Chapter 107: A New Client
The city’s morning buzz was a distant hum as I approached the grand entrance of Heaven’s Feel, its sleek black doors framed by polished gold. My white sneakers scuffed the pavement, my long black shirt and t-shirt swaying, my jeans heavy from the walk.
Jonathan’s call had dragged me out of bed, his voice sharp with the promise of a client, and now here I was, ready to slip back into the world of money and pleasure, my secrets buried deep, at least for now. I gripped the ornate door knob, the metal cool under my palm, and pushed, the soft *chime* of a hidden bell announcing my arrival as the heavy doors swung open.
Inside, the air was warm, scented with jasmine and a faint trace of expensive perfume, the lobby a vision of luxury—marble floors gleaming, crystal chandeliers casting soft light, velvet curtains framing tall windows. Two girls in bunny dresses greeted me, their outfits hugging their curves, cleavage and ass curves on display, their smiles bright.
"Good afternoon, Ezra," they said in unison, their voices sweet, their eyes flicking over me in a playful manner, their bunny ears bobbing slightly as they leaned forward, trays of drinks balanced in their hands.
"Good afternoon," I said with a nod, my voice flat, my face neutral as I kept walking, my hands in my pockets.
The main dance hall stretched ahead, its space still quiet in the afternoon, workers setting up for the evening’s guests—polishing the mirrored bar, testing the stage lights. The place screamed money and pleasure, every detail designed to seduce, from the gold-trimmed walls to the soft jazz humming through hidden speakers.
I reached the elevator, and pressed the button for the fourth floor, where Jonathan had asked me to meet him. The doors slid shut with a soft *ding*, the cabin humming as it climbed, and I leaned against the wall, my hands still in my pockets, my brow furrowing.
....The fourth floor? I thought, sighing to myself, the sound heavy in the quiet. That floor was for the red rooms—private suites for bigger games, darker fetishes, where clients with deeper pockets and wilder tastes played.
Jonathan usually kept me on the lower floors, where the work was straightforward, so why here today? The question gnawed at me.
The doors opened, and a wave of sweet, hypnotic scent hit me—rose, musk, something heavier, designed to pull you in. The fourth floor was quieter than the lobby, the afternoon light streaming through tall windows, casting long shadows across the crimson carpet. The red rooms’ doors lined the hall, their polished wood gleaming, each one hiding fantasies played out behind them at night.
In the daylight, with the soft glow of wall sconces, it felt almost normal, just another big room. At the end in one of the room, Jonathan’s sat.