MGC's Underground: Prostitution

>You've met a lot of people in your line of work.
>Journalism.
>Not the weak, daytime TV bullshit either, no, you get down and dirty into the dark recesses of the city.
>Specifically, prostitution.
>Society likes to sweep it all under the rug, "Just another type of dating" they always say.
>But it isn't. It never is.
>It's where girls go when they're alone, and desperate to feel something, anything.
>You will forever be haunted by the shit you heard some of these girls say, the stories they told.
>No one ever understands the world they live in until they kneel in its filth to see what's forced to wallow in it.
>And now, thanks you your investigation, everyone knows just a little piece of it.
>Many of the girls are the general rejects of monster society, the ones that are lucky if someone "settles" for them, with mankind being the shallow fucks they are.
>Girls such as the slugs, whose only crime was being born the wrong species, and even here, they're not popular.
>The literal rejects of society are next, oomukades too nervous to use their venom, ants and bees without a hive, bicorns with lovers who not only cheated, but left them.
>Oh god, the bicorns. There was a time one just clung to you, even though you didn't even pay for anything.
>She just held on, crying, begging you to love her.
>There was semen in her hair.
>Fuck the people who think brothels are good; the ignorant bastards never set foot into one in their lives.
>But you're digressing.
>The last, and most common, are succubi and their subtypes.
>While some would believe they enjoy these types of activities, you've gathered evidence to the contrary.
>Alps, there because the people around them wouldn't accept them, so they threw themselves where they thought they would be needed.
>Lesser succubi, likely left by former lovers that were strictly human-only. Those always look… lost.
>Like they don't know where they are, but fucking gets them spirit energy they need to live, and money for food they think they need to live.
>Dark priests, here on the outside because of religious reasons, but really because they're spiraling deeper into bad places, like addiction, and loneliness, and hedonism.
>And then just regular old succubi, the single most common monster girl species in existence, and the most common whores.
>So many succubi go into the business, for so many different reasons, and all are miserable or too broken to notice.
>So many told you their stories. Some in broken fragments between gurgles, the drugs their taking really taking them instead, some in little snippets between jobs, and some calmly sit down and use you as a psychiatrist that sometimes pays them to talk.
>You never pay them for sex. Never.
>No, when you've know what you know, you couldn't do that to these girls.
>You can recall one story, out of many, that stuck with you. The perfect example of not just the girl who society fucked up, but the girl who fucked up herself.
>The quintessential lost girl.
>You can remember everything about that conversation, in vivid detail, like you do a lot of others.
>Being a journalist made you good at that, and the massive amounts of demonic energy in the air from girls trying to leave their best impressions and broken hopes helped a lot.
>You had seen her a few times, one of the previously mentioned ones that hid it well.
>She looked like, well, a succubus in a whore house; tall, voluptuous, deep blue skin with black eyes with one glowing yellow iris each.
>She'd look at men like tigers would a piece of meat, a lewd smile spread on her face.
>No one would suspect she didn't enjoy herself immensely. Hell, she did, to an extent, like many girls did.
>That didn't make her in any less pain.
>You didn't come to her first, she came to you.
>She decided for herself, after you went to many of the other… workers, that she would get her story out to someone.
>"Excuse me?" she said. She sounded a bit shaky; she hadn't really used any sort of tone other than seductive to a man for a long time.
>You looked up at her a bit, with her being taller than you by three inches and all.
>You were going to seek out another girl, and pay her if needed to get the stories out, and permission to use them, of course, so one talking to you wasn't at all unwelcome.
>"You're the one interviewing all the girls here, right?"
>Even nervous, her voice still sounded wonderful. Even after all the things that happened to that throat, it could still put a bit of honey into her words.
>You waved a hand holding a notepad full of writing at her.
"Yep, that's me."
>Your voice was shaking a bit, too. She was a bit imposing.
>"Uh, r-right, I'm Clarice. I'd like to schedule an interview, for the news article."
>You gave a short nod.
"Well, I'm not sure if it'll be an 'article' but… right, what time?"
>"Oh, what times are good for you?"
"Any, really. Right now I've got nothing booked, so I'm just looking for someone to interview."
>"Ah, so in about an hour, that'd be alright with you?"
>Something made her speak a little higher, but you're still not sure if it was some misplaced hope or if it was fear.
"Sure, I can wait a bit."
>She put her hands together, adjusting her wings which were previously pulled tight to her body back out, and adjusted herself to her usual, confident pose.
>"R-right," you're not sure what emotion that stutter betrayed, even now as you think back on it. "Thank you. Could you meet me in the second to last room, upstairs? The one with the good view of the skyline?"
>You nodded again, faster this time.
"Sure, sure, whatever you're comfortable with."
>She stiffened a bit, and you kicked yourself mentally, wondering if you said the wrong thing.
>"Alright," she said, curtly. "Thank you again."
>You spent the next hour writing more about the conditions of this particular brothel, turning down offers for sex and trying not to stare at the customers, all of them fucked up stories themselves.
>Finally, you made it up the carpeted stairs and down the lightly stained hallway, to where the succubus waited.
>The room was, well, simple. Recently mopped wooden floors were still slightly damp. At least, you hoped it was just a mopping that gave it dampness.
>The bed was just a simple, sturdy one. Nothing pretty about it, just a simple wooden frame, a mattress, and some sheets. The thing wasn't there for sleeping, in the traditional sense, or any form of pleasantries, just dirty business.
>There was a simple wooden chair set up, facing the bed. She gestured quietly to it and then sat herself on the mattress.
>You pulled a recording device out from your pocket and pressed the record button.
"Alright, I'm going to be getting voice for this, if that's alright with you."
>She shifted in place, trying to find a place that was comfortable for her, but having lost such a place decades ago.
>"I guess it's fine, but you started recording before you asked." She shoots you a slightly indignant look.
>You smile.
"Ah, that's so I can prove permission and the likes. I can still turn it off if you'd like."
>She waves her hand. "No, it's fine. Leave it on."
>You nod, and hold the recording device in the same hand as the notepad, holding your pencil in the other.
"Well. Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself, to start off, then?"
>She swallowed, and stayed silent. A few times here eyes would pick up that light where she wanted to speak, but she didn't.
>"You know, when you actually sit down and try to do it… it's a lot harder to talk about it than it is to just think about talking, isn't it?"
>You gave another smile, softer this time.
"A lot of people get like that when they're being interviewed. There's no rush, this devise's got loads of space, and I've still got my notepad. Really, it all just comes down to what you want to say."
>The room is quiet for a moment as Clarice thinks.
"Why don't you, uh, start out with some simple facts about yourself?"
>She looks at you, and raises her eyebrows. "Simple facts?"
"You know, like your name, and, uh, I dunno, age. Just stuff to get you talking."
>"Well, I think I've already told you my name, but for the recording, my name is Clarice. I'm forty-three years old, and… I don't really have much hobbies."
>She didn't look a day over thirty.
"That's good, that's good."
>You got a bit ballsy.
"How long were you, ah…"
>"Working?"
"Well, working here."
>She goes silent again, looking down at her knees, and you fear you may have gone for the kill a bit too soon.
>"More than a decade." She sounds sad, almost frightened. "I've… I've lost track."
>You jot down some notes and look back up.
"What got you into it? Money, a place to be, drugs?"
>A brief silence. "The second one."
>You brace your heart. A misplaced succubus means this will be a long and fucked up story.
"Well, why don't you start telling us about what happened to get you, uh, here, if you're comfortable doing so."
>She nods, eyes pointed toward the ground but looking somewhere far, far off.
>"My mother."
>Oh boy.
>"My father was out of the picture, I never knew where he was, and my mother never told me."
>She shifts, curling her arms under her chest and wrapping her wings around her shoulders. One of her smooth legs, covered by stocking, crosses over her other.
>" My mother was a," she tries to come up with the word, "harsh, woman. It made me very shy, in school. Hard to believe with my... my current profession."
>She swallows hard, and just thinks for a while. It's right as your about to speak that she starts again.
>"I met him in kindergarten."
>Another long silence, her eyes are gone from this place, staring at memories far, far away.
>"We were both the kids in the back. He was shy, I was shy, and one day, our teacher, the bitch of a woman, made us talk with each other to try and get us out of our shells."
>"It worked, I'll give her that, though only for each other. He was one of the nicest people I've ever met."
>"We would just talk, and play, and be children together. We couldn't quite love like adults, but we loved each other in that special way children do."
>"It was all quite childish, but it was…" she looks up now, into your eyes. You remain silent as she waves her hands to try to find the word. "Innocent. It was innocent. Some of the few innocent moments I have in my life, and I cherish them. I cherish every single one."
>"We did all these silly child things together, for years, and… and we wound up promising ourselves to each other."
>She takes a shaky breath in. "It was silly of us, swearing marriage when we were barely in middle school at the time, but we did. My mother was making us move far away, to a different city, and we wanted to never leave each other, even though I had to go. So we made that promise, that we'd meet again, and be together forever."
>She brings both hands to her eyes and wipes off forming tears with her fingertips.
>"I didn't have a lot of friends, a-and with how hard my mother was on me, I was too scared to get any."
>Grabbing her wings, she pulls them a bit tighter around herself, and wraps her spade-tail around her hips.
>"She was a very old-fashioned woman, firm in how the succubi were by her definition supposed to work."
>Suddenly she lets go, her wings shooting out and her tail slapping onto the bed behind her. "You tell me a single succubus from the old ways who wasn't unhappy or a psychopath! Why would anyone want their daughter like that? Why would anyone want to continue that!?"
>Her face was twitching, a frown wrinkling her otherwise immaculate face, her eyes attempting to hold back tears, her lightly applied makeup starting to run.
>She calms down as you silently wait for her to continue. "She wanted me to move on, said it was unnatural for a succubus not to look for others, to at least sample a bit of everything before she settles down. She was insistent on this; she didn't let up a single day for close to two years, until I caved."
>She shakes her head. "It wasn't hard to get someone, going into the boys locker rooms or walking to the high school was really all it took."
>Her mouth opens for a moment before she works forces out what she wanted to say. "It was like poison. It felt good, but it hurt me in a different way. It destroyed me."
>Black and yellow eyes meet yours, tears now flowing unabated. "I started getting popular for it. Some of the other succubi started talking to me, boys and even men were flirting, I had attention, for the first time in a while, a-and… I was starting to like it."
>"I wasn't the same girl anymore, I was someone else. Some bitch that sucked off half the male student body before she even reached it to 8th grade. For free. And liked it."
>She leans over, placing a hand over her crying eyes, and just lets herself hiccup.
>You just kept quiet; waited for her to be ready to speak again, if she would at all. You can tell there's a lot more to this story.
>Finally, she looks up, but remains hunched over, arms on her knees, keeping her up.
>"He came for me."
>She lets that statement hang for a few seconds. Too many emotions behind that sentence.
>"He barely even started high school, and he crossed half a country for me, alone."
>"The day he showed up at my doorstep, holding flowers…" Her eyes hold an almost abject horror to them. "I just ripped them out from his hands and stepped on them."
>"I'll never stop hating myself for that moment, never. I'll never forget his face when he saw me, in something that could barely be called an outfit, and just stepping on his hopes."
>You'd stopped writing a while ago, just letting the recording device do its job. It happens, sometimes.
>No matter how hard you try, this just never becomes any easier.
>"He was innocent," she says after a time. "He was completely innocent. I could smell it, he waited for me. He kept his promise."
>"I did that, I set him away from me, I laughed at him for being a naïve fool while he left in tears, I broke the promise. If I just hadn't listened to my BITCH of a mother…"
>Her shaky breathing filled the room for another moment.
>"As high school wore on, everyone started finding partners, everyone started losing their innocence to each other, the only people who were left behind were the undesirables, the ones who only cared about fucking, and I was all alone."
>"I was starting to realize I'd made a terrible mistake, that I let my mother get to me."
>Now she's just talking. Still crying, but talking. She broke a long time ago.
>"I started idolizing him, even as I continued being lower than a whore. That's what I was then, lower than a whore."
>A look of genuine hate spread through her features as she berated herself.
>"A whore get's paid. I just did it because all I knew was how to spread my filthy little legs for boys I'd just met."
>The hate leaves her face to default back to tired sadness. It's at this point you noticed what a mess she is.
>Makeup completely ruined, eyes tired, all façade of a flirtatious and domineering woman destroyed completely.
>She's been revealed for what she is, deep down. All that hurt and breakage is finally coming out in some way at least remotely healthy.
>"I think I wanted to see him again. That's why I went back, to my home city, for college."
>"It was stupid of me, especially considering I never changed. I just hoped he'd come back one day, with more flowers, and a smile, all the while I just fucked everything on two legs."
>"One day, I saw him while heading to classes. He looked," she searches herself for the words. "He looked older, he looked mature. Not quite an adult yet, but he was going there. I could barely recognize him, he'd changed so much, but I could smell him, I could feel him."
>"I could also smell he wasn't a virgin anymore."
>She moved further back onto the bed, pulling her legs up and curling into fetal position.
>A fully grown woman, reduced to this.
>It's fucking horrifying every time you see it, every time these girls heave up their lives to you.
>"He didn't even recognize me. He just glanced at me, like any other stranger, and kept walking."
>"I… I just…"
>Like so many others, she looks lost. That vacant look in her eyes, as she looks around the room and wonders how she got here.
>And the look of devastation when her mind finally caught up again, she remembers what's happening, and she looks at you with tears that just won't stop.
>"I started stalking him, you know?"
>"I couldn't leave him alone. I stopped seeing other men, I stopped going to classes, it didn't matter, all that mattered to me was him."
>"I found out where he lived, I found out who he was friends with, what his interests were, what he was doing for work, his aspirations, his fucking bathroom habits, all of it, I needed all of it!"
>Her voice was desperate, scrambling for a foothold on reality.
>"It wasn't for selfish reasons, no, for once in my life I wanted to make things right, I wasn't being selfish, I swear!"
>"But someone else just swooped in and took him from me! Some lamia got the drop on him and asked him out, and he fucking accepted, of course he did! She was pretty, and clean, and not fucked in the head, but I couldn't accept that shit, I couldn't just sit down and watch him leave, so I tried to sabotage it!"
>She leapt from the bed, her emotions flaring as her obsession reared its head fully, all in front of you.
>You just watched in a mix of fear and horror.
>"I used every charm I fucking had, every bit of power I had at my disposal while they were out on their first date! But that fucking lamia could taste it in the air, she tracked me and almost broke every bone in my body!"
>And just as quickly as the energy came, it left her.
>"But he saw me."
>Nothing was said for five minutes, but it felt like an hour.
>"I got desperate. I told him who I was, what I was trying to do…"
>"The look on his face, just… disapproval. Just utter fucking disappointment. The irony isn't lost on me when he told me to move on."
>"Life after that just became a blur of sex. I got this job so at least I'd get something out of it."
>"I'm saving up for a computer. I broke it when I looked him up again."
>"He has kids now… with that lamia."
>"I-I'm… so jealous."
>She blinks a bit, realizing that her story's done.
>You never know what to say afterwards.
>For the ones that are completely destroyed mentally, you say a simple thank you and head home, wondering what you could possibly do.
>But moments like these, when at least some part of her mind is still there?
>You stand on shaking legs, and open your mouth to speak.
>"W-wait. Come here, just for a moment."
>Your mind races for a moment before you realize you already walked up to her.
>Slowly, she stood, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders while burying her head into your shoulder.
>You could feel your shirt dampening as she just held you, tightly.
>This type of thing has happened more times than you could ever expect.
>All these girls, every single one, just wants love, and all of them are here because they'll never find it, or they've started to give up.
>Slowly, you returned the embrace, just holding her as she cried.
>After a time, she separated with a quick jerk away.
>"W-well, I hope you've gathered enough."
>You slowly nod.
"Thank you for sharing, Clarice."
>She just stared at you for a while. She'd stopped crying.
>"I'd like some time alone, if you don't mind."
"O-oh, yeah, of course."
>You moved quickly and quietly to the door, yet stopped right as you open it.
>You felt at the time you should say something.
>But you couldn't come up with anything.
>So, like so many clients before, you silently walked away from her, leaving her to cry by herself.
>You weren't allowed to return to the brothel the next day. There was a suicide.
>Three days later you were the only one to go to Clarice's funeral.
>You're still trying to get this shit out, to shove the city's nose in what it's trying to ignore.
>Fuck this city. Fuck brothels.