ISBN: 9798290740102

  Copyright © 2026 by Quinn Cameron

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by S.J. Buckley

  Cover art by Alex Ogle

  Cover typography by Lily James

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CONTENTS

  Playlist

  Content Warning

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Coming next to the stage…

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Quinn Cameron

  PLAYLIST

  “Head in the Clouds” - Arrows in Action

  “Devil in Disguise” - Marino

  “feelings” - EMELINE

  “You Put a Spell on Me” - Austin Giorgio

  “Talk to Myself” - David Michael Frank

  “Runnin’” - Adam Lambert

  “Icarus” - Livingston

  “Chances” - Five for Fighting

  “Here’s My Heart” - SayWeCanFly

  “Dance With My Demons” - Blame My Youth

  CHERRY’S SET LIST

  “WONDERLAND” - Neoni

  “Show & Tell” - Melanie Martinez

  “lust” - Marino, Alexandria

  “Living Hell” - Bella Poarch

  “THE CONTORTIONIST” - Melanie Martinez

  “Feeling Good” - Reinaeiry

  Click HERE to listen on Spotify!

  CONTENT WARNING

  This book is intended for a mature audience and includes depictions of physical assault, nonconsensual kissing/touching, unwilling sex work/sex trafficking, forced confinement, and forceful (accidental) infection with an addictive substance.

  Please read with care.

  PROLOGUE

  Zephyr

  I fell from grace like an angel cast out of heaven.

  The plummet was endless—then came darkness. Unconsciousness. Death.

  Still, I descended. Deeper than the grave where they buried me, I dropped into a hot, black void, a room without walls. A cage.

  Others were with me. Packed tightly in a writhing mass of bodies where people were crushed and trampled, but they didn’t die.

  They screamed and sobbed and survived the pain, so the sounds of suffering were eternal. I moved through it, my naked flesh slicked with sweat, my hair in my eyes as tears leaked from them.

  My heart thundered and thrashed, but how could it since I was dead?

  I dragged myself through the panicked mass, dodging hands and sharp snapping teeth. And when I was too tired to squeeze between them, I crawled. Striving to go anywhere away from this. To find an exit or escape.

  I found bars.

  I was pinned there, shoved against the iron that seared my skin and left burns on my hands. But I could see outside, into the black beyond, where horned creatures prowled. Demons, with cloven hooves that clattered against the stone floor and tails that cracked like whips in the air.

  They stabbed them through the bars, those cruel, barbed things, finding bits of vulnerable flesh and puncturing it, spilling blood in streams.

  And all around, the noise rose. Not words. Never words.

  Only cries. Futile and bereft.

  Eventually, a face emerged from the shadows. A man stood outside the cage, peering in.

  He had no horns or tail. No weapon to cause pain.

  I didn’t know what madness drove me, what desperate thought seized hold, but I reached for him. I thrust out a weak, blistered hand, and pressed so hard against the bars that my skin hissed and smoked. If it burned me down to nothing, if it tore me apart, I would be grateful so long as I could touch the other side.

  The man didn’t take my hand. He only looked at it, then tilted his head, faintly amused. His gaze slid over me, cataloging every inch. Assessing.

  “That one.”

  The words barely made sense. After so many screams, a sentence felt like gibberish.

  I blinked, still straining, still reaching as if he hadn’t spoken at all, as if I couldn’t understand.

  The demons understood. They followed the man’s command and the pointed finger he aimed at me.

  Around me, the wailing swelled. Other hands joined mine, thrust out, waving and grasping at the empty air.

  But the bars yielded only for me.

  When they melted, I thought it was me who was melting instead. I feared I’d been cut into pieces and dumped on the floor when I toppled through and landed on all fours at the man’s feet.

  Breaths shuddered in and out, and I shook, head hanging between my braced arms.

  Then I saw shoes, shiny black and stepping close. They pushed in until I drew back, rising onto my knees and looking up.

  At him. My rescuer.

  He studied me again, from my greasy scarlet hair and filth-smeared skin to every inch of my body so lewdly on display. Then he reached down, seized my jaw, and tipped my face back until the entirety of me was bared to him.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  The words rattled in my head, and I struggled to make sense of them. But I wanted to.

  I needed to.

  If he had the power to spare me or take me away from here, then I would do whatever he asked.

  My jaw went slack.

  He smiled.

  “Wider, pretty boy.” His thumbs pressed into my cheeks. “Show me what you look like when you’re hungry for a cock.”

  And I did. I parted my lips, rested my tongue on my teeth, and waited for him—until a line of spit slid from the corner of my mouth.

  Then he released me.

  “How much?”

  The question passed overhead, part of a conversation about me that didn’t include me.

  I swallowed and shook, dividing my gaze between the man still standing over me and the demons who flanked him.

  They talked figures, not money, and an agreement was made.

  “Look here, pretty.”

  The man snapped near my face, demanding my attention. I gave it.

  “You want to come with me?” he asked. “I’ve got a city full of people who’d just love to meet you.”

  My knees ached from kneeling, but my heart hurt more. It surged with longing so painfully deep it escaped me in a sob.

  “Smart boy,” the man praised, and I realized I was nodding. “Good boy. Now, let’s get the papers drawn up.”

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Zephyr

  “Cherry, baby,” a low voice crooned. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

  Maslow gave my arm a squeeze, snapping me out of my mental fog. I blinked and looked up, seeing more than the narrow tunnel of the hallway ahead. I saw him.

  A powerful, ancient being wearing the visage of a pale, portly human. He was balding. Graying. Pockmarks dented his cheeks, and a gold-capped tooth flashed in his smile.

  This was my savior. The man who’d dragged me out of Hell and returned me to the world.

  He walked beside me with his hand on my shoulder, guiding me through the halls of the Devil’s Dollhouse. His business, my home.

  I’d missed most of what he’d said, but that last question rang out clearly.

  “How long has it been?”

  I thought on it, counting the days, before I answered. “Six weeks.”

  “Already?” Maslow scoffed. “Damn contractors. Took twice as long as promised for half again the money. Should’ve been done before you got here. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

  I hadn’t minded. It was a relief to have time to orient myself with a world that felt markedly different from how I’d left it. This was a new city, with new sights and sounds, all revolving around the club where Maslow showcased his hell-born treasures. It would have been nice to be treated with care, like fine china in a cabinet, but we weren’t fragile enough for that. This display was more like a zoo, with tickets bought and sold, and six captive performers just as caged and paraded around… nightly.

  Resentment tasted bitter on my tongue. I savored it more frequently as the days went by. I may have been young, but I wasn’t ignorant. I understood exploitation, and I knew my own vulnerability. I also knew my purpose: I was here to serve, or to be se
rved up on a platter, something to be fondled, groped, and gawked at.

  It felt good, and then confusing. Because this body wasn’t quite mine, and the desire that burned in my belly, fueled by the lust of strangers, was… other. Alien. Demon.

  “We know each other pretty well, don’t you think?” Maslow continued while guiding me on the walk that felt impossibly long in the modest building.

  “Yes sir,” I replied, even though we didn’t know each other at all.

  “Baby boy.” The wraith clucked his tongue. “Call me Mazzy, remember? Keep it light. Keep it cozy.”

  “Yes, Mazzy.”

  He reached over and ruffled my hair, causing deep red locks to spill into my line of sight. “And you know I love you…”

  He loved me like someone would love a car or a well-behaved dog. Which was to say he didn’t love me at all. It might have been affection or abstract appreciation, but with the next words out of his mouth, I doubted even that.

  “But you’ve gotta start earning your keep.”

  Suddenly, it was like I was on my knees begging for him all over again.

  I kept up the pace despite my feet threatening to falter. The end was in sight. The door at the end of the passage had been tented with clear sheeting since I’d arrived, but now, the way was clear and labeled with a sign that read PRIVATE AREA.

  We had lots of those. Executive suites where people celebrated birthdays or bachelorette parties, popping bottles of champagne they liked to pour on us before licking it off. Then there were the businessmen discussing office politics while we warmed their laps or spun circles around a pole.

  This space was different. Designated… for me.

  I really hadn’t minded waiting.

  Forging ahead, Maslow dropped his hand to the small of my back, bare beneath my spandex tank top. His fingertips dragged across my skin, and I braced for the draw of his power on mine.

  He was a wraith, after all, and his menagerie of hellish house pets was not merely a means to earn a living. We were meals for him too—walking, talking energy banks in five of the seven flavors of sin. As an incubus, my vice was obvious, and perhaps the most conducive to working in a strip club.

  Despite that, I had little to give. I was too new, too unsure, too hungry to sustain Maslow’s appetite. He complained about it. Rubbed my stomach and told me I was empty. I felt it. Wanton stares and greedy touches from customers gave me fleeting tastes of what I wanted. They were table scraps, barely enough to keep me from starving.

  Perhaps I should have been grateful, but when Maslow stepped forward and opened the door to reveal the room on the other side, all I felt was horror.

  The smell of fresh paint and chemicals was unappealing enough, but after the smells came the sights. A massive bed was situated front and center. The four-poster monstrosity was done up in satiny black-and-red bedding and piled with pillows. Scanning the room, I spotted a tufted chaise lounge and a kneeling bench. A strappy swing hung in the corner opposite two long planks of wood fashioned into an X and fitted with restraints.

  Leather and chains were affixed to the bedposts and hung from a rack on the wall. Lengths of rope were similarly stored, and a glass-fronted cabinet displayed an assortment of dildos and plugs that stopped my heart in my throat.

  Maslow had gone ahead and now stood with his arms spread as he turned a slow circle.

  “Quite the setup, don’t you think?” he bragged.

  My feet stayed planted on the opposite side of the threshold while my eyes traveled around the room. Whips, gags, and other items I couldn’t discern filled other cabinets, illuminated in red.

  Maslow too, surveyed it all, beaming with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He made his way to the chaise and lowered himself onto it, then kicked his feet up to repose.

  “Come here, baby.” He patted the tufted velvet. “Sit with me.”

  My better sense told me to run, but where? I couldn’t leave this building. The doors of our exhibit were open to the public but closed to us. We stayed inside, looking out through the barred windows in our rooms and asking customers about the weather because we genuinely wanted to know.

  When I reached Maslow, he grabbed my waist and pulled me down to perch across his thighs.

  “You look so good in here.” He curled a lock of hair around my ear, and I bared my throat as he dragged his finger down the side of my neck. Still no pull. No drain. And despite his touches and the bulge of his cock tenting his slacks, I was relieved.

  Maslow licked his lips and stared at the bed as if he imagined me spreadeagle on top of it. Stripped bare and vulnerable. “You’re gonna feel good in here too.”

  Cold sweat beaded on my temples as Maslow gripped my nape. His thumb rested on my pulse point while his fingertips dug in at the base of my skull.

  “Think of all the fun you’ll have,” he murmured. “Like a fucking siren, leading men to their ruin. Bringing them here and taking them for all they’re worth.”

  Or letting them take me. That was the most likely scenario. And if I did lure some customer here by wagging my ass and whispering sweet nothings, who would oversee? Would anyone intervene if a lust-fueled stranger tied me down or chained me up and then fucked me dry?

  “Is it…” A lump clogged my throat. “Is it safe?”

  The wraith chuckled, then used his grip to turn my head toward the corner where a red light flashed. “We have cameras.”

  Surveillance didn’t equate to safety. Sex tapes were a lucrative market, and I wouldn’t put it past Maslow to make money in any way possible. The Dollhouse’s gift shop was stocked with all kinds of salacious goods, from Playboy-worthy photo spreads to life-sized replicas of the dancers’ dicks. Rape videos would slot in nicely among the rest, and they would make a hell of a souvenir.

  I stared at the little red light, wondering how much Maslow had spent on this room and how much he planned to make from it. Would it become profitable enough for him to decide I needed to spend all my time here? Sequestered in this room in the black and red dark, shackled to the bed like some kind of animal?

  But then maybe I wouldn’t be hungry anymore. Maybe it would feel good, because this was what my new body was made for. I was a vessel. A predator, like Maslow, needy for victims. He had us, the souls he saved from damnation; I had whoever I could seduce, enchant, and suck dry, literally.

  Maslow’s hand crept around, brushing across my navel as though he sensed the grumbling inside. That hollow ache.

  “You like it already. I can tell.” He sounded so certain, and I had to question why I didn’t feel the same. “I take good care of you, don’t I, baby?”

  The wraith rubbed my bare midriff as he leaned in. His breath puffed hot past my ear as he whispered, “Now, say ‘Thank you, Mazzy.’”

  “Thank you, Mazzy,” I parroted back.

  He kissed my cheek then gripped my hips, encouraging me to stand as he rose behind me. “Club opens in an hour,” he said. “Make sure you’re ready, but don’t rush. Look around for a bit. Get acquainted.” He slapped my ass hard enough to make my spine snap straight before assuring me, “You’re gonna love it here.”

  There was that word again. Love. Meant in the way people loved houses and boats and things. Empty spaces.

  I was already empty enough.

  Maslow walked toward the door, then paused in the frame to nod at the details and fixtures that twisted my guts into knots. When his attention settled on me, I forced myself to appear as appreciative as he expected me to be.

  I thanked him again. My voice got lost in the distance between us, but it must have been enough because he smiled.

  Maslow always smiled.

  “You’re welcome, baby boy,” he replied. “Starting tonight, you’ll be able to feast like a king.” He tapped the doorframe as if for luck and leered at me in a way that sent chills skittering down my spine. “And when you’ve had all you can take, it’ll be my turn.”

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Zephyr

  “Pucker.” Darby held a lip gloss wand inches from my mouth.

  I puffed out my lips so he could slather them with the goop that smelled like sugar and tasted as sweet.

  He nodded while skimming over my face with appraising eyes. “Now, pout.”

  I’d stayed in the “Private Area” after Maslow left. Long enough to make him think I was really checking the place out, which was much longer than I would have liked. I explored a bit more. Opened a few cabinets to scrutinize their contents. Besides an absurd collection of dildos, there were also nipple clamps, cock rings, gags, a chastity cage, a collar and leash… It was the stuff of fetish fantasy. Enough to outfit several porn stars.