Resentment tasted bitter on my tongue. I savored it more frequently as the days went by. I may have been young, but I wasn’t ignorant. I understood exploitation, and I knew my own vulnerability. I also knew my purpose: I was here to serve, or tobeserved up on a platter, something to be fondled, groped, and gawked at.
It felt good, and then confusing. Because this body wasn’t quite mine, and the desire that burned in my belly, fueled by the lust of strangers, was… other. Alien. Demon.
“We know each other pretty well, don’t you think?” Maslow continued while guiding me on the walk that felt impossibly long in the modest building.
“Yes sir,” I replied, even though we didn’t know each other at all.
“Baby boy.” The wraith clucked his tongue. “Call me Mazzy, remember? Keep it light. Keep it cozy.”
“Yes, Mazzy.”
He reached over and ruffled my hair, causing deep red locksto spill into my line of sight. “And you know I love you…”
He loved me like someone would love a car or a well-behaved dog. Which was to say he didn’t love me at all. It might have been affection or abstract appreciation, but with the next words out of his mouth, I doubted even that.
“But you’ve gotta start earning your keep.”
Suddenly, it was like I was on my knees begging for him all over again.
I kept up the pace despite my feet threatening to falter. The end was in sight. The door at the end of the passage had been tented with clear sheeting since I’d arrived, but now, the way was clear and labeled with a sign that read PRIVATE AREA.
We had lots of those. Executive suites where people celebrated birthdays or bachelorette parties, popping bottles of champagne they liked to pour on us before licking it off. Then there were the businessmen discussing office politics while we warmed their laps or spun circles around a pole.
This space was different. Designated… for me.
I really hadn’t minded waiting.
Forging ahead, Maslow dropped his hand to the small of my back, bare beneath my spandex tank top. His fingertips dragged across my skin, and I braced for the draw of his power on mine.
He was a wraith, after all, and his menagerie of hellish house pets was not merely a means to earn a living. We were meals for him too—walking, talking energy banks in five of the seven flavors of sin. As an incubus, my vice was obvious, and perhaps the most conducive to working in a strip club.
Despite that, I had little to give. I was too new, too unsure, toohungryto sustain Maslow’s appetite. Hecomplained about it. Rubbed my stomach and told me I was empty. I felt it. Wanton stares and greedy touches from customers gave me fleeting tastes of what I wanted. They were table scraps, barely enough to keep me from starving.
Perhaps I should have been grateful, but when Maslow stepped forward and opened the door to reveal the room on the other side, all I felt was horror.
The smell of fresh paint and chemicals was unappealing enough, but after the smells came the sights. A massive bed was situated front and center. The four-poster monstrosity was done up in satiny black-and-red bedding and piled with pillows. Scanning the room, I spotted a tufted chaise lounge and a kneeling bench. A strappy swing hung in the corner opposite two long planks of wood fashioned into an X and fitted with restraints.
Leather and chains were affixed to the bedposts and hung from a rack on the wall. Lengths of rope were similarly stored, and a glass-fronted cabinet displayed an assortment of dildos and plugs that stopped my heart in my throat.
Maslow had gone ahead and now stood with his arms spread as he turned a slow circle.
“Quite the setup, don’t you think?” he bragged.
My feet stayed planted on the opposite side of the threshold while my eyes traveled around the room. Whips, gags, and other items I couldn’t discern filled other cabinets, illuminated in red.
Maslow too, surveyed it all, beaming with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He made his way to the chaise and lowered himself onto it, then kicked his feet up to repose.
“Come here, baby.” He patted the tufted velvet. “Sit with me.”
My better sense told me to run, but where? I couldn’tleave this building. The doors of our exhibit were open to the public but closed to us. We stayed inside, looking out through the barred windows in our rooms and asking customers about the weather because we genuinely wanted to know.
When I reached Maslow, he grabbed my waist and pulled me down to perch across his thighs.
“You look so good in here.” He curled a lock of hair around my ear, and I bared my throat as he dragged his finger down the side of my neck. Still no pull. No drain. And despite his touches and the bulge of his cock tenting his slacks, I was relieved.
Maslow licked his lips and stared at the bed as if he imagined me spreadeagle on top of it. Stripped bare and vulnerable. “You’re gonna feel good in here too.”
Cold sweat beaded on my temples as Maslow gripped my nape. His thumb rested on my pulse point while his fingertips dug in at the base of my skull.
