Chapter 1: Prolog
Your name is Feferi Peixes and you’re the Madame of the ‚Alternian Rainbow‘, an upscale bordello on the edge of a multicultural metropolis. While your customers come from all branches of life and all kinds of races, your house specializes in only one of the many races coexisting on your planet – trolls. Young, pretty ones, more precisely. You have got one of every blood color but lime blood – although you have got a rare specimen of mutant blood, making up for the lack in the green section of the hemospectrum with his hot temper and quick mouth. Moreover, you have a rare jade-blood and not one, or two, or three, but four psychics – that should definitely be enough to compensate for all those envy pricks who scoff at the inaccuracy of your establishment’s name. But well, haters gonna hate, won’t they? You stopped caring for them a long time ago in your Bordello Queen career. You have your ‘babies’, and your customer files are currently filling three cabinets – you know you’ve made it, and you’re glubbing proud of your buoys and gills.
Did you mention that you’re an avid hobby breeder of ornamental fish? They’re everywhere in your house – the entrance hall, the lobby, the hallways, the restrooms, all but in the rooms of your babies (besides Eridan. You couldn’t yet figure out if he’s really as much into purple guppies as he pretends to be – he is a bit clingy and seems to have some mother-issues, always trying to impress you and get your attention, so, who knows? At least he keeps the tanks clean). Of course, you only have fish in your babies’ colors.
This passion of yours is one of the reasons why most customers get a little bit confused when they enter your house for the first time. Most seem to think they’re in the wrong place at first – and by the way, what was an aquarium doing in a red-light district? – but you’re always quick to assure them that they’re JUST in the right place, no need to be nervous, you’ll make sure that they get just what they want, and would they like to have a cup of tea first? Green, Chai, Rooibos, Catuaba? Or would you like to try the ‘special mix’ of the house? To get into the right… ‘mood’?
Yes, you’re quite certain that you’re a near-excellent host. A little bit too energetic, a little bit too excited about every single one of your customers maybe, but your customers seem to like it. Most of them at least. And you know when to phase it down a bit. You’d do ---EV---ERYTHING for the success of your house. ---EV---ERYTHING. And both your babies and your customers know that.
It’s nearly six pm. Your first customers will arrive soon. Most of them take up appointments to be with a certain one of your employees, but you still have some walk-in customers who have to be humored and gently led to just the right one of your darlings. And you would rather hold your head into a tank full of piranhas than ever NOT find the right one for any of your customers.
Customer satisfaction is your highest priority. And you will not tolerate if it isn’t your employees’ highest priority too. Period.
===> Feferi: Be the ‘Alternian Rainbow’s top earner.
Chapter 2: ===> Feferi: Be the ‘Alternian Rainbow’s' top earner.
You are now Karkat Vantas. Yes, you are the top earning whore in the ‘Alternian Rainbow’, and no, you do not have a fucking idea how that happened. You don’t really give a fuck about it either – or you wouldn’t, if it weren’t for some of your nooksuckers of co-hookers, who seem to give a fucking huge fuck about it, as if the more of a fuck they gave about you being the top-cat of this cathouse, the more of the house’s customers would want to give THEM a fuck. As if it is your shitty fault that every dumbfuck of john (or jane) seems to be all over your juicy mutant-ass. You’re already giving your utmost best to drive their sorry masochistic asses away from this loony bin of a knocking shop, but apparently, you are the one insufferably lucky hustler who can behave like the worst fucking sourpuss on this planet and throw hissy fit after hissy fit and still get more desperate customer-cock than you can handle. Fucking retard johns.
Speaking of johns. You have just been informed by your oh-so-beneficent bordello queen, Her Royal Giddiness Feferi of Vex-Guppyburg and Go-to-hell that your first customer tonight is no other than your ‘favorite’ dimwit tooth-displaced regular, John King-of-Giggly-Derps Egbert. Man, you hate that kid. Not only because of his stupid teeth or his ridiculous glasses, but mainly because fuck, that guy is as much of a motherfucking genius petting-master as he is an absolutely obnoxious wannabe-buffoon. And he’s always so fucking smug whenever he turns you into a writhing and moaning mess beneath him. And even though you don’t like to think about that, this is something he manages to pull off every single fucking time he’s paying you one of his hardly sufferable visits.
But well, at least he usually gives you pretty generous tips. At least one little consolation for the entirely humiliating experience of being turned into a whimpering heap of goo by John Buckteeth Egbert. Honestly, what’s even so special about that dimwitted nincompoop? Why’s he even remotely able to make an experienced prostitute such as yourself turn into a horny teenager in the course of minutes? He fucking got to be cheating or something… Sadly, you know that he’s not drugging you, and he sure as hell is also not using any psychic powers – humans usually don’t have those… Also, when he came for you the first time, he was a motherfucking virgin! What was that idiot, some kind of sex prodigy? Well, fuck him! Fuck John Egbert!
Sadly, you know that it will be just the other way around. Damn. You’d really be in the mood to fuck him. Up his pale little human bubble butt, until HE was the one moaning and writhing in mind consuming pleasure. Fuck. Now you’re really pissed. Fucking obnoxious prick.
Now that insufferable nitwit even managed to distract you from your introduction… Oh, just throw him into a tank of huge octopuses and make them rape his – no, you won’t let this dumbfuck distract you anymore. At least not until he’s actually getting here.
As you said, you’re the top-earning hustler in this whorehouse. That actually puts you into a pretty good position with the other whores (well, apart from said nooksucking hatemongers). However, you have already been in a pretty good position with them before. No clue why, but you always got along pretty well with them under the surface of a lot of screaming, cursing, and nagging on your side and a lot of jibes, sneers and attempted backstabbing on their side. That may not sound like a very healthy kind of interpersonal dealings, but you pretty much figured everybody out. You know how to deal with them to make them respect you. And you know not to take their insults too personally (though you would rather eat your right arm than not hit back). A lot of people here are just fucking insecure. You’re pretty sure you could help them with that sort of stuff – there’s no one who saw more shitty emotional chick-flicks than you, and those usually deal with problems like that – it’s just that no one really wants to talk about it with you. Well, their loss.
Even though you get along pretty well with everybody (compared to how others are trying to kill each other about twice a day), you still get fucking headaches from all of their fucking problems. It’s not as if you were insensible or something, but FUCK do they have a lot of stupid problems. You really wouldn’t care to help them with those (if they asked), but it just annoys you to no end that they just keep bustling about that stuff, without ever noticing the One and Only Answer to their problems – and there’s always the One and Only Answer, no matter what kind of problem it is, those dumbwits are just too blind to fucking see it.
Though, of course, you also have problems of your own to deal with. And you can’t say that you found all of the One and Only Answers yet. If you had, you definitely wouldn’t sit here on your bed in nothing but black shorts and a blue collar. You growl lowly as you pull one of the hooped white and red overknee stockings over your calve. Fucking Egbert and his fucking stupid kinks…
You just noticed a hole in one of the stockings.
Well, you don’t have any other pair of hooped stockings, and you definitely will NOT go to the one person who could have more of them, because that person’s a fucking creep and you would never ever wear anything he wore before you. Yuck.
You’ll just bear with it now. If you’re lucky, Egderp will be too horny to even notice. And after that, you can get those fucking stockings to ‘Mom’. The ‘mom’ of this brothel, that is. She’s pretty good at repairing clothes, which is one of the reasons why the majority of the staff calls her ‘mom’, and it’s a lot less awkward to ask her to repair them than to ask Feferi to order some more from the fetish shop – it’s not as if you get hooped overknee silk stockings in any lingerie store across the corner, and Feferi keeps all the expenses together… So if you don’t want to pay for them yourself, you have to ask her for them. And you really hate to ask her for something. You hate to ask anybody for something. But asking your brothel-mom for stuff – that’s okay. You don’t like to ask her for anything, but you don’t hate it either.
===> Karkat: Be the brothel-mom.
Chapter 3: ===> Karkat: Be the brothel-mom.
Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and indeed, some of the other employees of this establishment tend to call you the ‘brothel-mom’. You do not yet know if you should be pleased by this titling, but you tend to find it rather endearing. And you don’t actually mind to mother them a little either, because, in all honesty, most of those who end up in such a profession as yours either never knew parental care or had to abandon it at some point in their life. Of course, some of those who never knew parental concerns in the first place are prone to describe your maternal interventions as ‘meddling’, though you are quite certain that deep down, they heed your advice most of the time. Or at least you hope that intensely.
You also like to cater to the physical and material needs of your co-employees. You took the responsibility for their nutrition (after you saw how horribly wrong things can go if some of them are left alone in the kitchen), you repair their garments (both leisure and professional, since sewing is one of your favorite recreational pursuits), you reprimand them for not gathering their belongings from the common rooms or hallways, you even assist them in minor medical matters, at least those who come to you in such situations, even though the only ‘training’ you have in such issues is experience. You have to admit that you understand why they rather come to you than to ask Feferi to call the physician responsible for this house’s employees’ well-being, though.
But at the moment, you are occupied with your actual profession, not the little side-activities you engage in to ease the life of your co-workers. Or rather, you are waiting to become occupied with your actual profession. It is not really possible to fulfill the duties of a prostitute without your patron being present.
But just as you consider engaging yourself in a little bit of needle-work for the time being, a slightly obnoxious, urgent ringing resounds from the house-intern communication system. You stand up and answer it. It is Feferi, telling you that your customer has arrived and will be up in the Jade Room in about two minutes. You thank her for furnishing you with that information, then you replace the telephone receiver and take a last look at your mirror, stroking some strands of your short, dark brown hair behind your ear before you sit down on your chaise longue, leaning back a little as you await your patron to arrive, eyeing the tea set in front of you a last time to ensure yourself of its immaculacy.
She indeed does arrive just moments later, knocking in a manner you have by now fathomed to be typical for her, affirmative, but nonintrusive, and after you utter a soft ‘Come in’, she does so, slipping into the room in a shadow-like fashion. She closes the door behind herself and looks at you with a cool, yet in her own way affectionate smile. You return the smile as you motion her to approach.
“Good evening, Rose”, you greet as she leans down to salute you by kissing your cheeks in the European fashion, and she smiles as she slides down in a low armchair next to you. You sit up straight and start to pour tea in both of your teacups, a simple, yet delicious Darjeeling, then you hand her her cup, brushing the tips of your fingers against hers in the process.
She takes a sip and sighs lowly in pleasure, then she looks at you again. “How are you doing, Kanaya?”
You smile as you pour a modicum of lemon into your tea and stir with a petite silver spoon, not touching the porcelain in the process, avoiding any kind of disruptive clanking noise. “I am quite fine”, you answer, smiling at her placidly. “We did have some issues of the usual character occurring in any location with such a density of long-term residents, one of my co-employees is having minuscule anger-management problems, and I assume that we will have some complications of non-mutual romantic character again before long. The usual issues you would expect of such a conglomeration of adolescences.”
Rose’s face displays that slightly nefarious smirk typical for her, and she takes another sip. You wouldn’t usually give away internal details like that to a customer, but Rose is in fact something more than a regular by now; she has been coming to this place since her coming of age, and she has introduced a lot of additional customers to this venue. Feferi even tends to call her a ‘special friend’ of the establishment. You know exactly that she knows at which people you are hinting.
“And how are you advancing in academic matters?” you ask as you let your eyes peregrinate over her appearance. She is dressed in her usual mix of black and pink, the strict, clear-cut fashion of her pastel pink ladies’ suit making her appear slightly older than 23, while the black frilled blouse, black hairband and black nylons tempt you in an curious kind of way. You do know that you will soon be able to give in to this temptation, so there is no pressure to act upon it quite yet.
“Oh, everything is going, as your employer would say, quite swimmingly.” She grins again, though this grin comprises more than mere vicious amusement. You notice that she is gradually getting bored with the small-talk, and you cast her a smile of your own to impart to her that you have positively received her subtextual tidings. You take another sip of your tea as she continues to talk. “It’s just a little bit… onerous from time to time… It is hard to relax in our modern university system.” The subtle undertone of the word ‘relax’ makes you smile again as you put down your cup, placing it on its saucer, hardly making a noise in the process.
===> Kanaya: Be a needy young adventurer.
Chapter 4: ===> Kanaya: Be a needy young adventurer.
What the hell??? What kind of sorry excuse for a transition was THAT supposed to be??? Try to be a bit more creative next time! Honestly!
You are now a young adventurer. Your name is English. Jake English. However, if anybody asked you, you would positively deny being anything even remotely like ‘needy’. Though, of course, given the circumstances that you are in a knocker shop at the moment, you highly doubt that anyone would believe such a daft lie.
Maybe it would aid your reputation if you admitted that you are not just needy in a merely sexual way. Or maybe it would not, you’re not quite sure about that yet. Anyway, you are not just some kind of horny young bloke coming to this sort of bawdy house for some random shagging, no, egad, certainly not! This is just another one of your adventures, though you don’t know if the word ‘just’ sufficiently expresses the importance of this special kind of adventure to you. It is one of the most thrilling of adventures, one you undertake in the knowledge of not being able to yield the hoard or defeat the treasurer safeguarding said hoard, and that may be one of the reasons why you are inwardly shaking like a complete milksop at the moment. You know you won’t win. And yet you can hardly wait being defeated.
Your fist shivers as you raise it to knock against the door of the beast’s lair. Oh gosh, she’d be furious if she knew that you describe her as something like that in your thoughts sometimes. You are honestly glad that she isn’t able to read your thoughts, even though she is indeed definitely capable of controlling them. And darn, you even like it when she does that. Even though you have to admit that you nearly widdle your trousers whenever you notice her doing it again.
The door to the Cerulean Room opens up slowly, as if by magic (though you know that it is more of an intricate system of robotics-based technology than that; after all, your favourite beauty of this house of ill repute is not really on good terms with the two people capable of telekinesis this place is offering). The room behind said door is completely dark, except for eight candles on silver sockets which are burning light blue due to some chemical doohickeys.
You are indeed entering the lair of a beast.
And you are hardly able to stifle the arousal this realisation stirs in your trousers once again..
“Close the door.”
Her voice echoes through the room as if you were indeed standing in a dark, deep cave. You have no flipping clue how she is able to implement such sound effects, but you close the door behind you immediately, and cerulean-tinted darkness encompasses you.
“That’s a good boy...”
Good grief, the smug overtone of that voice makes you shiver. You still can’t catch sight of its source.
“I hope you didn’t forget what I ordered you last time.”
You hear slow, measured footsteps approaching you.
“I-I haven’t, mistress...” you utter, the fingers of one of your hands kneading those of the other nervily.
“Well, theeeeeeeen...” Her voice is slowly coming closer, but you still can’t see her. “...what are you waiting for? Show me.”
You try to gulp down your nervousness and your excitement as you open and remove the rather baggy trousers you are wearing. Without getting rid of your combat boots, you remove those trousers and throw them onto the floor, then you do the same thing with your jumper.
You can literally feel the gaze of eight eyes on your body as you hook your thumbs nervously into your authentic TOMB RAIDER SEXY THIGHSTRAP DOUBLE HOLSTER. You know you have to look like a complete dork at the moment, in your mighty tight, incredibly short khaki shorts and the similarly tight light-blue tanktop, together with your high combat boots completing your Lara Croft outfit...
“What’s with the gloves????????”
Or so you thought.
You feel heat creeping into your face, and your buckteeth start to worry on your slightly coarse lower lip.
“I... I’m sorry, mistress, it looks as if I’ve forgotten...” you stutter, but the sight of the lair’s guard stepping out of the darkness into the blue-tinted candlelight makes you forget what the bloody hell you have been wanting to say.
The beast is a lost treasure herself, made of silky grey skin, gleaming silver metal and luscious black hair. She is black leather and cerulean threads, bodacious curves and infernal smile. Her claws, teeth are sparkling in the blue light, and her leather overknee boots resound heavily from the floor of her ‘cave’ as she slowly approaches you, deep hunger in her cerulean eyes burning into your very soul with their vision eightfold.
“Hubba hubba...” you breath in awe as she stops about two feet away from you, casually playing with a long, black 8-tailed whip.
“I thought that my orders were simple enough for any idiot to understand. But apparently I was wrong to think that a worthless moron like you could do ANYTHING right.”
She sighs histrionically, then you feel a heavy robotic hand grabbing your hair.
“Get to your knees and beg me for forgiveness, then I maybe will allow you to clean my boots with your stupid little tongue.” Her grin makes her shark-like teeth look even longer than usually, and you can feel that your tight little shorts are quickly getting even tighter.
Just as the robot hand pushes you down into an intensely humiliating position, you briefly wonder if the chum you usually come to this place with is enjoying his ‘entertainment’ anywhere near as much as you are...
===> Jake: Be said chum’s ‘entertainment’.
Chapter 5: ===> Jake: Be said chum’s ‘entertainment’.
There you go, that’s what I’m talking about! Wasn’t all that hard, was it?
You are now Equius Zahhak, and you are currently anticipating your first patron of the evening. You are in your quarters in the ‘Alternian Rainbow’, the Blue Room, too nervous for a proper introduction as you pace up and down your room, feeling a thin film of perspiration on your skin already. This realization makes you sweat even more – sweating makes you feel disgusting, and feeling disgusting makes you nervous, because you don’t want to be disgusting to your customer. And being nervous makes you sweat more. It’s a vicious circle...
Quickly you grab one of your towels and abscond into the bathroom, damping it before you rub your face, the pleasant coolness making you sigh lowly. You cast your own reflection a quick glance, flexing your impressive muscles for a moment. You proceed to towel down other sweaty parts of your body, then you return to pacing up and down your room, once in a while glancing at the contraption waiting in the corner of your room. It took a lot of your talent for engineering and robotics to complete this thing, and you really hope that your work will satisfy your patron.
The thought of satisfying your patron is making you sweat again.
However, you don’t have any time to get another towel as you suddenly hear a curt knock at your door. You freeze, feeling a drop of sweat running over your chin slowly. When it runs down the slope of your neck, you snap out of it, and while grabbing another towel and rubbing your face off quickly, you utter a slightly blurred “Do come in!”
You don’t know if your patron really heard you or if he just doesn’t care if you ask him in. You think that it might be the latter. It would fit his usual demeanor.
You manage to throw your used towel behind the towel pile in the corner and straighten up to bear your patron’s scrutiny. You feel your muscles tense as he slowly enters the room, steps heavy and pronounced, though you know that he is doing this on purpose – if he wants, he can move fast as lightning and quiet as a mouse. He just wants to make you nervous… And he definitely succeeds in that.
“What’s up, beefcake?”
His voice is nonchalant as ever, though you’re trained to hear the subtle undercurrent of anticipation by now. It is important to be able to distinguish the undercurrents of this man, especially because you often wouldn’t be able to understand what exactly he is saying otherwise. Moreover, it’s also essential to judge his mood, as you can’t find any clue of it in his eyes – he hasn’t taken those pointy shades off a single time during your sessions yet, leaving you completely in the dark as to his momentary humor while at the same time stripping your own broken glasses off of you with virtually diabolical glee each time before you start to ‘play’, as he calls it.
“N-not much, Sir”, you manage to answer, muscles tensing under his scrutinizing gaze – you now that he’s scrutinizing you because he ever-so-slightly moves his head up and down. He WANTS you to know that he’s scrutinizing you. He knows that it’s making you nervous when he looks you over like a hoofbeast on a domestic musclebeast market. You’re pretty much just waiting for him to push your jaws apart to look at your broken teeth…
That thought is making you sweat again.
“Well, musclebro, did you complete the gadget I asked you to build?”
You tense up more, straightening up automatically as you nod stiffly. “It’s in the corner, Sir.”
He raises his eyebrows over his shades and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“What, are you waiting for it to fly to you? I mean, of course I would appreciate that you went out of your way like that to impress me with another batshit crazy gimmick in that neat little apparatus, but honestly, I’m already content if that widget holds all of the functions I specified.”
The first touch of questionable language doesn’t help your perspiration problem, since you know that there will be a lot more of that soon. But of course you obey immediately (you aren’t as block-headed as you might look, you know an implied order when you hear one) and turn around to walk to the corner, collect the device and carry it over, all the while anxious to keep your muscles tensed, showing of your body in what has become more of a reflex than volition.
You can feel his eyes on your muscles, grazing them like lush meadows. He doesn’t seem to mind your narcissistic tendencies.
But then his gaze is drawn in by the device you are holding, a contraption of cables and cords and rings and hoops, gleaming and glistening metal, coiling over your arms like a freshly culled tentaclebeast.
He raises one hand and runs the tips of his long, nearly delicate fingers over the metal, cautiously, caressing the smooth surface like the skin of a lover. It makes your insides squirm and you feel heat pouring between your legs. The look on his face when admiring elaborate works of engineering and robotics is an irresistible turn-on to you, even though you can never see his eyes. Maybe that is for the better – if you saw his eyes in this situation, you might need a towel due to a rather different issue than perspiration.
“What are you waiting for now?” He tears his covered eyes away from the intricate device to look up at your face again. “Put it on already!”
You swallow hard as he steps back, crossing his arms in front of his chest again, and watches you intently. You put the device down and, knowing that he doesn’t particularly care for stripteases, you make short work of your clothes. Your damp fingers seize the first ring to be equiupped – wait, of course you mean equipped – and you lean down, closing it around your ankle. It fits perfectly – well, of course it does, you have carefully taken measurements, after all.
You fervently hope that your fingers won’t slip as you pull the cable attached to the first ring up and fasten the second ring just below your knee, the next, attached to the former by two cords at the side, just above the joint. The next step is harder to administer – you lead thin wires, connected with more cords, around your waist first, then, carefully to make sure that the cord connecting all those wires is resting directly on your spine, you fasten the next around your chest, and the third finally around your neck.
You feel thin trickles of sweat running down your body as you fasten one thin wire around the base of your bulge.
Then you go on to attach more rings to your arms, one just below the shoulder, again one above and below your elbow respectively, and the last one around your wrist. You do the same with your other arm, then you go down again and connect up your second leg.
The cold metal slowly warms with the heat of your body.
Your patron is hardly able to stifle his smirk now. You notice that he actually doesn’t even try to do so anymore – the game is on, and he is going to enjoy the shit out of this session, as he would have worded it.
And you know that you will enjoy it just as much as he will.
“So, where is the remote?”
===>Equius: Be the one person who wants more than anybody else that any customer enjoys their time in the ‘Alternian Rainbow’.
Chapter 6: ===>Equius: Be the one person who wants more than anybody else that any customer enjoys their time in the ‘Alternian Rainbow’.
Well, you seem to be Feferi again. Isn’t that a pity, though! It was just getting exciting!
Anyway, you have to do important stuff now, so you have to be Feferi for a while. Well, it’s not like REALLY important important, but important enough for you that you can’t afford to be anybody else at the moment.
You’re heading for the common room at the moment, where your babies are waiting for their customers to arrive or for being called to a ‘meat inspection’, as Karkles calls it in his usual angry-cute way of saying stuff. On your way you stop at several of your tanks, looking at your colorful, happy little toy fish with delight. It makes you incredibly happy to watch them. They are so bubbly and bright and some of them are even glittery! Those were really expensive, actually. But you love them just too much – it’s like your personal little guilty pleasure.
It’s a bit strange for a procuress to call it that, now that you think of it, though. But well, whatever!
“Hi boys!” you call out as you enter the common rooms, all smile and glee as you see two of your pretty babies sitting on the couch. You hear commotion from the kitchen, so you guess that the others are currently in there. But the person you need to talk to is already here, so why bother?
“A certain shade-wearing gentleman with a huuuuuuge mouth has announced himself for tonight”, you declare and slump down in one of the chairs next to the couch.
You instantly see the repulsion on Gamzee’s usually so relaxed face. “What the hell, motherfucker’s been up and coming here for all like every two days or something… He’s got some motherfucking libido hyperproduction on or what? I’m all getting motherfucking sick of that sorry motherfucker’s face… ´”
You can’t hold back a little giggle. Yeah, that customer likes Gamzee A LOT. And Gamzee, well… Gamzee doesn’t. You think that it has something to do with Gamzee’s strange religion, but you don’t know. You wouldn’t think it past Dave Strider to make fun of somebody’s religious believes, even though you didn’t really approve of that. That just wasn’t nice, it really wasn’t.
“Don’t worry, Gamzee”, you say gleefully. “I asked him if he was in for you again, but he told me that ‘this cowboy doesn’t need no rodeo clown this time, he’s going to ride the bull himself tonight’. Glubbed about how he’s ‘got a feel that he won’t be bucked off tonight anyway’ and that he’ll ‘not even need a god damn rope, he’ll just dig his spurs deep into his flanks and ride that beast right into the sunset’, and then he said something about saloon dancers and handkerchiefs or something along those lines. I kinda zoned out when he started.”
You cast Tavros, who’s sitting next to Gamzee, a beaming smile, giggling at the look of the heavy brown blush on his face. Though, from the corner of your eye, you also notice a quite different look on Gamzee’s face. You should have a ‘talk’ with him later, you think. He’s getting a bit too much into the thing he’s having with Tavros… And you really can’t be bothered to deal with a slut who’s getting JEALOUS because one of his co-workers is doing his job.
However, you can deal with that in a second.
“Noooow, Tavrosbaby, he’ll be here soon, like, reelly soon. He’s coming together with Karkat’s patron. Better you get to your room, don’t you think? Get an extra-shining to those fintastic horns of yours and tallow up your robojoints or something.”
You still smile at him, but Tavros understands the hint immediately and gets up, robolegs slightly clattering as they accidently hit the side table – there is a reason why you wanted it to be granite – and scampers off into the Orange Room. You know it would have been more accurate to call it the Brown Room – but you just wouldn’t want to go there with this being a brothel and all… Kinda suggestive… No, you really wouldn’t want to go there…
As soon as Tavros is gone, you turn to Gamzee, and stop smiling. “Okay, listen to me, Gamz. I know you are all cuttly and flushy for Tav at the moment, and that’s okay, it’s your life and not reelly my fish to fry. BUT as soon as this whole matesprit-thing of yours interferes with the business, it is my fish. And you don’t want to fry your fish with me, Gamzee, you know that.”
He looks defiant for a second, then his mouth twists unhappily, but he nods. “Get your cools back on, sis…” he utters in his usual sea-sawing way of speaking. “I know it’s his job and all… I’ll do my best to up and keep all my jealous to myself, okay?”
You lift an eyebrow, but then you nod. “Just don’t forget that.” You think it’s okay to give him some time. Maybe it’s just because it’s this particular customer… Gamzee has had his eyes on Tavvy for quite some time now, after all. He knows how it is. But that customer… He brings out a really bad side of Gamzee.
You sigh. You could maybe stir him into another direction. Really gently and everything. He does use the Teal Room pretty often too, after all… But you really, really don’t want to offend a customer who’s just paying such great tips and comes here as often as he and his friend do…
===> Feferi: Be the hustler said friend booked.
Chapter 7: ===> Feferi: Be the hustler said friend booked.
Oh, great, you’re Karkat Vantas again.
And you’ve got to admit that you’re fucking antsy by now. It’s not as if this was new to you or something, but honestly, you just fucking hate this derpy piece of woofbeast excrements. You hate his cheery voice, his stupid, deformed teeth, the messy bird’s nest he’s calling his hair, his long, thin, pale, soft, elegant, deft pianist fingers…
You shudder and quickly shoo that thought out of your traitorous cavernous think pan. Curse that fucking idiotic imagination of yours! His fingers are NOT elegant, and sure as hell they’re not fucking DEFT! Maybe your horns are growing the wrong way, the tips pressing into your imagination sponge, and that’s the reason why your pitiful cranial enhancements are so fucking nubby. Sounds legit, doesn’t it?
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, you just can’t stop thinking about John Fucking Egderp’s fingers… Fuck you, think pan, fuck you so hard!
Suddenly your door opens. Apparently John Egbert isn’t only insolent enough to enter your imagination without being asked in, but seems to be also lacking the general respect of doors that any sensible person should absolutely have.
“Hi Karkat!” he exclaims with that huge, toothy smile of his on his stupid pale face. For the love of fuck, you want to knock that asshole’s stupid buckteeth out so badly…
“Hey”, you just say, without standing up or anything – you don’t even think of being any more polite to John Gigglederp than not beating the fuck out of him.
However, he doesn’t seem to mind, at all. Either that, or your apparel is just too distracting for his shit-filled bird brain. The way in which he’s ogling you points to the latter.
His goofy smile expands till he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“My, Karkat… It’s really awesome to see that you got all dolled up for me!”
He slowly walks up to you, until he’s right in front of you – you suddenly notice with indignation that you are face-to-crotch with him. Being small sucks. It sucks huge shame globes.
And of course, John notices it too. He grins even wider – you wonder how the fuck that’s even possible – and runs a hand through your thick hair. While it’s also a bit unruly, it’s a lot less messy than that of your patron. Kinda makes you proud, actually. But well, you know that you look a lot better than John Motherfucking Egbert – after all, you’re the top-earning whore here. That’s bound to say something about your looks at least, isn’t it?
But on the other hand, if you would be slightly more unattractive, you wouldn’t find yourself in the infuriating position of having your fucking collar grabbed by such a sorry excuse for a human as this one.
“That looks really good on you…” John purrs – clearly to aggravate you – as he strokes one of those damned long fingers over the blue leather.
It’s not his stroking of the leather that irritates you most – it’s the knowledge of what will follow, and the alarming certainty of it as you feel the tips of those nimble, soft fingers on your throat, just above the collar, and they make you shiver as they run higher, to the spot behind your ear that makes everything inside of your think pan go blurry and that makes you want nothing more than just lean your head against it and purr until you get more of those divine caresses.
But you can’t. You just can’t be weak in front of John Smugfuck Egbert. Even though you feel how your eyelids drop, how your whole body goes limp, and there is that low, deep rumbling you feel against the lappets under your breathing sacks, and you feel it rise, and then it reaches your throat and FUCK he can hear it!
“Aww…” His voice makes you want to rip his voice cords out of his pale throat. “You like that a lot, don’t you? You’re even purring for me again…” His fingers stroke down to your chin again, and you growl at him as he pushes your chin up gently. He just grins at you and comes closer, until you can smell the sweet, slightly minty scent of his breath. You bet he’s been sucking a candy before he came here.
“I love how grumpy you always are in the beginning, Karkitty… Even though we both know how much you’ll like it later…” Your whole field of vision is filled with John Egbert’s face now, his toothy grin, his sparkling blue eyes behind the dorkiest pair of glasses you have ever seen, streaks of his scruffy black hair and those slender, long hands that are now cupping your cheeks and holding your head in place as the dumbass-face in front of you comes closer, and closer, and closer, and fuck, you can feel his breath on your lips now, and just another second, and…
Oh motherfucking mercy of all dorky bucktoothed four-eye pranksters in the world, how is it even possible that his lips are so incredibly SOFT?
===> Karkat: Be somebody else who’s soft.
Chapter 8: ===> Karkat: Be somebody else who’s soft.
Wow… That was… quite a stretch… And also pretty rude, actually.
Anyway. You are Tavros Nitram now. You are one of the four psychics this place has to offer, though your power isn’t really useful in your job, and apart from that you’re also one of those prostitutes that are rather offered to customers with, uh… ‘special tastes’. Even though it embarrasses you to no end to know that.
But well, amputees aren’t everybody’s cup of tea…
It’s just logical that you get a lot of ‘amelos’ as customers – that’s what Sollux calls people who think that physical handicaps, like paraplegia and amputations, are arousing. You don’t know how to feel about that. You know that you can’t do anything against your problem, and if some people come to you because they think it’s alluring, you guess that’s okay, but… Uhm… You don’t know… It feels kind of… wrong? Not that they are into that kind of stuff, but that that’s the only reason why they come to you. You… really don’t like that thought. It’s really unnerving. And… painful.
However, you don’t have a choice or anything. At least you don’t have the same problems as other people with your kind of disabilities. You don’t need your chair anymore, since Equius build you those super-high-tech robot legs. You had to have some kind of ‘brackets’ implanted, so that you could just put your legs on and off, but you didn’t care much about that. Your amelo-customers are still okay with it, since they can just dispose of your legs before they go down on you, and moreover, it has given you a second kind of customers – techies. Or rather, robotics enthusiasts. After all, you’re like some kind of cyborg now…
And as surprisingly as it may be, you actually have customers who are neither into your stumps nor into your robo-legs. Maybe because you’re the youngest-looking male here, or because you’re the most insecure, you actually have some patrons who come to you again and again because they think you’re ‘adorable’. It makes you blush to think about that, but you guess that’s a lot better than having people sleep with you just because you’re lacking actual legs.
One of those customers is Dave Strider. He’s… a little bit strange, but not in a bad way. As in, not creepy or anything. He just… kinda… likes to hear himself talk or something. But that’s okay with you. Totally. Because, sometimes, he talks about really nice stuff. Like, about your eyes, or your lips… And even though you are always a little bit embarrassed when he talks about your horns (or compares you to a bull), you… Uhm… You still like that.
So, when you heard that Dave is your first customer today, you were actually really happy. Even though, of course, you know that Gamzee wasn’t. Gamzee doesn’t like Dave one bit. You… you think that Dave is different when he’s with Gamzee. Maybe it’s because… you don’t know… Because Gamzee is really, uh, really into his religion, and Dave just makes fun of absolutely everything? Maybe… You don’t know… You don’t really want to ask any of them. Don’t want them to get mad…
Anyway, everything’s so difficult between you and Gamzee at the moment, you don’t really want to think about it just before the night starts. It’s not good to be distracted when working, at least not for you. You don’t know about the others, but you get flustered so easily, you really have to keep your wits about you.
You check your room a last time. Lube, toys, handcuffs… Everything in its place. You check your looks a last time in the mirror – you just wear a black shirt, tight pants, horns oiled up, just enough to make them shine; your hair’s not waxed, you know that Dave doesn’t like that, but you made sure that the sides of your head are extra smooth, short, but not scratchy. You smile at your reflection, a little bit sheepishly. It’s a little bit embarrassing for you that you… actually hope that Dave will like what he sees.
Suddenly the door is open, and you have no clue when that happened.
“Knock knock, sweetcheeks”, Dave says, leaning in the doorframe, radiating coolness like the rays of a thousand green suns. Well, okay, not quite, but nearly.
You can feel yourself smiling from ear to ear as you spin around to welcome him.
“Dave! I’m so happy to-“
But you can’t even finish that sentence, because before you can even blink, he flashsteps up to you, and then his arms are around your body, and his lips are pressing against your lips.
Yes, he’s a pretty big show-off.
But you just can’t resist that ‘Strider-Swag’…
===> Tavros: There’s more of that Strider-Swag around. Be another person who can’t resist it.
Chapter 9: ===> Tavros: There’s more of that Strider-Swag around. Be another person who can’t resist it.
With a curt nod you motion towards the table. The remote is small, sized to conveniently fill your patron’s palm. He takes it up and examines it.
Then he tries it out. His thumb hardly as much as taps one of the many little joysticks, and you feel your right leg collapse as your ankle is pulled back, and you’re forced to genuflect in front of your patron.
You can see the vicious grin on his face as he slowly moves another one of the joysticks. Your arm first moves forward, then your wrist is pulled up, until he seems to have figured the system out – you can’t help but be impressed by his quick wit – and you feel your arm bend behind your back. He fixates the position, then he does the same with the other arm. You shift your weight as you feel a slight tug at your left ankle, preventing falling over as your second leg is bent and you are kneeing fully now. It is a hard not to tumble over, since your body’s center of gravity is too far ahead, but you are flexing your muscles enough to keep your balance.
You look up to see him scrutinizing you again. It appears that he enjoys what he sees… At least if the burgeoning bulge in his pants is of any significance.
He approaches you again and looks you over from a closer position.
“Almost perfect.”, he drawls, his grin growing wider as he extends one hand. Slender fingers gently grip the bridge of your broken shades, and the tension between the two of you becomes virtually electric as he ever so slowly pulls them off, exposing your blue eyes, stripping you off your final protective line. You blink into the dim light, narrowing your eyes until you get used to the illumination of your room.
You can see his smirk – this is one of his favorite moments in each of your sessions, the moment in which he ultimately cements both of your positions, in which he establishes his power, showing you that he is the one who is holding your reins. This simple gesture, the plain act of taking away your shades, humiliates you more than any kind of bondage or flogging would ever be able to. He took away everything you are.
You are nothing but his toy now.
And you’re sweating like a race hoofbeast.
“Well, now…” His voice is low, just loud enough for you to hear it. “I assume that this little button here…” You see how his finger slides over said section of the remote tenderly “…is the little ‘extra’ we talked about in our previous session?”
You feel your muscles tighten even more at the question, your shoulders quivering slightly from the exertion it takes you not to topple over. You try to shift your position, knowing that you will hardly be able to hold your posture once your patron makes use of the little, light blue switch his thumb is caressing at the moment.
“Well?” He looks impatient – apparently he is awaiting your response.
You grit your broken teeth for a second before you nod curtly. “Yes, Sir.”
His smirk becomes even wider.
The realization that he is imitating you hardly reaches your brain, as his thumb moves ever so slightly, pressing down.
Immediately you are overwhelmed with burning pain, pain that permeates your entire body, making your muscles cramp, making you rear up in your bonds. You lose your balance, and as the pain ceases just seconds after it started you’re already so far out of equilibrium that you are tearing at the metal rings violently, straining your bonds and struggling for any kind of footing – only to suddenly sense a hand on your shoulder, gently pressing you back until you’re kneeling safely again.
The pain may be gone, but you feel as if somebody had drained your body of all of its strength. Your muscles are trembling, and you have to clamp your teeth shut tightly to keep from grinding your teeth. You are heaving like a hoofbeast after an extraordinary dangerous wild hoofbeast riding contest, your chest rising and falling convulsively.
The hand which has just been steadying your swaying body now grips your long hair violently, pulling your head back as he steps behind you, pushing one knee into your back, making your body arch uncomfortably as he forces you to look up to him, right into his face.
His smirk is cold now, cruel, and it nearly makes you whine.
“How does that feel, strongtroll?” His voice is hoarse now, hardly a whisper as he leans down to bite your ear harshly, not actually drawing any blood, but leaving a dark blue impression where his teeth have been.
His second hand traces your neck, stroking your larynx tenderly. His caprice makes you shiver.
You feel his mouth at your ear again.
“How does it feel to be so utterly weak for a change?”
===> Equius: Be another person on his knees.
Chapter 10: ===> Equius: Be another person on his knees.
You can’t even begin to describe how marvellous her hard, cold metal hand feels on your shoulder, as it forces you into a kneeling position, your face at the level of the thin strap of grey skin between her high boots and her short, mind-bogglingly tight leather skirt. You know you couldn’t stand up even if you attempted to – her physical strength arouses you just as much as the knowledge of her psychic powers does.
Her overknees are glaringly red, a rich vermillion, brightly polished (no boot cream this time apparently, she seems to be in a generous mood), and even despite your limited knowledge about footgear you assume that they were jolly expensive. You can’t see if they’re laced anywhere, but you’re quite positive that the hooks are at the back – she never has worn slip-in boots (or however those things are dubbed) as far as you can bethink. You know how intricate the opening mechanism of that corset of hers is; those slip-in things wouldn’t be congruous with her style in the slightest.
You seem to have spent too much time staring at her boots. Something hard presses against your cheek, and as you look up, you realise that it is the handle of her whip. When she sees that you have snapped out of your reveries, a shark-toothed grin spreads over her smashing features.
“I know that you can hardly wait to get to taste all of that gorgeous leather, but I told you to do something else fiiiiiiiirst, don’t you remember, sucker?”
The way she pronounces those drawn-out vowels makes you tremble slightly, and obediently you scuttle backwards, looking up to her again as you place your hands in front of you on the floor and bend down until your forehead touches your knuckles.
“I am tremendously sorry, Marquise! I am an insufferable clod, I am so daft I can’t even comply with the easiest instructions. Please, Marquise, punish this undeserving varlet!”
You know perfectly well that things other people utter can easily titillate you, but it still astonishes you every time how randy it makes you to say stuff like that yourself.
She seems to appreciate your endeavour. Jesus Christmas, her smirk makes your vision blur. You’re pretty sure that your shorts will soon ignite themselves if she keeps teasing you like that.
Alas, you know that she will keep teasing you.
“That’s a good booooooooy...” she drawls and, at last, holds her truly elegant, booted foot towards you, and you bestow the tip of the superb, vermilion leather habiliment with a hesitant kiss before she sets it down directly in front of you. You bend down again, and again you kiss the tip of her boot, but this time you don’t stop with such a short lips-to-boot contact.
You close your eyes and start to explore the smooth, fragrant leather. You haven’t yet had the pleasure to meet this delectable pair of footgear, you’d know if you had; the route of the seams is curious to you, yet you really can’t claim that these mighty fine work of shoemaking is not intriguing you. Your lips graze over her whole foot, then you go back to the very tip of the boot. One of your hands carefully snakes around its backside, not holding it in place, egad, you’d never even dare to think of that. Your fingers just stroke up and down the heel, feeling up the smooth surface, while you slowly drag your tongue over the boot toe, sighing lowly, contently as you taste the slightly tangy aroma of the leather spreading over your palate. You make an effort of touching every inch of the lower part, half straining your neck to even reach the seam at the very back of her heel. Feeling the now wet smoothness of the leather pressing against your cheek, smelling its spicy fragrance, tasting its piquant tang... You press your tights together a little bit in an effort to suppress the hot, indecent throbbing between your legs.
It doesn’t help at all.
You shiver visibly when your lips slide up, over the curve between the arch of her foot and the leg of her boot. The leather is cool, virginal under your lips, and you have to hold back for all you’re worth, to not wrap your mouth as far around her shin as possible and moan like a wanton tart. Your lips quiver slightly in the effort, and you press them against the leather harder to suppress this unwanted reaction.
Of course she detects your miserable attempt in hiding the obvious. You can feel it in the way she grinds her shin against your lips all of a sudden.
It forces a low whimper out of your throat as you drag your tongue farther up, your fingers slowly running over the back of the boots, feeling the splendid outlines of her superb calf through the smooth, firm texture of the leather. You can feel the row of lacing hooks, hidden under a thicker layer of leather, well likely near invisible when looking at them. They’re like tiny moulds under your digits, tiny gemstones on a golden crown, and you can’t stop your fingertips from slipping under the protective layer and rubbing the still cool metal...
A low moan escapes your lips now, and you do your best to smother it in spicy, vermillion leather. She doesn’t react this time, so you don’t have a blasted idea if she noticed it, and you almost go barmy with that uncertainty, and so you just lick all up to the lower part of the cuff, showing even more eagerness than before.
You have to straighten yourself up on only your knees to bestow the cuff with due deference. Your lips trace the soft edges, and you slowly move your head from one side of her leg to the other, your hot tongue pressing against the cool leather like a parching adventurer’s lips to the salvaging mouth of a water bag.
Just when you start to lick the uppermost edge of her boot, your nose already touching the soft flesh of her thigh, she grabs your chin and pushes your head back slightly.
“Now thaaaaaaaat’s a good boy...” she drawls, smirking. “That’s enough for now.”
She releases your chin and straightens again, scrutinizing you with a pleased grin that flipping near makes you go bonkers.
“You knoooooooow... I should have known that you’d forget about the gloves. I mean, you’re generally such a fuckup, how could I even expect that you’d be able to follow a simple order?”
One of her clawed fingers strokes your chin gently, before she pushes the tip of that claw of hers into your flesh, forcing a low gasp out of your throat.
“Of course I’ll punish you nevertheless. But fiiiiiiiirst, we’ll make sure that you’ll not fuck stuff up again. I’m generous like that.”
She leans down to you now, and you can’t keep yourself from being fully enchanted with the sight of the pliant mounds of her supple bosom as you’re facing it. You can’t enjoy the view for long though, as one of her long-fingered, sharp-clawed hands pushes down on the back of your head and shoves your face into the mystery valley between her lush hills.
But just as you think you’re dying with utter bliss, you start to feel a curious, yet familiar tingle in your head – spreading from right behind your eyes to the back of your head, filling your whole mind with blue buzzing, with a dizzying, strangely warm haze, and suddenly… suddenly you seem to feel your whole body, every last inch of your skin, in a way that’s so mind-boggling, so incredibly intense, that you just can’t help moaning against the soft skin of her chest – yet it doesn’t really feel as if it was you moaning… More as if you just happen to be inside of this moaning, lucky chap whose face is shoved into this grey goddess’s décolleté.
You feel the hand on the back of your head slide down to the nape of your neck and pull you away from the blessed sanctuary swelling out of her tight corset, making you kneel straight again, then she retreats a step and looks you over.
“Well theeeeeeeen…” Her sneer makes her shark teeth gleam in the blue illumination, and one of her long-fingered hands slides down over the smooth surface of her bodice, down the plane of her short leather skirt, and there her nimble digits slowly encompassed the seam of said garment.
“Let’s put your tongue to good use again……..”
===> Jake: Flowery periphrases aside, there is an inexcusable lack of boobs in this story. Change that immediately!
Chapter 11: ===> Jake: Flowery periphrases aside, there is an inexcusable lack of boobs in this story. Change that immediately!
Rose follows your example and sets her cup down, then she arises, and you do the same. As she turns around to approach the bed, you take the liberty to step up behind her and place your arms around her waist, and breathe a kiss to the sensitive spot just behind her auricle. You can sense how her body trembles for a second in your arms, and you can’t withhold the little smile that is gently tugging at the corners of your mouth.
As you withdraw from her warm flesh, your hands carefully take hold of the jacket of her suit and help her disrobe, then you carefully drape it over the chair Rose has occupied mere moments ago. While you do so, she turns around and waits for you to face her again, and as soon as you do, the tips of her slender digits find their way to the sinuous slope of your pelvis, and slowly, graciously, those fingers slide up over your hip bone to the lowest segments of your thoracic cage. Your abdominal muscles tighten for an instant, and Rose smiles again and inclines her upper body forwards. Her lips find the transition between your neck and shoulders, and gently they slide across it, one of her hands at the zip fastener of your dress now.
Ever so slowly she opens the slit at the side of your garment, until it is held together by nothing but the tiny hook under your arm. She does not attempt to open this hook for the time being though, but let’s one of her delicate, yet firm hands slide under the silky fabric of your dress. Her fingertips brush the gauzy fabric of your brassiere, then they slide over your rip cage, around your side, over your back.
You shudder slightly at her touch. She has been with you so many times that she has become a true expert on matters related to the sensitivity of certain spots of your body… You know that she enjoys this kind of power, and thus you let her have every minuscule moment of triumph and don’t try to hold back your physical reactions in the slightest. However, you are not planning to allow her to be the sole active performer of tonight’s encounter.
You start to open the delicate black buttons of her gossamer silk blouse while her hand continues to run over your spinal column. Her hands are so incredibly small, delicate, warm… You let out a low hum while your own long, deft fingers open every single one of those tiny disks preventing you from luxuriating in the sheer softness of her torso.
She chuckles lowly when you bend forward and lay a chaste kiss onto her sternum. Her small, firm breasts are covered by gossamer lace that is hardly succeeding in concealing her pale areolae…
She slowly pulls her hand out of your dress and steps back, running the tips of her fingers over your upper arm in the process. She takes a seat on the jade-colored satin coverlet of your bed, reclining back on it, the most inviting, devious smile spreading over her pale features. Your own gaze wanders from her lilac eyes over the petite form of her torso to the nonchalant way in which she keeps her legs closed, black nylon vanishing under rose-colored worsted wool.
You reciprocate her challenging smile and approach her, leaning over her as you breathe a butterfly kiss onto her black-painted lips. Some of your own jade-colored lipstick sticks to her lips, and you know that some of hers is now on your own. Soon you will paint far more of her skin green…
You start your foray of your client’s doll-like forms at her neck, leaving a trail of jade as you advance towards her clavicle. Your fingertips touch her sides gently, and you smile when you feel her inhale deeply and her abdominal muscles tensing up. You know that she would never admit that she is rather responsive to actions of a tickling kind, but that makes it just the more appealing to you to touch her body in such sensitive places without her knowledge of your insight into her little weakness. It is likely that she has a vague suspicion in regard to such actions, but she never voiced any.
You let your fingers slide over her milky skin, hardly touching the chest bands of her brassiere. You kiss her lips again gently when your fingers finally touch her clavicles, then slowly push her blouse back until both of her delicate white shoulders emerge from the ravening blackness of the silken garment.
Rose shifts slightly on the mattress and retreats some inches, then she puts her arms around your neck and guides you frontwards. You smile and get onto the bed, straddling her thighs as you gently slide your hands over her back, holding her in place when you kiss her again.
But as you retreat, poised to remove her blouse completely now, you notice something at the side of the garment’s button border – a hole. You frown slightly and briefly wonder why you haven’t notice this before, but her hand stroking over your hip jolts you out of your reflections.
“Is anything amiss?” she asks. You look at the tear for a few more moments, contemplating, then you smile again mildly and run your thumb over the torn seam.
“I fear your blouse is damaged, dear”, you say as you lean forward so you can remove the garment from her body, then you show her the hole.
“You don’t mind if I just go ahead and mend this quickly, do you?” You see a quick flicker of –something- in her eyes, then she shakes her head.
“Suit yourself, Kanaya.”
You grin slightly and stand up. Usually, you wouldn’t neglect a customer because of something as trivial as a tear in a piece of clothing – let alone spend the time they paid for with sewing. But, well… It is different with Rose.
You sense her gaze on you as you walk over to a chiffonier and take your small sewing étui. You sit down near the head of your bed, your legs folded under your body – it might be not exactly the most comfortable posture, but even if you ever did anything like sitting with your legs crossed, you would not be able to do so at the moment without ruining your dress.
Rose sits down next to you as you begin to mend the tear with thin, black thread and tiny stitches. From the corners of your eyes you can see how her gaze is fixed on the motions of your fingers. She does not move for a while and simply keeps observing you, her pupils slightly dilated, her lips compressing from time to time – tiny movements, so tiny that you wouldn’t actually see them if you didn’t know what to look out for.
You have hardly closed half of the hole when she suddenly takes your stitching hand and gently push it down. Scarcely a second later she straddles your lap, her one hand grabbing one of your breast protrusions roughly through the fabric of your dress, the other hand now grabbing your chin – you have dropped your needle as soon as you felt the pressure of her thighs against your hips. She pushes your jaw up and kisses your lips fiercely. Her body is hot against your own, her hands adamant, her lips voracious.
When she relinquishes your mouth, only thin circles of lilac are left around her widened pupils, and her jade-smeared lips are parted. She is panting lowly, and her chest expands and contracts with every breath, causing her small, still lace-veiled breasts to quiver. You smile, and you guess it comes forth slyly to some extent, and lay one hand on her hip, pushing her body closer to yours.
She cups your face with her delicate hands and kisses you again, less ferociously this time, more yearningly. When she parts, she rubs the tip of her nose against yours. “You have no idea what you are doing with me when you are like this, Kanaya…”, she whispers, then she takes the one of your hands that is not currently on her hip, and lifts it to her mouth. The touch of her lips leave smears of jade-colored lipstick on your fingertips.
You smile again and stroke her cheek with the hand she just kissed, stroke a strand of her hair behind her ear while you look her in the eye.
“I know, Rose darling. I know…”
Most of your clients don’t engage your services merely to be serviced sexually. Everybody has their own reasons to frequent a venue like this. Everybody has their own longings. Their own wounds.
You will always make sure to tend to these wounds. And Rose’s mother fixation is a condition you are long acquainted with.
You know exactly how to soothe the darkness in her sore soul.
===> Kanaya: Be somebody whose wounds have not yet been soothed.
Chapter 12: ===> Kanaya: Be somebody whose wounds have not yet been soothed.
What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not havin any kind of fuckin ‘un-soothed wounds’. Wounds are something for fuckin pussies.
Your name is Eridan Ampora, and you definitely aren’t a fuckin pussy. You’re one of the best hustlers of this establishment (at least you’re damn sure that you’re the one who is making the most effort). You’re basically the most awesome fucker around, and you have NO idea at all why this little ornery dwarf is so much more successful than you are. Maybe it’s because his mutant blood makes his body so much warmer than yours… Well, who fucking knows? Maybe they just pity him for his stubby little horns or somefin. You never really were somebody to attract lotsa pity. Good thing that that’s only a factor in attractiveness for trolls, not humans, though.
While you still aren’t anything like the top catfish in this cat tank, you’re still pretty popular with the customers, especially with the ladies. You do strive to make them happy, too – and that’s definitely something in which you’ve got an advantage over this blubbering imbecile Kar… So, while he gets all a the guys who basically just want to push a seething little troll down and fuck their frustrations away on him, your customers are mainly chicas who want to get some classy gentleman love. Or at least you like to think that.
Of course, you’ve got plenty of rivals in that aspect, or at least plenty enough to keep you constantly annoyed. Okay, actually there are only two who do challenge your supreme stance with the ladies. And the only one of them who really makes YOU seethe is this fucking piece a pissblooded, four-horned, lisping little bitch who’s not only constantly running his mouth about how many times in succession he can make the ladies cum with his stupid split tongue (which so isn’t congenital, no matter how often he claims that), but who also dares to challenge your status with Fef. You’ve known Fef since you’ve both been fuckin wrigglers, and you’ve been so fucking close to being in a quadrant with her… But then stuff happened, you got separated, and as by a fuckin miracle you met again when you’ve entered the business. It’s fate, that’s what it is. And this scrawny, ugly fucker dares to challenge what fate has planned for you and Fef…
With a red-hot iron right into his stupid mustard dispenser.
But well, the only possibility to show Fef how much more awesome you are than this geeky piece of lowblood shit is by being more successful than he is.
And you’re absolutely sure that setting the atmosphere right is an important part of being successful in this business. And your room is a 10.0 when it comes to atmosphere. You’ve got everything set out for romance: Your lamps are dim with slightly purple-tinted bulbs, the walls are painted purple and decorated with golden ornaments and candles (no beeswax, you hate the smell of that shit, smells just like that lisping lunatic), your bed has a purple canopy from some sorta satin-y fabric, your mattress is more than a foot thick (and the bedding is absolutely top notch too, of course), the purple rugs in your room are the plushiest you could find – and your bath is one fuckin oasis of erotic too. After all, being a seadweller definitely is a great asset of yours – and since you can use those assets best in the water, you’ve talked Fef into having a huge whirlpool installed in the middle of your bath. And of course, everything in there is marble and gold leaf.
Some of your co-workers say you’re a showoff.
At least your lady customers appreciate it. You’ve been complemented on your great taste several times now. Fuck, even your fishes are color-coordinated with your room!
Speaking of which. You finish the last adjustments on your hi-fi system, letting it play the smoothest classic jazz that can be found in your music collection, then you take the little bottle with fish food and start to feed your guppies.
They actually grew on you a lot. Even despite the fact that you only got them to impress Fef… But they’re just really cute, okay? With their ridiculously huge tail fins and their shining scales and their cute little goggle-eyed faces…
Suddenly the door behind you opens.
Startled you drop the food bottle and spin around, just to face your first customer for tonight, standing in the door.
She grins and comes up to you, hugging you immediately.
“Hi fancy fins!” Her voice is as cheerful as ever.
“Woah, Jade!” You are slightly overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. “You’re… early….” And Fef hasn’t announced your coming, you think without actually saying it.
You don’t know if she can guess what you’re thinking or if she just wants to explain her sudden arrival when she says: “Frilly fins said I could just come straight up to your room.”
You smile, though you know that it comes out a little bit awry – you don’t really like being surprised by your customers, and Fef actually knows that… But you guess she and Jade share a certain sense of ‘humor’…
So, instead of commenting on it, you just hug her back and kiss her cheek gently. “I’m reelly happy to sea you, my lovvely gemstone…” you whisper into her ear and rub your nose against it. She giggles at the silly pet name and strokes your back gently, nuzzling your gills.
“I’m glad to be here too…”
You smile and slowly run your hands up her back. Her body tenses up slightly – you’re used to that, it always takes some time until she’s able to relax and opens up to your touches. You know that she grew up with very little physical contact by anything humanoid (as far as you understand, she used to live on a desert island until she was 15 or somefin, in the last six or seven years of that only accompanied by a dog), and in the few months she has frequented you, you have detected a lot of the little peculiarities her behavior has carried off from that kind of childhood.
Her insecurities about being actively touched, for example. She has to be slowly and carefully guided – if you just throw her in at the deep end, she basically just completely clams up and it gets impossible to filter down to her.
Of course, you know that she would never admit that.
Your lips brush over her cheek again and you let your fingers ghost over the sides of her chest, until you feel her shudder slightly. You grin again and kiss her chin, then you look into her green eyes again. “Do you want something to drink before we start?”
Jade blushes slightly and shakes her head, then she hugs you tighter and nuzzles her face against your neck again. Despite her insecurities, you know that there are few things she craves more than physical contact. Which is pretty much also the reason why she engages your services. In the end, she actually is quite a cuddly little sweetfish at heart. She can even get fuckin clingy if you push the right buttons.
She giggles again and finally ends the hug. “Say, Eridan – can we use the pool today?”
===> Eridan: Be another person who’s dealing with a clingy patron.
Chapter 13: ===> Eridan: Be another person who’s dealing with a clingy patron.
Oh, you’re back to being Tavros. And you’re still lying in Dave Strider’s arms. That kiss might have started pretty abruptly, but he doesn’t seem to be planning on letting it end in the same way.
When it finally does end, your lips actually feel a little bit swollen. Well… It’s not like you’re not used to it… He sometimes… ‘overdoes’ things. But well. You guess that’s pretty charming in its own right.
He seems to have noticed the thing with your lips. At least, well, his thumb is stroking over them and he grins. “You look really tasty tonight… I love that, when your lips get all chocolate infused like that… Makes me want to eat you up even more than usual…”
You chuckle lowly and give his thumb a quick lick. “Well, I guess, with you being here, actually to do that… It’s a good thing that you want that…”
He grins and pushes your chin up gently, kissing your lips a lot more careful than before, still with his thumb pressing against them. You chirp lowly and kiss back, a coy little kiss, no tongue or too much pressure this time. It hardly lasts a few seconds before he pulls away again and looks at your face, looking as smug as the cat that got the cream.
"You know what, I think so too..." He kisses your cheek this time, the edge of his shades scraping over your skin a little bit. You don't exactly care. It's not as if it hurts or anything, and you know that he'll take them off soon enough.
"We really should get you out of those horribly tight pants before the feasting starts, shouldn't we?" He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, leaning forward enough to make you back up a tiny bit - not because you didn't want the physical contact or anything, but more like, because, well, it's a bit hard to get out of your pants when you're still pressed against Dave, or isn't it?
His hands dive into your pants now, though he doesn't really get more than his fingers in there. You sigh lowly when he strokes your hip bones, then you slowly unzip your pants for him. He gently pulls your waistband down, just far enough so he can rub your reproduction slit through your underwear - red panties, just for him.
"I guess I'll have to set the table first, the buffet doesn't yet look all that ready..." he rumbles into your ear, and you rub your nose against his jaw, grinning back at him.
"Well, uh... You can't really, have a banquet, on an unset table..." You know that your attempts to return his banter are rather, well, pathetic, but he seems to appreciate the fact that you're at least trying.
"No, I totally can't... But I'll set that table really good... So good that the table just can't resist holding the best buffet of the fucking century..."
You chuckle lowly when his hands run over your belly now, up to your chest, before he runs one hand to your back and starts to open the zipper of your shirt (there's no way you could wear normal t-shirts with those horns of yours, after all).
"Let’s get this feast started then..." He whispers into your ear, biting it playfully before he pulls your shirt over your head, carefully avoiding your horns. You coo lowly and run your own hands over his hips, fingers dipping under his shirt to stroke surprisingly tender skin. He grins at you and tugs at one of your ear piercings with his teeth.
"Quite impatient today, aren't we?" he asks as he grabs your right horn and pulls it down gently, making you lean your head to one side as he starts to kiss your throat on the other side.
You chirp again when one of his arms wraps around your waist and pulls you closer. His body is a bit cooler than yours, you guess, but that's really no problem for you. Gamzee's body is nearly icy, and you feel as if you were freezing on the spot whenever Feferi only as much as touches your arm. But well... That's one of the downsides of being a lowblood. With the upsides of having cool powers and stuff. But you guess there's a pretty lot of downsides besides your high body temperature... But well, it's not as if Eridan or Gamzee were seen as anything better than you or Aradia here. You guess that's the good thing about places like this. After all, the troll Feferi values the most of all in this place is Karkat (even though Eridan and Sollux kind of hate him for that). And that's because he's the best in doing, well… what you all are doing. You have no real idea why (Karkat's not exactly an, uh, people troll), but it's really a lot better than being judged only be your bloodcolor.
You start purring when he nibbles your neck, the fingers of his one hand still playing with that one earring, the other hand still on your horn, but not pulling anymore.
Again you run your hands over his sides, but this time you don't touch his skin right away, but grab the hem of his shirt and slowly shove it up. He lets go of your neck with a grin and helps you pull the shirt over his head. His upper body is pretty slender, not all that unlike your own, yet a bit less toned, you guess. You built up quite a bit of muscle when you were still bound to your four-wheel-device, and you actually kind of liked that, so you kept working out a bit, even though it doesn't change that much of the fact that you're still rather delicately built. Dave is taller than you, and despite his slender frame, he's still got a pretty good physical presence, you think. If you can call it that. You guess you can, though. He's definitely really handsome too... With that white skin and that incredibly confident posture... You'd like to look that confident. Or to be that confident.
He grins when he notices how you're staring at him. "Getting a good eyeful of the cowboy who's gonna spur you tonight, huh?" he asks as he slowly takes off his shades. His eyes are as red as Karkat's - something that's about as strange for humans as for trolls, as far as you know - and they make him look kind of... dangerous.
You like that kind of look.
You grin back at him. "I guess I, am... It's, uh..." You blush slightly. "It's a very, good-looking cowboy too..." You try to wink at him, even though you know that it looks really stupid when you try to do that. He just chuckles and puts his arms around your waist, pushing your body against his again. The smooth, tender skin of his upper body feels nice against your chest. Human skin is something so vulnerable, so delicate... You love how you can even see Dave's veins through it.
"Let's move this party to your bed before the rodeo starts..." he whispers into your ear.
===> Tavros: Beds are a good thing. Be somebody who already is on a bed.