Looking for some feedback on this one. Possibly one of my favorite prompts I've ever written, and I wanna know if it can be improved in any way.

Let me know what you think of it!

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/// THE PROMPT ///

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1952, Evening

Hell’s Handbasket was the city’s premiere gentleman’s club, and you could always count on a crowd come Friday night.

It was not the sort of club that allowed just about any Tom, Dick, and Harry into its premises; no, the Handbasket was known for its exclusivity, and without both an invitation and a guarantor, there was no way to get past its front doors. Any troublemakers would find themselves quickly dispatched by the club’s security: a rotating crew of orcs and hobgoblins that were as burly as they were no-nonsense.

Customers would descend the dimly-lit stairs until they were well beneath the city’s own foundations, and at the bottom, they would be granted entrance to the club through a thick, copper door. The Handbasket was no grimy pub that were a dime a dozen these days—no, they had a reputation to maintain, and a golden standard to uphold for their guests. As a result, the club was furnished lavishly. Clouds of tobacco smoke swirled up into the air from the numerous tables that were scattered across the bar room. The walls and floors were dark wood, decorated with exquisite silk curtains and imported rugs from across the Rift, costing more than a working man’s salary several times over. Brass chandeliers dripping with crystals and ornate imagery illuminated the space with a warm yellow glow.

The Handbasket catered to many men—powerful men, rich men—from all walks of life: be it the local mob family, a rich businessman with less-than-legal dealings or a politician gone incognito. These customers found their every need catered to by a veritable army of waiters, all while a live band played the popular jazzy songs of the week from a raised dais by the stage. Tonight all manner of men occupied the seats of the Handbasket, furred and scaled and smooth-skinned, from one side of the Rift to the other. They enjoyed themselves on expensive whiskey, exotic liquors and wines, dressed in bespoke suits, all well-to-do.

When the chandeliers began to dim, the band slowly faded into the background; and the guests’ clamoring slowly rolled to a stop. Many regulars knew what was to come next. The Handbasket, while infamous for many a good reason, was the home of the one and only Devil’s Songbird.

Her likeness had been artfully rendered upon many a flier the club had sent out to its customers: a red tiefling in a beautiful dress, seductively poised as she sang beside the printed letters of the time and date of her performance. But no matter how beautifully she’d been depicted on paper in the latest artistic styles, nothing could compare to flesh and blood.

As if on cue, motes of golden light descended from the chandeliers, and flew towards the main stage, the central point of the room that all of the tables and booths were turned towards. The lights began to twinkle, and as the curtains of the stage parted, the woman of the hour stepped out, meeting the applause that rose up from the gathered crowd with a gracious curtsy.

The Devil’s Songbird cut a striking figure on the stage. Her wine purple dress had no straps to speak off. It hugged her buxom shape like a second skin, leaving just enough to the imagination. Her skin was a bright ruby red, and twin bony protrusions in a shade darker sprouted out from the sides of her head, curling towards her cheeks like a ram’s horns. Her hair was beautifully curled, falling down her back and spilling over her bare shoulders like the spillage from an inkwell. Her heels clicked against the stage as she approached the microphone set out for her, and no sooner had her fingers brushed the familiar metal, the band began to play one of the many songs she had chosen to sing for the evening.

Roseis’ voice carried through the room, powerful and husky. As her performance began, the motes of light began to dance around the tiefling, as if drawn in by the emotion and power of her voice.

As popular as the Devil’s Songbird was, she was still a woman shrouded in mystery. She had performed at the Handbasket after appearing out of nowhere one night, and quickly became the club’s star attraction. Many speculated that she was the mistress of any one of the powerful men that frequented the club, for it was a well-known fact that anyone that caused trouble for the young singer would find themselves dealt with in a terrifyingly efficient fashion.

As Roseis continued to sing, the corners of her mouth curled up towards her eyes, her plump lips painted purple curving into the kind of smile that would have drawn in any man, any man at all.

But she only had eyes for one man in the crowd.

. . .

Looking for a good ol'-fashioned mobster-themed roleplay with this one, and of course, I had to bring in some fantasy too, because a three-piece suit makes anyone look damn good. Feel free to jump right in with the story and continue where I left off when you reply!

I'm a descriptive and detailed partner and am looking for the same; I prefer writing in 3rd person.

Orange envelopes only, please; I will be ignoring any replies to the prompt that come over Reddit Chat.

Kinks: Romance, (Vague) Period Accuracy, Affectionate Partners, Power Dynamics, Age Gaps, Monsters, Big Cocks, Size Differences, Fantasy Raceplay, Rough Sex, Name Calling, Spanking, Light Bondage, Body Worship, Cumplay, Impreg, Pregnant Sex, Lactation

Limits: Gore, Snuff, Piss, Scat, Extreme Violence, Blood, Humiliation and Degradation