Parks, the Pewter Pimp

DId he say pimp? “So who do you work for?” he asks with a hint of anger in his voice.

“I-I-*cough*-I,” you try to answer him but the words catch in your sore throat.

“You-you-you, speak you fucking whore!” he presses you against the wall, his hand resting against your throat threatening to **** you.

“I’m-I’m not a whore. I don’t work for anyone,” you get out in a panic, your hands instinctively grabbing the wrist at your throat.

“Not a whore? Then explain this,” he holds a phone up with his other hand. Your eyes take a second to focus on the screen. It’s a picture of you, your lips wrapped around Arthur’s cock. It’s the selfie he took at the beginning of the night, before he took the Rx. The caption on the Chatoter post reads, “Look at this whore, bought a whole night for 50kPD. #RxKindOfNight #PewterWhores”

Uh oh. “It-it-it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really cause it looks like you’re whoring around in my territory, so are you saying that you didn’t sleep with this ‘Arthur’ fella for 50 thousand pokedollars?” his angry undertones rising closer to the surface. His hand slowly tightening around your throat.

“I-I-I,” you don’t know exactly what to say. You did agree to sleep with Arthur for money. “I’m a trainer,” you stammer out hoping that this will excuse you.

“Funny thing about trainers,” he says leaning in close, “they either get fucked OR paid. Whores do both.”

“I-I-I,” you stammer again, he’s right and you know it.

He tightens his grasp even more, preventing you from being able to speak now. “That’s enough talking. Here’s what’s going to happen. You whored in my city. So you owe me a cut. Now usually there’s some negotiating with cuts, but I always start with a 5% cut when negotiating so I’ll assume you accepted my initial offer since I never heard a counter.” 5%? Your mind, racing in the moment, does some quick math. He is holding you up for 2,500PD? You can easily pay that, even without the money you left in Arthur’s room. “So you got paid 50kPD, that’s your 5%” Your 5%? “So that means you owe me 950kPD as my cut.” 950kPD!

“Grrk gllk,” you try to argue, but his hand is still wrapped around your throat preventing you from replying.

“Now I’m guessing you don’t have the money on you. But luckily I know a way for women like you to earn money. Do you understand?” he asks, staring into your eyes. You try to speak again but you can’t so you give a slight nod. He finally releases your throat and you frantically gasp for air. He reaches into his pocket pulling out a black band and wrapping it around your wrist. You feel the band with your other hand, it appears to be seamless, only a slight ridge over your skin gives any clue that it isn’t just a tattoo around your wrist. “That’s your new tracker. It let’s me know where you are at all times, and even tracks what you’re doing while on the job. That way I know how much you should be earning. It also tracks your debt to me,” he double taps the band and 6 red characters appear. 9 5 0 0 0 0.

Your eyes are locked onto the number plastered across your wrist. Even if you gave him everything you had, and sold everything you own you’d still owe him money. “Now go get cleaned and rest up. You’ll start tonight as the newest Pewter Whore,” he waves over his shoulder as he walks away.

You continue your stumbling back to your room. Your legs were trembling from the night of being used, but now the added layer of fear and uncertainty makes everything worse. You peel the cum soaked bathrobe from your body when you reach your room. You take a quick shower and fall onto the bed. The last thing you see is the sun rise through your window. You consider getting up to close the curtains but before you can gather the strength, you pass out.