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• Tropes: Secret Admirer, Stripper Girlie, Spicy 🥵, Insta Attraction/ Love/ Affection, Strong Sexual Content 🌶️, & Domestic Abuse (reference only not on paper)
• Edited content
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Episode 1:

The Devil Looks Good In Red 👺

 

Photo Source: Pinterest

 

The chatter coming from out in the halls brings me back to reality as I jump up from the sofa in my room. I’d laid down to rest my body not realizing just how much my eyes needed to rest as well.

Standing to my feet, I rub the sleep away, stretching my arms to the ceiling. Walking over to my vanity, I take a seat, looking in the mirror. I’m amazed how much of the make-up I applied before my nap still rests on my face. I was prepping for my set tonight, well that was before I drifted off to sleep, thinking it was a good idea.

Reaching for the black eyeliner, I use it to freshen up my eyes where some of my lines have smeared. Two taps to the the door and my mood instantly sours knowing who’s on the other side.

Once upon a time my heart would skip beats when those knocks came. Nowadays, I get either the urge to vomit or the need to run.

The door creaks open causing me to freeze, while holding the eyeliner pencil midair to my eye. I await the sound of his chain to jingle, or the shake of the watch he wears on his wrist, and even the sound of his sneakers squeaking against the floor.

None of those sounds come today.

Today it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. My heart rate slightly begins to rise as I wait impatiently for his body to come into view. My leg bounces up and down in its place, showing the increase in my anxiety.

The door finally closes and the sounds I’ve dreaded hearing flood my earlobes, along with a brief glimpse of the chatter from outside in the hallway. Lowering the pencil to my eyes, I finish lining both of my eyes before dropping the pencil to line my lips.

His choice of shoes today click clacks against the hard wood floor as he strolls over to where I’m seated. My eyes lower to my lap as he approaches like they always do when he enters any room I’m in.

The caramel-colored hand I’d once longed to feel the touch of, touches my shoulder causing me to cringe. I straighten as much as possible to keep the motion unseen, but I’m positive he’s already seen it. It’s a foreign sensation given how I used to feel about this man’s touch. I’d do just about anything to avoid him ever touching me again, and I do mean just about anything.

At one point, I’d break out into shivers when this hand caressed my shoulder, sliding down my arm, just before dipping lower beyond my waist. My legs would open of their own accord, without needing force behind them.

My head would tilt back with the need to see who the source behind so much disruption to my body was. His hand would slide into my panties, working me mad, until my body quaked from intense pressure under his touch, before filling his fingers with a cream so sweet he’d lick his fingers clean of all evidence I’d left behind.

But now, I’m only filled with pain and disgust. My body hasn’t responded to him in years, and I ache to come alive again. My legs know he’s near, but they never part for him to enter. My head refuses to lean back to gaze into a pair of eyes that causes more damage than anything else.

My river has been as dry as the desert, that it hurts when he tries to please me. He’s given up on it and thank God for that. A part of me hates hurting his feelings sometimes, while the other half loves seeing him fail.

He slides a hand down my shirt until he reaches my nipple, twisting and pinching it. It hurts and the asshole knows it but does nothing to ease the pain. The sight of him touching me makes me want to gag, but I school my features, not allowing him to see how I really feel.

At one point, I would’ve helped these hands explore more of me, but when the moment presented itself and I learned what these hands were capable of, I lost the connection I’d once adored.

Continuing his assault on my nipple, he uses his other hand to lift my chin, forcing my eyes up, looking directly into the mirror at my reflection. The light brown eyes I’d once craved to see, scan my face for any impurities as he calls them.

They’re the same impurities he’s responsible for. Although, he’ll never admit that out loud even though we both know the truth. He’ll fight that allegation til his dying day because that’s what cowards do.

A wicked grin creases his face when he’s pleased with what he see’s. The fact that I’m faking my reaction to him doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t care.

“At one point you used to love when I touched you, caressing you in ways that brought you such pleasure. Now you refused to look in my direction unless it’s by force.” Otto says.

He forcefully removes his hand from my shirt, earning a small painful whimper from me. Placing his hand on my chin, he lifts my head so my eyes can look into his. When my head is back enough, I look to the side instead of his face.

Sliding his hand from my chin, he drops it down to my throat, wrapping his fingers around it, causing me to plaster a forced smile on my face. It barely reaches my eyes but it’s there which is enough to earn an award-winning smile from him.

“That was before I knew exactly the type of torture those hands like to implement.” I say.

That slick remark will most likely earn me a sound slap to the face later, but lucky for me, I’m safe for now. He’ll never strike me before a show. He loves his money too much and I earn plenty of it for him. Ain’t nothing but death ever gonna keep him from making his precious money.

“Why must we continue discussing things from our past? I’ve changed. Why won’t you believe me?” He asks.

Dropping his hand from my throat, he places one hand on each of my shoulders. Otto gives me a tight squeeze before slowly relaxing his hands, leaving them to rest in my shoulders. When he finally decides to remove them altogether, he comes to rest at my side, leaning against the vanity, with his back turned to the mirror. He crosses his legs, the right over the left, just before slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe because the past is what has brought us into this present moment.” I say waving my hands around in front of me. “You created this mess with all your promises and dreams. You only have yourself to blame.”

Refusing to face him, my eyes stay trained on the mirror in front of me, looking at my reflection stay back at me. I keep my tone low and even when I speak, not wanting to raise it, ticking him off more than what he already is.

Photo Source: Pinterest

 

Otto doesn’t argue with me, leaving me to watch through the mirror at him leaning forward, turning his head in the opposite direction from me.

Shuffling through my make-up drawer, I ruffle through the many lipstick containers I own until I find the right shade of red, that I want to wear tonight. After finding the right tube, I twist the cap off, then apply the creamy goodness on my lips.

Otto drops a hand on my shoulder as he lifts himself from the vanity he’s been learning against. I finish applying my lipstick, then close the tube, shoving it back inside of the drawer. I listen to the sound of Otto’s shoes clack against the floor as he approaches the door. He twists the knob open and my body stills waiting for him to take his exit.

“Put on a good show tonight, Lola.” He says. I don’t miss the underlying meaning of what he’s trying to tell me either. I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. I’m no damn fool and he’s not somebody to play with. “I’d hate to lose money when there’s a full house out there tonight.”

Not waiting for the rebuttal that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue, Otto strolls out of the door, closing it behind him. My body relaxes when I’m left alone once more, knowing the danger it sensed is no longer a threat.

Finishing my make up routine, I stand from my seat, taking the time to push it under the vanity. Taking my hairpiece that I’m choosing for tonight’s show, I place it on my head, adjusting it as needed.

When finished and I’m satisfied with the look, I walk over to my clothing rack and begin thumbing through the pieces. My eyes land on the white, laced, two-piece set I received two months ago. An unknown admirer left it at the front door and one of the security guards brought it to me.

A smirk graces my lips knowing I’m going to look absolutely amazing in this tonight on stage. Otto strolled in here wearing his red suit, telling me I need to do good out there tonight, and this outfit should definitely do the trick.

The devil looks good in red, but I’m going to look godly when I put on this all white.

Once I’m dressed, smelling good, oiled to perfect, and looking beyond my best, I make my way over to my door. Taking my exit, I walk down the hallway to get ready to perform my set.

“Damn girl!” Nova says walking past me back to the dressing rooms. She’s a very good friend of mine and on my darkest day, she was there for me as I was there for her when she had hers. “You bout to kill it out there wearing that.”

“You better know it.” I say laughing.

“I got them ready for you so you better shut that stage down.” She says.

“Have you ever known me not to?” I ask.

“Nope. Don’t start tonight.” She says over her shoulder.

Turning around, I continue moving towards the stage floor. My heels clack against the cold concrete floor echoing in the hall.

“Up next we have what you’ve all been waiting for.” Dj Ripper says. Walking up to the curtain, I stand silently and patiently, waiting for my name to be called. Peeking through, tonight is a full house just like Nova warned. That means there’s a lot of money to be made and so plan on making somebody pockets hurt. “Let’s get to our feet, put that money in those hands, and make some mutha…fuckin’…noise for Lolaaaaaaaaaa.”

Stepping out from behind the curtain, I gracefully walk out onto the stage, and all eyes land on me.