Pimped Out
He lost his job but he still wants to serve. Guess there's only one way to pay for it...
An intense inevitability filled him as he looked up at the apartment block. It was tall and new, the foyer guarded by a man in a uniform who watched them with an intense stare. Money was here. Not like the run down dive he’d feared.
“Well?”
Impatience in her voice. He looked at her. Beautiful. Powerful. A woman he worshipped more than anything. How many times had he told her he would do anything for her? Would he now fail when she demanded it from him?
“I... I...” he stammered.
“What? You’re not sure you want to go through with it? After the shit you pulled?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck that. I told you, pay to play, bitch. You got no money, you get nothing. Now you got no job it’s this or the fucking highway.”
He shuddered. Each month he’d given her half his pay-check and when the work stopped there was nothing to fall back on. His own fault. He should have been more frugal and stashed more away. Instead he’d laid every spare coin at her feet. Look where that got him.
The car’s engine snapped him out of self-pity.
“This is no different to when I lend you out at parties,” she said. Her tone was softer, more reassuring. “You get in there, you put on the maid’s dress and you do whatever the fuck he wants. When you done, you take the cash and come back to mine. Got it?”
He nodded.
“He’s booked you for two hours, and I know how much he’s paying. You’ll get some.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Now get the fuck out of my car.”
The Mercedes pulled away and let him on the sidewalk. In his hand was the sports bag, and in that the costumes and toys “he” had specified.
“He”, who was in an apartment high in the tower, awaiting the arrival of the submissive he’d hired.