All Tricks Must Exit

by John Mancuso

     Sandy was barely finished with her coffee when she received a phone call from Beatrice (the Madam) who told her she needed to work tonight. A special client who only wants to fuck Sandy made this special request and does not want to be disappointed. The business he brings in is tremendous and cannot afford to be lost because some whore supposedly has a night-off from turning tricks.

     At ten o'clock, Sandy was to meet this guy at the Four Seasons (the usual spot). What would it be tonight for the guy who goes by the name Z? Z isn't into anything too kinky, although he does get a bit rough at times. Sandy has seen and done it all, so nothing is too shocking or debasing. When she first starting fucking guys for money she was seventeen and in desperate need of cash, which seems to be the only reason why girls turn to this line of work. Sandy always preferred love to sex, but now her views of both have been tarnished. It's hard for her to respect men when all they're interested in is fucking her brains out.

     For a while, Sandy had a girlfriend just because she couldn't handle men anymore. However, having sex with another woman was extremely challenging since she wasn't a lesbian. The affection from another woman was what she needed, but she couldn't live a lie or hurt someone else in the process. Her brief stint as a lesbian had ended and she went back to fucking men for cash. No guy wants to have a hooker for a girlfriend.

     Sex became so routine it was hard for Sandy to imagine why people enjoyed it so much. Since it became her primary source of income it lost its luster. It was now just a bridge between poverty and cash.

     Z was always an enigma to Sandy. He liked to talk to her before he fucked her, and not because he was being polite but because he was really interested in what she had to say. He would pay extra money just to listen to her voice, as she sped through her life story as if it were a made-for-TV movie.

     Z was a reasonably handsome man, a delight for Sandy who usually fucked old or disgusting men that had to pay for sex, since no one was offering it to them. Z, however, was in his thirties, had brown hair and a decent build. His nose was a little large, and his haircut could have been better, but overall he was what society would call "attractive". Sandy was beautiful, which is rare in her line of work. Most call girls are average looking women with decent bodies who increase their appeal by wearing trashy clothes and layers of unnecessary makeup. Sandy, however, was naturally stunning and had a body to die for. That's why she has many repeat customers and has been able to make a substantial amount of money. She quickly graduated from "street walker" to "high-priced call girl".

     At twenty-three, Sandy is in her prime. Her age, along with her long blonde hair and blue eyes, make her the ideal sex partner for any heterosexual man. For the past six years, she has fucked more than a thousand men, all for cash. The last time she had a boyfriend she was sixteen. She ran away from home with Ashton and the two of them embarked on a drug-filled escapade. Cocaine, heroin, crack, pot; you name it, they did it. Eventually Ashton did too much of it and wound up dead. Sandy needed to get her life in order so she started turning tricks.

    Z normally took the time out to talk with Sandy, and not just fuck her. He was probably the only person that listened to her. Sandy found him to be initially creepy, but warmed up to him after awhile. In her business, you fuck the person first, then maybe get to know them. It works better that way. Normally, the guy just wants to fuck which makes things a lot easier. Sometimes a man will pay the escort to be his date for the night. This is perhaps the most pathetic of all instances. In this case, the guy is paying for company, and not just sex. His loneliness has reached an all time high. Sandy feels sorry for most of her clients. They are, after all, just fulfilling a basic urge that should be taken care of without any form of payment. Then again, sex always costs a guy in the long run. When a guy buys a drink for a girl at a bar, it's not that he's concerned about the girl's thirst. He wants to fuck her. Period. All the money he spends on dating, gifts, movies, etc. is all so the girl is in good enough spirits to be willing to fuck him. It's a trade off, the most basic parasitic relationship.

    Sandy has lost respect for men. When she sees a guy, she automatically sees dollar signs. The more money the guy has, the more she likes him. Z had money, and this captivated Sandy. He could probably land almost any gold-digging single girl on the market, but for some reason he was fascinated with Sandy. She wasn't just some prostitute, but rather a companion, or pseudo-girlfriend. He fucked her, paid her, talked to her, but couldn't claim her as his own. This always troubled him, but eventually he came to understand, and even accept, his relationship with Sandy.

    Finally, Sandy arrived at the hotel wearing black thigh highs and a halter top to match. Z was wearing a white wife-beater Tee and black dress pants. They greeted each other and Z opened a bottle of champagne, pouring the first glass for Sandy.

    "It's good to see you", Z proclaimed.

     Sandy hesitated and said, "You too".

     Z started talking about anything and everything, from the weather to religion. Sandy feigned interest initially, but as time progressed it became pretty apparent that she was not interested in the conversation. Although she appreciated Z's taking the time out to talk to her, she would've preferred just fucking him and saying good-bye. It was her night off and she was tired. Z, sensing Sandy's uneasiness, began removing his clothes and Sandy quickly did the same.

     The sex was mundane and devoid of any eroticism, but Z seemed to have enjoyed it. Sandy was mostly thinking about the first time Ashton had made love to her. The two of them were stoned beyond belief and nothing seemed to matter that night. If Ashton were still alive, Sandy thought, everything would be different. Although it would only be a matter of time before he would overdose. Still, she actually missed him and the way he made life seem carefree. Life was now only about getting by, and not necessarily enjoying any aspect of it. Everything was a means to an end. Life was a means to death.

     When the fucking had ended, Z wanted to talk more and he offered Sandy more money for an extra hour. Sandy wanted to leave but the money made her stay. She couldn't afford to say no to an extra thousand bucks, so she decided to stay and listen to whatever Z had to say.

     "You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Z said. "I've been thinking that maybe the two of us could get out of here and start a new life somewhere. I have enough money to support the both of us. You wouldn't even have to do this anymore."

     Sandy didn't know what to say. She didn't know if Z was drunk, or if he was crazy enough to mean what he said. She didn't love this guy, and there was no way that he could give her more money than she was already making. In no time, she'll be able to buy her own house and whatever else you buy when you're independent. She felt like she had earned her money, and needed to know that she could make it on her own.

     "Are you crazy?" Sandy asked. "I'm a hooker, in case you haven't noticed. But I'm a high-priced one at that. I don't need your charity. Besides, I'm used to my life now. It's not as bad as it seems. If you wanna save some poor prostitute, look elsewhere."

     Z was in shock. He was confused, hurt, angry, mortified. How could a hooker be turning him down? All of Z's kindness had suddenly vanished and was replaced by an uncontrollable rage that caused him to lift his fist and punch Sandy square in the mouth. She immediately fell back and hit the floor, while blood was flowing steadily from her nose. Z wasn't done. He picked the topless Sandy off the floor and threw her over his shoulders. Sandy was kicking and screaming, but to no avail. Z took a rope out of his bag and used it to tie Sandy to the bedpost. He ripped off her thigh highs to reveal her naked body. There were a couple of bruises scattered throughout which were the result of guys who liked things a little rough. Z had never hurt her before, but now wanted to make up for it.

     Sandy, realizing the danger she was in, decided to make a last second attempt at appeasing Z.     "I'll go with you, marry you, whatever, just don't hurt me."

     Z wasn't buying any of it, plus it was too late to turn back. "Oh now you want to be with me, just so that I won't hurt you. Look, bitch, if you wanna stay a hooker, I'm gonna have to treat you like one."

     Z slapped her across the face a few times and spit on her with genuine ferocity. Sandy could do nothing but scream in vain, and occasionally cursed Z for the monster he turned out to be. Z untied Sandy and threw her onto the bed, preparing to rape her. For the next hour and a half, that's exactly what he did. While he was fucking her, he would occasionally punch or choke her, to make sure she knew who was boss. When it was all over, Sandy had a multitude of cuts and bruises scattered throughout her body.

     Z knew that he couldn't allow Sandy to live, since she would probably go to the police and ruin his life. He knew he had to make her disappear, so he began choking her with all his might. All the while Sandy was struggling to break free from the ropes that bound her hands. She managed to knee Z directly in the balls which caused him to fall to the ground, writhing in pain. This bought Sandy some time and allowed her to free herself. She jumped up and kicked Z in the face with her stiletto heel; blood began pouring down Z's cheek. Sandy repeatedly kicked him until his face caved in and his breathing permanently stopped.

     It took a few moments for Sandy to process what had just happened. The whole sequence felt like a nightmare, and now she had awakened from it. But this nightmare was a reality, and there was no time to think about what just happened. Now the only concern was getting rid of the body. Sandy realized that no one, except Beatrice, knew where she was. The room was not in her name, and it was late enough where no one would've seen her enter or leave the room. Besides, who can differentiate between prostitutes? Sandy searched through Z's bag and found a slew of weapons and kinky materials, until she discovered a saw. She stripped down naked and covered the floors with sheets. She then carefully sawed Z's body into little pieces, and took a hot shower afterwards. The pieces of the body were placed in the bag, along with the bloody sheets.

     Sandy got in her car and started driving, without any plan in mind. She knew she had to dump the bag somewhere, but she wasn't sure when she should do it. She kept driving mindlessly, without a destination. About three hours later, she dumped the bag in a little lake just off the side of the road. Z wanted her to leave the business and she finally decided to do just that. But she did it the only way anyone can do anything: on her own terms.

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