Frostiron Month 05: Mystery - NC17
Went to LFCC yesterday. It was the craziest I’d ever seen it, but I got a load of awesome photos! They’re on my facebook page if you’re interested. Feel free to tag anyone you might know.
This is for the Frostiron Month Tumblr: Prompt 5.
July 13-15: Alternate Universe: Different world, mortal, Dark!Tony, Avenger!Loki, high school, coffee shop, anything goes in alternate universes! - Female Loki/Master of Death Tony.
“Mystery”
Disclaimer: The Avengers, Tony, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.
Summary: [Tony/Loki] Frostiron Month 05: Loki, after falling from the Bifrost, and unqualified for anything else, started working as a stripper. Tony can’t quite keep his eyes off of her. So, Obie buys her for his birthday.
Warnings: Slash. Loki/Tony. AU. Female!Loki. Stripper Loki. Alternative stripping. Ping Pong show (Bangkok style). Thor-era. No Iron Man. Merchant of Death Tony. Sexism. Prostitution.
Rating: NC17
A/N: Well. Yeah. I went to Bangkok and saw one of these, and all I could think of was, hmm, I bet Loki would be good at that. So, I combined that thought with this prompt, and decided on a world where Loki was always, and only, female. Also, Obie was the only guy I could think of to be creepy enough to WANT one of these private shows, so AU!
Title: Revelation 17: [4] And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: [5] And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots And Abominations Of The Earth. [6] And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration. [7] And the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel?
XXX
Words: 8,432
Chapter 1
Tony couldn’t quite keep his eyes in his head. Literally, he thought they were about to pop right out of his head, he had them opened so wide. Rhodey was a bit more reserved, head down, eyes firmly fixed on the lips of the women who were speaking to them, instead of on their tits. Obadiah was the worst of the three of them, hands groping at asses as they passed, fingers squeezing over breasts as he slipped dollar bills into their cleavage, or worse, sometimes down the front of their shorts, fingers crooked and making the woman flush red and charge extra.
“Come on, man,” Rhodey sighed, rubbing at his forehead with two fingers of his left hand. “We’re here for Tony, remember? Try not to get us thrown out before we’ve started drinking.”
Obie raised both of his hands placatingly, before slinging one arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulling the shorter man closer against him. “Anyone you want, kiddo. My treat, for your birthday.”
Tony could buy anyone he wanted with his own money, but the billionaire grinned widely at his pseudo-father thankfully, pleased with the offer nonetheless. He liked gifts, and attention, and affection even if it was the bought kind; these kinds of gifts were better than the fancy briefcase Pepper had bought him, hands down. Tony glanced around the nightclub again, lips quirked in amusement as the girl on the stage swung around the pole using only her ankles, satin scarves tied around her wrists and disappearing into her vagina, making her look like a flying squirrel. The club was fairly new, old enough to have a reputation but new enough that only the very rich or famous (or infamous) were allowed entry. The girls working there were a mix of American and Eastern European (not an Asian girl in sight, despite the theme being ripped right out of Bangkok); all young and pretty with big breasts and wide hips, shapely legs that went on for miles that made men lick their lips as the girls spread them teasingly, slowly, so they could pull something else out from between them.
The girl on stage had been replaced by the time Tony sat down. The woman who led their way was tall and thin, blonde with a big ass and cellulite on her thighs, which explained why she was waiting tables and not shaking it up on stage. She was carrying a menu in front of her chest, but Obie shoved it aside with his middle finger, letting his thumb brush across the valley of her breasts as he did so.
“Three martinis and six Coronas to start with, pretty lady,” Stane ordered, voice low and mouth open as he leered at her chest. When she was out of sight, he turned to Tony and laughed, “what a dog.”
Rhodey didn’t respond and Tony only offered a grin of his own, along with a shoulder shrug, because he wasn’t as fussy as Obie was. Pretty women were pretty women, cellulite and all, as far as Tony was concerned; he didn’t need to be picky about women he was only going to see for one night and never call again. But Obie was the one spending his money tonight, so Tony softly promised to pick the best looking women in the club, if only so Obie could get his money’s worth when Tony got his hole.
The girl on stage now was lying down flat, with her legs propped up on two different bars, bent like she was giving birth. There was something sticking out of her vagina, and three darts in her right hand. At the edge of the stage a twenty something year old woman stood beside her much, much older sugar daddy, each of them holding a balloon over their heads. The dancer’s left hand pulled one of the darts free, and shoved it up the tube that was inside of her. Her stomach tensed, her hips jerked up, and the dart flew free, popping the balloon held by the woman. Quickly, she inserted the second dart and fired at the man, and then the third which she aimed at the ceiling, shifting her body so that she was uncomfortably suspended off of the ground below her shoulders with her feet higher up on the poles to hold her in place. The last dart hit a balloon that was hanging from the ceiling, exploding in a shower of plastic and glitter, as most of the crowd cheered.
The girl who replaced her was a little heavier than the last two, shorter too but there was something rather adorable about her. She wore her hair in pig tails and had a ribbon with a big bow tied around her head and a bra with frills around the bottom and straps but no underwear. She had no darts, or scarves, but one of the old fashioned glass bottles of coke. The crowd made a unanimous sound of disgust as the woman lay back on the stage and poured the coke from the bottle into her vagina, stood up, squatted down and then let it trickle back out of her and into the bottle. She offered it to a man in his late fifties, who took a deep breath and then necked the bottle until it was empty. That woman went off the stage with him, and disappeared behind one of the oriental style screens that blocked the views of an assortment of private tables.
“Anything so far?” Rhodey asked, looking a little uncomfortable.
Two girls were now playing ping pong from one side of the room to the other, catching the ball with their hands and using their vaginas to shoot back. Any time one of the girls missed, a teenager on the left side and a balding thirty-something man on the right were quick to grab the ball off of the floor and pocket it. Clean ping pong balls were handed to them by a woman who was fully dressed beside the stage, directing the girls who were to follow each act. Fingers weren’t shy about dipping into folds they shouldn’t have as those two men pushed the new ping pong ball into place, stroking and fondling longer than they should have, even as the women cringed beneath their attentions and the fully-dressed madam billed for it.
By the time someone caught Tony’s eye, the little jar on the shelf above their table was full of ‘bills’: hand written receipts for every drink they ordered, every time they groped a girl, each time they invited one to sit down beside them, each lap dance that was ordered, which would all need to be paid for before security would let any one of them leave. Obadiah was rather liberal with his hands, going as far as to climb up on to the stage at the other end of the room where five girls were dancing in sync around five lubricated poles, hands ‘accidentally’ wiping slick onto themselves or across the girl beside them. His hands were quick to trace the patches of lube on their clothes, to press dollar bills between their breasts and fifties down the back of their panties, one finger rubbing over her asshole while the others forced the money up inside of her cunt while everyone else watched. Along with the money spent on tips, Obie would get billed for touching in the first place; that was ok, they could afford it, Obie and Tony, and Rhodey didn’t want to touch any of the girls without permission, so it didn’t matter that his salary wasn’t up to par with theirs.
The woman in question was beautiful. She wore the bare minimum of make up on her face, some mascara and a little lipstick (harlot red, it was Tony’s favourite shade) and a dusting of blusher across her sharp cheekbones to soften them a little bit. She was taller, over six feet at least, with heels that put a giant to shame, dark green with straps that coiled up each ankle and calf like a snake and ended in a gladiator knot behind her knees. Her hair was long and dark, woven through with transparent ribbons, so all anyone could see were the pearls and rubies sewn to the ribbon, wildly glittering here and there.1
“The gems entangled in her hair,” Tony quoted, wistfully. He had one hand cupping his chin, elbow on the table to keep himself propped up, as he sighed. Obie noticed the looks Tony was shooting the woman, the way his eyes would rove up and down her body, but land on her lips (the real way to tell if Tony was interested was to check if he wanted to kiss you, touching and fucking he could do with anyone anytime, but kissing was reserved for the people he needed to devour).
“Excuse me,” Obadiah whispered, as he slid out of the booth and towards the bar (and the madam waiting beside it).
The woman was thin, but the sort of thinness that came from starvation, ribs defined through skin and hips bony and collarbones sharp below her neck. With some proper food, Tony knew she’d have killer curves; she had the shape for it, wide hips, long legs but curvy thighs, a thin waist but she had breasts, heavy and full (somehow despite everywhere else needing a little more meat). She wore what was supposed to be a belly dancer’s outfit: a deep scarlet chiffon bra that left nothing to the imagination, so thin Tony could trace the peaks of her nipples with his eyes, see the change in colour of her areolas; a sarong, also made of scarlet chiffon, tied with a knot in front of her groin, so the audience could see everything but, with little gold coins sewn along the hems that jangled as she swayed her hips from side to side in time with the music. She wore no underwear beneath the sarong, and there was enough light to see the dark bruises on her thighs as she parted them, one leg hooking around the pole and the other stretched out behind her as she did the split vertically. The crowd gasped some clapping and other cheering loudly (especially the people she was facing, who could see everything as she spread her legs).
Tony clapped softly, staring at the back of her head from where he sat. Beside him, Rhodey flagged down another waitress to order another round of martinis, chattering meaninglessly to his friend who had long ago stopped listening. Aside from a hum now and again, Tony gave no sign that he had heard a word Rhodes had said. His attention was all for the woman dancing on the stage.
With her legs spread wide, she gave a wiggle of her hips, making the gold coins jangle and the audience cheer. Two fingers traced circles on her inner thighs, a small one at first, and then larger, spiraling outward like ripples in a pond. After a full minute of casual teasing, she dipped both of the fingers into her vagina, easily parting her folds until they were buried up to the last knuckle. When she pulled them back out there was the tip of a purple ribbon pinched between them. The ribbon was royal purple, and there were tiny fairy lights sewn every ten centimeters along its length, that flashed as she moved her hands.
"Her name is Loki, but we're supposed to call her Mystery," Obadiah informed his friends, as he slid back into his seat at their booth. "And after her set is done, she's all yours, Tone." He patted Tony on the back jovially, nearly knocking the inventor face first into his drink. "A birthday treat, to out do all birthday treats, eh?"
"So it's got nothing to do with the Jericho?" Rhodey teased, knowing full well that Odie had been chuffed to bits by the sales of Tony's newest war machine. Actually, Obie had been more excited when he'd learnt that Tony had perfected his father's old arc reactor technology: the kinds of weapons they could make with that, well, Obie wouldn't need to concern himself with double dealing anymore, he'd make a killing in America alone.
"Maybe a little," Obie chuckled as he spoke, pinching two fingers so close together they looked like they were touching (they weren't), "but only this much. The rest is all for your birthday, golden boy!"
Tony just grinned at them both, quick and wide, before his attention was taken again by Loki. She had twisted the ribbon around the three poles on the stage, in a loop, before wrapping it around her own wrist; caging herself in. The last part was still inside of her, stomach tensed, as she clenched her inner muscles to keep it from sliding out. She shook the ribbon as she danced, jangling the half that wrapped around her wrist, so the lights flashed in time with the coins that clinked around her hips, before she crouched low, legs spread again and cunt exposed, hips writhing so the ribbon that hung between her legs shook side to side, its lights flashing on and off too. When she stood up, she unwound the ribbon from the poles, retied that end to the top of one, and climbed her way up after it, somehow managing to climb and push most of the ribbon back inside of her at the same time. When she reached the top, Loki let go of the pole with her hands, using her ankles to hold on, legs tensed as she spread her arms behind her and slid down: to the audience behind her, who couldn't see her legs, it looks like she was free falling; to the audience in front, they were only looking at her vagina as it rubbed against the pole, lips split and ribbon stuffing her up.
"I don't know guys," Rhodey started softly, "this isn't really doing it for me."
"I get you," Tony agreed. And he did, agree that is. He hadn't been too interested in the rest of the women, other than in a 'this is new' sense, but there was something about Loki that had him hooked. Even as Rhodey asked what it was about Mystery that called to him, Tony couldn't find the words to describe it. All he knew was that he wanted her, needed her. If he didn't have her, he'd never get over it, never be able to live with himself, without driving himself mad with 'what if' and 'could have'. He ddin't usually pay for women: he didn't need to. But Obadiah was paying tonight, Tony reminded himself, this was on Obie, so Obie could shoulder the guilt tomorrow morning when Tony woke up and remembered that the bruises on Loki's body weren't all from him or that there had been blood on the condom once he'd finished with her.2
Right now, though, Tony wanted her too much to care.
Loki had, since Rhodey spoke, unattached herself from the pole and made her way to the edge of the stage, facing Tony. They weren't sitting close enough for her to reach, but she reached out to the girl who was waiting beside the madam to go on stage next and pulled back her hand with a sparrow cupped in it. With deft fingers, Loki tied the loose end of the ribbon to the sparrows leg and threw the bird towards Tony's table. The bird flew straight, fluttering it's wings and tugging at the ribbon that probably weighed more than it did, until it was close enough for Obie to reach up and grab it (having expected it after speaking to Loki's madam). He handed the bird to Tony, smirking all the while at the baffled genius.
"Uh?" Tony blinked, hands waving in front of Obie's face. "I don't like to be handed things."
"Well then untie it. That girl," he nodded at the woman who had given Loki the bird in the first place, and who was making her way towards them, "needs it back for her trick."
Tony frowned at the thought of shoving a bird up there, whether for the bird's sake or the woman's vagina itself he wasn't entirely sure. He did, however, quickly untie the bird, wrapping the ribbon around the fingers of his left hand, unconcerned by where they had been. Loki'd have plenty (of his) of a more conventional sort shoved up there soon enough, after all.
Loki was waiting at the edge of the stage, as close as she could get without falling off, toes curled over the edge and weight resting on the heels. Her legs were spread, and she had both hands gripping the ribbon three inches away from where it disappeared inside of her, and she tugged at it experimentally, checking to see if Tony would let go. He didn't. He tugged back in fact, and Loki loosened her grip so that another few inches could lapse between them. Tony pulled, one hand in front of the other as Loki fed the ribbon through her own keeping Tony from simply janking on it, until she gave a soft cry, head thrown back as the last of the ribbon was pulled from her body. A dull thunk sounded through the room, heard over the sudden cheering, and tinkling sounded up shortly after as Tony continued to wind the ribbon up along his arm, and off of the floor. He held up the bell, tied to the other end of the purple ribbon, eyebrows raised as Loki sauntered from the stage towards him.
She wiggled her hips as she walked, making the coins rattle again, and in response Tony shook the bell from side to side. "Ding, ding, ding," Obie teased as Loki reached the table, "we have a winner."
"Indeed we do," she whispered, voice low but sultry. There was something dark about her green eyes, poisonous like their colour, but deep and fathomous like the sea. She looked like a Siren from a ballad, ready to drag unsuspecting men to their deaths to hold them, struggling, under the water as they drowned because it brought her pleasure. Or maybe, Tony thought as he reached out to hold the hand she was offering him, she was the type to fuck a man to the point of orgasm but cut out his heart before he could come. Tony took her hand anyway, and he followed where she led, between tables and patrons, passed the booths that were curtained off and further towards the back of the nightclub. The went down some stairs, passed three closed doors, with huge glass windows in them, behind each were girls inserting items into their vaginas or anuses that shouldn't belong there.
"Changing rooms," Loki told him softly. So far away from the stage, the girls probably had to run, stuffed full and half naked, to make their slot on time. "This one is mine."
Loki held the door open for him, and Tony graciously ignored the way her fingers clenched around the frame until her knuckles turned white, and how her hands shook after she had closed the door behind him. "He was not clear on what you wanted." She added, as Tony looked around.
The room was small, though a little bigger than the others they had passed by. That meant Loki earned more than those other girls, or she shared with more people. There was no cot, or bed, and only one rickety looking chair. But there was a small metal table, square shaped and of a perfect height to fuck someone bent over it. On the edge of the table was a cake, cheap looking like one of those generic cakes from a grocery store, with white icing and writing that might have said "happy wedding" and now said (by way of someone's fingers dragging through the icing in an attempt to rearrange the letters) "happy di c". Likely, the club kept them on hand in case of birthdays or stag nights, and exercised artistic license anytime another occasion cropped up. Tony did find the cake amusing; mostly because he wondered why they didn't just give him a birthday one instead of writing 'dick' across this one.
Loki seemed less sure of herself now that they were alone and she no longer had a room full of people to perform for. Obadiah probably hadn't told her what Tony expected, or worse, knowing Obie, had exaggerated horrible and terrified the woman.
"So, it's my birthday," Tony said, attempting light conversation to lessen the tension in the small room.
"Happy birthday, Mr Stark," Loki immediately said. She watched him with wide eyes, as if the delay in saying it (from them entering the room until now) would get her punished. Tony only grinned widely, moving around her careful not to touch her, but she tensed up anyway. He sat himself in the lone chair, legs spread on either side of the small table, and pulled the cake towards him, leaving the far side of the table free. There were five candles stuck into the cake, in a circle around the edge, already lit with wax dripping down the sides.
Loki cleared her throat, composed herself, so she once more looked as she had on stage: sexy and dangerous and interesting. She walked towards him with her hips swaying, ran one hand down his chest from over his shoulder, pressing her breasts against his back as she dropped a kiss to the nape of his neck. Then she moved, back around the table to face Tony, shedding her sarong as she went. The knot was undone quickly, but she was slow to remove it; pulling the right side away from her hip first, before letting it drop to the floor, and then twisting in a circle so that the sarong effectively unwrapped itself from her waist. The last part she held in front of her groin, flicking her wrist so that it swayed like a snake before it's charmer as she slowly lowered it down: first it covered her from belly button down, and then from the where the patch of hair should have been (if left unshaven), and lower still until it covered the beginning of her slit. Here, she rubbed herself with it, teasing her folds and her clit in particular, but she used two hands to do it, and in her left she was holding something long and thin that Tony didn't recognize. When she pulled her hands away, both at once with a showgirl flick of both wrists, the item was gone and the sarong caressed one thigh as it floated to the ground.
Tony's hand, by this point, had dived beneath his belt, the fly of his trousers unzipped and his boxers tented as he palmed himself slowly. He licked his lips, eagerly awaiting whatever it was that Obie had paid Loki to do for him.
"You may call me Mystery, Sir."
"I like that," Tony purred, licking his lips again. "But I'ma call you Loki."
"You may call me Mystery," she said again, her tone a little more abrupt this time. The smile was still on her face, but the lines around her eyes and mouth had become deeper as she forced the smile a little more than necessary to make up for its insincerity. "Sir!"
With one leg raised high enough that Tony could see everything she had to offer, Loki stepped up onto the table. She must have had practice, because Tony figured even with the muscles he'd gained from the Iron Man armour he was secretly developing he wouldn't have been able to do that without jumping first. But Loki stepped up easily, her long legs making the movement look fluid even as the table wobbled a little on its unsteady legs. Loki didn't stumble though, instead she moved her body in time with the wobble, falling to her knees but keeping her back straight as if she were about to ride some guy's cock. Tony was about to ask if now was a good time to get undressed and get under her, but then Loki was shuffling forward, closer to Tony and the cake, and she had startled pressing a finger between the folds of her labia, crooking it in search of something. The item from earlier appeared; just the tip of a whistle visible amidst the pinkness that was Loki's insides. She sat up straight, arms clasping the opposite elbow behind her back, and then she leant back a little bit as her pelvic muscles contracted.
The whistle made a noise. At the same time, one of the candles went out.
Loki flexed again, stomach muscles tensing as her hips rocked forward a little, and a second candle went out. Loki raised herself up a little higher, balancing on the balls of her feet folded beneath her and then a third, and a forth, candle blew out. Before she could move into place for the last candle, Tony reached forward, lightening quick and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. He held it over his crotch, which was now free of both his trousers and his boxers, both having been hastily shoved down passed his ass to his thighs when Loki had started (privately) showing off what her vagina could do. Some of the wax dripped into the hair above his cock, making Tony hiss and arch his back, but it wasn't unpleasant, so he moved it lower, onto his thighs and then back up so a bare amount of it painted the eager flesh that bobbed between his legs.
"You'll never reach it from there, Mystery," Tony teased, emphasizing her codename.
With a slow lick of her lips, Loki shuffled on her knees to the edge of the table, shoving the cake behind her as she did so. She leaned over Tony for a moment, hands on his shoulders and squeezing before one hand moved Tony's lower, so that the candle was in front of Tony's erection, flame level with the head. When she tensed again, and the candle went out, Tony felt it on the sensitive skin at the tip of his cock and he groaned. Without thinking about it, he reached out for her, hot wax pressed against her ribs, in a long stripe, as Tony reached around her to pull Loki into his lap.
She landed with her cunt against his cock, but too close for Tony to press inside of her without shifting them around a little, and he wasn't feeling very inclined to let her go just then. Instead, he lowered his head to her mouth, candle falling from his hand as both of them tangled into her hair, pulling at the gem-encrusted ribbons and lace and tugging at her own dark locks hard enough to make her cry out into his kiss. She kissed back though, in part because it was her job, but also because Tony was a very good kisser and the pain of being burnt had made something buried inside of her writhe in pleasure.
"I'm going to fuck you," Tony told her un-apologetically, one hand already unlacing the strings that held the chiffon bra up. "I'm going to bend you over that table and fuck you until you scream."
Loki moaned, despite herself. Usually, when she screamed it was because someone had hurt her; there was desire in Tony's eyes, similar to what she was used to, something that almost scared her (despite knowing she could fight him off if she had to, and wave goodbye to her job at the same time), but the way he touched her was different. His touch wasn't hesitant or gentle, like her first fumbles with Frandral on Asgard, at some instances they were as rough as the first pimp who had used her mercilessly, but there was something reverent about them, a hint of worship at the tip of each of his fingers and Loki arched her back, pressing her breasts against his questing palms in a silent plea for more. Tony touched her, petted her and when she was writhing and moaning in his lap, cunt wet against his groin (still untouched, except for when she ground herself upon his length) and nipples peaked under his fingers, Tony grabbed her roughly by the hips and threw her back towards the table.
Loki bumped the base of her spine, and she hissed from a combination of the shock of pain and the cold of the metal. Tony's hands were shoving her again, lifting too this time, until she was sitting with her legs spread on either side of his chair. Tony shoved her back, until she was leaning on her elbows, hair spread across the table and the cake behind her, gems now covered in frosting. He ducked down then, to swipe his tongue once over her, from the start of her slit to her clitoris, which he then took between his teeth. But he didn't bite her; just held her there, as he stared up at her with brown eyes turned black with lust.
"What do you want?" Tony asked her, teeth releasing her flesh as he spoke, only for his tongue to delve into her slit, lapping hungrily as Loki writhed above him. He kept his hands on her hips, his cock hard and leaking but out of reach of her, waiting for her answer. Drunk as he may be, and getting paid though she might be, Tony wasn't a rapist, or a snitch; if she didn't want to fuck him, he wasn't going to tell on her. He'd probably have the cake (instead of her) though.
"Fuck me!" Came the strained demand. Loki's head was thrown back, icing mushed into her hair as she arched her back, breasts pressed forward and hips grinding up into Tony's face. "Fuck me please!"
"As the lady wishes," Tony laughingly answered, his breath warm against her folds, making her whine piteously.
Tony didn't bother to stretch her: considering the tricks she'd been showing off earlier, he figured Loki was plenty stretched as it were. Instead, he fished a condom out of his back pocket with thumb and forefinger and (thanks to years of experience) quickly rolled it onto his dick. His hands on her shoulders lifted her up off of the table, nudging her until she rolled onto her belly; legs spread wide and face down but turned to the side to avoid the cake as much as possible. Tony considered moving it, but then considered licking the icing off of Loki's face later and liked that idea more. He didn't warn her, or tease her with gentle nudges first; he thrust straight into her, in one long smooth roll of his hips, and it had her crying out as her cunt clenched down around him. It hadn't hurt her, or at least not much, because Loki was moaning loudly a moment later, rocking her hips back for more and reaching back with one hand to cup a palm-full of his ass. She squeezed rhythmically; each thrust of his had her back arching, her mouth dropping open in either a gasp or a moan, her vagina spasming around his cock and her hand squeezing his asscheek as she tried to pull him further inside of her.
When she came, it was unexpected. She had felt her orgasm approach, whining and panting, desperate for it, but she hadn't actually expected the feeling of boneless euphoria to wash over her. None of her other client's had ever cared to please her, and Fandral had been as inexperienced as she when they had last lain together, able to bring her to the edge but not tip her over it, and Loki had grown quite used since to having to take care of herself once her lover of the week, or month, had fallen asleep beside her. But Tony knew all the right places to touch, and where to kiss or where to bite instead, the parts of her she liked to have squeezed and the parts she only wanted his fingers to skim lightly over, feather light touches arousing her all the more with anticipation. He could kiss as well as he fucked, superbly, overwhelmingly, and Loki was capable of nothing more than lying there as he used her body roughly, chasing his own release.
This would be the point where most men would slip off the condom, the thought of impregnating her too tempting for them to pass up knowing as they did that they'd never have to take responsibility for her or the child. It was a kink shared by many men, Asgardians as well as mortals, and Loki was used to using her magic to stop their seed from taking root; but she was without her magic now, and lacked the energy to stop Tony when he pulled out of her body and turned her to lie again on her back. Her face was sticky from icing and sweat, and the human licked it from her lips and her cheek as he slid his cock back inside of her. His mouth never left her face as he thrust several more times, each more vicious than the last as his orgasm drew closer and closer. Then he was coming, and he moaned lowly, face pressed into the crook of her neck as his cock swelled and twitched inside of her, but did not release any seed.
When Tony pulled out, he made quick work of the condom he was still wearing (semen safely trapped within), and Loki couldn't find the breath to comment. Instead she stared up at him with wide green eyes, awestruck and slightly suspicious, because surely no one could be that selfless? Tony wasn't selfless; he was far from that in fact. But he'd had enough women claim to have carried his child, that he no longer took the risk: unprotected sex was the one thing he drew the line at (aside from rape, which, you know, wasn't sex at all, so, yeah, just the unprotected thing), unlike Obie who had a list as long as his arm of prostitutes and escorts who had been pregnant at one time or another but had been paid off by Stark Industries not to demand a paternity test.
"You look beautiful like that," Tony told Loki softly, once he had finished cleaning himself up. His clothes were as immaculate as they were going to get and the used condom was in the trash and he had licked the icing off of his mouth and wiped it from his face. Loki's face was still dirty and sticky, and Tony licked his lips at the sight of it. He refrained from doing anything about it though, because the woman winced as she sat up and she had probably only been paid for that one time, and there had been blood on the condom that Tony was steadfastly ignoring the existence of. Instead of kissing her again, or running his fingers along her slick folds, like he really wanted to, Tony put his hands on her shoulders (and not an inch lower) and held her in place so that he could kiss the top of her head softly.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and then teasingly added, "Loki."
"That's Mystery to you, Mr Stark," Loki chided him, sounding less severe than she had intended as she fought to recover her breath. She was still lying across the table, balanced on her elbows, breasts heaving and legs akimbo and the cake had somehow managed not to land on the floor. So Tony picked it up as he walked by her, scooping it off of the table in lieu of running his fingers down her left arm on his way passed.
She stared after him in silence, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't stop him from leaving. She didn't re-dress either. Loki waited in her small changing room, still perched on the rickety table, with icing and sweat on her face and in her hair and her own slick drying on her inner thighs. But Tony Stark didn't come back, and the man who had bought her didn't arrive either, so after three hours (when the club was well and truly closed for the night), Loki dressed and headed home, just in time to watch the sun rise.
XXX
Letting go of Gungnir had been the worst decision of Loki's long life. At the time, she hadn't cared what would happen to her, had in fact hoped for death. Asgard had been a hard place to grow up in, but as a woman at least she hadn't been expected to compete with her brother in feats she would never master. If she had been a man, life could have been much worse: Loki knew, as she could change her gender at will, that as a man she'd be small and scrawny (tall yes, but not muscled like Thor and his friends). She wouldn't be weak for she had her magic and her wits, but in Asgard weakness was measured by how hard you could be hit and stay standing. Loki, in her youth, had not understood why she wasn't allowed to train with the warriors as Thor was, and had demanded quite vocally (followed by pranks that worsened with each of Odin's refusals) until she was given a chance. The warrior in question showed no leniency due to her gender, which Loki approved of; or, she had until she was picking herself up off of the ground with a broken nose and a bloody mouth after lying there unconscious for ten minutes. None laughed at her misfortune, because she was a woman and her loss had been expected. But they had crowded around her, offering pity and sympathy in equal parts to their 'I told you so's.
Asgard wasn't a bad place for a woman to grow up, especially one who had magic and was a member of the aristocracy. But for Loki? It was stagnant, and boring, and everyone grew angry too fast for her liking. There were fights over beer, fights over women, fights over the last fight someone witnessed, and it was all so dull. Loki's pranks had been an interesting change of pace, but the more people criticized them, the worse they became, until eventually there was no one but her and her mother who found amusement in them. Even then, her mother had encouraged her to turn her interests elsewhere, a new hobby, or a holiday, or perhaps a husband. But Loki hadn't wanted to leave Asgard and she certainly hadn't wanted to marry an Asgardian, so she took up subterfuge.
Though the God of Fire by the will of the Norns, she soon became known as the God of Lies; the tongues of Asgardians wagging too fast for Odin to counter it. And so Loki was re-born, and in the flames of her re-birth, like a phoenix, she became the newer version of herself. She was better than before, stronger, surer, and more determined than ever to prove it. So she learnt to fight, and had travelled to Alfheimr and Vanaheimr and even Jötunheimr once to find mages who were willing to teach her the more dangerous spells that Frigga had forbid her. Once she returned, Loki set her sights not so much on the Throne, but on the power the Throne represented. The throne was for Odin, and for his heir, Thor. But Loki was determined to work hard and prove herself, to be better in all ways than Thor so that Odin would gift her with the Realm Eternal, and so that she could refuse it. She would rather manipulate from the side lines, pull at the strings of Thor, her puppet King, eternally grateful to her for handing him the crown. But even that was not to be.
Nothing she had done was good enough. Nothing she was, was good enough.
She was Loki. Not of Asgard, but of Jötunheimr, and she was a fool to ever believe that Odin Allfather could see worth in a child deemed worthless by its own father. So Loki had tried to kill them both, blinded by anger and hatred, and when that hadn't worked, when only one had died and that other had awoken to reprimand her with a look of disgust upon his face (sadness, she realized now; Odin had been sad and afraid, not disgusted), Loki had let go.
She had fallen for what felt like millennia. She fell through darkness and through light, bounced off of the branches of the World Tree and picked up splinters along the way. She landed in the darkness, clothes torn and face dirty, bare skin bleeding sluggishly from scrapping the Yggdrasil. She sat there, in the dark, dirty alleyway she had landed in, and with nails longer than she remembered them she picked out the splinters that split her skin. Her hair had been a long, tangled mess, reaching down to curl across her thighs when she sat up straighter. It was like death, the Void, your body stopped craving sustenance, but your hair and nails kept growing.
Loki had tried to magic away the scratches, to cut her nails and hair, and fix her clothes. But her magic hadn't worked properly. It took her a week of huddling in the alley, begging for change on street corners and stealing food from convenience stores where the clerks were more interested in reading pornographic magazines than serving customers before Loki realized that the Yggdrasil had damaged her. The splinters had pierced not only her body, but her magic too. Asgard could have fixed it, but either Heimdallr was ignoring her, or the splinters had affected his sight too. It had been then, crying hysterically, as once more the Bifrost stayed sealed to her, that Cody had found her. That wasn't his name, but that was what Loki had been told to call him. He had taken her to a hostel he said he owned, had given her food and a bed and clean clothing, and when she had insisted on being in his debt, he had forcefully 'insisted' on parting her legs. She was stronger than a mortal, now she could have fought him off; then, she had been weakened from her fall, fragile from the loss of her home and her magic and her sense of self, disorientated by his kindness and then his violence, and her brief struggle had ended when two more men entered the room and held her down.
That was the first time Loki regretted letting go of Gungnir. But there had been many more times since. Her first madam had been a nice woman, but the clients had been less so. The second had beaten Loki unconscious once, with the help of five of her other girls, once Loki's strength returned and she broke the arm of a client who had struck her. Her magic had trickled back slowly, never as it once was, but capable of healing her own injuries fortunately. That didn't mean she enjoyed the pain however, and she certainly didn't enjoy clients like Obadiah Stane!
When he had approached her, Loki had felt her entire body tense up, like a cat under threat, and she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't bare her teeth at him. Her madam, her third, was a greedy woman; sweet and kind to her girls, but willing to turn a blind eye to their injuries for the right price. Two of her girls had already been hospitalized in the two months Loki had been with her, one of those now dead, and Loki had been sold for more money than she'd ever made on Midgard to a man who had wanted to stage a gang rape (but hadn't bothered to tell Loki it was staged); her attempt to escape them had gotten her beaten after.
Stane had handed over a wad of cash, with this horrible smirk fixed onto his mouth and his dark eyes narrowed with interest. Loki had felt the bile rise in her throat at the things he had whispered in her ear, the things he would put inside of her, razor blades on string to rip them out and hear her scream, to take her with his friends, to stuff her full and fuck her raw until she bled and then take her again. She had turned wide eyes on her madam, begging silently for the woman to refuse because Loki brought a lot of business to the clubs she was leased to and being hospitalized would lose her madam a lot of money. But the red haired woman had only simpered and smiled at Stane, and once his back was turned, pocketed the cash and pointed at Tony Stark. "You take good care of him, girl," the red head warned, wagging her finger in Loki's face, "he's very rich, and a notoriously good tipper."
Stark hadn't tipped her at all. Stark hadn't even left Loki a piece of the birthday cake (and that had been what she had planned on having for supper)! But he hadn't hurt her either, nor had either of his two friends joined them. In fact, Tony Stark had been the best sex of her very long life, and Loki sort of hoped he might come back again. She wasn't naive enough to believe that he'd take her away from this life, except in the sense that she might become his whore, instead of a whore for sale; but she could hope for one good fuck amongst thousands of horrible (painful) ones every now and then.
"For you, Mystery," a girl called loudly down the corridor, using the name Loki had picked up after replying 'it's a mystery' to every 'how did you end up here' from a client.
Loki stuck her head out of her changing room door. She was dressed in the same outfit as the last time Tony had seen her, but it was purple with green accents this time. The girl in question was fairly new, and she was still limping from the last john that had misused her, but she offered Loki a wide smile as she handed over the brightly wrapped package with a big green bow on top.
"The guy at the corner table said this was for you." She left as soon as she had passed on the message, no doubt in search of something to ease the ache before she had to shove something else inside of her and go on stage to perform.
Loki turned the package over carefully. It was heavy, and square, like a jewellery box, but too heavy for a simple trinket. Something expensive, Loki thought excitedly. With deft fingers, she ripped off the yellow paper, allowing it to fall to the floor where she kicked it under the table. She'd deal with it later, but she kept the bow and safely stored it on the only shelf in the room, between her speculum and her perfume bottle. It was the same shade as her eyes, and it had been folded to look like a rose; it was too pretty to throw out with the trash, the prettiest thing that Loki had been given in just under a year.
There was a blue box inside, about the length of Loki's hand from wrist to tip of middle finger, but it was deep, four inches at least. Her fingers shook as she opened it up. With a gasp, she dropped it, stunned as the box hit the floor and the note that came with it fluttered out to land on the table beside her.
Loki picked that up first, not wanting to look at the necklace and find that she had imagined its splendour.
"Next time," the note said, in writing that would suit a twelve year old in a hurry, "wear this and nothing but this." At the very bottom of the page, underneath a scrawled signature, it continued: "and only for me. Deal?"
Loki didn't need to read the name to know who it was from. She'd only slept with one man who was known for being 'a notorious tipper'. Her madam wouldn't need to see the note, Loki decided as she folded it up and placed it underneath the satin rose. Loki would just tell her that Tony Stark had claimed her services, his gift a collar around her throat, rather than a necklace, marking her as owned. It was beautiful and expensive and surely the redhead would want to take it from her, but Loki would kill her before she'd allow that. Even if it meant being jobless and homeless again, wandering the streets for customers and a few bucks instead of spending her nights inside dancing where it was warm and the drinks were free and flowing, it would be better than giving the necklace up. Tony might buy her a replacement, perhaps, but he probably wouldn't be too pleased by perceived ungratefulness. And Loki would do nothing to drive him off. She wasn't naïve, or stupid, but she was opportunistic.
She put on the necklace. It covered her from the top of her throat down to the base, and hung into a v, resting in the valley of her breasts. It was silver and white gold, delicate and beautiful. The parts swirled together, tiny lines and braches of metal, joining up and around each large emerald, over and over until it created the whole: the Fabergé Romanov. It was perfect.3
It was worth everything Loki had been through.
She slipped out of the bra and sarong, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet. Kicking off one heel, she stepped out of the pile of discarded clothing, and then toed off the second shoe. She took down her hair; pulled out all of the pins and the ribbons that made it look like she had diamonds and emeralds tied at the roots. Naked, but for the necklace Tony Stark had bought her, Loki went to work.
If this was Tony Stark's idea of a tip then she could get used to having the man buy her expensive gifts again, no matter what she had to do to earn them. Especially, if he was the only man now buying her.
The End
1 - Christabel, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
2 - Working at these places, doing these stunts, generally leaves most of the women with internal injuries. Here are some of the worst examples of stunts by an ex-worker: http://pulitzercenter.org/blog/untold-stories/price-sexual-torture-usd-181month I only used the ones I saw for myself. FYI, madam is the word they use instead of pimp. Madams from different brothels can loan their girls out to the nightclubs for extra money, but they always hang around the bar or the stage to keep an eye on clients: you don't want to cross them if they're all like the ones I've met.
3 - The Fabergé Emerald Romanov: http://www.faberge.com/images/thumbs/0006090_690.jpeg
I was going to have Odin be responsible for Loki’s deterioration, but it seemed to cruel (and I couldn’t let this fic drag on anymore), so I blamed it on the Yggdrasil lol.
This is for the Frostiron Month Tumblr: Prompt 5.
July 13-15: Alternate Universe: Different world, mortal, Dark!Tony, Avenger!Loki, high school, coffee shop, anything goes in alternate universes! - Female Loki/Master of Death Tony.
“Mystery”
Disclaimer: The Avengers, Tony, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.
Summary: [Tony/Loki] Frostiron Month 05: Loki, after falling from the Bifrost, and unqualified for anything else, started working as a stripper. Tony can’t quite keep his eyes off of her. So, Obie buys her for his birthday.
Warnings: Slash. Loki/Tony. AU. Female!Loki. Stripper Loki. Alternative stripping. Ping Pong show (Bangkok style). Thor-era. No Iron Man. Merchant of Death Tony. Sexism. Prostitution.
Rating: NC17
A/N: Well. Yeah. I went to Bangkok and saw one of these, and all I could think of was, hmm, I bet Loki would be good at that. So, I combined that thought with this prompt, and decided on a world where Loki was always, and only, female. Also, Obie was the only guy I could think of to be creepy enough to WANT one of these private shows, so AU!
Title: Revelation 17: [4] And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: [5] And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots And Abominations Of The Earth. [6] And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration. [7] And the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel?
XXX
Words: 8,432
Chapter 1
Tony couldn’t quite keep his eyes in his head. Literally, he thought they were about to pop right out of his head, he had them opened so wide. Rhodey was a bit more reserved, head down, eyes firmly fixed on the lips of the women who were speaking to them, instead of on their tits. Obadiah was the worst of the three of them, hands groping at asses as they passed, fingers squeezing over breasts as he slipped dollar bills into their cleavage, or worse, sometimes down the front of their shorts, fingers crooked and making the woman flush red and charge extra.
“Come on, man,” Rhodey sighed, rubbing at his forehead with two fingers of his left hand. “We’re here for Tony, remember? Try not to get us thrown out before we’ve started drinking.”
Obie raised both of his hands placatingly, before slinging one arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulling the shorter man closer against him. “Anyone you want, kiddo. My treat, for your birthday.”
Tony could buy anyone he wanted with his own money, but the billionaire grinned widely at his pseudo-father thankfully, pleased with the offer nonetheless. He liked gifts, and attention, and affection even if it was the bought kind; these kinds of gifts were better than the fancy briefcase Pepper had bought him, hands down. Tony glanced around the nightclub again, lips quirked in amusement as the girl on the stage swung around the pole using only her ankles, satin scarves tied around her wrists and disappearing into her vagina, making her look like a flying squirrel. The club was fairly new, old enough to have a reputation but new enough that only the very rich or famous (or infamous) were allowed entry. The girls working there were a mix of American and Eastern European (not an Asian girl in sight, despite the theme being ripped right out of Bangkok); all young and pretty with big breasts and wide hips, shapely legs that went on for miles that made men lick their lips as the girls spread them teasingly, slowly, so they could pull something else out from between them.
The girl on stage had been replaced by the time Tony sat down. The woman who led their way was tall and thin, blonde with a big ass and cellulite on her thighs, which explained why she was waiting tables and not shaking it up on stage. She was carrying a menu in front of her chest, but Obie shoved it aside with his middle finger, letting his thumb brush across the valley of her breasts as he did so.
“Three martinis and six Coronas to start with, pretty lady,” Stane ordered, voice low and mouth open as he leered at her chest. When she was out of sight, he turned to Tony and laughed, “what a dog.”
Rhodey didn’t respond and Tony only offered a grin of his own, along with a shoulder shrug, because he wasn’t as fussy as Obie was. Pretty women were pretty women, cellulite and all, as far as Tony was concerned; he didn’t need to be picky about women he was only going to see for one night and never call again. But Obie was the one spending his money tonight, so Tony softly promised to pick the best looking women in the club, if only so Obie could get his money’s worth when Tony got his hole.
The girl on stage now was lying down flat, with her legs propped up on two different bars, bent like she was giving birth. There was something sticking out of her vagina, and three darts in her right hand. At the edge of the stage a twenty something year old woman stood beside her much, much older sugar daddy, each of them holding a balloon over their heads. The dancer’s left hand pulled one of the darts free, and shoved it up the tube that was inside of her. Her stomach tensed, her hips jerked up, and the dart flew free, popping the balloon held by the woman. Quickly, she inserted the second dart and fired at the man, and then the third which she aimed at the ceiling, shifting her body so that she was uncomfortably suspended off of the ground below her shoulders with her feet higher up on the poles to hold her in place. The last dart hit a balloon that was hanging from the ceiling, exploding in a shower of plastic and glitter, as most of the crowd cheered.
The girl who replaced her was a little heavier than the last two, shorter too but there was something rather adorable about her. She wore her hair in pig tails and had a ribbon with a big bow tied around her head and a bra with frills around the bottom and straps but no underwear. She had no darts, or scarves, but one of the old fashioned glass bottles of coke. The crowd made a unanimous sound of disgust as the woman lay back on the stage and poured the coke from the bottle into her vagina, stood up, squatted down and then let it trickle back out of her and into the bottle. She offered it to a man in his late fifties, who took a deep breath and then necked the bottle until it was empty. That woman went off the stage with him, and disappeared behind one of the oriental style screens that blocked the views of an assortment of private tables.
“Anything so far?” Rhodey asked, looking a little uncomfortable.
Two girls were now playing ping pong from one side of the room to the other, catching the ball with their hands and using their vaginas to shoot back. Any time one of the girls missed, a teenager on the left side and a balding thirty-something man on the right were quick to grab the ball off of the floor and pocket it. Clean ping pong balls were handed to them by a woman who was fully dressed beside the stage, directing the girls who were to follow each act. Fingers weren’t shy about dipping into folds they shouldn’t have as those two men pushed the new ping pong ball into place, stroking and fondling longer than they should have, even as the women cringed beneath their attentions and the fully-dressed madam billed for it.
By the time someone caught Tony’s eye, the little jar on the shelf above their table was full of ‘bills’: hand written receipts for every drink they ordered, every time they groped a girl, each time they invited one to sit down beside them, each lap dance that was ordered, which would all need to be paid for before security would let any one of them leave. Obadiah was rather liberal with his hands, going as far as to climb up on to the stage at the other end of the room where five girls were dancing in sync around five lubricated poles, hands ‘accidentally’ wiping slick onto themselves or across the girl beside them. His hands were quick to trace the patches of lube on their clothes, to press dollar bills between their breasts and fifties down the back of their panties, one finger rubbing over her asshole while the others forced the money up inside of her cunt while everyone else watched. Along with the money spent on tips, Obie would get billed for touching in the first place; that was ok, they could afford it, Obie and Tony, and Rhodey didn’t want to touch any of the girls without permission, so it didn’t matter that his salary wasn’t up to par with theirs.
The woman in question was beautiful. She wore the bare minimum of make up on her face, some mascara and a little lipstick (harlot red, it was Tony’s favourite shade) and a dusting of blusher across her sharp cheekbones to soften them a little bit. She was taller, over six feet at least, with heels that put a giant to shame, dark green with straps that coiled up each ankle and calf like a snake and ended in a gladiator knot behind her knees. Her hair was long and dark, woven through with transparent ribbons, so all anyone could see were the pearls and rubies sewn to the ribbon, wildly glittering here and there.1
“The gems entangled in her hair,” Tony quoted, wistfully. He had one hand cupping his chin, elbow on the table to keep himself propped up, as he sighed. Obie noticed the looks Tony was shooting the woman, the way his eyes would rove up and down her body, but land on her lips (the real way to tell if Tony was interested was to check if he wanted to kiss you, touching and fucking he could do with anyone anytime, but kissing was reserved for the people he needed to devour).
“Excuse me,” Obadiah whispered, as he slid out of the booth and towards the bar (and the madam waiting beside it).
The woman was thin, but the sort of thinness that came from starvation, ribs defined through skin and hips bony and collarbones sharp below her neck. With some proper food, Tony knew she’d have killer curves; she had the shape for it, wide hips, long legs but curvy thighs, a thin waist but she had breasts, heavy and full (somehow despite everywhere else needing a little more meat). She wore what was supposed to be a belly dancer’s outfit: a deep scarlet chiffon bra that left nothing to the imagination, so thin Tony could trace the peaks of her nipples with his eyes, see the change in colour of her areolas; a sarong, also made of scarlet chiffon, tied with a knot in front of her groin, so the audience could see everything but, with little gold coins sewn along the hems that jangled as she swayed her hips from side to side in time with the music. She wore no underwear beneath the sarong, and there was enough light to see the dark bruises on her thighs as she parted them, one leg hooking around the pole and the other stretched out behind her as she did the split vertically. The crowd gasped some clapping and other cheering loudly (especially the people she was facing, who could see everything as she spread her legs).
Tony clapped softly, staring at the back of her head from where he sat. Beside him, Rhodey flagged down another waitress to order another round of martinis, chattering meaninglessly to his friend who had long ago stopped listening. Aside from a hum now and again, Tony gave no sign that he had heard a word Rhodes had said. His attention was all for the woman dancing on the stage.
With her legs spread wide, she gave a wiggle of her hips, making the gold coins jangle and the audience cheer. Two fingers traced circles on her inner thighs, a small one at first, and then larger, spiraling outward like ripples in a pond. After a full minute of casual teasing, she dipped both of the fingers into her vagina, easily parting her folds until they were buried up to the last knuckle. When she pulled them back out there was the tip of a purple ribbon pinched between them. The ribbon was royal purple, and there were tiny fairy lights sewn every ten centimeters along its length, that flashed as she moved her hands.
"Her name is Loki, but we're supposed to call her Mystery," Obadiah informed his friends, as he slid back into his seat at their booth. "And after her set is done, she's all yours, Tone." He patted Tony on the back jovially, nearly knocking the inventor face first into his drink. "A birthday treat, to out do all birthday treats, eh?"
"So it's got nothing to do with the Jericho?" Rhodey teased, knowing full well that Odie had been chuffed to bits by the sales of Tony's newest war machine. Actually, Obie had been more excited when he'd learnt that Tony had perfected his father's old arc reactor technology: the kinds of weapons they could make with that, well, Obie wouldn't need to concern himself with double dealing anymore, he'd make a killing in America alone.
"Maybe a little," Obie chuckled as he spoke, pinching two fingers so close together they looked like they were touching (they weren't), "but only this much. The rest is all for your birthday, golden boy!"
Tony just grinned at them both, quick and wide, before his attention was taken again by Loki. She had twisted the ribbon around the three poles on the stage, in a loop, before wrapping it around her own wrist; caging herself in. The last part was still inside of her, stomach tensed, as she clenched her inner muscles to keep it from sliding out. She shook the ribbon as she danced, jangling the half that wrapped around her wrist, so the lights flashed in time with the coins that clinked around her hips, before she crouched low, legs spread again and cunt exposed, hips writhing so the ribbon that hung between her legs shook side to side, its lights flashing on and off too. When she stood up, she unwound the ribbon from the poles, retied that end to the top of one, and climbed her way up after it, somehow managing to climb and push most of the ribbon back inside of her at the same time. When she reached the top, Loki let go of the pole with her hands, using her ankles to hold on, legs tensed as she spread her arms behind her and slid down: to the audience behind her, who couldn't see her legs, it looks like she was free falling; to the audience in front, they were only looking at her vagina as it rubbed against the pole, lips split and ribbon stuffing her up.
"I don't know guys," Rhodey started softly, "this isn't really doing it for me."
"I get you," Tony agreed. And he did, agree that is. He hadn't been too interested in the rest of the women, other than in a 'this is new' sense, but there was something about Loki that had him hooked. Even as Rhodey asked what it was about Mystery that called to him, Tony couldn't find the words to describe it. All he knew was that he wanted her, needed her. If he didn't have her, he'd never get over it, never be able to live with himself, without driving himself mad with 'what if' and 'could have'. He ddin't usually pay for women: he didn't need to. But Obadiah was paying tonight, Tony reminded himself, this was on Obie, so Obie could shoulder the guilt tomorrow morning when Tony woke up and remembered that the bruises on Loki's body weren't all from him or that there had been blood on the condom once he'd finished with her.2
Right now, though, Tony wanted her too much to care.
Loki had, since Rhodey spoke, unattached herself from the pole and made her way to the edge of the stage, facing Tony. They weren't sitting close enough for her to reach, but she reached out to the girl who was waiting beside the madam to go on stage next and pulled back her hand with a sparrow cupped in it. With deft fingers, Loki tied the loose end of the ribbon to the sparrows leg and threw the bird towards Tony's table. The bird flew straight, fluttering it's wings and tugging at the ribbon that probably weighed more than it did, until it was close enough for Obie to reach up and grab it (having expected it after speaking to Loki's madam). He handed the bird to Tony, smirking all the while at the baffled genius.
"Uh?" Tony blinked, hands waving in front of Obie's face. "I don't like to be handed things."
"Well then untie it. That girl," he nodded at the woman who had given Loki the bird in the first place, and who was making her way towards them, "needs it back for her trick."
Tony frowned at the thought of shoving a bird up there, whether for the bird's sake or the woman's vagina itself he wasn't entirely sure. He did, however, quickly untie the bird, wrapping the ribbon around the fingers of his left hand, unconcerned by where they had been. Loki'd have plenty (of his) of a more conventional sort shoved up there soon enough, after all.
Loki was waiting at the edge of the stage, as close as she could get without falling off, toes curled over the edge and weight resting on the heels. Her legs were spread, and she had both hands gripping the ribbon three inches away from where it disappeared inside of her, and she tugged at it experimentally, checking to see if Tony would let go. He didn't. He tugged back in fact, and Loki loosened her grip so that another few inches could lapse between them. Tony pulled, one hand in front of the other as Loki fed the ribbon through her own keeping Tony from simply janking on it, until she gave a soft cry, head thrown back as the last of the ribbon was pulled from her body. A dull thunk sounded through the room, heard over the sudden cheering, and tinkling sounded up shortly after as Tony continued to wind the ribbon up along his arm, and off of the floor. He held up the bell, tied to the other end of the purple ribbon, eyebrows raised as Loki sauntered from the stage towards him.
She wiggled her hips as she walked, making the coins rattle again, and in response Tony shook the bell from side to side. "Ding, ding, ding," Obie teased as Loki reached the table, "we have a winner."
"Indeed we do," she whispered, voice low but sultry. There was something dark about her green eyes, poisonous like their colour, but deep and fathomous like the sea. She looked like a Siren from a ballad, ready to drag unsuspecting men to their deaths to hold them, struggling, under the water as they drowned because it brought her pleasure. Or maybe, Tony thought as he reached out to hold the hand she was offering him, she was the type to fuck a man to the point of orgasm but cut out his heart before he could come. Tony took her hand anyway, and he followed where she led, between tables and patrons, passed the booths that were curtained off and further towards the back of the nightclub. The went down some stairs, passed three closed doors, with huge glass windows in them, behind each were girls inserting items into their vaginas or anuses that shouldn't belong there.
"Changing rooms," Loki told him softly. So far away from the stage, the girls probably had to run, stuffed full and half naked, to make their slot on time. "This one is mine."
Loki held the door open for him, and Tony graciously ignored the way her fingers clenched around the frame until her knuckles turned white, and how her hands shook after she had closed the door behind him. "He was not clear on what you wanted." She added, as Tony looked around.
The room was small, though a little bigger than the others they had passed by. That meant Loki earned more than those other girls, or she shared with more people. There was no cot, or bed, and only one rickety looking chair. But there was a small metal table, square shaped and of a perfect height to fuck someone bent over it. On the edge of the table was a cake, cheap looking like one of those generic cakes from a grocery store, with white icing and writing that might have said "happy wedding" and now said (by way of someone's fingers dragging through the icing in an attempt to rearrange the letters) "happy di c". Likely, the club kept them on hand in case of birthdays or stag nights, and exercised artistic license anytime another occasion cropped up. Tony did find the cake amusing; mostly because he wondered why they didn't just give him a birthday one instead of writing 'dick' across this one.
Loki seemed less sure of herself now that they were alone and she no longer had a room full of people to perform for. Obadiah probably hadn't told her what Tony expected, or worse, knowing Obie, had exaggerated horrible and terrified the woman.
"So, it's my birthday," Tony said, attempting light conversation to lessen the tension in the small room.
"Happy birthday, Mr Stark," Loki immediately said. She watched him with wide eyes, as if the delay in saying it (from them entering the room until now) would get her punished. Tony only grinned widely, moving around her careful not to touch her, but she tensed up anyway. He sat himself in the lone chair, legs spread on either side of the small table, and pulled the cake towards him, leaving the far side of the table free. There were five candles stuck into the cake, in a circle around the edge, already lit with wax dripping down the sides.
Loki cleared her throat, composed herself, so she once more looked as she had on stage: sexy and dangerous and interesting. She walked towards him with her hips swaying, ran one hand down his chest from over his shoulder, pressing her breasts against his back as she dropped a kiss to the nape of his neck. Then she moved, back around the table to face Tony, shedding her sarong as she went. The knot was undone quickly, but she was slow to remove it; pulling the right side away from her hip first, before letting it drop to the floor, and then twisting in a circle so that the sarong effectively unwrapped itself from her waist. The last part she held in front of her groin, flicking her wrist so that it swayed like a snake before it's charmer as she slowly lowered it down: first it covered her from belly button down, and then from the where the patch of hair should have been (if left unshaven), and lower still until it covered the beginning of her slit. Here, she rubbed herself with it, teasing her folds and her clit in particular, but she used two hands to do it, and in her left she was holding something long and thin that Tony didn't recognize. When she pulled her hands away, both at once with a showgirl flick of both wrists, the item was gone and the sarong caressed one thigh as it floated to the ground.
Tony's hand, by this point, had dived beneath his belt, the fly of his trousers unzipped and his boxers tented as he palmed himself slowly. He licked his lips, eagerly awaiting whatever it was that Obie had paid Loki to do for him.
"You may call me Mystery, Sir."
"I like that," Tony purred, licking his lips again. "But I'ma call you Loki."
"You may call me Mystery," she said again, her tone a little more abrupt this time. The smile was still on her face, but the lines around her eyes and mouth had become deeper as she forced the smile a little more than necessary to make up for its insincerity. "Sir!"
With one leg raised high enough that Tony could see everything she had to offer, Loki stepped up onto the table. She must have had practice, because Tony figured even with the muscles he'd gained from the Iron Man armour he was secretly developing he wouldn't have been able to do that without jumping first. But Loki stepped up easily, her long legs making the movement look fluid even as the table wobbled a little on its unsteady legs. Loki didn't stumble though, instead she moved her body in time with the wobble, falling to her knees but keeping her back straight as if she were about to ride some guy's cock. Tony was about to ask if now was a good time to get undressed and get under her, but then Loki was shuffling forward, closer to Tony and the cake, and she had startled pressing a finger between the folds of her labia, crooking it in search of something. The item from earlier appeared; just the tip of a whistle visible amidst the pinkness that was Loki's insides. She sat up straight, arms clasping the opposite elbow behind her back, and then she leant back a little bit as her pelvic muscles contracted.
The whistle made a noise. At the same time, one of the candles went out.
Loki flexed again, stomach muscles tensing as her hips rocked forward a little, and a second candle went out. Loki raised herself up a little higher, balancing on the balls of her feet folded beneath her and then a third, and a forth, candle blew out. Before she could move into place for the last candle, Tony reached forward, lightening quick and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. He held it over his crotch, which was now free of both his trousers and his boxers, both having been hastily shoved down passed his ass to his thighs when Loki had started (privately) showing off what her vagina could do. Some of the wax dripped into the hair above his cock, making Tony hiss and arch his back, but it wasn't unpleasant, so he moved it lower, onto his thighs and then back up so a bare amount of it painted the eager flesh that bobbed between his legs.
"You'll never reach it from there, Mystery," Tony teased, emphasizing her codename.
With a slow lick of her lips, Loki shuffled on her knees to the edge of the table, shoving the cake behind her as she did so. She leaned over Tony for a moment, hands on his shoulders and squeezing before one hand moved Tony's lower, so that the candle was in front of Tony's erection, flame level with the head. When she tensed again, and the candle went out, Tony felt it on the sensitive skin at the tip of his cock and he groaned. Without thinking about it, he reached out for her, hot wax pressed against her ribs, in a long stripe, as Tony reached around her to pull Loki into his lap.
She landed with her cunt against his cock, but too close for Tony to press inside of her without shifting them around a little, and he wasn't feeling very inclined to let her go just then. Instead, he lowered his head to her mouth, candle falling from his hand as both of them tangled into her hair, pulling at the gem-encrusted ribbons and lace and tugging at her own dark locks hard enough to make her cry out into his kiss. She kissed back though, in part because it was her job, but also because Tony was a very good kisser and the pain of being burnt had made something buried inside of her writhe in pleasure.
"I'm going to fuck you," Tony told her un-apologetically, one hand already unlacing the strings that held the chiffon bra up. "I'm going to bend you over that table and fuck you until you scream."
Loki moaned, despite herself. Usually, when she screamed it was because someone had hurt her; there was desire in Tony's eyes, similar to what she was used to, something that almost scared her (despite knowing she could fight him off if she had to, and wave goodbye to her job at the same time), but the way he touched her was different. His touch wasn't hesitant or gentle, like her first fumbles with Frandral on Asgard, at some instances they were as rough as the first pimp who had used her mercilessly, but there was something reverent about them, a hint of worship at the tip of each of his fingers and Loki arched her back, pressing her breasts against his questing palms in a silent plea for more. Tony touched her, petted her and when she was writhing and moaning in his lap, cunt wet against his groin (still untouched, except for when she ground herself upon his length) and nipples peaked under his fingers, Tony grabbed her roughly by the hips and threw her back towards the table.
Loki bumped the base of her spine, and she hissed from a combination of the shock of pain and the cold of the metal. Tony's hands were shoving her again, lifting too this time, until she was sitting with her legs spread on either side of his chair. Tony shoved her back, until she was leaning on her elbows, hair spread across the table and the cake behind her, gems now covered in frosting. He ducked down then, to swipe his tongue once over her, from the start of her slit to her clitoris, which he then took between his teeth. But he didn't bite her; just held her there, as he stared up at her with brown eyes turned black with lust.
"What do you want?" Tony asked her, teeth releasing her flesh as he spoke, only for his tongue to delve into her slit, lapping hungrily as Loki writhed above him. He kept his hands on her hips, his cock hard and leaking but out of reach of her, waiting for her answer. Drunk as he may be, and getting paid though she might be, Tony wasn't a rapist, or a snitch; if she didn't want to fuck him, he wasn't going to tell on her. He'd probably have the cake (instead of her) though.
"Fuck me!" Came the strained demand. Loki's head was thrown back, icing mushed into her hair as she arched her back, breasts pressed forward and hips grinding up into Tony's face. "Fuck me please!"
"As the lady wishes," Tony laughingly answered, his breath warm against her folds, making her whine piteously.
Tony didn't bother to stretch her: considering the tricks she'd been showing off earlier, he figured Loki was plenty stretched as it were. Instead, he fished a condom out of his back pocket with thumb and forefinger and (thanks to years of experience) quickly rolled it onto his dick. His hands on her shoulders lifted her up off of the table, nudging her until she rolled onto her belly; legs spread wide and face down but turned to the side to avoid the cake as much as possible. Tony considered moving it, but then considered licking the icing off of Loki's face later and liked that idea more. He didn't warn her, or tease her with gentle nudges first; he thrust straight into her, in one long smooth roll of his hips, and it had her crying out as her cunt clenched down around him. It hadn't hurt her, or at least not much, because Loki was moaning loudly a moment later, rocking her hips back for more and reaching back with one hand to cup a palm-full of his ass. She squeezed rhythmically; each thrust of his had her back arching, her mouth dropping open in either a gasp or a moan, her vagina spasming around his cock and her hand squeezing his asscheek as she tried to pull him further inside of her.
When she came, it was unexpected. She had felt her orgasm approach, whining and panting, desperate for it, but she hadn't actually expected the feeling of boneless euphoria to wash over her. None of her other client's had ever cared to please her, and Fandral had been as inexperienced as she when they had last lain together, able to bring her to the edge but not tip her over it, and Loki had grown quite used since to having to take care of herself once her lover of the week, or month, had fallen asleep beside her. But Tony knew all the right places to touch, and where to kiss or where to bite instead, the parts of her she liked to have squeezed and the parts she only wanted his fingers to skim lightly over, feather light touches arousing her all the more with anticipation. He could kiss as well as he fucked, superbly, overwhelmingly, and Loki was capable of nothing more than lying there as he used her body roughly, chasing his own release.
This would be the point where most men would slip off the condom, the thought of impregnating her too tempting for them to pass up knowing as they did that they'd never have to take responsibility for her or the child. It was a kink shared by many men, Asgardians as well as mortals, and Loki was used to using her magic to stop their seed from taking root; but she was without her magic now, and lacked the energy to stop Tony when he pulled out of her body and turned her to lie again on her back. Her face was sticky from icing and sweat, and the human licked it from her lips and her cheek as he slid his cock back inside of her. His mouth never left her face as he thrust several more times, each more vicious than the last as his orgasm drew closer and closer. Then he was coming, and he moaned lowly, face pressed into the crook of her neck as his cock swelled and twitched inside of her, but did not release any seed.
When Tony pulled out, he made quick work of the condom he was still wearing (semen safely trapped within), and Loki couldn't find the breath to comment. Instead she stared up at him with wide green eyes, awestruck and slightly suspicious, because surely no one could be that selfless? Tony wasn't selfless; he was far from that in fact. But he'd had enough women claim to have carried his child, that he no longer took the risk: unprotected sex was the one thing he drew the line at (aside from rape, which, you know, wasn't sex at all, so, yeah, just the unprotected thing), unlike Obie who had a list as long as his arm of prostitutes and escorts who had been pregnant at one time or another but had been paid off by Stark Industries not to demand a paternity test.
"You look beautiful like that," Tony told Loki softly, once he had finished cleaning himself up. His clothes were as immaculate as they were going to get and the used condom was in the trash and he had licked the icing off of his mouth and wiped it from his face. Loki's face was still dirty and sticky, and Tony licked his lips at the sight of it. He refrained from doing anything about it though, because the woman winced as she sat up and she had probably only been paid for that one time, and there had been blood on the condom that Tony was steadfastly ignoring the existence of. Instead of kissing her again, or running his fingers along her slick folds, like he really wanted to, Tony put his hands on her shoulders (and not an inch lower) and held her in place so that he could kiss the top of her head softly.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and then teasingly added, "Loki."
"That's Mystery to you, Mr Stark," Loki chided him, sounding less severe than she had intended as she fought to recover her breath. She was still lying across the table, balanced on her elbows, breasts heaving and legs akimbo and the cake had somehow managed not to land on the floor. So Tony picked it up as he walked by her, scooping it off of the table in lieu of running his fingers down her left arm on his way passed.
She stared after him in silence, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't stop him from leaving. She didn't re-dress either. Loki waited in her small changing room, still perched on the rickety table, with icing and sweat on her face and in her hair and her own slick drying on her inner thighs. But Tony Stark didn't come back, and the man who had bought her didn't arrive either, so after three hours (when the club was well and truly closed for the night), Loki dressed and headed home, just in time to watch the sun rise.
XXX
Letting go of Gungnir had been the worst decision of Loki's long life. At the time, she hadn't cared what would happen to her, had in fact hoped for death. Asgard had been a hard place to grow up in, but as a woman at least she hadn't been expected to compete with her brother in feats she would never master. If she had been a man, life could have been much worse: Loki knew, as she could change her gender at will, that as a man she'd be small and scrawny (tall yes, but not muscled like Thor and his friends). She wouldn't be weak for she had her magic and her wits, but in Asgard weakness was measured by how hard you could be hit and stay standing. Loki, in her youth, had not understood why she wasn't allowed to train with the warriors as Thor was, and had demanded quite vocally (followed by pranks that worsened with each of Odin's refusals) until she was given a chance. The warrior in question showed no leniency due to her gender, which Loki approved of; or, she had until she was picking herself up off of the ground with a broken nose and a bloody mouth after lying there unconscious for ten minutes. None laughed at her misfortune, because she was a woman and her loss had been expected. But they had crowded around her, offering pity and sympathy in equal parts to their 'I told you so's.
Asgard wasn't a bad place for a woman to grow up, especially one who had magic and was a member of the aristocracy. But for Loki? It was stagnant, and boring, and everyone grew angry too fast for her liking. There were fights over beer, fights over women, fights over the last fight someone witnessed, and it was all so dull. Loki's pranks had been an interesting change of pace, but the more people criticized them, the worse they became, until eventually there was no one but her and her mother who found amusement in them. Even then, her mother had encouraged her to turn her interests elsewhere, a new hobby, or a holiday, or perhaps a husband. But Loki hadn't wanted to leave Asgard and she certainly hadn't wanted to marry an Asgardian, so she took up subterfuge.
Though the God of Fire by the will of the Norns, she soon became known as the God of Lies; the tongues of Asgardians wagging too fast for Odin to counter it. And so Loki was re-born, and in the flames of her re-birth, like a phoenix, she became the newer version of herself. She was better than before, stronger, surer, and more determined than ever to prove it. So she learnt to fight, and had travelled to Alfheimr and Vanaheimr and even Jötunheimr once to find mages who were willing to teach her the more dangerous spells that Frigga had forbid her. Once she returned, Loki set her sights not so much on the Throne, but on the power the Throne represented. The throne was for Odin, and for his heir, Thor. But Loki was determined to work hard and prove herself, to be better in all ways than Thor so that Odin would gift her with the Realm Eternal, and so that she could refuse it. She would rather manipulate from the side lines, pull at the strings of Thor, her puppet King, eternally grateful to her for handing him the crown. But even that was not to be.
Nothing she had done was good enough. Nothing she was, was good enough.
She was Loki. Not of Asgard, but of Jötunheimr, and she was a fool to ever believe that Odin Allfather could see worth in a child deemed worthless by its own father. So Loki had tried to kill them both, blinded by anger and hatred, and when that hadn't worked, when only one had died and that other had awoken to reprimand her with a look of disgust upon his face (sadness, she realized now; Odin had been sad and afraid, not disgusted), Loki had let go.
She had fallen for what felt like millennia. She fell through darkness and through light, bounced off of the branches of the World Tree and picked up splinters along the way. She landed in the darkness, clothes torn and face dirty, bare skin bleeding sluggishly from scrapping the Yggdrasil. She sat there, in the dark, dirty alleyway she had landed in, and with nails longer than she remembered them she picked out the splinters that split her skin. Her hair had been a long, tangled mess, reaching down to curl across her thighs when she sat up straighter. It was like death, the Void, your body stopped craving sustenance, but your hair and nails kept growing.
Loki had tried to magic away the scratches, to cut her nails and hair, and fix her clothes. But her magic hadn't worked properly. It took her a week of huddling in the alley, begging for change on street corners and stealing food from convenience stores where the clerks were more interested in reading pornographic magazines than serving customers before Loki realized that the Yggdrasil had damaged her. The splinters had pierced not only her body, but her magic too. Asgard could have fixed it, but either Heimdallr was ignoring her, or the splinters had affected his sight too. It had been then, crying hysterically, as once more the Bifrost stayed sealed to her, that Cody had found her. That wasn't his name, but that was what Loki had been told to call him. He had taken her to a hostel he said he owned, had given her food and a bed and clean clothing, and when she had insisted on being in his debt, he had forcefully 'insisted' on parting her legs. She was stronger than a mortal, now she could have fought him off; then, she had been weakened from her fall, fragile from the loss of her home and her magic and her sense of self, disorientated by his kindness and then his violence, and her brief struggle had ended when two more men entered the room and held her down.
That was the first time Loki regretted letting go of Gungnir. But there had been many more times since. Her first madam had been a nice woman, but the clients had been less so. The second had beaten Loki unconscious once, with the help of five of her other girls, once Loki's strength returned and she broke the arm of a client who had struck her. Her magic had trickled back slowly, never as it once was, but capable of healing her own injuries fortunately. That didn't mean she enjoyed the pain however, and she certainly didn't enjoy clients like Obadiah Stane!
When he had approached her, Loki had felt her entire body tense up, like a cat under threat, and she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't bare her teeth at him. Her madam, her third, was a greedy woman; sweet and kind to her girls, but willing to turn a blind eye to their injuries for the right price. Two of her girls had already been hospitalized in the two months Loki had been with her, one of those now dead, and Loki had been sold for more money than she'd ever made on Midgard to a man who had wanted to stage a gang rape (but hadn't bothered to tell Loki it was staged); her attempt to escape them had gotten her beaten after.
Stane had handed over a wad of cash, with this horrible smirk fixed onto his mouth and his dark eyes narrowed with interest. Loki had felt the bile rise in her throat at the things he had whispered in her ear, the things he would put inside of her, razor blades on string to rip them out and hear her scream, to take her with his friends, to stuff her full and fuck her raw until she bled and then take her again. She had turned wide eyes on her madam, begging silently for the woman to refuse because Loki brought a lot of business to the clubs she was leased to and being hospitalized would lose her madam a lot of money. But the red haired woman had only simpered and smiled at Stane, and once his back was turned, pocketed the cash and pointed at Tony Stark. "You take good care of him, girl," the red head warned, wagging her finger in Loki's face, "he's very rich, and a notoriously good tipper."
Stark hadn't tipped her at all. Stark hadn't even left Loki a piece of the birthday cake (and that had been what she had planned on having for supper)! But he hadn't hurt her either, nor had either of his two friends joined them. In fact, Tony Stark had been the best sex of her very long life, and Loki sort of hoped he might come back again. She wasn't naive enough to believe that he'd take her away from this life, except in the sense that she might become his whore, instead of a whore for sale; but she could hope for one good fuck amongst thousands of horrible (painful) ones every now and then.
"For you, Mystery," a girl called loudly down the corridor, using the name Loki had picked up after replying 'it's a mystery' to every 'how did you end up here' from a client.
Loki stuck her head out of her changing room door. She was dressed in the same outfit as the last time Tony had seen her, but it was purple with green accents this time. The girl in question was fairly new, and she was still limping from the last john that had misused her, but she offered Loki a wide smile as she handed over the brightly wrapped package with a big green bow on top.
"The guy at the corner table said this was for you." She left as soon as she had passed on the message, no doubt in search of something to ease the ache before she had to shove something else inside of her and go on stage to perform.
Loki turned the package over carefully. It was heavy, and square, like a jewellery box, but too heavy for a simple trinket. Something expensive, Loki thought excitedly. With deft fingers, she ripped off the yellow paper, allowing it to fall to the floor where she kicked it under the table. She'd deal with it later, but she kept the bow and safely stored it on the only shelf in the room, between her speculum and her perfume bottle. It was the same shade as her eyes, and it had been folded to look like a rose; it was too pretty to throw out with the trash, the prettiest thing that Loki had been given in just under a year.
There was a blue box inside, about the length of Loki's hand from wrist to tip of middle finger, but it was deep, four inches at least. Her fingers shook as she opened it up. With a gasp, she dropped it, stunned as the box hit the floor and the note that came with it fluttered out to land on the table beside her.
Loki picked that up first, not wanting to look at the necklace and find that she had imagined its splendour.
"Next time," the note said, in writing that would suit a twelve year old in a hurry, "wear this and nothing but this." At the very bottom of the page, underneath a scrawled signature, it continued: "and only for me. Deal?"
Loki didn't need to read the name to know who it was from. She'd only slept with one man who was known for being 'a notorious tipper'. Her madam wouldn't need to see the note, Loki decided as she folded it up and placed it underneath the satin rose. Loki would just tell her that Tony Stark had claimed her services, his gift a collar around her throat, rather than a necklace, marking her as owned. It was beautiful and expensive and surely the redhead would want to take it from her, but Loki would kill her before she'd allow that. Even if it meant being jobless and homeless again, wandering the streets for customers and a few bucks instead of spending her nights inside dancing where it was warm and the drinks were free and flowing, it would be better than giving the necklace up. Tony might buy her a replacement, perhaps, but he probably wouldn't be too pleased by perceived ungratefulness. And Loki would do nothing to drive him off. She wasn't naïve, or stupid, but she was opportunistic.
She put on the necklace. It covered her from the top of her throat down to the base, and hung into a v, resting in the valley of her breasts. It was silver and white gold, delicate and beautiful. The parts swirled together, tiny lines and braches of metal, joining up and around each large emerald, over and over until it created the whole: the Fabergé Romanov. It was perfect.3
It was worth everything Loki had been through.
She slipped out of the bra and sarong, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet. Kicking off one heel, she stepped out of the pile of discarded clothing, and then toed off the second shoe. She took down her hair; pulled out all of the pins and the ribbons that made it look like she had diamonds and emeralds tied at the roots. Naked, but for the necklace Tony Stark had bought her, Loki went to work.
If this was Tony Stark's idea of a tip then she could get used to having the man buy her expensive gifts again, no matter what she had to do to earn them. Especially, if he was the only man now buying her.
The End
1 - Christabel, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
2 - Working at these places, doing these stunts, generally leaves most of the women with internal injuries. Here are some of the worst examples of stunts by an ex-worker: http://pulitzercenter.org/blog/untold-stories/price-sexual-torture-usd-181month I only used the ones I saw for myself. FYI, madam is the word they use instead of pimp. Madams from different brothels can loan their girls out to the nightclubs for extra money, but they always hang around the bar or the stage to keep an eye on clients: you don't want to cross them if they're all like the ones I've met.
3 - The Fabergé Emerald Romanov: http://www.faberge.com/images/thumbs/0006090_690.jpeg
I was going to have Odin be responsible for Loki’s deterioration, but it seemed to cruel (and I couldn’t let this fic drag on anymore), so I blamed it on the Yggdrasil lol.