• Pairing: Sheriff!Yoongi x Brothel Worker!(F)Reader
• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Western AU, Smut
• Rating: 18+
• Words: 3.4k
• Summary: It’s not easy being the sheriff but you’re always there to help him unwind after a long day.
• Warnings/themes: sheriff troubles, mentions of a shootout, light mentions of blood, swearing, drinking, prostitution, dirty talk, riding (ain’t no horses around tho), bondage, the hat stays on , unprotected sex (it’s the West, y’all), cockwarming
• Notes: I literally had to pause on Holiday Inn to knock this out because ‘That That’ Yoongi has had me by the titties and will not let go unless I get this out of my system so giddyup and let’s ride! Thanks (yeehaw) to @playmetheclassics for betaing for me yet again even though I always ruin her lmao love youuuu ✨Crossposted to AO3 as well.
The double doors opened as a man walked in, his white suit flecked with dust and his leopard-print shirt rumpled. His hat was lowered, hiding the exhaustion on his face with the shadow of the brim.
Another day of protecting the town was done.
Being the sheriff of this place wasn’t easy but Min Yoongi took pride in his job.
kageyama tobio was only supposed to deliver the weapons to ushijima’s best customer once every two weeks. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you—law student by day, top dancer and escort at washijo tanji’s club by night. when you ask the impossible of him, kageyama has to choose: his life or yours.
pairing: adlers underboss kageyama tobio x escort fem!reader (with hair), part one of three ; 4.8k, nsfw (18+, mdni)
warnings:depictions of sex work, mentions of violence and murder, mention of racism/slavery by an asshole character; oral (m!receiving), fingering, snowballing
thanks to:@anime-nymphand@vanille–kiss for coming up with the ideas for me and helping me look into ways to murder and dick kageyama down like friends should LOL <3 also for betaing, and vani for the amazing banner as always!
From the outside, Il Giardino looks like a regular establishment. The brick building is multi-leveled, but the place is on the first floor, filled with tables that look like they belong in an upscale Italian restaurant. The servers wear black vests and white aprons tied around their waists, serving couples on first dates that won’t go anywhere, or couples celebrating anniversaries that will probably break up later anyway.
It’s only when you ask for “the best seat in the house” that you’re taken behind the curtain leading to the kitchens. A server will take you to some stairs in the cellar, lead you down the cold and slightly dungy stairwell, and open the door to the real reason people come here: to book the escorts who dance around the poles on stage, shooting flirty smiles to old politicians and rich assholes who pay handsomely for an hour or two.
Kageyama Tobio doesn’t even have to ask anymore.
The servers at Il Giardino know who he is and why he’s there. The briefcase he brings twice a month under the guise of being a “businessman” is filled with weapons from new shipments they received the day prior. As soon as he makes it into the basement showroom, he’s ushered into Washijo Tanji’s office, and the briefcase is exchanged for cold hard cash that goes straight into his inner pockets.
“This week’s even more special,” Washijo hums as he inspects the antique pistol he purchased from the stash. “Flintlock Muff. Do you know what year it’s from, Kageyama?”
“1804 according to the records, sir,” Kageyama answers robotically. He learned very early in his tenure as Adlers’ underboss that uninformed answers wouldn’t cut it for Washijo. The John demands an audience, a conversation for his musings, unlike so many of the other big shots around Tokyo. Hoshiumi had played that part well.
At least until he was buried six feet under by the Black Jackals’ boss, with Ushijima’s blessing, of course.
“Right you are, boy,” Washijo agrees as he shines a spot of dirty iron. “The kind of weaponry that meant power back then, meant to put the slaves in their place.” He hums in gleeful thought before looking Kageyama straight in the eye. “A perfect addition to my collection.”
Kageyama’s worked with a lot of assholes in his time as Adlers’ underboss, but Washijo Tanji might just take the cake.
He gives a stiff nod and sees himself out of the old man’s office, promising to come back in two weeks like he always does. Some weeks he’ll leave right away, glad to be out of the basement establishment and back in the real world where everything isn’t covered in a neon red glow. Other weeks, he’ll linger in a back booth, staying for exactly an hour before sliding out to go back to the base. Kageyama tells Ushijima it’s because Washijo sometimes goes on tangents about the guns and won’t shut up, but that’s not the real reason.
The real reason strides out on stage not even a minute after he sits down.
You always look so pretty, no matter the hairstyle you start with. Today it’s a high ponytail that’s tied with a shiny silver band and matches the short sequin dress you have on. Kageyama knows by the end of the night, you’ll only be in panties, the rest of your clothing discarded behind you as you twirl around on the pole. Then, after your set is over, you’ll walk off stage with your head held high and one last flirtatious smile and wink to the crowd.
It’s crazy to think you’d notice someone sitting far away who only comes in once and a while, but Kageyama lets himself imagine you do. Lets himself imagine that it’s him who books you, that it’s him you walk in to see, to touch, to moan for. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money—no, he has plenty of that ever since becoming underboss of the Adlers—but he doesn’t have the time. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t have the guts to go through with it and ruin the facade of admiring from afar.
Only you do that forhim.
Tonight your eyes land right on him, and he sucks in a breath when you smile at him, as beautiful as ever. Your gaze is heavy as you keep it on him, even as you peel piece by piece off of your flimsy little outfit until you’re only left in a skimpy little thong. Your breasts jiggle as you move, hands tracing over your body as you dance to the music. It makes his breathing more labored, making him shift in his seat and forcing any fantasies about you away.
There are bills on the stage in front of you, men catcalling you from the booths near the front, but you don’t pay them any mind. Whenever your focus isn’t on climbing and twirling around the pole, it’s on him, that flirty little smile directed right at him without any reservations. When your set is over, you send a flirtatious little wink to the crowd—to him—and disappear backstage.
He knows you won’t come back out tonight, not with the way one of the middle-aged men in the front booth waves over a server, but Kageyama wishes you would. Wishes you would do more than send him smiles or winks because then it would mean you want him as a person and not a potential client. He knows how these things operate—you’re working. Playing the game to save up for something, whether it’s family, or a kid, or just trying to survive in a world that makes it nearly impossible.
He waits another ten minutes staring at the back door, silently wondering if you’ll emerge and prove him wrong, but you don’t.
So he leaves, already counting down the days until he’s back in that basement club so he can see you again.
ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ
The next meeting with Washijo is easy. He’s pleased with the product, placing the gun on an empty holster on the wall before shooing Kageyama out for “other business.” He’s about to leave the place for the night when there’s a soft call of, “Wait!”
Kageyama turns and sees you coming right for him.
He’s not ready for this. A kill? Easy. Sneak up behind them and wrap an arm around their neck, and the victim is none the wiser. A deal? Even easier. Read the room, read the vibe, and you’ll have them wrapped under your finger in a moment. A girl? Terrifying. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to act as you come up to him with your sparkling smile and stop right in front of him.
“I was hoping I would see you today,” you tell him as you tuck your hair behind your ear.
It’s down today, flowing behind you in pretty waves, your gold-painted eyes shining in the lights. The name tag on your chest reads “Daisy”—your stage name, he already knows—and the blouse is tight around your tits, skirt even tighter around your thighs. You’re a hostess today, not a dancer, a deviation from the norm.
It takes everything in Kageyama not to stare.
“I’m… not sure why,” he answers awkwardly.
“A mysterious handsome stranger I only ever see once every two weeks? I love a good mystery.” You grin, and Kageyama wishes you wouldn’t because he feels like he’s drowning in the ocean without a life jacket. “I’ve asked around but no one knows who you are.”
“Er… you’re asking about me?”
“I’m interested,” you giggle. “Is that wrong?”
Not wrong, but dangerous. The way his cheeks are coloring, the way his heart thumps in his chest, the way he’s itching to reach into his jacket and book you right then and there. It’s all so dangerous.
“I don’t know why you would be when you have plenty of suitors.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call them suitors,” you grumble as you cross your arms over your chest. “Clients would be more apt, wouldn’t it?”
Kageyama takes a look around the area. There’s no dancer on stage yet, but a woman comes out of the backroom and he knows it won’t be long now. No one is looking this way; Washijo sits at the bar talking with another older man in a crisp suit, but his eyes flick over for just a moment before returning. It’s just you two in your own little fucked up world of unspoken truths and discreet business.
“Then you probably don’t need another.”
“I don’t need another, but I wantanother.” Your smile is genuine even with your proposition. “What’s your name?”
“Kageyama Tobio,” he answers immediately, voice barely audible over the music that now pounds out of the speakers. “Your name?”
“Daisy.”
It isn’t your voice but Washijo’s. The owner stands next to you, a pressed smile on his face, arms tight behind his back. Kageyama notices the light in your eyes go out almost immediately, your smile slipping just a little bit as the old man lifts a hand to your chin and grabs tightly.
“You should be serving drinks now. That’s your job tonight.”
“Yes, Washijo-sama,” you respond robotically, like you’ve done this song and dance thousands of times before and know exactly what he wants to hear. “I was only welcoming your esteemed guest.”
“Daisy’s my best girl,” Washijo says as he slaps your cheek a few times none-too-gently. “Always makes me a pretty penny, doesn’t she?” He laughs like he’s not talking about you selling your body to make him money. It makes Kageyama’s eyes narrow as he flicks between Washijo’s smile and your souring and tightening expression. “If you want to book her, you’ll have to—”
“I’ll do it now.” Kageyama’s response is immediate, and he knows he pissed Washijo off by the way the man glares, but he doesn’t care. He’s got more pull in this city as the Adlers’ underboss than some old John with a hard-on for weapons anyway. He stares at you and your raised eyebrows when he says, “One hour, two weeks from today. Right after our meeting is finished.”
“Okay,” you whisper, trying to suppress your grin so Washijo doesn’t see it. “Two weeks from now, Kageyama-sama.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me.”
He bows his head before he can change his mind, before he can see how pissed he made Washijo, before he can get pulled into your cute little smile even more.
ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ
No matter how many times he’s been here, Kageyama has never been in the back before. Washijo’s office sits next to the bar—chosen on purpose to keep an eye on his “merchandise”, he’s sure—so it feels strange to follow an attendant past the stage and through the steel door. The hallway looks like it could belong to a casino, a carpeted hallway housing large wooden doors that lead to private rooms labeled after flowers. Lotus, Bluebell, Tulip. Finally the attendant stops in front of a door labeled “Hyacinth”, knocks once, and bows on his way out.
“Come in,” comes your dainty voice from inside.
His heart races faster than a rabbit as he turns the handle and opens the door.
You’re dressed in a beautiful black babydoll onesie that sits tight around your breasts and hips. Overtop is a translucent pink robe, fuzzy on the ends and cascading down to the floor. It’s tied around the waist, making you look like a present made for him to unwrap. You look at him through the mirror of the vanity, turning to him with an alluring smile that makes him swallow.
“Kageyama-sama,” you murmur as you stand and show him all of you. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He isn’t sure what to say or do. He’s never done this before; agreeing to come see you was a spur of the moment decision that’s been on the forefront of his mind the last two weeks. As enticing as you look, Kageyama isn’t here for what the other men are. While the thought has crossed his mind—more times than could be considered healthy, if he’s honest—he doesn’t want to be just another client you see once every two weeks then say goodbye to.
So when you start to walk over to him, he puts his hand up and makes you falter.
“I…” He clears his throat. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”
“Hm?” The hum sounds more confused than anything. “Then—”
“I only want to talk.”
“…Talk.” You’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “You paid for an hour to… talk to me?”
Kageyama nods stiffly, cheeks warming when you laugh. You cover your mouth to quiet yourself, apologizing for your outburst before tilting your head.
“Okay, Kageyama-sama. What would you like to talk about?”
You both sit on the bed, and Kageyama lets you do most of the talking. You’re guarded, he can tell, but he’s the exact same. It’s like the conversation is stilted, both of you dancing around anything of substance.
How’s work? Fine. The usual. What’s your favorite food? Pork cutlet. How do you spend your time? Relaxing.
Only when he asks, “What do you do during the day?” do you slip up.
“Study.”
You look immediately regretful, even more so when he asks, “What do you study?”
You take a deep breath, looking contemplative for a moment before sighing, “Law. I’m in law school.”
Well, that certainly isn’t good for him.
“How do you balance your studies and working here?”
“You have so many questions,” you murmur, leaning into him so your fingers can trail up his left thigh. It makes him swallow, chest tight when you finish: “If you want to get to know me, why don’t we do it on a more personallevel?”
You’re so close to his cock that he has to shift his thigh away to keep his composure. You follow, manicured fingers running over his inner thigh, and you’re about to trail up when he grabs onto your wrist.
“I don’t want—” He swallows. “Okay well, I do. I want you, very badly, but I don’t want—” Fuck, this is frustrating. “I’ll come back in two weeks,” he blurts out instead. “Bring your study materials.”
“What?”
“Bring your books,” he repeats slowly. “I’ll buy your time so you can study.”
“Are you insane?” is the first question you ask, eyes wide as you drink in his stoic expression. “My fee is the highest in this establishment and you’re willing to pay that so I can study?”
“Money isn’t an issue for me,” he insists, sharp eyes on your slowly changing expression—morphing from confusion into something more annoyed, something more bitter. He’s seen it plenty of times at Suna’s clubs with the overly flirtatious women here, and something clicks in his brain immediately. “But it is for you, isn’t it?”
You ignore his question, eyes flitting over to the front door as if you’re expecting a knock any time now.
“Isn’t it?” He presses, hand on your wrist tightening and forcing your attention back on him.
“Who doesn’t have money problems?” You laugh, but it’s hollow and slightly forced. “I’m not the only one, Kageyama-san.”
That sounds so much better than that fake -sama bullshit from earlier.
The knock you were waiting for comes not a moment later, and you answer daintily, practiced composure as you stand up, eyes still locked on his. He follows you, fixing his coat as you set a hand on the door knob. You pause before turning it, taking a few breaths before you question,
“Two weeks?”
He nods twice and you open the door, smile on your face forced as you hand him over to the attendant waiting outside.
“Until then, Kageyama-sama.”
ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ
As soon as the gun is out of his hands and in Washijo’s collection, there’s a clap on his shoulder. Washijo’s bodyguard Saitou Akira stands next to him, his usually soft face firm as he stares down at him. Kageyama doesn’t even grace the two men with a response or an acknowledgement on his face. His expression is stoic as ever as he sits back and waits for Washijo to speak.
“You’ve taken a liking to our Daisy, I’ve noticed,” the old man drawls as he runs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw.
Kageyama can’t refute that. Every two weeks, he’s booked you and your time for an hour, letting you catch up on school work. But you always leave at least fifteen minutes (though lately it’s been nearly a half an hour) to talk to him about this and that. Kageyama has never mentioned the Adlers name, has never mentioned that his day job includes tracking down men who owe Ushijima money and beating them into submission, but he’s given you a rare glimpse into his life that he isn’t sure is a good idea.
You aptly listened to his old stories of high school sports, of being the model for his sister’s cosmetology license, of his “hat” phase when Miwa really fucked up his locks (that he’s never really forgiven her for.) In exchange, you’ve told him stories about yourself: about your hobbies, your past, your drive to create a better Japan, one that treats its people—all of its people—equally. Kageyama thinks that sounds like a pipe dream but he lets you speak anyway, because you don’t look any prettier than when you’re gushing.
“Yes, sir.”
“She’s one of the best in the business,” Washijo hums, and Kageyama pretends that business doesn’t include what you’re normally booked for. “So you’ll understand if her prices have to be increased, don’t you?”
He doesn’t, and he’s about to say he doesn’t when he hears Ushijima’s voice in his mind loud and clear: Keep our contractors happy.
Four more months. That’s how long is left in the contract, how long he has to think of a way to make Ushijima cut ties with this asshole.
“Of course,” Kageyama stoically responds, keeping his face neutral even when Washijo’s smirk could rival a sharp knife.
“Good, good, I’m glad we could do business. Tell Ushijima hello for me.”
It’s a jab, he knows. He’s only the underboss—the man sent to do his boss’s bidding. If he ever steps out of line, he’ll be gone and forgotten as easily as Hoshiumi. Kageyama doesn’t give Washijo the satisfaction of an answer. He brushes Akira’s hand off his shoulder, stands, and pays the additional fee directly to the John himself.
Then he lets the attendant take him back to the Hyacinth room without even glancing back.
You’re already there, dressed in your pretty lingerie, hair high up in a styled and curled ponytail. Your bookbag is hidden underneath the black robe you’ve started to wear under the guise of “being his favorite thing to see you in.” As soon as the door is locked, you take your normal positions: you hunched over the vanity as you pour through cases, him flicking through his phone until you say you’re finished.
“Kageyama-san,” you whisper not even 25 minutes later, and when he looks up, you’re already putting your notes and books away.
“Done?”
“Mhm.”
Usually you pull your chair over and he’ll sit on the bed so you can chat, but today you stand, untie your robe, and begin to walk over. He looks at you funny, narrowed eyes on the way you saunter over, your breasts pressed up against the lacy black bra, the matching panties highcut and showing off your legs.
“Wha—”
Your giggle cuts him off as you swing your leg, settling yourself in his lap.
“I don’t want to talk today,” you murmur as you play with the ends of his hair, and Kageyama feels like he can’t breathe, lungs as tight as his pants. “You’re paying a pretty penny for me, so why don’t you have me?”
“Even more now,” he replies, forcing himself not to touch you. Not just a client, he wants to say, want me as a man. But all he can do is stare as your confused expression twists.
“What are you talking about?”
“I had to pay an extra fee,” Kageyama says, face scrunching up to match yours. “Since you’re his favorite.”
There’s a long pause where he can see the anger in your expression, in the way your lips twist like you ate a lemon, in the way your eyebrows crease like you’re studying your law books. Then it’s gone, replaced with a light smile as you drag your fingers from his temple to his jaw, tilting his head up.
“Right,” you whisper as you lean closer, a hair’s width away from his lips. Hovering, not touching, your breath warm on his lips. His chest is tight with the need for breath when you add, “So why don’t we put your money to good use, Tobio-kun?”
Fuck.
The second you press your lips to his, he eagerly responds, a firm hand on your back pushing you against his chest. Your lips move against each other’s quickly, months of pent up want flowing in drags and tugs of lips. The little sound you let out when he pries your mouth open with his tongue rings in his mind, and he clings to you even tighter, keeping you pressed against his lap and chest. You match rolls of your tongue with rolls of your hips, your fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt so you can push your hands inside and cling to his shoulders.
Manicured nails dig into his flesh when he bucks his hips up and you feel his hardening cock against you. You break the kiss to heave for breath, sloppy kisses trailing down the side of his neck to lick and suck at his skin, hastily tugging at his undershirt to get it out of his slacks.
“You—” He tries to say, but it’s cut off with a grunt when you grind down on him, your little whimper vibrating against his neck. “You can… slow down.”
“I can’t, actually.” He can feel you grin against his flesh, a light giggle on your lips. “You don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting you.”
Is this for real or for work? He should stop and ask, but then your fingers find his belt and he forgets all about it. Your fingers brush over the bulge in his pants as you unbutton his pants and drag the zipper down. Kageyama groans when you cup his cock through his underwear, teeth sharp on his exposed shoulder a juxtaposition to the soft way you squeeze and run your fingers over his bulge until he’s hard.
He immediately misses your warmth when you pull away from him. You settle between his legs, and he helps you drag down his pants and underwear to his ankles, hard cock springing free and bobbing against his stomach.
“It’s as pretty as you,” you compliment slyly, a grin on your lips. Kageyama nearly jerks into your touch when you grasp his cock in your hands, your thumb dragging over the tip and smearing his precum into his flesh. “I want you to say my name, Tobio-kun.”
“Daisy.”
“No,” you whisper as you lean up, your tongue following the circular pattern your thumb was just drawing. He exhales, shifting his legs even wider so you have more room. “My real name.”
You murmur it like a song, and he repeats it, the syllables sounding perfect in his rich baritone.
“Good boy,” you compliment before taking him into your mouth.
Your mouth is so warm, sucking him in as you twirl your tongue around his tip. Kageyama doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he keeps them curled up in the bedsheets and tugs when you suck hard, eyes staring up at him hard enough to make him shiver. It’s not that he’s inexperienced, but you make him feel like putty under your touch, his thighs jerking when you dig your nails into his flesh and take all of him.
The room is filled with his harsh breaths and your sucking sounds as you work him, head bobbing up and down quickly. When you hollow your cheeks, it makes him grunt and lean back on one hand, the other coming to grip your ponytail. You moan when he tugs, rewarding him with another harsh suck that makes him jerk into your mouth. Your fingers ghost over his balls, squeezing and fondling while you suck, and Kageyama feels like a teenager again—ready to blow any second if you keep sucking like that.
Kageyama gets lost in the pleasure, lost in the way you pump his cock when you need to breathe then immediately go back down on him like you can’t get enough. He can’t either, your mouth intoxicating and making him wonder if your pussy is just as good, if it’s just as tight and warm. The thought of being inside you spikes heat in his stomach, his balls tightening and spine tingling as his orgasm looms. He warns you with a low moan of your name, but you only suck harder, tongue running over the slit of his head until cum spurts out and fills your mouth completely.
He doesn’t realize he’s holding your head down until you tap his thigh a few times, then he immediately untangles his fingers from your ponytail with a quiet sorry.
“You can spit it out.”
But you don’t.
You climb into his lap again, slotting your mouth against his and feeding him his own cum. It’s strange and Kageyama is pretty sure he hates the way he tastes, but it mixes with your scent and your taste, and he kisses you back anyway, tangling your tongues together with urgency. You both swallow, shallow breaths panting against each other’s mouths, your nails raking down his undershirt-covered stomach with a whine.
“Touch me, Tobio-kun,” you whisper as you grind against his limp cock, flush high on your cheekbones signaling how much you want him.
He complies immediately, fixing your hips so you’re straddling him, high enough where he can lift your bra and start flicking over your nipples. You moan, fingers curling in his hair and tugging when he starts to suck, when his fingers start to wander over the wet crotch of your panties. Holy shit, you’re soaked, all from just sucking his dick. He’s able to push one finger into you no problem, and after a few strokes, he adds another. It makes you groan, grinding down onto his hand as he keeps sucking on your nipples, tongue dancing all over your skin as he switches between both.
You cry out lightly when his thumb finds your clit, and your pussy spasms around his fingers. His cock jumps at the tightness, already ready to be buried deep inside of you to drag along your walls, but he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers. You look too good on top of him, sound so good whimpering his name, that he wants to make you cum over and over and remind you who is giving you the pleasure. Not some broke loser, not some nasty John. Him.
Your cunt is so loud, pussy squelching as he scissors his fingers, lips and tongue dragging all over your chest. He can’t mark you—not with your job and the clients he’s sure will be seen when he’s gone—but he can pretend he’s the only one you have, leaving a trail of his saliva all over you as if saying that no one else can touch you. When you shudder and tug at his hair, he knows you’re close and he speeds up, curling just right. His breaths are hot against your chest, cock half-hard and twitching, begging to be in your cunt and—
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and a loud swear on your lips.
“No, don’t, don’t stop, please,” you whine above him, clinging to his hair as you hump against his hand. “So close, so close—”
“Come on,” he urges against your neck, fingers working even faster. You’re right there, squeezing him so tightly that he feels like he’sthe one about to cum, but—
Another knock on the door, an annoyed huff of your stage name, and you’re climbing off his lap with frustrated tears in your eyes and a scratch in your throat.
“Coming.”
You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him fumble to get dressed again and hide the bulge in his pants, before you swallow.
“Two weeks,” you whisper. Kageyama hates it. It’s broken, needy, and he’s about to pay for another three hours of your time so he can satisfy you and never have to hear it again.
But the third knock on the door seals his doom.
“Two weeks,” he repeats before exiting the room, fire burning in his veins long after he leaves Il Giardinobehind.
Holbeck is a case study of hell. It is misogyny and objectification in the legal system, a triumph of men’s rights activists. Alan Caton, the detective who led the investigation into the murders of five prostituted women in Ipswich in 2006 and subsequently led the strategy to put an end to street prostitution in Ipswich is highly critical of the Leeds ‘managed approach’. Canton is clear that ‘I totally disagree with it’ he is of the opinion that ‘it plays right into the hands of pimps and abusers of women, and turns a blind eye to the most vulnerable people in our society. It allows men to carry on in their misogynistic ways, to abuse and exploit women who are out on the street selling sex’.1 Canton added that ‘The demand is there in this country because men are allowed unfettered to buy sex from women, to do what they want to them’.2 ‘Because that demand is never quelled, people will use all sorts of criminal avenues to traffic and exploit women. It’s all about tackling that demand, telling men it’s not acceptable to buy women and abuse them in that way’.3 In Holbeck human trafficking is rebranded as ‘migration for sex work’, paedophilia and child molestation becomes ‘under-age sex work’, rape becomes ‘a disputed sale’.
If one wants to know how unempowering the situation is for prostituted women and girls, one needs only read the punter reviews. Yes – reviews – like one would review a restaurant or hotel. Men describe their experiences to each other using degrading language and slang. For example, women likely trafficked from Romania are known as ‘Roms’, from Poland, ‘EE’, while men bemoan their lack of English or desire to participate, and the presence of pimps. Other men get a sexual kick out of the fact that the women and girls are disengaged. ‘Howaboutit’ related how:
‘i’ve had a few girls from down Holbeck - usually pass through at about 5am on a saturday morning. Always at least 1 or 2 around, as mentioned above, some are horrors!… total lack of interest while i had her in missionary.. but that kind of turns me on. Bored and checking her texts while i unload bare inside her!!’.4
One particular poster uses the moniker ‘Yorkshireripper’, referencing the serial killer Peter Sutcliffe who murdered prostituted women in Leeds during the 1970s. ‘Many of his attacks came after he had cruised the streets looking for victims, and the area’s reputation as a red light district meant that it was easier for him to persuade women to get into his car while soliciting’.5 ‘Yorkshireripper’ described one prostituted woman thus:
‘she looks a shit fuck based on that video [an uploaded porn film taken during street ‘sex work’] but I just think there’s something about her being a really lowlife desperate dirty prostitute with such a shit background who’s cunt has had many hundreds of hard cocks up her … that makes me want to empty my filth in her, just for the thrill of it’.6
‘Yorkshireripper’ had actually gone in search of potentially underage girls that night, he informed the other men that ‘I was seeking teenagers or under 25s’.7 ‘Yorkshireripper’ likes to negotiate the already low prices down further, he particularly likes bad weather as a means of creating more desperation in the women. He outlined how he:
‘went for a little scouting mission myself last night, first time in a few months due to reports of increased surveillance by anti whore brigade. Was a cold, wet and rainy night which is my favourite time as it seems gives you that extra cover of visibility and offers a quick respite from the cold as an incentive to the girls when your knocking down the price’.8
The women are looked upon as objects which the men can use, abuse, consume and collect. One ‘Richard1982’ described how ‘Of all the girls I’ve picked up she’s the only one I haven’t bb’d [had sex without a condom] so I want to collect the full set lol’.9 And the ‘sex work is work’ champions claim it is empowering for women. Do you feel empowered after reading that? Alan Caton, the detective who led the investigation into Stephen Wright who murdered five prostituted women in Ipswich in 2006 has related that “When I asked the [men] about it, they said: ‘I am paying for it, I can do what I want.’ That helped me form the view over time that this is not right. Men should not be able to exploit and abuse women in that way”.
DESPERATION & DRUGS
Holbeck creates a desperate cycle which we see trapping prostituted women across the world. Drugs and prostitution become a ‘chicken and egg’ problem. Women enter the trade to fund their, or their partner’s, drug addiction and then require more drugs to cope with what they are experiencing. Drugs become a means to endure male violence. While talking about Holbeck, Jenni described how she ‘gave up drugs to get out of the ‘managed’ red light zone – it was too dangerous’.11 Julie Bindel stated that in the opinion of one exited survivor of Holbeck ‘Her biggest criticism of the managed zone is the failure to offer women a route out of a world where drugs are rife’.12 Jenni discussed how “All the girls are down there because they’re dependent on drugs. I don’t believe it’s their choice to do it,” she says. “The key is to stop the drug use and it will stop the girls having to work for drugs”.13 Charles Hymas and Corinne Redfern reported how in Holbeck, it ‘was the sight of a prostitute injecting drugs into her groin on the backseat of a car in full view of residents in the neat terraced street in Beeston, Leeds, that convinced artist Claire Bentley-Smith it was time to act’.14 In 2019 ‘A woodland of suffering’ was discovered by a mum-of-two dropping her children off at school which revealed a ‘sex worker's’ 'home’ next to a Leeds primary school.15The drug litter is a constant in the area and a sharp reminder that allowing men to buy women on the street is ineffective at tackling the women’s drug addiction. In one clean-up of one small wooded area it took more than 20 vans to remove mounds of waste from a 'needle and condom hotspot’ in Holbeck.16
Then men purchasing the women know they are desperate and many are addicts. One ‘Munterhunter’ said of the prostituted women in Holbeck that:
‘in most cases it’s to feed a drug addiction or because some pimp is telling them “go and earn me 200 quid tonight”.
I know that a large number of street prostitutes have serious drug habits my mate’s wife works with a project which operates all over the UK working with street prostitutes and the biggest challenge they face is drugs. My mate is a support worker working with people on drug rehab and community punishment orders from the courts his wife works for a national organisation working with street prostitutes’.17
Yet he was undeterred from buying women. Mark Edmonds has outlined how in Holbeck, ‘there are no sanctions and no risk of conviction. Widespread drug-taking — sadly an integral part of the lives of many of these women, who have often been abused as teenagers and are subsequently used by pimps who see them as no more than a commodity — is also tolerated, under a scheme that costs local taxpayers £200,000 per year to run’.18 A BBC documentary highlighted the link between drug addiction and prostitution. In the documentary Sammie-Jo described how she ‘has been forced to work as a prostitute in the red-light district of Holbeck in Leeds to fund her addiction’.19 Yet still the ‘sex work is work’ lobby talk about women choosing this.
Safety and Violence
The ‘sex work is work’ pimp lobby and men’s sexual rights activists argue that prostitution should be decriminalised to make it safer for those being sold. Holbeck, and other examples such as in the Netherlands, shows this is false.20 It makes it more dangerous for the women being sold and other women in the area. In 2015, within months of the ‘managed approach’ zone in Holbeck becoming operational Daria Pionko was murdered by a punter.21 Julie Bindel spoke to one Holbeck prostitute who told her: ‘Because [the men] can’t get arrested, they think they can do anything they like. I’ve been raped, and one man urinated on me once and then took a photo’.22 With the first year of the ‘managed approach’ figures released by police show complaints of rape almost trebled … and have remained significantly higher than before’.23Alongside this, rapes are under-reported as the police and courts do not take it seriously, particularly if the woman is prostituted. On the 7th September 2018 Holbeck residents, David and Calum, reported stopping a rape of a prostituted woman. They stated that while walking home through Holbeck after they had finished work at a club they heard a woman’s voice calling for help. They ‘saw a man trying to strangle a woman. He released her as soon as we approached and she ran towards us… she’s a sex worker and he’s a punter. The fight was about condoms. He wanted her to have sex without a condom… but she refused’.24 The fetish killer, Donald Sheridan, who the council and probation service decided to house in the managed zone in Holbeck while he was on parole, told police in an interview regarding his abduction and attempted rape of a woman in Holbeck in 2019 that ‘he still experiences urges to rape and murder women, especially strangling them, and he had recently felt the urge to strangle an older sex worker after using her services’.25
The frequency of sex attacks on women in the small area of Holbeck was highlighted in 2019 when there were three sex attacks within 36 hours. Samantha Gildea and Kristian Johnson reported that ‘A female sex worker was assaulted by a male client in Shafton Lane on Sunday afternoon, then in the evening, a woman was grabbed on a footpath near Kenneth Street in an attempted rape at around 5.30pm. A third incident was reported to officer after a woman was physically assaulted in Holbeck Moor Park at around 10.15pm last night’.26 Julie Bindel interviewed ‘Sammy, who was pimped on her 17th birthday straight into the zone by her “boyfriend”, who told her that the police “don’t give a fuck about the women”. Sammy said that “One night I was screaming my head off when a nasty punter got really rough with me, but these two coppers just walked past’.27 Another prostituted woman, Jenni, told Chris Hymas and Bindel of ‘the constant threat of robbery, sex tourism, exploitation by traffickers, and women so desperate for drugs they sold sex for just £10’.28 Hymas and Bindel reported that ‘the zone, designed to crack down on pimping, was in reality a magnet for men seeking to exploit the women by charging them for protection’.29 Jenni described how “There were loads of young lads who were basically glorified pimps.. There were more and more attacks before I left, of people coming into the area to rob the girls, knowing they were on their own with money’30. Rather than improve relations between the prostituted woman and the police, the managed approach has caused them to deteriorate and the prostituted women feel even less protected.31 Nevertheless, ‘the council says the increase in crime is due to improved reporting and includes Beeston which is not part of the zone. Others disagree. “It was a disaster from day one,” a senior police officer told The Telegraph on condition of anonymity. “Other criminals came into the area quick as a flash. Drug dealers, pimps, even traffickers that brought the women from Romania’.32
Male violence and rape, and police inaction over these crimes, is also a problem for women and children not in prostitution who live near or enter the Holbeck zone. In 2015, ‘Sally – a young woman with learning disabilities, then aged 17 – was approached at a bus stop in Beeston on a weekday afternoon, bundled into a car, and raped in a nearby home. With DNA evidence, the attacker was quickly arrested and prosecuted in court. However, during a gruelling court case which saw Sally forced into a cross-examination, the defence lawyer argued that his client had simply mistaken Sally for a sex worker, and he walked free’.33 In 2017, Ian Staines, managing director of the Fresco Group, a local business, told the Daily Mail regarding the increase in rapes and sexual assaults that ‘these figures do not surprise me. Female members of our staff feel threatened. The police aren’t interested’.34 In 2018, a Holbeck woman was raped on her way home from work by a group of men who assumed she was a prostitute’.35 In another case of rape in the small Holbeck zone, Ed Carlisle reported of the rape of Alice, a previous victim of domestic abuse, that she had moved into a hostel in Holbeck, where she was repeatedly approached by kerb crawlers. Then in May 2018 ‘a gang of men manhandled her into a car, refused to believe she wasn’t a sex worker, and took her to a nearby house, where one of the men raped her. With DNA evidence, the attacker was quickly arrested, but again (supported by the testimonies of his friends) argued for mistaken identity, and was not even prosecuted’.36 At 4pm Saturday 8th September 2018 a resident reported that ‘my 12 year old daughter walking home from school rang me to tell me she’s just seen a lady being raped! 2 men had her pinned against the wall… one was pulling her knickers off as she screamed. My daughter ran home and I’ve called 999’.37 In November 2018 it was reported to the police and the press that a man tried to buy a baby for an hour in Holbeck. ‘The 47-year-old [woman] was carrying her four-month old grandchild in a pram in the area before the man reportedly said 'Give me an hour with it and I will bring it back’.38 In 2019 a woman claimed that while simply out walking she 'was raped in the street in Holbeck’.39 She did not report this as she thought the police would just say her rapist thought she was a ‘sex worker’ and he would thus walk free. Also in 2019 Donald Sheridan, a convicted fetish murderer, was housed in Holbeck while on parole, and later went on to abduct and strangle a woman until a passer-by intervened.40 The housing of Sheridan in Holbeck highlights how the judiciary and police view the women of Holbeck as dispensable. Susie Beever reported in 2019 how ‘many of the area’s female residents feel at risk, preyed upon and “constantly scrutinised”. Holbeck has one of the highest recorded crime rates in the entire Leeds South policing ward. There were 161 crimes reported in the area in September alone, of which 51 were classed as violent or sexual offences’.41/sup>
The Save Our Eyes community campaign group set up by residents of Holbeck records their experiences. One resident recorded how ‘My granddaughter was approached at 3.15pm in the afternoon in her school uniform by a punter looking for sex’.42 Another resident shared her experience of how ‘My daughter was followed home from school by a man making rude comments and trying to touch her’.43 13 year old Katy tells the story of how while waiting at a bus stop in a residential street adjoining the Holbeck managed zone on a Saturday morning with her mum ‘A man came up to us and said “Are you working?” My mum was confused and asked what he meant. He replied “Not you! I mean her. Is she working?” and pointed at me. My mum… shouted at him “She’s only 13, she’s a child!” but he wasn’t even bothered. He carried on, “It doesn’t matter about her age. She looks like one (meaning a prostitute)… It’s acceptable on Holbeck to ask”.44 Helen, Katie’s mum, described how ‘the man who wanted to buy her on Saturday argued with me. He felt he had a right to ask any woman in the area for sex’.45
Conclusion
Yet despite all of this evidence and Holbeck conforming to the pattern of other decriminalised areas of prostitution around the world in terms of an increase in crime and danger to women Chief Super Intendent Steve Cotter, of West Yorkshire Police, ‘said the force “remain convinced” the system was working’.46 One wonders how Mr Cotter defines success. Mr Cotter elaborated, that the managed approach in Holbeck ‘provides the best opportunity to safeguard the vulnerable women involved in street sex work, to limit the issues that impact on residents and businesses and to reduce the level of street sex work in Leeds,“ he said’.47 This is contradicted by reality. Still, a controversial report published in 2020 has claimed that the managed approach in Holbeck has had a positive result. This report’s statements are not supported by the data and the report itself ‘failed to comply with the legal obligations of public bodies to consider the equality impact of their policies and did not properly investigate how the scheme affects local women and children’.48 As Nordic Model Now asserts, ‘Prostitution has been recognized by the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women to be a form of gender-based violence – meaning that not only is prostitution inherently violent, but it is also an intrinsic part of the systemic oppression of women and girls’.49 Why would this be different in Holbeck?
N. Hyde, ‘Managed Approach 'plays into hands of pimps’ says former police officer who took action after Ipswich murders’, Leeds Live (24 March 2019)
So… If you switch just one of the numbers in my phone number, it can result in contacting a fairly popular sex worker in the Portland area named Vanessa.
I have never had any direct contact with Vanessa, but I’ve learned a lot about them over the years due to questions, requests, etc. from clients who text me by mistake.
At first I was flustered and confused by this. Then I just learned to ignore it.
Then I got a series of concerned text messages from a fellow sex worker who was worried about a phishing email she had gotten pretending to be from one of the services she and Vanessa use. I explained that I wasn’t Vanessa, but that the email looked SUPER suspicious and I did not recommend clicking on the link. Then we talked about internet security and ways to spot phishing emails and other scams.
She was really nice and told me about how she had gotten into that line of work andI asked her if she would pass along the scam-avoiding tips when she got in touch with the real Vanessa. She said she would, thanked me, and we said goodbye.
After that, I went from being indifferent to way more sympathetic about how difficult their line of work is and how much shit they have to put up with.
Since then, if someone contacted me by mistake and they seemed like a decent human being, I would tell them, “Hey, no problem man. You just switched the 2 and the 7. Happens all the time. Have a great day.”
But if the dude was a total asshole? “Wrong number. Bye.”
I once told my buddies about this after it had been going on for a while and they said, “So you became her pimp?”
And I was like, “No! I’m just not being helpful to assholes.”
And another buddy was like, “But you’re screening her clients for her.”
At that point my face turned beet red and I knew there was NOTHING I could say that wouldn’t just dig myself a deeper hole.
And that’s the story of how I became labeled by my friends as a “pimp” back while I was still Mormon
second i’m so sorry i’ve been like mia i was gonna have something ready to post but you will not believe what i had gone through this weekend.
so i use tinder and this one guy i matched with was looking for fwb and i wasn’t really looking for that so he was like hey i have friend for you.
he’s looking for A SUGAR BABY!!
and deadass i was like yessss, but then i kinda came down from like mania and came back to reality after i almost fucked myself over on top of this mess and after consulting friends and advice. i just didn’t think it was a good for me right now. idk maybe later lmaooo but it was wild (ps ive never been in a real relationship and this was a bit too forward like 0 to 1000, so that also played a part because sex was expected in this dynamic obvi)
he was like soooo nice and i felt so bad but i think fanfic kinda ruined my expectations obvi and it was a bit overwhelming and scary bc this is real life not a movie.
also i lowkey know i was finna catch feelings and that would’ve been bad for like my mental health and emotions so it’s a no for now lol
anyways i’m gonna take a small break to just write write write and get through an upcoming performance and i will see you all v soon babes!!
I’m gonna start selling n00dz again fuck it idk why I ever stopped honestly I was makin bank I just… idk we are not as confident as we used to be. Ima work on it tho❗️
Maybe this will help with the body image? It used to a bit.
