"Perfect." Comes the voice of approval, eyes raking over me intently, scrutinising every inch of skin on display, gaze heavy and penetrative even through the layers of fabric, piercing and feeling as if they trawl over skin, a heavy caress that leaves my body locked up, eyes impassive and head dipping in acknowledgement of the praise.

"Pastor Lee will be very happy." she adds, voice gleaming with carnal greed, shining with the prospect of the heavy weight of coins that would be passed over in barter, would sell the price for the clothes, for dolling myself up; for stripping myself down for him.

It's years of training and self-taught will that keeps from that familiar, seemingly ever-present curl of nausea from showing across my face, fingers trembling, the sight of them spotted before I can hide them behind the skirts or the lacy cuffs of the sleeves.

"Ah ah. You're not going to play demure virgin maiden. You're going to play vixen... temptress, devil's mistress." She chides, voice seeming good-natured but the flicker of warning present in greedy dark grey eyes, promising pain and punishment if the mask is to ever slip, if the façade is to crumble and disintegrate before anyone else's eyes.

The nausea winds its tight snare around my stomach, steeling myself as I inhale deeply, the corset pressing against my body; containing it and highlighting my assets, a generous sweep of flowers on my décolletage, hiding the heaving, tight captured swells of my breasts, trembling with every small slither of breath.

I know later every carefully placed perfect red rose will be torn from my neckline, that every crushed bloom will be discarded to the ground, forgotten and treaded on, smeared with dirt. I know that the sickeningly strong fragrance of them are just a reminder of what's to come. A reminder that beauty is not just what they eyes can see but what the nose can smell, what the tongue can taste and what hands can rove over. Beauty and desire entangle messily. Dangerously.

"I'll play the role well." I murmur, voice light as my own eyes sweep over my appearance, schooling the mask on properly, knowing that anything other than the emotions I needed to display, needed to be lost in... anything other than that was a crack in the illusion, was a danger, a weakness, a threat that I'd bring onto myself by showing any part of me.

"You will. You'll get me a pretty sack full of coins if you play the cards right into his favour." She croons, eyes gleaming with hunger at the payment I'd bring back.

A sack of coins.

A sack of coins was enough to make a difference, was enough to keep someone steady on their own. It was enough to buy the finest silks and jewels. It was enough to get out of here.

It was enough to leave this all behind.

But the insignia branded on the side of my ankle, branded me as hers. Branded me to this large, lavish property and bound me to every rules of the contract. And if that meant dolling myself up in tight low-cut gowns and playing the role of devil's mistress for a pastor... then that was a role I had to fulfil. For the sake of existing. Of not being discarded or killed. If I wanted my place to remain, I gave myself over and over. Regardless of how perverse and twisted and depraved the desires and fantasies became. It didn't matter if the people paying for them were monsters, filth and the debauched in their wants... at the end of it all I was the dirty, soiled one.

The discarded object once they'd taken their pleasure.

Another notch on the bedpost that not even the most ornate hangings could hide.

Away after one final look over, eyes grazing across the dip in the back, a ravenous primal greed pooling heavily in her dark eyes before she steps away.

"I'll let you know when the carriage is here. The pastor likes his sinned women delivered right to his doorstep." 

And the door clicks shut.

A stiff, uneasy silence that settles as the sickening feeling heightens, stomach rolling with nausea and the familiar feeling of hysteria inches up my throat, body sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

Once more waiting for the knell to strike, for another impeding fate to approach me and yank me into its unrelenting grasp.

I always felt the worst right before service.

Felt my most dirtiest then.

Felt soiled and tainted for all the perfumes and lotions and creams massaged carefully into skin. Felt my most cheapest when I was stripped down and every inch of skin was buffed and primed to glow. When fabrics were brushed against my skin as teasing, light caresses; luxurious, wealthy, highly decorated clothes tugged taut against my body, highlighting each asset, leaving no place to hide any insecurity. Everything was out there.

Everything was there for scrutiny and display and judgement.

And waiting for the carriage to arrive I felt used already. Felt as if every inch of the fabric I wore and every petal of every perfect red rose, every glittering jewel decorating my body was going to cost me. Knew it too.

Knew that there was always a reason.

Knew that every inch of fabric and every accessory was intentionally placed and thought of. And when the time came it'd serve its function.

There's a flurry of knocks at the door, quiet and almost swallowed whole by the silence before it opens, voice soft and gentle and warm.

"(Y/N)... sweets can I come in?"

My head turns, feeling that sickening mix of nausea and panic abate slightly, lips curving up into a genuine smile as I look at him.

Nod.

And watch as a smile curves across generously full lips, hair falling forward; loose, soft strands and clothes loose and simple in their style.

It meant he didn't have a job today. Wasn't dolled up because he didn't need to be.

But like this.

In clothes that didn't define him, didn't cast him in a role. In loose clothes he still looked better and beautiful. Looked like himself.

I pat the spot beside me, watch his eyes drift in observation of my clothes before a tightness enters his jaw, eyes flickering with empathy as he sinks down beside me, arm curling around me.

My head goes to rest against his shoulder.

"What brings you here Mimi?" I ask, voice soft and tentative. Not strong enough to hold its own in a silence that was ominous, foreboding and warning of what was to come.

"I've been waiting for ages actually. To come spend some time with you. But they were taking so long in readying you up."

His words aren't meant to make the nausea spike but it does.

My body had been lathered up, scrubbed intensely. It'd been patted dry and massaged with oils and scents; lotions to make it gleam under the glow of the overhanging chandelier and the lanterns that sent flickering shadows and glowing rays to dance across soft skin. And each inch had also been examined, to make sure it was void of any lingering marks from previous jobs. An unmarked canvas ready for the next to colour with smatters of blues and reds and purples, to be painted on with another person's touch.

"The pastor wants someone with an unmarked body; virginal and yet the devil's mistress too." I say bitterly, hearing the words pour from my tongue like venom, sickened by the thought.

I didn't even want to envision what he'd have me do, what he would do himself.

And yet the thought of it hovered, a numbness that threatened to make my body lock and stiffen.

Besides me Jimin makes a low noise of disgust, eyes flashing with scorn and disdain, full lips twisted angrily.

"They parade about as holy figures... but their desires are always the most debauched." He says with disgust and revulsion.

And I knew in his head he was thinking about his own experiences. Flickers of memories stream through my mind, bruised, marked skin, body wobbling and shaking even long after he'd cleaned up, quietly slipping under the sheets to burrow close to me, shaky exhales brushing against my skin as I held him, silent as we shared in that grief over and over, hot tears trickling down my neck.

I make a small noise of assent; his words spoken in bitter hate doing nothing to soothe that fear and anxiety that bubbled away inside.

And his face softens, guilt and concern flitting through soft brown eyes before his hand around my waist squeezes reassuringly.

Trying to soothe me where words fail, where words would betray his own fear I see in his gaze.

"I'll be fine." I say instead, leaning against him, voice breathy and thin where air struggles to enter my lungs, corset a cage around my chest and ribs... the constricting feeling only serving me to remind what was to come soon.

And the words feel hollow. Even to myself it feels hollow.

But it's the only comfort I can give to the two of us, curved against each other, and it's the only comfort I can try to chase.

Hoping and wishing... maybe if I do both fervently enough it'll ring true.

I'll be fine.

I had no other choice.

I had to be.

-------

The hands gripping my hips are tight and bruising and the low grunts are animalistic, primal and consumed with their desire as hips thrust harshly and painfully against mine, my head dropping low to hide the fierce sting of tears at the way my body throbs and aches; subjected to his touch once more. He uses me over and over. A ragdoll for his pleasure, hips swivelling and chasing his climax, teeth clamping down on my shoulder, a cry tearing out my throat at the pain that flares at the sensation, unrelenting pressure, hard enough to draw blood before he finally unclamps his mouth, breathing ragged and relieved; imbued with sexual satisfaction.

"So good for me. I guess the devil whores around his own. To share the pleasure of using this vessel." His voice rasps out and I have to swallow down the teary cries that bubble up, letting my body be manhandled upwards, arms trembling as he tugs me upright, grip rough and casually possessive. Body being turned from being on all fours only to be pushed back, shame prickling at the way his eyes rove over every inch of skin, eyeing the marks his teeth and fingers have left behind. I feel my thighs tremble, aching with sensitivity, his release smearing skin with the dirty taint of his touch.

"What do you say? When a whore is shown true pleasure and put at her place?" he asks, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, lips curved widely.

If he hadn't been bare, if he hadn't been someone I'd seen adorned in holy garments... I wouldn't have known that a devil lay under the image of piety.

"Thank you master. For showing me my place." I answer, voice soft. Gentle and warm despite the numbness that claws at me, seeps over my limbs and threatens to make them go brittle and uncooperative.

His smile is benevolent.

His hand goes tender and gentle; a lover's caress as it skims across my thigh, settling on my waist, hand grazing higher to brush against the underside of my breast.

"You're welcome dear."

And the endearment makes my spine stiffen, forcing myself to not curve away from the thumb that rubs at my jaw.

"But I feel soiled now. Lord knows I need to atone for sharing the same air as a whore." He says, pitying.

And this time I can't help the flinch, take the degradation to my worth and body as I straighten, hands reaching for sheets to tug them close. 

"I understand. I'll hurry and leave."

And the heavy weight of the sack tossed beside me, clinking as it sinks onto the sheets is another slap to the face.

Done your job. I've paid the price. Leave.

It doesn't matter that I've been trained from day one for this.

That feeling of being dirty and discarded never fades.

And neither does the revulsion when the room empties and I'm alone, swallowing down the contraceptive potion like clockwork after every appointment, gathering discarded clothes and drawing them back onto my sore body, wincing at the way it rubs against fresh marks, at teeth marks and scratches, corset looser than it had been when I'd come. I flinch at the sight of crushed red rose petals scattered across the room; marking a clear trail of where it had begun and where it had ended. From being pinned to the door, hand fisting into the floral décolletage and tugging; tearing the delicate blooms, fingers groping and squeezing before the same hands had been bruising and pushing me towards the bed, haste and urgency in the way his body pinned mine, endlessly stuck in a cycle of being taken over and over.

And when I step out he's standing there.

Smile warm and face wiped of the carnal desire that flooded it.

Pastor once more.

"Your carriage is here. My kindest regards to Mistress Lim." He says with a dip of his head, something both mocking and taunting in the dulcet tone.

It makes my body shiver, fighting the shudder that wracks my entire body as I step pass him.

"Maybe one day I'll call for you again. See if your body's purged of sin and lust." He murmurs.

My eyes clench shut, steeling myself as I move away.

Move to the door.

"Contact the management for that."

And this time I can't hold the sharpness and trembling venom from poisoning my tone, a shaky exhale as I hover over the threshold.

"I hope the Lord manages to purge us all of our sins and impurities."

Voice dripping with earnestness. And his eyes soften with a benevolence that's nothing beyond charade, beyond this sickening mask he adorns so regally. 

Breathing in air that seems cleaner and purer, despite the way it's heavy with smog. Stepping away from the house trapped with vice and debauchery clinging to every fibre.

And yet a bit of it remains, in the touches that remain like a phantom grip on my skin and clothes carrying the scent of the candles that burned in his chambers.

It remains even as I clamber back into the carriage, body sore and hand clutching the sack of coins that burden me, drag me down, further into the filth.

And yet it'll continue. It's an ever recurring cycle that'll perhaps take my entire lifetime to escape from.

To escape and to be free I have to give and serve with my body.

Over and over.

--------

The coach shudders and jolts over every rough loose stone in the path, body aching and protesting with how every roll of the wheels brings a pain blooming in my hips. Makes me feel the weight of rough hands gripping me long after the touch has vanished. 

I wince when a particular rough patch has the coach shaking, shudders and jolts wracking the frame as it dips and teeters on uneven ground, hand darting out to steady myself, brushing against velvet upholstery before gripping at a cushion, not quite able to bite back the pained groan that slips out.

The coach jostles, legs throbbing with the movement, eyes stinging furiously at the pain that blooms across my body, wishing not for the first time that restorative tonics were given alongside the contraception.

And just as the ground evens, a seamless roll of the wheels that has my body sagging with relief, just as sudden the horse comes to a halt; nickering in alarm, loud and frightened.

My heart clenches tightly at the sound, body going taut at the sound of commotion outside, loud angry yells from the coach driver and the sound suddenly going silent. My eyes drift searchingly across the interior, hoping and wishing for anything to use, the pulse of my heartbeat a loud thundering in my ears, gripping tightly at the cushion whilst my other hand clutches at the pewter jug, long since drained by me, eyes feverishly fixing onto the sight of the door.

It swings open, a gust of cold air seeping in, refreshing across my heated skin but it's something I can't savour because it brings with it a faint musk, warm and heady and masculine, but foreign nonetheless, a spicy edge to the light cologne that teases at my nose.

It brings with it a looming presence, tall and confident. That's the first thing that immediately strikes me. The second is how distinctly luxurious his clothes are. Tailored to outline the tall, lithe broadness of his body, accentuating every sharp angle and line. The fabric is thick and heavy and comes for a pretty price on the market. And its wealth that's both openly disguised and concealed; hidden in the rich quality of the fabric and openly advertised in the glittering jewels that brush against his jaw, smooth honeyed skin where his jacket and shirt gapes, delicate chains glittering.

But what it brings is a silent powerful aura, dominance and control exuded in the way he leans forward, a black mask curling around his face, glittering dark eyes peering out, drifting lazily before they fix on me. The second I feel his eyes hold mine, the tightness in my chest increases, fear clawing up my throat, hand clenching tightly at the jug, tossing it when he looms closer.

The clatter it makes when it hits the ground of the coach, easily deflected by a gloved hand has my heart thrumming with fear, mouth dry at the way his lips quirk, tugging up at the corner, a slow dangerous smirk curling his mouth.

"Now is that the manners of a lady? Especially to someone who's here to take your pretty jewels?" he asks.

Voice honeyed warmth, dripping with a low thrum, eyes flashing with coyness. But there's no mistaking the danger he brings, the ornate daggers and pistol curling around his waist, unhidden by the cloak.

My throat tightens, slowly feeling a noose closing around me.

The weight of the coins in the sack sit heavily in the hidden, deep pocket of my dress, pressing against my thigh simultaneously burning and numbing, searing through layers to brand themselves across flesh.

"I just... I just have what I'm wearing." I say, voice trying to remain calm, trying to suppress the fear that wells up in heavy, cresting waves.

His eyes flicker to my ears, taking in the deep red jewels that dangle heavily, drift to the delicate chains threaded less composedly through my hair. The band of gold that circles my throat like a collar; tight and restraining.

I remembered fingers panning across skin right where the band now sat, pressing tightly, a face twisted with pleasure, eyes boring holes into me as he thrust sharply. A shiver dances across my spine, sinking backwards at the scrutinising gaze.

"Take them off." He says, leaning against the coach as he leans in, watching me unclip the earrings, tugging out the chain from my hair. Setting them down onto the cushioning beside me. My fingers tremble on the clasp of the necklace, knowing that tugging it away would reveal the darkening marks shaped like his fingers.

But the stare remains, becomes heavier, intense. Burning a line across skin.

Waiting.

The silence crackling.

And the chain falls forward, clutched between my fingers before I let it go, watching it fall beside the heavy earrings. Red and gold sitting on their cushion of deep blue velvet.

What I don't expect is for smooth leather to brush skin, a finger crooking my chin up, eyes dropping to my throat.

Eyes gleaming.

"Well now. Why do you need one pretty collar to hide a much more natural one?" he asks.

But it's a question I could never bring to answer, his words making the noose tighten, air cutting sharply, breathing shaky.

He plucks the jewellery, dripping and spilling over slender gloved fingers, wrists gleaming with delicate, beautiful jewellery as he holds them up. Carelessly tucking them into a pouch, but he doesn't retreat.

Doesn't move away.

Eyes watching me.

They make me feel pinned. Trapped.

It feels like watching a predator stalk his prey.

Narrowing with a sharp flintiness. Words bemused but shrouded with the silken threat of what'll happen if I don't comply.

"And now pretty thing. How about the sack of coins sitting deep in pretty skirts?"

My eyes widen and his laugh is deep and amused.

"I have a good eye. For pretty things. And no skirt sits like that." He says assuredly and when I don't move, body taut and locked up; knowing how much that sack of coins would add to ending my debt, he makes the decision for me.

Clambering in, every movement fluid and knowing, tugging a blade out, handle ornate and glittering. The scent of his musk and cologne becomes stronger, burning a trail through my lungs as he leans over me, hand clutching the large draping fabric of the skirts, pulling it taut until the shape of the sack is giving and telling, pressed tight against my thigh. I jolt, hand scrabbling to hide it when the same blade presses warningly to skin, threatening to create a line under the collar of bruises, to mar my skin more. I freeze, trying to shrink back and disappear past the upholstery, hand falling away. The cold bite of the blade vanishes, falling away to the dress.

He doesn't hesitate in tearing through the fabric, my body flinching backwards, eyes clenching shut at the graze of leather against skin that peeks out through torn drawers, a touch left behind by the pastor, before tugging the loops of the sack free, coins clinking triumphantly in his hold.

"Wasn't so hard was it?" voice gravelly and brushing against my ear before he leans away.

Eyes flickering with silent knowledge as he steps back, the tassel of the sack dangling from two crooked fingers.

"Isn't desire the greatest wealth anyways? So clearly bestowed upon your body." He muses.

That sickening feeling of what was to come makes my lungs burn, crushed under the corset.

Desperation makes words spill out. Desperation because I knew just how much more service I would have to do to make up for it. For the borrowed jewels now gone. For the repair of the dress. For the price the pastor paid.

"Please... don't take the sack. I'll give anything." Body unfreezing as I lean forward, stilling at the casual spin of the dagger dancing between his fingers, glinting as he twirls it.

"Why would I want anything more than what I've already taken?" stepping away, boots clinking across the coach before he clambers off, heavy cloak billowing.

His head turns, the side of his face in sight as he speaks, lips curved up, strong jaw shadowed by the curve his mask.

"Greed after all isn't attractive. It's a sin." And the door closes.

A sob torn out my throat, rough and broken. There's no way a commonplace bandit would know, but the final words strike me, make every inch of false bravado dissipate and crumble, the broken sound roughly pushing past trembling lips.

A sin.

I was a living sin.

And when I went back, I'd be paying the price for losing the money, for losing the price of my body tonight.

And I'd be working endless days to make up for it.

And just like that the noose around my throat crushes my breath. And the ground under me is torn away.

(FIRST CHAPTER EEP! NERVOUS! AND EXCITED TOO! Midiiplier  LOVE SURPRISE~ HOPE IT WAS WORTH IT AND I HOPE THE FIRST CHAPTER WAS EXCITING TO READ! THIS IS ANOTHER SHORT STORY... SO HOPEFULLY I DON'T GET CARRIED AWAY! LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS! ENTER BANDIT TAE STAGE LEFT AND POOR (Y/N) WHO'S GOING TO BE HAVING A TOUGH PATCH TO GO THROUGH! GAHH! I'M EXCITED! CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU THINK!)

Take care and stay safe!

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3