“Honey, I get the feeling you need something more than this,” she purred, running a finger down her patron’s cheek.
The Red Tail was teeming with bodies this time of night, the fact that is was a Tuesday making no difference to the crowd. Red neon lights lit the dancers up like holographic succubi, whilst the wide-eyed men and women threw bills at them, hoping one of them would take pity and show them to Dante’s Hall: a private room that was essentially a free-for-all for whatever the dancer and her chosen one decided to work out. Sometimes it was just a lap dance, other times it was copious amounts of sex, still others it was drug dealing. It was all part and parcel to the rules of the Red Tail: do what you want, don’t get caught. And of course, don’t fuck with the dancers.
This patron had been tucking bills into her stockings all night, hanging on to her every move with hungry eyes. She enjoyed the attention, the almost-groveling they did at her heeled feet, it was not a secret. She had her pick of men and women who would more than willingly give her what she needed, if only in return she gave them a light kiss, a hint of something more to come, perhaps even a small Prayer …
She stepped carefully off her stage, taking his hand and leading him away, her girls barely batting an eyelash. She wore a white leather corset with matching panties and heels, fishnet stockings climbing her thighs and sitting snug beneath her ass. She was in her prime when she wore her dancing outfit, though she could feel powerful in sweatpants if she chose. They passed through the crowd, several patrons looking murderous with envy at her chosen. He stumbled behind her while her stride was precise and fueled with purpose: she was here to dazzle, seduce, a game of take and give, and she was the referee.
The door to Dante’s Hall was black with gold trim and highly polished, with a small gold plaque on the face of it with the name. It was the talk in the underground scene that passing through this door could fulfill your greatest wishes or nightmares. She passed through them with her charge, shutting the door with a snap behind her.
It was a small room, with two velvet chintz chairs and a small stage in the corner that a silver pole ran through. Beneath the stage was a hidden compartment, where toys of varying degrees were stored, along with lube, gags, and a small silver box that she retained the key to. In this box was her customer supply of Prayer.
She would take the recipe to Prayer to the grave with her. Prayer, as she had decided to call it, was one of the highest forms of hallucinogenics you get obtain. She had been working to perfect it since she was eighteen, when she had first become a believer. She had been a user, once upon a time – she had no problem admitting that. It was a weakness, as all humans are wont to have. She had battled through it, coming out the other side scarred, torn, but victorious. And she had found herself in the middle of an underground world, where danger, sex, and the wrong word could end your life all shared a space. But what she saw was an opportunity.
She knew, first hand, that drugs were a leash – not just to your mind, but your body, your actions, even your very words. It was both an escape and a prison, and upon returning to the world from her own jail cell in her mind – and she knew who she had to thank for that – she knew she wanted to hold that leash. To have that kind of power over a person, to be their idol, to be their god … well, God would forgive her sins, as she worked in His name. Why else would she name her creation after that heady letter everyone sent to Him?
She encouraged her young patron to take a seat, whilst she pulled out a key from her corset, sliding the drawer under the stage open. An ebony box lay inside, and she pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. She returned to the young man and sat across from him. He was sweating from nerves, though the room felt fairly warm as well. As she settled into her chair, he slid to his knees before her, hands clasped in her lap.
“Please miss, I’ve come so far to experience the love you share with us all …”
She uncorked the vial, curving a finger under his chin and elevating his face upwards. “You will be blessed, rest assured …”
She tipped the vial down his throat, noises of relief gurgling from his chest. He sat a moment, resting on his heels with his hands still in her lap, before he turned his face towards her properly. His eyes had gone a misty grey, and the most languorous smile passed over his face. She rose, sliding him off her lap long enough for her to slip her panties off, hanging it over his shoulder. He seemed delighted at this, and moved towards her eagerly as she sat back, fishnet pressing into her skin. She tapped her knee, a wicked smile on her face.
“There, my child. Praise be to Him on this day, and thus you will give thanks as you have given your word to do.”
The young man leaned forward, his tongue exploring her curves. The night had only begun.