Oh sure, she looks amazing on the stage, flexing in ways that the human body seems unlikely to do. It's all well and good until she sheds her skin and reveals the elder beast within...
Harlot Queen is the hottest ticket in town, a master of erotic gyrations and physical impossibilities. When she lets loose, there's not a dry seat or a full wallet left in the house. People come from miles away just to spend an hour watching the mysterious gothic girl work the pole, gaze at her hypnotic feats of impossible contortionism. To gain a private dance with this girl would require the wealth of a king, and even then that might only get one through the door. Harlot Queen may be the wet dream of the most pure and chaste beings, a Goddess among strippers.
Quite literally.
You see, Harlot Queen also happen to be older than she looks. In fact, she may be one of the oldest beings in existence, an elder creature from long before life flickered into existence. When she moves her hips, her audience can feel the essence of existence flow through them, the desire for life, the growth and decay of all matter, the warmth of a million suns and the endless cold of the void. Those who see Harlot Queen on stage know they have come closer to a true Goddess than any mortal ever has. Or should.
Harlot Queen is worshiped. Harlot Queen is beloved. Harlot Queen is divinity in the eyes of the lustful.
Harlot Queen also happens to be very, very hungry.
None who have seen Harlot Queen's true nature have ever returned to tell about the experience. The way her skin droops and melts away, the way her form loses shape, the way her eyes spark with life and show death.
When Harlot Queen lets loose, one sees a beast the likes of which have not awakened for countless millions of millennia.
Harlot's true name is unpronounceable by human tongues, an eldritch beast that is described by ancient tomes as the 'Devourer of Life' (or 'Devourer of Lust', depending on the translation). The creature seeks out live prey for sustenance, consuming flesh and soul alike, leaving not even a tatter of clothing in its wake. It is without true form, ever-shifting, always moving; although it prefers a physical form not unlike fresh semen, a perverse mockery of human creation.
Harlot consumes purely by the way the mood strikes her. She can consume without changing form, merely altering her mouth to consume; or by dropping the human guise and washing over her meals. She can take one or a hundred at her whim, having devoured whole clubs full of people in her more 'amused' moods. She can even consume willingly, driving her meals mad with lust until they can't fight the arousal offered by surrender to this Goddess.
There might be words of warning to offer to those seeking to see Harlot Queen on stage. One might wish to tread carefully to see the Goddess herself on stage. But any such warnings are moot; once one walks through those doors, there is little chance of one's willpower lasting.
Or one's wallet.
Just another Saturday night.
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Harlot's Gallery of Permavore Victims
Gone Forever, but Not Forgotten
Megan Mason - The record store clerk fell for Harlot's charms and followed her to the back rooms for a private rendezvous. Currently residing as a little extra jiggle on Harlot's rump, and an unflushable mess in the employee bathroom.
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