Chapter 66

It was raining heavily the next morning. Great splashes battering the windows as the sky shook off the heat of the last week with thunderous chagrin. You and Sascha were the only young whores dedicated enough to form a bored and listless skeleton crew in the entrance hall; just in case a customer or two decided they were **** enough to get their dicks wet, that they'd risk getting everything else soaked as well. Terry was having one of his rare days back at home, pretending to his parents that the 'job' he spent so much of his time at was something mundane, administrative and wholesome. While Katie and your step-sister had headed out back to help Nancy keep the children entertained.

Sascha lay glumly in his wide-open silk robe, masurbating half-heartedly. He simply didn't seem to know what to do with himself whenever there weren't clients to be flirting with. You had made out with him for a little while earlier… just for something to do, but neither really found the other that attractive. Sensual or sexual interactions were simply the only kind that occurred, around here. The hollow emptiness that each of you felt in these brief moments where you weren’t being physically stimulated, really speaking volumes about how addictive the lifestyle had become. You were human fucktoys through and through, any hours and experiences outside of that just seemed wasted and dreary.

You were reading some long-forgotten adventure story from your childhood. The kind of victorian, swashbuckling tale where a plucky, polite and rosy-cheeked young man was whisked off onto high seas with a crew of rough, mutinous older men… but was always one step ahead of trouble by the strength of his private education and wits. Yet all that kept happening was you'd drift off into some daydream of what might have actually happened to many a naive and pretty teen boy with soft, workshy hands if they ended up so far from shore and female company:

Perhaps a box of stolen silk dresses was kept by the stern and intimidating captain for just such occasions? Visions of being held down once a week as your legs were shaved by a wickedly-sharp knife in surprisingly deft hands bubbled up. Before stumbling through a jeering and cheering crowd on poorly-fitting heels and ever-tilting floorboards. Being sent sprawling across the rough wood of a mess table and feeling calloused fingers applying some sort of blubber-based lubricant between your trembling ass-cheeks. Knowing that each and every man on the ship was going to want a piece of you as their working shifts rotated.

It was a dirty dream. A twisted fantasy. One which perhaps many others would declare a nightmare… But you were swept away with every hungering detail. Where once your childish self might have read this same book and dreamt of freedom, now you could only salivate over the thought of further humiliation and captivity. Some buried part of you still wheedled and whined that such desires hung you out as a pervert and freak. Some damaged, broken creature lost between genders and led astray by equally despicable opportunists. The chance to be anything else now, though, was far behind you. Your body had been carved, shaped and gaped into a plastic plaything… irreversibly tattooed with the tramp stamps of your kind. No-one could take one look at you and not know what you were. Meat for the working men. Brief pleasure for any that passed. Something to shove your cock into and pull the hair of without a moment’s guilt.

It was as you were once again basking in such guilty, greedy, self-centred evaluations of yourself… that you heard the ever-unlocked front door of the mansion swing open. The roar of the tumult outside bouncing off a smart umbrella could be briefly heard, before its wielder stepped inside and shook it off. Two well dressed, but dripping figures emerged: one young and slender, one middle-aged and stocky. They looked around at the gaudy decor that Skeg had began to overlay your parent's previous minimalism. The trappings of a high-class brothel brought to life by someone who could only admit to having seen such places in old cowboy movies and who didn't really want to spend too much. Neither character looked to be the sort of person who felt out of place anywhere though… moving with the confidence of those born and raised in wealth and surety. Their eyes fell about the room with amused interest, until they met the surprised answer of your own and Sascha's. Customers!