Platinum Angel: Hypnotica’s Pets (Chapter 14) (Patreon)

Platinum Angel: Hypnotica’s Pets

Chapter 14

One week later, Thursday night in the Beauchamp red light district…

The bar was dark and loud. The sign out front said it was a sports bar, but Felicity found it was just a dive bar with a few TVs mounted on the wall. The TVs were showing sporting events, but with the volume off. Thankfully. But it wasn’t all bad. The clientele was primarily men. Indeed, other than her, Felicity only counted four other women in the bar – the bartender and three waitresses.

The fact she was the sole female customer sparked considerable interest among the evening crowd. The men, getting drunker and louder, cast frequent looks at her, but so far no one had mustered the courage to approach her.

Felicity didn’t understand their hesitancy. She was dressed to impress, in a most salacious manner. She’d stashed her mask and costume in a safe hidey hole, and cajoled a one night stand to buy her an outfit: hot pink dress and matching stiletto pumps. He even bought her a cheap purse. The dress was three sizes too small, and so thin she couldn’t wear underwear of any kind. Not even a bra. But boy did it make her body sing. Every man that saw her did a double-take. And some women.

Maybe I’ve fished this hole too much, she wondered, looking around and trying to look lonely and vulnerable. If someone doesn’t proposition me by eleven, I’m going to try my luck at one of the dance clubs.

It was 10:37 PM, getting late. In the past week, she’d usually secured her meal ticket and motel room for the night by 8:00 PM. As early as noon, two days back. Yeah, she scowled at that memory. That guy fucked her from noon until well past midnight.

Boy did I call that one wrong, she thought, and took a sip of her bourbon.

Roy was seventy-four years young, as he loudly claimed. He looked eighty-four to Felicity. She thought it’d be a quick, easy suck and fuck, and the septuagenarian proved her wrong. The sorry son of a bitch popped a performance enhancing pill, and then went to town on the twenty-eight year old beauty.

That old bastard fucked me seven ways to Sunday. Fucked my brains out, Felicity thought with a shake of her head. She lifted her glass. To Roy Straus. Well played, old man. Well played indeed.

She looked around the bar. Almost all of the men were working class, wearing jeans and either t-shirts or polos. They worked with their hands, so were strong of body, weak of bank account. Yet, every one of them was like a king compared to her penniless ass. Felicity scowled and drained her glass.

“Another bourbon please, Margot,” she said, catching the bartender’s eyes.

The pretty brunette nodded, but continued her conversation with two men. Felicity had the impression the heavily tattooed, heavily pierced woman didn’t like her. Of course, the blonde beauty had scored two of the last seven sugar daddies right there in that bar. Margot had been on the job during both times.

Felicity frowned. Yeah, she watched me work my magic on Roy. She sighed, face feeling hot. If she only knew how that old fart turned the tables on me.

A few minutes later, Margot burst out laughing, shook her head, and moved away to fill Felicity’s order. She set another glass of the bar’s cheapest Kentucky bourbon before the blonde. Felicity pulled the wallet out of her purse. She’d only been able to wheedle two “loans” from her lovers on the past week. Money was tight.

A large male hand slapped a ten down on the bar, even as the twin of that hand came to rest on Felicity’s hip. “Keep the change, Margot.”

The bartender smiled at the man standing behind Felicity, but rolled her eyes after she turned away. Felicity saw that look, and cringed a little inside. Yeah, she’d fallen completely into the gutter. Even after a week, her primary concern and most of her effort was into finding that next sugar daddy, instead of scouting out Hypnotica and trying to find a weakness to exploit.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Felicity said in a sexy, breathy voice.

The man pressed against her back, his other hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Then he leaned in and whispered.

“My pleasure, Felicity.”

The platinum blonde froze, eyes huge. She knew that voice. So she turned her head and looked up and back. The fifty-nine year old, now former CFO of Silver Limited, Inc. smiled back. Okay, it was more of a leer. And then the hand on her waist stroked her well-rounded hip, copped a feel of her meaty butt cheek, and started sliding up her side.

“Long time no see,” Brandon Phelps said. “Did you know you utterly ruined my reputation when he terminated me without cause? Can’t find a job. But then, you lost everything, too. Ain’t that interesting?”

“I’m so sorry, Brandon,” she said. “But Minka Lowes kidnapped me again, and then forced me to do all those terrible things. And then she forced me to sign everything I own over to her.”

His hand cupped her milk-heavy right breast. His index finger began flicking the swollen, erect nipple pushing up against the super thin fabric. Felicity gasped, intense pleasure spiraling into her oversexed body. She squirmed atop the stool, unable to look away from Brandon’s intense eyes, and afraid to make him stop.

“I’m told by a drunk but otherwise reliable source, that you come here every night to let some drunk pick you up for wild and wicked sex in a cheap motel room,” he said. “Oh, and you insist on room service, too.”

“Please, Brandon, don’t mock me,” she begged. “I’m destitute. I’m only doing what I must to survive.”

“You’re desperate?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her untouched bourbon. “Have you had enough alcohol to do nasty, dirty things with me in a sleazy motel?”

She closed her eyes, and nodded. “Yes. I passed that point a few hours back.”

“Kiss me.”

She stiffened. Baby blues did a quick scan of the bar. Margot was covertly watching, disapproval radiating out of every fiber of her being. About half of the men were openly watching with gleeful faces. Others were like Margot and trying to pretend they weren’t paying attention.

“Please.”

His hand tightened around her boob, and she felt a little milk squirt out. And that dress’s fabric really showed it when wet.

“I said, kissme.”

She hesitantly lifted her lips, and Brandon claimed them in a deep, passionate clench. Felicity struggled to breathe as they ground their lips together, tongues exploring each other’s mouth. Brandon pinched her nipple through the dress, sending the most wonderful jolts deep into her core.

“Finish your drink,” he said, finally releasing her lips. He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “And then we’ll go. Be quick about it.”

Felicity nodded, rubbing her burning lips together. She looked around, noticing all the smirks. Was that actually a look of pity from Margot?

She threw the bourbon back. No sipping. Felicity just wanted to get out of that bar. Brandon was about to revenge fuck her, but so be it. Better that than the humiliation in the bar.

When she slipped off the stool, Brandon took the opportunity to slip his hand under her short skirt. The dress barely dropped down low enough to cover her pussy anyway. But she felt his fingers stroke her nether lips, pulling a gasp from her lips.

“Wow, you are sopping wet down there,” he proclaimed. “Someone’s horny as a toad.”

Laughter erupted. Felicity couldn’t think or breathe for a second. Brandon, smirking down at her, pressed his hand against the small of her back and got her walking toward the door. She held her head high, trying to maintain some dignity.

Felicity turned toward the parking lot once outside, but he guided her to the sidewalk instead. They walked toward the Beauchamp red light district, just two blocks away. The Beachtime club district was one block the other way. She started to panic, but then saw it. The Starry Nights Motel sign flickered and flashed, with some of the sign’s lights burnt out. Even after a week of working Beauchamp Avenue bars, she didn’t know that motel was there.

Looking back down Beauchamp Avenue, Felicity saw the ocean just a few blocks away. She really wished she was walking in that direction. Two of her pickups had taken her on moonlit strolls on the beach before they got down and dirty in a motel room.

Brandon went inside the motel office, leaving her out on the sidewalk. Hookers walked back and forth between the motel and the neon-lit red light district a block away. She noticed pushers working in the shadows along the street, mostly selling to the hookers. Two scantily clad young women were sharing a joint outside one of the motel rooms, while another was in the shadows between two cars injecting something into her arm.

As Platinum Angel, she never bothered with red light districts. Hookers and pimps made their decisions long ago, and she understood she couldn’t change them. So she never bothered.

Maybe I should’ve cleaned this place up, she thought.

“Come with me, Felicity Silverbush,” Brandon snapped, grabbing her hand.

She flinched. No one had mocked her family name like that since high school. Yeah, it was hard to grow up a platinum blonde with the surname “Silverbush.” And, her bush was silver, or platinum blonde. And that was the main reason she started getting full Brazilian waxes.

Brandon half-dragged her to a first floor room. She looked around with distaste. First off, the room stank of cigarettes, alcohol, and pot. Mostly pot. The queen-sized bed had a visible valley down the middle. And then she checked the bathroom, finding it tiny. The shower stall had mold in the grout, and was barely large enough for her to fit inside.

If this isn’t rock bottom, I don’t know what is, she mused.