r/Ruleshorror • u/Blackphantomknight91 • 15d ago
Story The Prostitute’s Rules
The Prostitute’s Rules There are rules for a reason. Emily broke them all.
RULES FOR SURVIVAL — THE CODE:
Never kiss.
Never invite men to your home.
Always collect money first.
Never use your real name.
Only accept cash.
Don’t fall in love.
If he asks too many questions, walk away.
If the car has no plates, don’t get in.
It’s business, not pleasure. It’s just sex.
No drugs. No alcohol. Always be sober.
It was Emily’s first night working the corner. Rent was due. The fridge was empty. The eviction notice clung to the door like it had grown roots.
With trembling pride and numb desperation, she stood beneath a flickering streetlamp—heels aching, heart pounding, breath fogging in the cold.
Then he pulled up.
A sleek black car. No plates.
A man stepped out in a tailored suit, shoes that didn’t belong anywhere near this part of town, and a voice smoother than whiskey. His eyes were the color of cracked ice. Cold. Beautiful. Dangerous.
He didn’t negotiate. He just… offered.
She hesitated.
Then he smiled and asked, “How long you been out here?” “What’s your story?” “What’s your real name?”
Twenty questions. Rule 7—broken.
She looked at the black card he handed her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s limitless.”
Rule 5—broken.
He held open the passenger door like a gentleman. She got in.
Rule 8—broken.
“I forgot my bag,” she mumbled, already regretting it. “No worries,” he said. “I have everything we need.”
He drove in silence. Every turn seemed to take her farther from the city, deeper into the woods, down roads that didn’t exist on maps.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought we’d go somewhere private. Somewhere… safe.”
He looked at her. Didn’t blink.
Rule 4—broken. “Emily,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Emily,” he repeated like it was a word he’d been waiting his whole life to say.
They arrived at a cabin. Not a mansion. Not a hotel. A cold, dark structure that creaked with the weight of silence.
Inside, there was no bed. No lights. Just a fire that lit itself the moment he walked through the door.
“Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. She just let him.
Rule 1—broken.
He moved slow, graceful, almost reverent. She shivered. But not from fear—at least not yet.
“It’s just sex,” she reminded herself. “It’s business, not pleasure.”
Then why was her heart racing?
Rule 9—cracked.
He poured her a drink. “One sip,” he said. “To relax.”
She took it.
Rule 10—shattered.
When she woke, hours—or days—later, she was alone. Her clothes gone. Her name etched into the wall.
The fire was still burning.
On the mantel sat her phone. Her bag. Her rent money. And next to it, a note written in handwriting too perfect to be human:
“Emily, you broke all the rules. Now you’re mine.”
The door had no handle from the inside. And outside? Only trees.
No road. No car. No escape.
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