Status: Completed =]
#17 Songstress
2 Months Earlier
I rarely visited my hotel. One trip every month or so was more than sufficient to ensure things ran smoothly. The hotel provided the wrong type of environment to conduct business with my customers. I met with my clients at my pristine office uptown, showed them pictures and booked them a room, so to speak. This needed to be done somewhere discreet and clean, everything the hotel was not.
Several miles out of city limits, my hotel sat at the end of a dirty gravel road, fenced off with plenty of no trespassing signs. It was a run-down building; anyone passing by assumed someone abandoned the building, just as I intended. Cracked bricks fell off the building, carving holes in the concrete below. Overgrown weeds nearly barred the entrance. If you made it inside, you realized the interior of the building was hardly different from the outside. The occasional rat crept along the baseboards to run into a crack between the rickety floor boards. The lights always flickered dimly, and every hallway reeked of mold. My clients preferred the place this way. Something about the crumbling atmosphere engaged their inner animal, and brought out the beast that was capable of the awful deeds my clients committed. I exploited this carnal instinct of every man just as much as I exploited my girls. After all, sex is simply nature when it comes down to it.
I found myself at the hotel Friday night, preparing to make my rounds. As my car jolted down the rough road, I felt a sinister power flood my veins. What I am about to do seemed inhuman to most people, but it gave me the energy I thrived on.
As soon as I entered the lobby, I was greeted by my employees. Not your typical receptionists, they were enormous and threatening. Their very presence ensured that no one tried anything funny with my girls. With a nod of my head, they pushed open the two wooden double doors and I walked through the dark hallway to make my inspection.
The best way to describe the bedroom wing was simply to say that it reeked of sex. Every breath provided the scent of sweat, of cheap perfume and tension. As if the aroma was not blunt enough, the doors no one even bothered to shut concealed no secrets. The first one I passed was that of a blonde girl, buried beneath the body of a man, although compared to her frail frame he appeared to be more of an ogre. Her stockings were torn in several places, and over his shoulder all I could see were her lips, and smudged red lipstick on her chin. She was silent, and barely made a movement, other than the half hearted twitch of an arm. Even though I could not see her eyes, I knew how they looked. All the eyes were the same; they looked blank, and starred at nothing, even in the midst of a conversation. I never looked the girls in the eye. I knew she was a veteran of the trade, and soon her time would be up. What was once a girl had become a defeated woman who barely even tried any longer. I had no room for women like her. She would be dealt with before I left. I walked on, with the pounding noise of the bed creeping down the hallway with me.
The next open door presented an entirely different scene, one of vibrancy and leather. Bound and blindfolded to a chair, a scrawny man with an erection sat grinning from ear to ear. Pacing around him like a lioness about to strike, a red headed vixen in black stilettos (and nothing else) cracked a whip into the air, sending chills down my own spine. Just by looking at the man and the situation presented, I knew his life story. He was a hot shot business executive with a nag for a wife and an addiction to sports cars; most likely an attempt to compensate for a lack of bulge below the belt. He lived a dull life, and all the money in the world never filled the void he dug within himself. That explained how he found himself here, within my realm. That explained the hot wax dripping down his body and the red whelps all over his back. He simply wanted a thrill, and had the cash to obtain whatever he dreamed of. I loved clients like him; the pathetic men, honestly.
I continued down the hallway, picking out the girls who needed replacing and the ones forgetting their places, when I heard a sound drift down the hallway. No familiarity came with the sound, only shock. I heard notes, pitches and tone. As strange and innocent as the birth of a child, I heard singing- pure and angelic music gliding down the halls. Immediately, I ran towards the source. Turning into a darker hallway, I smashed my feet against the floor boards trying to overwhelm the singing with the noise of old, uneven wood. Nothing worked, if anything my concentration amplified the sound more within my mind.
I slowed my pace as I reached a door slightly ajar. As I pushed the door open music washed over me, louder than before and more powerful than the typical screams and moans the seeped out of a room. A very young brunette girl sat on a wrinkled mass of bloody sheets, naked except for a pair of faded denim jeans and a jet black bra with torn lace falling off at the seams. Without the curiosity to even raise her head at me, she continued to sing in a language I cannot understand. Although I do not understand the words, I feel no sadness in her voice. I see no desperation in her posture, no defeat. I’ve had all the singing I can take.
“Hey,” I screamed with violence in my voice. She turned around and began to remove the remaining clothes on her body. She believes I am a client, and starts to go through the motions of smiling and crawling off the bed towards me. This is the new girl, number 17. I still hear her singing under her breath and in utter confusion I remove my belt. Only then do I see the fear enter her eyes.
I hit her, over and over again, yelling like some sort of animal the entire time. She tried to run away from me, but her weakness prevents her from breaking the grip I have on her arm.
She continues to struggle, and with an almost maniacal laugh, I bellow “You think we’re done,” and pull her up to my eye level as I hit her. I want to see the tears fall down her face, I want the satisfaction of knowing I am the cause of her pain.
Her back begins to bleed as I continue to strike her with every amount of force I have. Right now, I regain my power. Her once singing voice fades into cries, just like every other unfortunate little girl here. No one should sing here- no one. Even when she falls to the floor and stops making any noise at all, I cannot stop. Blood puddled in the small of her lower back, and the pungent odor of iron makes its way about the room, and still I cannot stop. Only when she stops fighting me do I stop. When she gives in and gives to me her last bit of control and strength, I stop hitting her.
Like nothing at all happened, I put my crimson stained belt back on, and walked out of her room. Almost immediately after I exited, I heard her singing once more. Her voice chased me as I run down the hallway; as I speed down the road; as I lie in my bed and try to sleep at night.
Little did I know, the life that I knew ended that night.
Several miles out of city limits, my hotel sat at the end of a dirty gravel road, fenced off with plenty of no trespassing signs. It was a run-down building; anyone passing by assumed someone abandoned the building, just as I intended. Cracked bricks fell off the building, carving holes in the concrete below. Overgrown weeds nearly barred the entrance. If you made it inside, you realized the interior of the building was hardly different from the outside. The occasional rat crept along the baseboards to run into a crack between the rickety floor boards. The lights always flickered dimly, and every hallway reeked of mold. My clients preferred the place this way. Something about the crumbling atmosphere engaged their inner animal, and brought out the beast that was capable of the awful deeds my clients committed. I exploited this carnal instinct of every man just as much as I exploited my girls. After all, sex is simply nature when it comes down to it.
I found myself at the hotel Friday night, preparing to make my rounds. As my car jolted down the rough road, I felt a sinister power flood my veins. What I am about to do seemed inhuman to most people, but it gave me the energy I thrived on.
As soon as I entered the lobby, I was greeted by my employees. Not your typical receptionists, they were enormous and threatening. Their very presence ensured that no one tried anything funny with my girls. With a nod of my head, they pushed open the two wooden double doors and I walked through the dark hallway to make my inspection.
The best way to describe the bedroom wing was simply to say that it reeked of sex. Every breath provided the scent of sweat, of cheap perfume and tension. As if the aroma was not blunt enough, the doors no one even bothered to shut concealed no secrets. The first one I passed was that of a blonde girl, buried beneath the body of a man, although compared to her frail frame he appeared to be more of an ogre. Her stockings were torn in several places, and over his shoulder all I could see were her lips, and smudged red lipstick on her chin. She was silent, and barely made a movement, other than the half hearted twitch of an arm. Even though I could not see her eyes, I knew how they looked. All the eyes were the same; they looked blank, and starred at nothing, even in the midst of a conversation. I never looked the girls in the eye. I knew she was a veteran of the trade, and soon her time would be up. What was once a girl had become a defeated woman who barely even tried any longer. I had no room for women like her. She would be dealt with before I left. I walked on, with the pounding noise of the bed creeping down the hallway with me.
The next open door presented an entirely different scene, one of vibrancy and leather. Bound and blindfolded to a chair, a scrawny man with an erection sat grinning from ear to ear. Pacing around him like a lioness about to strike, a red headed vixen in black stilettos (and nothing else) cracked a whip into the air, sending chills down my own spine. Just by looking at the man and the situation presented, I knew his life story. He was a hot shot business executive with a nag for a wife and an addiction to sports cars; most likely an attempt to compensate for a lack of bulge below the belt. He lived a dull life, and all the money in the world never filled the void he dug within himself. That explained how he found himself here, within my realm. That explained the hot wax dripping down his body and the red whelps all over his back. He simply wanted a thrill, and had the cash to obtain whatever he dreamed of. I loved clients like him; the pathetic men, honestly.
I continued down the hallway, picking out the girls who needed replacing and the ones forgetting their places, when I heard a sound drift down the hallway. No familiarity came with the sound, only shock. I heard notes, pitches and tone. As strange and innocent as the birth of a child, I heard singing- pure and angelic music gliding down the halls. Immediately, I ran towards the source. Turning into a darker hallway, I smashed my feet against the floor boards trying to overwhelm the singing with the noise of old, uneven wood. Nothing worked, if anything my concentration amplified the sound more within my mind.
I slowed my pace as I reached a door slightly ajar. As I pushed the door open music washed over me, louder than before and more powerful than the typical screams and moans the seeped out of a room. A very young brunette girl sat on a wrinkled mass of bloody sheets, naked except for a pair of faded denim jeans and a jet black bra with torn lace falling off at the seams. Without the curiosity to even raise her head at me, she continued to sing in a language I cannot understand. Although I do not understand the words, I feel no sadness in her voice. I see no desperation in her posture, no defeat. I’ve had all the singing I can take.
“Hey,” I screamed with violence in my voice. She turned around and began to remove the remaining clothes on her body. She believes I am a client, and starts to go through the motions of smiling and crawling off the bed towards me. This is the new girl, number 17. I still hear her singing under her breath and in utter confusion I remove my belt. Only then do I see the fear enter her eyes.
I hit her, over and over again, yelling like some sort of animal the entire time. She tried to run away from me, but her weakness prevents her from breaking the grip I have on her arm.
She continues to struggle, and with an almost maniacal laugh, I bellow “You think we’re done,” and pull her up to my eye level as I hit her. I want to see the tears fall down her face, I want the satisfaction of knowing I am the cause of her pain.
Her back begins to bleed as I continue to strike her with every amount of force I have. Right now, I regain my power. Her once singing voice fades into cries, just like every other unfortunate little girl here. No one should sing here- no one. Even when she falls to the floor and stops making any noise at all, I cannot stop. Blood puddled in the small of her lower back, and the pungent odor of iron makes its way about the room, and still I cannot stop. Only when she stops fighting me do I stop. When she gives in and gives to me her last bit of control and strength, I stop hitting her.
Like nothing at all happened, I put my crimson stained belt back on, and walked out of her room. Almost immediately after I exited, I heard her singing once more. Her voice chased me as I run down the hallway; as I speed down the road; as I lie in my bed and try to sleep at night.
Little did I know, the life that I knew ended that night.