by Lexie Ray
“Check out the digs,” Mike remarked, looking all around. “I’m liking the bed.”
All of the beds in the rooms were on platforms in the middle of the room. It gave the impression that they were all stages for the show that would soon follow.
“I’m going to get ready for you,” I said, smiling at Mike. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”
“Right on,” he said, looking around and testing the bed as I headed into the bathroom.
I did my normal routine — hair, makeup, quick wash-up, lube, and stripping down. I smiled with delight. I’d picked my orange lingerie for tonight. It made my skin tone stand out and matched the room. Maybe Mike would give me a little extra tip himself, since his friend had paid for the privilege of my presence.
When I walked out of the bathroom, Mike was holding his phone up at me.
“No photos,” I said, frowning. “Didn’t Mama tell you?”
“Oh no, she didn’t,” he said, setting his phone aside, a picture of innocence. “I’m sorry.”
I tried to smooth out my frown, but I couldn’t. Mama always told the customers that they couldn’t take photos. If there were photo evidence of prostitution, even with our connections to the courts and cops, it would be too easy to shut the entire operation down.
My feeling of uneasiness persisted even as I smiled and led him over to the bed.
“How about you tell me what I can do for you tonight,” I said, dragging him up onto the bed with me.
Mike looked like a kid in a candy shop.
“Do — do you like anal?” he asked, looking almost afraid of my answer.
It was always anal. Anal was something most girlfriends and wives wouldn’t give up for free. If they had to pay to enjoy my body, they wanted the forbidden fruit. It’s why I always lubed up for anything.
“I love it,” I lied. “Are you a top, or a bottom?”
Mike roared with laughter. “For you, I’ll be a top. Do you come during anal?”
“Of course,” I lied again. “It’s one of the hottest orgasms I have.”
I’d, of course, never climaxed while doing anal. Some of the girls talked about it like it wasn’t as bad as everyone said, and they thought it was hot, but I never saw the attraction. Still, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it for the right price.
I helped Mike undress, encouraging him in his bumbling excitement. He had sandy blond hairs curling over his chest and a thick stomach that told me he liked to party. His cock was already hard and made me give a silent sigh of relief. This man wouldn’t be breaking any girls in half anytime soon — yours truly included.
I made a show of drizzling lube over his cock, working my hands over his slippery shaft until he was breathless with desire.
“I want to put it in now,” he panted. “I don’t want to wait a second longer.”
I got on all fours and presented myself to him. He slipped off my orange panties and pulled my cheeks apart.
“Would you look at that,” he remarked, spanking me a little. I made tiny sounds of appreciation. I had to sell it.
I braced myself as I felt Mike position himself at my hole. I knew from experience that tensing up would do unnecessary harm. Against all reason, I forced my muscles to relax to accommodate the intrusion. When he was fully in, past my tight ring of muscle, I let out a low moan for his benefit. The way his hands trembled as he held onto my hips told me everything. He was barely hanging on — me, the room, the lube, the anal, the entire situation was a pleasure overload. He was in sincere danger of coming much earlier than he would’ve wanted.
“You feel amazing,” I breathed, arching my back. “I want you to give it to me.”
Mike gave a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, I’ll give it to you, all right,” he said, grunting as he withdrew and pushed forward again. The lube I’d applied in the bathroom was more than holding its own against his ragged rhythm.
“Fuck me, I’m gonna come,” Mike said almost in wonderment.
Already? I moaned, long and low.
“Let me come with you,” I said, making a show of reaching back to rub my clitoris. I could barely feel Mike in my body, which was a blessing.
With an enormous groan, he came, filling me with a wetness I’d become familiar with a long time ago. I cried out as I felt it, twisting my fist into the bed sheets while I faked the orgasm. It wasn’t the first time, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Men liked the illusion of having pleased a woman while pleasing themselves.
He withdrew from my body with a pop and stumbled off the bed.
“You okay, there?” I asked, my eyelids lowered.
“Just gotta hit the bathroom,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the door. “Be right back.”
As he got up to use the bathroom, my eyes darted over to the little side table where he’d set his phone before our encounter. I had to delete any photos he might have taken to protect myself and the nightclub. The moment the door shut, I lunged for it, sweeping it open with my phone and finding the photos without much trouble. None of us girls had a cell phone, but I wasn’t ignorant of them. Mike’s seemed intuitive enough.
I resisted the urge to hiss in between my teeth. How had he gotten these shots? The sneaky bastard had even taken pictures while we had sex. I deleted all of them, putting the phone back on the table just in time — Mike walked back into the room, the toilet flushing.
“Let me go get cleaned up,” I said, hopping off the bed. “Then we can go back downstairs and join the festivities.”
“I don’t think there could be anything more festive than what we did up here,” Mike said, grinning and scratching his crotch.
“You’re right,” I said, trying not to show my distaste.
“Care for some company in the shower?” he asked.
“That would be lovely,” I lied. I ended up blowing him in the shower, satisfied at least with the knowledge that he couldn’t take pictures under the streaming water.
When we both got dressed and ready to go, I took him back downstairs. All of his friends applauded him like he was a hero returning from war. I covered my face in a show of shyness, immediately picking up responsibilities for Shimmy as she escorted another man upstairs.
It was going to be one of those nights where all of Mama’s girls were irresistible, and all we could do was try to keep up.
They were Mama’s favorite nights.
Chapter 3
It had been perhaps a month after that magical night that everything went wrong.
After our good business — and the success of the girls — there were a ton of new movies and CDs circulating throughout the boarding house. Girls sprang for new colors of nail polish, new street clothes, and treats that we shared among ourselves. One girl’s success meant everyone benefited. It was just the way we operated.
I had slept with five customers in that shift, Mike included.
“There’s no avoiding it, Cocoa,” Mama had muttered to me. “It’s one of those nights and you’re the only girl I trust to take on this volume of customers and still give them a good experience.”
“Thanks, Mama,” I’d said. “I’ll do my best.”
The envelope I sent to Granny had been extra thick with cash.
It was jazz night, a lone pianist playing softly on the stage. Our clientele changed with the musical acts. Jazz and big band nights saw more of our classier customers — ones who were there for the entire experience and would be more likely to pay us more for our company.
“Cocoa, darling, I have a repeat customer here asking especially for you,” Mama said, a smile not quite reaching up to her eyes. “What an impression you must have made on this young man!”
It was the beginning of the shift when we were working to fill all the tables in our sections. The two tables I had were already sipping on drinks, dressed in suits and waiting on the chef’s special to be cooked to order for them.
This man was wearing a stained polo shirt only half tucked into equally unkempt
khakis. He was also drunk and swayed on his feet. It was several long seconds before I recognized Mike, the man who’d wanted anal on the magical night at the nightclub when everyone had earned so much money.
“Mike, how wonderful to see you,” I exclaimed, taking his arm. “Let me get you settled into a table so you can enjoy this relaxing music. I’ll bring you water and a basket of our delicious bread.”
I saw Mama’s look of disgust as we walked away. She hated when people came in already drunk, but she didn’t want to discourage business.
“Did you miss me?” Mike slurred, weaving a little bit even though I had a strong grip on him.
“Of course I did!” I said, covering my heart. “You shouldn’t even have to ask that!”
“I just wanted to see what I lost everything for,” he said, plopping into the chair I held out for him. A couple of customers from nearby tables eyed him before going back to their conversations and drinks.
I puzzled over the meaning of his words before hurrying to the bar.
“Just water,” I told Blue before dashing over to the kitchen to fill a tray with bread and dipping oil. I swung back by the bar to pick up the full glass.
“Your Romeo’s looking a little worse for wear tonight,” Blue said. “It’s good that you’re giving him water.”
“I’m trying,” I said, walking back to where Mike was sitting.
I set everything on the table, chatting as I did so. Everything set out, I tucked the tray underneath my arm.
“Do you need anything else, sweetie?” I asked, cocking my head as I asked the question.
Mike slapped the water off the table with the back of his hand, where it broke with a crash on the floor. Conversations at the nearby tables stopped again as customers stared, open-mouthed.
“I want a beer instead of a fucking water,” he said shouted.
I laughed, just as loud. “You’re even clumsier than me!” I exclaimed, bending down to collect the larger pieces of glass to put on my tray. “Of course I’ll bring you a beer — the lovely ladies behind the bar are pouring an icy tall one right now.”
Shimmy had seen the whole thing and was hurrying over with a towel. I let her clean the rest of the liquid up while I walked to the bar to get rid of the glass and put in an order.
“Having a little trouble?” Blue asked, bemused.
“Guess he didn’t want the water,” I remarked. “Give me an O’Doul’s in a tall glass.” I was referring to the non-alcoholic brand of beer, which was standard operating policy here at the nightclub. Mama never wanted any trouble with the customers, so there always came a point when someone was too drunk but still wanted another drink. She also didn’t want to stop taking their money if we cut them off. Instead, we started serving virgin cocktails and non-alcoholic beers. No one was the wiser.
“Be careful,” Blue said, handing me the beer. “I don’t like the looks of that one.”
“He’s just a return customer,” I scoffed, placing the glass on a new tray. “He’s had a little too much to drink, is all.”
“Those are the worst.”
I gave Mike the O’Doul’s with a flourish, making a show of setting down the coaster with a spin from my finger.
“Your beer, darling,” I announced, placing it on the coaster with a twist of my wrist.
“Finally,” he said, chugging it down to halfway.
“I’ll be back soon to check on you,” I said, starting to walk away.
“You’ll check on me now,” Mike barked. He was becoming more entertainment for his fellow customers than the pianist on stage, I noticed, which was bad. What was I doing wrong in this situation? I had been here longer than any of the other girls. I could defuse the explosive ones like nobody’s business.
Something wasn’t quite right with Mike, but I hadn’t figured it out yet.
“Of course, honey,” I said, leaning down right next to him. “I’ll bring you everything you need.
“Well, we’re going to fuck again, obviously,” he said.
I forced a laugh. “Well, obviously,” I answered, slapping my knees. “I like your style, sweetie.”
“You were free for me last time, and I paid a price,” Mike said, looking at me. For the first time, I noticed just how bloodshot his eyes were. There were barely any whites in them anymore. Had he been crying?
“The only price you pay with me is in the orgasms I take from you,” I whispered into his ear.
“This time, you’ll be paying me for the pleasure, and I demand cash,” he said, his mouth twisting into a horrible imitation of a smile.
Every single customer at the surrounding tables was watching the drama unfold now. I didn’t like that at all. The situation was getting out of control.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I said. “The only one who can negotiate a price is Mama. Let me go get her.”
I got a few paces away before I froze in my tracks at Mike’s holler.
“Don’t you walk away from me, bitch!”
A solid fourth of the club craned their necks around to see what was going on. I was by Mike’s side again, trying to placate him.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me. I was just setting the wheels in motion. Nothing unless it goes through Mama. That’s the rule, I’m afraid.”
“No,” he said. “The rule is that I get to do whatever I want now.”
He snagged my wrist and yanked me down to sit next to him, his fingers bruising me. I went down gracefully, trying to make it look like I’d chosen to sit down. I had to make an attempt to get this situation under control. If I couldn’t, I at least had to fake control.
“The customer’s always right, sweetie,” I soothed. “Of course you get whatever you want. You just let Cocoa know what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”
“I want my wife back,” he slurred.
I frowned. “Is she here?” I asked. “Where can I find her for you?”
“She’s gone!” Mike shouted. “She’s gone because of you!”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I’ve never met your wife before.”
My mind and heart racing, I tried to figure out where this was going. Had I met this woman before? Was there a chance that I was somehow at fault?
“She found out about the night I spent with you,” Mike said. “She divorced me. She took everything from me.” He was silent for several long moments before sneering at me. “You took everything from me.”
I shook my head. “What happens here, stays here,” I argued. “Your wife didn’t find out from me. Maybe one of your friends —”
Mike cut me off with the fist he brought down on the table, rattling the cutlery. I tried not to look at the customers around me even though I was hyperaware of their eyes on us. I focused on maintaining control in this situation — even if it was only an illusion for their benefit.
“It was you, in a roundabout way,” he said. “I was fucking pissed when I figured out that it was you who deleted my photos.”
“You were told no photos,” I put in, “twice.”
Mike shrugged away this annoyance of a fact. “You didn’t delete the photos from the cloud.”
“The cloud?” I repeated, puzzled. It sounded almost mythical. “I have no idea what that is.” Once the photos were deleted from the phone, they were gone forever, weren’t they?
“That’s because you’re a stupid whore,” Mike said. “The cloud is an online storage system. My phone’s defaults send all my data there so I can retrieve it if my phone crashes. If you delete the photos, they’re gone from the phone. But they stay in the cloud otherwise, and my wife likes to look at them via her own phone to see what I’m doing.”
I thought I understood the concept of the cloud, but I was still having trouble understanding why this was my fault. I hadn’t forced Mike to take the pictures. I’d even deleted them — or tried to, anyway. However, I didn’t want to be combative. I had to defuse this situation.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry your wife saw us together,” I whispered.
“Not as sorry as you can be,” he said. “I’ve been living in a shitty apartment, barely able to scrape the rent together in this fucking city with my paycheck alone. My wife took our kids, my car — everything — and kicked me out of the house. She had the photos. She had the proof. And now I have nothing.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I know this must be a tough time for you.”
