Free Sex, Lies & Nikolai by R.J. Lewis Page B

at the old man, processing what he’s saying with a blank look on my face. I’m detached on the outside, but my heart’s thudding like a jackhammer on the inside. Ivan knows how badly I need this job, and he’s just used it against me to get what he wants. A complete power play.
    I saw this coming. Just when you think someone’s good, they show you another part of themselves. The part that is unforgiving. I wish I could say this was the first time someone’s taken advantage of my situation, but that’s an utter lie. It’s happened so many times, I couldn’t give you a number.
    I stare at him long and hard, until he can’t take the heat of my gaze. I do this to show strength, but I’m not strong. I’m just pretending out of instinct.
    I’m angry. Fuming. Ivan’s a king atop of his mole hill, and he’s using this little control to make me do something I don’t want to do. It makes me shake. Yet again I’m being taken advantage of. I want to hurt him for doing this. For letting me down because a tiny hopeful part of me truly was beginning to think my boss was okay.
    But I need this job, and the miserable fuck that is Ivan knows it too.
    I want to tell him that one day I’ll make us even. I’ll make him feel as stuck as he has made me feel. It’s a pleasing thought, but not one I think will come to fruition any time soon.
    Gritting my teeth, I glare at him and finally ask, “Where are you sending me exactly?”
     
    *
    A strip club.
    He’s making me go to a strip club. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.
    In fact, I’m not getting paid at all for this shit. The asshole had the nerve to make me finish my shift first!
    It’s almost seven o’clock in the evening when I finally come to a stop in front of the place on the corner of Mugville and Shady People in Trench Coats. I look up at the yellow sign that reads, “TEASERS” with a bad drawing of a woman in high stockings with her hand wrapped around a dance pole.
    Yeah, it’s totally classy. I’m extremely impressed right now.
    “Fuck you, Ivan,” I whisper under my breath. “Fuck your cold miserable heart, you old motherfucking cunt.”
    I don’t usually swear this colourfully, but I’m pissed and, wouldn’t you know it, out of options. It’s the story of my life.
    Clutching tight my ID and the little patience I have left, I tense my jaw and go in.
     

Chapter Eight.
     
    Nikolai
     
    The Sokolov thirst for violence.
    They taught us to be angry all the time. Anger made us more acutely aware of our surroundings, and now all I can do is look around, compulsively seeking trouble.
    I twirl a cigarette between my fingers, hiding the tremors running through them. I let out a breath, trying to concentrate on Valeria as she strips before us on-stage, but I’m barely present. My body is tight. I’m wound up, the growing aggression making my mind race.
    She does a little spin and then dances her way to where I’m seated, ignoring all the others. Her hands glide up my thighs, and she continues to sway her body to the light music as she brings her face closer to mine. Her round tits swing before me, her hand runs higher, pressing against my dick. She pauses, her brown eyes searching mine for several moments.
    “I do nothing to you, Nikolai?” she whispers in my ear, disappointed.
    I don’t respond. My eyes cut into hers, a warning to pull away, and she does.
    If I was the same man I was in the Sokolov, I would have pulled my zipper down and forced her to stick my dick into her mouth. I’d have make her suck my soft dick until it hardened, and then I’d fuck her throat deep until I came. After, I would have discarded her and moved right along, never blinking twice at her.
    But now…now things have changed and she’s right. She does nothing to me. Most women do nothing to me. It’s why my fingers start to shake. I begin to crave violence because it’s the only damned thing that gives me any form of release.
    “You’re not a man until you