The Gangbang Collection (6 page)

“The Leather & Lace is at the end of the street,” he spoke in his honey-deep voice, those big brown eyes never leaving her face, “but I will take you around to the back entrance so the clientele doesn’t bother you.”

“Oh… um, thanks,” Angel smiled awkwardly, reaching down to reflexively hitch down her dress and hide her bare legs that were probably blushing as brightly as her face was right now. “Thank you.”

The chauffeur offered no reply and the electric partition slid closed once more.

Angel looked out of the tinted windows. Already she could see the queue for the
club,
it stretched halfway down the block. And if what she’d heard about the Leather & Lace was true then she wasn’t surprised, what the Leather & Lace offered would make it very appealing to a certain type of person. Unfortunately Angel wasn’t one of them.

But there was plenty of that kind of person outside the club and, as the limo crawled slowly past them, their fashion grew more and more outlandish and shocking the closer they got to the entrance. Angel lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she watched them.

Here was a man in leather pants and boots, as muscular and massive as Conan the Barbarian, with only a crisscross mesh of PVC straps covering his tanned chest from the cold. Beside him was a woman dressed in full burlesque, a fantastically garish silver swan outfit with heavy makeup and a headdress like a thanksgiving foil centerpiece. It was only on second glance that Angel realized it was actually a transvestite. In front of these two, two gorgeous young Asian women in outfits that made Angel’s cocktail dress look like a nun’s robe, held hands with a handsome dwarf dressed in an expensive gangster-
esque
suit as he cackled and sucked smoke from an expensive cigar. Angel had heard that the Leather & Lace, a kind of burlesque and cabaret club, was also a hive for unconventional sex and prostitution, though until now she’d never believed the rumors as anything more than fanciful gossip. Until now…

The limo cruised past the doors, two looming neon-lit maws that led downwards into the underground chasm of whatever depravity and sin waited below. Angel watched the two bouncers outside as they ushered in the strange customers. They were giant black musclemen dressed in leather jackets, solemn-faced behind tinted shades. The car continued down to the end of the street and then turned off up a small alleyway.

***

“Here we are Miss Angel,” the chauffeur spoke as he held the door open for her.

Angel hesitated, the words “I’ve changed my mind, take me home!” catching in her throat, before forcing a smile and standing up to navigate her way out of the limo, careful to cover her private bits. In this dress it wasn’t easy. No wonder all those celebrities were always getting caught off guard.

But there was no paparazzi waiting for Angel in the dark and smoky alleyway behind the club. Instead, an elegant cold-eyed older woman stood, arms crossed over her scarlet gown as she puffed indifferently on a cigarette at the end of a long Audrey Hepburn style cigarette holder.

“Angel,” she smiled (but only with her eyes), “we spoke on the phone.”

“Oh yes, Miss Constance,” Angel smiled, “how do you do?”

“I prefer
Madam
Constance,” the woman said and then looked Angel up and down without any effort whatsoever to hide her distaste. She might as well have been a butcher inspecting a bad cut of meat. “No, no, no,” she frowned, “this is unacceptable. I told you to dress sexy,
seductively
.”

Angel’s cheeks burned. She knew Sandra’s cocktail dress had been too much. Silently, she cursed her friend’s well-meaning promiscuity.

“Never mind,” Madam Constance spoke, “come downstairs, we have plenty more items for you to wear downstairs that will suit the evening better.” Without another word, she turned and disappeared down a basement doorway that Angel had somehow missed, the golden-yellow light spilling up into the metropolitan darkness of the alleyway like the entrance to a different and somehow even more sinister dimension.

Angel froze, unsure of what to do, when the Chauffeur placed his hand on her shoulder. “Go!” he said and Angel lurched forward, disappearing down below into that other world that waited for her somewhere below.

***

Angel had seen scenes like this in movies, changing rooms and back corridors of Moulin Rouge-type clubs, populated by beautiful young women in scant clothing and dangerous men who packed as much heat in their treacherous hearts as they did in their holsters, everybody moving and shaking, everybody working an angle to get out ahead. What the hell was she doing here?

“Keep up Angel, won’t you,” Madam Constance called blithely from up ahead without turning around. “These hallways are quite labyrinthine, if you aren’t careful you could get lost and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“Um… no,” Angel replied, “of course not.”

A moment later, Madam Constance stopped outside a doorway. In the distance Angel could hear the pounding, heady throb of industrial music, playing somewhere beyond these cramped, sound-proofed walls.

“Girls, please vacate this room! Angel here needs some privacy.”

As Angel blushed with embarrassment, a trio of slutty young women filed out of the changing room, giggling and gossiping as they went. Angel’s eyes bulged as she watched them. The skimpy outfits they were dressed in were a million times worse than Sandra’s cocktail dress. If you could call them outfits at all that was, underwear and boots would have been more fitting,
the kind of underwear Angel wouldn’t consider wearing even on Valentine’s
Day.

“Her name’s Angel?” one of the girl’s snickered as they passed.
“Sounds like she’s come to the wrong place Madam Constance.”

“Silence!”
Madam Constance barked, but when Angel looked at her she saw she was smiling. “Girls, get out to the club and entertain our guests. Commissioner Robertson is in tonight and you know how much it takes to bring him to absolution.”

“Oh boy,” one of the girls grinned, rolling her eyes, “it’s going to be a long night.”

Angel watched them as they waltzed down the corridor. Surely they didn’t mean Bret Robertson, the city’s police commissioner? When one of the girls produced a pair of latex gloves and pulled them onto her hands Angel realized she didn’t want to know.

***

“Now my dear,” Madam Constance smiled, resting her graceful fingers on Angel’s bare shoulders and causing the younger woman to shiver. “Let’s get you out of that inappropriate dress. This is not a
nightclub,
you’re not trying to sell sugary shots to drunken
fratboys
. You’re here to
entertain
, to entice.
And at the Leather & Lace that means wearing something a little more alluring.”

Angel stood by the mirrors, her wrists hanging limply by her sides and feeling like she was back at high school again trying out for cheerleader even though she knew she’d never get picked. Madam Constance began fingering through a rail of outfits, as Angel’s eyes were drawn towards her own reflection. She looked at herself in the mirror and for a moment hated what she saw with more power and intensity than she ever allowed herself to feel during the rest of her day to day life. With her long bony legs and arms, her narrow hips and small lifeless breasts, she felt she was a thoroughly unworthy excuse for a woman. She would never be comfortable in her skin, like those other voluptuous flirty girls who had just left the dressing room. She envied them for their bodies almost as much as she hated her own. She’d been so engrossed in her own self-loathing that she didn’t notice Madam Constance step up beside her.

“Such a beautiful young woman,” she whispered, lifting Angel’s long straight brown hair over her shoulder and for a just a moment caressing her jawline.

Angel bristled. She knew Madam Constance was only trying to make her feel better but it still somehow felt inappropriate,
sexual
even.

“But it is true,” Madam Constance said in a matter-of-fact tone that almost made Angel believe her. “Stay with us here and soon you will learn. A woman like you, so waif-like and elegant, will be the most popular talking-point on the floor.”

“Elegant!” Angel snorted, “
yeah
right…”

Madam Constance’s hand suddenly tightened on Angel’s throat, the silver nails burrowing slightly into the soft flesh as she held the girl’s head rigidly up to face her. “You are new here Angel, so I will grant you that one mistake. But now you must realize that my girls are not permitted to argue with me, about
anything
. Understood?”

Angel swallowed tightly, beneath Madam Constance’s unyielding grip. She knew she should be offended, maybe even outraged, but somehow she felt… excited? Was that the right word?
 
Not quite, but it was close.

“Yes Madam Constance,” she said as the older woman released her grip and smiled at her once more.

“Good, now I want you to get changed quickly. We are very busy tonight and I am eager to unveil our latest addition to the team.”

As Angel looked at the outfit in Madam Constance’s hand a fresh blush injected itself into her cheeks and all thoughts of offence, outrage and even excitement at her earlier treatment disappeared. Surely they didn’t expect her to wear
that
!

***

“Hurry up and put it on,” Madam Constance said, “we don’t have all night.”

Angel could find no words as she stared at the reflection of the skimpy PVC uniform on the hanger in Madam Constance’s hand, at the tight black top and the tiny
hotpants
, barely bigger than a pair of panties. But if she did put it on then at least she wouldn’t have to worry about covering her knees anymore, because the long black zip-up boots that went with it climbed all the way up to the thighs. For the first time ever, she considered, her gangly frame might be a boon and even still it would be a struggle to fit into the outfit.
So tight!

“I…
”
 
she
began as the words of protest petered off into nothing before they’d even begun.

“Don’t argue Angel,” Madam Constance warned in the voice of a strict headmistress. “Get changed and then meet me on the floor to start work.”

Madam Constance placed the hook of the clothes hanger against the dresser and then turned and left the room. There was no chance to argue even if Angel could have somehow found the words.

***

Looking at her reflection now was like looking at a completely different person, someone Angel had never dreamed she could embody. The shiny black PVC clung to her body like the sleek hide of a panther, somehow finding and enhancing curves and shapes that had never been there in the first place. Despite herself Angel couldn’t help but admit that she looked good, really good, and in a very
bad
way. In fact she looked like an S and M sex kitten. And maybe that was the point, she realized, as a burn of nervous excitement lit up a flush on her almost-naked chest.

And the boots, those thigh-high sleek black monsters that squeezed her flesh so tight that it hurt, Angel had never worn heels so long and thin. She wondered if she’d be able to walk in them. Not for the first time that night, she reminded herself that she didn’t really have much of a choice here. If she didn’t bring in some cash soon she’d be kicked out of her apartment. So even if she looked like a streetwalker well at least that was just for show, all she’d really have to do tonight was bring people drinks to their tables, but if she didn’t take the job… Well maybe streetwalking would be the only actual option left.

“Yeah right,” she muttered under her breath. This right here was where Angel drew the line.

She decided to take a practice run up and down the narrow dressing-room once or twice to get used to walking in the heels. Surprisingly, it wasn’t so
bad,
the sting that came with wearing such tight PVC was actually the worst part. And even more surprisingly, Angel was starting to find a strange kind of comfort in that pain. Just like the hot gratification she was beginning to feel at humiliating herself by wearing clothes so sluttish and obscene.

***

As Angel approached the club she felt a lump of nervousness grow in her throat. That loud pounding industrial music was getting louder and up ahead she could see the violent silver flash of the strobe light as it spilled out into the hallway, pulsing like a series of electric shocks hooked right up to the brain. This was so not her scene.

She paused at the entrance to the club and clasped a hand over her mouth. Inside was like a cyber-jungle. It was impossible to make out much in the sporadic flashing of the stark strobe light and any sound was drowned out completely by the grinding industrial music. But what little Angel could see
filled
her with intense shock and awe. What was going on inside could only be described as a deranged mix of dancing and fucking, as the
fetishistically
-clad clubbers reeled in and out of each other’s company, exchanging saliva and sensation apparently completely at random. There was no way Angel could go in there. This was supposed to just be a
hostessing
job.