kih tracinya

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(a/n: this part was previously uploaded onto my Kylo Ren x Reader One-Shots, and is now a WIP that I've decided to create 5 parts to--so if it looks familiar, it's because you probably read already! please read the warnings in the description. thank y'all vvv much for your support <3)

Though it wasn't the smallest cock you'd ever had inside of you, your third customer of the day was proving to be woefully inefficient at wielding it, regardless. He thrust into your cunt with jaunty, awkward strokes, his little sweaty fingers curling around your thighs as he gasped his way toward his orgasm.

"Yeah, that's good," he said. "Do you like it, baby?"

You blew air through your nose. Even though the divider prevented you from seeing him, you knew his face was pathetically red. "Not really."

Your customer grunted. "Don't be a bitch." He jerked your legs toward him, but thankfully, the leather bonds kept your raised ankles tacked to the wall. "You'll like this, then."

When his finger brushed your clit, you grumbled, adjusting to avoid his touch. Another one like this, all inflated with a belief that your pussy was parched for their blessing, that they were granting you relief with their skilless hands.

"Ugh, Maker, don't bother."

He snorted in disbelief, pushing his reedy length into you at an erratic pace. "What happened to customer service, huh?" he asked. "You can't just pretend to be a good whore and like my dick?"

You cleaned under your nails, shrugging to yourself. "Nope."

Cerra, your coworker, called out to you from the booth over, speaking in Mando'a. "Come on, can't you go a little easy on the di'kut?"

"Ka'ra!" you groaned. "He keeps trying to make me cum!"

"What's that?" His nubby fingers bit into your lower waist. "What are you saying? Speak in Basic!"

"Oh, that's your favorite."

You mumbled a curse, twisting your hips in discomfort when he grazed your clit again. "Ugh! Atin di'kut."

"Are you talking about me?" His grip fumbled, his hand slid on your skin. "We're the customers, speak in a language we understand!"

Cerra giggled. "It's the worst when they're bad, isn't it?"

"It's always the worst," you said. "It's like they wanna prove something to us."

The man seethed, slipping out of you, trying to shove himself back in, half-hard. "Bitch!" he said. "You made me lose it."

"Now he's acting like he's never disappointed a woman before." You sighed. "Jage are all the same."

She laughed. "They really are!"

Your customer kicked the wall. "Fuck this. I'm out of here." You heard the clatter of a paltry few credits into your tip deposit before his footsteps shuffled toward the exit.

Sighing, you shifted on your bench. It was with clients like these that you were thankful that only your lower half was exposed to the room--with your upper-torso concealed in a booth, you could be sure you'd never be hunted down. You'd worked in brothels before where a face-to-face was required, but you preferred this. It was easier to be a hole, easier to exist while strangers buried themselves balls-deep without pretend concern. You expected nothing more from them. And they expected nothing more from you.

At least, you wished they did. After all, they were the ones choosing to walk into a room with a bunch of faceless pussies ripe for the fucking.

"You know," Cerra said, still in Mando'a, "if you keep that up, you're not going to be able to make rent."

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