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If there was one incontrovertible law of Evelien's universe, it was this: he didn't have money.
Sure, he got by just fine. Hopping from place to place, trading a hot mouth or a wet hole for a place to stay the night, doing odd jobs for food and pocket money. It had been easier when he was young and could find somewhere to sleep for free, and easier still when he was little and his dad was alive, but he'd adapted. It was what he did.
Maybe way back then, the leather purse in his hands wouldn't have looked so alien. But back then he'd had, you know, a permanent place to live. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? He was in the bad part of town in a city that was all bad parts, and carrying this much money felt like begging to get mugged.
"You gonna keep staring at it, or are you gonna take it?" asked the man whose bed he'd slept in the night before. And other stuff. Other stuff the guy apparently liked so much he'd decided it was worth an entire purse.
"I'll take it," Evelien said quickly. He may have no idea how he was supposed to handle this, but he wasn't about to turn it down! This was more money than he'd ever seen at once in his life. He stuffed it into his shirt and tugged on the collar until the bulge it made was mostly hidden under his arm, then headed out into the street.
It felt like magic. Evelien tapped their chin, their fingernail clicking against the mask that covered their face. What could they do with this? A permanent place to stay wasn't really in the cards—it was a lot of money to be carrying around, but not quite that much.
They wandered down a crooked side street and emerged into the black market. It was called that mostly as a joke, since the entire thing was open-air and sold merchandise in broad daylight. The name was also accurate—most of that merchandise was very illegal.
For hours, Evelien just walked. Gawking at everything, jittery with the excitement of knowing he could actually have some of this, if he wanted. Except that every time he started to reach for the purse, he hesitated. He wanted that butterfly pendant—but the moment he bought it, that would be it. His newfound freedom would disappear like a puff of smoke.
Evelien was just turning the corner from excited to anxious, and also from Riddlerot Road to Attercop Alley, when he spotted a stall brimming over with brightly colored potions. Not something he could afford, even right now—magic was expensive. He stopped to stare anyway, squinting to make out the slightly crabbed writing on their labels.
Fantastical strength! Impossible genius! Irresistible charm!
He did a double-take. Leaning in so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the bottle of irresistible charm, he re-read the price tag and his eyes nearly crossed.
It was exactly as much money as he had. Which was... a steal didn't even cover it. An insane bargain. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. His luck had turned out of nowhere, and handed him a borderline miracle.
Evelien got by. They adapted. It was what they did—but they'd always wanted more. Nothing fancy, really. Just somewhere to come back to, every day. Maybe even some one to come back to. And, okay, if they were being honest... a nice cozy house, a lover, maybe some kids... something steady.
Now here they were, inches away from what might be the key to all that. A chance to be seen as more than a quick fling, there and gone in a night, too temporary to connect with.
"I'll take that one," they said, placing the purse on the stall.
The wizened old man sitting behind it took the money with a grunt and dropped the potion unceremoniously into Evelien's palm. He was too excited to mind the man's permanent-looking scowl, or to wait another second to give his miracle a try.
Following his usual pattern of finding a place to stay the night, he made a beeline for the nearest bar. It was the seedy kind—this city didn't really do anything other than seedy—but he'd seen worse. So he popped the cork out of the potion and knocked it back in one long gulp, and pushed his way through the door before he could lose his nerve.
It was smoky and dark inside, still quiet in late afternoon with only a handful of rough-looking regulars scattered around the main room. He seated himself at a small table, fingers tapping nervously on the stained wood. Waiting for someone to approach him. Or maybe for a sudden burst of confidence and charm that would give him the courage to do the approaching. They all looked like rogues, theives or smugglers or maybe even assassins, and the thought of starting up a conversation with one of them was terrifying.
He hunched over the table with a sigh, wondering if it would at least be less awkward to sit here by himself if he ordered a meal first. But there was a strange fizzing feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure it would be wise to eat. The scents of the room filled his nose, sweat and leather and steel, and his body started to feel strangely light. As if he'd been hollowed out. He was empty.
That morning, he hadn't been empty. That morning, the man who'd tipped him had lain on top of him, grunting filth into his ear as he fucked him hard enough to jostle the bedframe. A flush raced through Evelien and settled hot and throbbing between his legs. He tried to stand up, but then the room spun around him and he fell against the table. There he lay with chest squashed against the wood, his arms tucked underneath him, his ass in the air.
Evelien moaned—right there in the middle of the bar. He reached back without thinking, sliding his thumbs into his waistband and tugging. His clothes fell in a heap around his ankles. In an instant, all conversation died.
A bark of laughter shattered the stunned silence. "Never in my life have I met a whore that eager," guffawed a tall man covered from head to toe in jagged scars. He walked around the table and clapped both hands on Evelien's ass. They yelped, then shivered when his fingers slipped between their legs.
His hand was huge—one finger was as thick as two of Evelien's, but they still ached with that horrible empty feeling. More, they wanted to say, but all that came out was a lewd groan. The more he touched them, the emptier they felt, and the harder it was to stay standing. They melted against the table, whimpering as he teased them open.
There was a rustling as he adjusted his clothes, and then they felt the first brush of him—just the tip sliding up and down their slit. As if he knew how badly they needed it and wanted to drag it out. They tried to push back, but they didn't have the strength. The table and his hands on their hips were all that kept them upright now. "Easiest fuck of my life," he chuckled, and thrust.
Evelien flopped against the table like a ragdoll, making tiny desperate noises as the man fucked him. As horribly empty as he had felt, this was just the opposite—with a cock pumping in and out of him, stretching him wide, he was nearly delirious with bliss.
The man growled and leaned over him, reaching around to strip off his top and grope at his chest. Those enormous hands pinched his nipples roughly, smearing one of them with his own slick. "Nasty slut like you, I bet you want it inside. Huh? Want me to leave that horny cunt dripping come?"
He couldn't say yes, could only gasp and whine, but he managed a weak nod.
"You're just a little toy, aren't you?" The man's thrusts came faster and faster. "A wet hole for me to—play with — and— unh!" With a final grunt, he buried himself as deep as he could go. Evelien felt his release as a rush of heat. When he pulled out, come and slick trickled down the insides of their thighs and they nearly fell to the floor. Would have, if another patron hadn't reached out and caught them.
Strong arms lifted them up and draped them over the table on their back. Their head tipped over the edge, their slack jaw falling open. A thick cock pushed between their lips. The rogue sank down their throat with a sigh, tugging idly at their ponytail as they coughed and spluttered.
On the other side, calloused hands gripped their thighs and spread them wide. They curled their knees against their chest, grunting into the person fucking their throat as someone else thrust into their pussy. Soon the air was thick with the wet sounds of their body being used. Hands groped at them from every direction, squeezing their breasts and thighs and seizing their wrists to wrap their fingers around swollen cocks.
Another gush of come flooded his cunt as one man finished, and someone else took his place the moment he pulled out. Slender fingers rubbed at his lips until they were covered in slick, then slipped down to press at his asshole. His body yielded at the slightest pressure, swallowing first two and then three, so limp and pliant that within seconds he was ready to be taken.
This man fucked him hard and fast, rolling his clit between his fingers as he pumped in and out of his ass. Evelien convulsed, clenching hard around his cock, just as the one in his mouth pulled back to spurt all over his face. His tongue lolled out, desperate groans spilling from him until he got what he wanted, someone else forcing their way down his throat.
By the time everyone who had been in the bar when he arrived had finished with him, it was getting towards evening and the crowd inside was growing. Evelien found himself splayed out in someone's lap, jerking up and down on his cock while someone else stood behind him to fuck his ass. The first man who'd used him stood nearby, watching with hooded eyes, calling out every so often. "Look, the slut's coming again," or, "Take a shot every time someone breeds our filthy little whore!"
Eventually, when everyone in the room had taken their turn fucking Evelien's pussy, or his throat, or his ass, or riding his face, the owner of the latest cock to use him dropped him unceremoniously on a table. Their come mixed with the slick that pooled between his legs and the drool that dripped down his chin. He felt wrung-out, exhausted, and very nearly satisfied. His holes were achingly empty.
"What do we do with him now?" someone asked, tweaking one of his nipples.
The bartender stood over him, smirking a little, his cock still poking out of his trousers. "Someone help me bring him upstairs. A sweet toy like this, he'll earn his keep."
And Evelien did. He spent over a month in his room—still too laid-out by the potion to stand, but eager to pant and writhe underneath his visitors. Anyone could pay the bartender for the use of him, but the ones he saw most were regulars. He struggled to obey any command they gave him the best he could, with his body still so weak, and shivered with pleasure when they told him what a good whore he was.
His favorite days were the ones when the barkeeper carried him back downstairs, and let everyone in the bar use him as much as they wanted. Evelien came away dripping with come, again and again, and by the time the potion wore off his stomach was already starting to swell.
Not all of its effects went away. He never lost that feeling of completeness, of total relaxation that came from being used. Never stopped hating the aching feeling of being left empty. But he was home, now—someplace where he could stay as long as he wanted, safe and warm and wanted. He had not one but many lovers, who played with his holes and brought him little gifts. As for children... his first pregnancy had barely ended before he was downstairs again, come running down his legs as dozens of customers took turns breeding him.
"You really do love it here, don't you?" asked the bartender one night, while he had Evelien bent over his bed.
"Yes," gasped Evelien, who had only just recently regained the power of speech. "Want it so bad, make me your good little whore!"
"Slut," the man chuckled, and pumped another load into his cunt.