by Mia Moore
“But…”
“But nothing. First of all, I’m thirty-two, almost thirty-three, you know. What good man would want me?”
“Tom is crazy about you.”
“Ha! Tom’s a John. You know that.”
Jessica nodded. She had met Tom at the same place, the same time actually, where she struck up her friendship with Annik three years ago. They met at the adult club, Pandora’s. Jessica was there with her beau, Craig Forsythe. Craig and Tom were good friends and the four of them had enjoyed many good times together—both at Pandora’s and in the vanilla world.
Craig and she were serious about each other. Two years earlier, when they had just begun to date, they had hit a rough spot. Annik had taken it upon herself to step in and straighten Craig out.
Jessica owed so much of the joy of her own life to this woman.
“Look, Annik, I understand that there’s a business aspect to your relationship, okay? But I also can see just as clearly, that Tom’s really crazy about you.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Damn right. I can see that just as clearly as you saw how Craig felt about me. And you called him on it.”
“Well…”
Jessica leaned toward her. “And furthermore, girlfriend, I can see how you look at him when he’s not looking at you. Give me a break.”
Annik went still and looked straight ahead, avoiding her eyes.
“Let me ask you a question, Jessica. And be honest.”
“Okay…”
“Tom and I can’t be anything more than we are right now—a John and his whore. And I’ll prove it. You and I, we’re both only children, right?”
“You know that, yeah.”
“Okay. Now imagine you have a brother—younger, older, I don’t care. But you have a brother. You’d love him to death, right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Now how would you feel if your brother came home one day and announced that he was going to marry a whore, have kids with her, and grow old with her? What is your heart saying right now, Jessica?”
“But…”
“Jessica! Answer the damn question.”
“Fuck you.”
“What?”
“Fuck you. I really mean that. Go fuck yourself. If my kid brother came home with a woman like you, I’d be so proud of him, I would bust. You think I’m that shallow? Really? You do? Fuck you.”
“Do you really mean that? You’re just being nice, and I love you for that…”
They both started to cry again. Together they stood and held each other as sisters sometimes might, and as best friends always would.
Jessica pulled away and cupped Annik’s face in her hands.
“You know, you were right.”
“About what?”
“I don’t look at you the way I did when we first sat down, Annik.” She kissed her cheek. “I love you even more now than I did an hour ago. I love you for your strength, and for what you would do for those you love. I am so blessed to be loved by someone like you.”
Chapter 2
Paul opened the side door of the dilapidated farm house he called home. He strode to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap to rinse his bloody hands. The whore tonight had been older than the others.
He dried his hands on the greasy dishtowel and trudged up the creaky wooden stairs to his room.
****
Tom Eldon stood on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking Central Park, savoring his victory. He had risked a lot to land this deal, and he’d won. The five year contract was in his briefcase. Along with the check for the first ninety days. It contained a shitload of zeros.
They had been dicking around on this deal for six months and it was time for Targay to shit or get off the pot. He had insisted that he be the last guy through the door. He didn’t give a shit how tired everyone would be. He showed up alone, carrying his briefcase. No entourage, no spear carriers like all his competitors no doubt had brought in for their presentations.
Calling out the CEO with a veiled challenge to make up his damn mind worked like a charm. The room cleared in less than a minute. So what if Targay was more than a thousand times the size of Tom’s company? Tom’s employees earned twenty times more on average. The two men sat down as equals, and in forty five minutes made a deal. The CEO (‘Call me Greg, Tom’) was actually a little grateful to get this project finally off his desk.
Everything. Every flyer, store sign, shopping bag, TV ad, newspaper ad, credit card insert, every single thing that Targay wanted to say to the world would now go though Tom’s shop. For five years. Five Christmas seasons of television commercials alone was going to put about ten million into his pocket. Forget about Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Thanksgiving, Spring Clean up…
He called the office when he hit the street after the meeting, and gave everyone the next day off. They were probably still in some bar or restaurant celebrating on his dime.
He celebrated alone.
He ordered room service so he could watch the evening slip into night as he ate.
Christ, it was beautiful. The golden sunset made the buildings flanking Central Park glow. He ate his supper during the period of about twenty minutes when everything was a flat gray.
He had been standing at the balcony watching the lights—those beautiful, sparkly city lights. First the ones in the buildings peeked out. They were always there, but appeared more intense as darkness fell. Next were the streetlights. In groups of two or three they flickered on. He loved watching them march north. The pathway lights in Central Park must have been on a longer delayed switch; they came on last.
He glanced at the sky. From twenty-seven stories up, the strongest, the most powerful stars shone, nearly invisible if one were at the brightly lit, street level. The moon was full as it rose over the horizon, yellow orange.
Eventide in New York City. Forty five minutes of wonder every night. All you had to do was look up.
The biggest night of his life and the only person on the planet he ached to share it with was a hooker. He laughed out loud at the absurdity.
“Not a hooker, Tom. Not an Escort, call girl or even prostitute. Let’s call a spade a spade. I’m a whore.” She had said that to him over two years ago, on their second meeting.
“So I guess that makes me a John?” he had asked.
She had nodded. Silently, but with her chin set. They were lying in bed sharing a bottle of wine. He had just complimented her. Not on her ability to get him to come; that was a given. He had complimented her on how she was such a professional. She laughed out loud at him. And told him exactly what she was.
He replied that she better get her opinion of herself out of the gutter; because it reflected on him. He spent the next hour giving her a crash course in marketing professional services. He told her that if she treated her occupation with the same level of respect as any lawyer or doctor would, she’d command top prices and be as busy as she wanted to be.
She was smart enough to hang on every word. Hell, she took notes.
Now, all of her clientele were guys a lot like him. Single, successful, and absolutely, positively horrified by the thought of an attachment to a woman.
The burned and shy group he called them; Annik got that right away.
Guys who had been taken to the cleaners by a trophy wife and were in no way shape or form going to get into that kind of mess again. Multi million dollar divorce settlements, five figure monthly alimony payments, and God forbid, child support, does that to a guy.
Marina had made Tom a member of that group. He had got off light compared to the crew cuts, Annik’s other clients had taken.
They still had ‘urges’, or ‘needs’ and Annik was just the woman to take care of that bit of business. Hell, she worked maybe five hours a day, and pulled down over two hundred grand a year.
Thanks to him.
From that initial discussion in bed their friendship—okay ‘deep professional relationship’, started. She didn’t real
ize she was his closest friend. He had many business acquaintances, sure. He had a couple of buddies too. But with Annik… he could talk about anything; he never felt guarded with her.
He wished she was standing here on this balcony. He’d tell her everything about that damn meeting. How his knees were knocking when he walked into the room. Christ he wanted to brag. His biggest business success, his crowning achievement.
Twice, he tried to ease into the idea of getting her to ‘retire’ out of the Life. Annik was way too independent to be anyone’s mistress. He knew that.
She had been asked four times. Three, she had told him about, and the other one, his investigator uncovered. Each time she had been asked, she cut the guy off at the knees and stopped seeing him.
She did confess she wanted the picket fence. Kids even. But with the right guy; a guy who didn’t know she had ever been a whore.
Who was he kidding anyway? He didn’t want a mistress. He wanted Annik. For keeps. Period.
He got the message. Not you, Eldon! Hell, he was too old for that shit anyway. Him? Kids? At pushing fifty? Besides, he couldn’t have any. He was infertile.
Finding out about that was a revelation. Marina had started yapping about wanting children; they tried for a year before talking to a doctor about it. When the tests were completed, it was his fault; forget about what the books say, he knew he was the one with the malfunctioning plumbing.
Which was ironic as hell. He had a sex drive that would kill an eighteen year old athlete. But could never give a woman a child.
Marina used that as her leverage for the divorce. She said she wanted a family, yeah. But she also wanted a huge piece of his assets. Of his ass. Five years of marriage, the two years of courtship on top, and she wanted millions for the ‘lost opportunities’. They settled on two point five million. When he’d figured out the numbers, she cleared a thousand dollars a day for the time she spent with him.
And Annik was the whore. Right.
Annik was honest if nothing else. And beautiful. And sharp as a tack. And… well, kind. When he would talk to her he knew she was listening; not waiting for him to take a breath to talk about herself.
He glanced at his watch. Nine PM. He could call her. Except she was probably out on an ‘appointment’ with a ‘client’. Or, to be honest, she was probably out fucking some jerk. Well, it wouldn’t be a jerk, that was for sure. Thanks to him. Thanks to him indeed. Probably wasn’t even fucking the guy anyway. From the time he introduced her to the spice of BDSM, she had been doing more and more Pro-Domme tricks than conventional ones. Not a lot of sex; but a lot of money for the fetish aficionados. Her Dominatrix business was now bigger than her sex trade. The hard part was that she was grateful for his guidance in that too; she said so all the time.
Yeah, she’s out working, probably. And here he was, alone. Missing her. Wanting what could never be.
He not only wanted to share a night like this with her, he wanted to come home to her. Picket fence and all. He wanted her to be there just for him. To listen just to him. To make love to just to him. To dance just with him. To bow down just to him.
To bow down.
To kneel before him. Aching for his touch, be it a caress or a lash.
Well, at least he was that special. He was the only one of her clients she played the role of submissive to. She was a Domme to the rest of her customers. That meant something, didn’t it?
Introducing her into BDSM was a stroke of luck. She took to being a submissive to him like a duck to water. The image of her on her knees in front of him stirred him. He’d hold off though.
The night had fallen. He wasn’t going to call her; no way. He turned from the balcony to his bedroom and pulled out his laptop
But he could send her an email. It was Wednesday. He’d book her for Saturday.
At Pandora’s.
Hi Annik,
Just got back from my meeting and thought of you. New York is fabulous. My room overlooks Central Park. The hustle and bustle of cars and people and the view of the city, with the millions of lights makes Toronto look so small. Maybe the next time I visit here, you’d consider coming with me. We could paint the town red and take in some shows.
I would like to book your services for this Saturday night, if you’re free.
Please confirm,
Master Tom
That was kind of sweet--he’s thinking about her, and he wants to see her as soon as he gets back to Canada. She’d like that.
Sleep would come and he had Saturday with Annik to look forward to. He would claim her body at Pandora’s, even if he couldn’t have her heart. Half a loaf was better than none.
Wasn’t it?
Chapter 3
Tom was right. Annik was working.
She had an important engagement. On a scale of one to ten this was about an eight, maybe a nine. She had an opportunity to earn a tidy profit, gain a repeat customer, and most importantly, further develop a client base that would pretty well sew up her business for the next fiscal year.
At five PM, she was sitting at her desk reviewing her notes on William Trembley. Obviously, it was important to have a take on your client; information was power after all. The better information she had, the deeper her insight into her client’s needs would be, and subsequently the better job she would do. Which would gain her more business, and higher fees.
Pretty simple stuff, to be sure. And she knew, from reading the books her mentor Tom had recommended, paying close attention to the simple things, making them as perfect as she could, was something her competitors rarely did. Tom's own success in business was a fount of knowledge and advice that had helped Annik grow her own enterprise. Her competitors were a different story. They saw easy money, fast money, and milked their advantages for all they could. And then, after about a year or two, were either out of business or relegated to a lower tier. Whereas, Annik was at the top of her game, and planning her next career move.
She was grateful for the internet. Online, she was able to pull up Trembley’s curriculum vitae from LinkedIn, get investment background information on his company’s past performances and prospects, and a whiff of the latest projects his company was either planning or executing. Cross referencing that to his city’s newspaper social pages, she saw the charities he was involved with, and to what extent—nuggets of pure gold for the insight to Trembley’s passions. A man who supports the ballet has different tastes from a man who is an avid model railroad buff, no?
Her research also gave an idea of the fee schedule she would apply to Trembley; she was able to develop a rough estimate on his annual income and current assets. And as a sign of his success, she rewarded him with her top fees. Plus expenses, of course. And if things went well, he’d become a member of the top level of clients, up from his current status with her. Her mouth twitched at the thought.
Finishing her review, she glanced at the time—she had three hours. Mentally, she subtracted the half hour trip by taxi (her regular driver, Dan was already booked) which gave her two and a half hours to prepare. She reviewed her data, printed out her notes and while reading them, had a quick bite to eat. Satisfied that she had all the particulars about ‘Bill’ now down, she began to prepare.
She ran a warm bath with scented oils, and lounged in the tub soaking. She washed herself, and shaved all the important places, and got out. Taking a towel, she pat dried her body and let any remaining moisture air dry under the fan and heat lamp combination in the bathroom while she did her hair.
Fully dry, she applied her makeup. While still in high school in Toronto, she had secured a position at the Lancome counter at a downtown department store. Her training taught her all the knowledge of cosmetics any woman could ever want or need to know. They made that investment in Annik in order for her to sell more of their wares, not knowing at the time (and neither had she) that they were giving her a powerful tool in her current business. Satisfied with her appearance, she went to her bedroom and dressed.
Ga
zing into the full-length mirror, she appraised herself. The image she needed to portray for the appointment tonight was important. Bill was visiting Toronto from Edmonton to finalize a business acquisition. He and his partner were hosting a dinner party at Chez Louise, for the executives of the company he was acquiring.
Bill’s goal, she surmised, was to do a pre-emptive strike on any seller’s remorse. The papers had all been signed, yes; but rather than shake hands at the conference table and return to Edmonton, Bill felt that a night of celebration with his new colleagues was a more elegant way to finish things up.
When she had been contacted by Bill for the night, he’d told her that there would be three other women present, and that she was to be his companion for the evening. His use of that word scored major points.
He didn’t say ‘Escort’. He didn’t say ‘Consort’. He didn’t say ‘Whore’. Any of those terms were as accurate, perhaps, but they were crude and cruder. He respected her reputation, it showed in how he discussed their arrangements. He approached her as a professional; both of them would reap the benefits.
Especially when he saw her in contrast to the other ladies. There would be no contest.
Annik liked what she saw in the mirror. At thirty-two, she was at the peak of her sexual attraction. Yes, women in their twenties may have slightly firmer bodies but they lacked the exotic appearance she had. Annik’s skin was a smooth, clear mocha. Her black hair hung in ringlets almost to her derriere. She had pulled the sides of her hair back, fastening it with silver, diamond encrusted barrettes. She examined her face and makeup—high cheekbones, large, dark, almond shaped eyes with a hint of shadow, lush, full, red lips—yes, attractive and a trifle mysterious. Her earrings were small diamond studs and on a fine gold chain, a diamond pendant pointed to the cleavage between her breasts.
