Shadow Aspect
Book 1
By Breukelen Girl
Smashwords Edition
© Copyright 2013
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A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn/facebook.
On her blog: A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn http://altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/breukelen_girl
Prologue
I don’t like hurt.
Especially the emotional kind of hurt. It does something to the body. Leaves marks on your soul. It weighs on you and damages part of who you are, in tiny fragments that sometimes heal, but forever leave an invisible scar. It doesn’t feel good and it takes too long to make sense of and get over.
The thing is, some people, are brilliant at emotional hurt. They can manipulate and deceive and impact that thing in you that will cripple you badly. They’re the ones who like hurt, hurting others.
Humans can never wrap their head around the logic of that motive. But the reality is, it’s like a sensation, a high, a good feeling, a normal impulse for them to hurt others. A natural response. An instinct. It’s in their nature and they can’t fight it.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool. I’ve never really led a charmed life. It’s been rough all over and if all you know is rough, then all you know to do is roll with it, survive it. Which is what I’d been doing for years. I’ve been doing the best I can. Anyway I can. Anyway that suited me and helped me and got me what I wanted out of this life.
Hurting someone like me, with my 'talent', gift, ability whatever you want to call it, it’s more than hurtful. It’s more than a passing thing if it’s done right. It’s damaging. Blindingly damaging. It’s like taking all your feelings, and perceptions and everything you have at your disposal and putting them off line. It changes your insides and remakes you.
It’s why I’ve always been a loner. I learned long ago, that I couldn’t do my thing, I couldn’t read people; get their truth, if they ruined parts of mine. It’s why I’ve never had a relationship. Never allowed myself to feel all those things, that so many people take for granted in being human. Love, passion, desire, want and need, trust and companionship.
Those things are the downfall of someone like me. They counter more than they feed. I don’t want to lose a part of myself to that, because it happened once before when I was young and it wasn’t good, it was bad, very bad, and not just for me. The truth can hurt, and it can set you free, but at what expense?
People don’t know where that saying came from and it’s probably a very good thing, because if you saw what I could set free, from within me, you’d be beyond scared. You’d be cowering before me.
I know what lies inside me and it isn’t good. Nobody can see it, because nobody knows to look for it. To think of it. Because the truth is, what you make of it and nobody makes much of me, because that’s the way I like it.
Guess that’s a form of deception, an odd thing for a truthful person to do. Maybe I’m not as pure as my abilities might make me seem. After all, I use them by giving them to the person who’s willing to pay the right price.
Does that make me an honest soul?
1
I knew I was being followed. But I tried not to let it show. It was dark and yet, I walked down the street and didn’t feel the least bit threatened. Because I was aware of my predator and because I’d just walked on to the working girls alley. Ready for Friday night business as usual.
I picked out a place against a poster paste-up wall of what looked like the street artist, Rone’s work. I like his style; he does this paste up pop art style women’s faces in different colours. With different expressions. I really like street art; it is my kind of art. I should really start collecting street art.
I wrap my black leather jacket around myself and stand against the plastered wall on one leg. My other leg up against the wall. Friday nights in Melbourne town are busy. The start of the weekend holds so much promise for anything to happen. Everyone is happy.
I glance down at myself. My brown hair is tied back in a simple ponytail and I’m wearing a rock music t-shirt, a leather jacket and denim mini skirt with boots. I am after all trying to appeal to a certain demographic when it comes to my workload.
Friday nights are usually the best night for me to pick up clients. They pay better, and it means I don’t have to then work for the rest of the week. So I try to make sure I do well on Friday nights. Looking around I try to get a sense of who it is that is following me, but can’t see anyone who looks creepy and suspicious, well, more than normal.
A young male eyes me up and down and slowly walks over to me; his shoulders draw up high to his head, his hands in his jeans pockets. He looks all of twenty-one. Like a university student. Not quite my usual demographic.
“Hi, um I want to,” He pauses softly. I smile, this is always entertaining. Watching them figure out how to say out loud they want to pay for sex with me.
Pushing off the wall I walk over to him, we both have our hands still in our pockets. I step closer to him, so he can get a good eyeful of my body and really feel awkward around the opposite sex. I’m sadistic like that. “Um, how much for what?” He blurts out quickly.
“Depends what you want. If it’s just a hand job it’s twenty-five. If it’s a blow job, the price goes up to fifty, full service requires a room in the motel around the corner, that does not come out of my fee. It’s one hundred.”
“Yeah, I want that, full service.”
“Show me the cash.” He pulls out his wallet and opens it, flicking notes for me to see. I have to make sure he has the money. I don’t want to waste my time leaving my piece of real estate if he isn’t going to help my bank balance. Because my space on working girl alley will be taken over by any one of the other girls until I get back, if they think they can get any of my cliental. Which is fair enough. After all, a girl’s got to eat. We are a competitive bunch of bitches.
“Okay, let’s go.” I state firmly as we start walking off together, down the street. We walk into the late night motel. It is clean and simple and very used to renting out rooms by the hour without questions or identification required. I wave at the desk clerk who is quite used to seeing me. He smiles back at me politely. Just a regular Friday night.
The boy and I take a key and go to room eight. It’s, simple and without any fancy trimmings. A large double size bed in the centre, a bedside table on the right hand side, and a small, non-digital TV and video recorder in the far right hand side corner. There’s a small bathroom attached to it with a basin, toilet and a questionable shower. One towel is provided. Generous.
My new client is unsure what exactly to do or how to start things off. Clearly a first time with a working girl for him. “Cash up front, let’s get that out of the way shall we?” I suggest pulling my hands out of my leather jacket.
“Oh right.” He sounds genuinely surprised. “It’s one hundred.” He pulls his wallet out and counts out one hundred dollars out. I fold the notes up and slip them into my left boot.
“Well, do you want me to call you something?” I ask curiously. This guy is not like most of the males I deal with. They are either rather alpha like personalities or drunk out of their minds and groping and drooling over me before the door had closed.
“Um, yeah.” He says and then has the decency to look shy all of a sudden. I wonder what embarrassing name it is he wants me to say. “Good boy.” He replies. I walk over to him and smile warmly again. Putting a hand to the side of his jaw and cupping it. Clearly there are mommy issues with this one.
Oh well, who the hell am I to judge? I have family issues too; I’d been booted out of home at fourteen. The foster system I’d been in and out of had not been kind to me. So when I aged out at eighteen and gotten immediately forgotten about, I hit the streets and had been on my own ever since.
I might let men pay me money to use my body for their own pleasure, but I never really help them along. I drop my hand away. Payment means they had to have the guts to do something about getting what they paid for. I am not here for psychology sessions, or to boost their confidence by holding their hands. I will perform when required. It’s about business for me.
Good boy walks over to me and puts his hands on my hips and slides them up over my breasts. I have full breasts, that usually get a good looking at by most males. I’m not top heavy, which seems to be a rather unique feature in women these days. I have quite an even physique for my height of five foot seven.
He looks at my t-shirt covered breasts and squeezes them in his hands. He strikes me as new to sex and just wanting to get some more and can’t get it any other way, yet. Good boy pulls at my t-shirt hem and I helped him pull it off me. Showcasing my breasts in a rather stunning bra. The bra is red and white striped with a black edges strip to it.
Good boys eyes widen when he sees them and he dives at my left breast and then my right, groping and kissing each one before settling on pulling the edge of my bra down and sucking on my left nipple. “Good boy.” I mutter and slid my hands up his back.
I’m surprised to find that I rather liked him. His tongue flicks out and plays with my nipple as his other hand squeezes my right breast. “Good boy.” I repeat and he pulls the bra down to cop a better feel. He kisses between the mounds of flesh.
Without looking up at me said, “Take it off. I want to see them.” My fingers reach around to the back of my bra and unhook it. Good boy relents space and straightens up enough for me to undo the bra and slide it down both my arms, throwing it in the direction of my jacket and t-shirt. Good boy’s face has lit up with delight. Another happy customer, how nice.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed. I stand in front of him. My breasts come level to his eyesight. He cups them and begins kissing, sucking and playing with my nipples. I’ve never had a boyfriend or a relationship beyond financial exchanges like this one. Most men, don’t see me to get me off, they depend on my services, to get them off and to fulfil their needs.
“That’s a good boy.” I repeat a few times, as he finds his confidence and comfort in sucking on my breasts. Good boy surprisingly, isn’t unpleasant and for once, I find the way he plays with my nipples, almost enough to pay attention to. He undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock.
“Good boy.” I murmur as he switches to sucking my other breast and I pat down his hair and he starts stroking the length of his cock. It’s your average cock I guess by looking at it. He is hard and is nowhere near coming yet. So it seems our encounter might go for the full duration of the hour he’s hired the room out for. The young are always so enthusiastic, not that I am old, but I am older than him.
Most of my clientele aren’t in control of their lust long enough, to take advantage of an hour with me. I’m not ashamed to say I didn’t mind taking advantage of that. I’m just here to make my money the easiest way I know how and to get in and out, so to speak. Besides, this isn’t the only way I make a living. But it is the more regular out of my skill set.
Good boy is enjoying my breasts, so it surprises me when he stops sucking on them and looks up at me. “I want to jerk off between your breasts.” I lower myself to my knees, between his legs. He moves forward and positions his cock between the cleavage of my breasts.
Opening my mouth I let a long line of drool run out, from my mouth down between my cleavage as lubrication before I squash my breasts together for him. He moans loudly at what he is seeing. The he starts to move, thrusting between them. I watch him, watching his cock sliding between them. He never looks at my face while he does it.
“Such a good boy.” I say softly as the start of pre cum on his cock begins to glisten. “Fucking my tits.”
His eyes flick up to me then and he stills, his cock wedged between my breasts. “Suck it. Suck my cock.” It sounds more like a plea than a demand. Like he is holding on to what control he’s managed to get. Clearly I’ve amped up the time-release on his pleasure button. I let my breasts drop from around his cock and he looks at them fall away from him.
“Put on a condom. I only suck with one of those on.” I say back at him as he again touches my breasts. He clearly doesn’t like the idea. “What if I came over your tits instead?”
I’m okay with that. It’s obvious he isn’t sure what he wants to do, so he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a condom instead. He slides the condom on to his fully hardened cock. Clearly he thought I’d suck first and he’d shoot later.
Sliding to my knees before him, I run my hands down the length of his sheathed cock, holding the condom in place, I take him in my mouth and suck looking back up at him, all big eyed and beautiful.
He reaches for my nipples and pinches them and I suck him harder, increasing the pressure and making him hiss. Then I start to move, fast on him, it doesn’t take much to make good boy come. Most men would’ve pulled out before they reached their climax and then fucked me. But good boy isn’t all that skilled in restraint and knowing what he wants yet. Which is fine with me. Means we aren’t going to be using the room for the full hour he’d paid for.
He cries out unable to stop himself as he comes and jams me further down onto his cock as he grabs my hair. Pulling back I sit back on my heels once I feel him stop shaking. He looks dazed and sleepy. Standing up slowly I reach for my clothing, and start to dress again. “But I’ve got the room for a whole hour, we could do more.” He says to me as I turn around putting my breasts back in the bra.
“Our transaction was not for the duration of room hire, if you want more, it’ll cost more.” I said watching him look at his now flaccid cock. He glances over at me. “That was amazing, can I see you again?” That surprises me, my clientele aren’t regulars and none of them want more than a dirty, illicit quickie on the side.
I smile at him and slid on my t-shirt. “I only work Fridays, down where we met.” He nods his head and blinks laying back against the bed, tiring from the exertion.
“So maybe next Friday I could see you again?”
I pull on my jacket and move towards the door. “I’d like that.” I say opening the door and waking out. It isn’t exactly unappealing to have good boy as regular customer, especially if he isn’t going to be a terribly demanding one and still pay my rates of service. But then I can see his type a mile away, he’s likely to want me to pretend to be his girlfriend.
I leave the motel and re-enter Friday night in the back streets of Melbourne. Again, I find myself looking around, the feeling of being watched but not actually seeing anyone or anything out of place is odd. I’m not normally paranoid but vigilant of my surroundings. So finding nothing out of place is unnerving.
2
It is one of the reasons I don’t do street sex work all the time. Predators often see prostitutes as easy marks. That no one would miss. What they fail to realise more often then not, is that street workers a
re a community unto themselves who know those around them and their clientele and they try to have a good relationship with the cops, so when things happen, the bad guys can be found fast, so no one else sufferers.
I walk back to working girl alley and see a red head in overdone make up and high heels glare at me then walk away from my spot on the wall. Clearly I haven’t been gone long enough for her to use my spot for picking up clientele. My clientele. Good.
I’ve barely gotten my back to the wall when a young corporate guy in a suit nods his head at me and I move forward. I forget about my paranoid feeling instantly. This is my regular Friday night clientele type.
“Hi” He is here for a good time, not a long time, I can almost guarantee it. It is the end of the working week and he needs to do more than blow off steam.
“What will seventy five dollars get me?”
“Hand job or blow job.” I state back at him all business. He glances me over and I push back my jacket slightly so he can see the outline of my breasts against my t-shirt. He licks his lips.
“And if I want to see those titties too?” What with it with men and breasts?
“Anything more is one hundred and there is a motel around the corner you will need to hire a room for. That does not come out of the price.” He licks his lips and seems to think about it, looking at his watch. Clearly he has somewhere he needs to be. A rush job.
“Hundred huh?” I stroke his hand lightly before backing away.
“Trust me, I won’t tell you’re girlfriend how much I’m worth the fuck, before you go and have drinks with your mates for the rest of the night.” He looks at me highly surprised then. Guess I hit close to home.
“How’d you know that?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Good guess what most guys are up to on a Friday night in this town.” I say moving back to my wall space. If he wants conversation he can damn well pay for it. I am on the clock.
“Okay I’ll take the upgrade.” He smirks at me. Good because I don’t like squatting over broken glass and urine scented cobblestones to suck cock. I push off the wall and we walk to the motel. Where we enter a different room this time. It looks exactly like the other room I’ve already been in.
Shadow Aspect Page 1