Demon's Offer Read online

  Demon's Offer

  By Tamara Clay

  SMASHWORDS Edition

  Copyright© 2012 by Tamara Clay

  www.TamaraClayErotica.com

  Demon's Offer

  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, she 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.”

  From somewhere in the room, a low tune started up. It was a strange, disturbing sound full of shrill violins and a dark techno beat. It hurt Sara’s ears to listen to it, but she felt a compulsion to dance to its beat, stretching her body and moving sinuously in time to it.

  “That’s it sugar,” Braeden said with relish. “Oh yeah, you’re a natural.”

  The music seeped in to her bones, animating her with its seductive power. She became one with it, losing herself in its power. Her hands slowly caressed her breasts, before slowly reaching down to her pelvic area. Her tight cunt moistened inside her skimpy g-string.

  “What are you doing here Sara?” Braeden asked abruptly.

  His voice broke the hypnotic pulse of the music. Her head wheeled in confusion. “You sent for me.”

  “I mean the Devil's Playground sugar, you don’t belong here.”

  “I need the money,” Sara said bitterly. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to pour out her heart to this unpleasant stranger. “I was on the streets before Candy found me and got me fixed up at the Devil's Playground.”

  “You weren’t always on the streets. You’re educated, cultured. You stink of old money.”

  Sara was shocked at the assertion but couldn’t deny it. Still dancing, she said, “My parents have money, and titles and power. They own half the city.” A pang of longing rose up inside her. “I had everything I wanted.”

  “But you lost it all,” Braeden said softly. “They disowned you.”

  “I fell in love with the wrong boy,” Sara said bleakly. The weird music stretched its tendrils in to her being, pulling forth all the pain and misery that consumed her. More than anything, she wanted to pour her heart out. “Bobby was amazing, but he was a street kid and a gang member. I used to meet him in secret and it was wonderful. Then he got arrested and tried to get me in trouble too.”

  “Mommy and daddy weren’t very sympathetic,” Braeden purred.

  Tears welled in Sara’s eyes. “Dad called me a slut and a whore. Told me I'd gotten what I deserved. The cops dropped the charges but my parents kicked me out of the house without a penny.”

  Braeden nodded. “Life’s tough for a little rich kid who ain’t rich no more, sugar. You had to do what it takes to survive.”

  “I hate doing this,” she said hotly. “Dancing, stripping, performing for dirty men. You’re all pigs! I shouldn’t be doing this! I shouldn’t be here!”

  The man smiled, it was a cruel and predatory smile. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

  “Of course it does,” she snapped. “What else am I supposed to fucking do?”

  “I could help you,” Braeden said.

  She stopped dancing. The weird music seemed to ebb away. “You’d help me? How?”

  “Well it’s not hard sugar,” Braeden chuckled. “Getting a private room on short notice ain’t cheap. I’m obscenely rich. I would be willing to get you out of this life, if you wanted.”

  Excitement surged through Sara before she could stop it. The chance of escaping this miserable life, almost override her suspicions. This weird guy didn’t seem like he was philanthropist. She frowned at him. “What do I have to do in return?”

  “Ah now sugar, that would be telling,” he laughed. “The question is do you really mean what you say. Do you really want to get out of this business?”

  “More than anything,” Sara replied. She had never been so certain of anythi
ng in her life before. Despite her misgivings towards Braeden, she needed so very desperately to escape.

  “More than anything,” Braeden echoed. “And if you let me help you, will you agree to the consequences, no matter what they are?”

  Sara didn’t answer straight away. She suddenly felt she was at a crossroads moment in her life. There were worse things in the world than stripping, and she’d been very lucky to get this job. She thought about Candy and her bruises and realized she’d end up in the working the private rooms one day if she stayed. At least maybe with Braeden, she might have a chance to escape this sleazy world once and for all.

  "You won't kill me or sell me to some white-slave ring?"

  "Nothing like that, I assure you."

  “Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll take up your offer. Anything is better than this.”

  “You agree to the consequences?” Braeden asked again, his eyes bright and feverish. “Say you agree to the consequences.”

  She swallowed. “Yes, I agree to the consequences.”

  Braeden seemed to relax, and what looked like triumph spread across his cruel, beautiful face. “Oh sugar, you don’t know how happy that makes me feel.”

  Sara watched him, uncertainly welling up inside her. “Okay, so what happens now?”

  Braeden looked at her, and the girl fell back when she saw the glowing red light in his eyes. “Now sugar, the real games begin.”

  He got slowly to his feet, and his body became wreathed in a hellish red light. Sara tried to turn and run, but she was rooted to the spot. The nightmarish music started up again, a jagged cacophony that ripped through her skull. “God! What’s happening?” she screamed out.

  Braeden grinned at her, and his teeth had become vicious fangs. The rest of his body began to change. His suit vanished, and he stood in a skimpy, ragged outfit of black leather, covered with chains and studs. Sara’s eyes widened as she stared at his powerful muscled body. His leather leggings had no crotch, and his veined, pendulous dick hung heavily between his legs. Braeden chuckled and squeezed it provocatively. His skin began to change color as well, darkening to a shade of vivid, satanic red. His handsome face narrowed, becoming more feral and cruel, and curved horns sprouted from his forehead. Only his silky hair remained unaffected by the dramatic transformation, making somehow more terrifying.