The Customer's Always Right

Hank knocked on the door of Apartment 119.

"Coming!" A woman shouted from inside.

He glanced down the carpeted hall, took in the beige walls, the other bland closed doors, the popcorn ceiling. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. He anticipated someone living in a higher class of living to afford him, but some people prefer to spend their money on simple pleasures and not objects. As long as the money was good, he didn't care too much.

The door swung open. She wore black leggings and a navy blue long sleeve. Her blonde hair was pulled in a messy bun. "You must be Hank," she said, smiling. Her teeth seemed too white.

Hank put out his hand. "And you must be Susan."

She took it, and stood aside to let him in. "I heard so many things about you."

"I hope they were good things." He laughed, stopping momentarily as he took in the apartment. Nearly everything was labeled, but not by a label, or written on with marker, but the design for all of it had its name painted in thin, white letters. Not onto it, but a part of the design itself. The pillows said: PILLOW; the blanket said: BLANKET; the mugs on the coffee table, the kitchen utensil holders on the counter. He had never seen anything like it.

"You like?" Susan asked, coming around him.

"Yeah," he said, keeping composure. "Did one artist do all of this, or...?"

"Just one--Renadun. They're amazing. It took a while to get everything I wanted, but last year I finally did." She went into the kitchenette and opened the fridge. "Would you like any water before we get started?"

"Sure," he said. Hank had been to many places, been with many people, but never in his life had he ever felt this unsettled. Sweat gathered under his arms, and his smile seemed fixed to his face permanently. He hoped Susan wouldn't notice, because even walking in this place was enough for his fee.

Susan handed him a bottle of water with WATER around it. At least the water was just water. Clear. Labelless. Cold. He drank as he walked into the living space. It had a plastic-y taste like most bottled water did, but whatever. "Where do you want to get started?"

"Bedroom's fine." She shuffled by, pointing at the hall. He followed behind. Frames held photographs of smiling families doing activities: at the beach, having a picnic, swimming in a pool. None of them had Susan in them. Into her room, blankets were labeled, so were the pillow cases and the vase holding fake roses. A huge clock on the wall spelled out the numbers instead of having numerals: ONE, TWO, THREE... He drank more water. Suddenly it felt warmer, or was he just nervous? He padded his forehead.

"Oh, shoot, gimme a sec. Forgot to lock the door."

He stood awkwardly in the bedroom. It felt stranger than his first time doing this five years ago. Without money or a place to go, a buddy of his hooked him up with the service that provided company to those who had more money than social skills. Usually it was sex, but there were many times he just hung out with them watching a movie, or going to put-put golf; one time a guy wanted to sit at the bar and shoot the shit while they knocked back whiskies. Whatever it was, he was down now that he had a place to live, food on the table, the fear in the back of his mind instead of the front, that everything could be taken away at any moment. To Hank, the customer was always right.

"Finished?" She came back, looking at the empty bottle in his hand.

He glanced at it as though he didn't know it was there. Hank didn't remember finishing it. "Yeah, I was thirsty, thank you." She took it and put on the dresser. "So," he continued. "What would you like to do? Not to be in a rush, but you've only hired me for sixty minutes."

Susan crossed the space between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and put her mouth to his. He didn't miss a beat by grabbing her hips, pulling her against him. Her tongue slid into his mouth--Did she not brush her teeth? A bitter taste coated his mouth and his throat. It tasted like the aftertaste of medicine. While his tongue danced with hers, he slowly moved them towards the bed, and put her down onto its edge. She was smiling, her white teeth all on display, looking up at him.

"How you want me?" she said. "Never been with someone like you before."

Suddenly he was sweating more. The air felt heavier, like it had just stormed. He loosened his collar, exhaling. He laughed. "I'm sorry, I usually don't get like this." He blinked, swaying a little. Susan was working his belt, undoing his pants. She pulled them down with his boxers, and his cock was already erect.

"Oh boy, you're so big. My ex-husband wasn't anything like you."

His bleary eyes rolled in their sockets, and he had to move his head down to see her grab his dick but...The bed she sat on and the carpet beneath them weren't themselves. They were, in a way, the shape of what they were supposed to... But, every-damn-thing was composed of thin white letters, thousands if not millions of them filling the area where solid things should be. He thanked whatever gods that were listening that their bodies hadn't changed.

There was no way it was happening. He had to be dreaming, drunk, or high... High. The taste. Did Susan drug him? What kind of fucking drug did this? This was insane. This was hell. She was blowing him, trying to fit his dick farther back into her mouth but couldn't. She could barely get it a quarter of the way in. Her hands were pulling at his skin like she could force it down. But he couldn't focus on that. The floor was wavering, the millions of CARPET rippling like the ocean. Her bed was the same. The walls. The ceiling.

"What was in that drink?"

She grunted, and he stepped back. Susan sighed, wiping her mouth. "Nothing. Just water, why?"

"When you kissed me, it tasted different. Did you...?"

"I might've slipped you something," she said, "but I paid for an hour to do whatever I like, right? I wasn't told I couldn't."

"You're--you're fucked up, lady." Fuck the money. He'll bottom out somewhere to make it back. Hank shuffled towards the rippling door with his pants still around his ankles. He couldn't quite grab the knob because it either moved before he could or it simply didn't have a physical form that adhered to the laws of reality. What the hell sort of drug did she give him? He'd done many throughout his years but this, it was intense. Insane.

"Whoa there." Susan turned him back around. She was naked now, her clothes consumed by the floor. She had narrow legs and arms, and a shaved pussy. Her small tits were perky with bright pink nipples. Any other time, he'd be fine with it, but it was like he was swimming while standing, like there was a second layer of skin over the first and only the latter was moving while the former didn't. She grabbed his dick and escorted him back to the bed where she lay onto her back, legs splayed. "I paid for my time, I want mine."

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his sweaty head. Fine. Fine. Fuck her and leave. Get through it. He spat on his hand and lubed himself up before slipping the tip inside her. Somehow she was already wet enough for him to slide in easily. Hank lay atop of her, his face burrowed between her head and shoulder, as he thrusted. He didn't want to look at her, at the bed, at anything at all. She moaned, and ran her fingers down his back. Her legs hooked around the back of his thighs.

"You feel so fucking good," she said. "I've never had anyone fill me like you do."

Jesus Christ. He needed to get out of here. Hank wrapped his arms around her, got onto his toes, and thrusted hard. Skin slapped skin. Her pelvis bone hurt hitting him, but he wouldn't stop. "Oh shit, oh shit!" With his eyes closed, he just fucked her fast and hard. Get it over with. Get it done. Squishing could be heard and his thighs became wet, but he hadn't spent yet. Susan must've really not been with anyone lately for it to happen so quickly.

"I'm--I'm!" She moaned as her body convulsed, her heels digging into his hamstrings, fingernails into his skin. "Oooooh!"

He didn't finish. He didn't care. Hank took himself out from here. "Alright, you're good now," he said. The bed was still BED and the floor was FLOOR. She got onto her knees and grabbed his hip with one hand, and his dick with the other. She gripped it tightly, jerking him. "Oh, no, no, no. Momma wants her milk."

He went to close his eyes and she said, "No. I want to see your eyes when you go."

"What the fuck is wrong with your lady?" His stomach rolled with the floor. Below so many FLOOR overlapped and swam, it seemed as though there were an endless amount of floors. One after another after another. The last fucking thing he wanted was to cum, but it was the only way for him to leave.

"I get what I paid for."

She slobbered on the tip, ran her tongue over his shaft, sucked on his balls. Susan used two hands to stroke him, and Hank tried to think of anyone but her. The short, tan girl he was with a couple weeks ago in the hotel room. Thick thighs with a huge ass. The way it bounced in-between his legs while she rode him reverse cowgirl was amazing. He hadn't been with anyone with an ass like that before or since. Or, the pale lady from a year ago with the doughy body. Everything about her felt good to squeeze, to hold against, to lick and bite. Or, that threesome he had with two dark skinned women for a bachelorette party. Smooth and tasty, luscious. They made him cum the hardest he ever had before.

"Oh," he said. It was happening. Finally.

Susan put his cock over her face, stroking fast. "Come on, give mommy what she wants."

He muscles clenched and he grabbed her head. Mouth agape. Coming, he watched as tiny, white lines of SPERM squirted out over her face. She had opened her mouth to take in the load. SPERMs shot into her mouth, onto the floor. Once he was empty, Susan released him, and he nearly tripped over his feet. She wiped her face off with her finger, and sucked it clean, with the cum already in her mouth.

"Are you done now?" he asked, huffing.

"All done."

He got his pants back on, and went into the hall. The apartment was wavering in words like the bedroom, though it seemed the drug was dying down. Bits and pieces of the place were what they actually were: wood, tile, carpet, paint. By the time he staggered to the front door, he saw just the black door, nothing else. Then he was out in the hall once more, standing as though he had just gotten off a long voyage. The world felt unbalanced beneath him, and he had to hold the wall for support. But the words were gone, he was safe... At least until the time she ordered him again.