Chapter 16: It is not like how it used to...

 Dean: Incubus, mage. In a gentleman's house, but not in the mood. 

I run a feather over the body of the delectable blonde prostitute that is laying on the bed. Still, there is something that doesn't feel quite like how I am used to feeling, in similar moments. 

The hair color is a couple of too many shades too dark, for me to imagine either Vincent or Augustine. The body build is too slim, for me to droll over Atha.

I must be catching the flu because those thoughts keep on repeating in my head. The blonde, who has a swimmer's build, and delectable brown eyes, looks up to me. 

Brown. Not blue, or green. 

I sigh, and begin to untie the man. 

"Master," he moans out, but I silence him with a look. 

"I am not in the mood, sweetling. It is not your fault. It is just that... Never mind. You will be paid for the three hours I booked you for, as promised," my fingers linger over the cock strap. The poor thing is hard. 

Wrapped up like a present, and I am not in the mood?

I sigh, and unlock the strap. Then, I work my way through the rest of the straps. The blonde stares at me with bafflement in his eyes. I can understand his confusion. I mean, he is my regular snack, and suddenly, I tell him that I am not hungry, even though it has been three days since he last fed me? Personally, I'd feel insulted, if I were him. 

 He can't afford to be insulted, though. He is a prostitute. 

I bite my lower lip, and look into his eyes. 

"Are you treated well by your other clients?" I ask. I don't know why I care, but something makes me ask. 

"We have strict rules about the clients not using violence," he says, but he breaks eye contact with me. I feel indignation rising in my chest. 

"Has anybody ever hit you?" I take his chin into my hands, and force him to look into my eyes. He shakes his head. 

"I don't argue with my clients, and the Madam doesn't send me over to the more problematic ones," he says, and then forces a smile on his face. I press my forehead to his, and press our noses together. "Master, are you in the mood for sex without bondage, tonight?"

He sounds hopeful, and I feel guilty that I have never cared if he liked BDMS before.  

"I am not in the mood for anything, but talking," I say, and release him. I lay in the bed, and bring him into my arms. He snuggles into me, and I begin. I admit to him that I am an incubus, and that I have been feeding off him during our time together. I tell him of my new, and still nameless, party. Of my fantasies about them. 

"I am glad," he finally says, when I take in a deep breath. "That you told me all of this. Normally, clients don't think about me as anything more than a hole." 

I bring him closer to me. I know I can't help all the prostitutes in this brothel. But this one? Why can't I at least free him? 

"What is your name?" I feel like an asshole, for never asking him that. He was the first human that the Madam of the brothel offered me, and I asked for him time and time again. He is so submissive, that it is easy to feed from him. 

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"Allen," he says, and then his fingers begin to trace circles on my chest. "Is this the final time that I will see you?" 

"What is your debt to the brothel?" I ask next, instead of mulling over why he'd ask me that. I mean, I tip generously. Not only that, but I am kind to him. 

 If you can call tying someone up like a deer, and then toying with them, kind. 

A big part of me doesn't want for my party members to ever find out that I have done such things to a human being. That I cared so little. 

I am just tying a loose end, so I can move to greener pastures. 

But now, I know his name. 

"One hundred gold coins," Allen says. I nod. I pat him on the shoulder, and get out of the embrace. Then, I go to my bottomless bag, and take out a fat coin pouch. 

"Tell the Madam that this is a tip, and that you want to pay your debt," I tell him, when I close his fingers around the coin pouch. After that, I take a smaller one, and hand that one over too. "And this is so you can have time to get on your feet. If you are mindful of what you spend, you will have enough to last you for a year." 

He blinks through tears, and suddenly, his arms are wrapped around my neck. He brings me back down on the bed, but I don't let him take off my clothes. 

"From now on, you are to do these things only with someone special. Promise me," I tell him. He forces a smile on his face that is so broken, that I can't help myself, and plant kisses under his eyes, to wipe away the tears. "Promise me." 

I repeat this plea after each kiss. Finally, he half-sobs, half-giggles, and murmurs a simple: 

"I promise," with that, I give him one last hug, and get off the bed. 

I am just about to leave, when he calls out to me.

"Will you stay in town?"

I turn around, and see that he looks at me with such desperation, that it startles me. 

Oh, no. 

The poor thing is in love. 

I feel like trash, for making him feel like that, when I don't feel the same. Still, I don't want to lie to him. To make him feel unworthy. 

"I'll be around, but you should enjoy your freedom," I tell him, turn my back to him, and get out of the room. 

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