The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume was the only thing keeping me grounded as I felt the grit of the stage floor beneath my heels. My head was spinning, that familiar itch under my skin screaming for a hit, but I had to keep moving, keep grinding against the cold brass of the pole. I knew the sharks were circling, and I was just waiting for the one with the thickest wallet to bite, someone who wanted a taste of black stripper sex and didn’t care how broken I was inside.
I saw him sitting in the shadows of the back corner, a heavy-set man with eyes that didn’t just look… they owned. He didn’t throw singles like the rest of the pathetic losers; he just signaled the bouncer and pointed a thick finger straight at me. I followed him to the VIP lounge, my knees shaking not from the dance, but from the withdrawal starting to claw at my gut.
I needed that white lady, that sweet caviar, and I could smell the power coming off him like a heavy musk. The second the curtain fell shut, the atmosphere changed from a show to a transaction. He didn’t want to see me spin or arch my back for a tip. He sat back on the leather couch, his hand disappearing into his pocket to reveal a small, jagged rock that made my mouth water instantly.
My eyes went wide, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He saw the hunger in my face and let out a low, cruel chuckle that vibrated in the small room. “You want this, don’t you?” he sneered, tossing the piece onto the low table between us. I reached for it, my fingers trembling, but his heavy boot came down, pinning my hand to the carpet. “Not so fast. Get on your knees, you black bitch.”
The insult hit me like a physical blow, but I didn’t flinch. I was a filthy crack nigger whore, and pride was a luxury I’d traded away a long time ago for a glass pipe and a lighter. I dropped to the floor, my dark skin contrasting against the grime of the carpet as I looked up at him with a seductive, desperate heat. He unzipped his fly, pulling out a thick, throbbing cock that looked like a weapon.
I took him in, working my mouth with a slutty, practiced expertise that made him groan and grip the back of my head, his knuckles digging into my scalp. I was a money making bottom ho, and as the salt of his cum filled my throat, I knew I’d earned my prize. He tossed the rock and a crumpled hundred dollar bill at my face, a “good girl” ringing in my ears as I scrambled for my fix.
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