Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I saw the Blood Brides sometimes, wrapped in luxurious green fur stoles that looked much richer than the ragged green furs we common Blood Whores wore. They wore gorgeous sleeveless gowns with plunging necklines, showing off their swan-like throats and slender white wrists in a blatant display of Naggian sexuality.
Usually they were on the arm of some well-heeled Naggian male dressed like the client in front of me but they never acknowledged any of us Blood Whores. We were beneath them and I, as a hsh’frux, was beneath even the other girls I worked with. I was the lowest of the low in Naggian society, so the fact that a male of such obvious status and wealth would come looking for my services must mean he wanted something specific he couldn’t get elsewhere.
“How much, girl?” he demanded again, frowning at me. “And make it quick—I have to be getting home before the Sweepers come out!”
I bit my lip. A client this rich could afford to pay a special price. I might even make enough to pay the rent on my bolthole for the next several months. It would be nice to have some breathing room—I was constantly in fear of getting kicked out—which would amount to a death sentence unless one of my fellow Blood Whores would let me stay with them. Since Mar’ra had been traded to another Blood Pimp in a whole different city and was working there, I doubted anyone else would take me in. So having a rich client could really be a Godsend.
“Forty creds,” I said at last, hoping he would go for it. It was twice what I normally charged for a bite but a male like this would never miss it—it would be pocket change to him.
He paused to consider me for a moment, then nodded.
“All right—forty creds seems reasonable for a…how do you girls call it? A fuck and a suck?” He laughed—a rich, fruity chuckle I disliked at once. “Yes, I think that’s it—a fuck and a suck.”
“Sorry, but I think you have me wrong,” I said, frowning at him. “See, I only sell my blood—nothing else. So I’m afraid I can only do the ‘suck’ part for you. If you want other services, you can see one of the other Blood Whores down by the love tunnel.” I pointed in the direction where most of the other girls were working. “They can help you out.”
It hurt to give up a rich client and send him to some other girl, but I was not going to start selling my ass. I absolutely, positively drew the line right there and I wasn’t making an exception for anyone—especially some rich asshole who probably only wanted the “thrill” of fucking an exotic hsh’frux so he could bring it up in conversation later on with his rich, entitled friends and laugh about me and what a pitiful creature I was.
But the prospective client wasn’t going to be put off that easily.
“No.” He frowned at me petulantly. “I don’t want another girl—I want you. I want to try a hsh’frux fuck and suck and that’s exactly what you’re going to give me.”
I put a hand on my hip.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me—I do not sell my ass—I only sell my blood! If you want more, you’ll have to ask another girl because I’m not the one for you.”
“Oh, yes you are, you dirty little hsh’frux.” His eyes flashed and he caught me by the arm of my green fur coat. Pushing his face into mine, he leered at me, showing long, curving fangs. “You’re exactly what I want—so deliciously nasty and low. I want to see how sinking my cock into a Warm Blood’s pussy feels, while I drink that hot, red blood of yours!”
“Well, you’re not getting anywhere near this Warm Blood’s pussy!” I spat at him, trying to yank my arm out of his grasp. “Now let me go, you perverted asshole!”
The issue seemed in question and I shoved my hand in the pocket of the big fur coat, fumbling for the small can of “Get Off” that Mar’ra had advised me to buy. It was the Naggian equivalent of pepper spray and had cost a whole week’s earnings but it was worth it not to get raped by handsy, entitled clients like the one accosting me now.
But instead of the “Get Off” canister, my seeking fingers curled around a long, slim wire. Pulling it out instinctively, I shoved it in my would-be-rapist’s face. To my surprise, it crackled and spit like a red sparkler—the kind you get as a kid on the Fourth of July.
“What the—?” He jumped back, releasing my arm at last. “Where did you get the Baron’s sigil?” he demanded, glaring at me.
Actually, the red sparkler had come with the coat. Elli had used it to drive off another handsy client—I was getting more and more of those lately—when she first met me. Apparently her Master, Sir, had been a friend or client of Baron Vik’tor, who owned the building I lived in and a great deal of the rest of the city as well.