Before Sascha had the good fortune of finding a master who cared for him, he was a lowly brothel whore. Neither good looks nor intellect could help him in this harsh world of sadistic clients, cruel peers, and Mistress Bethel—owner of Bethel’s Brothel. When he is forced to confront this history, he does so in the only way he knows how. (M/M)
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The client who came into the room where I was whoring was a businessman, if the cheap suit and briefcase he carried were any indication. He was also apparently the type who was so busy at his job that he had to combine his lunch break and his fucking-me time. He came in carrying a takeout box, and as he walked into the room he set it down and opened it up, all calm and content like he did this all the time.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the money for a blowjob with one hand and took a thick sandwich out of the takeout box with the other.
“Get sucking, I’ve only got twenty minutes!” he ordered, biting into the sandwich.
The words flew out of my mouth before I could think to stop them. “Let me have half your sandwich and you can fuck me for the same price.”
His eyes widened. Fucking was three times as expensive as a blowjob, and even though it would be a rushed job, it would still be a fuck. He nodded, hurrying to finish chewing. “Get me started,” he mumbled through his food, and I rushed to unzip his pants and wrap my lips around his cock. I was so excited to eat something that I didn’t even care that he thrust down my throat with as much energy as he could muster. I just kept thinking about how good that sandwich was going to taste. Mistress Bethel kept us hungry as a rule, and when we were being punished we got to eat even less frequently. If I thought the food at the re-education center had been bad, it was only because I didn’t have the brothel slop to compare it with. I had visibly lost weight in the past two weeks and my stomach was constantly growling.
The blowjob only lasted about five minutes, and he pulled me back by my hair and spun me around, aiming for the bed and dropping the takeout box next to my head. I snatched it up, propping myself up slightly on my elbows so I could eat while he fucked me. I knew that if anyone found out I had food; it would be taken from me. The only chance I had to not get caught was to eat while he was in the room, and I doubted that he would give me the courtesy of time to eat in peace. He was going to fuck me for as long as possible, and I was going to eat while I had the chance.
I was swallowing the last bite when I felt him come, and I tried not to let that interrupt my experience. The sandwich was pretty much the best food I had eaten in over two years; the circumstances didn’t bother me too much.
He left without a word, and I lay on the bed in food-induced ecstasy, my stomach not aching in hunger for the first time in days, my sense of pride somewhat rebuilt, and my defiance at top levels. Fuck Mistress Bethel, fuck her starvation policies, and fuck anyone who came between me and deli meat. I had unlocked the secret to good food, and I intended to put it to good use as frequently as possible. The victory tasted as good as the sandwich did.
It didn’t last long.