Preying on You (2 page)

Their stories of strength and loss
inspire me to write. I unlock the phone, press the play button, and
set it on speaker. Grabbing my journal off the desk to take notes,
I settle onto my leather couch and place a blanket over my lap. My
black Siamese cat, Beatrice—who possesses a wicked naughty
streak—leaps up, pushes my journal aside, and curls into her
favorite sleeping position.

Tapping the pen against my lips, I
absently pet Beatrice as a lone voice begins to share their hidden
chapter…

Preying on You

M
ost guys have a thing for blondes, perky breasts and legs that
don’t stop. I should know. I’ve got all three and men have paid a
heck of a lot of money to watch me dance every night. It wasn't
exactly a career choice. I just sort of fell into it and then stuck
around for a while.

Growing up in a strict, God fearing
family I knew it was wrong. I was riding on a one way train to Hell
with no chance of derailing, but when those lights would dim and
the spotlight was on me I felt invincible. I commanded the room and
was compensated well for my efforts.

The girls I danced with were there for
their own reasons and I didn’t pry. The life of a pole dancer was
one best kept private. I didn’t ask questions and I sure as hell
didn’t hang around long enough to be anyone’s BFF, but I did manage
to make a few enemies along the way. Envious girls could be cut
throat, especially when they viewed me as a threat.

I worked at this club just
outside of town called
Pussy Cats
for nearly six months after it opened its doors.
Horrible name but it drew in the expected clientele. Most were beer
bellied truck drivers on long hauls cross country, the husband who
snuck out of town for a guy’s night or the odd old man in the back
corner trying to coax life into the wrinkled part of himself that
he was far too old to get up anymore.

The building was nothing
more than a pieced together shack located just off a two-lane
highway that funneled people into that little burg of Clarksdale.
Local ‘churchies’ kicked up quite a fuss when the neon pink lights
flickered on for the first time. They did a good job of protesting
for a while but eventually
Pussy
Cats
just became part of the scenery and
the local police began walking through those front doors for more
than a civil complaint.

I didn’t mind it none. I wasn’t from
around those parts and the cops were some of the best tippers.
Those and the carpool dads whose wives spent more time in the gym
than writhing in bed beneath them. It took me a while to accept the
depravity that I saw. The unfaithfulness was ugly to me but slowly
I began to realize that I gave those men what was lacking in this
lives. And to that I said shame on those wives for driving their
men from their homes.

People in those parts knew me as
Dazzle because I had a thing for sparkly outfits with rhinestones
that would catch in the lights as I danced. I had expensive tastes
and Johnny, the club owner, bent to my wishes more than any of the
other girls. It wasn’t like the outfits got much use anyways. Mine
usually hit the floor not long after I took the stage.

No one knew my real name and I liked
it that way. I could hide in plain sight, with only a mask to cover
my face when there was nothing concealing the rest of
me.

“
You workin’ tonight,
Dazz?” A voice, ruined by years spent puffing on cigarettes, called
out as I entered through the back door. The wind coming across the
open desert seized the door from my grip and slammed it shut with a
loud bang. I shivered despite the air pumping from the vent
overhead. The cool heat was from an electric furnace that did squat
to warm me and usually rattled like one of those vibrating beds you
still find in some highway motels.

I plastered on a smile as I sauntered
into the room to my right, always careful to keep my expression
guarded and my intentions even more so. The room was dimly lit and
every square inch of wall space was filled with mirrors, racks of
feathers boas, skimpy outfits to match a wide array of men’s
unspoken fetish desires and a wall of heels that would make any
high stepping, fancy business woman drool.

Darla ‘Diamond’ Malone stood beside an
arched mirror, her hair piled high and trailing around her face in
heavy curls. The style was an attempt to hide her age but Mother
Nature had a way of betraying a girl when precious commodities
started sagging so she usually delayed the final reveal until the
last possible moment, but she was good with her mouth and a whip so
Johnny kept her around for a very specific clientele.

Diamond had one leg propped up on her
dressing table and was tugging a pair of black fish net hose up her
legs to hide any cellulite when I slung my bag onto my own table.
Lord knows I had no intention of sticking around as long as she
did. My desires for life were far loftier than that seedy back room
or having bills tucked into my panties each night, though for that
moment it suited me nicely.

“
Thought I’d pick up an
extra shift since I was out sick last week. Damn flu knocked me
flat on my ass for nearly a week. I heard Johnny took some flack
over some big hitter that came in to see me so I figured a little
ass kissing was in order," I said in response to Diamond's earlier
question.

She grabbed a pair of four-inch heeled
black boots with metal clasps running down the shin and slipped her
feet inside. They came up just over her knees and finished off her
look. For a girl as tall as her I wasn’t sure the heels did her any
justice but it was all about the image. “Johnny blew a nut last
Friday. Got pretty ugly around here. I knew to stay low when he
started knocking back his whiskeys.”

Although Johnny “The Hand” Blair had
never struck any of his girls, I knew the type. He was a bottle
rocket strapped to dynamite with a short fuse just waiting for an
excuse and I wasn’t about to give him one.

“
I’ll smooth it over. I’m
sure if the new guy comes back in I can offer him a free lap dance
to make up for it.” I’ve yet to be turned down.

“
You’ve already danced for
him before, you know?”

“
Really?” I tried to think
back to any guy that would have stood out to me as having a bit
more class that the usual guys that fill up
Pussy Cats
on the weekend but the
memory failed me.

“
He’s that guy that likes
to take pictures of you.”

I nod slowly. The first time Johnny
asked me to dance in the VIP lounge nearly a month back I’d thought
it odd that no one was there. Just a blank room, a pole and a
spotlight. Usually when I danced I had a guy sitting front and
center so he wouldn’t miss a second of the action but this guy
stayed in the shadows. It’d taken me a few minutes to realize that
the clicking sound I heard was the shutter of a lens.

“
Yeah, that was a bit
creepy.”

“
Tell me about it,” Diamond
said. “It’s bad enough dancing out there but to have some guy take
pictures of you home with him after...God only knows what he did
with those photos.”

“
Oh, stop it!” I tried to
laugh it off but my mind sank right into the same gutter as
Diamond. I wallowed there a bit and the longer I remained the more
convinced I was that wearing a mask when I performed was my only
saving grace.

I had danced for my unseen
client three times. Each session for a half hour. No less. No more.
When I finished I was asked to gather my clothes and leave. When I
exited the curtained room I was handed a manila envelope with two
thousand dollars in it from a guy large enough to take any of
the
Pussy Cats
bouncers on a good day.

As fucked up as those dances had been,
I liked the money. Knowing that I missed out on a good pay day
ticked me off.

“
Maybe he’ll be back
tonight. Friday’s seem to be his drug of choice,” I mused, already
thinking about the weekend in Vegas I had planned for that two
grand. I needed a break. To let off steam and indulge in some mind
blowing hook-up sex. I was long overdue.

Diamond tapped one polished onyx nail
against her black lips. She had a thing for black. Probably had a
bit of goth in her before she waltzed into this life. The spiked
dog collar around her neck wasn’t something I fancied to tangle
with but none of her clients had yet to complain about being
stabbed in the thigh when she went down on them. “I think you might
just get that opportunity.”

I arched a perfectly curved eyebrow
and glanced toward the curtain that separated the dressing room and
the stage. Outside I could hear some honkytonk country twang
blasting through the speakers and knew Trixie was riding that pole
like a cowboy in heat. When she was done Diamond would take over
with her whips and give a show some guys would never forget and
several would secretly jot down on their “my wife is too much of a
prude to try this shit” list. It was a thing of pure beauty when
Diamond bent a guy over her knee and spanked him for the first
time.

“
You saw him?” I snuck a
peek through the velvet curtain but couldn’t see the seating area
beyond the blinding spotlights. I was right. Trixie had the men on
their feet vying for space around the stage, hands crammed against
their mouths and cocks so hard I could nearly see every vein
pulsing from here. Good for her. She was making bank tonight! Even
more if she decided to spread her legs later in the VIP lounge
upstairs. It wasn’t something Johnny publically advertised as being
on the menu but exceptions were made for certain
clients.

Diamond straightened her leather mini
skirt before leaning into the mirror to double check the dark eye
shadow she expertly applied to hide the wrinkles beginning to form
in the corners. “Didn’t you notice that limo out front?”

“
Can’t say that I did.” I
released the curtain and walked past the rack of clothing toward my
table. If Diamond was right I would need to put a little extra into
my performance tonight. Maybe I could draw him out of hiding and
finally get to see what he looked like.

Maybe he was disfigured? Some of the
guys who came in here sported various work related injuries that
knocked their self-esteem down too low to find a date of their own.
Maybe he’s really old? That doesn’t really bother me if the money
is good and the lights are bright enough to shield my
eyes.

“
You must have been blind
then.” Diamond broke through my thoughts when she smacked her lips
and scrunched her moussed curls then turned toward me.

I unzipped my pants and dropped them
to the floor before stepping out of my panties. I took a moment to
fold them, placing them in my bag before I yanked my shirt over my
head and flipped the clasp of my bra. The cold air prickled against
my skin as I walked over to the rack that had my name on it. Only
my name. Dazzle didn’t share. Johnny’s rules.

When Diamond sighed, I glanced back
over my shoulder at her. “What?”

“
What I wouldn’t give to
have a pair of tits like yours again. I had them once, you know?
Men used to pay good money to watch them bounce. Now I keep these
babies rolled up tight.”

I laughed and trailed my hands over a
new section of outfits, not the least bit uncomfortable about being
naked in front of her. Johnny went shopping and bought me a few new
pretties. I paused on a bra and bikini set that looked like silky
charcoal with diamond jewels lining it. There was a matching mask
with silver ties attached. Perfect!

“
You’re not even pushing
forty yet, Diamond. Besides, you’ve found other ways to give them
their jollies.” I slipped the mask on and turned to look at her.
“No shame in that.”

Her face scrunched up and she tapped
her leg with her whip, the strips of leather slapping against her
bare skin. “Sometimes it ain’t so nice though, you know? Sometimes
I have to hold my breath and get it over with.”

I hated that for Darla. I’d heard some
of the other girls complain about the dismal hygiene but so far I
hadn’t had to deal with that. I commanded a higher price and that
usually came from the more affluent clients. The ones who bathed
daily and requested a private dance with a hand job that usually
ended with a groaned proposal of marriage if I promised to do that
every night for them.

I’d yet to do the deed with anyone
while on the job. Johnny figured he’d save me for the right guy.
Too bad he didn’t know that I only fucked who I wanted and when I
wanted.

Grabbing my outfit off the hanger, I
crossed over to my bag and rummaged around inside then tossed Darla
a pack of wintergreen mints. “Might help a bit with the
taste.”

“
Thanks.” She glanced down
at her outfit and laughed. “They need to make pockets in these
things.”

“
Why?” I slipped my legs
into my panties. They rode low on my hips, dipping enough to give a
hint of what lay beneath without being indecent. That was good. Men
liked to be teased, taunted with the goods before it was revealed.
The mystery of what I had to offer was sometimes better than the
real thing. I fastened the bra latch and settled my breasts into
the lined cups. No padding was needed. I had enough to fill the
entire cup and a little to spare. “I never wear anything very
long.”