It had started three months ago when her coke supplier—who had also been a bouncer at her club—decided to move to Florida. He was sick of the Minnesota winters and figured he could do a booming business in the tropics. Kayla didn’t know why he thought that, but she begged him not to go. He was the only supplier she knew of, and she didn’t want to break in another one. Nor did she want to go outside the club as it had been convenient with her supplier at her workplace. Her supplier wouldn’t listen, but he gave her the name of another guy who said he’d come to her place of work if she gave him a freebie. Kayla wasn’t in any position to argue, so she agreed reluctantly. She was smart enough to realize that dealing with a supplier she didn’t know could be dicey business, but she needed the junk.
The next day at work, a white guy who looked as if he had been a frat boy in college approached her during one of her breaks. He was wearing a gray Armani suit and a real Rolex. He had his Oakleys on, even though it was nearly pitch-black in the club, and he was the walking stereotype of a pimp or a dealer. Kayla cringed at how obvious he was, but she was desperate. She took him to one of the back tables and did a lap dance for him for free. Once she was done, she waited for him to show the stuff. She had made a couple hundred in tips that night, and she needed that fix like yesterday. Instead, he pointed to her skimpy top which showed more than it covered. It seemed as if he wanted to see her boobs. That was usually more than Kayla gave, but Kayla did it. The guy crooked his finger, indicating that she should lean closer. She did, and he slowly sucked her nipple while watching her face. She flushed as he took his time, doing it more to degrade her than because he got enjoyment out of it. At the same time, he ran his finger under her G-string and rubbed her pussy. She flushed, but took her medicine like a good lamb. When the man who had yet to give her his name had his fill of fun, he leaned back in his chair.
“How much?” He asked, eying her like she was a piece of meat.
“I got a hundred,” Kayla answered, feeling soiled. Though she did much more with her ‘dates’, it was usually under her control.
“Here.” The guy flipped her a small bag that contained a gram of coke and held out his hand. Kayla handed him the hundred, tucking the bag into the pocket of her diaphanous robe. Even though the robe was see-through for the most part, the pockets were not. He made a shooing motion with his hand, but Kayla remained where she was.