Page 4 of Broken Rules
Gritting my teeth, I nod, then walk through the sea of hungry patrons with stacks of money to spend, ignoring the lavish decor I know like the back of my hand. Every velvet stitch, and the well-dressed men who occupy each seat, their expensive liquor and cologne permeating the air while I pass through, how they itch to touch, but a Red Vixen is untouchable—until I walk the floor as a Vixen.
I head upstairs and continue to the employee entrance of room three out of four. The vacancy light above the door is off, meaning my customer’s ready for their thirty-minute session. My six-inch heels click along the floor as I reach the entryway to the open apartment layout, and I take a deep breath of the cinnamon spice incense. We are known for our vivid setups where we bring the customer’s fantasies to life.
My first of the day is anonymous, and instead of using the bed or chair provided in the viewing area, they are behind the privacy box. They can hear, see, talk to me, but I can’t see them through the two-way mirror.
The request:you had a hard day at work and need to release tension. Slowly strip your work attire and pleasure yourself to porn.
Wandering to the middle of the room, I lean against the arm of the cream couch to take off my heels and toss them aside. The two-way mirror is diagonal to me, so I stroll toward the glass, using the reflection to check my lipstick, then draw the elastic from my dark hair, each wavy strand falling past my breasts. I fluff my hair before heading to the dining room table, peeling my blazer off in the process to hang on the back of a chair. There’s a flatscreen tv displayed by the couch, the customer can see the screen, but they won’t be watching the same show as me.
I sit on the plush cushion, moaning while rubbing my sore feet, then relax back with my eyes closed. The speed of my session depends on the timeframe and the customer’s request—sometimes, I have to get right into masturbating. Where others, I can take my time and really build the tension before making them climax. The hornier they get, the chances of them requesting more time increase, and the more I get paid.
A few minutes in, I start unbuttoning my jeans, my bracelets banging together as I shimmy the tight material down my thighs, dropping them onto the floor, feeling free, and I hum with approval. Looking at the remote, I hesitate a second before grabbing it, glancing around the room as if someone is watching me alone in my apartment, then switching on the television. I click through a few channels, innocent enough, then stop on a not-so-innocent show.
Leaning back further, I tilt my head, my gaze turning heavy as I watch a man glide his palm across a woman’s ass before slowly dragging her panties down her thighs while she’s on all fours.
“That feels nice,” she says as he rubs his fingers through her slit,blah, blah, blah.
I run mine along the band of my black thong, snapping the elastic against my skin once, twice before easing one hand over the front to touch my pussy, and letting out a soft moan. I’m numb to pleasure—I have to be in order to work, so my orgasms are not real, though they’d never know.
The couple is fucking now, the female lead vocal as the man stays silent. What a wasted opportunity to get viewers hot since hearing a man express their pleasure through sound, whether by moaning or talking, is a turn-on for many.
Fifteen minutes left on the red clock against the left wall, so I grind my pussy on my palm, my chest rising with my increasing breath. Gripping the neck of my shirt, I drag it down to rest below my bare tits, rubbing and tugging at my nipples to get them erect while inching my other hand into my panties to massage my clit.
Some customers finish before their time is up, and the clock will sound to end the session when they press a red button, usually by the halfway mark. If they don’t request more time through the club app, and their session ends without their climax, the performer’s not responsible for giving a refund, even if their performance wasn’t up to the customer’s satisfaction.
I’ve yet to experience someone expressing their displeasure in the ten years of working here, but some girls have. That’s where the camera facing our side comes into play, notifying security that someone has crossed the white line dividing the room, and they escort the customer off the premises. There are no warnings once they break the rules, they’re banned from returning to Vivid, and that rule is in place for us too.
I’m getting bored, so I increase my speed, pumping inside my pussy as I moan louder, spread my legs wider, buck my hips harder, squirming beneath my touch as I sit on my heels to arch over the back of the couch, lifting my ass higher to give them a better view. Then as I’m about to finish, the timer ends at ten minutes left.
I never leave a performance hanging, so I breathe out heavy pants, moaning while rocking my pelvis forward, squeezing my thighs together until I come down from thehigh. Slumping back onto the cushion with a satisfied grin, I remove my hand from my panties, unsure if they’re still watching, but I suck on my fingers anyway, humming while catching my breath, waiting a minute before standing to leave the room.
Performance satisfaction is what I aim for—wanting as many regulars as possible, to know what makes them tick means having more control over my sets and the faster I can leave. Customers can rate us afterward, and management checks our weekly scores to indicate who to keep on board. If an employee gets anywhere near three out of five stars, they’re usually gone.
Grabbing a robe and slippers, I leave the room, taking the emergency stairs that lead to the back exit hallway. We’re not supposed to, but I could care less what Gin says. Goosebumps rise along my body as a chill hits me, and I use my keycard to get into the dressing room.
A Vixen turns to look at me with a raised brow, and I pay her no mind, heading straight for the showers. I have another customer in an hour, and there’s only so much stalling I can do before Gin has Julianne drag me onto the main floor. Ten minutes tops, I clean myself, dressed in a black lace teddy bodysuit with a crisscross pattern between my breasts, and step inside the Red Gentleman’s Club.
During the night, the lights dim to a warm red, setting an alluring tone, less so in the afternoon, which is why the dayshift is usually slower. Apparently, not today. I sigh, roaming the floor, working the pole during my rotation, ignoring side-eye glances, satisfying my voyeur customers, wash, rinse, repeat, orgasm for the sixth time before ending my shift. My thighs are aching, but I speed walk to my car with a purse full of cash, running late to pick up Sadie.
I beep the horn a few times once I’m outside her apartment complex, and she comes rushing out wearing a heavy grey sweater, locking up before waving at her neighbor who lives above her. Delores glances away, the old lady ignoring Sadie.
“Hurry your sexy butt up. The mall closes in two hours,” I yell after rolling down the passenger window.
“You see me coming. You’re the one who’s late.” She gets into the front seat, rolling her eyes as I narrow mine. “Delores will get me kicked out with a noise complaint.”
Sighing, I drive into traffic. “Today was hectic between working voyeur and the main floor non-stop becausethreeVixens didn’t show. I haven’t worked the pole in forever.”
“Really? The front’s usually slow on Mondays, and why would Gin need you to perform?”
I let out a short laugh, threading my fingers through my hair. “On top of the regulars, a flock of customers came at noon, right before I arrived. You can imagine how pissed off the girls who showed up for their day shift were when a Red Vixen walked the floor, having an untouchable within reach, obtaining more money.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens a few times. “It’s not my fault patrons were more interested in me, taking the opportunity to get a lap dance since it’s against the rules for a voyeur to touch us, though I prefer not to mingle with them. No thanks. That’s why I keep my ass in the box. Less drama, but Gin doesn’t care how I feel.”
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s whatever and over with—also, you know my father would never kick you out.”
Dad owns the apartment complex Sadie’s renting, and my name’s also on the deed. While he’s not living in Oregon anymore, Dad still feels he needs to provide for me somehow, even being twenty-eight and living in a house I bought myself. Maybe it’s his way of making up for leaving me here as a child, though I haven’t touched a dime of the revenue this place generates and never will.
