No choice

The door opened again, and a woman appeared in the doorway. She had a haughty, pinched face and a cigarette perched between her fingers. She looked Iris up and down, her lips curling in a sneer. "So, you're the one the boss wants me to pretty up?" she said, her voice sharp.

The woman stepped closer, taking a drag on her cigarette as she studied Iris's face. "Hmm," she said, her eyes roaming over her features. "Not bad. You have potential."

The woman stepped even closer, inspecting Iris's hair. "Your hair's a mess, though," she said, her voice critical. "We'll have to fix that."

The woman set down her cigarette, and began to run a brush through Iris's hair. "Hold still," she ordered, her movements rough and careless.

The woman continued to brush Iris's hair with rough, harsh movements. "You're going to be singing for a bunch of powerful men, darling," she said, her voice almost mocking. "You need to look good, if you want to impress them."

The woman stepped back and admired her handiwork. "There," she said, her voice critical. "That's better. Now let's see what we can do with your face."

The woman rummaged through a bag and produced a small makeup kit. "Sit down," she ordered, gesturing to the chair. "I'll see what I can do to make you look less like a drowned rat."

Iris sat down on the chair, her heart thumping in her chest. She felt vulnerable and exposed, like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. The woman began to apply makeup to her face, her movements rough and careless.

Through it all, Iris tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't help feeling like she was being dolled up like a piece of property. It was demeaning and uncomfortable, but she knew she had no choice.

The woman finished applying her makeup, and stepped back to admire her work. "There," she said, her voice critical. "That's better. Now you look less like a scared little girl and more like a woman."

The woman packed up her makeup kit and looked Iris up and down. "Alright, doll," she said, her voice mocking. "You're all set. Now go out there and knock 'em dead."

The woman ushered Iris out of the room and pushed her towards the door at the end of the hallway. "Go on, darling," she said, her voice taunting. "Your audience is waiting."

Iris took a deep breath and pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. Beyond the door was a large, dimly lit room. Several men were gathered around, chatting and laughing. They all turned as Iris entered, their eyes raking over her like she was a piece of meat.

Another man spoke up, leering at her. "Yeah, she's a pretty little thing, alright," he said, his voice low and seductive. "Are you going to sing for us, darling?"

The other men leered and chuckled, their gazes fixed on Iris like predators circling their prey. "Come on, darling," one of them said, gesturing towards a small stage in the corner. "Let's hear that pretty voice of yours."

Iris felt a shiver of fear crawl down her spine, but she knew she had no choice. She walked towards the stage, feeling the men's gazes on her like hot coals. As she stepped onto the stage, the room fell silent. All eyes were on her.

Iris took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She looked out at the men, their faces a mask of anticipation and desire. She knew they were all waiting for her to sing, to perform for them like a trained animal.

Iris closed her eyes, trying to block out the men's gazes and focus on the music. She began to sing, her voice soft and uncertain at first, but growing stronger with each note. The men around her seemed transfixed, their gazes locked on her as she sang.

As Iris continued to sing, the men seemed to grow more and more entranced. They leaned in closer, their gazes fixated on her. Some of them even began to whisper amongst themselves, their voices low and hungry.

Despite the men's intense gazes, Iris felt strangely disconnected from them. It was like she was living in a dream, her voice carrying her as she sang. The music filled the room, the notes weaving a spell of sound that seemed to mesmerize the men even further.

Suddenly, Iris noticed one of the men in the audience. He was sitting off to the side, his face in shadow. He wasn't looking at her like the other men were. Instead, his gaze was fixed on her with an intense, almost unnerving look.

Iris couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about this man. The other men were looking at her with a familiar sort of hunger, but this man's gaze was almost...calculated. It was like he was studying her, watching her like a cat would a mouse.

As Iris continued to sing, she found herself constantly glancing at the mysterious man in the audience. He was still watching her, his gaze unwavering. She felt a shiver of unease, like a cold draft in a warm room.

Despite her growing unease, Iris continued to sing. But every time she glanced at the mysterious man in the audience, she felt a jolt of fear. His gaze was unwavering, like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey.

As Iris finished her song, the room echoed with applause. The men all clapped and cheered, their voices loud and boisterous. But the mysterious man in the audience didn't join in. He simply sat there, his gaze still fixed on Iris, his expression unreadable.

One of the men in the audience leered at Iris, his voice crude and mocking. "That was quite a performance, darling," he said, his tone lewd. "You sing almost as good as you look."

The other men chuckled, their gazes roaming over her body like wolves looking at a lamb. "Yeah, you have quite the talent," said one, his voice thick with lust. "We'd love to hear more from you."

...….