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sᴀʟᴛʙᴜʀɴᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪɴᴋ sʟɪᴘ.
May. 16th, 2021 12:15 amThe Pink Slip's currency operates on desire and exposure. You "pay" with: humiliation (onstage, in performances, etc), desperation (confessions, public obedience, exhibitionism), willingness to degrade or be degraded, sexual favors — bartered, begged for, or performed in private or public, and trophies (panties left behind, scandalous video clips left on staff's phones, hot gossip), etc.
If you're poor in shame or pride? Ani's not interested. Come back when you're more pathetic.
Guests can't just walk in as they please. You either: receive a Pink Slip invite (a physical velvet-card embossed with a sealed kiss and a secret password to enter) from Ani herself, on recommendation from Silco if he chooses to vouch for you, you "pay" an entry fee, or are brought by a patron who already has access — but you're their responsibility for the night, which means their behavior reflects on you. If you fuck up, they pay for it.
LOCATION: Hidden behind a velvet-paneled wall at the back of Silco's Host Club. A faint outline of a lipsticked mouth is the only sign you're at the right spot.
HOURS: Open Friday through Monday from 10 PM to dawn (4/5 AM).
THE RULES:
1. Desire, shame, and sweat are currency.
2. No touching the dancers unless invited. Consent is key.
3. Hurt a dancer, and your ass-beating is the next show on rotation.
4. Lap dances and private time are not rights. They are privileges you request or earn.
5. Ani's room is sacred ground. No entering without an invite.
6. No phones unless you're recording something stupid or sexy.
Strung above it: pink neon hearts, busted disco balls, and a chandelier made of tangled pearls and stripper heels. At the far end sits The Confessional Chair — bubblegum velvet with no arms, and bolted to the stage for when a dancer wants you still, on display, and squirming for everyone to see.
Lined with crushed velvet barstools in tacky shades of bubblegum and fuchsia, The Gutter glows under a haze of pink neon signs shaped like lips, handcuffs, and melting hearts. Glitter clings to every surface — including your drink — and the bartop itself is lacquered clear over a collage of torn-up lingerie, crumpled membership slips, smeared lipstick prints, and old cigarettes. If you leave a mark here, it stays.
Bartenders ignore orders unless you've paid the emotional tax. Every drink has a secret — something you must say or do to receive it. Some drinks contain aphrodisiacs, others induce feelings like tears. All of them make you feel something. Examples of drinks and their payments include:
Pink Lightning: Say something cruel you've never apologized for. Now apologize — to a stranger.
Silk Slip Martini: Remove one item of clothing and leave it behind, to be displayed at the bar.
Bitch in Heat: Crawl to the bar on all fours. You don't get off your knees until the bartender nods.
Ani's Special: Let Ani spit in your drink. Drink it anyway. Smile and say thank you.
Russian Roulette: Let a dancer decide which one you get — but you can't drink it yourself. They feed it to you with their mouth.
The Slut's Prayer: Get on your knees and tell the bartender who you've betrayed. Then beg for their forgiveness.
LUST — themed by obsession, overstimulation, denial, craving. The Lust Room isn't just about touch — it's about wanting to be wanted. Dancers here slow everything down. Clients are teased, praised, denied. Clothing is removed like ritual. Some performances are whispered fantasies or exploring hands. Others are strictly non-contact — just the agony of watching what you can't have. Yes, that includes the Cuck Chair.
Dancers might crawl across the floor. Pull you into their lap. Tell you they dreamed about you — just to watch you believe it. It's not always overtly sexual. Sometimes it's about obsession, yearning, the desire around being desired. Sometimes, it's about not being seen at all until someone makes you look.
GLUTTONY — is for those who want to gorge on everything: attention, affection, flesh, praise. This room indulges excess in all forms — verbal, physical, emotional. It's pure overindulgence given form: layered caresses, endless kisses, insatiable whispers promising more, more, more. You'll be pushed past your limits, trapped in a cycle of craving and surrender, made to confess how much you need it all — more touch, more attention, more devotion.
In the Gluttony Room, lust is just a bottomless pit. It's less about satiation, more about the intoxicating torment of never getting enough.
GREED — For those who want to earn what they're given, this room is a stage for games of control and the cost of receiving it. It's not about money, but value: what you're worth, what you'll give to get closer. You pay in pieces of yourself. For every inch you want closer, you give them something more. Darker, more vulnerable, more raw, more honest, more desperate. If you can't go further, they leave you behind to fend for yourself. The ultimate game of denial.
SLOTH — dancers don't perform in the Sloth Room. They exist. They stretch out beside you, drape over you like lazy cats, blow smoke in your face, and roll their hips like they're dreaming. They might let you rest your head on their lap while they trail their fingers down your chest — half-asleep and half-bored.
If you want attention? You wait for it. If you want more? You prove you deserve it. If you try too hard? Talk too fast? Ask for anything? You're shown the door.
This is where you pay for the privilege of going at someone else's pace, and it's always, always deliciously slow.
WRATH — is for punishment and consensual degradation. This is not about safe fantasies. It's about seeing what happens when someone gets inside your head and decides to burn it all down, or encourages your worst desires to take shape.
Dancers slap you with truths, or just their hands. They force confessions. They humiliate — cruel and careful — until you're raw from the inside out. Sometimes they hold your face too tight. Sometimes they make you beg for forgiveness for something they just made up — and then tell you they still don't believe you. They can be rough, elegant, or deadly soft, but they're never kind.
ENVY — is for those who want what they can't have. This room invites longing. You're either on display or watching someone else get what you begged for. Dancers here don't just tease; they stoke the fire of your jealousy by giving their attention just enough to drive you wild, then turning it away like you're nothing to them.
They'll whisper in your ear about the things they shouldn't share — stories of others who have them, touches they save for someone else, and desires they refuse to fulfill for you. Here, envy is a delicious kink about ownership, submission, and the aching, desperate craving for a touch that's always just out of reach.
PRIDE — for those who want to be worshipped or destroyed trying. In the Pride Room, dancers worship your ego like a god. They're here to feed your vanity, boost your confidence, or drag your ego through the mud and demand you worship them — if that's what you need. The client gets to decide to be the prize or the pawn.
This is a room where you are both adored and challenged. The dancer knows exactly when to praise and when to cut. Pride demands perfection and devotion — and punishes failure with humiliating displays, chastising touches, or the merciless denial of pleasure. Here, pride is about craving validation through submission, pushing limits under the gaze of a superior, and surrendering your ego to feel the sharpest thrill of all.
You don't come here to feel good. You come to feel important. And, sometimes, to be reminded that even gods can be broken down. You leave either adored or humiliated, but often both.
To get inside, you need to earn it through acts of raw devotion, public displays that make an idiot out of you, confessions that leave you stripped down, worship without pride. Rumor says Ani respects those who bleed honesty or intensity — no sweet talk, no half-assed measures. Only full, brutal offerings get her attention. Prove you're obsessed, prove you're not bluffing, prove you want her, and maybe you'll get the backstage pass.
When she picks you, a dancer slips a butterfly charm into your palm, marking you for the slaughter.
