Smoke and desired sin. That's what the air of the four-cornered room smelt like as the red lights flooded the room with the colour of lust. The space was simply furnished by a seat parallel to the foot-high stage signed with a single pole which stood in the centre of it all.
Lights lined the ceiling while a medium-high backside table gave wait to the money that would be paid after each show took place in front of it. The main event of this simple room. Me.Each new body that drops its body on the chair across me undresses my already bare body in an effort to envision my body without the little material that I have left. Lips licked in alpha fuelled lust, greedy for what I chose to exude. Each is different yet similar as their fantasies spill through their grins and burning gazes.Never do I start a new client by being in the room first. No, I let them feel the room, allowing whatever sense of power they believe manifests into the idea that they wait to be served and catered to.Believing that they are powerful as they wait for me to bear myself for them. Then I take it away with my gentle strides to the centre stage of the velvet-walled room, like a shadow awaiting a new evil to find comfort in before ripping into flesh and currency. Yes, they may sit in the chair, drunk on monarch mentality, but I'm the one looking down on them.
My body is dressed in gently crystallized, black torn silk allowing my movements around the pole to draw their eyes in. The draw of desire painted on my lips with red gloss. I don't present myself as an angel because I am not. I don't want forgiveness. I want to take all I can have with a greedy breath. Be it by body or might.
Walking to the door of my I see him. My last client sits in the chair, a black suit jacket draped over the frame of the chair, with him sitting back. His right arm was over the rest with a glass tilted in his hand and a white business shirt sleeves rolled up. The other hand ran through his dark hair while his broad shoulders strained the shirt as though if he could feel any more tension he would rip it. He sits with control and assertiveness as an aura.I walk into the room almost cautiously to the pole with the sound of my black pump heels bringing him to attention that I have arrived, yet he does not move to look back at me. The tune of music serenades the room as I pass him noting that no scent of cologne drenches his body. Walking towards the stage, I have yet to see his face. I don't want to because something feels different with this, with him.
He is not demanding the room and I notice him. Instead, he sits in the chair as though it was built for his body alone. My fingertips embrace the feeling of the cool metal of the pole while my movements do their most not turn to the gaze of the man in the seat across me. But I know I must, I need my power back, but the moment I force my eyes to his while looking over my shoulder, I feel my body succumb to a darkness that consumes shadows.
The fair tan-skinned man sits, three buttons undone letting the drizzle of chest hair show. His dress pants and shoes were black as night, and his eye colour unknown due to the red eyes still yet chaotic. When I met with them, I felt desperate to speak but lost for words. Gaining my composure back I let my body move to the beat of the music and for the first time in a while, I leave my choreography and tell a story. My body's seductive turns and slides as I wrap around the pole. Chest heavy as I inhale the energy of the room of lust, desperation, starvation, and if I'm not wrong, understanding.Why does he look at my body and my performance yet only truly focus on my eyes? Like he feels my body but reads my eyes like a sick tale he wants to wrap his arms around and capture in a mission of possession and protection.The music drifts into the distance as it fades letting my body slide down the pole when I slowly land on my knees, my arms still holding the pole because he won't let his gaze go. He won't stop reading me, taking me in. He won't stop feeding off me as though he finds intoxication in my confusion. He won't let me go.Slowly he places his now empty glass on the table while standing, slips his jacket over his shoulders, and straightens himself. Still, I'm stuck in my position on the stage when he strides slowly towards me. My body doesn't move as my eyes refuse to follow him when he stops before me. That's when I feel his rough hand gently tilt my head up - a small breath taken in shock at his touch- so that I am locked in his tunnel vision once again. Maybe the devil did walk amongst us.Brushing the loose curl of my almond hair from the frame of my face his thumb runs past my glossed lips, smudging it lightly. Unconsciously I lean into his touch as our eyes lock before husky words leave his lips "Mi Sirena." (My siren.) And after his words, his hands lift from the curve of y cheek so slowly I would swear he wanted to leave with the warmth of it lingering in his palm when he let go. That's he lets me go leaving me cold and, on my knees, with little understanding of what just happened.Walking down the busy street, I hug my body in my coat as the snow grips my boots. My focus is solely on making it to the bookstore in time for early morning customers. The bookstore, Fine Print, had been a blessing to have been able to get, but working at the store with Victoria gave me more than money. The ability to read and learn all that I was not able to when I was younger was a gift Victoria didn't know she had opened for me.I may have simply thought of them as my parents, but to the world, we lived in, they were immigrants before my parents. Our financials only allowed food, the roof over our heads, and clothes, so after preschool, it became a strain to further my schooling.I knew my Mama was broken by it, raising me no different than she was, but Papa would silence her broken aspirations with words not cruel but no less ignorant. "A woman doesn't need knowledge. She needs a husband." Once he would leave the room she would respectfully dismiss his words, then braid my hair
Signing the visitors' sheet with a smile to Jemma, I walk towards room 357. Pushing the door open, the stale image of my Mama in a ghastly white bedgown welcomes me. Her eyes are wide open as she steers into the distance. Searching for what her mind could remember at least try to remember. After Papa had died of lung cancer, we were alone with no income because Mama didn't have schooling. She came here from Mexico after her father married her off to mine. When he put his body into the ground in life, my mother worked as a cleaner for the rich she found herself employed by a wealthy woman.Some of the stories she told were of this woman who lived in a house that could be a castle and from her understanding that the Miss of the home owned it alone. I think she was amazed at it all and how real something more could be. She told me of this woman who had a wall covered in certificates and achievements that decorated the wall like a museum of achievement.She did not learn these stories f
Feeling my body being lifted, I bring myself closer to the tense body that carries me from my tear-induced slumber. The cold biting my skin makes me hold tighter around his neck. I know it's him because his warmth feels like no other. Whimpering at the time spent in the cold as my feet start to feel the cold, as I bring my face closer to his neck, feeling his rushed pulse.Eyes closed, I let him hold me as we walk into the building, only opening them when I feel the warmth in the room. The lobby is black, gold, and navy blue, with a large chandelier. That's the little I bring attention to because all my attention is on the feeling of the unnamed man who carries me gently in his arms.Under flexed muscles, I could feel slow breaths above a fast-paced heartbeat. Each breath is like he savours it or fears taking a new one because they are countable by the minute. We walk to an elevator and ride to the floor that gets opened for us by the man next to the elevator door. Unphased by the vi
My eyes open at the shine of light going through the window. I know where I am. I just don't know if I want to open my eyes to the reality of it. that he found me, took me, held me, cared for me, had me bare to his touch. Had I called him Master? He called himself my Master. To my body that made all the sense that the events that took place did, but to my mind, I was in a haze. Calling him Master, something so taboo and unwavering. The word on its own, the power of possession and control that it held as he deemed himself my Master was indescribable, but I didn't shake my head and refuse his title over my body at that moment. Sitting up from my sleeping position, I find myself in a queen bed with cream sheets and grey pillows soft and gentle on my skin. Like sleeping in heaven. The simple black and white artwork covers two parallel walls, a door that would probably lead me outside the room and a blurred glass door most likely the bathroom. I see a note on the left bedside table, and
Knowing it was too late, I straightened my back and focused on the door when it stopped, and the doors slowly opened. The wide navy blue entry walls were empty, and my hesitant steps were the only sound to be heard. The door stays open long enough for me to catch my breath before I step out of the elevator. In the centre of the room, a large table with a large white and blue vase holding a bouquet of white lilies fresh into bloom. The rest of the entry carried the same sophistication, with a gold and glass chandelier above the entry. Just gorgeous. I walk further through the room when the open space brings me into the home. The large floor plan allowed the kitchen and living room the space to build it with furniture and art. In the kitchen, my attention draws to catch the reason I even stood in the room.Making my way to the kitchen, where he stood back towards me with his hands on the table scattered with papers. Slowly he turned, feeling my presence behind him, focused eyes and a te
I could feel my eyes flutter in the unrest of the tightening of my muscles as I struggled to settle the pacing my breath had picked up. My neck muscles pull as I toss and turn in the violent flashes of horrid memories. Just before the nightmare can take hold of me, I open my eyes with a sudden jolt before opening my eyes to a familiar space. My hand rushed beside me when I realise, she is not beside me anymore. Turning my head to the right of the bed, I notice the dishevelled sheets and ruffled pillow confirming that the warmth of body and soul was not a dream. Neither were the events of last night.Breathing away the residual fear of the nightmare, I ground myself in the memory of what happened yesterday. The way Master had watched me embrace my pleasure before he rained it over me in his restless need to have me. How Celeste had taken the haze of emotions and thoughts and settled them with warm water and a comforting hold through the night. It all happened and, I can’t lie and say
Walking with hesitation, I almost found the feeling towards them obscene. Wondering how I had been able to bare my body and express my pleasure to them yet at this moment where vulnerability had guided me like a path. I felt so bare. The single comfort of my presence came from the growing smile that spread across Celestes' face. She looked like she missed me. I missed her too. Reaching the table with my club between my hands, I give a weak smile between them both before Master steps from his chair and pulls my own out from the seat. He is gentle behind me as his tall figure rests against the shoulders of my coat "You look beautiful." He whispers like a secret before letting it slip over my shoulders and rests on the back of my chair. "Thank you," I whisper in gratitude before they both return to their seats. I soak in the emotions that ricochet through me as I take in the reality that I am here. It’s clear the mass of thoughts and questions leave me hesitant to speak, so Master take
It was hard not to feel the weight of this moment as I looked between the door and the man who could open it. Both were intimidating in their unknowns and together it felt like I had taken a leap into space. Nothing could ground me, no gravity, no tether. I swore I thought I would float into my thoughts. That is until I feel warm fingers, nibble and cores in their touch but grounding and supportive in their motive. Turning beside me, I look down and see Celestes' fingers webbed into mine.Not a hesitation in sight as she ensured I knew I would not enter this room a sacrifice. Squeezing her hand in appreciation, I turn to Master, whose silence gave us a moment of calm that she would stand beside us, just as much a guide as he was. "You walk in here of open mind, but you are also here under me. What is your safe word because here you don't have limits, just areas you were previously afraid to venture?" Going deep into myself, I find a word I knew would be the word I chose "My safe wor