City of Crimson Desires

Part 2 Prologue

The entire city was engulfed in the cold naked chill of a evening. The souls on the street were about to linger; leaving nothing but shadows inkling in the eerie light of the lamp posts. The slumber was in the tired atmosphere of the town and air was yawning with the nightly sins of men. No, it wasn't sleeping but the seven deadly sins inserted in the nephews of Lucifer started waking up, stretching arms of hunger in the silent hours of darkness. The dirty brown brick walls echoed the moans and growls of pleasure and pain. Concrete gray pavement got scratched by the nose stinging and screeching tires of those who came to kiss the bible of sex and smoke perfumed the smell of innocence. The hour was perfect for palor, brothel what was to be said cathedral of prostitution. Cathedral, yes it was a temple for those who escaped the torture. No pagoda for the monks of lust. Ironic to say that those who posed high status in the daylight and are lords or business priests- no difference at all otherwise- were the ones who could put wolves to shame. But it was a city of Divine sin. And the one who hadn't committed it, didn't do justice to his shrewd soul. Buyers were there, devils in the cloak of angels but it wasn't the matter of concern. Because daily costumers did get hurt as much as of those who traded their bodies to those devils. Some slaves they were and it might not need to be added further. Buyers were always looking for a diamond in the rough, boys were more demanded than girls. And he unfortunately or maybe luckily was a diamond in a coal both in rhetoric and literal sense. Today it was his turn to offer ritual, no devote his entire being to the gods of lust. He was, of course was accustomed to the nightly not so holistic ritual but then he had to sell his soul. It wouldn't have made any difference at all if he really had sold one to a demon. Because the soon to be peril state was much painfully a retribution to his dead heart. There wasn't any other way around and denial wasn't his lover either. He was a boy of near his 25; fair countenance, slight build, pale ivory skin with seniew muscles stretching across the torso. He rested his head against the cold wall of the room more like a dungeon less than a prison. Raven black hair covering the tired eyes that were hiding the alluring grey eyes. The moonlight seeping through the barred window deepened the hallows of his sharp features revealing the pointed nose slightly upturned at the bridge but perfectly doing justice to his thin yet broader lips. There was sliver of crimson resting like a crescent on his left cheek. It was the only thing that had protected him from becoming sex slave to the aristocrats. But now fate had finally rolled her dice with sixes of sadism. A puff of cold breath escaped his mouth with a tired sigh of the decade. Whoever was going to buy him, must had had certain treatment for him.