The Stripping Heiress

{Hailey’s POV}

The supervisor’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and pulsing music. “This is the room number a client paid for you,” she said, handing me a slip of paper with “room 12” written in black ink. My heart raced, not from fear but from the thrill of what came next. This is what I live for– surviving, one night at a time, one client at a time, to escape the grip of my stepfather, Richard.

I’d just stepped off stage, my skin still slick with sweat from dancing. The club was a dark, pulsing beast, filled with men and women chasing fleeting pleasures. Naked bodies swayed under dim lights, thongs barely clinging to hips, asses shaking for crumpled bills tossed onto the stage. I adjusted my red lace thong, the only thing I wore besides a pair of heels, and headed to the private room in the black.

Room 12 was tucked at the end of a narrow hallway, the door heavy and soundproof. I knocked once, and a deep voice rumbled from inside. “Come in”

The man inside was older, maybe in his late thirties, with dark hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He sat on a plush leather couch, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, revealing a chest dusted with hair. His eyes locked onto me, hungry and commanding, like he already owned every inch of me.

“Hailey.” he knows my name, his voice low, almost a growl. I nodded, my throat tight. “Good. Go take a shower. I want you to be clean before you touch me.”

His tone wasn’t a request – it was an order. Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine, not just from nerves but from something I hadn’t felt before. I walked to the small bathroom attached to the room, feeling his stare burn into my back. The shower was quick, the hot water sluicing over my skin as I washed away the club dirt. I stepped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and returned to him.

He was standing now, his pants already undone, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. “On your knees,” he said, pointing to the floor in front of him. My pulse quickened, but I obeyed, sinking. The carpet was soft under my knees, a small mercy. “Suck me,” he commanded, his voice like steel. “And don’t hold back.”

I reached for him, my hands trembling slightly as I freed him from his boxers. He cock was thick, heavy in my hand, and I leaned forward, my lips brushing against him. His groan was quick, deep, and it aroused me. I took his cock into my mouth, slow at first, then deeper, following into a rhythmic heart as he set his hands on the back of my head. His grip was firm, guiding me, controlling the pace. “That’s it, “ he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “Just like that.”

I’d done this before–too many times to count–but something about him was different. He wasn’t just a client; he was a force, commanding every move, every breath. My body responded in ways I didn’t expect, heat pooling low in my belly, my thighs pressing together as I worked him. His groans grew louder, his hips bucking slightly, and then he pulled me up, his hands strong on my arms.

“Lie down,” he ordered, pointing to the bed in the corner. I obeyed, my towel falling away as I climbed onto the sheets. He stripped off his clothes, his body lean and powerful, and climbed over me. “We’re doing this my way,” he said, his eyes dark. ‘Sixty-nine, Now.”

Before I could respond, he positioned himself, his head between my thighs, his cock hanging above my lips. The commanding edge in his voice left no room for hesitation. I opened my mouth, taking him in again as his tongue found my clit, hot, relentless. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pleasures I hadn’t expected. His mouth was skilled, teasing, and demanding all at once, and I moaned around him, my body arching into his touch.

No one had ever taken me like this, with such raw intensity. Every client before had been mechanical, transactional. But this man, he devoured me, his hands gripping my hips, his tongue driving me to the edge. I matched his rhythm, my lips and tongue sucking him until his groans vibrated against me. We moved together, a tangle of heat and need, until the world narrowed to just us, just this.

When it was over, he collapsed beside me, both of us breathing hard. “You’re good,” he said, his voice softer now but still with that commanding edge. He tossed a stack of money onto the bed– more than I’d expected. I took the money, my ticket from Richard was adding up.

Back at the club, Kaira, my best friend, and I. We’re shutting down with drinks and cigarettes when Joey, the bouncer, waves me over. “Hailey, someone left this for you.”

He hands me an envelope—heavy, cream paper. My name is Calligraphy. Not a stage name. My real one. Hailey Vale.

I glance toward the crowd.

I rip the envelope open.

Inside: a single sheet of parchment and a gold-embossed card.

Miss Hailey Vale,

You are hereby summoned to the reading of the will of George Lachlan, to be held at Lachlan Estate, New York.

Attendance is mandatory.

—Harrison & Leach, Attorneys at Law.

“What the fuvk?” I whisper.

George Lachlan? I don't know him. I never met him.

Why would I be summoned to his will Kiara?

“This letter looks fake, We got a lot of con artists here in New Orleans, so chill out.”

“Right?” I crumple the letter and toss it in the bin. We continued to chill out in the dressing room.

Later at night Kiara and I went to her home because I could not stand to see that old wrecked man called Richard.

Kiara lives in a four-storey apartment building, and she lives on the third floor. We got to the door. And she was knocking on her own apartment. Kiara was high. I busted out.

“Yo! Give me your bags, let me get your keys, you are drunk." We both laughed. When the door swung open, I froze to have seen this son of a bitch Craig.

“I can explain, Hailey.” Kiara looked at my face. I walked in and shoved him on the shoulder.

“Are we doing this now, You ended things with the mother fucker, what the hell is he doing here Kiara?”

“Watch your mouth bitch.” Craig snaps.

“Oh, what’re you gonna do—hit me?” I step up. “Come on, tough guy. Hit me. I’ll rip your balls off and mail them to every side chick you cheated on her with.”

Kiara jumps between us, grabbing my arms. “Hailey! Chill, please. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you—he came back… begging. And I—I still love him.”

I stare at her like I don’t recognize her. “Do you hear yourself? Is that how good his dick is that you can’t let go, mmm… tell me, Kiara, that bastard doesn't respect you. I'm out of here. Give me the keys to the truck, and I will sleep there.”

She tried to stop but I took the keys from the table and walked out. I couldn't stand seeing Craig. I hate him. For all the pain he made Kiara go through.

I pulled in the truck and lowered the driver's seat and I slept off.