Descent

The bell above the door to the rundown laundromat rang as Michael opened it. He looked around, taking in the dimly lit, somewhat dilapidated interior. This definitely wasn't what he expected. Did get the wrong address from that business card? The place was surprisingly empty for a weeknight, with only a few machines running in the distance. Only a few patrons sat around the place waiting for their laundry to finish. One older gentleman reading a grocery store tabloid and younger woman texting away on her phone. They both looked up as Michael entered but just as quickly went back to what they were doing.

An older woman sat at the counter at the back of the room, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She looked up from behind her desk, her eyes scanning Michael briefly before settling back down to her crossword puzzle. Michael hesitated for a moment, taking in the scene. It was almost too ordinary, too mundane to be the host for a shady underground organization.

He decided to ask the woman behind the counter, hoping she'd know more. He approached the counter, his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual despite the racing of his heart. "Excuse me, I ummm, a friend of mine told me to come by here. He gave me this," Michael said as he pulled out the business card Marcus had given him earlier. He placed it on the counter in front of her. The woman looked up from her crossword puzzle, her eyes scanning the card before her gaze flicked back up to Michael. She looked him up and down, her expression unreadable. "Go to back of house, second door on right," she said, her voice mundane and uninterested. Michael waited expecting more information but none came. He nodded awkwardly and walked into the back of the laundromat.

As he came up to the door the old lady mentioned he noticed a RFID card reader beside the door. Curiously Michael took out the business card and scanned it on the reader. The red light above the door turned green but the door didn't unlock. Instead a small eye slot at head height opened. Michael could see a pair of burly set eyes star back at him. "And you are?" the eyes asked with an arched eye brow.

"Oh, ummm. I'm Michael, a friend told me to come by. He gave me this," Michael said raising the business card to the eye slot. The eyes flicked down to the card and then back up to his face.

"Sorry kid, can't let you in when you look like that but if you've got that card then you probably know what to do. Come back when you look... presentable," the eyes said before shutting the eye slot abruptly.

Michael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Kicking himself for not having thought this might be an issue. Sadie was right after all. It would have been good for her to tag along. She could have served as his disguise. Specifically because Michael hated mounting random women. It was so impersonal, invasive, and just plain wrong. He couldn't just go around taking over someone's body willy-nilly. But he knew he'd have to if he wanted to get inside.

Michael walked back out to the main area of the laundromat. He scanned the laundromat, his eyes stopping first on the old lady behind the counter. Doubt mounting her would fly. Not a great first impression mounting part of the front store disguise plus he doubted someone of her age would be considered "presentable" enough. So Michael's eyes moved onto the young woman texting furiously on her phone. She was probably in her twenties, with dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, her nails painted a bright pink. She was definitely cute. She'd do.

Michael hated this part. He waited for what seemed like hours, in reality it was only a few minutes, before the young woman got up and walked to the bathroom. Michael followed behind her. Five minutes later she walked back out of the bathroom looking exactly the same except if you looked at her refection.

Her name was Mary. He'd read her mind when he first got in her. The least he could do is know her name. He also did a quick mind scan to make sure she didn't have anything important going on today. Her sleeping mind responding with a simple 'no.' Her plan had simply been to stop by the laundromat on her way home from work to grab her laundry then head home to watch Netflix. But now she'd be unknowingly helping Michael with his reconnaissance mission. He felt a pang of guilt for disrupting her day but pushed it aside. He'd be sure to get her laundry and take her home after all of this. It would be the least he could do.

He walked back to the door, Mary's body feeling a bit off as he scanned the card again. This time, the eye slot opened only briefly. The pair of eyes nodded approvingly and the slot closed back up. Shortly there after the lock clicked open, the door swinging inwards with a creak. Michael was greeted to an odd sight. The owner of the burly eyes was middle aged bouncer. The bouncer stood between Michael and a stairway leading down toward a pair of velvet curtains. Michael could tell his age just by his face alone. But that was about all that gave away the bouncer's true identity. His body, or the body he was currently occupying, was that of a far younger far more beautiful woman. He had her wearing a low-cut, form-fitting black corset, fishnet stockings, and a pair of stiletto heels. But her body was one of an athelete. She must have been a weight lifter or something because the hopper inside her could definitely still use her form to man handle anyone that needed it.

"Ah looks like you found some attire, kid. Well done. Name?" the bouncer asked, his voice a deep rumble.

"Michael," Michael replied. "A friend told me to come by."

The bouncer nodded, his borrowed hair swaying around his shoulders. "Welcome to The Hopper's Den, Mike. Let me see that card of yours."

Michael stared at the bodyhopped woman for a moment. A pang of sorrow filled him. Somewhere deep down in there was a real woman, her life put on pause for someone else's amusement. He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He couldn't afford to have a conscience in this place.

The bouncer looked at him for a moment. "You like Vanessa here? Yeah she's a looker alright. But believe me, kid, I'm nothing compared to what's inside," the bouncer said, his voice taking on a sultry, almost sensual tone. He ran a hand down his borrowed body, a smirk playing on his lips.

Michael's stomach churned as he handed over the business card, the bouncer took it and held it up to the light, examining it carefully before handing it back.

"Well, looks like Marcus got another one. Come on in, kid," Vanessa, or at least her body, stepped aside allowing Michael to walk down the stairs to the velvet curtains below.

Michael hesitated, his eyes scanning the stairway as he began to walk down. Maybe this was a mistake. Was it too late to turn back? He could almost feel the menacing presence as he left the world above and descended into the darkness below. It was too late. There was no turning back now. Even if Michael didn't fully understand just how bad it would get.

Michael reached the bottom of the stairs and pulled back the velvet curtain. The first thing he saw were the words "The Hopper's Den." They were written in large, ornate letters above a stage at the far end of the room. The stage itself had multiple stripper poles evenly spaced on it, a few currently being used. The whole environment was a sprawling affair with the stage being the center piece of the room.

The walls of the den were draped in rich velvet curtains, just like the ones at the bottom of the steps. The lighting dim and warm, casting a warm glow over everything. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the faint hum of sultry music. The stage was filled with women, some talking in hushed tones, others engaged in more intimate activities. Michael swallowed hard, a knot of unease forming in his stomach. There must have been at least 30 women in the room, some sporting a man's face while others looked completely normal. But all in overtly sexually provocative attire. Some in the middle of sexual acts, their bodies gyrating to the sultry music as they danced and writhed on the laps of eager spectators. Others leaned intimately against the bar, chatting and laughing with the patrons, their voices husky and seductive. About a dozen men also sauntered through the den. All wearing suits and all looked to have the full attention of at least one of the mounted women.

A waitress suddenly approached Michael as he walked through the intense scene, a curvaceous blonde in a skintight red dress with the face of a older asian man. His eyes flicked over Mary's body, a small smile playing on her lips. "Son, what are you wearing that for? Either go to the back and find something more suitable or take everything off," the waitress said, her voice a deep rumble. She indicated a small door behind the stage. "No casual clothes allowed in here, you know the dress code."

Michael nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hated this. Hated the way they objectified these women, the way they treated them like playthings. But he pulled Mary's tank top over her head. His borrowed body shivered as the cool air hit bare skin. Next came the jeans, which he pushed down and stepped out of, leaving him in nothing but a black lace thong. The one that Mary had chosen out of necessity. All of her other panties currently in a washing machine upstairs. Michael had never felt more exposed, more ****. He clenched his fists, Mary's nails biting into her palms as he fought to maintain composure.

"Better," the waitress said, his gaze sweeping over Mary appreciatively. But before Michael could even respond, the waitress took one of her manicured hands, pushed the black lace thong aside, then immediately plunged her middle finger into his borrowed pussy.

"Fuck!" Michael yelped, jumping in surprise at the sudden intrusion. The manicured finger nail scraping lightly at his tender folds.

The waitress smirked at him. "Relax, sweetheart. Just have to make sure you're clean. House policy," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. Michael highly doubted that was an actual rule but that didn't stop the blond's finger moving inside him, probing and prodding. He gritted his teeth, his borrowed body tense as he fought the urge to push the abomination in front of him away.

Finally the waitress removed his finger, his eyes flicking over it, now covered in Mary's fluids. He held it up for Michael to see. "Nice, she looks like a good one. Very clean," he said, before dipping the finger into his mouth. Michael tried to maintain a neutral expression, but inside he felt like screaming. This was some fucked shit. The waitress chuckled, a deep rumble coming from somewhere deep in her chest. "Oh wow, she tastes fresh. I may have to eat you out later," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement before walking away.

Michael could only blush, "What have I gotten myself into?"