Chapter 2 Rough Handling

• Alone in the room, Chelsea downed the bottle of wine in one breath. She needed the alcohol to fortify her guts and sink her mind into oblivion. If I don't know what's happening, I'll feel less disgusted when it's over.
• When the door was suddenly pushed open, Chelsea got up to her feet with a sense of foreboding, hugging the wine bottle tightly to her chest. Her feet swayed, and her vision blurred. When she stumbled to the man who entered the room, she tried to widen her eyes, but nothing came into focus.
• A burp escaped her mouth before she broke into a tipsy smile. “Thank you for choosing m-me tonight. I promise that you'll have a good time. This wine is great, and I think I drank too much. B-But that's ok. I know what to do. I-I need to take this off first before I remove your clothes. T-Then I'll hug you... Oops—”
• Drinking far beyond her limits was a poor call. As her legs gave way, Chelsea fell clumsily to the floor.
• How pathetic!
• She soon forgot about her wretchedness as she crawled to her feet by clinging onto the man's leg. With a crooked smile on her face, she added, “Oh right, I just remembered. I'm not wearing anything since they took everything off me. It's fine, it's fine. I'll help you take your clothes off. I have a lot of energy to spare, so we can keep rolling on the bed and—”
• Her words were interrupted by her sudden burp. However, the man seemed unaffected by her inebriated state. It was impossible to make out his features as he wore a white mask.
• Just then, a thought crossed Chelsea's mind. It made sense for the clients of Femme Fatale to conceal their identity. After all, they could not risk being recognized, or worse, pestered by the hookers in public. Still, she was curious about this man who was about to claim her virginity.
• “I-I will serve you well. You'll be happy—” Trailing off, Chelsea reached out to touch his mask.
• As soon as her fingers made contact with the mask, Chelsea was scooped up and tossed onto the bed, landing in an ungraceful heap.
• The violent impact shook her insides. As her stomach churned from the excessive amount of wine she had consumed, an unbearable pain surged through her body. Nauseated, her limbs felt numb, and she tried desperately but failed to ground herself.
• Soon after, a cold, hard body pressed her into the bed.
• The pain of losing her virginity was excruciating.
• She wanted to scream her lungs out as she tried to push him off. However, he lifted her hands above her head before he continued to seek pleasure.
• Chelsea could vaguely make out his heavy panting amid her pain. She felt like she had lost a crucial piece of herself at that moment.
• It hurts like h*ll! Who is he?
• She wanted to open her eyes and tear off his mask. Yet the last thing she remembered was a blurry figure taking and taking from her without mercy.
• When she finally came to, the bedsheets were warm from the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Her body ached, and there was a burning sensation between her legs. The client had left a long time ago, leaving his white mask on the bedside table.
• “So it wasn't a nightmare.” Chelsea was dejected. Forcing herself to sit up, she noticed a gold card underneath the mask. It was a room access card with a long string of numbers on it.
• MRGSWW009? What the heck is this for? Did he leave this for me? No, it can't be.
• A voice crackled through a speaker in the room. “This is Femme Fatale's VIP gold card. It's very rare, and you're only the ninth person to receive it. 009 is your code, which corresponds to the room for your exclusive use in the future. The client was satisfied with your service, and he would like to reserve you for one year. During this year, you must be at the client's beck and call, and you will always meet in room 009.”
• The voice continued, “The client will contact us when he requires your services. We will reach out to you in turn, and you must show up when instructed to do so.”
• Chelsea was dumbfounded. The gold card in her hand burned like a brand. “I-I... The transaction should be completed since I've sold my virginity, so why do I need to sleep with him for another year? There must be a mistake.”
• The disembodied voice mocked, “The client has needs, and Mr. Jones is in want of his money. A transaction between two willing parties is but a natural thing. Besides selling your virginity, Mr. Jones has also signed a contract stipulating the provision of your services to the client for one year, and the payment is already in his account. Please remember your code, Femme 009. Keep your phone switched on twenty-four seven. We do not take ghosters lightly.”