Chapters (72)
- Dedication
- Prey Island Map
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- CREED
- SIX
- BILLIE
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- JIRO
- TWELVE
- BILLIE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- ROW
- TWENTY-TWO
- BILLIE
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- ACHILLES
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- CREED
- THIRTY-NINE
- BILLIE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ROW
- FIFTY
- BILLIE
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- TO CONTINUE THE ADVENTURE…
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY KENDRA
The sweet sounds of “Down With the Sickness” fill the air as I climb the pole and swing around it, doing my signature moves that always get me more twenties. The men eat that shit up. They’re so easy, so ready to believe a goddess is crawling toward them and letting them thread bills into her thong.
Peasants.
When there are piles of twenties on the stage, I pull the string on the back of my top and let it fall loose, revealing my breasts for the crowd. They whistle and whoop, excited at the sight of my tits just like they are at the other girls. It doesn’t matter what my face looks like here. Throw some nipples on it and they’ll throw hundred dollar bills your way.
The club always caters to the regulars, lonely men who come here for the ambience and their favorite girls. I have my own regulars, but sometimes, new ones come in and hang around. It’s not usually a problem as long as they pay, but one particular man appears in the crowd as I dance, his eyes hungrily tracing over my body. I’m used to being objectified, to having men undress me with their eyes, to seeing them imagining fucking me right here on the stage, but something about this man unnerves me. My skin crawls when he holds up a hundred-dollar bill and I know I have to move over to him. Anything over a twenty requires it. It’s in the rules.
“With your teeth,” he commands when I reach for the money.
I hesitate, knowing this game well. Money is dirty, and you have to be careful what you take from men, so instead of putting it in my mouth, I grab his hand in mine and press it between my breasts, encouraging him to trail down my stomach and thread it into my G-string. My skin crawls at the contact, but it’s better than possibly being poisoned by a customer. Lucky for me, he’s into it, distracted by the feel of my skin against his sweaty hand. It takes everything in me not to gag at the feeling.
Backing away immediately, I continue my dance, finishing out my song before scrapping all the cash thrown at me into my arms, grabbing my top, and carefully stepping down off the stage with the bouncer’s help. He’ll gather up any money left behind and ensure it gets to my table. But my shift isn’t done. Once I get to the back and freshen up, I’ll have to head on out to the floor again and walk around like a piece of meat, encouraging men to pay for a private dace to bring in more money.
At least it’s a crowded night and I’ll walk out of here with a good chunk of cash.