The Degradation of Shelby Ann by Emma Cole
Sneak Peek from No Good Deed
Watch Me Burn
Eden
The burnt chemical taste hit the back of my throat as I inhaled tonight’s drug of choice from the glass pipe I’d stashed in my locker. I held it as long as I could before exhaling, letting the smoky substance billow out of my mouth. The effects immediately fell over me, washing across my skin like a splash of cold water on a hot day. Heat crawled up my cheeks, and my body already felt lighter. As much as I hated smoking my drugs, it was all I had to get through this shit night. I needed tonight's take to afford my preferred choice. The higher my tolerance built, the harder it became to keep myself supplied.
It was getting nearly impossible to stomach taking my clothes off for the seedy nightlife skulking around Cherry Baby, the strip club where I worked. Not that it had ever been my first choice or particularly enjoyable, but it was better than taking my clothes off on the streets. And unfortunately, sometimes I still had to go the extra mile after they came off to make ends meet. But it was good money, and I had nothing else. No family or friends, nothing besides the club and roommates that were merely acquaintances. The drugs made my shit life tolerable, which was why I stayed strung out almost twenty-four seven. They also ate up a good portion of my earnings… My days and nights were a vicious, continuous cycle of supply and demand.
I took one last hit then stashed my pipe back in its hiding spot, hoping Slimy Sam, the piece of shit bouncer here, wouldn’t find it and steal it from me. Again.
I walked over to one of the vanity mirrors and leaned against the tabletop. The bright lights and cheap fixtures were installed throughout the room, given to the girls here to hussy ourselves up for the clients. My dark eye makeup was starting to smear, giving my forest-green eyes a hollowed out appearance. Noticing the sunken contours of my once full cheeks, I groaned. I’d lost more weight in my face this month, and Danny was going to be pissed. Danny Savani was my boss, and even though this place wasn’t the worst joint in the downtown area, it was definitely not the best either.
Cherry Baby wasn't a terrible place to work. You didn't get forced into doing anything, but there was a certain expectation of willingness required, and you didn't last long without it. It also wasn't somewhere frat boys or family men came with their buddies when they were playing hooky from their wives, not unless they stumbled in by accident. No, this was a place that served a darker clientele, the ones that were rougher around the edges, much like the club itself. The club was done in an eclectic mix of gaudy and modern decor, depending on which area you were in. Some parts had been renovated, mostly the areas that customers would see, or the secured areas. While others, like the dressing room and back hallways, had only had the minimum maintenance done in recent years.
One of the areas Danny didn’t skimp was the entertainment. Without quality tits, ass, and at least a passably attractive face, he wouldn’t pull the full houses that packed in nightly. He didn't play games, and he expected his girls to maintain their tip-top shape, or they got the boot. I was one of his highest earners and had worked here longer than the ever-revolving queue of girls that came through. Not many of the employees stuck it out a year, let alone seven. But if I didn’t start remembering to eat, I’d be back to hooking on the streets. Trust me, it was much safer to entertain the crowd and service clients in the relative safety of the club, than in a john’s car or on a piece of discarded cardboard in a dirty alley.
With a glance at the big clock on the wall warning me my set was coming up, I hurried to fix my eye makeup and reapplied my signature black cherry lipstick. If anyone examined me closely, they'd see that I still looked blitzed out of my mind. Luckily for me, I’d done this shit long enough to fake it if I needed to, and their attention wouldn't be on my face if I did my job right. I quickly brushed through my long raven hair, smoothing down the flyaways, and made sure my fishnet thigh highs were situated just right. As soon as I finished, feeling I was as presentable as I was going to get, the door to the dressing room slammed open.
Sam, the slimy son of a bitch, stood in the doorway, his overly beefy hairy arms crossed over his bulging chest. The man looked like an ape but had half the IQ, I swear it had something to do with the 'supplements' he took for working out, but it wasn't like I had any room to point fingers. He was pissed tonight though, his pockmarked cheeks going taut as he clenched his teeth until his face settled into a scowl.
“You’re late for your set. Get the fuck out there,” he growled, throwing a sausage-sized thumb over his shoulder. “Boss has got some important guests that’ll be requiring your services tonight, and they were promised a front row preview of the merchandise. Don’t fuck this up for him.”
I unwrapped a cherry lollipop, popping it into my mouth to hide the residual scent of chemicals on my breath. “Got it, Hulk. The boss won’t be displeased."
Sam caught my arm as I tried to pass him, squeezing my bicep tighter than necessary. “Watch your fucking mouth. I got no problem with you frying your fucking brain, but I bet the boss will.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. Surprisingly, he let go without issue. I guessed he was probably worried about leaving a mark and Danny finding out.
“I’ll watch my mouth when you learn to stop touching me. Wouldn’t wanna damage Danny’s goods, now would ya?” I grinned at him, knowing damn well I’d won this round by the look of pure hatred on Sam’s face. Any encounter with the man was about as pleasing as a cheese grater catching your skin because you were too lazy to use the food holder. Winning arguments with him was always a favorite pastime, especially since he was one of the few that had been here as long as me. If he didn't rub me the wrong way we might have even been friends.
Knowing I really did need to get in position before I missed my cue, I headed for the stage and tried not to stumble on my stiletto heels as I made my way out into the hall. My small window of coherency was depleting fast as the drugs started to fully kick in. With my tolerance getting higher, the time of lucidity was getting narrower with the heavier substance use I required. And I’d used up too much of it arguing with Sam.
The sickening aroma of stale beer, too much cheap perfume and cologne, and cigarettes hit me as I stepped out into the open club. It was packed tonight as usual, and not likely to empty ‘til well into the early morning. Some of the girls were already doing their sets on the smaller stages set out along the floor, while others waited on tables and catered to the numerous partying patrons around the room.
The announcer's voice came on over the speakers, getting the crowd—and my would-be clients—ready for my appearance.
“Alright, gentlemen, get your wallets ready, it's time for tonight's headliner to come out. Our next dancer on the big stage is no divine being, but her body and moves will have you thanking God that she was created. Give it up for Angel!”
I held back the scoff I wanted to let out. If there was a God, he sure as hell wasn’t watching over this place. Or me for that matter. I doubted even the devil would want to claim either one.
I softly rubbed a thumb over a small peony-shaped birthmark on my left wrist, a tradition I’d had as long as I could remember. I wasn’t sure why it provided me a small sense of solace, but I believed it gave me luck in small doses. Enough to keep me surviving in this fucked up world.
Taking a deep breath in, I sashayed like the good little stripper they wanted me to be as I climbed the set of stairs to the stage in preparation of coming out of the hidden exit. I didn't pause, but kept going, heading straight for the spotlight that illuminated the pole. Pushing away the view of the clamoring customers around me, I instead focused on the feeling pulsing through my body and the fast-paced vulgar-worded song playing over the speakers. I rocked and swirled my body, using the pole as my crutch and lifeline to keep from falling on my ass as I performed. Roars of approval met my ears as the lace of my panties hit the glossy surface, the audience none the wiser to my state, and the bills floated around me as they were tossed onto the stage. All I had to get through now was the up-close and personal portion of the act, and I would be almost done with the evening.
Forcing my eyes to focus, I zeroed in on the two men in suits sitting just at the edge of the stage. Those suits were not the kind you find at a rent-a-tux. They were tailor made and obviously expensive, alerting me that these two were likely my clients for the night. I made sure to give them as much eye contact and full frontal views of my body as possible. As usual after using, my jaw was stiff, and if I wasn't careful I'd be unconsciously grinding my teeth and eventually I'd end up looking like the addict I was with fucked up or missing teeth. I forced my jaw to loosen and plastered a fake smile on my face as I continued. If I fucked this up, I was a goner.
The men lined up against the edge of the stage seemed to love every second of what I gave, delivering an occasional smack to my ass when I ventured close enough or shouting ‘Fuck yeah, baby!’ and ‘Give us more!’ at me. The urge to vomit reared up, but I didn't have time to deal with an upset stomach, and I squashed it down before getting down on the floor for the eye-level portion of my routine. Tits hanging and ass up and swaying, I made my rounds as I periodically flashed my crotch and played with myself, mostly in front of the two I sure as hell hoped were my clients. It wouldn't do to fuck up and give overt attention to the wrong customers.
By the time my set ended, sweat coated my body, and my stomach still rolled with nausea. My pansy ass stomach needed to get with the program, sucking, fucking, or both was about to go down, and I'd be worse off if I ran out of the tiny bit I had left in my pipe. The men had turned to leave before I made it back through the hidden door, and I knew I'd only have a few minutes to freshen up. Either Danny or one of the other bouncers would make their inevitable appearance to escort me to the selected room.
I barely made it back to the dressing room bathroom and into a stall before dry heaving over the toilet. Fucking miserable, I went to the sink and rinsed my mouth before drinking straight from the tap in an effort to put something in my stomach. Using wet paper towels, I freshened up the best I could in the sink and felt marginally better afterward, enough to hopefully finish out the night, and went to my locker for mouthwash. I swiftly lit up my pipe, taking a bigger hit than last time to tide me over before filling my mouth with the rinse and swishing on the way back to the bathroom. A quick spit and another rinse with water to tame the minty aftertaste, and I headed out into the main dressing area to prepare for my clients.
* * *
I picked my way through the feather boas, scraps of lace masquerading as underwear, and the ever-present rainbow coating of glitter that could never be fully cleaned from the room as I made my way to the door. Bliss coursed through my body by the time I neared the T in the hall, one way leading to the area for private showings, AKA the brothel dens, and the other back to the stages and bar. Even the chipped paint and stains on the dingy cinderblock walls couldn't rouse the disgust they usually inspired in me. I ignored the looks of pity a few of the new girls aimed my way when they passed me on their way in from waiting tables. If they lasted a month, they'd be on their knees or bouncing on a dick right along with me, but that was usually when they balked and got their pink slips. Must be nice to have the option to keep your integrity. Me? I liked food in my belly and the crappy apartment I could just barely afford after scoring from my dealer.
Sam waited at the split to escort me to the proper den, probably to make sure I didn't try to jet. Not that I would without my earnings from the set. My gas tank had been sucking fumes as I pulled into the back lot, the little orange light mocking me from the dash as it let me know that I was too strapped to make it back home without tonight's pay. Unless I wanted to walk… But if I attempted that, I'd be giving up the goods for free long before I made it to my block.
"You know, you could have just told me the room number, unless you're planning to watch from your hidey-hole again to yank one out. Better clear it with the boss though. You fuck up with his guests, and you'll join Mickey at whatever pig farm his pieces were sent to." My words sounded a bit slurred, even to me, but the burly man didn't seem to care, visibly paling at my reminder instead. All the long-timers, like me and Slimy Sam, witnessed what had happened when a group of recognizable high-rollers came in and Mickey, a new bouncer, had thought to hide in the passage that ran behind dens.
The club was originally a speakeasy, the dens the original party rooms, with cubbies featuring spy holes. That hall was supposed to be locked, and the cubbies stayed curtained off unless Danny wanted to gather dirt or make sure his merchandise wasn't being used for unpaid extras. It was cheaper than surveillance equipment yet still effective. Sam had the keys as it was his job to do the checks, but the boss had some people even he wouldn't fuck with. Those clients were usually touted as 'guests' and treated accordingly if you had any type of survival instinct, which the idiot opportunistic Mickey had lacked. Dumb fuck had had to be collected and deep cleaned out of one of the back rooms after the boss' guests came knocking when Mickey had tried to blackmail them.
I remembered the plastic totes he'd been carted out in, totes I'd had to help fill. The smell of death and fucking meat had been horrendous enough for the mere memory to nearly have me puking now. I'd been new back then. Definitely not innocent, as I'd been turning tricks on the street just to survive before Danny hired me, but I hadn't been an addict at that point. No, the drugs came later when I couldn't sleep. The nightmares and phantom scents were bad enough, but it was the terror that the same would happen to me that kept me startling awake at every noise. It affected my job performance and attracted Danny's attention, so when one of the other girls offered me something to calm down, I took it without question. Experimenting with what would dull the world but still allow me to function and fit into my budget, I started my descent into addiction.
By the time Danny figured out I was a junkie, my drug use was affecting my sets. I think some small amount of guilt kept him from firing me, but I'd been warned to tone it down at work and keep earning him money. Which led to needing at least a modicum of quality to the junk and higher prices. Which in turn led to being the resident cum dump that wouldn't turn down any request, barring a few things Danny himself put in place. He needed me whole and able to work, after all.
A sharp slap to my thigh brought me out of whatever space I’d drifted off to. I guess Slimy Sam finally noticed I'd topped up after my set.
"You're going to be the one that fucks this up if you don't lay off the pipe." My worry blazed a path through the haze. There'd be nothing I could do to stop him from breaking into my locker while I was occupied with cock-gobbling. If he took my pipe, I'd have to use a lightbulb again, and the old-fashioned ones were hard to come by nowadays. "Jesus fucking Christ, girl, where'd you go this time?"
With a good deal of effort, I made myself focus on Sam. "I got this. Just tell me which room," I said even as the effort to be lucid brought back the nausea. Fuck, maybe I'm getting sick. I couldn't afford to take time off. Before I could start to zone out on what I'd do if I got bad enough to need to stay home, Sam grabbed my arm and tugged me through the windowed door to a nicer section of the warren of corridors that made up the club. Here, the cinderblock walls were covered in faux velvet hangings, making a tawdry yet posher atmosphere than the employee halls.
I thought about struggling, but I was too worried I'd twist an ankle in my sky-high stilettos thanks to my inebriated state. "You know what'll happen if you walk into the wrong room. I thought you wanted to keep your job," the dick sneered down at me.
He wasn't wrong though. Clients tended to get pissed and demanded refunds if the debauchery they’d come for was interrupted. Refunds meant someone had to pay the difference, and that someone wouldn't be the house. I couldn't afford to cover even a basic blowie at this point. Not until I got my cut from tonight. Which reminded me...
"Hey, who collected my money tonight? If I get shorted again, I'm gonna cut a bitch." Usually, I'd collect my own bills off the stage and tally up with the house, but when I had clients that couldn't be kept waiting, one of the other girls was given the task so I could freshen up and be punctual. The last time, I'd made half of my usual, and that shit wasn't happening again. The club was full, and the audience had been generous.
"I had one of the other guys escort a newb straight to the cage." I breathed a sigh of relief at that; the cage was where all the money was taken to be tallied up, and it did have surveillance. "Straighten up and do your job, or I might just be able to convince the boss to let me have a turn." Sam's very short-lived nicety regarding my earnings was immediately squashed by the reminder that even as a whore I wouldn't let him have a go at me. Slimy prick. At least he turned my arm loose as we started passing doors with a cacophony of moans, grunts, and the bass of music filtering through them. The higher-priced rooms were soundproofed, though that could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the client.
"By the way," he said as we reached the V.I.P. room, "they requested some girl-on-girl action... I sent Trixie."
Other than a scathing glare, I couldn't do or say shit. He'd opened the door right as my nemesis' name tripped out of his jackass face. Knowing exactly that, he just smiled back at me as he used one meaty hand to shove me over the threshold, the other shutting the door behind me.
This is hell.