Selling Myself

Being an artist in a small city is not the way to make a living. Being a prostitute is only slightly easier. Keeping those two lives separate is difficult, especially when love blurs the line between boyfriend and client. Alice never thought she'd have to sell her body to survive, but find that she loves doing it-except for all the emotional entanglements. This is an 11, 000 word novelette intended for adult audiences.
Content warning: This story features graphic sex, prostitution, violent sex, some BDSM themes, sex of dubious consent, and other depictions of adult sexuality. Explicit language and adult only content. Excerpt:It was a big dining room table. Huge. It could easily seat ten. I stood there calmly, my thighs pressed against the edge as he took a few more pictures. I knew what was coming next and didn't know if I could actually do it.
The objects at the end of the table opposite me were ordinary, pedestrian, but they caused fear to run through my soul."Okay, please lean forward and lay down on the table. Keep your feet on the floor, but rest your body on the table."I did as he bade. I liked that he said please. My small breasts crushed under me against the hard wooden surface. I felt my nipples contract. Automatically I put my hands behind me, crossing the wrists above the small of my back."I'm not going to cuff you, " Karl said.
"Please put your hands to your sides. No, wait, you might want to grip the side of the table." I stretched out my long arms and curled my fingers over the smooth edge."Very good. Spread your legs apart a little. No, too far."