Day 11—How Much?

“How much?” asked the man. $700.” She said. “700…Really?!?” His outrage looked violent.

“Your sex is violence” she said, sarcastically.

“Do you want to make money, or do you want to make money?”

“I charge $750 because I do anything you want, including letting you kill me afterwards. I figure it’s a reasonable price for COMPLETE lack of boundaries. And for you, the $750 is a special deal.”

He threw a handful of money at her. “Dance for it.”

“I’m not a fucking stripper. Would you like to buy my pussy or not?”

The punches started flying. The back of her boot hit his forehead and knocked him down to the ground. 

“You have to actually pay me like a human being before you’re allowed to do that.” He lay, bleeding. The punches started again. To his face, his internal organs, everywhere. The red marks increased in number. He attempted to get up, to stabilize himself with his elbows but she’d started knocking out his teeth.


“These Johns just don’t know how to act these days.” She wiped the sweat off her dainty, freshly-sprayed hairdo. She then straightened her expensive Gothic Lolita-style skirt. She hadn’t worn the white shirt today and instead had worn a more slimline black one. The Johns still seemed to love it when she was covered up. The thing was, she was usually covered. She walked to the mirror down the hall and gently re-piled her curls on top of one another.

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