Miami Whore Ch 02

**A continuation of the Miami Whore series**

The voice boomed again, this time from a source noticeably closer.

"HEY! YOU!"

My foot jerked forward. And then the other, and I began stumbling in the opposite direction.

"Don't move, street shit. Don't fucking move!"

By now, my pace had quickened into the beginning of a jog. I recognized that bellowing voice, those padding footsteps. Fear seeped into my veins. The force that drove me was not thought. Not normal consideration. It was a deep, throbbing instinct, like when a gazelle hears a lion's roar. It was a natural and irresistible force that kept me on my feet.

I quickened to a sprint, my sandals scraping against the alley pavement. My lungs heaved, my feet pushing into the ground.

I heard a thwap. And with that, I slammed into the asphalt. My sandal had caught a crack, and my chest was now laying against grimy rock. I pushed myself up again, desperately, abandoning my sandal in hopes of pressing on. But then, I felt a momentous tug. I crashed to the floor again, this time rolling around on my back. I looked up, my eyes squinting from the glaring sun. And finally, I faced my assailant.

Staring down at my cowering form was a tall, thin woman with black heeled boots. Her slender legs, clad in tight denim, hugged her waist with a brown belt and red flannel. Her thick, black hair was tied into dutch braids that framed her round face- a face of a woman about 30 years of age. She looked like an out-of-place cowboy, but I wasn't laughing. I tried to shuffle away, still on my back. But my head clanged against the metal wall of a rusty dumpster. The woman didn't even move. She just snorted and kept glaring.

I curled my body up defensively, with my legs tucked in front of my chest. I knew what was coming.

I clenched my teeth and tensed my shoulders, staring down into my lap.

But the blow never came. Cautiously, I looked up at her. She had moved closer.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" She bellowed. Here it comes, I thought.

"You come into my bar- my establishment- with your stupid little act. You harass my customers, steal my drinks, and then you think you can just fall asleep on the same block? I'm tired of this shit. My business is not for whores like you. You know your place is out on the streets- not under my fucking roof. The women at my bar don't want to see some college kid's hairy ass. They're here to have a good time, not pay for your panhandling."

The woman towering above me was none other than Madelyn, the owner of the seventh street's dive bar that bore her name. The same bar I had made a visit to last night. Well, I didn't visit so much as I was forced in. Some mid-30s brunette wanted to show me to her friend, to prove that Miami whoreboys are real. Probably some idiot tourist, from a boring city like Cleveland where the whores stayed underground. Regardless, I wasn't the one who had tried to get in. I knew I wasn't welcome at Madelyn's, but seventh street was unusually busy that night, and I was frustrated from what was starting out as a slow night.

I had been kicked out of Madelyn's before, which was how he knew me. The first time, she thought I was just drunk. After that, she realized I was running a gig of my own. The last time she kicked me to the curb, she yelled that she'd "pound my twink ass if I showed up again". So the situation was not looking good for me. It's difficult to whore yourself out when you've got a black eye, let alone a sore ass. Again, I tensed up.

"Look up here, twink. Look me in the eyes."

I stared at my feet.

"Look at me when I'm fucking talking, bitch!"

A leather boot thrust into my side, and I crumpled to the ground with a yelp. There it was.

I opened my eyes, meeting her beady irises with a defiant, but shaking gaze.

"Stay out of my bar. Stay out of this fucking neighborhood."

I swallowed my pride, mumbling a quick "yes..."

"What do you mean yes?! Knock off with that smug tone. You drank seven drinks last night. Seven bourbon whiskeys, so you have a tab. And I know if you don't pay for it now, you never will. Fucking whore."

"I don't... I don't have any money."

"Bullshit."

"No, really!"

"Take off your shorts. Right now."

I paused.

"Fuck off."

Immediately, I felt another kick, this one digging into my stomach. I yelled, and my lungs felt like they were going to collapse in on themselves.

"Ok, ok!" I panted.

Filled with shame, and still panting from having the wind knocked out of me, I struggled to my feet. I tugged at the waistband of my shorts, and it dawned on me why I had fallen twice earlier. These shorts made grabbing my hips as easy as sticking a finger in the spandex. I made a mental note to try to find other shorts, unless I wanted to get snagged by another debt collector.

"Hurry up. No funny business, and keep those boxers one. I don't wanna see your ugly asshole."

I pulled the shorts down my shaven legs, and handed them to Madelyn, my hand shaking as I extended the gift.

She opened the pockets, and pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills.

"Fucking liar. I knew it," she huffed.

Pulling the bills apart, she shuffled them between her hands.

"This is... seven dollars?!"

I stared at her blankly. "It was a rough night."

"Well you owe me fifty-three more. That was expensive bourbon."

"Fifty-three?!" I exclaimed in disbelief.

"Look, I don't make the prices. And you're the thief."

I stared blankly. "I don't have that much... I can get it to you after tonight, though."

"Do you think I'm stupid, whore? You've got as much integrity as any other prostitute. There's only one way you street shits pay off your debts at Madelyn's- with work."

I grumbled internally.

"Get your ass up. You're scrubbing my floors after the mess you helped make."

Hesitantly, I rose from my cowering pose.

"Give me your arm, slut" Madelyn commanded.

I obeyed, and she slapped a cold band around my wrist, squeezing it closed. Handcuffs.

"Now stay close, bitch." She muttered, clasping the other hold to her own wrist.

Madelyn held me close as she navigated the network of alleyways, my shorts still dangling from her other hand. My one bare foot was at the mercy of the rough asphalt, still shoeless after the pursuit.

Finally, we arrived at the bar. It was a white brick building, with oak siding near the top and green dumpsters lining the walls. Madelyn walked me in the back door, through the cold tile of the kitchen, and onto the laminate of the bar floor. She paused, turned around, and snagged my remaining sandal with her boot heel.

"What did I tell you about tracking in dirt? You're not too good for my floors." She snapped, picking up my sandal and tossing it behind the bar counter. "Now heel."

I didn't have much of a choice, as the handcuff hugging my right wrist tugged me into obedience. As I trudged onward, my bare feet peeled off the floorboards, sticky with spilled beer and sweat. The bar itself was in a state of disarray, with overturned chairs and leftover food. Cleaning this mess would take hours, and there didn't seem to be anyone working on it.

But my final destination was not the bar. Not the inside, at least. Madelyn opened a side door and led me back outside, into the blinding morning sun. She stopped on a brick terrace, elevated above the ground and facing another alley. This place was even filthier than the inside. In addition to spilled drinks, there was grime and dirt caking the synthetic wood floor. A tangle of string lights, now useless in the daytime, swayed in the wind. It was a disgusting scene. A pit of excess, abandoned by nighttime partiers. A discarded monument to their gluttony. And it would be my prison for the remainder of this temporary servitude.

Madelyn motioned to a mop sitting in a red plastic bucket, leaning under the bar counter.

"I want every inch of this place scrubbed clean. I mean it. I don't pay for hours- I pay for work. Keep your head down and do as you're told. Otherwise, I may have to report a suspicious hobo hanging around my terrace."

I stood there, awkwardly. My baggy t-shirt trembled in the slight breeze.

"And of course, I'll be inside." She unlocked the handcuffs from my wrist. "But just to make sure you don't run off, I need something from you."

I kept a blank expression.

"Take off your clothes. Yes, all of them. I'll hold onto them until you finish your work. That way, you won't run off like the little two-timing whore you are. They'd get grimy anyway, with all of this time you'll be spending on your knees."

I couldn't believe it. I stripped for a living. But this felt different. This was in the day. Even though Madelyn was the only one in sight, I felt naked already. The sun illuminated my pale skin, caressing its every detail in all-knowing light. And she just stared.

But what other choice did I have?

I took my shirt off first. No problem. Madelyn reached out to receive it, her face set in a smug but subtle grin.

The terrace may have been shielded from the main road, but I felt like her dark eyes were an entire audience. I took a deep breath.

And then, gently, I inserted my thumbs into my spandex waistband. I felt the fabric stretch. I pulled, easing the cloth down my legs. Over the hill of my hips, down my thighs. Until finally, my briefs fell to the ground like useless curtains, uncovering the one thing they were supposed to protect. For a second, Madelyn stared at my naked dick, limp and hanging. And then she muttered,

"I'll take those for you."

Reaching down to my legs, she snatched my briefs with two fingers. The same smug expression was barely visible on her face. After all, I'm sure she could sense my humiliation. There was another brief silence.

I stood with my legs close together, and my arms tight against my sides. My posture was sheepish, slightly bent so as to not show my full height. My naked body was on full display, from my smooth legs, up to my clean-shaven dick and bare chest. I gazed into Madelyn's face with eyes that I can only assume were bleeding embarrassment. This felt like losing to a high school bully.

"Well." She quipped, biting her lip. "There's a hose in the alley, down those steps, if you need to refill the bucket. You'll need a good bit of water to get this place in order."

She turned and walked back to the side door, leaving me staring at my feet.

"And one more thing, baby."

"...yes?" I replied in a hushed tone.

"I was wrong about earlier. I actually don't mind seeing that ass of yours."

I kept staring, facing away from her.

"Tisk tisk, boy. You've got a lot of work to do."

The door closed with a squeak. I hobbled over to the mop and got to cleaning.

My cheeks were flushed the color of spring hibiscus.