by Kira Barker
Thankfully, my phone went off that very moment, saving me from my own thoughts and possibly embarrassing myself in front of my only friend.
“Excuse me. I have to take this,” I offered as I saw Brigitte’s number on the display, then got up and walked into the kitchen before picking up. Adam was used to this and didn’t even look moderately concerned.
“What an unexpected turn of events,” Brigitte drawled into the phone, sounding not the least bit amused. “And there I thought I’d sent one of my best to please our newest star client.”
Bile threatened to rise in the back of my throat, but like with Darren himself, I quickly swallowed it down. There was no sense in quarreling with her.
“I messed up, and I’m the one who suffers the consequences, so what’s it to you?”
Just because I wasn’t going to lower myself to petty games didn’t mean I couldn’t remind her of the facts. My words made her pause, but she knew well enough that I would have already told her if anything had happened that went beyond bruised egos, so she let it slide.
“I’m losing my cut from your earnings, too, if you don’t earn.”
“I still have a full schedule even if a single client drops out,” I reminded her.
“But not full this evening, I see? So you’d be free to take on someone in the meantime?”
I’d half hoped that she wouldn’t come up with such a proposition, but then it was likely the best to just forget and move on.
“Sure, just tell me when and where. Any special wishes?”
She quickly rattled off the details, then hung up on me without another word. I stared at my phone’s display as it dimmed, then turned off, but eventually just grabbed pen and paper and jotted the contact details down. Not a regular, but I remembered the guy. Nice, thick cock, usually very easy to please, not one of those that made me work and chafe myself raw along the way. The agreed upon time just left me enough space to get ready if I beat it now.
“Sorry, but we’ll have to postpone this,” I let Adam know as I walked back into the living room.
“As much as it hurts my sensibilities that you’ll abandon me for some guy who actually pays for your company, I know that you have bills to pay, children to feed, pets to annoy—“
“Shove it,” I told him, my smile hopefully taking the sting out of my words.
As usual, Adam grinned right back, then made a grab for the coffee pot.
“But I’m keeping this hostage! If you want it back, have breakfast with me tomorrow?”
“We have a date,” I replied, then swooped down for a brief yet warm hug. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime, okay?”
“Me? Never!” He laughed, and, as always, wished me a good fuck.
I fully intended to make good on that, Darren Hunter be damned.
Chapter 10
My heart wasn’t really in it during my next appointment, and the one on Sunday went about the same. Thankfully, both clients were of the sort who loved to splurge money on their dirty little secret, but weren’t too demanding as far as my involvement was concerned. As long as I sucked them right, bent over quickly, and provided the right pitch and enthusiasm with my moans, they were happy. I chose not to think about why what had always been the easy part of my job suddenly left me feeling… unfulfilled.
I knew that it was likely just a phase, and any day now my head would snap back to normal.
Monday was a little better, and by Wednesday I felt I was back on track to normal whore land. Working with a somewhat more challenging client helped, too, and there was the comfort of returning to my longtime regulars, who always had a smile for me even after they handed over the envelope.
It didn’t come as much of a surprise that Brigitte requested me to drop by her apartment on Friday afternoon. We hadn’t really had time to catch up since before she had set up that lineup for Hunter, and while I wasn’t terribly behind handing off her cut, the stack in the back of my safe was getting large enough that I wanted it out of my house anyway. While setting up appointments, she had been rather cool this week, but I had long ago gotten used to her mood swings. Brigitte would never do anything to jeopardize any of her girls, but it wasn’t beneath her to turn into a terrible hag for a brief time if she thought that might have some impact on employee motivation. The effect might be lost on me, but it still got her point across, so when this time she said “jump,” I didn’t even ask how high but just went.
I didn’t dress up for the occasion, just threw on a blouse, jeans, and some light makeup, not bothering to hide my freckles through layers of artfully applied foundation. After all, Brigitte had seen me in a worse state than business casual more times than I cared to remember, and I just wasn’t feeling like dolling myself up today.
I realized my mistake the moment I stepped out of the elevator and found myself confronted by Brigitte’s bright, professional smile. It wasn’t like she never smiled in private, but her business persona behaved decidedly different from the private person—and sometimes friend—she was.
For just a moment, I allowed my heart to make the leap it had been waiting for since last weekend. Maybe, just maybe, Darren had changed his mind and was ready to give me another chance. After all, he had only kicked me out, not strictly cancelled our thing altogether, and it wasn’t that unusual that he didn’t ask for me during the week. My weekend schedule had been left carefully blank, and I was ready to be his at a moment’s notice.
But no—if that had been the case, her smile wouldn’t have been so fake, the look in her eyes an almost emotionless warning for me not to misbehave. It had been some time since I’d last been rewarded with that, and even considering my recent mishap, there weren’t many reasons for her to don it now.
Actually, I could only think of one—she had news for me that she knew I wouldn’t want to hear, but she would have none of that.
Exhaling slowly, I felt myself deflate, that spark of hope quenched under the burden of not-quite obedience.
“So good of you to drop by. We were just chatting about you,” she chirped as she greeted me, then stepped to the side, not quite coincidentally blocking my view of the splendor that was the recessed seating area in the living room.
I wondered if hissing to her under my breath would help, but now that look she cast my way turned shrewd, and I mentally backtracked. This was either bad, or not worth fighting over.
“‘We’?”
I tried to make my voice sound neutral, but it was hard. Why the charade, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t exactly known to balk at most demands. Brigitte had often lauded me for not being fickle—and as she loved to say, the fickle girl doesn’t rake in the money.
Brigitte spent a last second hammering that unspoken message in with her glare, then stepped away, once again all pleasant and open.
“Mr. Moss and I. You met last weekend, I hear?”
Now that explained her behavior on my end, but why she expected me to bolt outright in the first place was a mystery to me. I hadn’t exactly dished out the details of last weekend, not wanting to make myself sound even more stupid than I felt.
“No,” I said outright, as flatly as possible.
“Oh, yes,” Brigitte chirped, then grabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the group of couches where Ray sat reclined, smirking at me with that perfect toothpaste-commercial smile.
Realizing that resistance was futile, I went willingly enough, but mostly to save face. It was obvious that Brigitte had understood what I had meant—no to taking Ray on as a client, not to remembering from before—but she clearly didn’t give a damn about it. Technically, I had the right to decline any appointment she set up for me, but like any pimp, she had ways of making me do things I was opposed to, and cutting ties with her completely over a jerk like Moss was not worth our well-oiled working relationship.
“So nice to meet you again, Penelope,” he practically preened, using the most sleazy, soft handshake possible. I was well aware of the fact that I was projecting heavi
ly—the handshake wasn’t that bad—but that didn’t do a thing to improve my mood.
“Likewise,” I lied between my teeth, not even trying to sound sincere.
Brigitte’s nails dug into my skin through the thin material of my blouse until I started to worry that she wanted to draw blood, and she only let go after she’d deposited me right around the corner from Ray, our knees almost touching. I went rigid when he reached over and put his hand on my thigh, but then made myself relax. If I hadn’t suddenly lost my skill of reading people, I was just feeding his enjoyment with my obvious misgivings, and that was the last thing I wanted to do right now.
Brigitte made a big fuss of playing hostess, refilling Ray’s glass and putting a soda lemon down in front of me. I stared at the fizzy drink as if it was my last meal, but then took a tentative sip, trying not to smear my lipstick too much. Indifference on my part was likely my best weapon, but judging from the way Ray drank in my every motion, I doubted that it would help.
“As you can probably guess, Mr. Moss here has requested an appointment with you.”
I glared daggers at Brigitte but did my best to keep my temper under wraps now.
“He mentioned something like that last Saturday. I shot him down, and my opinion hasn’t changed.”
If anything, that seemed to amuse him, judging from his jovial smile and the way his hand kept exploring my leg.
“Well, isn’t that precious? We are, after all, providing a service here, and business doesn’t work on the whims of flimsy, young girls.”
That was more of an insult than the fact that she wanted to badger me into this, and did its own to increase my resentment toward them both.
“Of course, it’s all about the business,” I simpered back at Brigitte, then turned a toothy smile at Ray. “A very expensive business, indeed.”
“Money’s not an issue,” Ray drawled in an almost perfect imitation of Darren, making me tense up all over again.
“I guess not,” I admitted, then turned back to Brigitte. “I guess you’ve already predetermined that none of the other girls will do?”
“I asked for you specifically,” Ray let me know, leaning in way too close. “And I have very specific wishes.”
“Should be an easy job for a pro then,” Brigitte remarked, her professional smile still firmly in place. I wondered if I should mention that this couldn’t be anything but a twisted kind of revenge fuck—for whatever reason, either to get back at me for rejecting him before, but more likely because Moss had a thing for sloppy seconds—but doubted that would change her mind.
From her perspective, I could even understand her decision. Ray had connections, and he himself was quite the catch to add to our client roster. He also had a clean record, I was sure, and while I personally detested him, he didn’t send up any of the red flags we kept looking for that might lead to an instant rejection. He likely wouldn’t harm me, let alone beat me to within an inch of my life, and while his demands might be personally repulsive, anything that didn’t leave permanent damage and wasn’t an absolute hard limit for the girls was acceptable.
If not for the fact that he himself was quickly becoming a hard limit for me, I had no reason to object.
“May we speak in private for a minute?” I asked Ray, nodding toward Brigitte.
He was reluctant to stop molesting my thigh, but only too happy to let Brigitte finish her work.
“Of course, but don’t take too long. I can be quite impatient when someone makes me wait.”
After almost a week, a few minutes more or less couldn’t be that bad, I figured, but waited until he’d withdrawn to the other room, taking his drink along.
The moment it was safe to talk, I leaned toward my madam, my mouth already open, but she forestalled me.
“Unless you have a business or health related concern, I don’t want to hear about it,” she told me in no uncertain terms.
“He’s a disgusting human being,” I offered, letting some of my rage leak into my voice.
“As are most of your clients, if you look at them closely. At the very least they betray their wives, and we never ask where the money comes from they pay us with,” she reminded me.
“To me, personally,” I tried to interject, but she kept shaking her head.
“And your opinion of him won’t improve when you see his list of demands, but you will do this, no further word of protest.”
“Or what?”
“Or you can kiss your career as an escort goodbye,” she replied, nailing me with her gaze. I remained silent, realizing that she was earnest, and I suddenly felt like I’d missed something about the gravity of the situation.
“Is there more to this than I’m aware of?”
“You tell me,” she quipped back, annoyance seeping into her tone that hadn’t been there before.
I considered for a moment, then inclined my head, even if it felt like I was swallowing a bucket of bile.
“As you wish. What are his demands? I will try to fulfill them to the best of my ability.”
When she got like that, I knew there was no sense in quarreling with Brigitte, and considering that I felt like I was suddenly casting around in the dark, it simply wasn’t worth making an affair out of this. After all, what damage—mostly emotional, I figured—could Ray do in an hour or two? And I doubted that he was out for a repeat performance.
“Good girl,” Brigitte told me in exactly the voice she used for spoiled little dogs, her smile now condescending. I took her scolding in silence, and she resumed after a moment. “Your schedule for today is cleared, so Mr. Moss will accompany you right back to your apartment. Due to the nature of his wishes, I haven’t set a time limit to the appointment, but rest assured that you will be compensated accordingly.”
“My apartment?”
She completely ignored the alarm in my voice and instead reached for a sheaf of paper resting on a side table to hand it over for me to peruse.
“Yes, your apartment. At his request.”
I kept staring at her across the page, not bothering to read it yet.
“You know that I don’t see clients there. That’s why we have the shared space—“
“Your apartment,” she repeated as if I hadn’t spoken up at all.
“I haven’t cleaned in a week. It’s not fit to receive visitors,” I tried again.
“I really don’t give a shit about that,” Ray interjected from behind me, apparently having decided that he wanted to rejoin the conversation.
Stalling, I tried to think of another objection, and when none came to mind that Brigitte would have accepted, I looked at his list instead.
“I need some time to prepare,” I pointed out. None of the points were too outrageous, but at the very least I should get the waterproof latex sheets onto the mattress underneath my cotton ones, and an enema or two were in order, too.
“I don’t mind messy,” Ray offered, his smile now insufferably brighter as he realized that he was winning.
“I do,” I protested, but Brigitte gave me the faintest shake of her head. So she’d already added a compensatory fee to the tab, it seemed.
Just perfect.
Swallowing thickly, I scanned the list one last time, then let it drop to the tabletop. A last, half pleading look at my madam went ignored, and with a heavy feeling settling in my chest, I accepted my fate.
“Very well, then. You want to schedule your appointment for right now?” I asked Moss.
He rewarded me with another smile that made my skin crawl.
“That would please me enormously,” he replied.
Getting up, I stepped close to him, unable to disband the tension from my shoulders but still letting my body language open up to him.
“And it is my only concern to please you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Seeing as divine intervention wasn’t known to work for girls in the oldest profession, there was nothing to prevent me from doing this.
“Nothing. S
hall we go?”
Chapter 11
The drive back home was grueling, but I couldn’t even chalk this up to Ray. At least here he behaved like the perfect gentleman, but it was the same black limo I’d gotten used to over the past weeks, the same scent of expensive leather and air freshener. My reaction to that unnerved me more than the presence of the man at my side and lingered until we stepped into my apartment upstairs.
I dropped my bag by the door, then hesitated, unsure how to commence. Common—and professional—courtesy demanded that I offer him a drink, but I hadn’t exactly invited him over, and his little scenario didn’t intend for me to play the perfect hostess. Turning to him, I watched him study my sideboard next to the exit, then look over to where the door to the kitchen stood ajar.
“My bedroom is through there, to the left,” I offered, trying—and failing—to sound more enthusiastic than I felt.
His jovial smile in return let me know that my effort was wasted on him either way.
“Is there anything you want before we start?” I asked next, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
“No, I’m good,” he replied, still smiling.
“Is it okay if I use the restroom first?” I quipped, unable to hide my annoyance.
“Just be quick about it,” he said, then strolled into the general direction of my bedroom, not bothering with taking off his shoes.
I glared at the plush, cream-colored carpet with ire, then whipped around and went to take care of business, quickly shedding my clothes along the way. His request hadn’t said anything about my state of undress, but even my rattiest T-shirt would have been too good to let him soil it.
My fingers itched to get one of my enema kits out of the sink cabinet, but he had sounded impatient, and getting interrupted in the middle of that was worse than any residue that I couldn’t quickly clean with a lubed up finger or two would be. I took care to wipe away any remaining lube on the outside, trying to be as sneaky as I dared. His wishes were one thing, my health quite another. I might not be a virgin in any sense of the word, but even I needed a little extra something back there.
