1.34 - The Best Little Whorehouse on Earth

1.34 - The Best Little Whorehouse on Earth

The city of Akinyele only popped up about fifty years ago. Filled with people from across the planet Earth with a single goal in mind, freedom. They don’t bother anyone and occupy a section of land others would avoid. The constantly shifting soil is hard to build on, but they’ve managed to do it by building structures on metal and concrete bases. Still, a leaning building becomes a rather common sight. Tonight, rain bounces off the metal plates covering the ground here in the fantasy district. Neon signs reflecting on the wet ground or the roofs of cars from the previous rains. The cars on this part of Earth are of the classic variation, wheels and power windows without pressurized cabins. Wealthier parts of the world, and Sol in general, have switched over to VTOL cars. Places like Pluto and Mars never had anything else, but 4 wheels on Earth is still the preferred method. Cities have built up higher, but the distance between cities can be pretty far and there isn’t always public transportation to small places like Akinyele. If you’re in the city, fly. If you’re crossing between cities, drive. It just so happens people drive from all around South America to get here.

I’d call it a red light district, but the entire city is a red light district. Nearly every fetish you could think of and a few more can be met in this city. It doesn’t matter if you love feet, tentacles, fingers, being dominated, dominating, being burned, old people, young people, different species, costumes, tickling, fighting or sleeping, the needs can be met as long as it’s legal. You might need to sign a waiver in some cases, but someone will indulge you. I pause momentarily to look at a vending machine with flashing lights and laser sound effects. It’s full of various articles of clothing packaged in plastic, each displaying a picture of a person. I’m assuming these are all used, I find myself smiling at the absurdity. But who am I to laugh? I’m here in the same city as the people who buy these things.

“Having a hard time making a choice,” and older man asks me. His eyebrows rustle in the wind as he squints to get a better look.

“No, I was just looking,” I answer him.

“I understand,” he laughs. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he gives me a big exaggerated wink.

“Oh no, I’m not getting anything.”

“Me neither,” he giggles as he settles on purchase.

The man waves his hand over the sensor, paying for his purchase. A small plastic package drops down that he eagerly pulls from the slot in the machine. He rips open the packaging with an eagerness I wouldn’t expect from a man of his age. He tucks the card displaying an image of a larger woman with acorn colored skin, white hair and rapidly shifting eye colors. He unfolds the panties until he’s holding them in both hands. He covers his face with them, and takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell, simultaneously growling. He quickly folds the underwear and tucks them neatly into his pocket. He uses a finger to cover his sly smile, signifying for me to keep a secret. I mimic his motion and he nods gleefully before taking off with much more urgency.

Rain starts to fall, and the metal streets quickly become slicker, mirroring the various glowing signs and advertisements with more detail. The entire place reminds me of a mission where I slept in a shack made of sheet metal to avoid acid rains at night. The high-pitched pattering sound of raindrops summon memories I had long since shoved to the side to make space. For a moment I wonder why all my memories seem to be bad. Do I not have any good memories? I put a mental pin in the thought as I reach my destination.

Kia’s has a reputation for being one of the best brothels in the Sol System. People would talk about it in the barracks as if it were a life changing experience. Inside the building on the edge of the city, I don’t have that feeling. There’s a thick perfume in the air that makes breathing a constant thought. To my left there’s a couch with a woman taking puffs from an inhaler equipped with a clear canister displaying some kind of red fluid. After three puffs, she clenches her fist, and exhales before relaxing her entire body and spreading across the couch.

“Room 31,” a man hands me a card and points down the hall to the right.

Various sounds come from the closed rooms. Some, obvious sounds of sex; passion and joy however seem far apart. Instead guttural sounds and demands come from most of the rooms. Behind others, sounds I don’t recognize. Occasionally I pass a room with the door wide open and try to keep my curious glances brief. I can’t seem to pry my eyes away from two naked women repeatedly stabbing at each other with needles of various sizes, quickly drawing blood from one another and ingesting it.

“We need a third,” one says as the other giggles.

“I’ll pass,” I respond with more disgust in my voice than I expected.

“Shut the door or come in,” the other snarls and points a needle at me.

I slide their door closed and make my way to my room with my head down for my own good. Similar to every room I peeked into, but cleaner, unused. Various lubricants, toys and forms of protection. I suppose if you’d like something specific you’d have to bring it yourself. I don’t waste any time and open what they call the menu of services. I don’t have anything specific in mind, or I do, I came here for the specialty. I put on the helmet next to the bed that supposedly reads brain waves to create the scenario you’re craving at the moment, even if you don’t know you’re craving it. I lie back across the bed as blue and yellow lights flash in odd patterns. Once completed, I place the helmet back in its resting spot and wait. Soon there’s a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” I call out.

“Hi, I’m Yesenia,” a tall woman in a black leather jumpsuit enters.

“So how does this work?”

“I take care of everything,” she smiles brushing a single blue dreadlock from her face.

She makes her way to the bed, and I’m nervous. She’s my type, tall, incredible thighs, I love her hair and smile. She extends her hand to me and I notice gold flakes on her copper skin. I take her soft hand and bring her into the bed, allowing her to lead the way. So far, I don’t have any complaints. For a moment she straddles me, smiling at me. I move my hands to caress her body, learning the curves. She bites her lip and holds my hands in her own soft warm hands.

“What now,” I ask, eager to see where it goes.

“This,” she smiles and twists away from my body.

For a moment she tosses me around as if I’m a kid, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of me paying for a woman to manhandle me. I didn’t think that was in my mind, then she stops. I realize I’m the small spoon and she’s wrapped her body around mind. She places a kiss on my neck and I hold her hand tighter.

“So, do we go further,” I ask after we stayed in that position for a while.

“We can, if that’s what you want,” her whisper sends chills down my spine.

“What do you think I want?”

“I think according to your scan, you want to tell me about your life.”

“Like a therapist?”

“I don’t do that. I’m just here to listen, provide an unbiased ear.”

“What about your life?”

“I can tell you about my life, but I think sharing yours would be better.”



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