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“We want to bring you into the fold here in New York and especially into our Parish. We are appointing you a manager. His name is Magus Kenny.” Magister Camden says.
A guy about our age steps out of the shadows of the room and nods in our direction.
“What sacrifices?” Torrent asks. My little brother does not like the thought of serving others.
“Souls.” Magistra Karen replies. “Many souls.”
Chapter One
Tempest
My fingertips skim down between my breasts and slowly glide over my taut stomach. The heavy beat of The Take by Tory Lanez and Chris Brown washes over me as the heat from the fluorescents above heats my skin. I’m restless and craving the release only my body can provide. The beat quickens so I reach for the pole above my head and pivot until I’m face to face with it. The cool steel warms against my palms as I lift myself up and wrap my legs around it tightly.
The room sways and the fog thickens. I release my hands, letting my legs hold me in place. I lean back until I am parallel with the pole, my back hitting the cool metal, my vision upside down, as I stare out into the blurry faces of hungry looking men.
My heartbeat kicks up, I grab my tits in my hands, and give them a rough squeeze. That does it, the men stand in a frenzy and throw their wads of bills onto the stage.
Predictable assholes.
I rotate around the pole slowly until my hands touch the floor and then I hold myself in a handstand, letting my legs fall apart into a split. I let my body slowly fall over and land on the floor, stretching my arms over my head. I twerk my ass for good measure then look over my shoulder to the crowd of men vying for my attention.
The lights go dark and I pull myself back up to standing.
“That was Tempest. Who wants to see more of her?” The crowd goes wild at the MC’s words and I saunter backstage. “She’s here every night, same time.”
Every night. How fucking sad does that sound? It’s fucking pathetic really that I come here because I have nothing at home. I snort at that thought, home, I live in a one room apartment because living in New York is fucking expensive. It’s even more expensive when you must pay off a mountain of debt your cancer ridden father leaves with his death.
Aw fuck, I slap the wall as I walk towards the dressing room. I’m starting to feel shit again and that can’t happen, I don’t have time to feel shit.
I round the corner into the room and see Sky sitting on her vanity, her feet on the edge, and her knees spread wide. Chanel has her head buried so deep between them, I almost worry she may be suffocating.
“Good night?” Sky asks, her question ending on a moan. I hear Chanel slurping and roll my eyes.
“Probably.” I shrug and sit at my vanity. I pull out the vial in my top drawer and dump some of the white powder onto the glass top.
I cut out my lines with a credit card that’s completely maxed and lean over, snorting the first line deep into my left nostril. None of us have a stitch of clothing on because what’s the fucking point? It all comes off anyways and besides none of us are ashamed of what we have.
“Fuck yes.” Sky moans and I look over my shoulder as she rides Chanel’s face. “I’m coming.”
Chanel’s hand goes between her own legs as she works her clit and gets Sky off at the same time. Sky’s head tips back with a moan and Chanel begins to tremble between her legs, both girls coming at the same time and neither are lesbians. How fucking poetic.
Chanel stands up and brushes her bushy blonde hair off her shoulders. She’s tall, standing at six feet and rail thin, I can count every one of her ribs, well the ones not obstructed by the biggest pair of fake tits.
“Tempest,” Chanel bends over me to fix her smudged mascara. “Can I borrow your gold G-String?”
“You can have it if you’re borrowing it.” I snap and bend over to sniff the next line into my right nostril.
The burn is fast but the tingles that spread over my head feels amazing and the sudden feeling of weight lifting off my shoulders is more addicting than the shit itself.
“Sounds like you need a good pussy eating, too.” Sky snorts behind me as she lights a joint.
Sky is the type of gorgeous that’s loud and in your face. Her features can take your breath away and her body can elicit immediate arousal. She used to do it to me constantly when I first started working here three months ago.
She’s tall with a pair of never-ending legs, she has long box braids that end at her tailbone and her eyes pop out of her face like golden orbs. Her skin is like a rich smooth umber and those lips are what I use as reference when I get my own plumped. There's no one else that walks that stage as beautiful as Sky.
Sky, Chanel, Diamond, Goldie, Queen, and I are just some of the regular girls that twerk our asses on the regular here at The Temple. They all use stage names to sensationalize their stage persona and I say they because mine is not.
Tempest Skeigh Verona is my real name and when Carl read that, I was hired on the spot. Didn't matter that I was once a dance prospect for Juilliard or that I had already worked as a burlesque dancer in Vegas. The name is what got me hired.
