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<br/>
<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Whispers</span></b>, </i>a dark and edgy Gentleman's Club set between two buildings on Decatur St. in Marigny, New Orleans, Louisiana. The dim lighted atmosphere provided an aura of sultry, heady desire. Plush leather chairs surrounded the two platform stages to provide the best customer appeals they could manage in the cozy sized club. <br/>
<br/>
The stages were lit up by red, purple, and blue veiled lights to offer a grittier experience for both the dancers and customers alike. Atop the right stage adjacent from her blonde dancing counterpart, was Tempest. Blessed by the luck of being born with a stripper name to begin with, she simply put it to use. <br/>
<br/>
As it turns out, Tempest had built herself a handful of regulars who came for the feisty and aggressive dancer who oozed darkness and pain like it was their favorite meal of the night. Tempest played on the heartstrings of her customers, plucking at them with a blood red painted finger nail. A bloody creature poster girl for the underground men who could appreciate without touching, who simply wanted to watch her. What was a few clothes dropped to the floor? A nude body? In Tempest's eyes, it was her warping her past into a position of power. While the men saw her as a puppet dancing on stage for their entertainment, she knew differently. <br/>
<br/>
She was in control. With the sway of her hips, her spiraling around the metal pole built from platform to ceiling, she had them exactly where she wanted them. Even as the song poured out from the surround sound system filtering the gritty tunes of <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DeMWCzvXpmOg&amp;hash=9ae2b041e806e98b36f34adbadae1951" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMWCzvXpmOg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Sweet Dreams</a> into the club, and her curvy frame undulated to the seductive sounds of Manson's growling notes, the <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.ytimg.com%2Fvi%2FrvPSudPEJHw%2Fmaxresdefault.jpg&amp;hash=768b9d143f4658db723266ce382e7529" href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rvPSudPEJHw/maxresdefault.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">straps of the lingerie hugging her body</a> was comfortable. She was in her element, all but forgetting the men devouring her with their eyes as she twirled around the pole, her legs entangling as she swung herself upside in a waterfall of chocolate tresses that looked obsidian and shined beneath the red lights that accentuated the painting of red on her lips. <br/>
<br/>
She crawled slowly across the stage, flipped her hair back from her face, dipped low with her backside in the air. Rolling over the bills littering the platform floor, arching her back dramatically with the parting of her lips as if a woman possessed by an invisible force giving her pleasure. Hands smoothed over her thighs, up the slope of her stomach and over her breasts before her back met the floor once more. Rolling to her hands and knees, she caught a bill between her teeth by a mesmerized gentleman entranced by her show. Crawling back towards the pole, she rolled back and arched her lithe frame with a catch of her fingers to the floor. Undulating her body like in a serpentine motion of her stomach and hips, she pulled the bill from her mouth and slid it in a line over her stomach before tucking it into a high strap of her bottoms, rolling to her dramatic high heels. A twirl, a hook of her leg around the pole as she took off from the air, dangling upside down and made a slow turn around the metal pole. <br/>
<br/>
And so she carried on until the final notes of the song trailed away, bringing her to the end of her dance in a blend of cat calls and mild clapping. She collected the rest of the bills scattered on the floor before climbing slowly to her feet, fanning herself with the bills with a dramatic batting of her lashes before blowing a kiss, slender fingers pressing to plump red lips before she shot them a wink and cat walked across the platform to the curtain that hid the back of the club where the girls changed and got ready for their performances. <br/>
<br/>
Like a veil being lifted, the sultry femme fatale persona was shed the moment she stepped off the stage. A deep breath was taken as she disappeared behind the curtain, murmuring a <i>thank you </i>to the aide who was there to greet her with one of her silk robes. "Last performance of the night, doll?" She questioned, and Tempest looked over at her with a nod. "I'm done for tonight. Kill for a bacon cheeseburger right now," she grumbled, slipping her hands beneath the spill of chocolate locks, pulling it out from beneath the silk collar. The aide, Anita, sputtered a laugh. "Maybe you should get your beau to get you one," the fairer of the two women smirked. <br/>
<br/>
"Beau?" Tempest arched a brow as she made her way to the vanity station designated as her own. There was makeup scattered across it's surface, as well as wipes to remove the makeup she had on. She stared at Anita as she collapsed onto the cushioned bench seat.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you know? The rugged, gorgeous slab of man meat that drops by to steal you away now and then."<br/>
<br/>
"He's not my <i>beau,</i>" Tempest murmured and snickered to the woman's way of describing him, turning around to face the mirror as she pulled a makeup removal wipe from the package, making it crinkle in the process. "We're just..." <br/>
<br/>
"Complicated?" There was a purse of Anita's lips, a tilt of her head that said she wasn't buying what Temp was trying to sell.<br/>
<br/>
"No," the woman shot Anita a look for the one she received, narrowing her eyes in the reflection. "It's simple. We're... friends, I guess," she muttered, leaning forward to remove some of the dramatic liner around her eyes. Dulling it down to a minimal line beneath her lids. <br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh... well, if that's the case, you might wanna go meet him outside before one of the other girls decides to devour him," she snickered, walking away to help one of the other girls struggling with her outfit. "Honey, if you can't put it on, how are you gonna remove it while you're <i>dancing?</i>" She chimed a laugh, just to soothe the girl. <br/>
<br/>
"Wait, he's <i>here</i>?" Tempest blinked, whipping her head around to stare at Anita's back as she looked over her shoulder to the darker haired woman. "Mhm, you sound almost excited." <br/>
<br/>
Tempest grumbled under her breath as she smeared the thick red lipstick from her plump mouth. "Kick his ass when I see him more like." She'd texted him earlier, as well as called, with no responding answer. She'd been worried about him all day, with the soft thrum of anxiety that her dancing managed to momentarily distract her from. But there was always a seed of panic when he didn't respond, spiking her paranoia levels that something had happened to him after what they'd done. <br/>
<br/>
She finished removing the cake layers of makeup on her face to a softer, more natural look before she stood up and removed her robe to hook on the corner of her mirror. Stepping over to the rack where the girls hung their outside clothing, she quickly removed the strappy get up she was sporting to replace it with simple lace bra and panties. Snagging the high rise leather pants, she slipped them on and fastened them, tossing the cut-off midriff Harley Davidson shirt to put on. After she slipped a pair of ankle boots on, she returned to her vanity to grab the purse sitting on the floor beside it. "Have a good show, ladies," she muttered her goodbyes before she passed the row of other women at their stations to make it out of the side exit, avoiding the customers up front completely as she broke out onto the NOLA side street where she told him to meet her when she was done in the club. <br/>
<br/>
Turning once she was out, she spotted the familiar chiseled jawline lined with stubble. The natural brooding set of brows that cast a shadow over his eyes. As appealing and handsome as he was, and even she couldn't deny it, her shoulders bristled with aggravation. As her name would entail, she stormed toward him before her hand snapped out to smack his bicep with the back of her hand. "Dammit, Axel," she barked, her dull brown eyes lit up with fire of annoyance. "I texted and called you today. Is it so hard to text me back some peaches? Damn!" She spat, her fiery attitude igniting as she squared up to him, refraining from stomping her boot like a child - if only because she didn't trust herself not to stomp down on his foot instead. Narrowing her eyes up at him, she huffed and swatted a lock of hair from her face. "I could slap you stupid right now," she grumbled, redirecting her attention down to the purse she was clutching, finding the metal case that enclosed her cigarettes. Pulling a Marlboro from the case, she fixed it between her lips before lighting the cherry with a red mini Bic, inhaling the toxins into her lungs to soothe the urge to do just as she said. <br/>
<br/>
It was was catch 22 when it came to Axel. She hated worrying about him, but she hated that he could <i>make </i>her worry about him more. That she cared enough to feel that anxiousness when she didn't hear from him for too long. He'd embedded himself into her bones, making himself a home and kicking up his feet with a beer. The distrusting spitfire of a woman trusted him, a feat that was near impossible for anyone but him, but he'd never proved to be untrustworthy to her. She was comfortable with him when she wasn't even comfortable with herself, or the world now that she knew the terrors it beheld. <br/>
<br/>
Even as she wanted to slap him into next Tuesday, she could feel the constricting panic in her chest ease seeing he was alive. He was okay. She'd hug him if she was the type, but she wasn't the most affectionate broads around. So, instead, she calmed herself with chimney inhales from her cigarette and fixed him with a dead set glare. </span>