A/N- Welp after revising the story turns out to be Four chapters. Happy Friday!

2/4


Three nights

Night One: First Client

By: Yuhikoi


Sakura Haruno

You know it is customary for the gal to lead the client through the sanctuary, even though you have never been a gal in your life. You were-are, however, a curious person who often heard things; some things you weren't particularly fond of and other things that resonated with you because they've been spoken too often to forget.

Lead your prey and make no mistake-they're your prey, mindless livestock under your tantalizing spell. It's important, to lead…to tease…up until the moment you enter the den.

Kakashi beats this over the head of every new recruit, like a dead horse. If he caught one of the gals being led down the halls by a dominant client, he all but whips it into the offending whore the next morning. Afterwards he always says he won't allow, 'the system', to fail. Whatever that means. You've always suspected he enjoyed giving the whippings more than teaching the lesson-though he denies it up and down by assuring the girls he took no joy in their pain. But you know better, he was always present when a gal would leave with her feast in tow. He is always waiting on baited breath, hoping someone would defile his rules.

It's your turn to take part in this ridiculous tradition and you're still shell-shocked that it's come down to this. You hardly feel present in your own body and everything feels too foggy to cut through to your senses fully. It's like an eerie nightmare that manages to tether itself into your reality somehow.

Kakashi is patting your shoulder with all the weight of the threat involved and breathing out of his nostrils as if to brace himself for your obvious defiance. Would he beat you tomorrow for it? Kakashi had never spoken the rules to you per-se but you'd imagine that the whipping would come regardless, under the guise of corrective training or a necessary precaution. After tonight's foreign activities, you doubt you'd feel a thing tomorrow.

"Cherry?"

That horrid moniker is said, the one he 'mistakenly' called you on several occasions before suggesting that you embraced it. 'It's just fuckin sexier', he once said to you, 'cherries imply a loss of youth, a loss of innocence-which is quite ironic'. The name implicates him and does an outstanding job of grabbing your bitter attention. You're scowling at him, the sorrowful look on your face has turned into outright anger. Kakashi is completely unfazed, holding a gaze of indifference despite the silent conviction ablaze in your jeweled eyes. He's as calm as ever, like he's talking to a gal and not you. Maybe, that's all you've ever been to him from the get go. You're only just seeing it now when it undoubtedly applies.

You were being drafted into this lifestyle, barred by your duties to your parents and this son of a bitch was exploiting it for every penny that you could be worth.

"Cherry," he tries again in a to-be-taken-seriously tone, his sharp nails snag your jaw and as his cold finger tips grab your chin. He is hunching at the waist and tugging you so that you were at eyelevel with him. You're not intimidated by this attempt to strike the fear of god into your heart. You were accustomed to the way he treated the gals but you were never one of the gals-until now.

"You're going to be a good girl, eh?"

Refusing to answer, you simply just look at him. He could get away with pawning you off for the night but you wouldn't let him leave this arrangement feeling like all was forgiven. Not this time. He chuckles, you assume that he's trying to reign in his natural impulses, the ones that often drive him to backhand disrespectful gals. Kakashi leans into you, against your ear, hot breath smelling of malt liquor and citrus.

"Now is not the time to have an episode, you're mad with me-understandable. I don't give a shit. This gentleman wants you enough to pay a large sum. You recall your goals, don't you? Your precious parents' hospice tab isn't even a fraction of paid off with the silly wage you're raking in as a maid. Take this experience lying down or standing up but-take it, you will. You're either going to rise to the occasion or fail your parents and yourself, if you loved them, you'd play this for all it's worth and cry about it later."

It was a mouthful, the things he said to you. Multiple jabs to your empty gut because he had never discussed the financial aid of your parents. He only notified you when he delivered your earnings to the hospital and he never made any assurances that you were making progress. You just sort of assumed you were, after all, you never saw the money you worked for. You didn't want to waste a cent on trivial things you had no immediate use for. Kakashi had given you a place to live, your meals were free and you could practically walk around the House of Gei in a towel and no one would bat a lash.

"D'you understand my little Cherry bomb?"

His hot breath and lips brushing the shell of your ear with its treachery and you tremor. Your fist kept cracking the tighter they furled at your side. You know that he's right but the betrayal of it all is what's really bothering you, coupled with the fact that you knew Kakashi didn't just do things out of the kindness of his heart. The client might've been spending a fortune on you but you're willing to bet only a morsel of it would go to your parents. Still, even if it wasn't enough, it would be more than the scraps of money you had been making.

"Whatever," just because you know he was right doesn't mean you'll be easy and accepting. You jerk your face away from him in an act of sheer rebellion that should have probably gotten you struck down but it doesn't—for now at least.

Kakashi leans upright with a sigh, as though he had gotten through to you and in a way, you suppose he has. He's opened your eyes and made you realize just how dumb you've been, how stupid you were to put your trust into someone based on false pretenses. The world was grotesque and warped, bending to the will of manipulators and you were just common fodder trapped and writhing between the vicious teeth of a gear. You suddenly felt foolish for not trusting in your parents advice, your displaced trust in Kakashi has wounded you and your desire to make decisions independently. This shouldn't even be happening, you're only seventeen years old, your parents should be around to bail you out of this.

"Atta girl," Kakashi is cooing, dismissing your actions. "run along, I'm sure Mr. Uchiha has had enough of my doting over his new toy."

You want to be stubborn, you want to eject the rational side of why you were doing this but the reasoning has been branded into your mind, making it possible to ignore that this could take you one step closer to being ok. This could really help your parents.


He slides the shoji until it taps the frame. The room door gapes open and the stranger steps inside and carefully begins to remove his shoes, cloak and everything else. You're frozen in the hall, you can practically smell the sex, mingling with the potent jasmine incense at the end of the hall. You peer into the room and it's dark save for the sliver of moonlight sneaking through the window over the bed. The crescent moonlight is dim, you realize, stepping across the threshold.

The room is quite drafty and you're holding yourself tightly, your wet lashes suddenly notifies your body that you're cold and you shiver. The man in front of you quickly twists around and you gasp but he leans past you to slide the door shut and lock it.

"Disrobe, quickly," he orders in a nonnegotiable way and you're not surprised that your heart stops. The sound of clothes being rumpled and discarded, a few millimeters away from you alarms you. He is neither modest, nor patient but his haste to be completely naked is evident. You watch him, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it through the stratosphere of darkness behind him. You pretend to be oblivious to his actions, even though your heartbeat returns to you like a bruising kick to your chest.

You're undeniably shocked that things are happening this fast and it all brought about some type of horrifying realization. This was reality, this was really happening. Kakashi had literally handed you over to this shark, without asking you if you were ok with this. He had given you over for a lumpsum you would never lay your eyes on.

Your heart is constricting in your chest, you swallow and swallow, debating your options and realizing you hardly had any. In fact, what options? You were Kakashi's appliance, that was the contract you had unwittingly signed, the pact you had made. You owed money, after all the loans you had taken to insure your parents were well looked after. All this trouble and you couldn't even leave to check on them, couldn't know if they were truly ok. You only had Kakashi's word to go on and lately, the value of that decreased.

Sure, you could run but how far would you get before a bounty hunter found you and dragged you back here to pay off your dept. Probably not long with your impressive track record for getting caught.

"Your clothes," the voice says in tangible irritation, "off."

You flinch and your fingers fumble at the sash of your kimono hurriedly. Eyes blurry, fingers anxious, you blindly start clawing your way out of your garment. You're aware of the panicked and awful noises escaping your lips. Sweat causing the silk to melt against your skin like a layer of plastic.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

You wouldn't, pride wouldn't let you, the tears froze and made your eyes shine. You supposed you were being too tedious because the stranger apprehends you by your elbow and instead of towing you to the proverbial bed he has thrown you up against the wall.

Stubbornly you're still making a show of tugging at your sash when his hands grab the collared folds of your Kimono and he's snapping the material apart. Everything snags and then whooshes. Your belt is unsecured and the silk starts to slide down your shoulder, your back, like an intimate whisper. You can hardly hear him breathing as he rakes the sleeves down your arms, his fingers grazing your skin, invading your space remorselessly.

It dawns on you, in an agonizing way that you're stark naked, the kimono pooling around your feet. Nothing was separating you from this stranger, it might've been dark but you knew that he was examining your small frame with unbridled hunger. You attempt to make yourself small against the wall and you can hear someone mewling through the paper-thin walls and breathy sex noises from the room next door.

The climate is awkward and you're staring everywhere else except at the stranger in front of you. You're quaking and it's not because the drop of temperate. Tension and fear are bubbling so fiercely inside of you that it physically hurts to not crash and cry. Your eyes are boiling over and suddenly a finger snaps to claim your jaw. The touch is rough and pressured, turning you from one angle to the other. You felt your jaw click beneath his uncaring fingertips.

You're still feeling smug about not facing your, "client" but he doesn't seem to give a damn whether you're looking at him or not. He crowds you against the wall and you can feel every sinful inch of his heat drenched body sliding against you.

His muscles are rippling against your soft skin, his chest flattening your small breast. You're overwhelmed by the alien feeling of his iron bones and silk dampened skin. The way his fingers knead your ass as if they know you personally and then his muscles tense and you feel a sting after his palm tags you on the ass and the smack erupts in your ears. It stings like a wasps bite, it hurts, something lodges itself in your throat and you can't keep a single swallow down.

"Go shower, scrub well," He says pointing towards the area to the left of the bed, there was a door that led to the bathroom. You have cleaned this building from top to bottom, you didn't require a reminder of where the bathroom was, none the less, you kept your mouth shut. "you stink of this brothel."

To anyone else, that would be insulting but to you, it gave you more time to devise a plan thus avoiding your imminent deflowering. Before he can change his mind you're all but jogging away from his infernal touch. You don't bother to turn around to see his reaction of your exaggerated obedience. You hear him sighing as though it's been a long day. You close yourself in the moment you're inside of the bathroom and then flicker on the lights. You're tripping over your toes, splattering to your knees at the bathtub and twisting at the knobs frantically. The eek noise fills your ears and then cascading water flood the bathroom, you quickly yank up the stopper and the showerhead sprays water against the tiles of the wall.

You lean against the edge of the tub, breathing as though you were on your last breath, staring at the down that swirled down the drain and you allow the sorrow to trickle from your eyes. Clamping your teeth into your palm, self-pity punctures through your chest and you're a mess of unexpressed emotions. You've been holding it in this whole time, finding no real opportunity to unleash the pain stored inside of you. Constantly in denial, you told yourself this was your only option, this was the only way to make things better. You can't remember how long it's been since you truly sunk to the bottom, since you truly took a look at your life and realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, although it was glaringly obvious. You were in a whore house.

Something strained presses against your throat and tears are pouring out of you. You bite even harder to keep your anguished cries at bay but they fight their way through regardless of your attempts to restrain them.

One knock has you scrambling to regain your composure.

Your heart is hammering down in your chest and while you sit there, naked on the ground feeling sorry for yourself and what you knew would occur, you could hear him outside the door. You practically leap into the tub, ignoring the stabbing pain of your knee knocking against the frame. You fumble for the basic unbranded tube of body wash offered on a shelf, beside a lineup of various bottled sundries. You hate the body wash, you could smell the rotten strawberry seeping from the pores of everyone around you and it always managed to work its way into your brain and give you a grating headache.

The smell of uniformity amongst the whores in House of Gei. No one could own a distinctive smell or be treated favorably. Sameness was good for morale and productivity, Kakashi would always make it a point to comment this when a customer complained about the smell of rotting strawberries.

You flinch this time, when the knock strikes the door. One knock. The door slides open and a man steps into what you had deemed, your neutral zone. Not anymore. Never in your short young life, has someone barged in on you during as personal a time as your private showering. Even your parents had enough decency to wait outside the door until you were finished. If you weren't so on edge you would be gaping and trying to find something to veil your nudity but there is nothing that could hide completely. And even if there was, most of the damage had been done. You settle for squirming in discomfort.

He is tall, lean and chiseled. You attempted to keep your eyes on his face but instinctively, they're everywhere else, because you refuse to look any lower than his waist. One crisis at a time, you have to remind yourself. A part of you knew, that if your eyes wandered any lower, you'd risk it all and bolt out of there. You knew the working gals weren't screaming out of pleasure sometimes and you had no intentions of joining that chorus of tell-tell pain. You weren't ready to see one up close, to acknowledge that something could defy your childish logic and somehow fit inside of you. The very thought of it almost made you hurl into the tub, you pressed a palm to your stomach as if this would somehow keep your disgust at bay. It doesn't.

The man comes closer into the light, he is marred with gashes and bruises; some healed and others looked acquired a few moments ago. Blood is visible and for a split second you wonder if he'd be accompanying you in the shower. God, you hoped not. You needed a few moments to yourself, to process everything so far. If you were being honest, you couldn't even begin to fit the pieces together, the pieces of how your life came to this point.

Steam clouds the small space, you stood under the needle-like spray of the showerhead, side-eyeing your client warily as he examined a bottle in his palm.

The thing you're drawn to is the length of his hair; dark and lustrous, draping over his broad shoulders and down his back. Though hair is often thought to be beautiful and of major value to most woman-beautiful is not how you'd describe the wild specimen in your company. There was no doubt in your mind, you knew there were few women that would deny him looking the way he looked. You had never come across a man with such a long mane. You knew of tales, in feudal japan where samurai often grew out their hair for some type of symbolism or to project their status but you doubted he was that behind the times.

The hair seems to magnify the danger you feel and it does nothing to quell your fears. He looks up and his dark eyes guiltlessly drink you in, flickering over every inch of you with undisguised thirst. You're grateful that you're under the deluge of the shower because your breath hitches and the pitter patter of the tap hitting the ivory shower drowns it out.

"From now on you will bathe in this scent," he steps forward with a small bottle of something and slips it through the fingers that are half-fisted, at your side, "if I wanted you to smell like everyone else, I'd be fucking everyone else."

You look away from him, those words-coming from his mouth are said in the strangest way. Not harsh or over compensating. The way he said, 'fucking' sent your spine into a shudder, his voice was truly haunting and encompassing. Like a serial killer that was just biding their time, projecting a calming outward guise while their demons writhed incurably beneath the surface. It absolutely terrified you, the plans this man had for you.

You grab the cloth from a shelf it's offered on and you thumb open the small bottle-with a creak and dab a small sample on the rag. The substance is thick and green, you can already identify a hint of something saccharine and excessively fruity, like a delicious syrupy apple. Thoughtlessly, you lather the rich soap and start laving your neck, armpits and breast.

Normally, you would take a criminal amount of time enjoying the suds crawling down your skin-the idea of being fresh and clean always relaxes you. Normally, you sung to past the time and relished the feeling of the lukewarm water hitting your skin, washing the dirt of the day away, cleansing your finger nails of the dry cum that hadn't come clean off the sheets you soused. Normally you weren't being monitored.

It doesn't occur to you to look over and issue him a look, you were almost certain he wouldn't leave, not when you were naked and washing with such hurried restraint.

"Slow down," he says, "you're a filthy, dirty, little girl and I don't intend to put my mouth on dirt or have dirt put its mouth on me."

I don't want my mouth anywhere on you!

You wished to shout, you're biting hard on your tongue and staring straight ahead at the wall.

"Don't forget those tight, pert, little nipples…" he directs lightly, trailing off and you don't miss the little, "ah-", sound that he makes as you rub the foamy rag around.

It's an odd request. Why would anyone want to watch you wash your nipples. Man or woman, you were pretty sure everyone had a pair of their own nipples. You feel slightly disgusted with yourself but you supposed it could be worse. He could be bending you over the bed right now and forcibly fucking the snot out of you. If he wanted to waste his time, watching you wash your nipples, you would feel a great deal of relief in the act.

You began to comply, mechanically, with no real motivation to do so. The noise of the soap rubbing your skin is deafening, a sound you never took notice to until it became the one sound outside of your paralyzing heartbeat. Your nipples pebble and the touch feels sensitive and disturbing to you as the rag flickers the hardened nub. The sensitivity of your nipples makes your body feel vulnerable and powerless. Your legs were shaking as thought they'd give out at any moment.

"Good-good girl," he praises, though his voice shows no indication of whether he was pleased. Quite frankly, you hoped he thought you were boring and lost interest in you but his next demand told you there was no hope of that ever happening.

"Now the other, get it nice and wet,"

You could hear it in his voice, slightly, you weren't sure what it was exactly-you just knew that he was repressing it. His voice had gone so much deeper than before, the hairs on the back of your neck were raised.

Slipping the rag to your right breast, you began to stimulate your other nipple, rubbing it lightly against the rag. The suds tickled your sensitive nipples and a strange sensation grappled your shoulders and extended like a nudge down your back.

What? Were you, enjoying this? Your body felt like a traitor. No, you weren't enjoying it, your body was easily stimulated. When you masturbated, it was never very long, it always felt like no sooner that you began flickering your thumb over your clit, you were already convulsing with a fulfilling release. You haven't had time to masturbate but when you usually do, it's never as treasured as you feel it's going to be. It's always brief and you chase it until it dies out like a high voltage bulb and you feel guilty for touching your body in that way.

Do other women, do it? Somehow you always feel sick the moment you come down from your clit curling orgasm and laying on your futon, distraught and confused. How could something that felt so good before, suddenly feel so morally corrupting. You weren't a saint by a long shot but masturbating always made you feel like a sex fiend, though your sessions were few and far between.

"Turn to me, lift one foot on the frame of the tub." Another order, an even lower voice and he had moved closer when you weren't aware. He was no longer a step back from the room and you could see his bare feet when you looked down, your eyes purposely evading one area specifically.

Your breath was shallow and the haze of the bathroom clouded your mind. It was so hot and your skin felt like it was melting. With a strained swallow, you twist your body around delicately and slowly, your dripping feet rests against the frame of the tub-water spilling over the side. It's cold and dry and you pray to god that you don't slip and die. You're definitely the type to have fatal tub-related injuries, brought on by your own reckless spirit.

"Fuck,"

The word twists your stomach, you would have missed that utter of raw lust if your ears hadn't been so zeroed in on his presence. The spray of the shower makes your skin feel like an agitated burn, you just want to get the hell out but you know he's not finished with you.

As if to correlate with the assumptions of your mind, you spot his fingers reaching out. You think of staging a fall and take way too long to toss yourself into the task because his cold fingers are on your sudsy sex, index finger and middle, making a 'V' shape. Your stomach sinks and you're holding a breath dreadfully, watching him near motionlessly-separate your sticky folds. Waves upon waves of strange sensations tighten below your waist and you can feel yourself instinctively clinching.

No one has ever touched you there, the concept was truly appalling and foreign. You couldn't look away, you were afraid to. You can hear him hissing with anticipation. You can feel a slight breeze glancing across your heated sex.

"Mmmh, soaking wet," he assessed and you can feel it, trekking down your inner thigh thickly, much different from the water that travels the groves of your flesh. Your body was really a traitor and it angered you that you couldn't stop it's symptoms. You can feel him intrusively prying you open further, exposing the bareness of your clit, letting it protrude from beyond the captivity of your folds.

Your pussy is throbbing, faster than your heart, you're keenly aware of this man and you can feel his volcanic breath. Oh god, what will he do? What could he do while you were showering? You hated that you asked that question, shower or not, he could do whatever he wanted.

"Show me how you want to be fingered," he says in a husk.

Should you protest? You didn't want to be fingered at all, not even if it was going to be you doing the fingering. You already hated it enough when you did it to you, there was no telling how sinful it would be if another person joined in. This wasn't what you wanted, then again, none of this was part of the deal you had originally made. Kakashi just pawned you off like some sort of rent-a-whore. It was pointless to bitch about, especially when nothing would change and you were bound by duty.

Still, you had to admit, this wasn't what you had been expecting. The other girls were always complaining about being fucked to death and sometimes they really looked beaten up. You wouldn't go as far as to say you were lucky because you weren't off the hook yet but you hadn't gotten fucked so far. Maybe you wouldn't.

Still not looking into his face, you use your right dominate hand to pass the rag to the left hand hanging at your side.

"Lean back."

You do so, back arching away from the icy tiles of the wall. Water wets your hair and beads down your brows, tracing the line of your nose-to your sternum, then your lips. You still manage to keep your sight purely on you. There was a considerable lapse of time between the events of you balancing yourself in the slippery slope of the tub and you making it to your clit. Sliding your hands over your waist and down your stomach, your hands brush past his- which are still holding you open-midway.

"Middle finger."

The middle? You didn't understand why it really mattered but you conceded to his strange request, gathering your juices with the singularity of your trembling middle finger. You were more or less grazing yourself, spreading the creamy slick over your sensitive clit. You hated the reactions of your body, the way spasms shook you to your very core. It was embarrassing, more embarrassing then wondering why you were embarrassed. Who cares if you acted like a virgin, you were. You didn't owe this guy any type of quality performance, you weren't a whore and you wouldn't conduct yourself as one. This was you, barely able to masturbate successfully. Nothing about you screamed, sex prowess.

Your body continues to clinch and writhe of its own accord. Out of habit you're biting your lips and trying hard to pretend you're alone. Maybe if you came he would leave you alone. In the back of your mind you know that's just wishful thinking. You know another order is coming and you were too aroused for your own liking, you just wanted this whole nightmare to be over. The girls had always been done so quick, why on earth was this taking so long.

The unmistakable sound of spitting made your ears jump and without thinking you made the mistake of looking up. His fingers still kept you open but he had ducked down and you could see a string of saliva connected from his lips to your pulsating clit.

It hit you hard, innumerable sensations of the act that had just been performed on you. It was the grossest thing you had ever seen, someone spitting on your body that way.

Dammit, your body was aching and you could feel that hot wad of spit coating your pussy and sliding hotly down your inner thigh.

Your middle finger froze, you could feel your aroused sex speeding against the pad of your finger. He slowly raised his head and those dark eyes were glazed over with need and unsaid intentions, saliva stuck to the corners of his lips and without warning he leaned in and took a nipple into his mouth.

You're gasping in surprise and ecstasy. It's like you were coming up from drowning, and you couldn't catch a breath. Your hands are shaking and pushing against the iron muscles beneath his chest but he's heavy and you feel so weak and it feels too good. So good you could scream but you don't flinching uncontrollably. It's taking everything in you to pretend you're having a horrible experience, nothing seems to be working.

Your nipple vibrates when he moans around them, he's groping and squeezing your tiny titties as he presses up against you, getting wet with you. You don't remember successfully breathing, all you're aware of is the sensory overload you're enduring as this stranger uses the underside of his tongue and laves rapidly over your bruised coppery nipples. He's slurping around them and making the wettest noises every time he takes them in. You don't attempt to disguise your pleasure of this, in fact you find it damn near impossible to look away as you watch helplessly. He drags sloppy open mouth kisses to your other breast and takes in the other nipple.

You unleash something between a strangled moan and a gasp as he soaks your overly aroused bud. Your head is turned up and you're struggling to control the mountainous amount of pleasure that rocks your body. You hardly know what to do and your mind is spinning and spinning, erasing every piece of restraint and defiance you had felt regarding this subject.

What was he doing to you, everything you had built up had flown right out the window. As much as you wanted to hate it, in this heated moment you were only aware of the deafening beat of your sex and the flutters deep in your stomach.

Before you can even cope with the overwhelming feeling of someone's mouth on you, he's leaning back and snatching you out of the tub, soak and wet. You scramble In fear minutely, wrapping your arms around his neck though he's secured you by your thighs. You're too high to be in contact with his offending member and you're grateful that there's a significate height difference between you two.

Fear strikes a chord along your body and you want to think straight, you want to kick and scream but your body felt so good and your brain was humming and wondering what he'd do next to you, in spite of the fear.

He's only taken three steps out of the bathroom, when suddenly, he's lowing you to the tatami although there's a perfectly good bed at his disposal. The mat is rough on your back and had you been in your right mind you would have wondered how often people fucked on the tatami.

The shower is still raining down in the background and the stranger is positioning himself between your legs, which pliantly open for him. You're unsure of the symmetry between your mind and body at this point. You know you should be displeased of your actions but everything just makes you curious and encourages you to explore this feeling of euphoria.

His body is against you, solid, although his elbows are propped on either side of your head. You can feel the curtain of his hair, around you, tickling your cheeks and your forehead. The bare feeling of his body pressed tightly against yours. You knew why you were reluctantly compliant before but right now, you have no idea why you're consciously complying.

"Are you a virgin?"

Somewhat embarrassingly, for reasons you can't even decipher, you nod.

You can't make out any of his features, the moonlight is striped across the bed but far away from the ground. He's moving a little, rolling his hips. The unearthly sensation that pings your nipples as they roll against his damp muscled frame has your head reeling. You know you're hopelessly horny, you understood that much.

"You have a mouth, use it. Understand?"

You start to nod but then swallow hard.

"Yes," you croak.

A small chuckle rumbles in the darkness.

"Interesting. You're my first in that department, how young are you?"

You're hesitant to answer. Your employer was under a false pretense that you led him to believe and you weren't sure if revealing this bit of information to a client would make things any better for you. The stall of your reply is obvious and the man above you, leans down into the crook of your neck and starts moving his lips against you with a suction based kiss, almost taking half your throat into his mouth.

Gaping, you feel as though he is somehow pulling your entire soul from your vessel. Your fingers awkwardly slip through his thick hair and fist him, pulling him closer. Your body feels possessed, back arching off the tatami, rolling against his hard frame like a flower reaching towards the scorching sun.

You can hear the strange sounds that leave your lips, they're so deranged you can't believe you're the one who's making these noises.

What is he doing..

Even when you masturbated you weren't this turned on. You weren't this besotted with yourself. Everything seemed so sensitive it felt painful and you needed something. You needed release. Needed!

You can feel his teeth on you, marking you with bites that scare and arouse you simultaneously. Your heart is quickening and slowing all at the same time and you just want everything to stop and fix itself because you can't take it.

"Oh my god, please do something," you're groaning fitfully, noting that you probably sound just as unexperienced as you were. You're moaning and whimpering like an animal in heat and the stranger above you is riling you up, twisting the battery in your back with no intentions of letting you ride out the tide. His self-restraint seemed to serve as some sort of strategy, to elongate this agonizing experience. This wasn't what you wanted, then again, you were having a hard time understanding exactly what you wanted at this moment.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, like he had no idea why he payed for you.

He has so much hair and it's all over you, your fingers are either lost in it or enjoying the fine feeling of sifting through it like lace.

"You want me to make you come," it isn't a question, more like a goad, "hm? Want me to suck all over that firm little clit until you cry? I know you enjoy my mouth on your dainty little body,"

He had such a dirty mouth, even his words ghosting on your neck turned you on. There seemed to be nothing this man could do to snap you out of your sudden unhealthy yearning for him. His lips are on the shell of your ear, casually saying nasty things to you and you're listen to every one of them, trembling and breathing.

His fingers are around your throat, practically choking you and yet you wish they were fastened around you like a noose. What the hell is wrong with you? You're on the cusp of losing your sanity and you could care less. You're grinding up against him and he's laughing. You're irritated and you feel bold enough to be.

"Please," you may as well be crying, your heart is all over the place and you hate the sound of your voice with a passion. Everything feels heightened and you wonder if he drugged you somehow. Though you don't recall when he had the opportunity, since you were watching his every move before.

"Answer me, little one, how old are you?" he asks once more and in your haste to answer, you don't stop to consider that it's the truth on the tip of your tongue and not the lie.

"Seven…teen," the realization that you outed yourself doesn't catch up quite as fast as it should and you're still well within the throes of your insatiable hunger.

Your legs are ticking, even though they feel slack. Hell, your whole body is trembling. The guy freezes and a moment later rolls off you. His bare feet strikes against the tatami with the softest pats, he strolls to the clothes he had discarded on the ground earlier that night. He begins to dress himself.

In bewilderment, you watch the shadow of his form, his hair cascading over his forehead.

"That's all I require for tonight,"

Your heart constricts into a fist as you lay there, watching him. This should have made you happy, you were leaving and you hadn't lost your virginity. Maybe this whole thing would have ended a lot sooner if you had just told him that you were underage. You just figured he wouldn't have cared, he was a customer shopping for a whore, being illegal wouldn't burden him.

You guessed you were wrong. He left the room without saying another word and for some strange reason, you weren't as ecstatic as you should have been.

What even just happened?

With a sigh of exasperation, you finally come to your senses and turn on your side to cry into your trembling palms.

You never want to feel this way again. Somewhere between arousal and devastation.

Confusion.