©ESR 2007

⚠️**Content Advisory** for highly sexual tones, predator/prey observations, dangerous location vibe.

Even on the cold night, they flocked. Cars and trucks were lined up in rows watching mournfully as their riders walked away. The air was brisk with a wind that must have had a male personality for it nipped and caressed my chest with whispers of chilly delights. It was hard to pull away, but the wind was not what I had come for. The small room I walked into buzzed with anticipation, eyes wandered sizing up competition and the various trophies walking in, including myself. Here was the devil’s deal table, if you were willing to play the game, if you were willing to lay down a piece of yourself in trade, the room beyond the archway held all the desires one could imagine. Your darkest fantasies, liquid fire and carnal delights to be teased by…and if you are lucky…to eat.

            Every make and model is here, lost in the haze of human emotions and primal instincts lofting on the smoke. The air pulsed as if it were alive and watching with lazy lids in the darkened corners enjoying the show. I grinned as I sauntered in, noticing, full well, the eyes on me. It amused me that they thought I was a pawn to be taken or a trophy to polish with hot oil and bare hands. Eyes followed me, males gauging and guessing what I sold myself for while the females tried to rank me in their idea of hierarchy and wondered too what I would be willing to do.

            Funny, they should be more concerned about what I am capable of.

            I found a seat and took my first glance around at the sinners milling around, some making deals of their own, whether to get into heaven or out of hell didn’t make much difference. It was the same and some were, obviously, desperate for such a destination. Trapped inside the cell with nothing but the hard hot air, the game continued, and they had no clue they were in it up to their necks, and from the neck down gave themselves away.

            Males donned on tight jeans as to frame their ass and package so that the females see what matters, see the only part males want satisfied, the only reason they think females exist. I chuckle knowing that those tight jeans make their balls too hot and give way to faulty equipment, which they enjoy showing off so much. And they do so enjoy adjusting it on purpose so the females will know that while the little swimmers are stewing and screaming in a small vat of self delusions at least the dick could prove useful if the little sluts would figure out if the keys fit an overcompensating truck or not.

            They were no different those trashcan sluts you could spot from across the room. The red heels, the skintight dress that while it hugged every curve it was so short that the ass cheeks dimpled out. Of course, with a tight stocking not even a G-string would be viable so while she does a pole dance against a rail you see the skirt rise and I know the males are watching entranced. I can imagine her propping her leg on a stool and bending over her and guys fucking her brains out… but she’s a Trashcan and anyone who uses her tonight will leave her a present to rot her out or she’ll pay it forward. In a way she’s empowered because she could choose to go get back with every ex to ruin their lives, but she doesn’t recognize it, and that makes her what she is.

            Others wear similar outtakes trying, almost foolishly, to get a second glance from the air itself. I shake my head watching them mill around in giggling groups as if a scared male would dare attempt contact with a mass of females, unless it was a well-oiled orgy. These females feel they need a male to be happy. Their confidence so shot, that they go home and wonder why they bother coming here. This place preys on them because it’s just too easy not to. They made the trade at the door and now there are sheep among wolves.

            The air shifts and a scent strikes me. In the corner I see a male and my eyes narrow in annoyance and a finer amusement. I paid for my soul a long time ago hence why I sit alone watching this human crack addiction develop into a massive chaotic sibilance of limbs, so primal and so focused they miss what they are, where they are, and who they ever were. Now it seems I am not alone, and I smirk knowing that I too paid to play though he has no clue. No damn clue. I know this game and therefore I play by my own rules.

            I reach up to stretch, leaving a small space of skin to show, arching my back and tensing every muscle I control. I roll my shoulders making my breasts shift and sway to the best advantage then as I catch him watching me, I go back to my own. The air is hot as if a tongue ran up from breast to ear, but I ignore it all as I lock eyes with the male and drop the playful act. I am no Trashcan or Giggle. I was once told a pit viper is beautiful but deadly, no matter what it is still a pit viper. Pretty scales or not.

            Hard and heavy, Loud and shrill are the primal sounds. I see the emotions behind every pair of eyes: wanting and willing, longing and taking, pain and pleasure, fucking and loving. Water is poured as thunder booms from the corners as if the air was demanding, threatening to become too heavy making everyone pant for all the wrong reasons and them being too stupid to realize it isn’t the sexed crazed ideas that ooze from the very walls.

            I have my own reasons for playing on the devil’s playground.

The man makes all the territorial displays and I response in kind. The air drums around as the mob quickens on the floor. Hard green eyes thrust into his, until he looks away acknowledging and giving ground. I nod. I’m not here to make any deals, though it wouldn’t be too difficult. Every pleasure is served here though the dishes don’t know they are being served. Water is drugged with ecstasy and if the looks I have received count, well then, I have had plenty of offers. I’m not like them. I won’t ever be like them.

            They all paid and traded for this addiction though I doubt they realize why they do it. It’s simple. “In Here”, isn’t “Out There”. Here you can fuck anyone and everyone without them even knowing it. You can burn away your problems, fears, you could dance with a two-faced angel or silver-tongued devil. Here is a den for anything and everything, where gossip flies and fucking lies. Where the water burns, and the air can vibrate your skull or even farther down. No matter who you are, you are welcome to join in the deal making and breaking, where a smile can mean heaven or hell depending on how you like it. You can come alone or with a group and leave with or as a stranger. Sheep play and wolves prey and, in the end, they will come again in just a few days.

            After all, all they must do is leave a little more of themselves on the deal table for the devil to collect.