In fact, I do so right at that moment – bending forward, jiggling my tits, and receiving a reward in the form of the hundred credit bill slipped down my bra. It’s a human who is being so generous – and the man’s fat fingers graze my skin as he shoves the money between my breasts. I force myself not to cringe as I smile down at him, wondering how much more he’ll be good for tonight.
Yes, humans and Toads don’t worry me. In fact, even Rogue Aurelians I could handle, in theory. They’re dangerous, but in a whole different way to the reason I avoid others of their kind.
But Rogue or not, I’ve taught myself to steer clear of any Aurelians – knowing that any one of the triads I encounter, even the ones that having seemingly gone Rogue, could in fact be undercover Aurelian Law Enforcement. I know the law officers of the Aurelian Empire are out to find me – to pick me up from the far reaches of the known universe and bring to back into their fold; to face the punishment they feel I’ve earned.
That’s why I’ve got to steer clear of any of the towering, seven-feet-tall, marble-skinned aliens; no matter how physically alluring they are, or how deeply their pockets might be lined with cash.
It’s also why I can’t shut out everything around me like I normally do – not with a Rogue Aurelian triad in Spur’s tonight.
At the back of the crowd the three of them sit – a trio of huge, hulking examples of marble-hued, masculine perfection. The three of them are clean-cut, with strong jaws and piercing slate-grey eyes that look right through me.
I hope the looks they’re giving are merely stares of lust – and not preparation to grab me, haul me off stage, and strap me in chains. I hope the three of them truly are Rogue, and not here to force me back to their home world of Colossus to face their approximation of ‘justice.’
I’d take kidnapping and enslavement by Rogue Aurelians over that. Hell, I’ve already spent time in an Aurelian harem. I know from experience that I’d much prefer the chains of their pleasure rooms to the confines of a maximum-security prison cell.
The song reaches a crescendo, and the music snaps me out of my trance and back to the moment.
As the song ramps up, I rip the flimsy top from my body – exposing my tits to the entire crowd of horny, leering men. They clap and jeer, humans and Toads alike, but the lewd comments just bounce off me. I give the crowd a well-practiced smile and then submit to perhaps the most humiliating part of my job – even more so than shoving my tits into the faces of horny strangers.
I have to drop to my hands and knees and crawl across the stage, collecting discarded notes as I go. The path I’ve chosen, across the stage littered with cash, is toward a gentleman in a fitted business suit standing at the edge of the stage. He’s waving a grubby stack of bills at me – big enough for me to surrender my dignity and get on my knees for him.
The man grins, wolf-like, as he sees me approach.
“You could earn a lot more by coming back to my place, honey.”
His words are barely audible over the pounding music, but I know what he’s saying even if I don’t register the exact words. I see the lust in his eyes – and I know he’s repeating an offer I’ve been made countless times before.
Nevertheless, I crawl forward – even as the shame burns at me. I push the feeling back, deep down inside, along with all my other useless emotions. Instead, I force myself to smile at the leering stranger, and he shakes his head as I approach.
“You want this?” He offers up the stack of money, shaking it like a doggy treat. “Then take it with your mouth.” He laughs, and the two men standing beside him chuckle at his cruelty, too.
The businessman is waving four-hundred credits in my face. That’s a lot of money – certainly enough to temporarily buy my dignity. After all, where else would I be able to get that kind of cash?
I mean, there’s not a single legit place on this planet that will hire you if you don’t have ID, and I sure as hell can’t use my real one. Four-hundred credits will pay my rent…
…or, at least, it would do – if this fucking place actually let me keep what I earned.
The problem is that Spur’s joint has cameras watching every corner of the whole place. Spur, the owner, never misses anything – and not only will that mean he’ll want his cut of this man’s dirty money, but if he sees me turn down four-hundred credits, he’ll punish me by not letting me dance any more.
So, I do what I have to do…
I open my mouth, and fight back tears as I crawl up to this leering stranger. He presses the wad of bills past my lips. His thumb invades my mouth as he does so, pressing against my tongue. I fight back the urge to gag as I close my lips around the filthy credits. Then I wink at him – and I’m a good enough actress to make him thinks I like it. Then, I finally pull away.
The announcer comes on as I crawl away, the dying beats of the song playing accompaniment to my despair. The announcer roars into the mic: “Give it up for Scarlet!”
The crowd cheers and jeers for me, and my cheeks burn.
They burn scarlet, just like my name.
Well, it’s not my name. Spur just thought Scarlet sounded sluttier than Allie.
I have to agree with him.
That’s what they want me to be out here. A slut. An object. A possession.
I crawl to my feet,
