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suguruwithabow · 2 months ago

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𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘅 , satosugu

☆ ; female¡gojo satoru × female¡geto suguru (11k)

☆ ; where satoru is a prostitute madly in love with her older client, suguru.

☆ ; CW mature content , bad language , yuri satosugu , lesbian sex , rule63 , nipple stucking , oral , fingering , scissoring , strap-ons , spanking , toys , lingerie , CEO geto suguru , prostitute gojo satoru

☆ ; TW mention of eating disorders

☆ ; ao3 | wattpad (eng) | wattpad (ita)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | +18 enjoy ! 🎀

Satoru is a prostitute.

An escort, if you prefer it, but still a whore. She knows it, it's not that she doesn't know it, but sometimes it almost seems like she can pretend she isn't.

She wakes up when the sun is already high — she's never been a morning person and has never had a reason to change this habit of hers. Blades of light cut through the dark room, painting abstract figures on the white wooden panel at the door of the massive wardrobe pressed against the wall.

The bed is empty, obviously.

Satoru watches the specks of dust floating through the rectangles of light in front of her for what feels like an eternity; hours could pass, and she wouldn't notice.

She lingers among the sheets a little longer. They're freshly laundered, smooth against her skin, of excellent quality like every single tile in that enormous house. She groans as she stretches her muscles, stiff from sleep, the blankets tangled around her legs, her rebellious white hair tickling her face.

She rolls over to the other half of the bed, the side where Suguru sleeps. It's cold, lifeless, the sheets seem barely disturbed, and the pillow has just a small indentation where she rested her head the night before. Suguru sleeps very neatly, still as a mummy; you wouldn't even notice she's there, betrayed only by the occasional soft snore.

Satoru buries her face in the pillow and inhales deeply, taking in the scent of Suguru's shampoo buried beneath the more persistent smell of detergent. She feels warm, wet, and nervous. She clutches the sheets in her fists, pulling them slightly as if blaming them for the other woman's absence.

She presses her legs together, easing the throbbing sensation between her thighs. She squirms, letting out muffled sighs and gasps into the soft memory foam pillow where her face is buried, rolling onto one side, then the other, roughing up the bed linens around her.

She climbs onto the mattress, leveraging the headboard and sits up, moaning as she straddles Suguru's pillow. A sound of appreciation escapes her lips as her swollen clit rubs delicately against the pillowcase, covered only by a pair of light blue lace panties she doesn't even remember wearing last night.

She throws her head back, her white hair has grown longer and tickles her shoulders as she tilts her neck, rolls her hips and it doesn't take her long to find the right angle, the one that sends shivers down her spine and makes her feel like her insides are knotting in the bottom of her stomach.

She lets lewd moans stain her lips; one thing she loves about this house is that no matter how loud she is, no one would still be able to hear her.

She rides the pillow like it's her lover's face, moans her name like she can hear her, pinches her nipples until she screams because Suguru isn't there to do it for her and doesn't stop until she cums shaking, muscled burning from the effort, a trickle of drool dripping down her lips swollen from biting them too hard.

She grips the soft pillow between her legs tightly, slips her hands under Suguru's black t-shirt that she fell asleep in, and wraps her own arms around her hips. She likes to be hugged after an orgasm.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, and she knows it. There's no need to remind her.

After her shower, she goes to the living room with her hair still wet. The Italian leather of the sofa sticks annoyingly to her thighs — a real shame because Satoru finds that couch so elegant. She believes it’s an important design piece; it certainly looks like one.

Suguru bought her a PlayStation along with a ton of video games. Satoru asked for some really violent ones, and Suguru openly expressed her disapproval — but she bought them anyway.

She picks one from the shelf of the bookcase that Suguru emptied for her games and plays until Kuroi comes to prepare her lunch. Even though she’s paid to do it, Satoru thinks it’s rude to play in another room while someone is making her food, so she pauses the game and goes to the kitchen to keep her company.

Actually, she’s pretty sure Kuroi considers her a nuisance, but until she openly tells her she doesn’t want her there, Satoru will keep staying in the kitchen as always.

Kuroi is rather boring. It’s not that Satoru dislikes her; she’s just uninteresting. She never talks about herself or her life, she just cooks. She dresses like a nun, and although Satoru is convinced she’s not even forty yet, she seems much older than her age, mainly because of the gray strands visible in her bun, which she doesn’t bother to dye.

Suguru has so many employees, so many that Satoru probably hasn’t even met them all. Her favorite is Miguel, the gardener, a huge man with dark skin and heavy gold earrings in his lobes. He’s quite friendly and the most willing to talk to Satoru, but unfortunately, he only comes to the house on Thursday mornings for a few hours.

There’s Laure, an interior designer who occasionally changes a piece of furniture or a rug for Suguru. There’s Utahime, who handles the cleaning and is the one who hates Satoru the most because she says Satoru slows her down and bullies her every time she tries to work. Then there’s Mei Mei, a voluptuous woman with long silver hair who’s supposed to be some sort of accountant — or something like that. And finally, there are Mimiko and Nanako, twins, respectively a stylist and a makeup artist who take care of Suguru’s appearance when she has to attend official events.

Everyone in that house works for Suguru, and Satoru spends so much time locked inside there she might start to believe the whole world actually works for Suguru.

She sits on the marble countertop of the kitchen island, swings her legs like a child, and bombards Kuroi with questions, to which the cook responds only with monosyllables or brief, concise phrases.

Boring. At least Utahime gets angry and her reactions are fun to watch. Kuroi never gives her that satisfaction.

She prepared one of her usual refined dishes, what seems to be ravioli with a vegetable velouté — or something like that. Definitely delicious and inviting.

When the cook moves to put away the used dishes, Satoru tries to help, only to receive a brusque gesture in return.

«Sit down, Miss Satoru.» Kuroi says, putting the pots in the dishwasher.

«Oh, come on, Kuroi, let me help you. I feel guilty eating while you clean.» she smiles, tilting her head slightly to one side.

«I'm here because I got paid, Miss Satoru, just like you. Do your job, and I'll do mine.»

The words hang heavily in the air, and even more heavily in the girl's heart as she retreats, stunned.

Yes, everyone in this house works for Suguru, and at the end of the day, so does she. Kuroi ends cleaning and, with a polite "goodbye," leaves quietly like a little mouse, closing the heavy front door behind her.

Satoru doesn’t reply, but it doesn’t seem like Kuroi cares. She pushes the ravioli around on her plate and eats just a few before losing her appetite and throwing the rest into the trash. She does her best to hide it under a piece of paper towel. If Suguru sees she threw away her pasta, she’ll get mad at her, and honestly, Satoru doesn’t have the energy to deal with her.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, she knows it, god! She knows it.

She goes to the gym that afternoon, partly because she has nothing better to do and partly because her job requires her body to always be in perfect shape. Since she started living with Suguru, she’s already gained more weight than she’d like to admit.

She has a premium membership at an ultra-modern gym for the filthy rich, with a private locker room, spa access, and unlimited energy drinks. She has to admit that most of the time she goes there just to take some cute photos to post on her Pinterest profile, those incredibly staged “daily life” shots that often appear in lifestyle folders. Sometimes she’s there just for the spa treatment or the Gatorade.

She does her thirty minutes of cardio, a bit of stretching, some dumbbell exercises just to feel good about herself, and walks out through the sliding doors with an empty plastic bottle and her skin smelling like coconut oil.

When she gets home, all she has to do is set the table because Kuroi has already prepared dinner for her and Suguru. So she sits in the living room to wait, updating her Pinterest feed and adding crazy things to her wishlist. She doesn’t actually buy them — except for the PlayStation, she’s never asked Suguru anything and is happy with every gift she gets.

The heavy front door opens, and Satoru springs to her feet like a coil. She runs to the hallway where Suguru is getting rid of her everyday jewelry, letting them fall into a Murano glass catch-all, tinkling pleasantly. That colorful catch-all probably holds millions of yen.

As always, she’s stunning in her Dolce & Gabbana suit, tailored by Yaga, her personal tailor, to the perfect curve of her body. Satoru is tall and slim with good proportions, but Suguru is a blessing for the eyes.

She’s tall, not as tall as Satoru but taller than the average Japanese woman. Her tanned skin has a natural golden hue that perfectly matches her honey irises, surrounded by thick dark lashes like her hair — long, glossy as threads of silk, and shining like a starry night.

Her breasts are heavy and soft, covered by her clothes but not hidden. Her thighs are thick and plush, and Satoru loves to grab them with her hands when they have sex.

Her slim waist seems made to be held by Satoru as she pulls her in for a kiss. Her lips, tinted with Charlotte Tilbury lipstick, taste like vanilla on her tongue, and Satoru can never get enough. She’s never been this attracted to anyone as she is to Suguru.

The woman takes off her blazer and lets the white-haired girl approach to give her a welcome home kiss. Suguru wraps her arms around her neck, staining her lips with lipstick and filling the space around them with the sound of their tongues clashing and heavy breathing.

«Welcome home.» Satoru says between kisses, placing her hands on Suguru's hips. The woman moans against her lips, pressing her body against hers before pulling back with a smacking sound and putting some distance between them.

«I'm going to take a shower, get undress and wait for me in the bedroom.» order.

«Don't you want to have dinner first?» Satoru asks her, following her into the hallway where Suguru is unbuttoning her blouse as she heads towards the bathroom.

«No, I don't feel like it now.» she says. Satoru does as asked and goes upstairs after her, entering the bedroom where Utahime changed the sheets and dusted that afternoon. She takes off the tank top and shorts she wore after the gym, along with the underwear which she folds and places on the chaise longue that Laure convinced Suguru to buy.

She remembers when it arrived, Satoru had decided to inaugurate it by bending Suguru over it and fucking her from behind.

A shiver runs down her spine at the thought and she wonders why they didn't use it again afterwards. Satoru usually throws her clothes and bag straight onto it.

She sits on the edge of the bed completely naked, waiting for the water jet from the other room to stop. Suguru always uses a hairdryer, a habit he picked up in Europe, unlike Satoru who lets her wavy snow-colored locks dry in the open air.

Suguru has really long hair, well past mid-back, so it takes an interminable time to dry it properly, but after what seems like hours the hum of the hairdryer stops and finally the door of the room opens.

It was worth the wait because in the doorway Satoru sees Suguru wrapped in a dark blue bathrobe, with her hair down and a little flushed from the heat.

She approaches the bed and lies down on the mattress, letting the bathrobe open over her chest, she lets out a sound of appreciation when she can finally rest. Satoru gets down on all fours and approaches her slowly, looking at her with her hair spread around her face and her eyebrows furrowed.

Sweet, she thinks. Like a sulky kitten.

She lowers herself to her neck to kiss it and suck the small flap of skin under her ear where she’s the most sensitive. She lets her hands slide beyond the hem of her robe and caresses her soft flesh, sending shivers down her stomach.

Her skin is fresh and smells like argan butter and honey, Satoru knows that body wash because she always uses it too and you can tell it's their favorite.

«How was work?» she asks her between kisses, keeping to lick and suck the skin of her neck as her hand travels further and further down towards the trail of soft dark hairs that hide her final goal.

No hickeys, that's Suguru's rule. She doesn't like having visible marks on her body, or at least anything she can't cover with clothes. Sometimes she lets Satoru bite her nipples or leave her finger print on her thighs and the marks stay there for days.

«Normal. That Zen'in bastard drives me crazy, but once the deal is done I won't have to have him around anymore.» she says, settling into Satoru's embrace, who is opening Suguru’s legs so she can work between her thighs.

The “Zen'in bastard” is Naoya. Satoru doesn't know him personally but he seems to be one of the few men who’s able to give her lover a hard time, since his company is involved, Suguru spends a lot more time in the office and Higuruma – Suguru's lawyer – often came to their house lately.

Satoru would like to hit him with her car, so Suguru would be much less stressed. For now though, she's just doing what she knows best to ease her tension.

«I can't wait for this deal to be done and dusted. I miss you.» Satoru whispers, sucking her nipple hard and making the woman beneath her moan. Her fingertips find the center of her flower and caress it with slow, circular motions. With Suguru she always starts slow.

«When I sign the contract I’ll take you on holiday.» she tells her, making Satoru's heart beat as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

She has never made plans with her clients, she knows the circumstantial phrases of sex. “I want to take you to Paris, I want to buy you this thing, I want to marry you.” Satoru knows that it's not true, that her time was bought for the night and that's it, but with Suguru it's different. Suguru does everything she says, buys her everything she lays her eyes on, and takes her wherever she wants.

She keeps drawing small circles around her clit with her thumb and slowly inserts a finger into her opening. She's hot and tight and Satoru has never craved to own a cock so badly just so she can know what it feels like inside her beloved .

Suguru is soft and sensitive, melting under her touch as she grows more and more uninhibited and moans louder and louder. Satoru kisses her neck and chest, plays with her nipples and drinks every gasp, every sob or breath.

She makes her come by pumping two fingers in and out of her, she doesn't stop even when Suguru cries out due to overstimulation with her honey eyes shining with tears.

She turns her over with her face pressed into the mattress and her ass in the air, curling her fingers to hit the sweetest spot that makes her eyes roll back and her body become an incoherent mess.

Satoru knows all the secrets of sex, you can say she's a genius at it, but it's not just a clinical experiment. What really makes sex with Suguru different are her reactions, the faces she makes, the sounds she makes, the sweet taste of her juices. Satoru loves Suguru because she makes her feel hungry. She always wants more and letting her go is so painful, it makes her sick in her stomach.

She makes her come on her fingers two more times before giving her a reprieve where they kiss passionately for at least twenty minutes to the point that their lips are swollen and the mixed saliva has dripped down their chins and chests. Then she eats out her pussy like she's been fasting for months until she screams and by the end of the night her hand is cramping and her jaw feels like it's about to give out, but Suguru has her eyes half closed and a smile on her face so it's worth the pain.

They both have to wash up again after this, they have dinner in their bedroom watching a 90s sitcom, and Satoru falls asleep halfway through the third episode. When she wakes up Suguru is not there, her side of the bed is as tidy as always and the payment notification has arrived on her phone.

Bitterness fills her when she looks at her bank account. Sometimes she wishes Suguru would forget to pay her, to give her the illusion that what they are doing is not just Suguru purchasing a service, yet she never forgets and never fails to remind Satoru of it too.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, and she knows it.

Suguru's house is incredible, designed from top to bottom by the architect Yuki Tsukumo, in a perfect "Miami drug lord in the '80s" style.

It's a bit outside the city, with a huge garden full of tropical and exotic plants. The house has these scandalously spotless glass windows, a bar area with crystal shelves lined with alcohol bottles, two living rooms, one with a bioethanol fireplace included, a billiard room, an ultra-modern, high-tech kitchen, and an indecent number of bedrooms, studies, and bathrooms.

The first time Satoru set foot inside, she felt like she was in a movie. She had no idea that people could be so wealthy as to own a house like that, and it's not even the only house Suguru owns in her name.

Everything is in some shade of black, or at least dark tones. If Bruce Wayne wanted to buy a house in Japan, he’d probably want Suguru's. Yuki Tsukumo is an eccentric woman, but she’s also an exceptional architect, and the house she designed ended up on the cover of one of the most important magazines in the field.

Sometimes, Satoru can’t believe she’s living in a house like that. At first, she felt like a kid in a playground. It was a bit frustrating trying to figure out how to open the hidden cabinets and furniture — she was always afraid of breaking something — but the hot tub and the heated coffee table that kept the tea at the perfect temperature made up for it.

Now that she had explored the whole house, she was starting to get a little bored. She had played with all the available gadgets, and nothing seemed exciting anymore. Besides, she was more of a downtown apartment type, not someone who liked a sprawling mansion. The only thing she still found beautiful about that house was Suguru.

Suguru having breakfast in the morning in a robe, Suguru reading the newspaper on the leather couch, Suguru having tea in the garden, Suguru putting on makeup in front of the huge bathroom mirror, Suguru sitting in her study writing emails, Suguru in their room at night watching TV with blue light-filtering glasses.

All she could think about during the day was Suguru, and not even bothering Utahime gave her the same satisfaction anymore.

However, she has to work, so she buys a set of white lace lingerie and a black dildo online that she plans to use with Suguru. She follows a tutorial on YouTube to do her makeup with the branded products that Suguru had bought to her, puts on the set she just purchased after tearing off the tag, and uses her phone to take photos in front of the mirror.

She chooses her best angles, from the most innocent shots to the most lewd ones where she plays with the dildo between her lips, glues it to the floor with the suction cup and even takes a photo where she has it inserted halfway in, with her lace panties moved aside.

She sends them all to Suguru during her lunch break with attached scandalous messages about her anticipating her return home.

Suguru doesn't answer.

Satoru changes into something normal before Kuroi comes to prepare lunch for her.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, she knows it, even if she wishes she didn't know it.

She masturbates a lot, really a lot. Not because she's particularly horny, but rather because she wants to feel the dopamine coursing through her veins, she wants the foggy mind and artificial happiness induced by the chemicals in her brain.

It's more of an experiment than anything, she masturbates with her hands, with toys and with everything that catches her attention at that moment. Obviously she always cleans everything up afterwards, but something is still missing.

She is a prostitute, but she doesn't like sex.

The only person she has actually been able to enjoy sex with is Suguru. She is the only one she has ever come with, the only one she's ever cuddled with, kissed and held. The only one she shared a bed with even just to watch a movie or sleep.

That evening Suguru comes back home and Satoru greets her at the door like a devoted wife. She kisses her, placing her hands on her hips and undoing her bun in which her long hair is always neatly gathered.

She's so beautiful and the “office siren” looks suits her, but nothing beats Suguru's long inky hair that falls wildly around her shoulders.

While she takes a shower, Satoru sets the table and heats up the dinner made by Kuroi, as soon as she’s done, Suguru returns to the kitchen wearing a black and gray tracksuit, with her hair still a little damp and her phone in her hands.

«You sent me some pictures.» she notes, taking a seat at the table while the girl serves her dinner.

«Yes, do you like them?» she asks her with big blue eyes full of expectation. Suguru smiles at her and the cloud of butterflies in Satoru's stomach goes crazy because Suguru truly has the sweetest smile.

«Very much.» she tells her. Satoru drags her chair a little closer to her and whispers as if she's ashamed that someone might hear.

«I can show it to you later.» she suggests, but the woman shakes her head and turns off the screen.

«I have to work tonight.» she tells her and they finish dinner talking a little about their day.

Suguru goes upstairs and locks herself in her office, Satoru clears the table, washes the dishes and waits a little longer sitting in the living room.

Sometimes Suguru takes her work home, often she just has to write some emails or make some appointments, so she leaves the study door open and Satoru knows she can come in and slip under her desk. They've done it many times in that studio and Satoru has to admit that she loves it, it's like doing it in the office except they can risk and scream as much as they want.

However, if Suguru seriously has to work, locks the door and Satoru knows that they won't do anything that evening.

So she waits again and when it seems like enough time has passed she also goes up to the second floor and walks to Suguru's study.

To her disappointment, when she tries to lower the handle she finds it locked and she hears Suguru on the other side speaking in English, probably to one of her foreign clients.

Satoru drags herself into the bedroom and gets under the covers, she had put the black dildo in the bedside drawer to surprise Suguru, but it looks like it will have to wait.

She uses it on herself, inserting the tip inside, just enough to make her wet, as she pushes it deeper she imagines Suguru entering the room talking on the phone with her client, finding her like this. She grabs the base of the dildo with her free hand and plants it deep inside Satoru, while she cries and bites hard on the hem of her shirt so she won't scream or be heard.

The thought of Suguru remaining impassive as she mistreats her pussy makes her clench tightly around the piece of plastic, afterwards she feels boneless and almost a little embarrassed for having imagined something so humiliating, she would never have let herself be treated this way by none of her clients, but Suguru is definitely the exception to the rule.

Suguru is an exception to many rules.

She falls asleep and forgets to put the toy away. When she wakes up it has disappeared from the nightstand and is placed in the dresser where she and Suguru keep their sex toys, disinfected and wrapped in plastic.

It's a little embarrassing, but Satoru can't help but think of Suguru coming into their room after finishing work and deepthroating the black dildo while tasting her on her tongue.

She's sick, something is definitely wrong inside her, because she gets horny at the thought and has to use it to masturbate again.

***

Suguru has a business dinner that day, so she doesn't come home.

Satoru goes to the gym and plays video games. Without Suguru, she doesn't feel like eating, so Kuroi's dinner stays in the fridge wrapped in plastic. Instead, she grabs a strawberry popsicle from the freezer and heads out to eat it in the garden. It's warm enough now to be outside in the evening, so she puts on one of Suguru's university sweatshirts and brings along a book she's planning to finish.

As the frozen juice drips down her wrist, she thinks about Suguru. Mimiko and Nanako are probably with her, dressing her in a finely crafted, long backless gown, and doing her makeup in that bold style that makes her look like a 1950s movie star.

Will it be an outdoor restaurant? It's warm enough for a dinner on a lit terrace, overlooking the city's skyline. They'll eat gourmet dishes, drink French wine, and at the end of the evening, they'll seal their deals by breaking the caramelized crust of a crème brulée with the tip of a spoon.

She stretches out on the wicker couches in the outdoor lounge — the ones Laure insisted Suguru buy after a vacation in Italy. They're not very comfortable, but the cushions greatly improved the situation. Satoru reads about fifty pages with the popsicle stick still in her mouth before getting a call from Suguru.

«Hello?»

«Hey, pretty girl. What are you doing?» Suguru asks. There’s no background noise, but her voice echoes a bit.

«I'm in the garden, reading a book. Where are you calling from?» she says, sitting up and snapping her book shut.

«I'm in the restaurant bathroom. I needed a break from those old vultures, and I missed you.»

Satoru's heart skips a beat, and she smiles without even realizing it.

«I'll wait for you awake.»

«Don't worry, it'll take a while. You don't have to.»

«But I want to.»

On the other side of the phone, Suguru lets slip a sound that's halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

«What are you wearing, pretty?»

«Your college sweatshirt and shorts.»

«Mh, my sweatshirt? Do you like it?»

«It's very comfortable and warm too.»

«I know, I always wear it when I have a day off.»

«Yes, that's why I wear it. I like that we wear the same things.”

There is a moment of silence, then Satoru, lowering her voice, adds «I like it better when we don't wear anything, though.»

Suguru sighs deeply and Satoru hears the rustle of her dress in the background.

«Darling, do you want to do me a favor?»

«Yes, sure. Anything.»

«Touch yourself for me, hm? Let me hear you.»

Satoru's face is on fire. It’s not the first time that someone makes such a request to her, in fact, even worse requests have been made, but she has never done it on the phone with Suguru and the thought of novelty is electrifying.

«What will your friends at the table say?»

«That it really takes me forever in the bathroom.»

The white-haired girl welcomes her lover's request and whispers lewd phrases to her while she pleasures herself with her hand. She puts the phone on speaker and digs her fingers into her hole complaining about how much she misses Suguru and how empty her house is without her.

Suguru guides her through her orgasm, tells her to pinch her nipples, to go slow or fast, how many fingers to use. Satoru does everything she orders and Suguru knows her really well, because it's amazing and she has to stop several times just not cum at the sound of the woman's sensual voice.

«You're so good, Satoru, you're always so good for me.» she tells her before hanging up the call right after Satoru cums moaning her name.

That evening she waits for her awake and when she returns home she doesn't even have time to admire her in the elegant purple dress she’s wearing, because she finds herself pressed against the front door with Suguru's head between her thighs who is "celebrating" the sale of some shares to her foreign customers.

Satoru has had several orgasms in her life, but the ones Suguru gives her are undoubtedly the best. Suguru makes her cum in a way she can't explain, with her eyes rolled back and her knees shaking.

That evening she is so turned on that she squirts on Suguru's face and chest, stains her beautiful dress and feels terribly mortified. Suguru must like this a lot, though, because they find themselves kissing on the floor with their legs intertwined while rubbing their blood-swollen clits on each other.

All the time Suguru tells her what a good girl she is and Satoru gets excited like a child whose teacher complimented her on her essay.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, and she knows it. Suguru knew it too when they first met.

Let’s be clear: Satoru has never been a streetwalker. She never had to beg for clients outside bars or along sidewalks.

She’s an escort of a certain caliber. She’s good looking, with a beauty that never goes unnoticed — bright blue eyes like gemstones, pale skin like a porcelain doll, and wavy, rebellious snow-white hair. She looks stunning in short, tight dresses that accentuate her tall and slender figure, carries herself well in heels, and has a terribly seductive way of applying lipstick. And she’s young, just twenty-two years old. Everyone wants to get their hands on her.

For years, she’s been sitting at the counters of exclusive lounge bars, engaging in frivolous and boring conversations with men old enough to be her father — or even grandfather — and getting fucked in shiny hotel rooms with towels folded on the bedspread and bottles of champagne chilling in ice.

She’s witnessed ridiculous scenes from the wives of those old perverts in hotel lobbies, pocketed rolled-up banknotes that her clients used to snort cocaine or who knows what else, received roses and jewelry, and heard empty promises of marriage and trips to South America.

Satoru didn’t care at all.

As long as she could get the money and sleep in a comfortable bed, she didn’t care if the promises made to her with her legs spread wide open weren’t kept once they were closed. And to be completely honest, the thought of marrying a man made her sick.

First of all, she didn’t like men. She hated their smell, their rough beards, the taste of their saliva, the coarse hair on their bodies, their voices when they laughed, their large, heavy hands on her body.

She had dealt with so many disgusting men — wolves of the financial market, corrupt politicians, serial cheaters, first-rate misogynists. Maybe her opinion was too shaped by her experience as an escort, but she had seen one of the worst sides of humanity, that’s for sure — the scum that hides beneath layers of glittering gold and rivers of banknotes.

She was used to luxury restaurants, exclusive clubs, skybars, and gala dinners. She was used to seeing trophy wives dressed in designer clothes and covered in jewels, alongside escorts like her with needle-marked arms hidden by scarves and coats.

They all looked the same to her, with the same damned clothes, the same fake laughter, and the same lustful looks.

Only Suguru was different.

When she saw her, it was like she was looking at a sunset for the first time or some nonsense like that.

Suguru confused her mind and left her breathless with just her presence. She was a woman, like her and like all the others, but she was neither a wife nor a prostitute; she was a great white shark thrown into the tank with those ridiculous lesser sharks.

Satoru had seen various women hold power, but it was always a reflection of their husband’s wealth. The wife of an influential man is, in turn, an influential woman. She had seen prostitutes blackmail their clients in exchange for luxury and privileges, but still, all their power depended on men.

Suguru, however, was a star that generated its own light.

When she first saw her, she was wearing red — a stunning long dress with a slit that revealed her thick thigh every time she took a step, her hair partially tied at the top with the rest cascading down her back and swaying hypnotically.

Suguru stood alone, with everyone’s eyes on her, evoking envy, admiration, and above all, desire.

She was gorgeous, by far the most beautiful woman Satoru had ever seen, around thirty years old with a magnetic aura that absolutely could not go unnoticed.

Their eyes met for a second, and Satoru felt a burn at that contact. Suguru was someone who had made it in life, unlike her, who was just a miserable escort. In a few years, the lesser sharks would stop finding her attractive, and she would be tossed aside like a discarded candy wrapper, while Suguru would continue to shine with her own light, with thousands of pitiful planets orbiting around her.

Suguru lingered on her gaze for just a moment longer before disappearing into the crowd in a flash of red.

Satoru searched for her throughout the night, clinging to her companion’s arm, completely oblivious to everything around her that didn’t involve that beautiful woman.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom, stepping past a group of three girls her age bent over the sink, snorting one line after another. Satoru had never been involved in anything like that, thank god, and she didn’t even drink. She couldn’t imagine someone choosing to live that life just to afford drugs.

She stayed in the stall as long as possible, her temples pounding from the overstimulation of smells, lights, and sounds. She preferred quiet places and neutral colors, silence and dim light.

When she came out to wash her hands, the three girls were gone, and standing in front of the sink was the beautiful woman in red she saw earlier.

Satoru stared at her in the mirror, mesmerized, and then the woman smiled at her turning around, leaning her back against the counter. She was incredibly attractive.

«Hi, do you need something?» she asked, Satoru’s cheeks flushed bright pink. She was definitely staring too much, even with her mouth slightly open.

«I’m sorry, I was just…» she didn’t know how to continue. Just what? Imagining wild scenes of that woman fucking her in the bathroom? Or making ridiculous comparisons between her and a sun in her mind?

«What’s your name, pretty girl?»

«Satoru.»

«Satoru.» she repeated, as if tasting the sound of her name on her tongue. «Are you here with one of Tengen’s dogs?»

Satoru had no idea. She didn’t care who her clients worked for as long as they could pay her, but she remembered hearing the name Tengen before, so she nodded.

Suguru groaned. «I hate those dogs; they don’t know what they’re doing.» she rolled her eyes. «But it seems one of them at least has good taste in… jewelry.»

She looked her up and down, and for a moment, Satoru was confused. Was she judging her or hitting on her?

«I– I really don’t–» she stammered, but her words were cut off as Suguru moved dangerously close, backing her up until she was pressed against the wall.

She could smell her scent: sweet, luxurious, definitely expensive, rich and creamy with buttery notes accompanied by the recognizable aroma of cashmere. It suited her so well.

Her lips were soft, warm, the taste of her saliva made bitter by the lipstick she wore. Suguru kissed Satoru with a hand in her hair, passionately, playing with her tongue in her mouth. Suguru moaned against her lips, a sound that made Satoru’s eyes widen and shot straight to her lower belly, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

«I saw the way you looked at me earlier.» Suguru said, pulling away from her lips to kiss her neck. «Like you wanted to devour me. I’m telling you, you can, Satoru. You can ask me for anything you want.»

The white-haired girl clung to Suguru’s forearms as she left small love bites on the tender skin of her throat.

She was panting and definitely shaken as she was being devoured against the bathroom wall.

Suguru looked at her with honey-colored eyes, surrounded by perfectly done glittery smokey eye makeup — gorgeous. Who knows how she would look with ruined makeup, but for now, she just focused on cleaning up the smudged edge of her lipstick with her thumb, which reddened Satoru’s lips and neck.

«Those pathetic dogs are just pawns, Satoru. Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving for Paris, and you’re welcome to join me. Haneda Airport, at eight in the morning. Ask for Geto Suguru.» She left just as quickly and composed as she had arrived, as if they had never spoken.

Satoru returned to the main hall after cleaning off the other woman’s lipstick from her skin. «Where the hell have you been?» her client asked, irritated by her prolonged absence. He had bought her for the entire week, so what did he have to complain about for a little time in the bathroom?

Satoru searched the room for the red dress, but Suguru seemed to have vanished into thin air. She repeated the information Suguru had given her in her mind: Haneda Airport, at eight, Geto Suguru.

That night her client fucked her in one of the rooms of that hotel and she was so dry that he had to use some lube. While that man thrusted painfully into her, grunting about how tight and wet she was, Satoru thought about Suguru's kisses, touched her lips as if to make sure she hadn't dreamed it and imagined her sweet scent pervading her senses leaving her completely at her mercy.

What kind of lover would Suguru have been? Was she a screamer? Or was she silent? Did she like to take control or maybe it was all a facade and she was actually a pillow princess? Were her hair so perfect in the morning or did she wake up with her locks wavy and knotted? Her body looked amazing under that red dress, who knows what she would look like naked. Did she have scars? Tattoos? Were her breasts as soft as they had seemed pressed against Satoru's chest?

«Fuck, you're so tight.» the man groaned, bringing her back to reality. Ah, her client. He had ruined the whole atmosphere. His voice wasn't thick like Suguru's, his skin wasn't smooth and soft, and he smelled like tobacco and men's cologne. A disaster.

Satoru waited a little longer before she began to moan mechanically as she had learned. She always repeated the same phrases and always made the same faces, she was so good at it that her clients really thought they could make her come. Who knows if Suguru would have been able to satisfy her.

She stayed awake all night, while her client snored tangled in the sheets, ignoring the phone that was constantly flooded with calls from the contact named "Wife."

Satoru stepped out onto the balcony. If she had been a smoker, she would have gladly stolen a cigarette from her client. Instead, she stayed wrapped in a robe, thinking about that damned kiss the woman had given her.

How foolish — she felt so warm and strange over a mere kiss? Yet she had kissed so many people before and never felt anything. It had to be Suguru‘s taste that was so addictive; otherwise, how could she feel so high from just a few caresses?

Paris, huh? She wondered if it was like in the movies, where people really stroll hand-in-hand under the Eiffel Tower and drink wine in bars during the day. Do they listen to street musicians and dance along the Seine? Satoru tried to imagine herself dancing along the riverside to a song strummed on a guitar somewhere along the bank.

She mulled it over until dawn. She took a long, hot shower in the hotel bathroom and packed the remaining complimentary toiletries. She snapped a photo of the still-sleeping man with her phone and sent it to his wife without saying anything, then turned it off.

At the reception, she asked for a taxi to take her to Haneda Airport, arriving just before takeoff where Suguru was waiting, dressed in a long beige trench coat, her hair perfectly styled and loose over her shoulders.

Satoru was still wearing the dress from the night before and hadn’t slept a wink, but the woman smiled at her anyway.

«I'm glad you came.»

Satoru had never flown on a private jet before. They served her champagne and green olives, as well as a proper pasta dish when it was lunchtime. The only plane she had ever taken was a first-class flight to Okinawa, where she had accompanied a client on a luxurious resort vacation, but it was nothing compared to what she now saw through the oval window.

Satoru had never traveled much, only having seen Tokyo and its surroundings, so Okinawa was the furthest she could imagine going. Yet now she found herself admiring the most romantic city in the world from above, with a beautiful woman sitting beside her, holding her hand.

They talked a lot during that trip. Satoru learned that Suguru was thirty-five years old and the president of an I-Tech company that produced electromedical devices. She could speak three languages and loved the sea.

Paris was exactly like in the movies, and it felt like she was in a dream from which she would soon wake up.

Satoru screamed with delight when she saw the apartment where Suguru had brought her. It was big, with a bathtub positioned in front of a window overlooking the city, a huge king-size bed, and even a small balcony where they could have breakfast.

Suguru ordered clothes in her size for her. For the first time, Satoru didn’t have to wear revealing outfits, but instead a beautiful ensemble with light blue palazzo pants and a white silk blouse with pearl buttons. She also had makeup delivered that suited her pale skin tone, as she certainly couldn’t use Suguru’s, which was at least two shades darker.

They went out to dinner, strolling through the city. Suguru ordered some wine with an unpronounceable name and convinced Satoru to try a little. Paris truly was the city of lovers, and they walked along the banks of the Seine like Satoru had only ever seen in music videos on MTV.

They returned to the apartment with the promise of going up the Eiffel Tower the next day, and they watched it light up from the balcony of their room.

Satoru had never made love like this, with Suguru slowly undressing her and kissing every inch of her exposed skin. Suguru kissed her so much, they rolled like that in the sheets for a crazy amount of time before Satoru's soaked panties were removed.

Suguru ate her pussy as if she was starving, drinking every moan and gasp. Satoru made her cum on her fingers until she squirted onto the white sheets and they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Suguru had to work during those days, but she also had plenty of free time to take bubble baths with Satoru, eat pain au chocolat – which Satoru had decided was her new favorite food – for breakfast on the balcony, and fuck for hours in all the positions came to mind.

Those were the best two weeks of Satoru’s life. She loved every corner of that unfiltered Paris, from the Eiffel Tower to the museums, to the Montmartre district, probably her favorite place with the Basilica of the Sacred Heart.

Suguru always found her, no matter where she was, even if it meant taking the metro like an ordinary person. She bought Satoru delicious food and clothes from famous French designers, accompanied her wherever she wanted to go, and paid street artists to play songs they could dance to.

But, unfortunately, even those weeks came to an end. On the flight back, Suguru presented her with a choice:

«Once we land, you'll have two options. The first, I thank you for the time we've spent together, I’ll pay you your daily rate multiplied by the number of days in Paris, you go back to your home, I go back to mine, and we go our separate ways.»

«And the second?» Satoru asked hopefully. She didn��t want to leave; she wanted to see Suguru again.

The woman smiled and, drawing closer, placed a hand on her cheek.

«The second is that you’re coming home with me.»

***

Satoru is a prostitute, she knows that. The money is always there to remind her.

Suguru pays her every time they have sex, always. She never forgets to tear off a check or make a transfer, always the same rate, the one established when, a year earlier, Satoru had moved into Suguru’s home after the trip to Paris.

It's just a service she offers; she's the worker selling her labor, and Suguru is the capitalist entrepreneur buying her product. Of course, Suguru doesn’t count the expenses related to maintaining the girl. The food, clothes, jewelry, gym membership — all are covered by her, while Satoru just has an immensely loaded bank account and no idea how to spend the money.

Her debts were paid off, her mother received monthly anonymous money in an envelope slipped into her mailbox, and that was it. Satoru had even considered going back to school just to have an excuse to spend some money. Suguru, naturally, wouldn’t have stopped her.

The black-haired woman returns home at the usual time, halfway through her shower Satoru enters the bathroom, strips naked and joins her under the jet of hot water. She has three fingers buried deep inside her pussy when Suguru complains about having to put on conditioner, in response Satoru curls her fingers inside her making her scream and squirm.

She continues to hit her most sensitive spot, reducing her to an incoherent mess as she leaves a trail of kisses along the wet skin of her neck.

«I was thinking about going back to school.» she tells her as Suguru is losing control and her knees are getting weaker and weaker.

«Oh, yes? It's– it's amazing 'Toru– ahh.» she moans, holding onto Satoru's arm and pushing herself against the wall to better grip on her fingers.

«Aren't you against the idea?»

«Mhh, not at all. You can– you can– oh God, you can do whatever you want, you know.»

«Well, I should still get my high school diploma first and then, who knows, I'd like to go to art school, what do you think?»

«You're definitely good with your hands, ahh, yes, right there.»

She lets her cum and then puts conditioner in her hair because she's too groggy to do it, dabs her long wet locks with a towel and even pulls her panties up, grabbing her ass and pulling her in for a kiss in the process.

When Suguru starts working after dinner, she tells Satoru that she can come and read in her study, so Satoru takes her book and settles into the armchair in Suguru’s office.

That night, they fall asleep cuddling, but in the morning, the bed is always empty, and a notification on Satoru’s phone indicates a new deposit.

Huh?

It's at least double the usual amount, so Suguru must have made a mistake. Maybe she was distracted or had just woken up before authorizing the transfer.

She calls her, letting the phone ring several times before Suguru finally answers.

«What’s up.»

«You made a mistake with the deposit. You paid me double.»

«No, it's correct.»

«Huh? Why?»

«For school. You said you wanted to pick up studying again, right?»

«Suguru, I don't need all that money for school.»

«Then consider it a bonus.»

«I don't want it.»

«I don’t give you what you want, but what you need.»

The call ends. Now Satoru is angry with her.

***

It's Sunday, so Suguru isn’t working.

She sits Satoru down at the kitchen table while Kuroi washes the dishes she used to cook. In front of her, there’s an array of traditional dishes arranged in a fan shape.

«What does this mean?» Satoru asks.

Suguru, who looks beautiful even today with her hair tied in a high ponytail and wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt, which still looks stunning on her, looks at Satoru sternly with her arms crossed before slamming the kitchen trash can onto the table. Under several layers of paper towels are the meals Kuroi prepared that Satoru hadn’t eaten in the past few days.

«Is this your way of telling me you're angry with me? Is it about the money?» she asks.

Satoru doesn’t respond and just stares at the evidence of her wrongdoing. No, she didn’t do it because she was angry with Suguru — Suguru is perfect, how could she be mad at her? Instead, Satoru should be mad at herself.

She just doesn’t see the point. Eating is only fun when Suguru is around, when she talks about her day, they order pizza before watching a movie, or they visit luxurious Michelin-starred restaurants. Eating alone at the kitchen counter makes her feel depressed, and she misses Suguru more than ever.

«So?» Suguru presses, raising her voice.

«I'm sorry.» the white-haired girl admits. Sometimes, she just does things without thinking about the consequences of her actions; after all, Suguru would eventually have noticed that she was throwing food away.

«You know I don’t like wasting food, and you didn’t consider Kuroi’s hard work?»

«I'm sorry, forgive me, Suguru. And you too, Kuroi.» Kuroi doesn’t reply but gives her a look that, for the first time, isn’t irritated or annoyed.

With a nod, Suguru dismisses the cook and sits next to Satoru. She speaks softly now, like a mother to her child.

«What did I do wrong, Satoru?»

«Nothing!» the girl immediately interrupts. «It’s not your fault, I was just being stupid.»

«I want you to be healthy, Satoru. There’s nothing beautiful about an unhealthy body, and you want to be beautiful for me, don’t you?»

What a manipulator — she trades her validation for Satoru’s shame. But it works because Satoru blushes furiously and nods.

She wants it desperately. She wants to be beautiful for Suguru, desired, so she can thank her for being the first and only one to treat her like a person.

Suguru sits next to her, and they eat, sharing the chopsticks. Satoru feels like crying because she wishes it could be like this every day, she wishes Suguru could be with her every day to share chopsticks and gently push back a strand of hair that falls in front of her face.

The food doesn’t taste as good if her beloved isn’t there to eat with her, but she doesn’t know how to explain it because she’s afraid of sounding pathetic.

However, in the following days, Kuroi stays to watch her eat after preparing her lunch and texts Suguru when she's done eating.

***

Satoru is a prostitute, she knows it. She never thought she could love any aspect of her job — money excluded — but since Suguru has been in her life it feels like she has the best job in the world.

Maybe she was born for this, she was born to meet her and adore every inch of her body, to kiss her and press her naked, warm skin against that of the other woman.

Suguru is a gift that the gods have given to the world, Satoru could admire her naked body as one admires a sculpture in a museum, with the only difference that she is for her eyes and for her eyes alone.

She caresses her hips delicately, moving up to cup her breasts with her hands, Suguru squirms under her touch and Satoru bites her lip in anticipation.

If she had a dick, it would be hard as a rock right now, but since biology is not an opinion, she'll have to settle for a strap-on.

It's honestly her favorite sex toy, a nice dark purple, just the right size, thick, with plastic veins imprinted around the circumference, not too big to hurt, but perfect for Suguru's tight, heavenly pussy.

Suguru likes it too, but would never admit it, because it always reduces her to a panting mess. Maybe it's simply that the universe didn't give Satoru a cock because otherwise she would have been too powerful.

The white-haired girl plays with it as if it were a real dick, caresses it, running her index finger over the tip as if she might find it sticky with precum and Suguru's pussy throbs and squeezes compulsively around nothing, making her moan out loud.

«What is it, angel? Do you want something?» Satoru sings, pumping the strap with her hand.

«Satoru, please.» her beloved moans. «Put it in.»

«Oh, I wanted to keep playing. But well, how can I resist when you look at me like that?» she teases Suguru's entrance with the tip, she’s so wet that she can probably take it in one thrust.

She thrusts slowly inside her, enjoying her moans and her face contracted by pleasure, she watches as the purple dildo disappear into Suguru's pussy and lights up with excitement and envy for any penis-endowed being who would have the chance to feel how much her walls are tight and warm.

She caresses her thighs and whispers words of encouragement until she's got it in all the way to the base, Suguru clutching the sheets with one hand while biting the knuckles of the other with watery eyes. God bless missionary because Suguru is the most beautiful sight that nature has created with her long raven hair spread across the mattress, her erect nipples that are begging to be sucked and her lips swollen from Satoru's kisses and bites.

She starts moving with short and light thrusts, which scratch the surface of the most primal part inside her, gradually becoming bolder and deeper until Satoru manages to pull her cock out to the tip and slam it back in with full force .

The gym membership must have been of some use, so Satoru decides to put all the hours spent on the treadmill to good use and imposes her tireless rhythm on the thrusts that make her beloved scream and cry, even with the muscles of her thighs burning while begging for mercy, she doesn't stop until Suguru cums with her eyes rolled back and spit dripping down her chin.

Satoru kisses her, devouring the last flashes of her orgasm, accompanying her to overstimulation with slow and deep thrusts. She sucks on one nipple while playing with the other, squeezing her soft breast in her hand, Suguru's fingers are tangled in her snow-colored hair, caressing her scalp gratefully as the sensation inside her eventually becomes unbearable.

They kiss until Suguru decides she's ready to do it again, they do it two more times, including one with Satoru lying on her back and Suguru riding her giving the most beautiful sight of her big tits swaying right at Satoru's eye level and another where Satoru takes her from behind, slapping her ass and calling her a slut. Suguru moans like a porn star and Satoru wishes she had her phone within reach to make a video of her to masturbate to when Suguru's at work.

In the end, Suguru sucks the strap to clean it, kneeling at the foot of the bed while Satoru masturbates fingers herself, risking cumming just at the sight of Suguru's honey eyes looking at her lewdly while she has her mouth full of purple cock. Not satisfied, Suguru sucks on her tits until she has bruises and bites all over her chest and they kiss, moaning into each other's mouths.

They take a bath together, full of foam and bubbles, Suguru is sitting astride Satoru's legs, they look into each other's eyes while whispering sweet words to each other and washing each other's hair as an act of love.

Sunday ends like this and on Monday the bed is empty again.

***

Satoru is a prostitute; she knows it, but she can no longer stand it.

For days, the house has been empty. Suguru leaves early in the morning before Satoru wakes up and comes back late when she’s already asleep. The reason is an extremely important contract with the Zen’in industry nearing completion, but Satoru is so terrified by the idea of being cheated on that on Thursday mornings she spends all her time with Miguel, asking him if he thinks Suguru is cheating on her.

Suguru would never cheat on her; she’s her angel and truly loves her. But Suguru certainly has other things in her life beyond Satoru, her job for example.

The huge house, a gem designed by the most famous architect of her generation, described by Yuki Tsukumo herself as modern “modern nest,” has become a prison. It feels so empty that it seems almost twice its size, cold as winter, and as dark as midnight.

Suguru is missing; her cup is absent from the sink, the newspaper folded on the coffee table is gone, her clothes hang in the closet smelling of mothballs, and sometimes she doesn’t even come home and sends her secretary, Manami, to fetch a change of clothes. There are no more long black hairs tangled in the bristles of the brush.

In this house, Suguru is missing, and it’s as if Satoru is missing air.

At first, she manages well; after all, Suguru is always busy, and it has happened several times that she didn’t come back for more than a few days. But usually, she always calls, and most of the time, she responds to her messages with enthusiasm. Now, it feels like weeks without contact, and she feels like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, slowly going mad and talking to a volleyball.

The breaking point comes one Saturday morning when Utahime finds her crying in the living room of the house.

Suguru rushes to her as soon as she receives the call and finds her with her knees to her chest, her blue eyes swollen red from crying, beautiful and sparkling like the marbles she used to play with as a child. She sits next to her and hugs her, still in her work suit and heels.

«Satoru, god, what’s wrong?» she asks, without hiding her worried tone.

Satoru sobs, covering her face with her hands to hide her shame. She’s never been this emotional, and her reaction leaves Suguru speechless.

«Am I just a toy to you?»

The question leaves Suguru stunned. Satoru a toy for her? No, of course not. Yes, their relationship is based on sex, but it’s not just that. There’s also tenderness, understanding, and a lot of complicity.

Suguru can’t understand how Satoru could come up with such bullshit.

«No… no, Satoru. What are you talking about? How could you think such things?»

«Don’t you realize it?»

«No, I swear. Who put this idea in your head?»

«You!» Satoru bursts out, shouting. «You do it every time with your damn money! To you, I’m just another thing you can buy.»

She stands up because she’s trembling and can’t stay still. Suguru looks at her as if she suddenly grew a second head, but she remains composed and stays on the couch.

«You don’t want my money anymore? Is that what you’re saying?»

«I’m just a product you can buy, like everything else in this house. An accessory.»

Suguru keeps her gaze fixed on Satoru, who paces nervously back and forth, carefully considering her words to avoid worsening the situation. But her mind is blank, and the right words seem unable to make their way from her heart.

Satoru reads only confirmation of her wildest fears in her silence. Warm tears stream down her cheeks, and her ego shatters into many sharp pieces.

«Why are you doing this to me? Why do you treat me like I’m just a trinket you can pick up and put on the shelf whenever you want?»

«Satoru… you’re not an object; you’re my partner. You’re much more important than you think.» Suguru finally stands up to approach her, but Satoru jerks back.

«Don’t come near me, damn it!» The movement is so sudden that the girl bumps her elbow into a glass vase; it falls to the ground, shattering into many iridescent shards that scatter light around the room. Water spreads across the floor, with no way to stop it, and the flowers wilt.

The loud crash of the broken glass echoes between them. Both stare at the broken vase, unsure of what to do next.

***

Six months later…

Satoru was a prostitute, but now she isn’t anymore.

She has taken her wife’s last name, and the photos and videos of their wedding in Taiwan have already made the rounds of the tabloids, landing on the front pages of every single magazine, from business journals to housewife gossip papers.

The TV in their hotel room is on, and Satoru is watching the coverage of their wedding. «The queen of East-Asia I-Tech marries a woman.» The images of the ceremony are shown in a sweeping shot, all obviously in grand style, organized down to the smallest detail under the careful direction of Laure, with particular emphasis from fashion critics who have widely approved the choice to have two custom-made Vivienne Westwood wedding dresses.

Suguru comes out of the bathroom wearing a blue silk robe, her long black hair cascading down one shoulder, and her hands on her hips as she gives her wife a mock reproachful look.

«Stop watching the news.» she says, climbing onto the bed beside her.

«I’m just making sure they’re not saying anything bad about us.» the white-haired girl defends herself. Suguru takes the remote from her hands and turns off the screen.

«Let them talk as much as they want.» she whispers so close to Satoru’s lips that it’s impossible for Satoru not to give her a kiss.

All the rumors about Satoru’s past that threatened to come out have been silenced by Suguru, who is confident that nothing has been left out. However, the night before the wedding, Satoru had a total crisis, fearing that her past as a prostitute would somehow come to light.

Suguru calmed her down by holding her close all night, assuring her that it wouldn’t change anything, and whether she liked it or not, they would still get married.

«Is this a threat?» Satoru had chuckled, wiping her nose with her pajama sleeve.

«It’s a promise.» Suguru had assured her.

And now they were indeed married. Geto Satoru still sounded strange in her mouth, but she couldn’t wait to get used to it. For now, she could focus on enjoying their honeymoon. After all, they had just landed in Rome and only had time to get to the hotel and take a shower.

«Do you want to do my makeup before we go to dinner? I’ve booked a table at a very renowned restaurant; I can’t wait to try their famous Cacio e Pepe.»

«I want to try Carbonara. Do you want to split it with me?»

«Of course, anything you want.»

«Get the stuff, and I’ll do your makeup.»

Suguru smiles and gives her another kiss before getting off the bed and rushing to her suitcase to get the makeup bag.

Satoru watches her bend down and rummage through her things, smiling instinctively, thinking that this is the life that awaits her.

Satoru was a prostitute, and now she’s Geto Suguru’s wife, but deep down, she’s still just Satoru.

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the-red-mafia · 2 years ago

Text

The Meeting

At an unknown time, Unor introduces Velvet to a certain someone that would change her life forever. Also available on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheRedMafia Next Update: [Updated] Word Count: 3118

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The girl carefully slid between the railings of the staircase. With a deep breath, she jumped down from the ledge and landed on the marble floor with a loud thud. She quickly stood, wiping her long, black hair out of her face.

“Velvet Bolton, what did I say about jumping off the stairs?” A female voice called from the kitchen down the hall. The girl froze in place.

“Sorry, mater!” She yelled back nervously. A loud sigh echoed down the marble hall.

“Are you ok?”

“Ita!”

“English, Velvet.”

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

“Good, now come here. Breakfast is ready.” The girl groaned before hurrying down the corridor. She turned at a tall, white arch and entered the pure white kitchen where her mother, Nala Bolton, stood.

“There’s my girl,” she said, smiling. Velvet rolled her eyes.

“What’s for breakfast?” The 10-year-old asked, sliding into one of the cushioned dining chairs seated at the table. Nala grabbed a white plate off of the counter and set it in front of her daughter.

“French toast and fruit. Your favourite, for your last Monday before school.” The girl groaned and looked up at her mom.

“Mater, what are you on about?”

“You start school in a week, Velvet, and then I won’t be able to see you every day! I’m going to make this last week count.” Velvet smiled slightly and looked up at Nala.

“...Thanks mater.” Nala grin widened and she pulled her child into a hug.

“You are so adorable fīlia!” the woman exclaimed. Velvet quickly attempted to break her mother’s grip to no avail.

“Mater, let me go!” The struggle continued for a minute or so before a loud cough echoed through the kitchen. Nala and Velvet quickly looked up towards the entryway.

“Am I interrupting something?” The cold voice of Unor Bolton asked, sending a chill down Velvet’s spine. His hair was slicked back with hair gel, as it typically was. The man was already dressed in a black suit, despite the early time. As soon as she saw him, Nala’s eyes lit up.

“Unor, what a lovely surprise! How are you this morning?” she asked, finally releasing her daughter.

“Perfectly fine, thank you for asking, dear.”

“What are you doing here?” Velvet spat, narrowing her eyes at her father. Unor returned the gesture.

“Good morning to you too, dēvoveō,” he said, smirking, “I’m here to eat breakfast with my family. I believe I have the right to do so?”

“That’s fucking rich.”

“Velvet, watch your language,” Nala scolded before turning back to her husband, “I think it’s lovely that you’re able to join us, Unor.”

“Why thank you, Nala. I’m glad at least one member of my familia still respects me,” he muttered, glaring at Velvet once more. Velvet stuck her tongue out in response.

“Velvet, behave yourself. Unor, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll grab you a plate.”

“Thank you, mōnstrum.” A slight blush dominated Nala’s face as the woman turned around and walked to the other side of the kitchen, where a pan sat on the stove. Velvet sent a death glare towards Unor as he sat down across from her.

“You’re disgusting,” she muttered. Unor raised an eyebrow.

“And why would you think that?”

“Calling your own wife a monster? You’re a fucked up man.” He looked Velvet in the eyes and smirked.

“She enjoyed being called that last night.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Here you go Unor!” Nala said cheerfully, returning to the table and setting a plate down in front of her husband. Unor smiled at her.

“Thank you Nala, this looks delicious.” Nala grinned, her face now a bright pink.

“Mater tua facilis est, dēvoveō,” Unor said as Nala turned to grab her own plate. Velvet simply glared at him.

“This is nice, having breakfast as a family,” Nala commented as she sat down.

“It is, uxor, it really is,” Unor replied, smiling. Velvet rolled her eyes.

“What do you want, pater?” she demanded. Unor tilted his head slightly.

“What are you talking about, Velvie?”

“It’s obvious that you’re only here because you want something from me. So spill-” Nala lightly nudged her daughter, causing her to stop speaking.

“What I believe Velvet is trying to say,” Nala mumbled, “Is that you rarely have time to eat with us. What changed this morning?” Unor laughed.

“I just had an open morning, that’s all. My first meeting isn’t until 2pm so I thought I’d spend the time with my familia.” Nala smiled at her husband.

“Aww, we’re glad to have this morning with you dear.”

“Speak for your fucking self, mater.”

“Language!”

“Sorry.” Unor smiled and took a bite of his food.

“This is amazing, Nala! Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My mother was an amazing cook, growing up-” Velvet quickly began to tune out her parents' conversation. While she did think her mother’s cooking was spectacular, the 10-year-old would rather die than agree with her father.

“That reminds me. Velvet?” Unor said, turning to look at his child, “I have someone for you to meet today. I expect you to be in my office by 10 am sharp. Am I clear?”

“There it is,” she mumbled, “Sure. Whatever. Can you leave now?”

“Velvet, what is with you this morning?” Nala scolded. Velvet quickly threw her chair back and stood up.

“May I be excused?.”

“Velvet-”

“May. I. Be. Excused?” Velvet muttered, glaring at her mother. Nala was silent for a few moments before sighing.

“Yes, you may.” Velvet forced a smile and turned on her heels.

“Make sure you wear something presentable!” Unor called out as Velvet walked out of sight.

“Fuck off!”

Velvet groaned as she heard a knock on her bedroom door.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to talk, could you unlock the door?”

“No.”

“Velvet, please.” The 10-year-old groaned once more and walked over towards the door, stepping over various piles of clothes and training gear. She slowly opened the door to see her mother standing there, holding Velvet’s unfinished breakfast plate.

“You forgot this,” she breathed.

“Thanks,” Velvet mumbled, grabbing the dish. Nala looked at her child before sighing.

“Is that what you’re wearing to go meet your father?” Velvet looked down at the black ripped jeans and hoodie she was dressed in.

“Uh…yeah?” Nala sighed and walked in, shutting the door behind her.

“Come on, let’s find you something decent to wear.” Velvet groaned as her mother walked over to her closet.

“I’m fine, mater.

“Your father said presentable. Ripped jeans are not presentable.”

“I doubt its important,” Velvet said, plopping down on her bed while Nala opened the closet and began looking around, “It’s probably just a new business partner with a job for me. Nothing new.” Nala pulled a hanger out of the closet and held it out.

“How about this one?” The woman asked. Velvet narrowed her eyes.

“That is the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Now that’s just not true. Nothing can be worse than the dress we saw Mrs. Gracy wearing on T.V. the other day.” Velvet laughed.

“Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

“Can you believe your dad told me I should ask her where she got it and buy one?”

“Please don’t, oh my gods.” Nala laughed and walked over to where Velvet was sitting. She softly laid the light-blue dress on Velvet’s lap. The 10-year-old ran her hand down the silk fabric.

“Why does it have a collar?”

“Fashion, fīlia, fashion.”

“Screw fashion, it looks stupid.”

“Your aunt would disagree.” Velvet looked up at her mother.

“Aunt Raquel? Why do you say that?” Nala smiled sadly and looked away.

“She loves fashion, wanted to be a fashion designer before taking over the company.”

“Do…do you ever miss living with them?” Nala sighed.

“Yeah, I do. But living with Unor is great and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Mendāx.”

“What was that?” Nala asked, turning back to look at her daughter.

“Nothing. I guess I should change?” Nala nodded and checked her watch.

“You have about 15 minutes,” she said, standing up, “I’ll let you get ready.”

“Ok mater.”

“And brush your hair!” Velvet sighed.

“Bye mater.”

Velvet quickly tied her black hair in a ponytail and she approached her father’s office. She stopped when she reached the double wooden door that marked the room and checked her small silver watch. Velvet watched as the digital numbers switched to 10 am and let out a sigh. In one swift movement the 10-year-old pushed open the door and strolled into the room. Unor looked up as she walked in and smiled. He was seated behind his marble desk engraved with their family crest.

“Ah, Velvie! Right on time, as always.” Velvet glared at him, causing him to laugh.

“You’re not intimidating to me, Velvie, fix your face.” Velvet sighed and sat down on one of the two chairs. The other one was occupied, presumably by the aforementioned special guest.

“Velvet, I would like you to meet Caran Waterson,” Unor said, gesturing to the seat beside her.

“H-hello,” A small, soft voice stuttered out. Velvet turned to look at the visitor. Her eyes widened as she saw a boy similar to her age smiling at her. She looked between the blond boy and her father for several seconds before staring at Unor.

“Is this a fucking joke?” Unor let out a chuckle.

“No, it’s not.”

“That is a fucking child.”

“Uhm, I’m actually ten, so I’m the same age-”

“What does a ten-year-old need a fucking assassin for?”

“Uh- I-” Unor cleared his throat.

“He’s not here for your abilities, Velvet.” She turned back to look at Unor, a confused look on her face.

“Then what is he here for?”

“I’ve decided that Caran here will be acting as your assistant from now on.” Velvet blinked a few times.

“I don’t need a fucking assistant, I’m fine on my own.”

“Think of him as more of a babysitter then.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter!” Unor shook his head and let out a chuckle.

“I hate to break it to you, Velvie, but you don't have a choice.” Velvet quickly stood up and slammed her hands on her father’s wooden desk.

“I don’t know why you fucking think-” Unor cleared his throat and rose out of his chair. He stared down at his child, causing Velvet’s heart to skip a beat.

“I suggest you sit back down, Velvet, before you force me to do something I’ll regret.” Velvet took in a shaky breath.

“Y-yes pater.” She slowly sat down in her chair. Caran watched her straighten her back and avoided Unor’s gaze. The man remained standing, walking around the desk and kneeling behind Velvet’s chair.

“I have no idea where this…rebellious attitude came from,” Unor muttered in her ear, causing her to jump a bit, “It would be a shame if I had to go…have a chat with Nala about your recent behaviour.” Velvet quickly turned around with panic in her eyes.

“No! I-I’m sorry.” Unor smirked and stood back up, sending a chill down Caran’s spine.

“I think it’s time to get Caran settled in,” Unor said cheerfully. Velvet nodded and stood up. As she began to walk to the door, Unor lightly tapped Caran’s right shoulder.

“Go on,” he urged, “If she continues to behave like that, let me know.”

“Yes sir,” Caran muttered, standing up. Velvet held open the door for him as he walked out of the door.

“Where did he say you’re staying?” Velvet asked quietly as they began down the hallway.

“He said there’s a room near yours.” She nodded and continued down the corridor. The two kids remained silent for several minutes as they walked before Caran spoke up.

“..Are you ok?” Velvet turned and looked at him. He was shorter than her, so she had to tilt her head down slightly.

“Huh?” “He…he basically threatened your mom to make you listen to him!” Velvet raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? It’s not that unreasonable.”

“That’s horrible!”

“You’re the one willingly working for him,” Velvet mumbled, looking away. Caran stared at her for a few moments before sighing.

When the two ten-year-olds arrived at Caran’s soon to be room, they found that the door was locked.

“Of course,” Velvet mumbled, “Just my luck.”

“We can go back to his office-”

“No way. I’ll text the main housekeeper to open the door.” Caran looked at Velvet sympathetically as she pulled out her phone and began typing.

“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?” Her fingers froze.

“No way,” Velvet muttered. Caran smiled softly.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to tell me.” Velvet quickly shook her head and continued typing. After a few seconds, she sighed and put her phone back in her jacket pocket.

“I texted them, but it might be a while until they check their phone. Come on, we can wait in my room.” Caran nodded and the duo turned around to face the opposing door. Velvet quickly threw it open.

“Woah, your room is really big,” Caran breathed. Velvet chuckled.

“I guess. I’m going to change, make yourself at home.” Velvet walked into the closet and shut the door. Caran let out a breath and began looking around the room. It was big, yes, but barren as well. In the middle of the back wall was a full-size bed decorated with a red blanket and multiple pillows against the headboard. Next to the door was a wooden desk with a laptop and 5th grade prep book open. There was another door near the bed, presumably a bathroom. A rug sat in the middle of the space and a closed, leather-bound book was on it. Caran sat down on the rug and placed the book on his lap.

“Ahem.” Caran quickly spun around to see Velvet standing with her arms crossed, once again wearing her black ripped jeans and black hoodie. Caran’s eyes widened.

“Oh- I was just-”

“Whatever, he probably told you to anyway,” Velvet mumbled, plopping down on her bed. Caran looked at her sympathetically.

“He’s kind of an asshole, isn’t he?” Velvet turned to lay on her side and stared down at him.

“What?”

“Well, he’s a selfish, arrogant jerk who doesn’t care about anyone working for him! Not to mention he’s a terrible dad!”

“He’ll hear you, you know,” Velvet mumbled, turning onto her other side, “Then you’ll be dead.” Caran sighed and stood up, walking to the bed and sitting near Velvet’s head.

“So, what do you do for fun?” He asked. Velvet squinted her eyes at him.

“That assumes I have free time.”

“You don’t have any free time?”

“Not really, no.” Caran blinked at her a few times.

“Really?”

“Gods,” Velvet groaned, placing her hands on her face, “You’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?”

“Owch,” Caran mumbled, causing Velvet to laugh.

“Hell, look at you! You’re as intimidating as a fucking puppy. I could beat you in a fight in the first ten seconds!”

“Hey, that’s not true!” Velvet laughed.

“Really?” she asked, pushing herself up and jumping off the bed, “Prove it.” Caran tilted his head in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Prove it, right now. Let’s spar.”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” the 10-year-old taunted, a smirk on her face. Caran stared at her before sighing.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Velvet smiled.

“You’re on, Caran.”

Caran grabbed the staff that was swinging at him, causing Velvet’s eyes to widen. In one swift motion, the boy swung the stick back and hit Velvet in the stomach. She let go of the weapon and tumbled to the ground, just barely avoiding slamming her head on the marble tiles. Caran looked at her as she sat up and gasped for air, holding the staff in his left hand. After a few seconds, Velvet sat up and laughed.

“I guess I underestimated you, huh parvus?” Caran fake pouted.

“Hey, I’m not small”

“You speak Latin?” Caran shrugged.

“Just one of my many talents,” he said, holding his right hand out to her. Velvet laughed and grabbed his hand. Caran pulled her up and she steadied herself. Caran awkwardly held the staff out to her.

“Sorry for taking your weapon,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his right hand.

“Don’t be, dude. As long as you don’t tell my dad about this, we’re good.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Velvet, are you in there?” A voice yelled from outside the door. Velvet’s eyes filled with panic and she quickly looked towards the door then back at Caran.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Huh-” Velvet quickly ripped the staff from his hands. She threw one of the ends into Caran’s ankle, pushing it back and causing him to fall face-first onto the ground.

“Come in, pater!” Velvet yelled, placing the end of the staff on Caran’s back.

“Owch,” the boy mumbled. The doorknob turned and Unor walked in, clearing his throat. The man’s eyes widened as he absorbed the scene before his face morphed into a wicked smile.

“Salve,” Velvet said, lifting the staff up and retracting it to its compact size, “What’s up?”

“Were you sparring?” “Yes.”

“And you won?” Velvet rolled her eyes and gestured towards Caran, was was sitting up and rubbing his head.

“Obviously.”

“Good,” Unor said, smiling, “Nala finished making lunch.”

“Cool.” The man turned to look at Caran and smirked.

“Your room is unlocked now.”

“Thank you sir.”

“I have a meeting, don’t bother me. Velvet, don’t forget about your training session with Alla at 1 pm.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Caran, I expect you to be there as well,” Unor began, “Clearly you need the practice.” Caran chuckled while he stood up.

“Your daughter is one fierce fighter, sir.”

“I’m well aware. I raised her.”

“Of course.” Unor looked between Velvet and Caran before turning around and walking out the door. After a few seconds, Velvet slowly walked forward and slowly shut the door before sighing.

“That hurt,” Caran said, rubbing the back of his head. Velvet turned and looked at him sympathetically.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “He-”

“Don’t apologise, you did what you had to,” Caran said, smiling. Velvet stared at him before shaking her head.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Velvet smiled and threw the compacted staff onto her bed.

“Cool, let’s go get lunch.” Caran tilted his head slightly.

“Is there going to be enough for me?” Velvet rolled her eyes.

“Mater always makes way too much for pater’s workers, you’ll be fine.”

“Ok, sure. Let’s go then.”

“Race you there?”

“I don’t know where-” Before Caran could finish, Velvet was already out the door.

“Crap- Velvet!"

#/the red mafia #/trm part 3 #/chapter 027 #/velvet #/velvet bolton #/nala bolton #/unor bolton #/caran waterson #/the meeting

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