Lance Walker was standing at the entrance to what he used to think of as "his" nightclub
, 'SCORCHED',
inside the Atlantisea Resorts in Atlantic City. It was two in the morning, when they historically had closed. Now closing time was 3 A.M. The new manager, who he supposed was his boss, technically, had decided there was enough revenue in that last hour to justify being open.
He didn't care. He was salaried -- that just meant an extra hour of work for no pay, five times a week, sometimes six. Thankfully the club was closed on Tuesday nights, so it would never be seven. Usually, at closing time, he'd go to one of the many bars located around the property and pick up some newly transformed woman for between $100 and $200 and just absolutely have his way with her. His accommodations, in the South Tower, with all employees of the resort, came with a balcony overlooking the ocean. Periodically he would bend one over the railing, letting the passerby below look up and try to place the origin of the moans and shouts. After some time the Director told him to stop that, but he still got a girl out there at least once a week.
Transformed women. There were a lot of them. Some men too. By his guess about 2-4% of their guests got the hotel's
special
treatment. The details eluded him but the changes were obvious if you literally stood and watched people for 10 hours a day, which he did. He had no idea why they were doing this, only that the Director was heavily involved and he doubted that the ownership of the property knew. If they did, man, this was crazier than he thought.
Directly behind him, though he rarely looked save for shouting matches or the telltale signs of someone getting fucked where they not ought to be, stood six elevated stages. Three to a side, with three blackjack tables surrounding each. A poker table was in the far back of the room, lit under the same low red glow as everything else. Depending on the time of day, four to six of the stages would be occupied. They had one brunette, and the new manager Cait was raven-haired. Other than that, they were all varying shades of blonde with DD tits or larger. There was an ass for everyone though, they were an equal opportunity club in that regard, he thought.
Given it was 2AM, prime time, if you will, all six stages were occupied. Best Lance could tell four of them currently on staff were actual dancers by profession, so to speak. Meaning they came to this hotel as they currently were. Only one of them provided "extra" services that he knew of and she was discrete. The other two -- well, they'd arrived fairly normal. One was named Cameron and he was pretty certain she used to be an accountant. Now she was known for her insatiable appetite, sucking off probably twenty men daily if he had to guess. The other was named Ashley and he had no idea what she formerly was. By the time he'd run into her she'd been long gone -- she'd blown him twice in the back office and then he was told by the Director to give her a job on stage. He fucked her daily for about a week straight after that, and on and off since then if he was feeling lazy. Half of their manager's job was making sure she didn't arrive with cum noticeable anywhere, unless it was at the request of a high-roller or something.
He got tired of the bimbo ones and the ease of access, what with two right here in the club. That was the other thing with this place -- not all of them changed the same way, or even predictably. Lance didn't think the Director himself was able to 100% predict the results, though he sure had a better idea than Lance. That's why Lance went to the bars. The ones offering themselves there tended to have no scruples, yes, but they at least appeared to retain
some
intelligence. He needed some conversation occasionally, after all.
So at 3:05 AM he took a seat at the lobby bar next to the elevators for the West Tower, the guest accommodations closest to his club. There were three other elevator lobbies, each with a corresponding tower, lobby bar, and club. Numerous other bars, restaurants, etc. dotted the gaming floor. Today he was going for low-hanging fruit.
He sat at the far end, opposite a seventy-ish man who was a perennial fixture at this particular lobby bar. Lance didn't think he was an "affected one" as he had begun to think of them. He was just a dirty 70-year-old man who couldn't believe how lucky he'd been getting recently with the ladies. To his left sat a couple in their 40s, obviously trashed and chatting away to the overnight bartender, Andrés. A few other red-eyed gamblers. Nothing of interest.
Then he saw her walking from the lobby elevators. Short, cute. Brunette hair back in a pony-tail, adding to an already youthful appearance. Sun dress. Still wearing a bra -- those tits of hers weren't bouncing freely enough -- and some flat open-toe shoe that Lance guessed was overpriced. Big, almond shaped hazel eyes. You could see just enough tightness in the fabric of the sundress to know she had a nice ass. Most importantly, she looked confused and horny. Those were the telltale signs, he knew.
As a very muscular, fairly young guy, Lance could've done just fine for himself the old-fashioned way. As a matter of fact, he already had -- he'd been married for five years, the marriage ending two weeks after they moved into the employee housing. His wife had claimed something was
"very wrong
" with this place. He hadn't been 100% aware of it yet, but she was right.
Oh well,
he thought.
