Angels & Sinners: The Motor City Edition

TABLE OF CONTENTS

SAPPHIRE

Ashley Suzanne

LEAP OF FAITH

Bethany Lopez

IN THE ARMS OF AN ENEMY

Bethany Shaw

MY NIGHT WITH CHARMING

Breigh Forstner

FROZEN DREAMS

Cori Williams

WHEELS & HOGS

D.M. Earl

IN DREAMS

Heather Mullins

AWAKENINGS

Jennifer Fisch-Ferguson

FLOORED

Melanie Harlow

OFFICE SPACE

Sara Mack

LIBERATION

Shayne McClendon

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SAPPHIRE

Ashley Suzanne

I am nobody. Just a girl. Just a girl that nobody really gives a shit about, not even my mother. She wouldn’t care if a cop showed up on her doorstep to tell her that her only daughter is dead. And that’s kind of where I’m headed. One can only do so much dope, fuck so many guys and live the life I live before karma catches up and puts their ass in the meat grinder.

Ask me if I fucking care. Go ahead, ask me. Okay, fine, don’t ask. The answer is going to be the same each and every time—I don’t care. There isn’t a whole lot these days that can make me bat an eyelash twice.

I’m the girl that nobody thinks twice about. I’m the girl that will lay on my back, part my thighs and let you take what you want, as long as I get something in return. Usually money, but sometimes a place to crash or some food.

That’s probably why my mother doesn’t want shit to do with me. Who wants to admit that her only daughter is a used up whore who isn’t even twenty-one yet? Probably not too many people, huh? Calling her for bail after getting picked up for hooking in the middle of the night was the last straw. It’s been six months since I’ve even heard my mother’s voice.

Over the last month, I’ve been dancing—I use that term liberally—at a strip club off the highway. Don’t get it in your head that I’m some glorified stripper strutting my stuff in my finest lingerie, six-inch platform shoes, hair perfectly curled, makeup to the nines and glittered head to toe. No, this isn’t
that
type of club. My attire usually consists of a matching bra and panty set from Wal-Mart and a pair of black pumps.

I actually just stumbled onto this job and it seemed logical to take it. What better place to find men that want to fuck for money and never get caught by a suspicious girlfriend or wife? The strip club—where the ATM withdrawal on your bank statement always reads some sort of sporting goods store. Nobody asks for your number for a second meeting
and
you can get in, get off and get out in a matter of twenty minutes. Wholesale pussy, right?

So for the last month or so, that’s what I’ve been doing. Fucking a new guy every night, in the safety of a club with bouncers and witnesses, seems better than just finding random guys on the street. At least I have
some
kind of protection. It’s the payout that kills me. On the street, I keep one hundred percent of the money. Here? That’s a different ball game. These fuckers take almost half of my money, usually leaving me enough for a dollar menu meal from a fast food spot, a roach infested motel room and a few quarters to wash my ‘uniform’ so I can work the next day.

Here I stand in the dressing room—which is more like a dingy high school locker room—staring at myself in the mirror. My limp blonde hair hangs past my shoulders, lacking any signs of life. The blue eyes that stare back at me lost their sparkle a long time ago, probably with my innocence back in high school. What I wouldn’t give to have the fair, flawless skin I had before I started this escapade. Looking at the all of the blotches and acne is just another reminder that not only did I not take proper care of my skin – I didn’t take care of me. Period.
I
wouldn’t screw me, but I’m not here to judge.

That’s the funny thing—I know that I was beautiful before all of this happened. I could have any guy I wanted, and even funnier, I never did. I was all about preserving myself and waiting to marry my Prince Charming before having sex for the first time. Leave it to my mother’s shit stain of a husband to steal that from me, just like he stole everything else.

I wonder if ’step-daddy issues’ is a real thing. It has to be because that’s when my life started to spiral out of control. I started drinking before I went home after school, staying out later so I wouldn’t have to be alone in the house and then one thing led to another and here I am. Of course my mother would see his bank account was more valuable than the safety of her only child, but hey, what do I know?

Taking one more glance at my pathetic appearance in the mirror, I head out of the dressing room when I hear the DJ announce my name. “Everyone, please welcome our one and only Sapphire to the stage.”

Yeah, I know it’s corny as hell to use the color of my eyes as my stage name, but when you’re coming down and need to think on your feet, you tend to go with the first thing that comes to mind.

Making my way to the stage, I stop at a table full of what appears to be college guys out for a good time. I spot one who looks kind of familiar and can’t take his eyes off me. Leaning forward to give him a good shot of my full cleavage, I take his drink and slam it, never breaking eye contact. His jaw drops to the floor as I spin on my cheap high-heeled shoes to finish my way to the stage.

Instead of playing the typical dance music that the other girls do, the DJ starts to play Rob Zombie. As Rob growls through the speakers about a living dead girl, I grab the pole and do a half-assed turn. The few dollars that will land on stage tonight aren’t enough to motivate me to put on a show for these kids. I always give them exactly what they’re about to pay for; basically nothing.

Very much to my surprise, the guy that I stole the drink from is standing at the edge of the stage holding a few bills. As I inch closer, crawling across the floor like a feline, he starts to flush with embarrassment. This is something totally new to me; the guys aren’t usually nervous to approach me, especially in this environment. I’m gonna play with this one for a bit.

“Hey there, handsome,” I purr unenthusiastically.

“Hey.”

“You got something there for me?” I ask, glancing at the crumpled bills in his hand. That’s right. I have no problem getting straight to the point. I don’t do this job for the small talk.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He reaches out his hand and tries to put the money in mine.
Sweet kid doesn’t even understand the whole point of tipping a stripper.
If the bills were singles, I might just take them and saunter back to my pole, but since they’re of a much larger denomination, I give him the benefit of a doubt.

“No, sweetie, you put the money right here.” I pull the thin string of my thong away from my hip far enough for him to see what’s going on underneath the material. His eyes zero in on my flesh and he places the money under the elastic as I let it go with a
pop
.

I reach for his head, pulling it to my tits and giving him a little feel. I whisper in his ear, “Meet me at the VIP room in twenty minutes. Bring your wallet, you’re gonna need it.” And with that statement, I quickly finish my show and head off stage.

I walk over to the bar, which is stocked full of every kind of cheap booze you can imagine, and order two rum and Cokes. After slamming the first one, I nurse the second as I watch the show on stage. This girl isn’t half bad, maybe even sexy. Her large, full tits bounce freely with every twirl of the pole. When she’s on her knees, ass facing the crowd, I can see why she gives me a run for my money in the VIP room. This girl has no shame and can probably ride a dick like nobody’s business.

A little more than twenty minutes go by before I head to the VIP room to meet the college guy. He’s already patiently waiting for me on one of the sofas when I enter through the door. I pull the curtain closed when I step inside and his eyes meet mine, giving me a chill straight up my spine.
You’re drunk. Make your money, Dallas.

“How much is it per song?” This is obviously his first time in this club. He’s probably only watched strippers on TV and never actually had a dance, let alone screwed a dancer.

“I had something different in mind. Ever fucked in a VIP room before, baby?” His eyes widen in shock as he shakes his head. “Do you wanna?” He licks his lip and swallows hard before shaking his head yes.

I explain my prices to him and he doesn’t even
try
to negotiate—that
never
happens. I tell them sixty, they try to haggle me down to forty. It’s a never-ending battle, and for once it’s nice to not have to fight for my money. I almost wish I would have said more.

I take the crisp bills from his hand and put them in my purse. Slowly, I take my top off, freeing my tits. My nipples pebble under his gaze, which also doesn’t happen. This isn’t about fun for me as I’ve explained before, so my body usually doesn’t react like it typically would. I brush off the red flags waving in my mind and turn my back to him.

He slouches a little in his seat. Just because I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out, doesn’t mean he won’t get the lap dance he came back here expecting. I slowly lower myself onto his lap, lightly grinding my ass against his crotch, which is hard even before I touch him. I lean my back against his chest, still grinding but now moving my body up and down his torso.

“Can I touch?” he whispers in my ear.

“You paid for it, baby. Have at it.”

His firm hands skim up my sides, making me squirm under his touch. He cups my tits, rolling my nipples between his finger and thumb but still squeezing with his palm.
Maybe he’s not as inexperienced as I thought.

“Is this okay?”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to ask. You bought thirty minutes. Make ‘em count.” With that, one hand slides down my stomach to the hem of my thong. In one breath, his fingers make their way inside and between my lips in search of the bundle of nerves hidden so carefully beneath them. As he finds the trigger he’s searching for, my back arches against his chest and my breath hitches.
What the fuck? I never even try to get off and this fucking guy is about to bring me to my knees.

Leaving the pad of his thumb to massage my clit, his fingers continue their exploration. As they find my weeping entrance, he pushes inside so quickly and forcefully, I almost come right on the spot.

“Is this okay?”

“Baby, you need to stop asking that. If it was a problem, I would tell you.”

“Okay, I won’t ask again. I’ve just never done this before. I mean, not like
ever,
but never in public like this.” His fingers and thumb working in perfect sync, I can feel the slow burn starting low in my belly, ready to explode with one more stroke of the pad of this thumb.

“
Fuck
that feels amazing.” I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Oh well, fuck it. This is about him, and what do guys love more than knowing they left a woman satisfied?

He continues the euphoric assault, engaging all of my senses. When the song ends, he withdraws his hands and rests them at his sides all while breathing heavily in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. I shift my weight and take my thong off, leaving me entirely exposed. Turning around, I take a spot between his knees and start to undo his belt buckle.

“You really don’t have to,” he mutters, not making eye contact with me.

“Listen, Sweetie, I’m not going to argue with you. I already got my money, but if you want what you paid for, then you might want to make the best use of the twenty-six minutes you have left.”

“I’m sorry; you just look like someone I’ve met before.” You know that nasty feeling in your gut that you get right before something bad happens? Yeah, I have that. But against my better judgment, I don’t stop.