Prose

It's cold today. Colder than usual. I wonder if it's just me who thinks it's cold, or if it really is. Maybe it's because I am without clothes that it feels this way. Or maybe its this heartless relationship that makes me shiver. I feel no love in this embrace. No comfort. It's empty like this body of mine.

I want it to be filled and filled quickly, but the only thing that enters me is a vileness and dirtiness that I cannot even begin to describe. I am defiled and any pride I have is useless because no matter how much I want to be accepted and seen as something greater, everyone else would rather spit in my face and kick me down.

There is no joy in this profession. Hardly anyone can say they like what they do without first being doped on the latest mix of drug on the market. No one would say it with a genuine smile sober. Especially not when your life is always in danger. Especially not when there was no one to hide behind.

It's a lonely job and a lonely life. Even if you happen to be embraced by a dozen partners, even if it's all at once, the gesture is empty. It falls through. Like a lifeless doll, I accept and sometimes give back in return, but there is no warmth that flows into me.

Any emotion I feel is temporary. Any joy, any happiness, any arousal only lasts but a moment. As soon as they get up and walk away, the urge to bury myself and never come out is strong. It's so tempting to just give up. Surrender.

I almost wish there is a way to make me feel like those few who do. I almost want to drown in ecstasy as they do, and become addicted. I want to become a glutton for these sensations, and find pleasure in it all. But I can't. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many I take into my arms, no matter how many arms I fall into, no matter how many times I spill across the sheets and pant like a marathon runner after a race... I cannot feel it.

I am numb.

"Kahoku, you're so wonderful..."

A voice, rough and deep, comes close to my ear. I tilt my head, turning my face toward it. I dare not look into those eyes, lest they get turned off by the lack of enthusiasm in my performance. I have to keep my act up. I have to pretend as though I'm enjoying this and want more and more and more, just to ensure that whoever it is will come back again to pay for one more session with me.

Lips crash against mine and suck. Teeth bite the plush bottom of my lip. A tongue shoves inside my mouth and wriggles around, searching like a blind snake in a slimy cave. Touching here, touching there, rubbing against the surface of my tongue, it continues. Like another snake, woken from its nap, I let my tongue push back and rub against the other one. Back and forth we play, seeking dominance and control.

But eventually I have to yield. It's not part of my duty to dominate my partner. No, I'm eventually just supposed to lay there and take it, whatever it may be.

Gasping as teeth come down on my shoulder, I squeeze my eyes shut and bear the pain. It isn't hard enough to break the skin---Mistress wouldn't allow for any permanent damage on her merchandise---but it will certainly bruise. I know it will make an ugly bruise by the time this is all over.

Yet what can I do about it? Nothing.

I can only grit my teeth and swallow my voice to keep from whimpering as teeth bite down again, this time on the other shoulder.

"So beautiful... my star... I want to hear you scream my name."

My star. I am most certainly no one's star. Not even Mistress owns me. But those who sleep with me often call me that anyway. My star. My little star. My precious star. My pretty star. Beloved star. Bright star. ...And many other combinations.

I don't like it when they do that, give me these corny pet names that mean absolutely nothing to either of us. It is because of my name that I am subject to these calls. My name, Kahoku, means "the star." Of course, it isn't my real name, but it is the one I go by. It is a name both girls and boys can have. A unisex name. It's very fitting, considering my role in this so-called profession.

As part of the babae division, I am more often then not told to "take" service of a patron rather than "give." It seems that more men than women prefer someone with my type of face when being serviced. I can't say I care either way, considering I feel nothing for any of the people I share a bed with. But being with male partners more do little to accent my masculinity.

In fact, it seems that Mistress would rather have it so that I portray as little masculinity as possible. Keep my boyish charms but discard any "butch" mannerisms that the lalaki division would normally possess. Apparently I simply am not built for that type of service.

I suppose I should be grateful. Women, while they have their benefits, especially the rich ones, can be more troublesome than men. And in this sort os society, more men are likely to come to your doorstep without shame than women. They'd rather find a husband to support them instead of playing around with a callboy.

Being part of the babae division, I can take in all sorts of patrons. Rich, older men are usually the sorts of partners I get.

"Ahn! W-Wait, I---!"

"That's it, cry out, my pretty little star. You shine the best when covered in sweat and begging underneath me."

This is no uncommon scene. Several times a day I go through this. Sometimes there are slow days, sometimes there are busy days. I guess it all depends on how horny a man can get during the week. Some men can just keep going and going while others have to stop after the first time.

"Ah! Harder!"

"Beg for it."

"Oh God, please, pound me harder! Ah! Oh yes, there! Right there!"

It doesn't matter. The scene is always the same. Meet, greet, undress, sometimes kiss, sometimes embrace, touch, fondle, a little bit of foreplay here, a lot of rubbing there, lick, suck, thrust, fuck, moan and scream like a bitch in heat... The only things that change are the positions and the patrons. Some like it when they can look at your face; they like how a calm facade can be easily changed into a full expression of pleasure all through a series of touches and words. Some like it from behind so they can mark you all over the place with their mouths. Some even like it in other, odd positions.

It brings me no joy or excitement to say I have done just about any and every position known to mankind throughout my years. On all fours, on my feet, on my hands, on my back, legs wrapped around a broader waist, off the ground, suspended in the air, against the wall, on the floor, on the bed, on the sofa, on the chair, in the bathroom, in the tub, against the mirror, atop the sink, strapped down, bound, gagged, I've been whipped, I've been slapped with a paddle, I've had wax poured on me, I've been sucked, I have sucked, I've been fingered, I've been been fucked on both ends (sometimes one at a time, sometimes both at the same time)... Name it and I've probably had it done.

Years have allowed me to accumulate experience.

"Ah! No, wait---Ngh! If you touch me there, I'll---"

"Go ahead. Go ahead and let it out, my star. Don't hold back."

Startlingly enough (or maybe not really), I have been under Mistress's tutelage since I was a child. I can't really remember the exact age I was when I came in. Maybe I was eleven? Ten? I should've been sold to a different company that specialized in bata trafficking, but at the time, babae's Number One took me in as his personal attendant. If not for his own high status, I probably would have been sold without a second's thought to someone else.

I suppose I'm grateful for that. My first time, compared to others in my situation, did not come until a few years later. Rather than being forced upon my first patron right away, I learned from my ate how to deal with patrons and their demands and wishes. I never liked it; what child could possibly enjoy learning about how to please another human in such a grotesque manner? I still don't like it, but these... techniques have saved me from many beatings and possible ugly scars.

My body is not without blemish, but ate Amke taught me how to bite my tongue, how to endure, and how to make it less painful for myself in the future. I still use the same methods as before to rake in as many patrons a day as I can handle to lessen the debt upon my body.

I hope, as all callboys hope, to someday be free from all this madness. Maybe I will be able to buy myself out with the money I bring in with each patron. Or maybe someone will buy me instead and take me with them. But... I know that isn't possible. There are just too many expenses for me to deal with to buy myself out. And despite their sick fantasies, no one wants the burden of dealing with another human being. Except for those occasional moments, no one wants to deal with the personality that may arise out of bed. After all, according to the rest of society, we are nothing more than low-lifes. We're only good for a romp between the sheets and nothing else. Just a pretty face to look at while you orgasm yourself to death.

"Ah! Aah! I'm can't---Ah! No, please! I'm comi---AH!"

"Mm, so good... Your voice is delicious. Kahoku, my star, it feels so good inside you. I just might---ngh! ...Ah, yes, you swallow me up so well."

I duck my head and press my face against the pillow. My breath is ragged and my throat a little tender from screaming constantly. These patrons do love it when you're loud; I do them proud by obliging when they request it. Sometimes I just do it anyway out of habit. These men... just want to hear you scream and beg and keep still while they fuck you.

That's all there is to it.

That's why there is no love in this touch. There is no comfort. Even as I feel fingers slide across my skin and touch me in places that should never be touched by another person, I feel nothing. The heat leaves me oh so quickly, making me tremble like a newborn kitten.

A sound works its way from the back of my throat and once more I feel those fingers stroke the length of my stomach.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm sorry, my little star. Was I too rough on you? I couldn't help myself. You're just so delectable I want more of you every time." Kisses are pressed against my bruised, sore shoulders, soft and almost genuinely apologetic though I know better than to believe it as such. "I know I should be more gentle, you're a busy person and probably have to go to another customer after this, but I want you for myself. I want to come inside you again and again until you're overflowing with my essence."

These could be considered sweet words to someone else, but to me they are worthless. Empty. They mean nothing. I know he's just talking to talk; he doesn't really feel the way he says he does.

The slow but definite pull from within my body helps me confirm that. Even though he says these sugar-coated things, he's already separating from me. Aldrich Melching, a foreigner who has taken an interest in my services while he's visiting this country, cares little else about me except that I be available to serve him when he calls. Once he goes home, that'll be the end of that.

Lifting my head, I glance over my shoulder to see him straighten up and shuffle off the bed. I make no move to follow, only lie down atop the sheets and turn onto my side as I watch him go to the bathroom and close the door after himself. It takes a few moments, but soon I can hear the water running. A shower. Already he's going to wash himself of the evidence of our activities. So professional.

I should be the one in that shower right now, ridding my body of his stench and cum from inside me. But I don't dare to move. I don't dare to rob myself of this brief moment of reprieve while I still have it. Sighing, I instead pull the pillow closer and curl my arms around it, hugging it to my chest.

It does little to warm me. It does little to bring me comfort. All it does is make me more aware of my naked state and how this bed is soiled with body fluids and the fact that yet another loveless encounter between the sheets has just occurred.

Staring at the clock atop the dresser across the room, I read the hands as they tick across the flat face. It's late; I wouldn't be getting anymore customers tonight if unless someone is really so desperate enough to want to catch me at three in the morning. I doubt it. Even sickos like these have to sleep and continue on with their daily lives without too much disruption in their routines.

I wait until the sound of water is cut off. After a couple minutes, the door opens and Aldrich stands there in a towel. He hardly gives me a glance as he goes about the room, picking up his clothes and accessories. He dresses and shoves his belongings in his pockets before producing a wallet.

Patrons are supposed to pay beforehand, to ensure that our bodies don't get wasted on anyone who can't afford us, but Aldrich likes to give a little extra afterward. Depending on how satisfied he is of my performance, he'll give a certain amount as a bonus. Pocket money for myself. It's hardly enough to go by, but it helps. If not for this, he certainly wouldn't be given so much attention as he is.

Such is the way things go.

I push up onto my elbow and look at him as he counts several bills before setting them on the nightstand. He puts his wallet away and finally looks at me with a wolfish grin. I know what he wants.

I get up onto my knees and crawl over to the side of the bed closest to him. Like a cat, I paw at his chest playfully. My hands snake down his front, then back up. His tie is loose around his neck and I fix it for him. Once its done, I use it as leverage to bring myself closer to him.

My lips meet his in an open mouthed kiss, my tongue rubbing against his own in a needy manner. As if I can't bear to see him leave. On cue, he sets his hands on either side of my face and gently pushes me back. A nip on my nose, then a kiss on each eyelid, then my forehead, and he looks at me with a teasing gaze.

"I'm afraid our time is up. Until next time, my beloved Kahoku. I enjoyed our time together."

Then just as quickly as it's started, it's finished. Aldrich pulls away and, after making sure he has everything he needs, turns and leaves. I wait until he's gone before turning my attention to the money he's left behind. I count it. It seems my performance wasn't a waste. One hundred. If I had done a little worse, it would've only been fifty or seventy-five. If I was terrible, twenty or nothing at all; I only got that once. Never again will I ever score that low.

This money will hardly last me the week, if at all, but I won't dare lose it. It means so much to me... it's the only thing I have to help me survive this mundane, torturous lifestyle. Not even people can cheer me up in the way money can. And even that's not by much.

I look for my clothes and shove the money in one of my pants pockets. My back is sore, and my ass doubly so. I don't want to move but I must. I go to the bathroom and shower, determined to rid myself of the stink and sweat from my body, and the white fluid that laces the inside of my thighs.

The water is warm, far warmer than any cold embrace that I have accepted. I let it wash me clean before drying off, still so sore and covered in bruises from love bites and other such markings. I don't want to get dressed but I do; I pull on my clothes and make my way out of the bedroom. There's a sign on the door; I flip it over to tell the cleaners it's their turn to take care of things inside.

Hardly anyone is wandering around at this hour. Usually people are asleep, but I am used to walking out on my own when no one is around. It makes me feel even lonelier and colder than ever, but I'd rather feel these horrible feelings than not feel at all. I'd rather wallow in misery and cringe at the ache of my body rather than become completely numb.

Making my way across, I go to the side where I am allowed to sleep. I share my room, but that doesn't bother me. It hasn't for a long time. I stumble in, my feet unsteady, my legs weak, and make it to my poor excuse for a bed. My roommate isn't back yet, so I suspect he's out, still working or else sleeping it off with his patron.

I don't know. I don't care either. Remaining in my clothes, I fall onto the bed and curl under the blankets. I hate this place. But it is my home. I cannot escape. I'm doomed to remain here, passionless, lonely, tormented, lifeless... until I either become no longer useful, or I die. I wonder which will come first.