like. This guy carried himself with a self-assurance bordering on arrogance. His silver hair was cropped closely to his skull.
“Birthday boy, I’d like you to meet your present, Jazz,” the Don said grandly. “Jazz, meet the birthday boy.”
I shook his hand playfully. “Pleased to meet you, birthday boy.” I concealed a wince when he squeezed my hand a little bit too tight.
“Call me Tracy,” he said.
Don Costa’s eyes darted over the floor. “I don’t see Mama anywhere,” he said. “Now’s your chance to get Tracy and yourself upstairs.”
I felt a rush of warmth toward the Don. He had always been looking out for me, I realized. He wanted me to make money under Mama’s nose. He’d encouraged it from the very first day.
I led Tracy upstairs as quickly as I could without attr
acting attention. His hand still gripped mine too tightly.
The bedroom I always used with the Don was occupied, so I went into another. It was decorated in shades of purple.
“Now,” I said, turning back to Tracy and smiling winningly. My escape depended on my performance tonight. “Tell me what I can do to make your birthday wish come true.”
“Strip,” he said simply. “Then lie face down on the bed.”
Simple and to the point. I liked that better than men who thought they had to woo me when we were in the room together. If we were in the room, I was already theirs. They didn’t have to kiss me or whisper sweet nothings into my ear.
I left my lingerie on—a red satin set that the Don had gifted me with early on—and did what Tracy asked.
He joined me on the bed, rubbing his hands down both of my arms before looping something around my wrists. I looked and was surprised to see him belting me to the headboard.
I began shaking uncontrollably. Customers asked me for kinky favors sometimes, but I’d never been tied up since I started working at Mama’s nightclub.
I hadn’t been tied up since Jack.
I tried to stay calm as Tracy secured my ankles to the footboards with what I could only assume were also belts. Where had he been hiding these?
“I usually like giving my birthday spankings to someone else,” he said, his voice audibly excited. “And I just turned 60.”
“I love spankings,” I said, turning my head and trying to look at him. “I wish you were turning one hundred.”
He jerked the panties down my thighs, a rush of cold air hitting my bare ass.
I couldn’t see Tracy from where he was standing, so I yelped in more surprise than pain when he brought a leather strap down on my ass.
“One,” he said almost gleefully.
I hadn’t realized I was in trouble until that point. Fifty-nine more of those might kill me.
By the twentieth blow, I was screaming in earnest.
“I love the way you scream,” Tracy groaned, bringing the strap down harder.
Sixty blows saw me weeping, my back and ass wet with agony.
“Now you’re going to give me my birthday present,” he said.
Through my tears, I heard him unzip his pants. The pain from the blows of his whip was nothing compared to what came next. I tensed up when he parted my sore cheeks with his hands, then howled when he plunged into my rectum without warning.
The pain was horrific, worse than anything I’d experienced. Mama’s girls had told tales of clients asking for anal sex with varying degrees of success, and most of them had seemed not to like it. Cocoa herself had said it wasn’t too bad with the right client and the right amount of lube.
I didn’t have either of those to help me.
The misery eased when a wetness helped smooth Tracy’s onslaught, but I wasn’t comforted. It was probably blood.
“I bet I’m the first one in this tight hole,” Tracy grunted.
I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of confirmation. I bit my tongue until blood filled my mouth, as well.
He gave a long, low moan that I hoped meant he was finished. Tracy unfastened my legs and turned me around, wrenching my back painfully. I shrieked at the popping in my spine, my throat sore from screaming. As soon as he’d re-secured my feet, he let my hands go, allowing my body to continue the twist to lay on my back.
I should’ve fought him, should have tried to scratch his eyes out. But I was so far in that I didn’t see a way out except on the other side, when he gave me my money and I could get the hell out of here.
I tried not to look at his blood-covered cock as he rammed it into my pussy. At least it was lubricated. Tracy squeezed my throat until I croaked out a “please.” That seemed to encourage him. As he thrust into me, he slapped me on my face.
“Tell me you like it,” he panted. “I know you fucking do, slut.”
“I like it,” I sobbed through my swollen lips. Anything for the money. Anything for escape. No one had called me slut since Jack, but I tried not to think about it. I was doing this for my future.
Time faded away. I became a body of pain, absorbing the punishment for God only knows how long. By the time Tracy climaxed for a second time, I couldn’t see in one eye.
He pulled out and lit a cigar, looking at his handiwork as he puffed it. The acrid smoke made me cough as he blew it my way.
“Costa told me you liked some twisted shit, but I had no idea,” Tracy remarked. “You’re going to love this next thing.”
He put the lit end of the cigar against my skin, blistering what hadn’t already been beaten. I didn’t think I could scream anymore, but I found my voice with this. The cigar cherry was ten times worse than Jack’s cigarettes. Each time he put the fire against me, I screamed even louder.
How could the Don have done this to me, inflicting Tracy? He offered to make Jack disappear when he’d seen the burn marks on my breasts. Had he told Tracy that I’d actually let someone mar me like that?
“Help me!” I shrieked. “Somebody help me! Please help me! Mama! Mommy!”
The door flew open. Cocoa, Mama, and Don Costa all burst into the room. Mama’s eyes were two flames as she grabbed Tracy by the neck and threw him across the room with considerable force. Cocoa untied me and then held me to her body as I wept.
“Oh my God,” my roommate kept repeating, looking over my injuries. “Oh my God. Mama, she needs a hospital. She needs to go get help.”
Mama looked at me, her expression unchanged. “This is what you get for trying to double cross me, girl,” she said, every word dripping with venom. “I tried to protect you, but you just had to go and try to make money behind my back.”
“Please, Mama,” Cocoa said. “She’s hurt real bad. Let me take her to a hospital.”
“There can’t be a hospital, sugar,” Mama said, talking to Cocoa and not taking her eyes off me. “They’d want to know who messed her up this bad, and I can’t have that kind of heat come down on my nightclub.”
Tracy groaned from the floor and Mama kicked him.
“And you,” she snarled, looking over at Don Costa. “I told you not to bring your psycho friend here again.”
The Don simply shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying to throw a good birthday party for his buddy.”
“Get that trash out of here,” Mama said, pointing at Tracy. “The back way.”
The Don took hold of Tracy and dragged him out. Mama looked back at me.
“You’re going to have to stay here until the club closes,” she said. “Wash yourself up in the bathroom. You can’t have customers seeing you like that. I’ll send Cocoa for you when it’s time.”
“Please, Mama, let me stay with her,” my roommate said. “She doesn’t need to be alone like this.” I loved her for that, then. Cocoa truly cared about me.
“No,” Mama said, striding for the door. “Don’t neglect your customers.”
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Cocoa said, looking deflated. “Just hang in there.”
When the door closed, the tears came. How many did I have stored up in me? It seemed I would run out sometime, but they just kept falling. How had I gotten to this place of desperation?
I looked down at my body, frightened that it had taken so much punishment. There was blood coating the sheets. I even noticed some splattered on the wallpaper.
I staggered into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub. It ran pink when I got in, stinging my skin. Couldn’t I just wash my life off of myself while I was at it? When were things going to get better?
Shattered, I wrapped myself in a towel. I couldn’t bear to stay in this room any longer. I painfully pulled on my work uniform over my wounds. It wouldn’t be enough for the winter outside, but I didn’t care. I would rather freeze to death than remain one of Mama’s girls for one more second.
I put on my shoes and left the room. There was no one in the hallway, but I could hear the sounds of coupling
from behind other closed doors. I wondered what people in the hallway had heard while Tracy was exacting his birthday presents from my body.
I headed in the opposite direction of the staircase that led back down to the nightclub and found myself in front of a door labeled “emergency exit only.” I knew this had to be the “back way” Mama had told the Don about.
The cold air outside took my breath away, my wet hair freezing into icicles. Without a penny to my name and with only the wretched clothes on my back, I stumbled into the night.
Chapter Four
I didn’t know how long I walked. My shoes weren’t made for walking, and my uniform was too flimsy to withstand the chill of New York streets in the winter.
When I saw the shelter, the lights warming the sidewalk in front of it, I almost passed it by. I didn’t want to be like one of the zombies I saw in there during my first time on the streets. I told myself that I had too much pride for that. I could survive on my own.
So much had changed. If I stayed out on the streets tonight, I was afraid I was going to die.
I pushed the door open, swallowing my pride, and the blast of warm air felt like heaven.
“I’m sorry, we’re closing up here for the night,” a man said from behind a table without looking up.
“Please,” I said, my voice shattered and hoarse. “I need help.”
He looked up and his eyes widened. “Brenda!” he called. “Put the soup back on!”
“We’re closing, Jeff!” a woman called crossly from behind a closed door. “It’s past midnight.”
“It’s an emergency!”
I stood for as long as I could, watching Jeff retrieve a box from a cabinet on the wall, then collapsed, my legs unable to support me any longer.
Jeff rushed over to me just as another door opened.
“Oh my God,” Brenda said. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“No, please,” I said weakly. “I can’t go to the hospital. No ambulance.”
“It looks like she’s been beaten very badly,” Jeff said, dabbing antiseptic on the cuts on my face.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Brenda asked. “Is that why you can’t go?”
