Welcome To The Harem
Satin by Piper Sargasso
Summary: Deslea's rec: "It isn't easy to take a scene or two and use it as a springboard for a character with vibrance and heart. But Piper achieves this in this strong account of the prostitute in Irresistible. Don't miss this one!" Summary: "The hooker was just convenient." But, who was she? Irresistible tie-in. R for violent content.
By Piper Sargasso
Rating: R (for violent content)
Feedback: Graciously accepted at:
Disclaimer: Characters within belong to
CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and
Twentieth-Century Fox. No infringement
Summary: "The hooker was just convenient."
But, who was she?
Author's Note: Thanks to my fabulous beta,
Mimic. This is a companion peice to
"Donnie Pfaster - Profile of a Fetishist"
I'm about to call it a night.
Three customers and all they wanted were
quick blowjobs in the front seat of
their upholstered, suburban family cars.
Never let it be said that the middle
class doesn't have its underbelly. Hell,
brokers and businessmen make up
two-thirds of my clientele.
Thirty bucks a pop just isn't gonna cut it
on a slow night like tonight. Rent's due
tomorrow morning, bright and early and I
know for a fact Brittany isn't doing any
better than I am tonight.
Damn, I hate this job. Sweaty men with
their greasy, meaty paws all over me. But,
it's a damn sight better than living on the
farm with my daddy. After Mom left us, he
started drinking heavily and usually took
his anger toward her out on me. I suppose
it was convenient for him that I was the
spitting image of her. Made it more real
for him as he beat me, all the while calling
me by her name with bourbon-soaked breath.
Small town girls with nothing but time on
their hands can get into some really serious
trouble. And I was so bored. I was getting
very good at learning all about men in the
back seats of their cars - even the married
The day I turned eighteen, I decided to
leave that little section of Hell and moved
here. Pretty bold move on my part,
especially since I didn't know anyone and had
no skills whatsoever. The bus fare here was
stolen out of Daddy's wallet while he was
passed out from another bender and all I had
left was enough for a cheap lunch and a candy
bar. It was the scariest time of my life, but
at least I wasn't my father's little punching
Then I met Brit. She found me hovering in an
alleyway, cold and scared and offered to take
me in. She took the rest of the night off and
we went to a little 24 hour diner up the road.
I told her my story, she told me hers. We had
an instant connection.
Anyway, she let me sleep at her place while I
searched for a job. Unfortunately, no one
wanted to hire a fresh-off-the-bus teenager
with no employment record and a temporary
address. After a couple of weeks of the
run-around I finally asked Brit what she thought
of me working with her. After all, I was very
good at what I did back home. At least this way
I'd have more than soggy panties and no
satisfaction to show for it.
At first, she wasn't going for it. She was only
twenty-two, but she was like a mother hen when
it came to me. After a lot of convincing, she
finally agreed to show me the ropes.
So now I stand on the same strip, never far
from her side. Why am I thinking of these
things? Because whenever I'm tempted to run home,
tail tucked firmly between my legs, I have to
remind myself what I left behind and why. I have
to *make* myself remember the look on my daddy's
face just before he lowers his fist to strike me,
the vein that pops out of his strained neck and
the glazed-over eyes.
I shift impatiently from one foot to the other.
Damn! Candi just got picked up. We'll never
make rent at this rate - and I'm freezing my ass
off out here.
Oh, thank God. Another car's pulling up. He's
passing by Sasha and Lexie. He's ignoring Brit -
and looking straight at me. Good. Hopefully,
he'll want a little more than a blowjob.
I sashay over to his car. "Hi."
"Hi," he replies. He looks a little creepy, but
who am I to pass up a quick buck?
I ask the question carefully, as I was taught
- you can't be too careful in this profession.
Cops are always lurking. "Are you looking for a
Seems harmless enough. Definitely not a cop.
"Why don't you pull up around that corner over
there," I tell him. The sooner I finish with this
one, the sooner I can set up for a new customer.
"Actually, I was thinking of a couple of hours."
Jackpot! If this guy wants a couple of hours,
it's gonna cost him. Intercourse is always more
expensive than the nickel and dime blowjobs and
hand jobs I usually get. I think we're going to
make that rent after all.
"Oh! Where do you have in mind?"
The car ride to his apartment is really quiet
and uncomfortable. Neither of us say a thing.
Finally, we pull up to the front of his
He gets out of the car and starts walking
toward the front door, leaving me behind to
catch up. And they say chivalry is dead. What a
I follow him into his apartment and a frigid
blast of air hits me, full force.
"Don't you have any heat in here? It's
freezing!" What's with this guy? It's not even
this cold down on the strip. I hug myself,
trying to warm up a bit and look around.
He turns slowly toward me, half his face
obliterated in the shadows, and my flesh
prickles. Suddenly, I want to leave. He's making
"The forced air unit is broken. I'd like to run
you a bath."
A bath? What the hell does he want me to take a
bath for? Maybe he thinks I'm dirty from other
men. Don't I wish! That would mean I had some
real business tonight. Anyway, we always carry
the essentials in our bags; condoms, lipstick
and baby wipes. That usually cleans us up in a
flash. The convenience store on the corner
doesn't even bother us about using their
restrooms to freshen up anymore - we're like a
staple there, day and night.
Well, whatever gets him off, I decide. At least
I'll be getting paid to relax. He leaves the
room and I hear the sound of running water. I
don't know, but there's something really strange
that nags me about this guy. He seems a little
After a few minutes, I get impatient and follow
the sound of the bath being drawn, finding him in
a little bathroom. If I'm lucky and can speed
this up, I'll be able to pull a few more
customers before the sun rises after this.
"Is your hair treated?" he asks slowly.
"What?" What the hell...?
"Do you need a shampoo for chemically treated
I don't like the excited look on his face when he
asks that. It's creepy. It *would* be my luck that
I get some fetish freak on my hands. Brit once told
me about a guy who wanted to spend his whole time
rubbing himself on her feet. I wonder what this
one's gonna ask me to do.
"You want me to shampoo my hair?" I can't believe
this. If he starts getting all weird on me, I'm
"I'll pay extra, if that's something out of the
"Nobody's ever asked me," I tell him. I'm not
about to throw away good money just because
it's a little strange. I place my bag on the floor
and put my foot up on a chair, removing my
boots slowly, intending to undress as sexy as
possible for him. I'm always conscious of
attracting repeat business.
The phone rings and he looks at me intensely,
making me feel a little uneasy. This whole
*experience* is making me uneasy. After he excuses
himself, I finish undressing quickly. There's no
longer an audience and I want to get into that warm
water as soon as possible. What is it about
bathrooms that make them the coldest part of the
Sticking one foot gingerly into the water to test
the temperature, I yelp in surprise. What the
hell? There's no hot water in there at all! He
wants me to take a bath in that?
I'm pissed and I want to leave. Now.
I wrap a towel around myself and find his bedroom,
where I hear the sound of his voice. He's about
to get a *serious* ass chewing.
"Hey, what's going on here? The water's ice
cold..." My words trail off as I see the room.
Funeral sprays, everywhere, decorate the entire
room. Most are dead and the sickly sweet smell
of decay lingers all around me. In the middle is a
wrought-iron bed with a wreath of wilted flowers
on the footboard. My stomach turns as I take all
"What kind of sick freak are you?" I look around
again and it dawns on me what the cold air and
flower arrangements are for.
They're for me.
"Oh, my God," I barely hear him finishing his
conversation, but his eyes are locked with mine.
I'm almost paralyzed with fear. He, on the other
hand, looks excited and eager. My skin puckers
up into gooseflesh and I can hear the sound of
my heart beating wildly in my ears. He hangs up
and I reflexively back up against the wall,
wanting nothing but to put as much distance
between him and me as possible.
"Don't you come near me," I warn. I'm surprised
my voice even works at this point, but he slowly
stalks toward me anyway. My breath is rushing
out of me in frantic puffs, making me lightheaded
even as the fight or flight instinct is kicking
"Don't you touch me!" I back up into the
hallway, too scared to take my eyes off of him as
he inches closer and closer to me. Coming up
against another wall, I try to make my voice
"Stay away from me! Keep away from me!" The
horrified quality of my voice is nothing
compared to the absolute terror I feel. I know
without a doubt I'm about to die. I'm certain
of it. It's all I can do to keep from crumpling
down on the floor, rolling myself into a ball
and crying my eyes out. Sliding against the
hallway wall, I vainly try one last time. "Don't
come near me!"
But he's already in front of me, eyes glowing in
the semi-darkness and a smirk of pleasure on his
face. My mind flashes back to the farm where I
grew up and the tree fort Daddy built me when I
was eight years old, long before Mama left and
everything changed. We used to be so happy.
But none of these strange visions are important
because he's on top of me now, and a scream is
ringing in my ears. It takes me a second to
realize it belongs to me.
He draws his hand all the way back and slaps me
across the face so hard I bite my tongue. The
familiar coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.
He twists my hair around his hand, and pulls me
into the kitchen. My entire scalp feels like it's
on fire. Every little yelp that slips out of me is
rewarded with a swift kick to the top of my head
and I'm so scared he's gonna crush my skull in
that I shut up.
Finally, he untangles his hand with a vicious yank.
I look up from my sprawled position on the kitchen
floor to see him smiling into the blade of a
butcher knife. He holds it between his thumb and
index finger, the handle in his other hand.
"Oh, my God!" I can't help the strangled words from
coming out of my mouth.
Seeming to remember my presence, he bends to jerk
me to my feet and pulls me into the bathroom. He
ruthlessly pushes me toward the bathtub where I
land, splayed out on my ass.
I struggle to get up and succeed before he lunges
forward. I feel myself raise off the floor from the
tremendous force with which he thrusts the knife
into my stomach.
My, God! It feels like my entire body has been
ripped apart, straight down the middle. White-hot
sparks of pain shoot up and down and across and out
of me. It's unbearable. Please, God, make it stop
please, please! I know I haven't been good, but
please make it all go away! Oh, God!
A shrill scream is the last thing I hear, and then -