Author: Bluorange PM
When a business card slaps Raen in the face, he finds himself thrust into the magical, wonderful world of... prostitution? But Raen shouldn't be surprised if life becomes confusing. A painting is, after all, the deadliest of weapons. -slash-Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,360 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 06-24-08 - Published: 06-23-08 - id: 2536218
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Deadly Painting (insert bloody letters and horrified shriek of terror)
By BLUE!! (OMG! That'sa me!)
Warning: Once again, this probably isn't a story for a homophobe or someone with overly strong ideals. There is strong language and discussions of elicit sex for money (aka, prostitution). Please don't flame me. I'm much too cute to handle it!
My mouth falls open. It drops to the floor and probably stares at her shoes while it waits for me to pull it back up. Finally it gets bored and starts to yell at me 'get me off the damn floor!' So I close my mouth.
"What the hell are you talking about? This had better be a joke!" I yell at her. Who did she think she was? People don't just offer to make people into prostitutes! Prostitution was something someone decides to do when they're hard on times and then they get picked up by pimps or madams when they do well.
She grins, "No, this isn't a joke. I want to be your madam, and you are going to have sex with people for money and you'll make a lot of money and never have to worry about anything ever again."
"But what... what girl would want me?" I ask, stupidly beginning to fall into her trap. I am an eternal virgin!
ETERNAL, GOD DAMMIT!
She snickers, "You're not going to need to worry about that. All you'll need to worry about is what man would want you. You're very pretty, you'd do quite well, I assure you."
My mouth is getting desperately close to falling on the floor again and I'm starting to get even more uncomfortable than I was before. Like, so uncomfortable that it's like being tied to an elephant's backside while running across all of Africa naked while people throw rotten fruit at you. "You can't be serious. What makes you think I'm gay, anyway? I... I'm not... gonna be your goddamn whore, ok?" I choose not to deny the fact that I'm gay since it very well could be true. I've never found a woman sexually attractive and once I saw gay porn on the internet and I have to admit that it was very enticing...
... Oh who am I kidding? It was fucking hot! But I immediately closed the window because the feeling of being turned on freaks me out and makes me debate on whether or not I should break my vow of virginity and go fuck someone because I get really horny sometimes and it scares the shit out of me.
She grins, she can obviously see my inner turmoil. "Are you sure? They would be hot men, and you'd get paid so much, and Glenn tells me that you're still a virgin. Did you know that you could sell your virginity for an absurd amount of money? Although, why you're still a virgin remains a complete mystery to me. I mean, how the hell can a grown man manage..." but I start to tune her out.
Ok, so maybe I am gay, and maybe I do need cash.
... And maybe I'm getting really horny just thinking about sex, even though I still barely know what you do. People have come onto me before, but I turn them down. The only time I ever get any pleasure is the occasional wet dream which, I'm told, is just a way for the body to exercise any excess semen that the body isn't expelling. Ew, that sounded gross...
She's still babbling about how men are all pigs who are dependent on sex but how she shouldn't even be complaining because she benefits from it. I decide to shut her up.
"Um, Madame F?" I ask quietly, but she keeps droning on and on about how much money she makes and about her first time as a prostitute when she was younger. Goodness gracious, she's a loquacious woman! Ha! I said loquacious! Give me a cookie for using big words!
But she doesn't stop talking. She keeps going and going and GODDAMN I WANNA BEAT THE–
"MADAME FRANCINIA! SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'LL BE YOUR FUCKING WHORE, JUST STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW MEN ARE PIGS PLEASE!" I shout, literally on my knees begging her. I don't know how much more I can take before I go insane and rape her smooth mahogany desk.
... Wait! I don't rape things! I'm virginal and innocent!
She grins, her mouth spreading so wide I'm afraid her face is going to tear in half. It's not like it's unplausible, her face is stiff as a fucking bored. It can't be good for her skin to stretch it so much grinning at random people she wants to whore for her.
"Mr. Quellia, I just knew you couldn't say no." She gets up and hold out her hand. "You are my bitch from now on. I will send two of my girls with you to collect anything you might need. You will be staying with us tonight. Tomorrow at four o' clock you will be at your apartment and will inform whoever you need to that you will be moving out. You will sell any furniture you might own as you will not need it but bring all your clothes and toiletries. We will provided you with food and buy you anything you might need," she instructs.
I stare, feeling like I should get a notepad and a pen, but immediately stands up and gets the phone. "Glenn, please escort Mr. Quellia back to his home to collect his things." She sounds so formal, it's killing me. I absolutely hate formalities. It's too easy for someone to mask a smile under formal. And I love to see everything on someone's face when they speak.
"Wait, you can't expect me to stay with you tonight!" I exclaim. Unless... "Do you want me to fuck someone already?" I shout, feeling horrified. "And this isn't going to be permanent! Why can't I just keep all my stuff in storage?" I ask.
"Well, I'm pretty sure it's going to be permanent," she responds confidently, "But if it makes you whine less, then I suppose you can keep your stuff in storage for now." She smirks. I don't whine, I complain!
ABOUT LEGITIMATE THINGS, I MIGHT ADD! Well, maybe they aren't always legitimate, but usually it's important. Only sometimes do I just bitch for the say of bitching.
"Ok, good, so I just go pack an overnight bag? Like a sleepover? Are we going to chat and roast marshmallows over a kitchen stove and tell scary stories and–"
"Yes, Mr. Quellia. If you really want to, I suppose we can do that." I'm sure she just said that to shut me up, but I'm still really excited, even though they're planning on selling me to sex-starved men with a lot o' dough. I never really got to have sleepovers when I was younger.
Suddenly 'Glenn' walks in and I'm overcome with the realization that Glenn is the Red-Headed Stalker Chick! Oh my God!
"Wait, I have a question. How come Glenn here has been stalking me?" I ask, pissed off. Glenn just looks at the floor and then at the wall.
"Stalking you? Oh don't be silly, boy. You came to us, silly!" she chides with a chuckle. I narrow my eyes. Somehow this all seems very planned and they didn't intend to let me know that it wasn't just a coincidence that they're card slapped me in the face.
"Oh, I see," I spit at her.
Glenn beckons me out of the room and Mme. F sits back in her desk and starts typing on her computer like an insane person just as I close the door. I have no idea what she's typing but I don't think it's America's next greatest novel. It could be a crazy sex story for rabid internet whores, but that's just a guess. Maybe she's trying to find someone to sell me to?
Actually, that was really egotistical of me to think. Of course she isn't. It's not like I'm so fantastic that she's going to try to make money off of me already!
Glenn walks outside and leads me to a huge garage on the side of the building hidden behind some trees. There's a black car parked right in front of it and immediately she begins to open one when I push the door shut and lean against it.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on," I state simply, folding my arms across my chest.
She raises an eyebrow and I try to raise my own eyebrow back at her but I end up making some weird pained expression that I'm sure makes me look retarded and suddenly she starts laughing which makes me laugh and we start laughing like hysterical people while I still try to raise my damn eyebrow!
How do people do it? It's a mystery! But then I remember that I had just asked her a question, but she's already in the car behind the wheel so I get in. She starts the car and we pull out of the driveway and into the street just like everyone presumably does when they get into a car.
"Um, so, like, could you tell me why you stalked me?" I ask, trying a nicer approach.
"Can I promise to tell you later?" she asks me, giving me a mysterious look. I decided that I like her. Ew! Not like that! I just think she's really interesting to talk to.
"Ok, that's fair. Just not too much later, ok?" I ask. She sighs and nods, telling me that she promises.
There's an awkward silence.
With more silence.
And it's been two minutes before I decide to break the silence.
"So, uh, how long have you, um..." I stammer stupidly.
"Been a harlot?" she asks.
"Yeah! Wait, what? What the hell is a harlot?" I ask.
"A whore," she states blandly.
"Oh, I didn't know there were so many words for it."
There's another silence.
I look at my knee. The car lurches on a speed bump. My forehead narrowly misses hitting the glove box cover. I reposition myself.
"So, uh, are you gonna answer the question?"
"What? Oh! I'm sorry. Um.. I've been doing this for about... three years," she replies, taking a moment to recall the number of years.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," she states mater-of-factly. I begin to get curious, like I always do with people who intrigue me, and start to ask more questions.
"What made you decide to do it?" I question further. I know I'm getting personal. It doesn't stop me from asking rude questions.
"Well, I suppose it's because I was fired from my job and I had no money. Madame F found me on a street corner and offered to represent me."
"Why are you still doing it?"I ask. She's start to get uncomfortable, I can tell.
"Well, I suppose there's more than just one reason why I'm doing this," she answers mysteriously. Damn, being mysterious is nice and all, but it's annoying when you want answers. I like to be informed. I hate when someone knows something that I don't, unless it's sex related because then I'd rather not know.
"Oh," I blurt. It's certainly going to hurt my chances of getting answers more than help them if I just say noncommital one word grunts, but it's difficult to think of witty answers all the time, ok!?
We sit in silence for a few more moments and then we pull up to my apartment. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and turn to her. She's also wearing her seatbelt but she hasn't unbuckled it. I want to tell her kudos for being safe, since my uncle died because he was propelled from his windshield like a bad newspaper because he wasn't wearing his seatbelt.
I know, 'don't preach to me about safety, mister!' yada yada.
"Do you want to come in with me? I just need to get a few things. It's really hot out here," I explain. She looks at me and then realizes that I'm waiting for her to answer.
"Oh! Ok, sorry. I'm just used to waiting in the car while people do their errands, you know?" She quickly unbuckles and gets out of the car.
My apartment is small, and really crappy, which is probably why I gave into Mme. F's offer way too quickly. I really hate where I live, it's a piece of crap and the people above me don't have volume control.
We pack some of my clothes and I take a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and my overnight bag.
Glenn stands awkwardly in the corner, like she wants to help but doesn't know how to say it. When you first see Glenn, she seems really glamorous and aggressive, but she's actually really shy and quiet and doesn't like confrontation at all.
It's a definite contradiction to her appearance. Overall, the milieu of my apartment is uncomfortable. I'm starting to get nervous. I know I'm being too trusting, but for some reason I don't see any reason why I shouldn't trust them...
We get back to the 'rich bitch home' in five minutes. Glenn doesn't say anything and I'm still trying to convince myself that I don't need material things! That I'm above stuff like food and nice clothes and couches. But then I actually internally laugh at myself because I know that I'm very dependent on material things. I'm not selfless and I sure as hell don't have to motivation to starve myself because I hate being hungry - even though I'm skinny as hell.
When we get back the gate immediately opens for us because Glenn has this really need wireless password thing and all she needs to do is plug in four numbers and the thing opens. It's cool as hell!
"Ohmigod! What took you so long? What did you bring? Did you buy me anything, Glenn-Glenn? Ooh! I bet you brought me cookies, right? COUGH 'EM UP! Stop trying to hide them, Glenn! YOU'RE SUCH A MEANIE!" Tiffy cries and runs away just as fast as she came.
"Um... is she autistic or something?" I mumble.
"No, she's just disappointed because she knows I never have time to bring her anything and she really likes sweets but Madame Francinia only lets her have one cookie per day," Glenn explains wearily.
"Why? Is it so she doesn't get fat?"
"No, it's because she gets really, really hyper. Apocalyptic hyper. So hyper that–"
"Ok! I get it!" I interrupt, shuddering at the thought of a screaming Tiffy. I barely know her and I'm already afraid!
"So who else lives here?" I ask, casually.
She thinks. Past the waiting room is a hallway that is perpendicular with the waiting room and leads in two directions. When I went to go see Mme. F, we went right. But this time we're going left, and at the end of a hallway is a door that opens up into a really pretty huge room with a really enormous staircase.
Up the stairs is a long hallway of rooms on the left, and what looks like a game room on the right. From what I can see, there's a huge plasma tv and a ton of video games and two girls are in there screaming their asses off.
"There's five girls, not including Madame F. Tiffy, Sam, Wendy, Christine and me. You'll meet the rest of them later, I suppose." She opens the second door on the right side of the hallway. "This is your room."
I walk in. It's nice. It's really... purple. Or lavender. I don't really care. But I can certainly stand to live here for a little while.
"So, what's it like to have sex with people?" I ask her, running my hand across the silky comforter on my bed.
"Um... this reminds me of a bad porno or something. I don't really feel comfortable answering that. It's not that bad, I guess," she says after blushing.
I look around the room some more, but my eyes narrow when I spot something. Next to my bed is a night stand, with a pad of paper and a pen on it.
"What is that!?" I shout, pointing at it.
Her eyes flicker to it, then back to me. She looks amused in a bored sort of way. "I suppose someone put it there because they like to write down their dreams or something."
"I don't keep a notepad next to my bed," I say sternly.
"Then move it."
"No, you move it."
"All you have to do is touch it. What's the big deal."
"I don't like to touch a pencil and paper when I'm not one-hundred percent sure what I want to draw..." I mumble.
"Well, then, I need to go help the cook with dinner."
"I'd rather stay in here tonight, if you don't mind." I'm not feeling very excited. I feel a little nauseous and my thoughts of this being a sleepover evaporate when I start to feel anxious. How am I going to pull this off? They're going to kick me out or something! I'm a virgin, I have no confidence and I have no people skills.
I'm going to be the worst whore in the world!
"Alright, I guess. I don't suppose you have a job?"
"Actually, I work part-time at the Mort art studio..."
"Wait, you're an artist?" she asks, incredulous.
"Then why the fuck are you so worried about touching a fricken pen and paper!?" she asks.
"It's a long story."
"Whatever. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow when you get back. Mme. F will probably have a job set up for you by then, or she might want you to meet a few people. I don't know."
Suddenly, Glenn is acting somewhat cold, but I barely notice. She leaves and I fall on the bed, closing my eyes.
There's no way in hell I can do this.
But I suppose I have to try...
My thoughts swirl in my head before the dim sunlight allows me to fall into a deep sleep. Hopefully I don't awaken.
But that's not being realistic, is it?
A/N: You know the drill! Read! REVIEW! And this time, I promise to let you take out any SM fantasy you've ever had on me, ok? Heehee! I'll be a good little boy, just don't spank too hard!
Oh, and I promise to give you a truck full of invisible pudding! YAY! You can IMAGINE it's tasty goodness, can't you? Well, that's about as far as you'll get...
I'd like to thank French.My.Fancy and Hopes Forgotten for placing this story on their story alerts list! You guys rock! Now review so I have something to respond to, ok?