The Sinful Vixen Whorehouse

[Luna_Wolf72]

I had left the Outlook and gone traveling, looking for places I hadn't visited in far too long. I end up here, at the Whorehouse. My last visit? Months ago, back when I had come and stumbled upon LI.

A soft smile curves my lips. I miss that sometimes, getting lost in boy/girl games. Not often. Very rare, but sometimes. What better place than the whorehouse to reminisce about that particular pleasure.

With a thought, my shorts and beater from the beach disappear. Instead, I am encased in black linen and red leather. Linen pants, button down shirt. Leather belt, 4 inch heels, pretty red bracers. I run small fingers through my curls and enter....

No one is here, not counting the working girls, and the few men who seem to live here. That means I am free to sit, to dream, to drink, to think. One finger goes up, beckons a pretty girl closer.

"Slow Screw please~heavy on vodka, heavy on the sloe gin, light on the OJ. For the vodka? Stoli. Thanks"

 

[choklatekoneko]

Lia stood at the mirror, glancing at her body, her bottom lip between her teeth. What the fuck was she doing here again?

She needed this. It was the reason she couldn't keep a boyfriend, why she didn't have one in the first place. She liked no emotions, and something quick light and fun. It excited her. Emotions came into play? She dropped them quick.

Which was why she was working here. No emotions. Fuck em, give them what they want and your job is done. She was was a rare one around here-a kinky dark chick who got an attitude? Yep. Very rare.

She slipped on her outfit for the night. A simple see thru Chemise, black bra and thong, and black heels. She kept her hair straight, applying as little makeup as possible and stepped out, taking her usual spot at the bar, her legs crossed, looking like someone easy and perfectly innocent. It drew them in, and once they found out she was a feisty one-that kept them there.

 

[Light Ice]

It'd been a slow night; a long night. It'd been the kind of night you spent chasing the clock through the hours and hoping with each glance the hour hand ticked a spot further than it had. Impatience was atypical of him. It was their fault. They moved around him, circling, with their sheer attire and lewd promises. He saw painted faces, painted nails, painted toes and the great extent of pretty that the whorehouse had promised him.

But he didn't see beauty. He didn't see exotic.

Outside, rumbling, thunder rolled through the city's dark gray corridors. The buildings were a grim mix of art-deco gothic and state of the art skyscrapers. It was as though a sickness had spread from the slums and crept through everything else. The whorehouse, filthy as it was in concept, was one of the only nice joints left in town for a man to go when he had a need to fill. It was strange how whoring always got the pinch when things went bad. The police had never been more twisted and the drugs had never been easier to find and still, first on the list of priorities it seemed, was pinching down on the most harmless vice of them all.

He was about to give it up when he caught sight of her, slicing through the crowd on scissor steps and dark heels. Long, lean, gorgeous. The lines of her body a soft chocolate promise amidst a forest of lighter trees. Beauty wasn't defined by color. But color could be beautiful. Exotic. Foreign. She wore black and it settled on her curves like an emphasis. Exclamation point. He read it all as his eyes cut across her and pushed his way through the shifting crowd.

The closer he came the more he wanted. She was the one. It'd taken him hours but she'd finally shown, out of nowhere, strange and different in a place where too often the scenery blended together. There was a subtle elegance in her pose upon the stool, long legs crossed. Toned. Refined.

The pale of his eyes found hers and he spoke, extending a hand, dark suit jacket parting to reveal the white oxford shirt beneath. His Movado made mention of time even as it seemed to, however briefly, stop. "Jack. What's your name?"

 

[choklatekoneko]

It seemed like hours had passed, she was sure of it, but when she glanced at the clock above the bar, barely lit, it had only read 15 minutes. She sucked her teeth. She saw the other girls quickly getting their quota, going into the rooms, coming back out 5 minutes later, hair a little ruffled, their bras out of place-the guys had satisfied grins on their faces, all because of a 5 minute fuck. Lia could instantly tell whether someone was gonna be good-it determined whether they got her, fuck-me-til I beg attitude, or her get-the-fuck-away-from-me one. They were two distinct personalities of hers, one she could flip on a dime...the other not so much. It was a fuckin' task to still have a bad attitude and get fucked anyway, because she knew it would be easy, but it was even harder to give the other attitude-mainly because most couldn't do it, and it left her unsatisfied, resorting to toys and things of that nature.

She sighed, asked the bartender to get her something non-alcoholic-it kept her aware of her surroundings, should somebody does get lucky tonight, she knew exactly what was done, why it was done, and how it was done. No shit she didn't want.

Of course, there wasn't much she didn't want. Hair-pulling? Got It. Spanking? Great. Rough Shit? She had been there and done it.

She sipped the drink, making sure it was too her standards and nodded at him, a silent thank you, and surveyed her surroundings. She noticed him, but didn't really notice him. It wasn't til he close enough to touch did she actually look at him, his face, his eyes. Pitch black ones stared into his, trying to get a motive.

She didn't find one at the moment.

He extended his hand, and she took it, noticing how firm his hands were, how rough.

"Jack. What's your name?"

She licked her lips, the tongue ring coming into full view. It was red tonight, in contrast to her outfit. She smacked her full lips before stating her name.

"Lia."

 

[Light Ice]

"Come upstairs with me." He said.

There wasn't time for the pointless conversation. Idle small talk. He'd bought women before and didn't feel the need to pretend he had charm, interest, or concern. Their business was business, pure and simple. Around them bodies shifted, moving, low conversations heard amidst the sound of glasses being clinked and money being passed. Supply and demand. John Locke's theory in practice.

Her lips smacked. The ring flicked out. It was a game she'd had to play a hundred times before and he tolerated with a patience born of familiarity.

Eyes that were more gray than blue held to her own, unwavering. His hair dark, short, and his manner maintained flawlessly save the stubble dark along his jawline. She was elegant. Long, soft, feminine.

He was urbane.

Or so it appeared.

 

[choklatekoneko]

"Come upstairs with me."

It was quite simple, really. Although, she didn't expect the bluntness, and certainly not after knowing just her name. Most guys? They wanted her age, how long she'd been working here, her kinks, her dislikes, what turned her on, her sexual preference. She hadn't been working here long, but she knew the regulars from the newbies. Newbies, asked questions, knowing before they actually do anything, even though they wouldn't remember it the next day.

Regulars, didn't. They knew what girl they wanted that night. Knew most of them, had had most of them, and knew their kinks, and dislikes, and what drove them wild. He didn't ask questions. He definitely wasn't a newbie. In the way he asked, talked. But she had never seen him before.

She gave him a look over, once, then twice. Her tongue ring clicked against her teeth. She had a feeling, though she didn't know of what.

"Sure."

She stood, straightening out her chemise, shifting her weight to one hip.

 

[Light Ice]

The bar was abandoned with a press of his strong hand, reclaiming his full height. She was tall. Tapered. A svelte figure against him, dwarfed by the broad stretch of his shoulders and his own considerable height. It didn't matter. It was the way she walked that had attracted him; that subtle purpose in her strides. The gentle sway of her hips. These were the things he'd been looking for.

These were the things that a woman couldn't fake.

But he lead her upstairs without waiting, taking the steps quickly on his way to one of the vacant rooms. In the Sinful Vixen there were now sounds polluting the hallway. No echoes. No muffled cries. Thick, solid wooden doors flanked them in all directions. He was slow to choose, careful in his consideration, before finally disappearing into the quaint confines of one to his right.

 

[choklatekoneko]

He was taller than her, although by her own standards she was short-standing at 5'5", she was seen as average by most of America. He was broad, and she slowly took him all in-his muscles, facial structure, shoulders, torso, legs, shoes. She analyzed everything in a mere two seconds. He seemed presentable, gentlemen-like, if there was one going to a whorehouse. It surprised her, but she followed him none the less, up the stairs and down the hallway. The girls were surprised, they gave her looks-why, she didn't know, and she couldn't interpret what the looks were...just looks. She ignored their staring eyes as they walked, leading to a door on the right, and she followed quickly, closed the door gently behind her, taking a brief moment, before turning back to him, leaning against it.

"So, what can I do for you today?"

 

[Light Ice]

For a moment silence reigned. He left her at his back, dark and beautiful against the door. Busy. His hands worked to tug his jacket free and lay it neatly across the back of a chair. The room was not overly large. The bed dominated it, dark coverlet concealing white sheets, broad headboard. A throw rug of plush pile lay at the foot atop the otherwise bare hardwood floors. These were details he appeared to take no measure of, consumed instead with crisply rolling his sleeves into a pair of neat cuffs just below his elbows.

"Take off the shift." As he fished out his wallet.

Crisp, flawless bills began to fill his fingers as he fished them out. They were laid upon the dresser, one after another.

 

[choklatekoneko]

He said nothing, it seemed like forever even though it was only seconds. She watched as he took off the jackets, rolled his sleeves up. The room he had chosen was nice, very nice, and was one particular one she hadn't been in before. She waited for him to speak.

"Take off the shift."

He was saying straight commands, though again she was taken back by the bluntness. She shrugged though, complying, instantly sliding down her shapely body, slowly. She watched him take out the money, brand new it seemed, and she bit her lip softly, realizing he was getting straight to the point. She folded the shift neatly, walking over to the single dresser and placing it on its surface, the air chilling slightly, leaving chill bumps on her skin where the thong and bra didn't reside.

 

[Light Ice]

She moved. Slipped across the room. He heard the rustle of fabric and the click of heels, tracked it across the room, before looking over the broad stretch of his shoulder to track the soft sway of her rounded hips. It took him time to finish laying the bills across the desk, spreading them out before tucking his wallet away.

In an instant his hand lashed out, caught ebon silk between his strong fingers, balled it in a fist. She was light. Sleek. The feminine strength in her supple frame a paltry pittance under the flex of his rugged arm and the twist of his sinuous core as he spun her to face the bed and pressed her flawless cheek into the coverlet.

His belt rasped through the loops as he jerked it free, bracing it in a hand as his other gathered her arms behind her, hands together, at the small of her back. The leather of his belt an unyielding means to bind them, merciless, as he loomed large behind her.

 

[choklatekoneko]

She didn't even see the movement of his hand, quick and swift before it caught into her jet black hair- sending a small yelp from her, surprised, shocked, and a bit of fear ran through her. He twisted into a fist, sending a fire through her scale that she hadn't felt in forever. It had been a long time sense she had gotten rough treatment, though it wasn't anything like this starting out.

She didn't realize she was moving until she felt her face hit the bed. The more she fought, the more he grip on her. No matter how she twisted and turned, she couldn't even begin to match his strength. She heard fabric moving, and her arms twisted, sending another yelp of pain through her, feeling them being binded. She felt herself cuss at him, the fuck-you attitude coming out. It hadn't been like this, not like before.

What had she gotten herself into.

 

[Light Ice]

The curse broke her pretty lips, those elegant features. It shattered the glass of her facade into a thousand glittering pieces. He'd waited for it, listened, kept coiled and ready until that moment before his hand arced down and they crossed that line for the first time.

-CRACK!-

Her flesh was soft under the impact of his hand. Rough palm driving her up onto heeled toes, throwing her entire body forward into the bed's surface. It took her light weight without protest, even as she leaned against it, even as his hand lifted.

She was lean. Light. The strength of his hand unrelenting as he took hold of her bindings, lifted up, forced her arms to arc upwards until pain arced sharp through her slender shoulderblades. It was a cruel thing, a means to move her, force her body to bow until her forehead rested on the bed's cover.

Heat radiated off her, bubbled up through the silk of her skin. The offending hand glided across the dark flesh of her backside, eyes raking over her, soaking up the bold contrast in his pale hand and the yielding round beneath it. Strong fingers tracked the fabric of her panties, slipped over them, ran down between the spread of her coltish thighs until the pouted petals of her sex were shaped beneath the satin.

 

[choklatekoneko]

She felt a smack-a sudden sting and burn upon where he'd hit. He had hit hard as hell, and it had shocked her, making her go more forward onto the bed. It was surprising, considering how things had been a few moments ago-calm,peaceful, chill. Who knew under that suit that a whole different persona was underneath? She certainly hadn't, and was paying the price for it, most definitely.

He pulled her arms up- and up, and even more so until she tried to go with the movement, the pain becoming too much, as tears streaked her face. She let out an angry huff of breath out, trying to calm down, breathing as calmly as she could, although she was sure it wasn't calm at all. He touched her; making her trembling a bit, her thong being pulled, letting a small hiss escape her throat. She didn't move-not yet anyway.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Been a while. I wish the minx were around. I never did get a proper date. Neither with her nor Ausus. Black pumps click in the entrance way, short muscular form parts the few bodies in my way.

I need a drink. Something to take the edge off. Something.

"Sloe Comfortable Screw. Light OJ, heavy sloe gin, heavy Stoli...."

I glance from left to right. No one here that I know. No matter. I will sit and watch the feast of flesh as it passes by. For now.

The drink comes, goes. I get up. Stretching. Time to return home....

 

[princesssexci]

After having been gone for quite awhile, Princess decides it is time to make her comeback as Gamma Slut in the SVW. Walking inside, she quietly sneaks into a dressing room and slips on a sexy black mesh and faux leather dress. Stepping out of the dressing room, she wanders over to the bar and wonders if a bartender has been hired. Seeing no one, she walks behind the bar.

Pulling out the ingredients to make a sangria, she begans pouring and mixing as she hums Til the World Ends by Britney Spears. "I cant take no, take no, take no more..baby whatchu whatchu waitin for?"

 

[Light Ice]

For a moment he remained as he stood, outside, awakening within the dream that he could not seem to escape. It was the war that had pushed him here over and over again, endless. The world's sterile imperfections ran across the screen of his own mind, dribbling on, until he perceived the alleyway and the looming building beside it. It was raining and that served him fine, pelting at his skin and closely shorn hair. It ran in heavy droplets across the reflective lenses of his glasses and beat on the long, flowing weave of his wool coat.

Inside, people flitted past. Oblivious. Trapped. The girls set their hips to sway, mechanical in their allure. Slaves. He ignored them.

She'd be here and soon, seldom, if ever late. Their moments too few and too far between to allow for wasted moments, wasted minutes. Time was the world's most valuable currency. You couldn't outrun it. You couldn't hide from it. The war claimed nearly all their time, made absconding like this almost impossible - dangerous. They both had crews to support, he knew that.

But they had missed one another.

His pistol stirred beneath the inner pocket of his suit coat, heavy and cold in its holster.

 

[VampiricTouch]

She hated this process.

She'd done it more times than she could count. It was a necessity, but she still hated it.

She watched the passing of binary, accumulating until they became, hex, then vectors, then substance. It was a coarse reminder that it wasn't real. In a virtual world where the delivery of reality hinged upon everything, this was it's failure.

But it was forgivable. A momentary inconvenience and soon even her own body would forget it's passing.

Sensations loaded.

Her hair was soaked within seconds. The short crop of hair wilted under the barrage of water pelting at her. The slicked feel of clothes clinging to skin, the rush of sound... It was real. Undoubtedly real.

"Am I late? Or are you just early?"

 

[Light Ice]

"You're never late." He appreciated her quietly, distinctly, before taking her above the elbow with his large hand.

Beneath his fingers he felt yielding clothes and her feminine arm, a hint of the body that lay beyond. His strides were steady, pushing into the Sinful Vixen, past the scantily clad women attempting to lure clients and beyond the broad-shouldered security guards and into a wide hallway flanked by rooms. The doors were painted garish colors, meant to look contemporary and attractive. Failing.

Their room was six and he pushed her into it ahead of him, ignoring the little shuffle of her dainty feet and the momentarily frustrated flicker in her elegant features to turn and close the door after him. All at once they were surrounded by nothing, wrapped in themselves. The environs fading as his attention fixed onto her.

She had been the only woman of Asian descent that he had ever found attractive and she would be the last. In the war there were two certainties. The first was that their moments together would be precious and few, at times relegated to the synthetic, and that for the love between them to survive at all it would have to do so in fits and starts.

The second was that they would die. Eventually, by one course or another, the lives of the soldiers onboard the ships were taken.

Watching her, his eyes drank her in. Their last time together had been in a small hovel apartment while the ships had been docked. A tangle of limbs, sweat and skin. Her hair short, just beyond her chin, unlike the long mane of glossy ebon she wore now. In this place her body was a flawless collection of lean curves and girlish form. There, in that hovel, it'd been interrupted by conduits and metal plugs.

She'd never be more beautiful than she'd been that night.

But this would do.

He'd missed her.

 

[VampiricTouch]

He was always a man of few words. Actions always spoke louder than words, and he took those to heart. And despite the silence, those words were there now. Spoken in the urgency he led her through the brothel, to enter their room, to close the door, to drown out... forget all else except for the moment they'd stolen now.

She wanted to know how much time they had. How much time she'd be able to keep him with her... She wanted to ask, but she didn't. If only for this moment, she'd not break the dream they both knew wasn't real. If only to prolong this fleeting time they had to share....

Her hand lifted to touch his cheek. The stubble there was rough against her smooth palm, a texture she'd missed. The hand trailed to his coat, pulling as she stepped back and he forward. Whether she was leading, or he pressing was uncertain. They both wanted, needed this.

Single-mindedly they moved as her hands peeled his coat away.

"I missed you."

 

[Light Ice]

It was not real.

They were living a shared dream, bound to one another by a tenuous promise and all the shared destinies that came with it. This time was stolen amidst a world of sleeping masses, teeming hordes of flesh to which purpose was defined in and processed in a hypnotic vision of the surreal. Not them. This dream was art's best imitation of life. The coat she pushed from him collapsed heavily upon the floor, thudding on the hardwood and going still.

He still had his suit. A three piece; stripped down to two as he pushed his jacket back and off to join the coat that'd prefaced it. The vest was neat, charcoal black. The shirt beneath white. And he wore suspenders, a timeless and classic look that accented the masculine narrow of his hips and the lean, muscled stretch of his body towards the breadth of his shoulders.

The cheek she had touched was still warm and the scent of her skin, her perfume, hung in his nostrils like some kind of otherworldly sweetness. Intoxicating. They moved together, drunk on the necessity of being near and lost in the illusion the dream world fostered them in.

For missions it was functional attire. This was no mission. Her dress unfurled in a flowing sea of ebon silk, wrapped tight around her narrow waist that evoked a gut-wrenching desire to close his hands there above the gentle flair of her girlish hips. Long legs hid beneath, teased only by the high slit along the gown's side, affording glimpses. A plunging neckline highlighted her soft collarbones, long neck, a million details to which a portrait of beauty was made. The room's light was dim but he knew her look.

"You're stunning." An admission. She'd surprised him, dressing up so. It was enough for him to forget himself and wish for the dream, wish that they had met and fallen and never woken so that she could wear such things always, be so elegant always, and the coarse fabrics and greasy confines of the ship were some nightmare to which they could always wake up.

His hand fulfilled a wish and crept up to lay above the arch of her rounded hip, hold her, keep her from retreating more than an arm's reach from him.

 

[VampiricTouch]

She flushed at his compliment, her cheeks tinting with the slightest of pinks as she looked away. She had worked hard to create this, to bring to fruition a vision that she could only imagine.

She could only do so here. It was here that she had this sort of luxury. The luxury of silks, long hair, soft skin.... The luxury to be beautiful. Here in the world of sensory deception, she could delude herself. She could escape the realities of their wars, to dream.

His hand stilled her steps. His fingertips brushed the very edge of the backless cut of her dress, and the warmth of his hand radiated through the silk. It only took a step to close the distance between them, letting his hand slide forward, till the palm of his hand rested against the small of her back.

She was a perfect fit - there with her body against his, her head rested just on his shoulder. He was the missing puzzle piece of herself.

She took a deep breath as her lips pressed just above his collar bone. His scent just like she remembered. It was masculine thing. Uniquely him. Accompanied by the smoky touch of a recent cigar and tempered by the faintest hint of cologne. The technical side of herself wondered if he had put as much work into it as she had in the texture of fabric she wore now. A question irrelevant to their time now.

She raised a lone finger and let it trace over the tip of his nose down to his lips. Catching over his lips before hooking the cleft of his chin.

Her lips met his. It was a delicate meeting. Slow as she reminded herself of the sweetness therein. She kissed as if she had all of time to do so, enjoyed the moment as if she didn’t have to go back to the reality that awaited them. There would be time.

(Please forgive the delay. It's been a bad week.)

 

[Light Ice]

The only reality that he had ever known had been war. Before that, as with her, it'd all been a dream. Coffee. An Office. A thousand nights comprised of nightmares and ending in mornings that had begun and ended with unanswered questions. For each of them, for everyone that they knew, those dreams represented their creation and ended with a birthing born of nightmares. He had woken on a metal table, surrounded by strangers, and slowly had the world that he had known ripped from him. It had been cold, lonely, and frightening. It'd stayed that way as he took his place in the war. For him, amidst all things, had come the resignation of knowing that the war would be all that he ever knew.

And then they had met. By fate, coincidence, or irony's cruel humor they had found themselves together. The very first moment, the very first look, he had known. She had breathed hope into his life.

Love resided in details.

It had taken root between the memories of a false past and the endless generalities of war. Flourished in the dark residences where fear and frustration had once taken hold by fixing itself to the minutia. All at once, in the flicker of an instant, his memories were touched by the way she had smelled. Her hair. The feel of her beneath his skin. In a moment she became all of the places he had seen, all of the things he had experienced, by fixing herself to the tiny instances that reminded him of her. Beyond it all, affixed to everything, lay the quiet current of her strength and the feminine vulnerability that lingered beneath it.

And the very rare gift of her laughter.

She had kissed him. Soft. Slow. It was as though she had melted all that she was and poured it slowly across his senses. He was overwhelmed by the heat of her drawing close and the very real sensation of her lean shape settling against the rugged stretch of his body. Beneath his palm the hollow of her back presented one last timid caress before his hand slipped to shape the round of her ass against his strong fingers and then the coltish strength of her shapely thigh beneath. Girlish and small, she was entirely delicate and entirely strong all at once - in the way that women could only be.

And as they descended into a slow tangle of tongues and lips his face mourned the absence of her tiny fingers.

Words failed him. They often did. All of them swept from his mind as they sank together and she allowed him to gather her up in a way they too infrequently could. She allowed him to be her man here; to love her. And in the vulnerable exchange they silently gave to one another the promise they had always made. It came even as he hardened against her, aching ferociously as his prick strained the fabric of his suit pants and pulsed hotly against the soft valley of her belly.

It came even as his hand lifted to frame her delicate cheek in his big palm and brace her for the deepening of their kiss.

 

[choklatekoneko]

Blows the dusts off the place.

 

[choklatekoneko]

Looks at Vail through a cracked door.