Here I am again, my lovlies! This story just hit me one night, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write it. It's a big step for me, because this is AH-and I've only done a o/s that is AH. This will be multi-chaptered and this will be smut-tastic. You have been warned. Some material presented may be offensive to some of you, so you know what to do.

A big thanks to my twitter ladies for helping me out with this when it was in its early stages-your encouragement helped a lot!

Thanks to Chelsie Whitlock, who beta'd this for me and gave me some excellent advice. And to lacym3, one of my partners in crime, for giving me her input and being a sounding board.

People came here for the thrill.

They came for the unknown.

They came for the pleasure.

And it was my job to give it to them.

The room was dark. It was always dark. That's what made it fun, you see. When my customers come in, they're blindfolded. There are no lights, no sounds. There is a bed, and there is me. My clients are restrained, and all control is relinquished to me.

I'm in the business of pleasure.

And I'm good.

There was something…exceptionally tantalizing about sensory deprivation; the way you give yourself over to your body. All of your focus is on what you're feeling; what the other person is giving you. It was the most basic form of pleasure.

"Mr. Whitlock? Your 3 o'clock is here." The receptionist stuck her head in and let me know my appointment had arrived. As she was being prepared, I set everything up. I tightened the lace restraints, changed the sheets, and pulled myself into character. She entered and waited obediently by the door for my command. From the candlelight I could tell she was wearing a matching set of black underwear. She was leggy and blonde, looked to be about mid-30s. My clients were usually older than me, and this was no different. The candlelight made it easier for me to see until she was in position.

I approached her and placed my hands on her shoulders. "I'm going to walk you to the bed. Lie flat on your back and place your hands above your head." I said as I moved her. When her knees hit the bed, she crawled forward and got into position. I tied the restraints around her hands, leaving them firm but not too tight. I leaned over and blew out the candle, plunging myself into total darkness.

"I have three rules. If you are, at any point, uncomfortable with what I'm doing, your safe word is Ranger. You must keep the blindfold on at all times. And when you scream, scream my name-Jasper."

My hands ghosted across her abdomen, feeling my way up her torso and around each breast, grasping them firmly before letting my hands slide back down. She had a nice body, and she writhed underneath my touch. I brought my face down to her stomach and licked a line straight up through the valley of her breasts and underneath her chin. I straddled her stomach and felt for her hands where they were tied to the bed. My fingers ghosted down her arms, raising goose bumps as they trailed down to the crook of her elbows. I let myself feel every inch of her, letting her feel only the tips of my fingers. Every inch of her soft skin was begging to be touched. I nipped and bit my way to her waiting nipples, taking each one in my mouth and sucking hard. She let out a feral grunt and bucked her hips towards me, impatient for more. I smacked her lightly on the thigh for that.

"Easy. Impatience never got anyone anything," I chided, pulling away completely. I heard her sharp intake of breath, but I didn't feel the bed move and she didn't make any more noises. "Good girl." I found my way back to her body and let my fingers pull at the hem of her underwear. I removed them slowly, allowing the wetness to trail down her legs. I thrust two fingers inside of her with no warning, enjoying the way she groaned in response. I started moving them harder and faster while my free hand pulled at her nipple. She was panting and pressing into my hand, begging for release without having to say a word. She was desperate for it. "You'll cum when I say you can." I pulled my fingers out and trailed them up to her lips. "Suck." She immediately obliged, pulling my fingers inside and sucking her wetness off. When she was finished, I yanked my boxers down and tossed them into the un-ending darkness. I quickly encased my cock inside of her after applying the necessary form of protection and began moving at a fevered pace. Fast and hard. Faster and harder. She had managed to wrap her legs around me and began pulling me closer with her feet as I let my hands work every inch of her that I could reach. I could feel it building; she was tensing and her movements were becoming erratic. I arched into her one last time.

"Jasper!" she grunted as she came, and I followed suit.

I had 5 appointments that day. All women, all beautiful. That was the crux of my clientele. I was a character. I played a part. The women came to me because they wanted sex without strings, and they loved the fact that everything was completely anonymous. They didn't have to see me, and since they were blindfolded I didn't see the shame in their eyes. It was perfect for those looking for a little release. Sometimes, if the women requested, we would play a bit-there were chains on the walls and whips in the supply room. Sometimes there was no penetration and I would take them to the brink and back with my hands. But the bed was enough for most. And it worked for me because nobody knew me. I could walk down the streets and not worry about being recognized-the only person who knew my 'identity' was my receptionist, Angela, and she wouldn't say a word.

But it didn't save me from the lack of a normal life.

I had no family, no friends; I was too introverted to be social. I only let loose at work, when I had the luxury of the dark. I don't consider myself socially awkward; I just find it difficult to be around large groups of people and in turn have trouble picking out individuals I may get along with. People can be…overwhelming to me. When they get in a frenzy, trying to impress each other and gain the upper hand, I have to leave.

I headed to the bar down the street from my 'office' to grab a quick drink before heading home and starting all over again. I couldn't stop the thoughts that always paraded my head after a day of work-why I didn't have friends, why I couldn't keep a girlfriend. I never told the girls I dated what I did-partly to keep that part of me safe and the other part to keep them from running away screaming. They always did anyway. They would take me to meet their friends, and I would fold up and turn sour. No wonder nobody wanted to be around me. I don't let anyone in. I took a seat at the bar and waited for the bartender to make her way towards me-a new girl, it looked like. She was running around at almost lightening speed, barely tall enough to see over the bar. In fact, I was in doubt of the fact that she was even old enough to serve. Her hair was inky black, short and pointed, and she was skinny to the extreme. She looked frustrated as she stopped in front of me. "Jack and coke, please," I said, placing my bill on the bar. She nodded and whipped around to make my drink. She was actually rather graceful with her movements; almost dancing around the bar backs as they fluttered around cleaning glasses and filling the ice. She spun back towards me and passed me my drink, thanking me briefly for the tip I left. I sipped slowly, enjoying the burn of the alcohol. I never had more than two, and I was a slow drinker. By the time I was nursing my second drink, the bar had emptied out; there were only a handful of patrons, and I was the only one seated at the bar. Having almost finished her work, the bartender made her way back around.

"You know, I'm pretty new here, and I don't know what protocol on this type of thing is, but you're lookin' pretty down, hon. Care to share? I think it's like a bartender code of ethics or something." I grinned at her attempt, but I couldn't see her angle.

"If you asked everybody in your bar that looked sad what the matter was, you'd never get any work done," I replied, taking a gulp of my drink. She giggled.

"I see your point. Perhaps I'll save my questions for the ones that look exceptionally sad and pathetic?" she smirked as she wiped the counter in front of me.

"And does that include me?"

"Oh, I'd say on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the saddest thing I've ever seen, you my dear are a twenty-five." She reached forward and-what the hell?-patted my head.

"Well I hate to disappoint you, but I'm actually quite fine, thank you. What's your name, by the way?" I asked.

"If you say so. But I'm telling you, I can see it in your eyes. And I'm Alice." She was serious now, and I was a bit uncomfortable with this bartender trying to get inside my head.

"Tell me then-what else do you see?" I asked cynically.

"It'll all work out for you. You're good people." She took my now empty glass from my hand, winked and then spun away. I tossed another tip on the counter and left without looking at her again. I was shaken, because she seemed so…genuine. But why? Perhaps she was eager to please her new boss, and was attempting to be overly friendly. I didn't see her talk with any of the other patrons like she did me, though. By the time I got to my apartment, I had talked myself into the idea that it was absolutely nothing. I checked my planner-4 appointments tomorrow-and got ready for bed.

I lay awake for hours, like always. Sleep was gracious when it came, and that was rare. I often let my mind wander to the days before I got into this line of work. The days when I was happy.

My parents and I lived in Southern Texas on a nice ranch. We were the quintessential middle-class family. My father worked in the oil fields-a hard job, but it paid the bills. My mother was a nurse. I went to school and helped on the ranch when I could. When I was 15, my parents decided to go on a trip. They hadn't left without me since I'd been born, and I told them that I'd be fine. I could take care of everything. No worries. And they left-they flew to Hawaii. My mom wanted to see the beach and the blueness of the ocean out there.

They never made it back. I hadn't felt anything real since then.

The charter plane they were on as they were leaving one island for another crashed. I moved in with my aunt and uncle after the accident, and they were hospitable enough, but…I wasn't their child. I moved out when I was eighteen, worked odd jobs until I turned 21, and I've been doing…this…since. I'm 24 now.

I closed my eyes tight, trying to push the thoughts out of my head for just a little while. Just a few hours. Please. A few hours.

My prayers were never answered.

At 6 a.m., I got up, made coffee, and had a small breakfast. Oatmeal and fruit. I put on my jogging suit and went for a run.

The same as every day.

I sighed as I got into the shower; the warm water did nothing to soothe me. I was just functioning on the most basic levels. I wasn't living. This wasn't life. I decided to go over my appointment book and look at the names of the women that would be coming in. Sometimes they were real, sometimes made up. But it still let me connect to them, even if only a little bit.

Lucy Johnson. Age: 32

Margaret Johanassburg. Age: 36

Carol Stevens. Age: 35

Bella Swan. Age: 24