Life on the streets is hard for everyone; no exceptions. There is no easy way out, no way to cheat the system. All you can do is put your nose to the grind and pray you don't look up in time to see what's ahead of you. That's the key to living out here: don't look up. Never look up.
I had bounced between odd jobs for most of my life out here, but when push came to shove, I ended up at the bottom of the heap. Out here a prostitute is about as low as you can go, and I had been stuck there for years. The only thing I had got going for me were my looks, which seemed to be slipping every day. It's not something I could help, really. I wasn't getting enough to eat, or enough sleep. No place to live meant: no regular showers, no cleanliness of any manner. I'd done all of the tricks the old gals had taught me (paint your nails so they can't see the dirt underneath, keep your hair short if possible so it doesn't look as lanky and greasy, slap your cheeks to give yourself some color), but I could only do so much.
My genetics didn't help me out with the luck of the draw. Sure, I was pretty to look at from a distance, maybe even for a one-night fuck, but I was no Suzy Starshine. My blue eyes are lack-luster from the lack of sleep, my hair is completely unruly and always out of control. My once tan skin is starting to become sallow from too much night work, and sleeping during the day. Scars left over from a sadistic bastard don't help at all.
But for some reason, the ladies enjoyed it. And as long as the ladies kept paying, I could keep eating enough to stay alive. And as long as I could stay alive, well… that's about it.
That's where my story begins. An emotionally half-dead hooker, finishing his latest round in the alley, and stepping back out onto the streets a whole twenty dollars richer. My customer was nothing to me but a blur of hideous pink and horrendous perfume.
I had thought of going back out onto the streets, maybe catch another John or two, but I was dead tired. I needed some sort of shut-eye or caffeine before I leapt back onto that particular horse. Pun intended.
I'd gotten maybe thirty steps from the alley when fate decided to drive a car right up to the curve. I kept walking, but as the car followed me, I realized that any sort of luck on the streets just can't be turned down.
I turned to face the car, brushing my bangs back away from my face, and sauntering slowly to the curb. The car was nice. Not in the way you would say your grandmother's car was nice, but legitimately a sweet piece of metal. A cool black Bently; chrome option included. A darkly tinted window slid languidly into the door, and I took my cue.
"Hey, stranger. Looking for company?" I said, laying my hand on the top of the door, leaning my body in, trying to look as appealing as an underweight street rat can.
I felt rather than saw his stare. I knew it was a guy from the scent of cologne drifting out of the open window. Slow, musky, almost sweet.
A quiet sigh slipped out of the man inside, just loud enough for me to catch. I heard some mumbling after that, though whether he said "I can't believe I'm doing this," or "I should get my car washed," was beyond me.
The driver put the car in park, the tiniest lurch putting the car into a full stop. Said driver then exited the car and headed toward my side of the car. I pulled away from the car, putting my hands up and open beside the sides of my head, trying to show I was no harm at all.
Rather than giving me the beating I was expecting, the driver opened the door and gestured me to sit, with a slight bow of his enormous figure. The guy had at least a hundred and fifty pounds of sheer muscle on me, and I couldn't resist the twinge of fear that ran through me as I slipped past him and into the car.
The door closed with a quiet thud.
The interior of the car was entirely black leather. Swanky, clean, and nearly new.
"You smell like cigarettes," the man next to me spoke, bringing my attention to him straight away.
He sat with his legs crossed, head propped up in his hand, elbow on the opposite door. His entire body oozed a cool arrogance, with a slight sting of disdain. His obviously perfectly tailored suit left little to the imagination, and the creases down the legs showed it was freshly pressed. His scent wafted towards me, a strange mix of an artificial cologne and the smell of his own skin. The same smell from outside of the car, but so much stronger now. This car was definitely not a rental. His scent had pervaded it too far. His wealth was legitimate.
"Sorry about that," I whispered, trying to at least appear contrite. Inside, I was screaming victory. Anything that made this rich bastard uncomfortable was a treat to my ego.
His hand slipped forward, and he actually covered his nose, rolling the window down.
"Kiba, be sure the car is washed tomorrow. I want this horrific scent gone by morning."
"My pleasure, sir," the driver said, with a slight chuckle.
I couldn't stop the pout from making itself visible. Honestly, this guy was a total ass.
"If I'd known I'd get such a high end customer, I'd have taken a dip in my Chanel No. 5, and slipped into some silk," I said, sarcasm spilling from my lips.
"Disgusting," he whispered back, "That would entirely defeat the purpose."
I sighed, slumping back against the seat.
"Look, payment is up front, a hundred an hour. I'm sure you can handle that."
"A hundred an hour? Someone has low self-esteem."
It was all I could do to keep myself from launching at the bastard.
Then, for the first time that night, he looked at me, his hand slipping away to reveal a cool smirk that never reached his endlessly black eyes. His pale skin was in perfect contrast to the dark suit and his equally dark hair. The style, though, was ridiculous.
"Not everyone can have the confidence to walk around with hair like a duck's ass," I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
A burst of barking laughter echoed from the front seat. The driver shaking with obvious glee.
"Kiba!" my rich host hollered, "keep the car on the damned road!"
The laughing stopped immediately, and the driver sat up straighter in his chair.
The rich bastard hadn't yelled very loud at all, so why was this huge hunk of muscle even batting an eyelash? Guess no one wanted to lose their job.
"Now then, there will be nothing from you for the rest of the trip," he said, looking down his straight white nose at me.
"I'll shut up when you pay up," I hissed, glaring at him from the other side of the seat.
"You will be paid handsomely at the END of the night. No exceptions."
"Like hell," I said, grabbing the handle of the car and opening the door just a fraction. Of course I had no intention of jumping out of the car, but it never failed to scare a John enough to pay up. And, as always, it worked like a charm.
"Are you out of your mind?! Close the door!"
I turned and looked at him over my shoulder.
"Sorry, but if you're not going to pay, I have other clients to attend to."
"Fine! Just shut the fucking door!"
I closed the door with a click, holding my hand out to him, inwardly grimacing at the dirt on them.
With an indignant huff, my palm was filled with bills, which I then counted out. A grand. One thousand dollars. Ten hours. What did this guy have in mind?
"Now that you've regained some of your sanity, do me the honor of keeping your mouth shut."
I slipped the money into my pants pocket, shrugging my shoulders and looking out the window to watch the world zip past. Things were definitely looking different. To be perfectly honest, I'd never been to that side of town. Even the alleys looked clean.
The car turned, and suddenly dipped down, making me jump as we glided quietly into the underground parking garage of a prestigious looking building. A short drive and a quick stop, brought us to stillness. The big guy exited first, letting out the rich bastard, and then opening my door. I mumbled a quiet thanks as I slid past him again, and he gave me an honest smile in return.
"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," the suited man said, glaring impatiently at me, as if I were a child who had already been scolded a thousand times that night.
He turned before I had a chance to glare, and began walking towards one end of the underground garage. The big muscled guy gave me a nudge, and started me walking in the same direction.
After passing several cars that were most definitely worth more than my life, we arrived at an elevator. The big muscled guy stepped forward, typing a number into the key-pad and we all waited for the elevator to reach our current level. The doors opened with a soft ping, and we all stepped in, the big guy first, standing at the numbers, pressing the one to send us to the floor just shy of the top.
'This guy must be seriously loaded,' I thought, nervously wiping my hands on my pants.
Sure, I'd had plenty of male clients. It was just part of the trade. But this guy, was way, way beyond anything I'd ever had to deal with. The higher I felt us go, the dirtier I felt. The mirrored interior of the elevator didn't help at all. There was the skinny little brat, hair mussed up, skin smeared, nail polish chipping. The cheap whore. A veritable beauty and the beast, and I most certainly wasn't the beauty.
The man in the suit looked at me via the mirrored door, his eyes racing over my skin, and I could nearly feel his eyes scraping over my body. His emotionless face made it impossible for me to tell if he was looing at me with disgust, pity, or desire. But I had a serious feeling that it wasn't the latter.
The elevator came to a stop, and the big guy, Kiba, typed in another code. As he leaned forward, his enormous body a constant form of intimidation, the suited man leaned over and whispered in my ear, causing me to startle slightly.
"One day, I will fuck you in this elevator. In front of these mirrors, and you will beg me to do it."
I stood there, mouth open, arms limp at my sides, staring at the back of a black suit as it slid into a foyer.
'Did that bastard really just say that?! Who the hell says that?!'
I had to force myself out of the elevator, suddenly more nervous than ever, and as I glanced back at the mirrors, I couldn't help but shudder.
The foyer was small, but tastefully decorated. A modern painting hung on each side, a small black table in the center held a small bundle of white roses, tied into a ball and placed in glass. A huge double door stood proudly at the opposite side, and Kiba was typing numbers in again, before he stepped back. The suit took his place, swiping some sort of card and typing in a few additional digits. A low click sounded deep in the doors, and they opened of their own accord.
"Welcome home, sir," the big guy said, pushing me into the huge apartment and then disappearing down a hall to my right.
The bastard made a small sound of acknowledgement, and then proceeded to remove his tie.
'Right here? On the floor? In his kitchen? On the sofa?' I thought, my brain racing to figure out what I should do. I came to the conclusion that if he was undressing, so should I.
I had just reached for the hem of my shirt when the back of pale hand smashed into my right cheek. I was stunned into silence as I stared up at the man.
"I don't want to see that," he sneered, his upper lip pulling back in undisguised disgust. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled, and he pulled away, repulsed, "Go. Shower. I won't tolerate such filth in my pristine home."
I stood there, once again, gaping like a fish. The guy had just fucking STRUCK me, and he expected me to do whatever he said?
I was about to mouth off when a much smaller, softer hand, landed gracefully on my shoulder.
I turned to the owner of the hand, and felt my eyebrow raise of its own accord. Whoever it was, was beautiful. But that was the problem. It. I honestly couldn't tell if I was looking at a man or a woman. A genderless beauty.
"I'll show you the way," it said, smiling softly. The voice gave no help in the gender issue. It was low, but soft. It could be a higher pitched male, or a sultry female.
I nodded, silently. Whether or not I hated being here, a bath was definitely what I needed, and if it meant dealing with a bastard for the next ten hours, then at least I had a bath to make up for some of it.
'And I'm going to use every last drop of his fancy ass soap. Take that you bastard!'
I was lead down the same hallway the big guy had just vanished into a few minutes ago. Two doors down brought us to a bathroom bigger than any room I had ever owned. It was a nearly blinding white, towels to match the white tile, to match the white floors and walls, to match the white sinks and tiles.
"Alright. Step into the shower, clean off as much as you can. Please scrub hard, or he will make you wash again. Use as much soap as you need to get clean. Use only white towels. If the towel is dirty when you dry, wash again. I'll take your clothes and attempt to get those clean. I'll bring you new clothes to wear. You don't have to worry about us stealing your money or anything, it's just me and Kiba, and Mr. Uchiha," the gender-bender smiled sweetly at me, "My name is Haku. I'm the cook and the housekeeper. Have you eaten tonight?"
I shook my head, still trying to wrap my brain around everything that was happening.
"I'll make you something. When you're done washing, dress in the clothes I'll leave for you, and then come to the kitchen. You saw it when you came in, didn't you?" I nodded, "Good. Oh, and there's nail polish remover under the sink. Be sure to wash under your nails!"
With that, the door closed, and I was left feeling like a total mess in a sterile bathroom of white and the scent of bleach.
I stripped off my clothes, trying to avoid catching glances of myself in the mirror, throwing my clothes to the ground. I turned on the shower, waiting for it to heat up before stepping in.
The hot water on my skin was a small slice of heaven. I spent a few minutes under the spray, just drinking the heat into my tired bones and muscles. After I was thoroughly warmed, I set to scrubbing my skin. Instructions or not, I was filthy and I knew it. I smeared body wash, dug at my skin with brushes, ran a wash cloth over every bit of skin I could reach, washing my hair at least four times.
Once my skin was scrubbed pink, I turned off the water, and dried off. The towel was still white when I was done.
'Ha! Take that bastard!' I cheered to myself.
On the counter was a set of white clothes, shirt and shorts, linen from the looks. As I dressed, noting that there wasn't any form of underwear, I tried to remember if I'd heard Haku come in to place the clothes or not. I ran my hand through my hair, catching a sight of the chipped polish still on my fingers, and took the offer of remover.
With clean nails, hair, and everything else, I left the bathroom, walking out into the kitchen as I had been told. Sure enough, there was Haku, a smile on it's face, sliding a cold-cut sandwich across the counter to a stool on the opposite side of the breakfast bar.
It might have just been a sandwich, but it looked like God, and tasted like heaven. I scarfed the entire thing down without stopping, chomping down the pickle, and guzzling two glasses milk with it.
I noticed a figure in the corner of my vision, and turned my head to see the bastard standing there, still wearing his buttoned down shirt and suit pants. I expected him to be looking at me with the same disgust he had earlier, but instead, his eyes were filled with something I might have mistaken for sadness. Probably pity.
He didn't say a word as I finished the last few gulps of milk, and sat there, waiting for what was to come. I smiled at Haku, and stood, grabbing my plate and heading to the sink.
"Haku will wash those," a gentle voice lilted through the air toward me. I had to turn just to make sure that it was the voice of the same jerk who had brought me up into the apartment. Sure enough, it was.
I handed Haku the dishes and stood awkwardly in the kitchen.
"What's your name?" the man whispered, slinking down to sit on one of the breakfast stools.
"Naruto," I said, my voice nearly breaking as I quietly whispered my name. I'd long ago found that remembering countless fake names, when no one cared about who you once were was pointless. My real name was easier to remember, and less hastle.
"Naruto," he whispered with something close to reverence. He let his eyes run over me again, this time more of a caress than a scrape, "My name is Sasuke. But you will not use my name. You may call me Master."
Inwardly I sighed. Why did I always attract this sort? It was always the sadistic guys who left me battered and bruised, unable to walk for days, barely worth the money they paid me. Although, this man had paid a great deal more than the others. But he also wanted way more than a two-hour fuck. Eight whole hours more than that.
I nodded my head, looking over at him, grateful for the distance between us. He locked his eyes with mine, standing slowly and walking to the living room, motioning for me to follow.
The apartment was huge, with one wall of floor to ceiling windows. The open floor plan made the kitchen and living room one enormous space. The white walls and dark floor looked eerie in the nighttime light, but drew your eyes to the amazing view. The city sprawled out before the windows, like weary worshipers at the feet of a god. Modern artwork hung on the walls that weren't windows, all black, white, and red. A long L-shaped sofa was mirrored by two equally black leather and chrome armchairs, all sleek and modern. The man sat on the long side of the L, and pointed to the floor beside his feet.
"You will sit here," he said, perfectly calm and collected.
I did as I was told, working my jaw muscles to prepare for what I expected would be a long, rough blow job that would leave me aching after.
I knelt between his knees, and looked up to see a rather imposing frown.
"Your trajectory is a bit off. I pointed here," he thrust his finger down towards the outside of his leg, "Not here," the finger was put right in my face.
I blushed, unable to stop the blood from rushing to my cheeks, and quickly shuffled around. His hand brushed lightly across my cheek, shocking me with an electricity I knew had to be entirely imagined, but we both gasped. His fingers ghosted past my face, slowly slipping into my freshly washed hair, pressing my head towards him and down, resting my head against his thigh.
My confusion at the action only deepened when he reached for a book by his opposite leg, opening it and holding it in one hand. He threaded his fingers through my hair, relaxing visibly into the sofa, turning his head to silently read his book.
I was dumbfounded. A shower and a meal, then this? Was I some sort of pet to him? But the longer I sat there, the more I realized, I really shouldn't complain. The truth was, I was clean, full, and not doing anything strenuous. In fact, the hand in my hair was so very soothing. His scent was so calming. If I closed my eyes, I'm sure I could just slip into sleep….