Title: One Step Closer
Featuring: Roxy Phoenix
Date: 3/10/11
Location: Rev 241

The last time she’d seen that motherfucker Warren Van Horten it’d been close to ten years… and she had been clothed considerably less than she had been that day. Yes, it was close to ten.

She’d already been dating Jason for a few months at that point, and she’d been dancing illegally at “Pink” for a little longer than that. Of course, she’d lied about her age to get the job, and she certainly looked 21 when she was barely 17. She was sure that they’d known differently, but they didn’t dare bring up any issue as she was the leading lady there since she’d started as business had picked up tenfold.

It was evident that more than half of the girls working there hadn’t been of legal age… the clientele of “Pink” preferred a younger fare.

That night at the bar hadn’t been any different than normal… maybe a bit smokier. But it was always filled with smoke and men of many ages.

“I’d like a dance, gorgeous,” He coaxed with a graceful sweep of his hand down her back.

Roxy turned around at the prospect, expecting to be confronted with disappointment. It was quite often that she’d get stopped shortly after her turn on the stage. Most nights, she couldn’t make the ten foot journey to the bar for a drink without being flagged by at least fifteen men. They weren’t normally rich, but they fit the bill, and these days, she’d take anything to get herself and her younger siblings the fuck out of that hellhole. This time, however, was different.

The man had a wide and confident smile spread across his face. He looked close to his fifties, but he was still fairly attractive… and he knew it. He was wearing a navy suit with gray pinstripes and a pair of shiny black dress shoes. His hair was neatly placed atop his head, slicked and combed to perfection.

Roxy knew one thing… he had money, and lots of it. And that meant she’d go home a rich girl that night.

A sly grin curved her lips, “Mmm, a dance?”

She cocked her leg out to slowly slither onto his lap. One hand toyed with the tie around his neck, while the other disappeared out of sight. He felt a few calculated caresses in his nether regions, and before he knew it, his wallet was in her hands.

She giggled at her magic trick, “Let’s see what’s in here.”

His hands grabbed for the wallet in her grasp. But he was unsuccessful in retrieving it.

“I’d like,” he lowered his voice, “a private dance.”

“Well then,” she sighed as she slid off his lap, careful not to move too quickly in her dismount. “Come with me.”

There were no protests from him, but the rest of the anxious crowd started to get a little testy that they had not had a chance to request a dance from the gorgeous “Phoenix.” To avoid any physical arguments that may ensue from a little too much alcohol mixed with raging testosterone, the MC announced another beautiful dancer to the stage. The hissing was quelled with the introduction of the Hispanic bombshell dressed in a nurse’s ensemble.

Roxy’s hand linked in his, and she sashayed behind the curtain and further down a hall lined with doors. The distance drowned out the beats of the music, and the lights grew dimmer. There were faint moans coming from behind a few of the rooms. Many of the girls conceded to furthering their “services” in some of the private rooms. Roxy never felt the need to seal the deal with any of the customers because she made enough money without it. And Jason’s libido met hers quite regularly.

After the short walk, she opened the final door on her right and flicked on a light in the room. The term “modest accommodations” was being delicate. The incandescent light bulb cracked and buzzed to a gentle glow. The room was covered with a shade of deep pink paint, black carpet, and white millwork. Black vinyl couches had a faux snakeskin pattern stretched across them.

Roxy was sure that this man had taken a shit in finer surroundings, but she wasn’t the god awful decorator. And besides, if the men were too busy noticing the color palette in the room rather than their naked accomplice, they were probably in the wrong place.

The man gently eased into the seat, pulling Roxy on top of his lap. He leaned in to plant a kiss on her moist lips, but she receded with a giggle.

“Ah-ah,” she groaned while biting her lip. “We’ll have none of that here.”

“My mistake,” he apologized. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s my first time.”

Roxy strongly doubted that statement. He seemed a bit too familiar with the whole procedure, and she imagined that he knew the restrictions of most strip clubs. Perhaps he just wanted to see how far he could push the boundaries.

“Where are my manners?” He held his hands up. “Please, you’re more familiar with this. What’s usually done?”

One of those types. He wanted narration to accommodate the actions. She got a lot of them, claiming to be inexperienced and needing a full demonstration. Whatever. If that was how he liked to get off, then fine. There’d be a big fat bill at the end of it.

“Well, how about I start with this…” He fished in his pocket to produce a fat wad of hundred dollar bills bound by a monogrammed white gold money clip. He placed it on the arm of the couch and patted it. He suggested, “Let’s see how far this takes us.”

There had to be at least fifteen to twenty grand in that stack of money. He had come prepared, and Roxy would do anything to please him… well, almost anything.

She slithered to her knees and nuzzled his inner thigh. She looked up, her chocolate brown eyes gazing into his. Lascivious gazes were exchanged �" Roxy had much practice in the art of seduction.

“Let’s see.”

Roxy rose to her feet, allowing him to get a full view of her exquisite curves. She had covered herself up some since her onstage performance, of course, by gentleman’s club standards at least.

The outfit consisted of a green tube top and a pair of green bikini panties that fell suggestively below her hips. Fishnet stockings and black peep-toe heels completed the outfit. Management always requested that she wore green �" she assumed that it was some Poison Ivy fantasy. In addition to her looks, redheads were always intriguing.

But it didn’t really matter the extent of her attire… it’d be on the floor in a few moments: starting with the top.

“Well,” she began. “I take this off.”

There it went, on the floor. Her long red tendrils fell deftly around her bust line and covered the recently exposed naughty bits. She swept her hands in front of the locks to pull them behind her shoulders, leaving no further mystery.

“Then, I dance some and you watch.”

Roxy did just as she proposed, and he completed his end of the bargain. Her dance commenced with a few solo moves, but it wasn’t long before she straddled his eager lap to continue her intentions.

“What next?” He grunted, relaxing himself and delving deeper into his inhibitions.

“I can tell you’re enjoying yourself.” Roxy swiveled her hips and bounced gently. Her back was facing him as she continued to grind her hips into his lap.

The man was also growing a little more comfortable with the situation, and he began to release his reservations… and it appeared that he had grown weary of the innocent act. His hands wandered down to her thighs, and he tugged her closer to him. A quick thrust of his pelvis caused the mood to grow tense. Luckily, Roxy had grown accustomed to the awkward moments, and she developed subtle ways to liberate herself.

“Now, now, cowboy.” She snickered, “settle down.”

She wrapped her hands around his and tried to pull them off to no avail. It would take a little more force with this one… that was fine. Whatever needed to be done. She was sure he was harmless, but if she needed to get rough, she would.

“You know, I heard you’re the best dancer.” His hands lowered, and one disappeared underneath the waistband of her panties. “I had to come and see for myself, and it’s true.”

Roxy reminded herself of the fat wad of money resting ten inches away from her. Would it really be that bad to concede to his wishes? No, she was the master of charisma, and she would be able to coax him into settling with a dance rather than anything more physical. It would just be a challenge �" one that she’d be ready for, naturally.

“You’re too sweet,” She cooed.

Her lips met his neck to release a puff of hot air, and with that, his hands released. She was able to slide his palms out from her crotch and to her hips.

“I’ll bet you’re the best at...” He released a guttural groan, and his hands soon found her breasts. “…Other things...”

“I am,” Roxy chuckled. She grew tired of the wasted efforts to dissuade his libido. “But, honey, that’s best left as a mystery.”

“Don’t be a tease,” He mumbled. His hands moved from kneading her breasts to her long red waves. “I’m willing to pay.”

“You’d be paying for my services whether I fucked you or not,” she remarked.

“Fuck me?” His grasp grew tighter in her locks. He continued to wind and to twist them through his fingers. He laughed, “Who said anything about fucking me?”

His hand yanked her head back with the bundle of hair in tangled in his hand. He shoved her head to his crotch. “I want your whore mouth on my cock.”

“As much as I appreciate the… offer, I’d rather not.”

She tried to formulate a plan to keep as many tendrils as possible and get the money. She wouldn’t give in, and she certainly wasn’t scared. Compared to the shit she grew up with, this only scratched the surface. She always managed to maintain expert poise in any situation.

“And why not?” He grew impatient.

His free hand began to unbuckle his pants. It was certainly a struggle, and his grip on her hair loosened to centralize his focus on his current concern.

“Son of a bitch.” He fumed.

Roxy was able to slide out, unharmed… and no major strategy needed to be concocted. She looked at the man with disgust. His lower torso was exposed and waiting for an excited partner to mount.

“Get dressed,” Roxy recommended. She adjusted herself and returned the green top to its original resting place on her frame.

“Fuck you.” He snarled, “What? Now you have standards? You’re a whore, and you dance for money. The second someone comes in with a fat check, you have boundaries?”

She kept her mouth shut. As much she wanted to sock him in the face, she had already done that twice before and was warned that a third time would cause her to lose her job. Of course, she had never believed that with some white trash nobody getting too close, but this customer was different. He could conceivably purchase the bar and its entire staff. Her word was mute to his.

“Nothing to say?” He laughed, “The one second you don’t have my son’s cock in your mouth, you’re speechless.”

“Your son?” She posed, growing agitated by the second. What the fuck was he on about now?

“Yes, my son, Jason,” he responded. “Stay away from him. He doesn’t need some white trash cunt slut fucking up his life.”

He stroked himself and surveyed her body, “Now, I may reconsider… “

A wicked smile formed on Roxy’s determined face. “You know, you’re right. I am interested.”

“That’s what I thought. You have no self worth. You will do whatever someone will pay you to do.” He licked his lips. “You and I aren’t so different after all.”

“No, we’re not…” Roxy nodded.

She sauntered closer to him, sashaying her hips. She moaned, but she hesitated briefly with a comment, “Oh, well, except for… just, one thing.”

“And that would be?”

Without a second’s vacillation, she socked him. Clear across the face. There was no doubt he had broken his nose… and well, she’d knocked pretty hard… he was out cold.

"I don't have a broken nose." She'd answered, pleased with herself.

She grabbed the wad of money on the arm of the sofa, and she filched the wallet out of his purse. She had to confirm one major thing though. “Warren Van Horten” read the driver’s license. Jason “Chains” Van Horten had to be his son. The nickname dubbed by the graphic tattoos as well as his deep affliction to sexual bondage involving them… no doubt Jason had acquired his father’s insatiable sexual urges. She clearly saw a resemblance, and that surname was far from common. But Jason would rarely mention anything about his father other than his utmost hatred. He would certainly be furious that he would be there.

Roxy watched the blood drip from his nose and mouth. She relished in this immense feeling of power… of taking down the “man”. Bullying the lower class blue collar regulars that got a bit rowdy and passed out was never gratifying or proved to be a challenge. This would only fuel her desire to continue to make powerful men suffer.

The present situation wasn’t much different. Warren Van Horten was conscious this time, and of course, restrained to a chair by ropes in one of the many random storage units he had under his name. Most likely, Jason’s mom or the latest twenty year old stepmother had obtained them to store furniture and knick knacks. And since Roxy had just had a manicure that afternoon, the butt of the gun was handling most of the conversation.

“Haven’t you grown tired of this, Warren?” Roxy sighed. The gun had met his face again.

After Elena had gotten her his private information, she had learned many things about him. For starters, his real name was not “Warren Van Horten” �" it was Athan Poppadopolous. He was full blood Greek, and upon coming to the states without a dime in his pocket, he changed his name to something that would forebode a legacy of money. Tons and tons of money. He had even managed to sweep off a French Canadian beauty queen off her heels, Jason’s mom Cherise, and he’d made a habit of that through the succeeding years as the money continued to flow.
One of the main things that she had discovered was that he was still funding some of Jason’s bad habits. There were several accounts that had Jason as a full member, and money transactions had recently occurred on them. Roxy had thought the days with Swiss bank accounts were far off… apparently she was wrong.

“What do you want?” He coughed. Tinges of blood were spit on the floor. There may have been a tooth mixed in there.

“Where’s Jason?” Roxy demanded. No more pussyfooting around. This time, she was the one in full control.

“What?”

Bonecrusher, the .500 caliber pistol, met his face again. After a few more smacks to the face, she’d certainly be doing some bone crushing.

“Where’s Jason?”

“I don’t fucking know.” He shouted through the blood filling his mouth.

A lie. Another smack in the face. She’d have to have the gun professionally cleaned to get all the blood, sweat, and tears out of the weapon.

“Stop. Okay… shit.” He coughed. “What makes you think I know?”

“You two have some sick bond that I’ll never understand…” She sighed, “No matter how much he hates you, he keeps coming back for your approval.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes with that statement.

“And you feed on his weakness �" you always have.”

“So, you have this big psychological theory figured out, Freud.” He continued to mock her, “Why would I turn my son in?”

“Because, I know you will eventually cave into enough torture.” She gently placed the gun on the floor. She surveyed the weapons at her disposal to select her next implement of pain.

“You can’t torture me. I would ruin your life, and sue the shit out of you. You’d never be able to show your face again… anywhere.” He seemed proud of himself that he had figured this big scheme out in such a short time. Roxy would’ve thought all the blunt whacks to the head that there would not have been a complete thought much less a full stream of consciousness.

“Ah, but you’re under the impression that you’ll be leaving here… alive. I owe you nothing.” She chuckled, satisfied with herself after choosing her new weapons.

Roxy fingered the tip of the switchblade to test its sharpness. She withdrew her finger at the tinge of a sting. She picked up its twin and stepped closer to the terrified victim.

She warned, “You’ve created that monster, and you’re gonna help me destroy him.”
View Roxy Phoenix's Biography
Back