The SCP Experience - The Customer's Always Right | SCP-113

Episode Date: October 20, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-113: The Customer's Always Right This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-113 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click's work here: newpulptales.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lazang sur-goled, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the Dojo. Prere to play? Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games to get-a-bos-grat on Big Bas-Bonanza. Without exigance of misgents and with the payments instantane.

Hey, I've gained. Woo-hoo! Sentire the pleasure. Play-O-Jo. 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depots in Ontario. 50 tours

on the machine-a-sou-Begbys-Bus Bonanza. DePos Minimimimum of 10 dollars. Beye, I'm in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply. Biennue at board of Via Rai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet.

Publiere. Savoray. Admire. And profite. Viarai. The voice that we love that we love. Her cheek stings across my palm, sending a wave of excitement of my arm and straight between my legs.

She crumples to the ground, nursing the red mark, and looks up at me. Svetlana's pale blue eyes darkened against her porcelain skin, glaring pure hate before she spits on my shoes. It takes everything in me not to break the stupid bitch's neck, but it's hard to get Russian pussy out here this far north into Thailand. Broken bones will put her out of work, and black eyes will make her undesirable for the clients. It's probably why everyone treated her with kid gloves

when she was working in Bangkok, acting like she's a regular princess amongst whores. Fucking Russian brads. Give me a black or Thai woman any day. But I'm a businessman. I've got to keep the supply for the demand. But that doesn't mean I have to take her shit. Homer!

I reach my hand out behind me. I think Sveti here wants to have a date with Mr. Hickory. Coarse chuckles echo around me. The Thai goons I hired don't speak a lick of English, but they understand the meaning of my words. They've circled around me after the slap, smelling blood in the water. They're real mean goons who'll work for pennies, so long as they get free rein to do whatever they want with the girls in my employment.

Homer isn't much different, but I need a solid right hand. And God knows I can't trust any of the natives to watch my back. The duct tape grip is cool to my touch, but sends another wave of excitement up my arms. I brandished the gnarled piece of wood about as long as my forearm at sphin. Fetlana, and she coweres, the defiance dying in her eyes, widening with fear as she raises her hands to her face. No, please, I do good, I do good. The pleas and broken English are music to my ears as I tap the gnarled slab of Hickory against the palm of my free hand. Then I yell and swing it as hard as I can straight down at Svetlana.

Her scream reverberates as the wood slams into the concrete floor inches from her head. The trusty piece of wood remains firm and unyielding, just like me. Svetlana's breaths come out in ragged sobs, and the stench of her piss curls my nostrils. Sometimes, speaking softly and carrying a big stick isn't enough. Sometimes you've got to speak hard and remind these sluts that you know how to use it. I stick the wood against Svetlana's pale throat, savoring her flinch as the splinters dig into her flesh. I've got her undivided attention. Tears flow from her eyes,

making mascara run down her face. But her eyes are all mine. Clean yourself up. And don't come whining to me about where the customer wants to stick it. He's paid for the hour. And in this joint, the customer is always right. You got me? She nods hurriedly and tries to climb to her feet.

But I keep her pinned with my boot. I hack deep and add a massive lugy to the stains on her face. It's not like that's the worst things you'll have to scrub off it today. The snickering continues until I turn around. Every eye in the room is on me as I reach my full height. The tie muscle stops chuckling, and I smile at the fear in their eyes. I glance past them to the other girls lining the front of the dimly lit karaoke bar where nobody comes to sing.

The only fun found here is in the bedrooms in the back, where a guy can get off in the comfort of the AC. Most of the women are tie, but there's an allotment of Russian and African faces mixed in with the lot. Presence from my connections in Bangkok. That goes for all of you, understand? The customer's always right. The frightened nods and a sense in broken English get my blood pumping, and I can't help but grin. Pimping ain't easy, at least not back in the States.

With all that me-to and time's up bullshit, a man can't make a living in the world's oldest profession. But here in Thailand, I've carved out a nice little kingdom with my international stable of whores. As I glance around doing a headcount, I frown when I realize my bestseller is missing. Homer, how long has Nan been with the John? Uh. Homer glances at the clock on the wall, studies it, and then gulps. A little over two hours. Mr. Hickory tightens in my grasp as I round on him.

Homer's a big, dumb lug, and I keep him around because you can't trust the ties around money. He's got beefy hands good for slapping the girls around when I can't. But if brains were toilet paper, he wouldn't have near enough to wipe his fat ass. Big enough to throw his muscle around, but lacking the ambition to take over. And he scared shitless of me, the perfect henchman. But time is money. And the stupid fuck can barely tell time, even on a digital clock. He holds his hands up, like Svetlana, before lowering them. Sorry, boss. I'll go get them right. Why bother? I shove Mr. Hickory into his chest.

If you want, done something right. I stormed down the dark hallway away from the parlor. Grunts and moans echo around me. The sound of money going into my pocket reminds me of the fast one Nan and her John are trying to pull on me. Fury carries me faster to the door, and I don't bother knocking. I slam it open so hard that the doorknob crunches into the cheap drywall. I figured I'd catch the two of them going at it. But Nan jerks up in the bed, spilling the bottle of champagne onto the floor.

Another clatter echoes above the drone of the AC as a plate of expensive chocolates and cheese join the expensive mess she's going to have to clean up. What the fuck? I turned to the Thai man sitting on the bed, and he smiles at me. His face is unwrinkled, but his hair is ash gray. Ties hide their age better than most, which means he's somewhere between the ages of 40 and 60. He's wearing the same clothes that he walked through. the door in, a wine-colored three-piece suit, complete with cufflinks and silk gloves.

He beams at me, swings his short legs off the bed, and takes the walking stick resting against the dresser. His clothes aren't even must. Have they just been chatting and eating for the last two hours? And how the hell did he sneak that stuff into the get-up? Ah, you must be the proprietor of this fine establishment. His English is perfect, without any trace of a Thai accent. It's It's not even colored with American or Australian inflations like you hear from some of the Ties who study abroad. He crosses the room and reaches a handout to me. A pleasure to meet you.

My name is Pai Sapp and I slap his hand away. I ain't looking for a name. The rates 3,000 bought an hour and you've gone over. Now, are you going to give me what I'm owed or do I have to get nasty? You have to have a firm hand with the natives. Most Thai whorehouses charge the Farangs double the money they'd do. do the locals, but I'm running a business, not a charity, and I don't have time to deal with the ties making chump change. Luckily, this guy looks like he can more than afford the extra scratch.

Shit, should have charged him double. Pye Saps' grin doesn't falter as he shakes his hand in the air. Ah, you want just compensation. Fear not, good sir. I have just what you deserve. He reaches into his coat pocket and offers his hand out to me again. What the hell? I glared in but reached my hand out on instinct. Last I checked, they don't make 3,000 bot coins, you slimy. The rest of my words are cut off as searing agony races across the palm of my hands.

I open my hand wide, but whatever it is, digs into my flesh and injects fire into my body. When the pain reaches my stomach, a wave of nausea boils up, forcing the content to rush up my throat and spew out my mouth as I topple to the floor. Nans' hurried footsteps run past me as the heat increases, coating every inch of my body. It feels like a swarm of bees has been unleashed inside me. The buzzing fills my skull and glars my vision until the pain worsens. Raw agony rushes up my body as my arms curl inward and my knees rise. The pain is so intense I can't even scream.

I curl into a ball and sob as tears rain uncontrollably down my cheeks. And then, just as fast. The pain is gone. The thing falls out of my palm and clatters to the floor. Gasping for breath, I look at it. It's a polished stone about half the size of the tip of my pinky. Its glossy surface is the same shade of red as Paisap's clothes. Sweat pours from my body as I roll onto my back.

I suck air in great breaths, thankful to be able to do so. I've been in some tough scrapes in my day, but that was the worst. I thought I was going to die. Here, in my place of business, where nobody can touch me. The panic retreats to the back of my mind as rage fills my heart. And I force myself to my knees as Pysapp smiles and walks out the door. Oh no, motherfucker, you ain't getting away from me. Bound out into the hall, but my legs are weak and feel alien.

And I immediately bounce off a wall. Swearing, I push off them, take another step, and tumble forward on the ground. My pants and underwear billow around me, dropping to the ground. But I don't care. That son of a bitch attacked me in my place of business. I can't let him get away. Besides, it's not like everybody here hasn't seen me with my pants off. With my body rebelling against me,

I rely only on my rage to leave me through the dark hallway. It's all that I need. I come through the parlor and find Paisap just a few steps away. He's at the bar ordering himself a drink. I hobble after him. him, passing my staring goons. But I don't even bother to ask for their help as I pick up an empty beer bottle from a nearby table. It shatter satisfactorily over Pysapp's head. I feel weak as a kitten. My blow's not landing as hard as they usually do, but the crunch of my knuckles is

satisfying as I lay into. Hands grab me roughly by the shoulders and jerk me back. Two of my Thai goons each have me by an arm. God damn it, fucking Thai loyalty. But my grin rises as Homer stalks toward us. Homer, get these! He slams his open palm across my face so hard that I see stars. It's enough of a shock for the go-goons to let go, and I drop to my knees. Wiping blood from my lip, my rage builds as Homer straightens Pysap from the heap I left him in. What's going on here? Dear me, Pysap reaches into his coat, pulls a handkerchief, and wipes his mouth. One of your employees accosted me for some reason. What?

Homer glares at me and walks back toward me. Look here, you crazy bitch. Bustering all my rage, I slam my fist between Homer's legs as hard as I can. As he doubles over, I grab his face, ready to claw the bastard's eyes out. The fat prick thinks he can talk to me like that? Maybe I was wrong about Homer. Guess I'll need a new number two. He won't be any use to me after I gouge his eyes out.

I freeze. My nails digging in just below his eyes, shocked at the side of the side of the side of the of my hands. They're too small and soft, the nail's too long. Homer shoves me, and I stumble back. My hands reach from my chest and grew up a pair of tits. Reaching between my legs, horror fills me as two bouncers force me to my feet again. You son of a bitch! I scream in a voice that's too high to be my own. What the fuck did you do to me? Dear me, Pysapp smiles as he takes a long sip from his brandy.

Quite the rebellious one, isn't she? do believe some discipline is in order. Homer turns and coughs, wiping the blood from his face. Pye's sap returns the favor from earlier and helps my hired goon to his feet. Smiling, Pye's sap hands him something. Homer's face is red with rage and blood, and spit comes from his lips like a raging wart hog. I've never seen him this mad before, and the strength goes from my legs as I realize what's in

his hands. The customer's always right. Homer roars as he raises Mr. Hickory High into the air. SCP-113 resembles a small, polished piece of red jasper. Analysis shows that SCP-113 is not composed of jasper, but similar to that of other recovered objects. When SCP-113 comes in direct contact with the flesh of an organism possessing sex chromosomes, the organism's physical characteristics associated with gender and biological sex are transformed.

This process occurs in four stages. Stage 1 lasts approximately 0.2 seconds. SCP 113 bonds with the cells that it touches and induces an unidentified chemical change. This process causes tissue damage similar to mild burns, and SCP 113 cannot be removed from contact with the subject until all stages are complete. Stage 2. Lasts approximately 20 seconds. SCP-113 emits a low-intensity electromagnetic wave which travels through the subject's body.

Subjects may experience nausea and vomiting, along with the stinging sensation throughout the body. Stage 3 lasts approximately 60 seconds. Throughout this stage, the subject's cellular makeup is temporarily transformed. The subject will experience intense stimulation of all sensory nerves during the final 20 seconds of this stage, and describe this part of the process as extremely painful. Subjects in poor health may die of shock in this stage. At the end of this stage, the subject's biological sex is permanently altered. In standard cases, the subject's biological sex will be changed to the opposite biological sex.

All primary and secondary sexual characteristics are altered accordingly. Stage 4. SCP 113 disengages from the subject and becomes inert. Thank you.