I was intrigued when Nikki, a friend at the Resort’s concierge desk, recommended the Whitechapel experience. I’d heard about the attraction, but the reservation line was
always several months long. However, tonight, knowing about my interest, Nikki explained they’d had a last-minute cancelation, and if I wanted to go, I would be playing a
street prostitute. Of course, this being the Resort, my costume turned out to be far more revealing than anything a Victorian woman, even a prostitute, would have worn.
The night was exciting. I knew anyone who approached me might be Jack the Ripper, but they were primarily interested in using me for sex. I worked on one of the dim
gaslight-lit streets, taking my clients into a dark alleyway where they had their way with me. I’d never imagined the night would turn out to be this sexually exciting,
not to mention profitable. I had sex over a dozen times, oral sex, vaginal sex, and even anal twice. I even made enough to pay for a week’s stay at the Resort.
Then, a handsome, distinguished-looking gentleman propositioned me. He was slightly nervous and vague about the services he wanted, but I led him into a nearby alleyway,
eagerly expecting to be fucked. Reaching the dimly lit part of the alley where I’d been doing it with my clients, I turned, expecting him to tell me his desires, when he
ran me through with the sword he’d kept hidden beneath his cape. That revoltingly familiar sensation of cold steel sliding through me in an agonizing explosion of pain
as I helplessly stared into his cold merciless eyes.
Slowly twisting that razor-sharp blade within my guts, “Maritta, did you foolishly believe you could whore your way through the night here in Whitechapel without facing the
consequences? Or, perhaps you expected to meet Jack. That’s ironic. Didn’t Nikki explain that Jack only butchers one prostitute a night but that other monsters are also
stalking these fog-shrouded streets?”
Savagely twisting that blade, he roughly pulled it out of my guts. As I slowly sank to my knees, he vanished into the fog-shrouded street, leaving me to die, lying alone in
a quickly growing pool of blood.
My final thought as I died, “I hope Nikki has another Whitechapel cancelation before my vacation is over...”