The Don’s Indebted Stripper

MAE

"Ye deserve to be fucked in the arse by a man who knows how to do it proper!"

That was Mr Marcello. He was not only a frequenter at the strip club where I was, but my father's former 'friend'. Their friendship which was built from going to the same gambling house sadly ended when my father decided to add him to the long list of people he owed.

I forced a smile and took the old man's tip off his wrinkled hands, slipping the wad of dollar notes in my little bra with my eyes focused on his reddening face which was obviously due to his arousal.

He grinned, flashing the best set of pearly whites I had ever seen in my direction. Obviously fake, but still beautiful… must have cost him a lot.

"Two thousand for the night." He offered.

I shook my head. "I only strip, Sir, nothing else. My colleagues here can take up your offer though, if you want."

"Five thousand."

His hand reached upward to feel my boobs which was only covered with a small, glittery, almost non-existent bra.

I slapped his hand away but was pulled back to him with much more force. The smell of alcohol in his mouth made me nauseous.

I tried with all my strength to push him away, but God, he was so fat… and of course, everyone else ignored me…

"Look, my patience has run out. If you serve me well tonight, I will be kind enough to give your worthless father a little more time." He gasped heavily, looking at me with lustful eyes.

I turned my head, desperately trying to escape from his sticky tongue on my skin. Suddenly, I felt his greasy fingers crawling over my body and even… down there.

"Oh, no, no...” Panic surged through me. I lashed out, kicking the nearby sofa with all my might, hoping the recoil would give me some leverage. With my one free hand, I pushed against his hulking frame with all the strength I could muster....

My gaze landed on the bottle on the table. I struggled to grab it and without thinking, slammed it at his head.

I felt relieved instantly and rolled to the ground.

"Fuck!" He put his hands over his head and let out a howl of pain. The blood trickled down from to the corners of his eyes, making him more terrifying.

Screams were let out by my panicked colleagues, and the sharp sound was particularly harsh in this room now. Then, hurried and disorderly sounds of footsteps came from far and near.

Where was everyone when this man kept assaulting me?

With a creak sound, the door is flung open and she appeared in front of it—Yuri. The mistress of the boss here who also doubled as the club's manager. She was a haunting nightmare for me. Yet in this frightening moment, her presence somehow brought me a sense of comfort.

" Mr Marcello? Are you all right?" Yuri's voice was trembling, "Come quickly, take Mr Marcello to get treated!" While repeatedly apologizing, she eagerly directed the guards around her to help that bastard.

I sat there like a lifeless puddle of mud, my mind blank, with no idea what I should be doing at this moment. Suddenly, a burning pain fell on my face.

I touched my cheek slowly, realizing that she had slapped me.

Before I could react, she pulled me up to my feet, then began to drag me towards the changing room.

"How dare you!" She barked when we finally got there, her eyes were blazing with anger.

I tried to ignore the burning pain in my cheek as I answered, "I told you, I'm not sleeping with anyone. My dad owes him—I'll pay it."

"What about the debts I cleared for him that you promised to repay? When do I get my money?"

"Please, Yuri, just give me time—"

She slammed her hand on the table, causing me to jump. "I'm done with your excuses! You think your pussy is gold? Better than my other girls? I have hotter redheads, they are not as uptight as you are. You hit a customer, you bloody whore!"

I tried to respond, but she wasn't finished.

"Marcello was badly injured. That won't happen with anyone else here. Refuse one more man's advances from your next shift, you are out of here. Got it?"

She didn't wait for my answer, just stormed out.

I stood there trembling, a mix of anger and frustration bubbling inside me. My shift was over, thank God. I quickly changed into a baggy T-shirt and shorts, packed my tips without counting, and slipped out the back door before Yuri decided to tack on extra hours.

I got a cab and started my journey home, just needing to cry myself to sleep tonight. I eventually arrived at the house, and groaned when the front door decided to pick today of all days to be messy with me, refusing to open.

It usually got stuck from time to time, but damn, I was already too tired for this right now. I kept pulling until the door eventually yielded, almost slamming into my face.

Inside, the familiar smell of stale beer hit me first, sharp and sour. I walked inside properly, taking off my slippers and my jacket, feeling warmer.

Then, I took a quick glance around the old house. It was nothing to write home about, literally. The couch was lumpy and covered in cigarette burns, the cushions stained with… a lot of stuff, honestly. The kitchen table was stacked with overdue bills, sticky with spilled liquor I had gotten tired of cleaning up.

Dad was in his usual spot, slouched on the longest couch we had, a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand.

My chest burned afresh with the anger and desperation I had earlier felt. I dropped my bag on the floor with a thud, loud enough to make him stir. His head lolled to the side, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on me.

"Mae? What time is it?" He slurred.

I ignored the question and crossed my arms. "Why would you even care what time it is? Do you have to go anywhere? Work, maybe? Do you even care about that? Actually, do you even care about anything?" My voice was already shaking, and I hated it.

"Okay, what's this about now?" He grumbled, slightly sitting up.

"Marcello," I spat the name like poison. "The guy you said you owed money. 8k. He came to the club tonight."

Dad rubbed his face, his fingers trembling. "Don’t tell me you talked to him. I told you I’ll handle it."

"With what money?" I shot back, my voice rising. "You've been saying this for months, dad, but every fucking day, I'm the one working, breaking my back every night, and you just sit here and drink!"

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that." His voice cracked, but it wasn't with power—it was panic. He waved dismissively at me, "I'm your father, Mae. I'll fix it. I'll pay him back."

Knowing that this was going nowhere, and there was no reasoning with him when he was obviously almost passed out from drinking, I sighed and spun around, taking the wooden stairs up to my room.

 

I barely shut the door before the tears came. I stood there, back against the door, trying to steady myself before stepping into the room—a small box with a bed and a drawer.

The walls were bare except for a faded beach poster of a place I'd never see. I painted, but my paintings were too depressing to hang, so I kept them tucked in the drawer.

I slid down on the ground, tears dripping to my chest. I didn’t know how I can go through this fucking mess. I took out the phone, hoping to contact my only friend, Liam. He was not always around due to his busy schedule as a Lieutenant, but he still managed to keep in touch frequently. I unlocked the phone, but then locked it…It’s not fair for him to always share my distress.

I looked up and stared at the ceiling, trying to distract myself by counting the squares or something.

I had not sat there for long before yelling erupted downstairs. My stomach twisted as I grabbed my phone, listening closely until I heard Dad's voice—pleading, followed by threats, then the sickening sound of a slap.

"Oh, hell no," I muttered, leaping to my feet and rushing out. I froze at the top of the stairs, my heart pounding as I figured out who was downstairs.