“Lots of people out at this hour for a Thursday night,” remarked Jamie.
“Yes, that’s because all of the shops close around midday and everyone takes a rest. Everything reopens around five o’clock,” explained Stefania.
“A midday rest. Sounds like heaven to me,” said Lucy.
“Yeah, too bad the United States doesn’t have that kind of work day schedule,” added Jenna.
“Oh, you all are fortunate to be born in America,” said Stefania with a strange sort of reverence.
Angela looked dubious. “Why’s that?”
“In America there’s lots of opportunity. If you work hard, you can do well.” The significance of this comment was lost on Angela, Barry, and Paul; but Lucy, Jenna, and Jamie were paying attention. “You pay some taxes, but that’s it. The government doesn’t tell you what to do.”
“Why? They do here?” asked Jamie.
“You can start a business, but there are regulations, and then taxes, then you have to pay the local boss who always has his hand out. By the time you’re finished, there’s not much left for yourself.”
“That’s so sad,” said Jenna.
“Hey, what’s that?” shouted Barry.
He pointed to a small storefront with blacked out windows and a neon sign that read ‘Feral Hearts.’
Stefania frowned. “That is a blight on our town.”
This intrigued Paul, because it signified something naughty. “What is it, a strip club or something?”
“Yes,” said Stefania, her brow furrowed. About two years ago we had a wave of Russian women emigrating to the region. Real crude women. Harlots…I shouldn’t be telling you about this.”
“Finally, something interesting,” said Paul. “Do tell. Do tell.”
They descended on Derosso like a plague, beautiful but with no manners or scruples. They would march into shops demanding immediate service, cursing the staff and customers. The local boss took them in, which means that the police turned a blind eye. This place opened, and these…women preyed upon the men of this town.”
“Sounds like heaven to me,” said Paul, mirroring Lucy’s prior remark about the Italian work day. She rolled her eyes, and he winked at her.
“First it was just the tourists,” continued Stefania. “Then it was the young men. Before long, married men and even old men frequented the club, destroying marriages and families. The police didn’t interfere as long as the girls stayed inside the club and didn’t harass the other residents and their businesses.”
“Sounds like the type of place that would liven up this tour,” said Barry.
“It’s not a good place,” said Stefania. “There will be plenty of opportunity for romance later on the tour. Now, if you follow me…”
“I don’t want to follow you,” said Barry. “I want to go in there.”
“Maybe we should just let him,” said Lucy. “Then we could enjoy the tour in peace.”
“Yeah,” said Barry, “and maybe I can get a piece.”
“Let him go,” said Lucy.
“Paul will babysit him,” said Angela, winking at him.
Stefania hesitated for a moment. She really believed, despite Barry’s crude behavior, she should do her best to dissuade Barry and Paul from going into that viper’s nest for their own good.
“They’re big boys,” said Jenna. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know the kind of parasites that live in there,” warned Stefania.
“I think it’s the ladies in there that need to be worried,” laughed Angela.
“Care to join us?” Paul asked Angela. “Broaden your horizons?”
“No thanks. You two enjoy.”
“How ‘bout you, Jamie?”
Jenna immediately looked worried, and she unwittingly grabbed Lucy’s arm.
“I’ll pass,” said Jamie, to Jenna’s very apparent relief.
“C’mon, Stefania, let’s see the rest of Derosso,” said Lucy.
Stefania looked as if she wanted to say something. “If any of the girls invites you back to a house just outside of town, don’t go.”
Barry looked at Paul. “I don’t get it. This is a single’s retreat, is it not?”
“This club is not part of the tour,” insisted Stefania.
“We’ll take our chances,” said Barry.
Stefania pursed her lips. “Okay, the rest of you come and follow me. You two, be careful.”
Paul bowed his head graciously. “I’m always careful.”
Jamie and the ladies walked off through the square.
“Well, looks like it’s just us kids,” said Paul. “We’ll go in, but stick with me. You’re in no shape to go wandering off. We don’t want to go and piss off the management with drunken antics, agreed?”
“You sound like my mother,” said Barry. “I want to have a good time.”
“And a good time you shall have. Trust me. I’m a man a little too accustomed to paying for female attention.”
* * *
Paul and Barry entered a very tinted front door into a black-lit foyer. A very large bouncer stood before another tinted door with the beats of house music thumping behind it.
“Ten euro each,” said the bouncer.
Paul began to reach into his pocket, but Barry grabbed his wrist. “I’ve got this.”
“Thank you.”
Barry reached into his pocket and produced twenty euro. He handed it to the bouncer, who stepped aside and opened the door. The foyer was immediately filled with techno music and glittering lights.
“Have a good time,” said the bouncer with a gravity incommensurate with the scenario.
“Thank you,” replied Paul. He and Barry stepped into the Feral Hearts Club.
It was like many strip clubs that both Paul and Barry had frequented on many an occasion. It was dark, and there were lounge chairs sprinkled about around small stages accommodating one stripper, each dancing around a pole. There was a small deejay booth in the corner where a twenty-something guy was working a laptop. There was a hallway on the other side of the room that no doubt led to some champagne room. The air conditioning was blasting, and the main room smelled like cigars and sweat.
“Home sweet home,” said Paul, shouting over the music. “Let’s grab a seat, shall we?”
He led Barry to a couple of comfortable-looking chairs set back away from the nearest stage (he didn’t want Barry right on top of a stripper in his current state), and they sat. Immediately a waitress bustled over to them. “Volete qualcosa da bere?”
“What did she say?” asked Barry, shouting in Paul’s ear.
“I think ‘what do we want to drink?’”
“Tell her I want a vodka and cranberry.”
“I think you should slow down, Barry.” Paul held two fingers up. “Two beers, por favore.”
The waiterss nodded and walked off.
Paul and Barry looked around the room, drinking in the black-lit dancers. In the lighting, their lipstick and g-strings were luminescent. Paul felt like he was in the negative of a photo.
The room was filled with mostly middle-aged men, a few elderly men even. Some of the men were leaning over the stage, conversing with the dancers as they slid euros across to them. The elderly men had strippers planted in their laps, whispering in their ears as the old men laughed. Stefania wasn’t kidding about this place.
The waitress came back and placed two beers on the small table in front of them. “Venti.”
“I’ve got this,” insisted Paul, who was quite used to treating his…companions of the moment. Barry didn’t protest.
They sipped their cool beers, and it was only moments before a stripper approached Paul. She was a brunette with wavy, shoulder-length hair, a lithe body, crimson lips, and piercing eyes. He saw that she locked eyes with him from across the room. She smiled, eying him hungrily, and she sauntered across the room.
He knew that look. It wasn’t his first time in a strip club; he knew she was hungry for his
cash. But hey, why let the truth get in the way of a good lie?
She slid right into Paul’s lap like she belonged there, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Her hot breath in his ear caused a stirring in his pants. She said something in Italian with what seemed like a Russian accent that he didn’t understand. When he didn’t respond, she spoke in English. “Hello, handsome. What’s your name?”
“Paul,” he whispered in her ear. His left hand found the small of her back, and his right slid onto her toned thigh. Her skin was soft, and he was hard.
“Hello, Paul. Where are you from?” Her voice was like smooth velvet on his brain.
“Here and there.”
“Ah, an Englishman. I love Englishmen. I find them so delicious.”
He bet her pussy was delicious. He knew the game and how to play it. “What is your name, gorgeous?”
“Viktoriya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words rolled right off her tongue like butter. She was good at this. Very good. The strippers in the UK were starting to look lazy. Wait a minute…
Was this the Viktoriya his friend on the forums talked about? Was Feral Hearts the brothel?
“Are you here on vacation?”
“My friend and I—”
“I do not care about your friend. I’m talking to you,” she said.
“I’m here on vacation.” He didn’t dare tell her he was on a singles tour. He’d never get rid of her until he hadn’t a euro left to his name.
“Where are you staying?”
Nosy wench. He didn’t want to say. “The Derosso Grande.”
“Are you…looking for love?”
Was this bitch writing a book? “I’m looking for some fun.”
She smiled, her teeth bleached in the black light of the room. “Oh, I love fun.”
“Well, it seems we have so much in common.”
“Are you making fun of me, Paul?”
“Now why would I do that?”
“I can become pure fun, Paul. Let’s go for a private dance.”
He looked over at Barry, but she turned his head back to her with her finger, her long nail pinching the skin under his chin. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a big boy. Let’s have a private dance.”
He didn’t want to. “Okay.”
She stood up and offered him her hand. He took it, stood, and was immediately self-conscious about the massive tent he was pitching. Viktoriya looked down at the bulge in his crotch and put a finger to her crimson lips, acting as if she was impressed. She then led him across the room as he looked back at Barry sheepishly. Barry waved a dismissive hand, gesturing for him to have fun and not worry about it.
So much for Paul as a wingman. He was flying solo, led by a Russian MiG into dangerous territory. He just hoped that Barry didn’t upset the establishment while he was gone.
Viktoriya led Paul into the hallway, which had several curtained doorways to what must’ve been the private rooms. She led him to the end and drew the last curtain on the left, gesturing for him to go in.
He entered the small cubicle, which consisted of a wooden chair and a small, round table. The room looked clean, but there was no black light back here, so there was no way to be certain. It was no accident.
“Please, sit.”
Paul sat, assuming the position for a lap dance—slouched and legs apart to maximize crotch-to-crotch contact. She placed his beer on the table…funny, he didn’t remember her bringing it.
“Twenty euro per song, Sweetie.”
Right. Silly him, he almost forgot. Business first. He reached into his wallet and handed her twenty euro. She placed it on the table next to his beer. He reached out and grabbed his beer, took a deep slug, and placed it back on the table next to the money.
“Comfortable?” she asked.
“Quite.”
“Good.”
Barry was getting bored with sitting away from a stage, so he grabbed his cold beer and stood up. He found a seat in front of a stage with a tattooed blonde stripper dancing. He decided this was a good spot and planted himself in front of her. Her back was turned, as she was talking to another guest. She had a really nice ass. The tattooed serpent winding from her back up and along her side was impressive, if he did say so himself.
Her head popped up, and she looked back over her shoulder at him. She whispered something to the old fuck she was talking to, and she turned around. She smiled down at Barry, who nodded clumsily to her. The thumping techno music cross-faded into a slower groove, and she began to dance.
Barry watched her writhe to the music, her white g-string and the whites of her eyes glowing. The alcohol must’ve been wearing off, because he had the beginnings of an erection watching her slink around the pole. She had a nice flat stomach, firm tits, and long legs.
He reached out for his beer…wait…it was a red cocktail. That’s right. He wanted a vodka and cranberry. He took a long sip, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some bills. He slid a couple onto the stage. She backed up onto the pole, slid down on her back, and squatted, picking up the bills. She reached out and stroked the bottom of his chin with her right index finger…
…he was leaning back in his seat and her back was still to the pole in the middle of the stage, but he didn’t want to ponder the impossible physics of her reach at that particular moment. She jumped, grabbing the pole, and she swung her legs out. She twirled around the pole, sliding down slowly to the sublime music that was filling the room and Barry’s ears.
She stood and, holding the pole with her right hand, twirled around. Barry leaned in as his eyes caught something in the strange lighting. He narrowed his eyes as he studied her amazing body and was not quite sure if he really saw what he thought he was seeing.
The serpent tattoo was slithering around her body as she twirled.
* * *
Stefania led Lucy, Jenna, Angela, and Jamie up a long street on the outer edge of town. She stopped in front of a building with a large dome surrounded by high walls. Stefania waited as everyone gathered in close around her.
“Can anyone guess what this building is?”
“A planetarium,” offered Jenna.
“That’s what I was thinking, too,” said Lucy.
“It’s a sanitarium,” said Stefania.
“A nut house?” asked Jamie.
“A place for the mentally-ill,” said Stefania. “Unfortunately, as of late, this institution has been filled with many of the older men in our region.”
“That’s strange,” said Lucy. “Mental illness doesn’t normally begin later in life.”
“She’s a psychologist,” said Jenna.
She wasn’t licensed yet, but Lucy didn’t bother correcting Jenna. It was a common mistake that wasn’t worth correcting in social scenarios.
“That may be so,” said Stefania, “but the place is almost at capacity. Old men howling at the moon, claiming that they see witches in the darkness. Husbands and fathers who disappear for days and return with sexually transmitted diseases and madness on their brains.”
“What do you think that is?’ Jenna asked Lucy.
“Fugue. Dementia.”
Stefania leaned in, her face serious. “I shouldn’t be sharing this with you, but some say it’s the plague of Russian prostitutes that has infested our region.”
“You really don’t like them, do you?” asked Angela.
“Trust me,” said Stefania, “if they moved into your neighborhood, you wouldn’t either.”
* * *
Viktoriya slid her tongue in Paul’s mouth as her fingers worked his crotch. It was wet and tasted like olives. She rubbed his swollen member through his pants, and he was fighting not to explode. If he came, then it would be over and he didn’t want this feeling to end.
It was the sixth song…or was it the tenth. He’d lost track, throwing more bills onto the small table willy-nilly.
Her tits pressed up against his chest. The fingers of her other hand traced up his shirt and tore it open, sending h
is buttons flying in every which way. It was an expensive shirt, but at the moment he didn’t give a shit. She lightly scratched his chest with her long nails as she nibbled his neck.
Fuck my Dad. This is what he wanted me to give up? He was nuts. These were the thoughts that filled his mind, though he wasn’t certain if by his own volition. I have a disease, all right; I’m sick of people telling me to straighten out and settle down. Marriage and family are a curse. Husbands and fathers are walking dead men, yoked to poor, irrevocable decisions they made in moments of weakness. Not me. I want to stay free. Master of my own destiny.
Viktoriya released his neck and held his face in her hands as she licked her teeth, her eyes boring into his. She pressed her bare breasts up against his bare chest. His heart pounded, drowning out her hearbeat, and he was panting like an animal.
“I like you, Paul.” She reached back to the table and handed him his cold beer. It was full as if the cap had just been popped off. “Come back with me, after the club closes. We have a house, all of the girls together. Come back with me, and I promise I will fuck you to death.”
He drank greedily from his beer, the skunk of it melding with his sweat and hers, a sickly sweet elixir filling his nostrils as he struggled to catch his breath. He knew it was a bad idea. It was an extraordinarily bad idea. A single man out alone in a foreign country. This bitch was going to rob him.
Viktoriya undid his belt buckle and yanked it off of him. She slung it around his neck and pulled him forward, kissing him deeply. Now her mouth tasted like brandy with a faint aftertaste of copper as she sucked on his tongue. When she pulled away from him, slowly releasing his tongue, she reached her hand in his pants and wrapped her fingers around his cock.
“Paul, you seem like the kind of man who is very decisive. You don’t worry about trivial things like right and wrong. You take what you want. You live for pleasure. That is what I offer you.” She squeezed. “Don’t think. Do. Come back with me.”
“I-I-I don’t pay for sex,” Paul lied.
“Who said anything about paying?”
The truth was, he had already paid and then some back in this room. This was just the final step. What was it that Stefania said? Since they met, something in the far recesses of his reasoning cautioned him about Viktoriya, but that voice had grown successively dimmer throughout the night, and it was now only a faint echo in a deep cave, crying out alone in the dark void.
Feral Hearts Page 13
