Prose

Never in all my life, in all my years in this "career" of mine has anyone ever asked me this question right before I'm about to suck their dick. Seriously. What sort of man would stop me before he's about to get possibly one of the best head of his life, and ask me this sort of question? It was already flabbergasting enough to know he stopped me, let along asked me a question on top of that.

It takes me a moment to recover from my shock. I catch his wrist in my hand and try to pry it away from my hair, but he keeps me still. Well, fine. We'll just talk while he's got me like this.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you know exactly what I mean. Though you don't look like you're bothered by what you're doing, I can tell. It's easy to see behind that mask you put up."

This surprises me. No one has ever called me out on my act before. No one has ever noticed. And if they did, they sure as hell didn't care enough to tell me about it. How exactly had Aurel been able to see my true feelings?

Or is he just bluffing me?

I decide to feign ignorance to his words. "You have an interesting imagination. Though I do admit this isn't my dream job, that doesn't mean I don't like it. I mean, c'mon. It's sex. Don't tell me you don't like it or else why are you here?"

I dance my fingers along his lower abdomen and down the curve of his pelvis, purposely drawing closer to his libido though I don't touch it. I'm surprised he doesn't buck his hips at the teasing, since men usually are raring to go when they arrive here. Aurel, he's probably no different. After all, his dick is half erect already.

But for some reason, unlike all the other men, he's not letting himself give in to those animal desires. He's not throwing me down onto my back and shoving into me like I'm so used to having done. No, he's stopping us just a few steps shy of going through with that. Why? For what reason?

Probably not a logical one. I can't think of a reason myself why he would do something so stupid.

"You're saying you don't feel any remorse or regret whenever you bed a man?" he continues, speaking to me with that strange tone of his.

Of course the answer to this is, Yes. Duh, I regret every time I step into a room and let yet another man fuck my brains out. I hate every time I lie back, or crouch, or stand, or whatever the hell they want, and moan as if I can't help but want more when all I want is for them to stop. DUH. But I don't say it. I just give this small laugh and look at him like he's stupid.

"If I didn't like being here, wouldn't you think I would have run away already?"

He pushes up and props himself on one hand, the other still holding me still by my hair. I shift a little, getting onto all fours instead of spreading myself out before him, and thankfully he lets me. "I think you've tried, but you probably failed and no longer have the motivation to do it again because of the consequences."

He's smart. I'll give him that. But his words are useless in this place. He's just wasting his breath and his money simply talking to me instead of doing what his body so obviously wants to do.

Smiling, I continue to play ignorant. "That's a plausible theory, but it's not the truth. I'm not so weak that I'd let myself be subject to something I wouldn't want. Now are you going to screw me or did you just buy me to talk to me? Time is money."

The corners of his eyes pinch slightly. It's a subtle movement, one that would've been missed if not for the fact that I'm staring at him so closely. "Indeed, time is money. Is it money that's keeping you here, then? If it's not the punishment, then you must need the cash, right?"

Either he could really see right through me, or he was just a damn good guesser. I'm not sure which is worse.

I reach up and catch the wrist of the hand still around my hair. He doesn't let go, but he does shift his hand a little, so that it feels more like he's caressing the back of my head instead of holding my hostage. I scoot closer to him and sit in his lap, draping an arm over his shoulder.

"Aurel, a lot of people wouldn't be where they are if it weren't for money. Being a prostitute has nothing to do with it. Where do you work, for instance. Would you be where you are if the pay was terrible?"

I'm hoping to catch him on this one. Most people would say no. But lo and behold...

"Yes, I would, because I like where I work. I like what I do."

I shake my head and click my tongue. "You are one in a million."  I move the arm I have around his shoulder to curl in his hair and weave through the short locks. He's a strange man, asking me strange questions, giving me strange---but straightforward---answers.

"Now, honestly, are we going to have sex and put your money to work, or are we just going to continue talking and waste your precious cash? You might as well get a bang for your buck, don't you think?"

You'd think he would agree. It's his moneythat he put out there, after all. But no, he goes and surprises me yet again with that resilience of his.

"Not really."

I almost want to call him stupid. What sort of man would buy my time only to spend it talking? Don't all men who come here want to fuck me? What's wrong with him? What the hell am I supposed to do if we just sit here and yap away? Sure, I can fill the silence if I have to, but normally, during these times, the things I say, the noises I make, are usually incoherent garble and moaning because I'm too busy having a dick shoved up my ass to actually have a decent conversation with whoever it is.

"Oh? But I'm sure you're in need of some release."

I reach down and curl my fingers around his half erect libido and give it a nice, long stroke. He reacts, even though it looks like he's trying not to. I bet he really doesn't want to have sex with me, but there's no denying carnal desires when they're so evident.

"Just let me help you with it, okay?"

I kiss his jaw and slowly work my way down. He lets me do it, though the hand at the back of my head is a constant reminder for both him and me than he cannot or rather will not let himself be lost in the tide of pleasure.

I open his shirt and kiss down his chest and abdomen, nipping lightly at the dips and curves of his muscles. Aurel, whatever he does for a living, has given him a swell body. He's one of the finer looking men I've ever bedded in my life.

Pushing down his pants a little further, I position myself before him as I was earlier and tease the head with my tongue, circling around it a few times. Continuing to stroke him and tease him, I work him into full erection. Unlike me, he can't force his body to lie. I know he has to feel something from what I'm doing, even if only a little. He can't possibly be so great an actor as I can be.

Wrapping my fingers around the base, I take him into my mouth. I get him wet and suck upon the tip, rubbing my tongue along the dip in the center. Slowly at first, then gradually, I build up a rhythm. Moving my head back and forth, going a little deeper each time, I eventually take him in completely.

His breath quickens just a bit, but it's enough to encourage me to go further. I know no man has the resilience to reject a good blowjob. Especially not someone who pays for it. And excuse me if I sound conceited, but hell, what can I say? You can't deny skill when I've only been doing it, oh, I dunno, about nine or ten years now? You'd think I would've learned a trick or two, right?

I can feel him fight off the mounting urge to orgasm. I don't know why he's holding back, or why he's so reluctant to let me do what I'm being paid to do. While I suppose I can be appreciative of it, it's just too foreign for me to accept. I don't know what to do with myself. Sex... it's my lifestyle. And Aurel, well, he's going to come whether he likes it or not because I won't feel right until he does it at least once.

Working him, using my tongue, using my fingers to make up for the area I can't take into my mouth, rolling his balls in the palm of my hand, I draw every erotic sensation out of him that I can until he can't hold back anymore. He jerks his hips, as all men do, as he orgasms and I have to brace myself to keep from choking as he spills into me.

The hand at the back of my head tightens, and before I know it, he's pulling me off of him. I flinch at the initial pain, but at least have the mind to close my mouth to keep from spilling all over the sheets.

"So you are doing this for the money. Or is this some sort of twisted pride you have as a prostitute to prove to me how well you can do?"

I swallow and lick my lips. "I wouldn't call it pride, but you did pay for my services. You might as well get something out of it."

"And you're just working out of habit. I'm giving you the opportunity to not do anything at all, which I'm sure none of your other customers let you have, and yet you're still trying to get me to have sex with you." The corner of his lip tipped up slightly in the hint of a smirk. As if I just proved something to him that I otherwise would not admit.

...Maybe I did. I'm not sure. But the way he's looking at me is starting to creep me out.

"You're stuck in a routine, Kahoku. And you don't know how to get out of it even when the exit is staring you in the face."

I reach back to remove his hand from my hair, but still he doesn't let me go. His eyes, so fierce, force me to look at him, holding me still by this leash of his that I can't get out of. "There is no exit."

"Because you're not looking hard enough. Just like the rest of these callboys 'working' here, you have given in to the system whether you realize it or not."

He's right. I have. But that's because I don't want to get beaten. And I sure don't want to get killed. It's either find the sympathy of someone from the outside who will buy you, or find eternal freedom in death.

"See? You can't even deny what I'm saying."

I bristle and roughly pull myself free from his grip. This time, he lets go of my hair, though it's not much of an improvement when he takes my arm instead. I don't know why, but having him tell me this, having him point out everything I already know to be true... it makes me mad. It makes me so angry, I want to lash out at him.

And I can't figure out why.

"Let go of me."

"I won't. You haven't openly admitted that everything you've done so far has been nothing more than a farce. You know I speak the truth, and you know that being here hurts you. You know you aren't the only one suffering, yet you do nothing to change things for yourself."

"Because I'll get hurt!" I spit at him, jerking my arm.

"You hurt more by staying silent. I know there are people here to guard you all and keep you from running away. How many times have you been beaten? How brutally have they forced obedience into you?"

I don't like where this is going. I don't like how suddenly, the conversation scares me. My heart palpitates and I can hardly get myself to meet his gaze. What does he want? What is he getting out of making me admit to the truth of his words? What joy is he getting out of making me confess to all the things I have kept inside?

"Answer me Kahoku. How many years have you been here? How many men have you spread your legs for? How long as it been since you've given up hope of ever stepping foot outside of this cage?"

Nine, ten years. Too many men to count; sometimes ten men a day, sometimes more, sometimes less, every day, with one day of rest every few weeks, no holidays, ever since I started working. I lost hope long, long ago...

These words are on the tip of my tongue, but the muscle itself is trapped against the roof of my mouth. How did the conversation turn so bad so fast? How did he manage to spear me like a harpoon through a fish? How did he manage to rip open my heart and get the chance to read it? How did he even know I was acting and hiding it all to begin with?

I don't know when it started, but I suddenly find myself shaking, my body trembling under his hands. This isn't the sort of trembling that comes with ecstasy. This isn't sexual in the slightest. My eyes can't even look at them, only stare off at a random spot on the wall, my head turned away.

"You may see no bright future, but there is one."

His voice is suddenly soft. Compared to the gruff bark he had earlier, his tone now draws me back in. I risk looking at him again out of the corner of my eye, then slowly turn my head to face him.

He reaches out and touches my cheek. I flinch, thinking he'll be rough again---I've spent too much time with Tony to not expect at least a little violence from another man---but he just strokes my cheek with his thumb. His thumb comes back moist. I don't understand why, at first, but then I realize what it is.

How cruel this man is. With his striking eyes, with that attitude of his, with his hurtful but truthful words... I hate him. I hate him more than I hate any other man I have ever gone to bed with before. I hate him and the way he affects me far more easily than anyone I have ever known.

This man... where did he come from? Why is he here? Why me, of all people, does he have to torture like this?

"Come here," he says and draws me in. The tug is gentle but insistent, and I find I have no strength to fight him. Or rather, no will.

He falls back on the bed and brings me close to lay with him. I don't know what he wants us to do, but as we linger there for a while longer, I start to realize that he doesn't want us to do anything. Just stay as is. Just like this.

I squirm a little, uncomfortable. "I can't..."

"You can."

"I'm not used to being in my clothes," I say, my voice quiet. If I ever happen to sleep in a patron's bed, it's while I'm naked. I never put my clothes back on once they're off and I'm still in the company of another man.

To break that routine now is bizarre to say in the least. I am very uncomfortable.

Wiggling free of his grasp, I start to shed my clothes. He watches me, keeping me near as if he wants to make sure I won't bolt on him. As if I can. I would be hunted down and asked questions if I left the room before my partner did, especially if I looked like I didn't have sex with them.

Once I'm down to my bare skin, I hesitate, but eventually come back down to lay with him. He's only got his shirt on, but by the way he looks at me, he's probably more concerned about my own lack of clothing than his own.

I can't meet his gaze. He doesn't force me too either, at least not anymore. He just keeps me close and drapes an arm around my waist. Out of habit---yes, habit---I move in closer and snuggle against his chest. He probably knows I don't really have the urge to snuggle, or particular want, but he lets me do what I've been doing for years and we leave it like that.

Sleep is hard to come by, especially since I'm not as exhausted as I normally would be. Usually, sex tires me out enough that I knock out pretty quickly after my last patron takes his leave. During those times, I only have enough energy make it back to my own bed (sometimes I didn't have any energy at all) before I'm out like a light.

I'm tired tonight, but it's not the same as it normally is. I'm not as hard pressed to keep my eyes open this time around.

"Sleep."

His command, though more of a suggestion, makes me glance up at him. The contact doesn't last very long, as I look away rather quickly. I hide my face, my expression, and close my eyes to block out my surroundings. It doesn't really do me any good because I can smell him, a mix of his own scent along with a hint of cologne. The two are subtle, something that can only be noticed and enjoyed at such a close proximity.

Oddly enough, I like this about a man. I don't want to be overwhelmed by different, strong smells. My nose will die and my lungs collapse from all the chemicals. Or so it'll feel like, as it has many times before. This subtly of Aurel's, matching with this peculiar, and somewhat frightening attitude of his, makes me... well, I wouldn't say I calm down, but it is a pleasant change and it soothes me enough to relax a little in his hold.

Slowly, gradually, I am able to drift off and eventually my consciousness fades.

How strange that I can actually sleep without having to go through a full round of sex at night before doing so. It's hard to believe, I know. And yet... here I am, wrapped in his embrace, sleeping comfortably without the lower half of my body aching and smeared with disgusting white stuff.

It really is so hard to believe...

Morning comes soon enough, and when I open my eyes, I'm still wrapped in his arms. His eyes are closed, and by his deep, even breathing I can assume he's still asleep. It's only like this I dare to look at him properly, taking in his appearance as if for the first time.

He's frightening, in a way completely different from Tony. He's gentle, in a way completely different from Uriel. There are too many things I don't know about him, which isn't unsurprising, but what is is my willingness and---dare I say it---want to find out and fill in those gaps.

Removing my hand from his shirt, I try to untangle my legs from his (something that had somehow happened during the night) and manage to do so without stirring him. But when I push away, his arm stops me, his arm tensing around my waist.

I look up to find him opening his eyes and looking down at me with a slightly groggy gaze. We look at each other in silence, doing nothing more than studying each other until at last he blinks and finally releases me to cover up a yawn with his fist.

I use that moment to sit up and put a little distance between us. Like the last time, I get out first, ignoring his stare as I gather up my clothes and disappear into the bathroom without a word to clean up and dress.

And just like last time, when I come out, he's still in bed, lying there. I don't know what to think about that, or do in response. He's not like Aldrich, who likes it when I paw at him and nuzzle like a kitten. He's not like Tony who's indifferent to me and wants nothing more than rough sex and to see me cry. He's not like Uriel either who's actually kind, but still treats me somewhat like a pet, even if a cherished one.

I stand there awkwardly as I finish buttoning the last of my shirt and fix the sleeves. He sits up but doesn't really speak, only watches me like a fish in a bowl. It's not too far from the truth, though I'd probably suffocate by now instead of breathe at ease.

"I..."

"I'll see you again."

"W-What?"

I look at him, flabbergasted, but he gives me a straight stare in return. After a moment, he stands up and approaches me. It takes nearly all my will to keep still and not take a step back.

"I'll come again," he repeats. "I'll show you the difference."

I almost ask him, "Difference between what?" but I don't get the chance when he vanishes into the bathroom. Left on my own, I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I don't know what he's talking about, and hearing he'll come again actually makes me anxious.

But then again, he is supposed to be a patron of mine, and I was very determined to have him as another paying customer in the beginning. Well, he will be from now on. I hope it's not a mistake, though. Having him as mine, I mean.

Because I just know he's a devil in disguise.

There's no doubt about it. He's a devil. And I don't want to get caught in his trap.