WHORE: A novella of extreme sex and violence

by Matt Shaw

Pleasant enough, strong aftershave - bad oral hygiene. Notes for my diary on the off-chance he books me again. Easy to remember him with a nick-name. Especially as I can’t remember his real name and it’s only been 24 hours since he initially booked me.

  “Maybe you can give me a little discount as a thank you, next time I see you?” he suggested.

  I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want to do the job for less money. Looking around the other pages on the website - the prices I charged were average for the area. I didn’t want to lower them.

  “Maybe,” I said after a pause.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  He blew me a kiss - an act which made my body turn cold - as he turned to his nice car. I stood there, in the doorway, as I watched him climb in and start the motor up. He tooted his horn as he pulled from the drive and headed off down the road. I closed the front door and turned my back on it. A huge sigh of relief. I hadn’t been certain I was going to be able to go through with it but I had. I wasn’t sure whether I should feel proud of that fact or not. I hurried through to the living room where I had earlier stashed the money - after making him wait for ‘two seconds’ in the hallway as I did so. I snatched it from the bookcase where I had hidden it and flicked through it. The smell of the money. It had been so long since I had this much in my hands. One hundred and fifty pounds in a mixture and tens and twenties. Mostly tens. Not a lot of money to some people but to me - it might as well have been a thousand pounds. I couldn’t help but laugh as I flicked through the notes again before tossing them up into the air. They danced through the air as they fell slowly spiraling to the floor. In my head I had already spent the cash on new clothes and food. In reality it would go towards the mounting bills.

  A job well done.

  * *

  I put Jon’s money into the pot hidden in the kitchen. A wad of notes already saved in there. My debt had been cleared a long time ago; a few years at least and now the money was just going into my own savings scheme. Temptation was to blow the lot but I knew one day there was a chance I’d have to grab a bag and disappear. Can’t very well do that if you’ve spent everything you have accumulated over the years. As I closed the lid on the pot, I still felt guilty about taking his money. Can’t help but wonder what would have happened had he stayed and wasted his whole appointment talking about the job. I didn’t even know if he had a girlfriend, or wife, in the outside world - something which is a pre-requisite that I look for before I end them. They have a partner, they die. Simple as that. Their partner gets to move on thinking their other half has simply vanished on them. The men who don’t have a partner - the ones who see me because it is convenient to them or because they haven’t been lucky enough to find love in the real world - they’re the ones I tend to go easy on. Sometimes. I guess it all depends on my mood and how they treat me at the end of the day. But - they could be the kindest person in the world - they have a partner, they’re dead.

  I set the pot back onto the shelf amongst the various pots and pans I had purchased over the years and wandered into my office space. A small room opposite the living room. Just about big enough for a small swivel chair and computer workstation; screen on the table-top and base unit tucked to the side on the floor whirring away. A quick push of the mouse and the screen fired up - already loaded onto my personal page on the bigger escorting site. A quick refresh on the screen and five messages pinged up in my inbox.

  No rest for the wicked.

  My heart skipped a beat when I read the sender of the top message. It was Jon. Less than five minutes ago. He must have literally parked up at the end of the street and sent it from his mobile phone. I opened it, unsure of what to expect, and read the contents. An apology. He stated that he wanted to see me, and that he wanted an appointment, but was overcome with shyness. He asked if I minded seeing him again for a second session - one which, in his words, would hopefully reach the conclusion he initially intended. He didn’t state what that conclusion was nor did I really need him to. I knew what he meant. He wanted the big ‘O’, like so many men before him. My heart told me to ignore the message, maybe even delete it. The guy clearly wasn’t ready for this industry. Too shy. Too many emotions. This game can take people like that and mess with their heads badly. They come for their appointments, they have the intercourse they’re looking for and then they leave but the encounter isn’t over for them. These are the kind of people who go away and continue thinking about the girl they had just laid with. Their heads start playing mind games with them. No longer was the appointment nothing more than a business transaction, now it was something deeper. The girl loved the boy. And he loved her. This kind of situation is referred to as the Pretty Woman Syndrome. The client starts thinking he can save the girl from the life she is leading and that they’ll move in together and live happily ever after in their own private worlds. It’s happened before and I’m sure it will happen again. And going from some of the other girls’ reports; I know I am not the only one to experience this. So, yes, my heart told me to ignore the message. My brain - on the other hand - pointed out that it was easy money. Rude not to.

  B E F O R E

  Monster

  The little girl was not so little anymore. Four years had passed by. Twelve years old now and still terrified of speaking up against the night-time monster who’d creep into her room stinking of alcohol and filled with lust. Same touch as before; tender and gentle when the mother was bathing in the other room and hard and fast when she was out working late - like tonight.

  The little girl would lie awake at night waiting for the monster to come crawling up to her bed from the doorway; same stink, same look. Tonight was to be no different and it wasn’t long after saying goodnight that her door slowly creaked open.

  “Are you awake?” the monster slurred from the bedroom door, bottle still in hand.

  She didn’t answer. She never did. She knew it would make no difference. He was coming in regardless. He always did. The monster stepped in, on cue, and quietly pushed the door shut with his free hand. It took a swig from the bottle and made its way across the room to where she laid. She turned onto her side with her back to him in the hope of being left alone. He never did leave her alone. It just encouraged him to touch her in other places.

  “You were looking very pretty tonight,” the monster’s voice was hushed.

  She didn’t thank him for the compliment. She closed her eyes as she heard the bottle touch upon the carpet, where he placed it. She held her breath as she waited for what she knew was coming. His touch landed upon her bottom. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming out.

  “Very pretty indeed,” the monster continued.

  She remained silent, conscious of his touch, his breath and the sound of her own heavy heartbeat.

  “Your mother tells me you did well in your exams. That’s good. Got into the school you wanted to. She’s proud of you. So am I. I even got you a little present.”

  It was a trick. She knew it was trick. It hadn’t been the first time he had used the line on her. She didn’t dare to turn around to look at him.

  “I have it here in fact,” the monster continued.

  She wouldn’t turn around. She just closed her eyes tighter and wished him dead.

  “What you don’t want your present?” he asked. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

  Reluctantly she rolled over to see what he had with him. Nothing in his hands. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver foil. A condom.

  “It’s strawberry,” he said. “It’s your favourite.”

  He used both hands to tear the wrapper open. He took out the rubber and put the wrapper back into his pocket so as not to accidentally leave it lying around. He smelt the condom and held it out for her to do the same.

  “Smell it.”

  She nervously leaned forward and sniffed it. She flinched away, disgusted by the smell.

  “You don’t like the smell?”

  She shook her head.
/>
  “You don’t think it smells like strawberries?”

  She shook her head.

  The monster stood up and undid his trousers before letting them drop to the floor. His erection stood proud inches from the little girl’s body. The monster rolled the condom over his shaft and squeezed the air from the teat at the end.

  “Lick it,” he said. “See if it tastes more like strawberries than it smells.”

  The little girl leaned her head forward nervously.

  “Here comes the train! Choo Choo!” the monster laughed.

  The little girl closed her eyes and wrapped her mouth around the strawberry flavoured rubber. Her eyes remained firmly shut as the monster held her head there for a second before encouraging her to move back and forwards.

  “You like your present?” the monster sighed.

  P A R T T W O

  18 Years Later

  Random Meetings

  Jon spent the first five minutes of our second appointment together apologising for the previous day. When he finally believed that I was fine with it and had accepted his apology - he moved straight on to questions about the job. At least this time I had managed to get him upstairs and into the bedroom.

  “Aren’t you ever scared?” he asked.

  We were lying on the bed together. A slight gap between us that wasn’t there when I initially laid next to him. He had made that gap. Still too nervous to want to feel my touch. I didn’t push it.

  “More questions?” I laughed.

  “Sorry…”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Just curious as to what you do.”

  “Your time.”

  He hesitated a moment as though waiting for me to answer the question originally posed.

  He asked again, “Aren’t you ever scared?”

  I shook my head.

  “No.” I paused a moment, “Should I be?”

  “Of me?” he laughed. “No.”

  My answer had been a lie. I had been scared on more than one occasion. The majority of the men who came into the house - or invited me to theirs - were friendly enough. For some of them it was painfully obvious to see why they’d need to pay for the services of a working girl such as myself but some of the men - the way they looked, the way they spoke, the air of confidence they had about themselves; they could have had anyone they wanted. But there were other clients who were just downright creepy. From the way they talked, the way they walked - everything about them made my blood run cold. And it was worse when they smiled.

  Something so sinister about them.

  Dead eyes.

  Inhuman.

  Around those men I felt uneasy. I felt uncomfortable and - since the first time I had had an appointment with one of that ‘type’ – I had felt guarded.

  * *

  He was just looking at me, smiling. I thought that - maybe - he was hard of hearing and didn’t hear me when I asked for the money so I asked again. He slowly shook his head.

  “Sorry, love, no cash on me. Haven’t been to the bank.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  I shifted on my feet awkwardly - unsure as to whether he was joking around or not. I felt my heartbeat rise a notch.

  “Honestly now - do I look like the sort of person who’d pay for it?”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  His smile broadened.

  “I think you should leave,” I said.

  I opened the front door and held it there, hoping he’d do as I instructed. He didn’t move.

  “What’s your problem?” I hissed.

  “My problem? People like you - that’s what my problem is. Girls who think they have the right to charge men for sex. What, you think you’re something so special that a man should pay to be with you? Is that it? You’re not. You’re the lowest of the low. You’re a whore. A slut.”

  I didn’t want to point out to him that a slut was someone who’d put out for free. I was a whore - yes. A business woman was a kinder of way of putting it. But he wasn’t trying to be kind. He was trying to be cruel and hateful. His mannerisms changed and the smile had long since faded from his gaunt face.

  “I think you should leave.”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m going nowhere. Not until I’ve taught you a lesson.”

  I noticed the man’s left hand clench into a tight ball. I backed away, slowly, wondering whether I could get out of the house before he had a chance to grab me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

  Even his voice had changed now.

  Meaner.

  Monotone.

  I went to answer him but was struck hard across the jaw before I had a chance to even open my mouth. I dropped to the floor, my eyes welling up. My jaw was stinging so bad that I couldn’t even scream out in agony. I looked up only to see his fist fly towards me. It connected with my mouth. How it didn’t knock some teeth out I’ll never know. I fell back against the wall, banging my head.

  Ringing in my ears.

  Stars before my eyes. My eyes that I kept closed to hide from any more blows. Didn’t want to see them coming. No blows rained down upon me. I felt his hand grab at my hair. He twisted it so that the strands of hair wrapped around him. A sharp tug and I slid away from the front door and down the hallway. He let me go. I didn’t move as I heard his footsteps lead away from me. A second later and the front door slammed. Just him and me.

  Just him and me.

  I opened my eyes. He was standing before me. Blood on his hands. Blood in my mouth. I spat it out as he pulled himself free from his trousers. Penis standing to attention.

  I closed my eyes again.

  A monster standing in front of me just as I had seen one stand in a similar position before, back when I was innocent. No duvet to hide behind. No teddy bear to protect me. Just me, him and an unwanted erection.

  “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

  I pulled my knickers to one side, exposing my shaved pussy. He nodded, smiled, and - without so much as a word - kicked me as hard as he could.

  * *

  “Never scared? That’s good. I’m happy for you. Can’t imagine it’s the safest job to do, what with inviting strangers into your house…”

  I shook thoughts of the violent clients from my mind and answered him as best as I could.

  “A lot of the clients that book me have their own feedback too that I can see. Usually it’s enough of an indicator as to whether I see them.”

  “I didn’t have any,” Jon pointed out.

  “Not all of them do,” I said, “then it’s just a question of gut instinct; how they come across in their messages…”

  “So I guess I came across like a nice bloke,” he laughed.

  “Doesn’t this job get in the way of meeting someone for yourself though?” he asked.

  Another question.

  “New game,” I said, “in order to ask a question, you need to remove an item of clothing.”

  At least if he was in a state of undress, he couldn’t just run out of the appointment again. He’d have to put his clothes on - giving me the chance to talk to him and find out why he is trying to leave.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Those are the rules.”

  I was smiling at him, keeping things sweet so as not to scare him. Not sure what I’d do if he left the appointment again only to message me for a third try at a session. Probably have to turn him down. Talking to him now, he clearly has confidence issues. He is shy. Painfully so. Most likely a virgin. Unlike some of my other clients, he can walk away from the appointment with a smile on his face. He deserves a good time. A confidence boost which might hopefully help him out in the real world. He doesn’t deserve to be punished. If I can get him in a state of undress; we’ll be one step closer to an actual appointment. He leaned forward and took his shirt off. A nice enough physique hidden underneath. Not quite a six pack but definitely some definition there.

  “What was
the question again?” momentarily distracted.

  “Doesn’t this job get in the way of meeting someone?”

  “I meet lots of people.”

  Some of whom live to tell the tale. Some of whom don’t.

  “But you can’t form a relationship if you’re sleeping with men though. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  “Sounds like another question to me.”

  I looked at his clothes wondering which item he’d remove next.

  “Not a question. An observation. Rhetorical question at best,” he said.

  The truth of the matter was I didn’t want to meet anyone. I liked living by myself. I was used to it. No one to disappoint. No one to let down. No lives to ruin. I had a family once and lost them all. I don’t want to be in that position again. The job suited me just fine - now that I was used to it. I get to see people, I get to talk to them. I get to have intimacy which is sometimes nice and wanted and I get to feel good about myself when I put an end to a man’s cheating ways. It took a while for me to get to this stage of my life but I am happy with where I’m at now.

  Relationships just confuse things.

  Things get messy.

  “So what can I do for you today?” I asked hoping to move the appointment back on track. “Sorry. Broke my own rules. That was a question. Fair is fair…”

  I sat up and removed my bra exposing my breasts. The cold air helped my nipples stand to attention giving the false impression of being turned on. He just laid there with his mouth agape, unsure - no doubt - of what to say.

  “You can touch them if you want?”

  I could see that he wanted to. He was just too nervous to make a move, that’s all. I took hold of his hand and guided it towards my breast. A repeat of the day before.

  “You’ve paid your money. You’re allowed to touch.”

  I didn’t move my hand from his. I kept it there so he had no choice but to touch my breast. He was staring at it nervously. He looked awkward.

  “You like?”

  He nodded.

  “What about the other one? It’s getting lonely.”