Chapter 2 Stuck in a whore house
It was the beginning of summer when I arrived in this place, and now the transition to autumn was evident.
Seasons and days here seemed to mirror those of Earth. Although only around 90 days had passed, and the complete cycle of the seasons hadn't yet unfolded before me, I had managed to confirm that a full day in this world lasted roughly 26 hours.
How did I come to this understanding?
Well, considering my limited mobility – I still struggled to move my body, let alone walk – I had ample time for contemplation. And contemplate, I did.
Among my initial activities in my new state was the confirmation of my hypothesis: I had been transported to a different world.
Multiple indications pointed toward this fact. The architecture here was markedly different, and rather underdeveloped compared to any place I had known in my previous life. The absence of plastic and electricity further supported this idea.
Yet, while the architectural and technological disparities hinted at a different world, they didn't unequivocally rule out the possibility of time travel.
So, I devised a straightforward approach: counting the hours in a day would undoubtedly provide me with the answer.
That's exactly what I did. I initiated my count at sunset and continued it until the next sundown.
The total count amounted to 93,020 seconds. Upon converting this figure into minutes, it became approximately 1,550 minutes. Factoring in potential variations in daylight duration and my own possible errors in counting, I estimated that a day in this world spanned between 1,500 and 1,600 minutes, equivalent to roughly 25 to 26.5 hours.
Initially, I had some doubts about this conclusion. To address them, I repeated the process three more times, yet each iteration reaffirmed my earlier findings. Eventually, I settled on the concept that a day in this world comprised 26 hours.
***
I seized every moment once I confirmed that I was indeed an infant reborn in a different world. Plunging headfirst into an intensive information-gathering binge and language learning.
First things first – let's acquaint ourselves with my surroundings. Here, they call me Daniel. I have jet-black hair and fiercely bright blue eyes that could probably light up a room. Yes, I’m a male.
The lady I assume is my mother is Celestia. I’ll come back to that later.
Celestia is quite the looker. Her raven-black hair cascades like a waterfall of enigma, her eyebrows are like their own pointy proclamation, and her big black eyes could captivate you into a trance if you dared stare too long. And that super-pale skin? It's like a celestial bonus.
She'd have met all the checkboxes in my previous life.
As anticipated, she's my source of sustenance through breastfeeding. Here's the kicker – I'm not the only privileged one partaking of that milk.
No, I don't have siblings.
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We're talking about grown men – customers of the establishment I call home. Yes, my mother is a whore.
Everybody here calls her Celestia, clients and colleagues alike, thus I’m unsure if that’s her real name or not.
She works for Grit, he’s the man I saw at birth, the muscle head fellow with brown hair and a broken nose.
He’s a scum, and unfortunately owns the place.
His demeanor towards customers paints him as a charmer, but behind the curtain, he morphs into a monster.
Last week I saw him break a whore's collarbone after she tried telling him that she was unwell and couldn't work.
“Haah… Uugh.. Aah”
“You’re a dirty bitch… Aren’t ya? You’re my dirty bitch...”
“Ahh! O.. Oh! Yes!!... Aghh! AAAH!”
The sounds were coming from the room next door. Those sounds were my mother and Grit fucking.
I detested Grit with every fiber of my being. The mere thought of him ignites a blazing fire of hatred in me.
I often find myself yearning for the roles to be inverted. I imagine Grit, stripped of his power, brought to his knees before a different kind of stick - a knife, a sharp blade. His usual air of control and confidence completely shattered, instead replaced by torment. Instead of moans he so revels, his voice would echo out with screams and cries of unrelenting pain and desperate pleas for mercy. Seeing him beg for his life is something I long for. I’d give him hope that I would spare him right until the very end...
My disdain isn't solely about my mother's relationship with him. My disgust for him is grounded in a multitude of reasons. I don't have a sadistic inclination, delighting in the needless suffering of others. Justice, however, demands that those who perpetrate wrongdoings should endure their own proportional share of agony.
To commence, I happened to overhear some tales that reveal Grit's acquisition of this establishment, known as The Lustful Domain, nearly five years ago. It's a place with a history intertwined with his family. His father was the original owner, and after Grit's lackluster return from the military, his father chose not to hand him the reins. Fueled by entitlement, Grit resorted to the ultimate betrayal, taking his father's life to seize control.
Grit wasn't the only brothel owner in this town. Yet he aimed to establish dominion over the business in the region. He singled out one owner at a time, blackmailing them, destroying their properties, ordering assassinations and kidnappings. At the end, he ended up with a complete monopoly of the sector. One by one, the others fled, died, or simply surrendered their businesses.
During my time here, Grit's violent actions had caused the death of one of his whores. As it turns out, the whore he killed was pregnant. I vowed to myself that day that I was one day going to end his life.
Speaking of prostitutes, it was a grim revelation that he owns them outright. My mom is a slave, and I’m a slave too.
There are a total of 37 women in this establishment. There are a further 11 children under the age of 5 and an additional 7 girls between the ages of 6 and 13, no doubt replacement for their mothers.
The cattle are being watched and administered by an older lady, Cirila. She’s the one from my birth. There’s nothing too special about her, she’s of short stature and has medium length gray hair. Her interactions towards her cattle are tinged with a semblance of kindness and attends to my needs when my mother is working.
I don’t like her, she’s a companion of Grit’s and acts as an accessory to his crimes. Her friendly smiles and the soothing lullabies she offers to the children hold no sway over my perception of her.
No, I don’t care about any of those things. She is raising cattle for slaughter; it doesn't matter how she does it or how she masquerades it.
She’s an adult, she should know better. I might just have to kill her too.
The Lustful Domain
Type
Number of (#)
Whores
37
Other slaves (servants and others)
5
Girls (6 - 13 years old)
7
Children under 5
11
Employees (non-slaves, non-guards)
5
Guards
2