"Come in, my love."
Candy shuddered and stepped inside cautiously. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes," said the man slowly. "Not only do I wish to sample some more of your services... but we must have a talk. Sit."
She lowered herself into a nearby chair, not taking her eyes off the horrid man, but not quite making eye contact with him.
"You are new here, Candy."
"Well, we have some more rules to go over."
Candy swallowed hard. "I'm listening."
"Well first... fucking look me in the eye," he said bitterly, quickly slapping her across the face. It wasn't the first time he had hit her, but the concept was still new to her enough to shock her and bring silent tears each time. He loved it. As she bit back a sob and steadied her eyes to him, he could feel himself go hard. "That's better," he said, stroking himself through his pants. "Now, what I run here Candy, as you could probably assume, could get me in a lot of trouble..."
Candy nodded, her eyes still watering.
"And having you under my roof makes this even worse, considering you aren't even eighteen," he had started to undo his pants as he was brought to a full erection. "So here's the deal. I've been noticing funny people lurking in here lately. People that aren't looking for business. People snooping. And if anyone gets in trouble, I'm going to assume that it's your fault. So you better fucking pray that no one gets exposed here. This is serious shit."
Candy nodded as she was thrown off the chair to her knees.
"Finish me off," he ordered. And she did. He took a sick pleasure in watching her cry, that alone could bring him to an orgasm. The warmth of her mouth and the way she took him in deeply sped along the process. She didn't swallow, but he let her off the hook this time, smiling at her as she stood.
"Those fresh, darling?" He motioned to her new, self inflicted wounds.
She stared at them silently, and he slapped her again.
"You better knock that shit off," he warned. "You know how hard it is finding customers that don't mind those ugly as fuck scars? Soon enough you'll be too broken to even look at, let alone fuck."
"Get to fucking work," he spat. "You're in room three today." He smiled at her obvious horror. "I'm sorry sweetie, you sore?"
His house had a system. There were private rooms, where men could buy sexual favors, and there was a bar in the main room where men could buy drinks and watch the strippers. Girls rotated between working the rooms, stripping onstage, and serving drinks. Candy, however, had been forced to work rooms all week, with much more customers in one night than the other girls. Initiation, he called it. He didn't care that she was so sore she could hardly walk, in fact, he loved it. He wanted her to hurt.
Candy quickly brushed her knees off and left the room with her head held high, not daring to look back at her torturer. It's only pain, she thought to herself. Just suck it up for a few more months, Ivy. You're going to get out of here eventually.