The Female Price of Male Pleasure

She made an inward groan. He was by far the most boring person she had ever met, and labeled him as one of those one dimensional people who always wanted to talk about the weather or what they had eaten for dinner the previous day.

"How dreadful," she told him. And thankfully that was the extent of her conversational duties; he kept muttering on and on about roadside conditions, car repairs, the country's history of heat waves and its water scarcity issues, before eventually falling fast asleep beside her.

Thank god, she thought to herself. Free at last from the torture of his banter, she departed his company for one of her ritual showers, and by the time she got out he was long gone.

Chapter 4

"Welcome," she told him with a weak smile. She was about to continue with her usual 'won't you please come in' speech, but then realized who it was. She was very nearly successful with her attempt to forget all about Marshal, and if he hadn't returned she probably would have been.

"Oh, it's you again," she told him without bothering to mask her contempt. "What do you want?"

His oddities unnerved her, and although she wouldn't want to tell him outright, he made her feel uncomfortable to the point where she didn't want to be with him. Of course, Marshal acted as if he was completely unaware of her negative appraisal.

"Your room has the greatest view in the entire city," he told her happily as he helped himself inside, again leaving plenty of space between them as he walked past her. "Why shouldn't I be allowed to enjoy it if I'm perfectly willing to pay just like all the others?"

Once again she never knew what he wanted her to tell him or how to otherwise respond to his unusual questioning, and so she said nothing. Don't worry about being smart or clever, they told her. Your compliance is far more important than anything you could ever hope to tell them. She decided to leave him alone to his view, and when she came back to check in on him some time later she could have sworn that he hadn't moved an inch.

Despite her better judgement she decided that it would be best to pity him. The constant scorn and ridicule that he must endure from others on a regular basis, how people would think that he was so retarded that they'd never take him seriously, the constant rejections and exaggerated displays of disinterest that he most certainly received from other women... soon the pity became unbearable to the point where she finally decided that the least she could do for her client was try and help him.

And even despite his overwhelming obsession with the view, Marshal was still able to sense her presence nearby. "I see that you've finally decided to join me," he told her. "To what do I owe this very fine and unexpected pleasure?"

"I... I..."

She didn't know what to say, and once again his peculiar line of questioning unnerved her.

"Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking," she told him at last. "Perhaps it'd be best if I just left you to it?"

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed with genuine skepticism. "Surely the only thing worse than not being able to appreciate this view would be if you were able to appreciate it but always had to do it alone."

She stood there for some time beside him, and just as she was beginning to relax and feel comfortable with him nearby, he broke the silence. "So are you really never going to explain why women hate me so much? Or if you charged for your first time?"

His rude questioning ruined the tranquility of the moment, and the pity that she once felt for him now transitioned to vicious contempt. What possible motive was there to harp on such meaningless details? She suddenly derived a tiny bit of satisfaction that he must suffer so much, and just as she was about to enhance that satisfaction by asking him to leave, the way that he brought up her first time triggered yet another flashback...

"Where are your parents?" she asked him.

"Oh don't worry about that," he told her with a wink. "They usually don't come home until much later."

"Oh," Tracey said blankly as she felt him place her on the couch beside him.

"And you really do look amazing today," he told her. "Did you do something different with your hair?"

Everything was happening too quickly for her to process, and to such an extent that she failed to fully realize that they were alone together and that he had placed his hand on her knee. Growing increasingly panicked and flustered, she actually tried to get up, but he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her there beside him.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

She was scared. She could feel her heart pounding rapidly and her breathing increase, almost as if she desperately needed air.

"I don't know," she tried telling him. "I just..." it was difficult for her to continue because at that moment he leaned in and kissed her. She was at a loss of words... his lips felt so soft and warm against her own, and while involuntary moans escaped her, she hadn't even realized that her legs had uncrossed themselves before him.

She stopped worrying and decided it was best to just enjoy the moment, but quickly came back to her senses as she felt the hand on her knee slowly move itself upward. Then, fearing that things were moving far too quickly, she tried closing her legs together, but couldn't. While they had been kissing she had been completely oblivious to the fact that he had used her parted legs as an opportunity to wedge himself firmly between them, and was now moving his hands along the inner region of her thighs. Now she really started to panic, and she turned her head to the side to prevent the kisses from continuing.

Instead of interpreting the gesture as an indicator of discomfort, he started kissing her neck before slowly making his way downward and pulling her shirt down. Oh god, she thought. She desperately wanted to tell him to stop and that this wasn't what she wanted, but felt frozen in place. His hands kept moving upward along her thighs, and she let out a loud gasp when his fingers found moisture. Embarrassed that she was soaking wet and that her hips thrust forward slightly in response, she writhed underneath him as his fingers explored the ridges of her folds, before slowly prodding in and back out of her.

"Mmmm," he whispered to her softly as she moaned. "I just knew that this was exactly what you wanted." She didn't know what he meant by this or how she was suppose to respond. No? This isn't at all what I wanted?

"Wearing that short skirt of yours and uncrossing your legs in front of me and all those other guys... I bet you just couldn't wait for this to happen," he told her as she felt his fingers venture deeper inside of her and her hips pushing back hard in response.

Then as if it was a far off sound in the distance she thought she heard an unbuckling sound, which brought her back to a reality where her legs were spread open before him, her shirt was pulled down and her face was red with shame for having let things get as far as they had.

She felt him pin her arms to the side, and panic ensued as he positioned himself in front of her. Oh dear God, please no, she prayed to herself. Not like this, not now, please. And just like that something inside of her snapped.

"Stop!" she cried out at last.

He stopped what he was doing, and the sudden abruptness of it all made her feel like she needed to apologize.

"Sorry. It's just... I'm not..."

He placed his fingers on her lips, silencing her.

"Shhh," he hushed. "There's no need for you to apologize or explain yourself. It's perfectly okay if you don't want to continue."

Relief suddenly flooded through her as he stood up and let her cover herself, and for a brief moment she felt like everything was going to be okay.

"You encouraged me at school all day by wearing that skirt and uncrossing your legs for me, and then you come here and suddenly you're a tease who doesn't want to follow through. In fact I'm not upset at all because if nothing else, I'll always have something to remember this by."

He walked over to a nearby computer and pressed a few buttons, only for her entire world to collapse.

There they were on the screen together... the two of them kissing. Horrified, she watched as her legs willingly spread open before him before she started moaning helplessly as he forced her shirt down and fingered her. "And don't you worry one bit," he told her as he slapped her butt. You play your cards right and this video will always stay between the two of us.

And just like that a distant ringing sound could be heard, and Tracey was brought back to reality. Marshal's session with her was over, and without another word he bowed and helped himself out.

Chapter 5

"Oh, it's you again," she told him with bitter disappointment. Marshal entered the venue and at this point it was almost routine; he made sure there was plenty of space between them as he walked happily into the dining area.

And while she couldn't have explained why, she was slowly starting to feel guilty. She prided herself on being a professional and yet here was a client who kept leaving her sessions without ever getting what he claimed to desire. So thinking it was the very least she could do -- and even despite the strong animosity that she felt towards him -- this time around she followed right behind him, at long last ready to tell Marshal what he wanted to hear.

"No," she told him at last. "I didn't charge for my first time." And then just like that she started to cry. She couldn't help it; the memory was much too horrifying for her to relive. She was ashamed and scared and had done everything she could to forget the ridicule that she endured afterward. And as she cried in front of him, as she revealed a part of herself that she so desperately wanted to forget, she started to suspect that Marshal was different somehow... as if he wouldn't judge her one way or another for what happened.

She gave him a quick rundown of how she went over to her crush's house to study and how he had taken advantage of her by filming their brief encounter together, before he interrupted.

"And he was the first guy to ask if you wanted to study?"

She was irritated that he always seemed to ask questions that served no apparent purpose, and thought that if she just provided an answer then he'd let her continue. "Yes," she told him firmly. "He was the first one to ask me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "Such a pretty thing like you and the first time someone asked you to study was when you were just 18?"

The way he phrased it made Tracey doubt herself, and so she tried thinking about it again. And there it was. It felt like a memory of a memory... something she never would have remembered or thought of again if he hadn't pressed the issue.

"Wait a moment," she said at last. She was eating lunch with her friends when a boy had approached. She remembered how he had looked nervous and was stuttering so much that she initially had trouble understanding what he was saying. Once she realized that he was asking if she wanted to study with him, she couldn't help but laugh; she and her friends thought it was so funny because it genuinely seemed like he was a special needs student who just didn't know any better. They started poking fun by mocking the way that he spoke, and looking back she could remember that he was short, scrawny, had unusually shaped eyes, pale skin...

"Oh my god," she gasped. "That was you, wasn't it?" For the first time Marshal elicited from her a feeling non-related to pity, guilt or resentment; she felt shame for how she and her friends had treated him when they were younger. "Oh Marshal. I'm so sor..."

"I had been preparing for weeks," he interrupted. "Again and again I had rehearsed what I was going to say, and even wore my lucky shirt for the occasion. Because after all, I couldn't think of anyone other than you that I wanted to study with. And to think, after all that time and effort I had spent preparing, you and your friends just laughed at me like I was nothing, not even bothering to answer my question."

She could have cried. "I'm so sorry, Marshal. It was wrong of me to act that way towards you. I'm really just so sorry."

"Please, I don't want you to feel bad about it," he assured her. "After all, none of my subsequent plans to kill myself were successful, and now here we are today, both mature and established adults who are perfectly capable of moving onward with our lives."

"And besides," he added as an afterthought, "in hindsight even I must admit that I was very much deserving of your disdain and ridicule. For if you had agreed to study with me then I would have been so deathly afraid to offend you in any way, and as a result, I would have just droned on endlessly about the differences between Sn1 and Sn2 reactions, something that I'd imagine would have been beyond tedious and painful for you."

She immediately burst out with laughter; not only did she have no doubt that he was being 100% truthful and that was exactly what would have happened between them, but it also added a whole new perspective as to what sort of alternatives there might have been if for a moment she had been able to look past the tall and athletic build of her crush.

"Wow. Clearly all girls everywhere were missing out by rejecting you," she told him sarcastically.

"Would you mind terribly if I quoted you on that?" he asked, positively beaming. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the sarcasm and genuinely felt like he had just received the single greatest compliment of his entire life.

"Oh my god, Marshal!" She couldn't help herself. His smug response, his unnerving peculiarities, his constant interruptions, his stupid personal questions... heck, even the way he hid the fact that they had met before was annoying. That he'd receive such joy from a comment that was obviously sarcastic was just too much for her to bear, and as a result she acted in a way she never thought possible; with self-righteous and vindicated violence.

She punched him in the shoulder, hard, and neither he nor anyone else would ever be able to convince her that it was unwarranted. Then when he didn't try to defend himself she became even more disgusted with him, and added a few more blows for good measure.

"You really want to know why women don't like you? Because you're a pussy who lets people walk all over you."

Sensing that he had crossed a line and fearing that more blows would likely ensue, he bowed and left without another word.

Chapter 6

She opened the door and didn't say anything; she felt like he was beneath her and that he should count himself lucky that she was even opening the door and letting him watch that precious view of his.

Still though, as much as she hated herself for feeling sympathy for someone who didn't deserve it, only so much time could pass before that nagging sense of pity crept upon her. So without thinking she approached Marshal and placed her hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to see him wince in pain, which he quickly tried to mask. And then just as if he was a dog, child or wounded animal, she immediately became concerned.

"Marshal, what happened?"

"Oh, no. Please don't worry about it," he told her as he tried turning away. "It's really nothing."

"Stop that," she told him firmly. He immediately stopped. "Marshal, what's the matter?"

Pulling up his sleeve revealed heavy bandaging around the area where she had hit him. She removed the bandages to get a better look, and was stunned. His whole shoulder was a dark shade of blue, practically black, almost as if it resembled a chronic infection that was spreading and getting worse.

"I suffer from a chronic and incurable case of hepnorithia donitydis," he told her gravely while staring off into the distance. "My capillary sensitivities are a 9.6 on the penitt scale, meaning that I bruise far easier than normal and as a result, my participation in sports, biking, boating or other physical activity is heavily restricted. The doctors say that there's internal bleeding that they don't think they can stop, and have predicted that, given my current rate of physical degradation, I now have a week or two left to live."

"So as much as I'd normally hate to bother you after you so passionately expressed your feelings of contempt towards me, I still just wanted to see this amazing view one last time while I still had the chance."

She placed her hand over her mouth in horror. "Oh my god, Marshal! I'm so sorry I had no idea."

She put her arms around him and started to cry. How could she ever think that it was okay to hit him like that? She could have just asked him to leave and not come back but instead she had to lash out with hatred, and now it was going to cost him his life.

"There, there," he told her soothingly. "You have nothing to worry about. I told the police at the emergency room that it was a large, oversized black fellow who was responsible for my assault. About 6'6'' tall, wearing a durag and had a 'live long' tattoo on his left forearm." Then as an afterthought he added, "and just so you know... on the off chance that they become suspicious it might give my story a bit more credibility if you could tell them that you've seen him too."

She pulled back from the embrace to get a better look at him. Other than coming across as a bit solemn, he otherwise presented no other emotion.

"All I ask is that you don't blame yourself for what you did to me," he told her gravely while still staring off into the distance. "Your violent impulses were a most justified response to my rather rude and unsolicited inquiries into your personal affairs, and I also accept full and complete responsibility for not telling you sooner that any violent behavior of any kind would always be strictly off limits between us, if only due to my medical condition."

Wait a minute... why would he say that? she thought. Something didn't feel right and she began replaying the sequence of events in her head. "Don't blame yourself for what you did to me." "I accept full and complete responsibility." A realization suddenly dawned upon her, and it overwhelmed her with fury. She kicked him in the shin, hard, taking delight when he buckled down and whimpered in pain.

"Yeah? You really suffer from a chronic form of hepo iditis or whatever?" she screamed while kicking him again. "Good!"

And as she fumed with rage he started giggling like a small child, clearly very pleased with himself for having tricked her. His use of fake tattoos, made up medical conditions and pretending to be in pain clearly had the desired effect upon her. He felt like she had treated him unfairly by lashing out at him, and even if it was only for a few moments, he still made her feel a way that she never thought possible; genuinely sorry for having hit him.

She sat down on the couch as the flood of emotions slowly subsided. "Really, Marshal? I should tell the police that I've seen a 6'6'' black fellow with a durag and livestrong tattoo to give your story more credibility?" In hindsight it was so ridiculous that it was incredible that she had initially believed it.

"Yes, well, I thought that if anyone would be good at providing fake testimonies then it would be you."

Marshal moved his hands up to his chest, cupping them in a pretend manner as if they might have belonged to a rather busty female. "Oh, it feels so amazing when you touch them like that," he mocked in a rather high pitched and feminine sounding voice.

Tracey shrieked with uncontrollable laughter; he was weird looking enough as it was that to add the feminine sounding voice while pretending to have bust on top of it... well, she just lost it. "Stop it, Marshal, you're killing me. And besides, that's not at all what it's like."