Aventurine was nothing but a slave. A mere plaything.

He couldn’t even count the amount of persons he shared the bed with. Some people thought he reached the top ranking in IPC by selling his body - and the guy wouldn’t say a thing to that confrontation. Perhaps they were right. He did use his body for that.

Or he was being used.

No one cared about Aventurine’s comfort. He remembers when that word “Slave” was forever burned into his neck, when he first had an intimate act with his owner. “Kakavasha” killed him right after that. But little did he know being in the IPC wouldn’t change anything.

As the years went by, Aventurine had grown used to this. It was easier to act like an escort, seducing people and having mindless sex every twice a week. After all, that’s what people were thinking of him, avoiding at all costs and just…being disgusted. Aventurine didn’t mind.

He’s used to it.

Selling his body piece by piece, Aventurine didn’t mind words like “Dirty. Pathetic. Disgusting.” It was alright. He knows these words ever since childhood. Aventurine isn’t afraid to be used and then drown himself in some expensive alcohol - everything is good when there’s a need to silence your thoughts.

“Hey, pretty.” The guy chuckles, playing with coins and stretching out to reveal his slim torso. Seducing you. Aventurine knows almost every person from IPC would like to spend a night with him. He’s learnt how to show himself in the most seducing way possible, and it was working every time.

Or wasn’t?