Demon's Offer

By Tamara Clay

SMASHWORDS Edition

Copyright© 2012 by Tamara Clay
www.TamaraClayErotica.com

Sara spotted the man as soon as he entered the club.
He was a tall, imposing presence, dressed immaculately in a
pristine white suit. In the smoky gloom he shone like a beacon, and
was a million miles away from the usual clientele they got in here.
Most of the visitor's to the Devil's Playground were anything but
interesting. But this one was something else. His sleek, cut glass
features stood out as his dark eyes swept the room fixing on Sara
who was dancing on the stage. Their gazes met, and a trill of
electricity shot through her.

“Hey honey, shake that ass!”

The catcall from below brought her back to reality.
She looked down at the customer who had shouted at her. He was
dressed in a rumpled suit and had a shit-faced grin splayed across
his arrogant face. She took him for a stockbroker. He waved a
twenty dollar bill at her. “Come on baby, give me that sugar!”

Prick!
Sara said to herself
as she pouted at him and turned round. She heard the stockbroker
make appreciative noises as she shook her tight little ass at him.
It was one of her best features, in addition to her other two ample
assets, and the minuscule black g-string complemented it perfectly.
A ragged cheer went up from the other watching customers.

She turned round and thrust her crotch at the
stockbroker. He whooped like an excited teenager, and waved the
dollar bill at her. Leaning forward, Sara gave him her best
I-wanna-suck-your-dick smile, and took the bill in her teeth.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” the little
prick drooled. “You’ll do anything for cash won’t you, slut!”

Sara fought back the reflex to claw his eyes out.
Even after a whole year working in the club she’d still not got
used to being treated as a piece of meat. In the not too distance
past, she’d never realized dives like this existed, and in all her
wildest nightmares, she’d never thought she’d end up working in
such a place. But Fate was a cruel mistress and she’d decided to
condemn Sara to this living hell without any chance of
reprieve.

Remembering the stranger, she scanned the bar but
there was no sign of him. She made eye-contact with Candy on the
nearby podium. She was doing her naughty nurse dance routine for a
pack of horny college students, and she flashed Sara a weary
smile.

Sara returned the smile, feeling a small lift in her
spirits. Candy was her best friend in the Devil's Playground. The
older woman had taken the scared and naïve little rich kid Sara
once was, under her wing and showed her the ropes. She’d taught
Sara how to dance and how to tease the customers, and had shielded
her from the unsavory advances of Al, the Devil's Playground’s
slimy manager.

As if on cue, he shambled out from behind the bar.
She felt his lecherous gaze on him as she danced, and did her best
to ignore it. A deep, malignant feeling of shame burned inside her.
Every fiber of her being screamed that what she was doing was
wrong. Stripping for money was utterly degrading, and her parents
would be shocked and horrified if they could see what their little
girl had become. The asshole stockbroker was right. She was a slut.
A dirty whore who deserved everything she got.

That’s enough, s
he told
herself angrily. She wasn’t a piece of trash. She was a decent and
brave woman. Candy always said that it was the guys who came here
who were dirty. They were dirty and hypocritical, coming to places
like these for a cheap thrill, then heading home to their wives and
girlfriends. It was them who should be ashamed. Candy told Sara she
should be proud she wasn’t like that. Sara had to take her clothes
off out of necessity. The men who watched her had the choice to do
the right thing, but didn’t.

Sara felt a little better as she remembered this.
Candy had two little daughters to support, and this was the only
way she could make the money to give them the life she wanted for
them. Sara also knew Candy worked the private rooms upstairs. These
were private apartments where some of girls entertained wealthier
clients who wanted more than just a dance.

The girl always shuddered when she thought about the
private rooms. The Devil's Playground didn’t just offer a straight
forward prostitution service. The clients paying for sex here had
sadistic tastes and demanding expectations. More than once, Sara
had seen the bruises and cuts on Candy’s body, and twice she’d had
to go to hospital after a brutal session. Sara had no idea how
Candy could stand it. Many of the other girls selected for the
rooms hadn’t lasted long, or had become drug addicts to cope. She
was just grateful she’d been spared those particular duties.

As she gyrated for a grossly obese man and his
friends, Sara's eye snagged the wall clock behind the bar. Her
break was only five minutes away, and she sagged with relief. For
some reason, tonight’s shift had dragged, and she was weary both
physically and emotionally. Bitter memories floated about her mind
like flotsam, and the arrival of the stranger had rattled her for
some reason. It would be good to get some private time, no matter
how brief, to clear her head.

When break time came round, she sauntered off stage
and navigated a course through the sweaty heave of bodies. Clad in
only heels and a g-string, her sleek, tanned body attracted more
than enough ogling stares. She looked ahead, refusing to
acknowledge the looks or lewd remarks. A grasping hand reached out
to stroke her long, silky soft hair and she turned her head to
glare at him. She put enough vehemence in her sapphire bright eyes
to make the presumptuous creep retreat back behind his beer.

Sara felt a swell of satisfaction, and made a beeline
for the staff room. Al appeared like a ghost in front of her. “I
need you upstairs,” he said in a low gravelly voice.

Sara blinked at him. “Upstairs?” A blade of dread
sliced through her. Upstairs meant the private rooms. “But I don’t
work upstairs.”

“You do now,” Al replied brusquely. “A client has
specifically asked for you. Upstairs, Room Nine.” He must have seen
the look of sheer terror in Sara’s eyes, because he laughed out
loud. “Don’t look so worried princess. He just wants a dance,
nothing else. Your virtue will stay intact.”

Sara relaxed a little, but was still edgy about the
whole idea. If Al had his way, Sara would have been working the
private rooms from day one. Unlike a lot of the girls in the
Devil's Playground, Sara still had the look of an innocent that
drove the customers crazy. Her lean, teenager’s body and large
natural breasts made her an instant hit, and no matter the late
hours and tiring shifts, she still maintained that fresh,
girl-next-door look. No, it had been Candy who’d saved her from the
rooms. She and Al went way back, and Candy knew where all the
bodies were buried, quite literally in some cases. She’d used her
leverage to make sure Al kept Sara downstairs. Candy was
amazing.

“It’s my break,” Sara said pugnaciously. “I got
fifteen minutes.”

“You get up there now,” Al snapped. “He don’t want to
wait. You might be one of Candy’s charity cases, but you ain’t got
special privileges. Now get the fuck up there or I’ll dock your
wages.”

Sara made to argue further, but decided against it.
She’d been very lucky to have Candy looking out for her, but it
wasn’t a good idea to piss off Al too much. “Okay,” she said, “I’m
going.”

Al nodded with a grunt, and Sara turned back in the
other direction, toward the wide staircase that led up to the
private rooms. A growing sense of dread filled her, and she glanced
over to Candy as she went up the steps. The other woman was looking
at her, before turning away quickly. Sara frowned in confusion. She
couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a look of guilt in
Candy’s eyes. When she reached the top of the stairs and looked
again, Candy was busy with her act, no longer watching Sara.

There was no time to dwell on it further, she
reflected. The mystery client was waiting. Taking a deep breath,
she headed across the carpeted hallway and opened the double doors
in front of her.

The noise and music of downstairs was snuffed out
when she closed the doors behind her. The din was replaced by a
thick silence, and Sara looked about nervously. She’d never been in
this part of the building before.

A long corridor faced her. It was tastefully
furnished with dark blue wallpaper, and an expensive blue carpet
stretched beneath her feet. Wall lamps in the shape of burning
torches lined the walls, their low yellow light creating brooding
caverns of shadows. It was ominously quiet.

Very slowly, Sara started off down the passageway. On
either side, she saw there were doors spaced evenly. They were made
of a polished black wood, and ornate handles. Each one had a number
underneath which was a stylized Devil's Playground symbol embossed
in gold. Sara stopped in front of Room Nine, and tried to stop her
legs from shaking.

Despite Al’s assurances, the reputation of the
private rooms was too terrible to shrug off. She might have been a
stripper, but she was no whore and she’d never do the sort of
things expected here. In fact, the only man she’d ever had sex with
was Bobby, and that had been long before she started working at the
Devil's Playground.

For long moments she stood looking at the door,
unsure what to do. Was she supposed to knock, or walk straight in?
From the room directly behind her she thought she heard a woman
crying. Tensing up, she rapped her knuckles against the door to
Room Nine, and turned the handle.

It was unlocked, and she stepped in to a large dimly
lit room. It was furnished in the same dark blues as the corridor,
and elegant standing lamps punctuated the gloom. Sara’s scanned the
room, taking in the large bed that looked to be made of black
leather, and the black leather couch taking up the far wall. Sara’s
client was lounging on it watching her.

Sara caught her breath. It was the elegant man she’d
seen before. He looked her up and down, an amused look scrawled on
his elegant features. It made him look like a cruel bastard.

“Come on in sugar,” he drawled in a warm Southern
accent. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He brushed strands of his
thick hair from his eyes as she closed the door, and moved deeper
in to the room. It was swept forward in a pronounced fringe that
made him look boyish, an intriguing counter-point to his sharp
features. His eyes glittered with reptilian cunning.

“Hi,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. “You
wanted me to dance for you.”

“I sure did sugar, spotted you soon as I walked in,”
he replied. “My, my but you’re a fine piece of tail and no
mistake.” He eyed her breasts with a leering smile, and without any
sense of self-consciousness, he began rubbing his slender hand
along the large bulge between his legs. “Girl, I could shoot my
load right here and now on those delectable puppy dogs of yours.
What they call you sugar?”

Sara stared at him, caught between a feeling of
instant disgust and shock. His manner was nothing like she
expected. She’d done private dances before, and despite the
horseplay downstairs, none of the customers were as brazen as this
creep. She tried to ignore the faint tingle of arousal as she
looked at his package, and forced a fake hostess smile on to her
face.

“My name’s Trixie,” she said. “You want me to dance
for you now?”

Still rubbing himself, he grinned like a Cheshire
cat. “Trixie is it? How delightfully trashy.” He cocked his head to
one side and tapped at his porcelain white teeth. “Nope,” he said
at length. “You ain’t no Trixie, sugar.” He stopped rubbing
himself, and gave her an appraising look. “I’d say you were more of
a Sara.”

Sara’s heart missed a beat. The fake smile vanished
and she gave him an openly hostile look. “So, you got Al to tell
you my real name. Why ask if you knew already?”

The man settled back in the couch. The leather
groaned as it folded around the contours of his body. “I always
like my women to lie to me sugar.”

The way he said my women, sent a chill through her.
She wasn’t his woman at all. She was being paid to do a job that
was all. She wasn’t anyone’s possession. She suddenly felt very
self-conscious, and folded her arms over her naked breasts.

“Oh, don’t sulk sugar,” the man said. “We’re all
friends here. I’ll tell you my name and then we’ll be square, how’s
about that?”

Sara shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever.”

“It’s Braeden,” said the man, as if that was
significant. Sara was nonplussed. When she didn’t comment he laced
his long fingers together. “Well, now the introductions are out of
the way, why don’t we get down to business. Some music I
think.”