Feedback: XSandPiper78[at]

Rating: R (for violent content)

Category: S
Spoilers: Irresistible
Disclaimer: Characters within belong to CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Twentieth-Century Fox. No infringement intended.
Summary: “The hooker was just convenient.” But, who was she?

Author’s Note: Thanks to my fabulous beta, Mimic. This is a companion piece to “Donnie Pfaster – Profile of a Fetishist” and part of the Donnie Pfaster series.


I’m about to call it a night.

Three customers and all they wanted were quick blowjobs in the
front seat of their upholstered, suburban family cars. Never let
it be said that the middle class doesn’t have its underbelly.
Hell, brokers and businessmen make up two-thirds of my clientele.

Thirty bucks a pop just isn’t gonna cut it on a slow night like
tonight. Rent’s due tomorrow morning, bright and early and I know
for a fact Brittany isn’t doing any better than I am tonight.

Damn, I hate this job. Sweaty men with their greasy, meaty paws
all over me. But, it’s a damn sight better than living on the
farm with my daddy. After Mom left us, he started drinking
heavily and usually took his anger toward her out on me. I
suppose it was convenient for him that I was the spitting image
of her. Made it more real for him as he beat me, all the while
calling me by her name with bourbon-soaked breath.

Small town girls with nothing but time on their hands can get
into some really serious trouble. And I was so bored. I was
getting very good at learning all about men in the back seats of
their cars – even the married ones.

The day I turned eighteen, I decided to leave that little section
of Hell and moved here. Pretty bold move on my part, especially
since I didn’t know anyone and had no skills whatsoever. The bus
fare here was stolen out of Daddy’s wallet while he was passed
out from another bender and all I had left was enough for a cheap
lunch and a candy bar. It was the scariest time of my life, but
at least I wasn’t my father’s little punching bag anymore.

Then I met Brit. She found me hovering in an alleyway, cold and
scared and offered to take me in. She took the rest of the night
off and we went to a little 24 hour diner up the road. I told her
my story, she told me hers. We had an instant connection.

Anyway, she let me sleep at her place while I searched for a job.
Unfortunately, no one wanted to hire a fresh-off-the-bus teenager
with no employment record and a temporary address. After a couple
of weeks of the run-around I finally asked Brit what she thought
of me working with her. After all, I was very good at what I did
back home. At least this way I’d have more than soggy panties and
no satisfaction to show for it.

At first, she wasn’t going for it. She was only twenty-two, but
she was like a mother hen when it came to me. After a lot of
convincing, she finally agreed to show me the ropes.

So now I stand on the same strip, never far from her side. Why am
I thinking of these things? Because whenever I’m tempted to run
home, tail tucked firmly between my legs, I have to remind myself
what I left behind and why. I have to *make* myself remember the
look on my daddy’s face just before he lowers his fist to strike
me, the vein that pops out of his strained neck and the glazed-
over eyes.

I shift impatiently from one foot to the other. Damn! Candi just
got picked up. We’ll never make rent at this rate – and I’m
freezing my ass off out here.

Oh, thank God. Another car’s pulling up. He’s passing by Sasha
and Lexie. He’s ignoring Brit – and looking straight at me. Good.
Hopefully, he’ll want a little more than a blowjob.

I sashay over to his car. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies. He looks a little creepy, but who am I to pass
up a quick buck?

I ask the question carefully, as I was taught – you can’t be too
careful in this profession. Cops are always lurking. “Are you
looking for a date?”


Seems harmless enough. Definitely not a cop. “Why don’t you pull
up around that corner over there,” I tell him. The sooner I
finish with this one, the sooner I can set up for a new customer.

“Actually, I was thinking of a couple of hours.”

Jackpot! If this guy wants a couple of hours, it’s gonna cost
him. Intercourse is always more expensive than the nickel and
dime blowjobs and hand jobs I usually get. I think we’re going to
make that rent after all.

“Oh! Where do you have in mind?”


The car ride to his apartment is really quiet and uncomfortable.
Neither of us say a thing. Finally, we pull up to the front of
his building.

He gets out of the car and starts walking toward the front door,
leaving me behind to catch up. And they say chivalry is dead.
What a gentleman.

I follow him into his apartment and a frigid blast of air hits
me, full force.

“Don’t you have any heat in here? It’s freezing!” What’s with
this guy? It’s not even this cold down on the strip. I hug
myself, trying to warm up a bit and look around.

He turns slowly toward me, half his face obliterated in the
shadows, and my flesh prickles. Suddenly, I want to leave. He’s
making me nervous.

“The forced air unit is broken. I’d like to run you a bath.”

A bath? What the hell does he want me to take a bath for? Maybe
he thinks I’m dirty from other men. Don’t I wish! That would mean
I had some real business tonight. Anyway, we always carry the
essentials in our bags; condoms, lipstick and baby wipes. That
usually cleans us up in a flash. The convenience store on the
corner doesn’t even bother us about using their restrooms to
freshen up anymore – we’re like a staple there, day and night.

Well, whatever gets him off, I decide. At least I’ll be getting
paid to relax. He leaves the room and I hear the sound of running
water. I don’t know, but there’s something really strange that
nags me about this guy. He seems a little – off.

After a few minutes, I get impatient and follow the sound of the
bath being drawn, finding him in a little bathroom. If I’m lucky
and can speed this up, I’ll be able to pull a few more customers
before the sun rises after this.

“Is your hair treated?” he asks slowly.

“What?” What the hell…?

“Do you need a shampoo for chemically treated hair?”

I don’t like the excited look on his face when he asks that. It’s
creepy. It *would* be my luck that I get some fetish freak on my
hands. Brit once told me about a guy who wanted to spend his
whole time rubbing himself on her feet. I wonder what this one’s
gonna ask me to do.

“You want me to shampoo my hair?” I can’t believe this. If he
starts getting all weird on me, I’m outta here.

“I’ll pay extra, if that’s something out of the ordinary.”


“Nobody’s ever asked me,” I tell him. I’m not about to throw away
good money just because it’s a little strange. I place my bag on
the floor and put my foot up on a chair, removing my boots
slowly, intending to undress as sexy as possible for him. I’m
always conscious of attracting repeat business.

The phone rings and he looks at me intensely, making me feel a
little uneasy. This whole *experience* is making me uneasy. After
he excuses himself, I finish undressing quickly. There’s no
longer an audience and I want to get into that warm water as soon
as possible. What is it about bathrooms that make them the
coldest part of the house?

Sticking one foot gingerly into the water to test the
temperature, I yelp in surprise. What the hell? There’s no hot
water in there at all! He wants me to take a bath in that?

I’m pissed and I want to leave. Now.

I wrap a towel around myself and find his bedroom, where I hear
the sound of his voice. He’s about to get a *serious* ass

“Hey, what’s going on here? The water’s ice cold…” My words
trail off as I see the room. Funeral sprays, everywhere, decorate
the entire room. Most are dead and the sickly sweet smell
of decay lingers all around me. In the middle is a wrought-iron
bed with a wreath of wilted flowers on the footboard. My stomach
turns as I take all this in.

“What kind of sick freak are you?” I look around again and it
dawns on me what the cold air and flower arrangements are for.

They’re for me.

“Oh, my God,” I barely hear him finishing his conversation, but
his eyes are locked with mine. I’m almost paralyzed with fear.
He, on the other hand, looks excited and eager. My skin puckers
up into gooseflesh and I can hear the sound of my heart beating
wildly in my ears. He hangs up and I reflexively back up against
the wall, wanting nothing but to put as much distance between him
and me as possible.

“Don’t you come near me,” I warn. I’m surprised my voice even
works at this point, but he slowly stalks toward me anyway. My
breath is rushing out of me in frantic puffs, making me
lightheaded even as the fight or flight instinct is kicking in.

“Don’t you touch me!” I back up into the hallway, too scared to
take my eyes off of him as he inches closer and closer to me.
Coming up against another wall, I try to make my voice sound

“Stay away from me! Keep away from me!” The horrified quality of
my voice is nothing compared to the absolute terror I feel. I
know without a doubt I’m about to die. I’m certain of it. It’s
all I can do to keep from crumpling down on the floor, rolling
myself into a ball and crying my eyes out. Sliding against the
hallway wall, I vainly try one last time. “Don’t come near me!”

But he’s already in front of me, eyes glowing in the semi-
darkness and a smirk of pleasure on his face. My mind flashes
back to the farm where I grew up and the tree fort Daddy built me
when I was eight years old, long before Mama left and everything
changed. We used to be so happy.

But none of these strange visions are important because he’s on
top of me now, and a scream is ringing in my ears. It takes me a
second to realize it belongs to me.

He draws his hand all the way back and slaps me across the face
so hard I bite my tongue. The familiar coppery taste of blood
fills my mouth. He twists my hair around his hand, and pulls me
into the kitchen. My entire scalp feels like it’s on fire. Every
little yelp that slips out of me is rewarded with a swift kick to
the top of my head and I’m so scared he’s gonna crush my skull in
that I shut up.

Finally, he untangles his hand with a vicious yank. I look up
from my sprawled position on the kitchen floor to see him smiling
into the blade of a butcher knife. He holds it between his thumb
and index finger, the handle in his other hand.

“Oh, my God!” I can’t help the strangled words from coming out of
my mouth.

Seeming to remember my presence, he bends to jerk me to my feet
and pulls me into the bathroom. He ruthlessly pushes me toward
the bathtub where I land, splayed out on my ass.

I struggle to get up and succeed before he lunges forward. I feel
myself raise off the floor from the tremendous force with which
he thrusts the knife into my stomach.

My, God! It feels like my entire body has been ripped apart,
straight down the middle. White-hot sparks of pain shoot up and
down and across and out of me. It’s unbearable. Please, God, make
it stop please, please! I know I haven’t been good, but please
make it all go away! Oh, God!

A shrill scream is the last thing I hear, and then – darkness.

~The End~