Straight For Pay

The name of the club was the Hen House.

Doors opened for Lois, broad-shouldered men in suits holding them, scars on their knuckles, bluetooth earpieces, prison tattoos crawling up their necks. Blaze was behind Lois, gently directing Lois inside.

Dark red lighting. A gentleman's club, tastefully done up. Real wood on the walls, leather chairs. The bar, a long piece of California sequoia, took up the left-hand wall, the bottles on the bottom shelf would have been the top shelf at any other club on the street; the stage was on the right, three live sex shows, all girl-on-girl. Waitresses wearing aprons and nothing else served drinks, ignoring the feels being copped except with a slight grimace. It smelled of expensive cigars.

The music was classical. Tchaikovsky, provided by an all female nude string quartet on the far side of the room.

The women on stage weren't acting, not moving to the music. They caressed each other as lovers, as though no one was watching. Lois had seen sex shows and porn before, and there was always a theatrical element, but this was...more natural. Relaxed. Smiles and kisses. Eager fingers and tongues. No **** moans and sighs, no fake cunt-shattering orgasms. The women were enjoying themselves, working to get each other off, seemingly oblivious to being watched by the men sipping their expensive scotch and smoking their expensive cigars, watching in weirdly stony silence. No hoots, no hollers, no clapping of hands.

The lactating reporter frowned, her tits feeling painfully tight. There was something she wasn't understanding.

"The women are lesbians," Blaze whispered in her ear, as she guided the reporter toward the stage. "But they are also prostitutes. The men come here to watch them make love to each other. And, when they feel aroused, they pay to fuck them. Knowing that they hate it. That they prefer women. That's what gets them off...being able to buy women who normally have nothing to do with them. That's their power."

The lactating reporter felt a little sick to her stomach, hearing that. She'd heard of "gay for pay" of course—a common practice in the porn industry. But "straight for pay"? She supposed it was no different than what a lot of sex workers did, but it still felt...unnecessarily demeaning.

"Now, Lois," Blaze whispered. "If you want to save those women...you're going to have to do something you might not like." The demon smiled. "Although who knows? Some women enjoy it."