Page 12 of Broken Rules
Since I have a long night, I’ll stick with something light. “Two carne asada tacos, please, and I’ll grab a bottle of water.”
She nods, rings me up, and I grab my drink, the food ready a few minutes later, devouring every delicious bite. I still have twenty minutes left of my break, so I take my time walking to Vivid, entering through the front.
A guy with dark hair barely hitting twenty-one sits in the security box and rolls open his window as I stroll toward the door. “Ma’am, you can’t enter without a male companion,” he says, and I raise a brow.
I haven’t seen him here before, and our head of security usually gives newbies lobby duty.
“Are you going to stop me from entering if I don’t?”
“Um…” I inch closer to the door, and he stands from his seat, rubbing his palm over his short curly fade, his gaze roaming down my body. “Yes. There’s a door fee and dress code as well. No jeans permitted.”
“Rules are made to be broken.” Strolling toward the window, I unzip my jacket, my breasts bare underneath my low-cut t-shirt, and his deep brown eyes flick to them as I lean forward on the ledge, displaying a pout. “Please. I’ve got money to spend and lap dances to look forward to. Won’t you let me in this once?”
“No—sorry. Rules say I can’t. We don’t close until 2 a.m., so there’s plenty of time for you to change and come back with someone.”
I giggle, pulling out my ID, killing enough time, and have to get ready for my regular, Vincent. “Good boy, Jr,” I say, patting his cheek, which turns a shade of pink above his neat beard. “I feel safer working here knowing you’re doing your job right. I’m going inside to get ready for my customer.”
“Shit, my bad.” He chuckles, holding out his hand, and I take his handshake. “I’ve only been here a week. My name’s Nate.”
“Evie.”
Giving him a wink, I enter the main floor and get by Gin without her noticing me. Showered and standing at my station mirror, I apply Vivid’s scarlet red to my lips and press them together, everything else on my body void of color as I air dry. Being nude is second nature. Roni, the new girl working with me for this session, comes bouncing to my side, giggling as she plays with the long brown hair she’s wearing on top of her natural blonde.
I hate couple sessions—not that I have anything against her—she’s a sweet girl. However, I prefer performing solo acts.
“Here,” she says, handing me white lace lingerie with a blonde wig, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “New request came in from our customer.”
Vincent is a long-time patron of Vivid who comes to me every Saturday and prefers I make the decisions—taking control is also second nature—he’s never submitted last-minute changes to his girl-on-girl fantasy request and could care less what we wear as long as our outfit ends up on the floor.
“Are you going to get dressed?” she adds, attaching the last strap of her black feathered garter belt to her stocking, mine having an identical style. “I’d like to head upstairs before the customer settles. I’m nervous but also excited to start my first couples performance.”
I grab an elastic, securing my hair that I finished styling a few seconds ago into a low bun, and slip on the wig as best I can without a cap—it’ll have to do for this fifteen-minute session. With only a few moments left to get ready, I slide on the lingerie and take one last look in the mirror before meeting Roni’s excited grin.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Slipping on a robe, we leave the dressing room for the Red Gentlemen’s Club, stopping by the bar, and my skin prickles as a flock of patrons turn our way with prying eyes. I scan the room, searching for Sadie before remembering she took off work for her weekend with Kylo, and I’m glad she decided to take my advice. That girl needs his magic touch as much as I need his words, but a few days of the Kylo Kent Experience is no longer enough to reset me. As if my mind’s immune to anything positive trying to enter.
“Get to work,” Gin says, tapping my shoulder, and I press my lips together to stop from responding—having control over my tongue is a concept I’m still grasping.
Roni nudges my shoulder with hers, nodding toward the stairs to our right, and I follow her.The four voyeur rooms change themes depending on how well a display does, and the more money a setup makes, the longer it stays. I walk ahead, climbing stairs and continuing to the employee entrance for room one. The vacancy sign fades off, so Vincent is inside, ready for us.
“I’m leading,” Roni says as we enter the Vixen privacy box and hang our robes. “Customer wants a sixty-minute session and for you to be submissive while he directs me on how to pleasure you.”
I furrow my brows. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. The new request had a few changes. Aren’t you supposed to check the queue before each session?”
“Not when it comes to my regulars. What was the name?”
“Didn’t say. They are anonymous.”
Did I get my times wrong?
“Alright. Not what I was expecting, but I’ll try to tone myself down.”
Roni scrunches her nose, rubbing her palms on a robe hanging on the wall. “Believe me. Today being my first time, I’d rather follow you.”
Grabbing hold of my hand, she leads us down the short hall, and the musty scent hits me first when we round the corner, never getting used to the old motel smell, though something new filters through. Tobacco, which customers aren’t allowed to smoke in voyeur. The room is dim, but I know the setup—straight ahead is the same voyeur box in every room, where customers watch, touch themselves, fuck their partner, whatever they want to do except pass the white line separating them from the performers.
