Chapter 1

Edwin's POV

"Yeah, baby, just like that keep going, fuck me harder," she moaned loudly, her fingers clutching the edge of the sink, "that's the spot, yeah, right there."  

I grimaced as I watched sweat bead down her arched back. Why did she keep calling me "baby"?  

"Oh God, I’m about to blow…"

Finally,

"Yes, baby, yes don’t stop.."

Her whole body tensed, her moans turning into desperate whimpers. Her hips jerked erratically, and I decided to push her harder, faster. Her voice grew raw, uninformed of my name, so in a broken, awkward voice, she screamed,  

"Come on, bartender…fuck me even harder!"

A loud cry tore from her throat as she climaxed, spilling her release all over me. I slowly withdrew, disgust curling in my stomach at the sight of the creamy mess splattered on my skin and hips. I backed away, grabbing a tissue to clean myself.

She turned around, flashing a grin as I zipped up my trousers and buckled my belt.

"Tuck, boy," she chuckled, "That dick of yours is fire. You almost wrecked my pussy with it. Nearly an hour, huh?"

"That’ll be three hundred dollars," I said, voice cold.

Sha gasped, eyes wide with surprise. "Damn, boy. Looks like you’re not much for small talk, huh? Just do your thing and walk away, huh?"

I glanced at the door impatiently. "I gotta get back to the bar. This is the restroom anyone could walk in. Can I get my money?"

She reached into her purse, retrieved the bills, and handed them over. I slipped the cash into my pocket and headed for the door.

"Next time, I’ll make you suck my pussy longer, cutie," she called after me.

My stomach twisted at her words. I muttered to myself, "Next time." The familiar wave of self-loathing washed over me again.

How long would I have to keep doing this? Since dropping out of college, I hadn’t done anything else. My mother was still sick at home. That was the only thing worse than this life. Going back to her, knowing I was barely scraping by, tore me apart.

Then there was Ruby. My little sister, someone I’d always looked after through high school. Working at the bar was never enough to support us, but when my manager mentioned this "side hustle," I leapt at it. That was about six months ago.

Now, I’d lost count of how many women I’d been with. Ridiculous.

"Yo, Edwin," Mark’s voice came from behind, with his arm draped over my shoulder.

He’s my manager a man in his mid-forties who always tried to justify pushing his clients onto me:

“I’ve lost my mojo, kid. These women need more energy, you get me?”

That was BS. Mark only fucked the wealthy women wives of politicians and businessmen those whose husbands were too preoccupied to care. He had a penthouse for them upstairs. The less fortunate women and most of the men he handed off to me.

There was a hotel nearby, its receptionist used to be familiar with my visits.

"Hey, Edwin," she’d say, with a slight smirk.

That changed the night I fucked her in a broken-down cab on our way home. Now she called me “monster dick” not that I cared, but she wouldn’t stop teasing me.

Other clients loved risky spots asking me to fuck them in bathroom stalls or the VIP lounge, which was always thick with cigarette smoke and haze. Mostly women in their mid-thirties craving that reckless thrill of youthful rebellion.

Honestly, I was sick of it all. But what I earned in a night at the bar easily paid for the nightmares I endured.

"You were standing here the entire time?" I asked Mark.

He grinned mischievously. "You’re a real freak, huh?"

"Are you kidding? She was singing like a canary the whole time. Had to keep people from walking in on us," he said, then nudged me. "So, how much did you make?"

"Two hundred dollars."

He held out his hand. I hesitated, then shoved the money into his palm. He snatched a fifty-dollar bill and chuckled.  

"Good job, kid," he said, patting my shoulder, then walked away.

The rest of the night, I stood behind the bar, serving drinks and avoiding eye contact with any woman who looked my way. I couldn’t wait to get out of there once Mark gave the signal.

I hurried home on a rickety bike, my mind drifting blank along the ride.

Sneaking into my mother’s room, I kept the lights off so as not to wake her. She was deep in sleep. I kissed her forehead gently, then tiptoed upstairs to my room.

I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. After a deep breath, I dragged myself up and headed toward the bathroom. But then I noticed movement behind the curtains.

I froze. A pair of tiny feet peeked out from underneath.

"Ruby. What are you doing there?" I asked, voice low.

She hesitated before stepping out, clutching something in her hand. My eyes widened instantly. I looked at my wardrobe open and saw what she was holding: one of my biggest dildos.

Her face was filled with shock, and before I could speak, she asked in a trembling voice,

"Are you a sex worker, Edwin?"