Promoted?

Dunno how I feel about this.

I started out working next door, at a property that my same bosses owned as well as other, seedier locations. Anyway, the hotel next door is nicer, and you'd think that would make for a happier, better paid Slave, wouldn't it?

The answer is a firm, resounding,

"Fuck no."

I didn't like it there, despite the better pay, the nice pretty  uniform, and the higher paying clientele. They're fucking assholes. People with money are shit-cunts, and I am determined to always be poor, so that at least, when people pity me for my negative outlook, lack of education, talent, or manners, they can say, "Well, look how poor she is."

I'd rather be poor and miserable than upper middle class and miserable to everyone else who can't afford to spend $100 a night at a barely notable property with an indoor pool that's had more fornication in it in a month than I've had in my life, --not to mention the disgusting saltwater (tastes more like watery cum than ocean, --I know what both taste like), and that it's used like a toilet by obnoxious suburbanite brats. Barf-o-rama. Stay with me, pools and swimming are very important to me, a water sign and all.

Anyway, I'm leaving the liberating company of rogues and the custom of local trash to the bitter exile, a few feet away... And I'm doing it for money and title. My soul feels unclean, and I want to stay with my scoundrels, and run screaming from the scrutiny of the owners, --I barely need to endure it here, and next door, I'll be working closely with them.

I desperately want to be brave and do what needs doing for the sake of affording life and survival, but it means sacrificing the freedom to hate my customers and be barefoot and beautifully unburdened by any need to wear stockings, or high heels or too much foundation.

I want to be wild and obscene and I hate the cage I'm walking into; but... it's necessary. I have to be good, and pretend to be the sweet little underling. I get two days a week though still, to work at the cheaper, less annoying motel. Like... two days of being slightly, if not completely disenchanted by the wicked witch of the west.

Well, it's Friday night and every time I start to be able to appreciate life, some annoying fucktard wanders up to the gate and asks me something stupid, --making it obvious that yes, there's a girl in here, yes, she hates everyone, yes, she will probably snap like a psychopathic lunatic if you keep pestering her.

With evil racial epithets on my tongue, I leave for the evening.