by Cynthia Dane
“Good job.”
“I don’t know if he wants sex today, though. He hired me to be his nude model.”
“What?”
Judith briefly explained. Something about Seth being an artist in a funk, she was a beautiful woman who inspired him, and now he wanted to drop money on her to take off her clothes and let him paint her. On canvas, that was. “It will be some of the easiest money I’ve ever made.”
“Interesting.” Monica’s mind was on a tear. She was always scheming, analyzing, and reading people. There was a reason her business had grown into a multi-million dollar enterprise in as little as a year. She knew what men wanted, and who they wanted it with. To be fair, Seth was hard for me to read at first too. As soon as he told her to suck his cock, though, everything had fallen into place.
He had tasted good. Too good. Most men didn’t even register on Judith’s tongue. In one week, she had encountered two men who tasted as good as they fucked. She assumed the latter about Seth. He came off soft, but in those eyes was a reserved passion waiting to explode. Maybe he’ll explode on me today. Judith could say she had blown an artist recently, but not fucked one. Good thing he had that doctor money to fall back on, though. She had looked up Seth Christens and couldn’t find much about his art. Either he has another name or he isn’t that famous. Starving artists were not a cute addition to the Château.
“I’ll leave you to get ready, then. Have fun with your artist.” Monica stood up, leading with her stomach. “Although… if he wants to do something with a recognizable piece of you…”
“I know. I’ll let him know.”
“Good. Be sure to take those cards.”
Judith had hoped for some peace while she attempted to eat her oatmeal, now accompanied by a grapefruit she snatched from the bowl. Even though she was having a relatively late breakfast at ten, two other girls stumbled in with plates of eggs, bagels, and what looked like quinoa. People here are weird. Judith was older than all of them – certainly older than Grace and Holly, who entered now – so she felt more like the aged sister than a peer.
“There she is!” Grace slumped into Monica’s seat and plopped her bagel down. “Finally, I’ve caught up to you. Tell me all about the other night.”
“Huh?”
Holly, with her smarmy, fake as fuck smile, sat across from Judith. “She means when you were howling like a slut the other night, and not the paid kind.”
“Thanks.” Holly could go suck it. Whatever “it” was. Ever since she moved into the Château two, three months ago she had been nothing but an obnoxious thorn in Judith’s ass. She was also twenty-two, which probably had something to do with it. The older Judith got, the less she was able to handle these younger millennials. Crotchety old ho coming through. If they were younger than twenty-five, then Judith had little patience. “I have no idea why you want to know, though. I was working.”
“Yeah, but you were loud. Either you found a new way to fake it, or that guy took you to the moon and back.”
This wasn’t unusual conversation at the breakfast table. Breakfast (and lunch) was the only time most of the girls had to get together to gab and gripe about clients. There was a level of commiseration they couldn’t get anywhere else, even if they didn’t get along most days. I get along with everyone fine. Except Holly. They never had fights at the Château, but the passive-aggression could fly off the charts if someone was particularly miffed. They had to keep it professional lest they suffered Monica’s wrath – and nobody wanted to kiss this gravy train goodbye and go to whatever life they had last. For Judith, it wasn’t too bad, but for women like Grace… well, one would say she was lucky to be spotted working a hotel lounge. Lucky because Monica had recognized the cop she was trying to score some money from.
Everyone could hear everyone else having loud sex if they traveled the halls at night. So, no surprise that gossip traveled about the sounds Judith made when Miguel “Big Dick” Bolivar rammed her pussy until she couldn’t walk right for a whole day. Crossing my legs thinking about it. God, that had been the best paid lay since coming to the Château, and that was actually saying a lot.
“Yeah, well, you would’ve been shrieking for Aphrodite to spare you if the hottest Spaniard with a huge cock came your way too.”
“How big?” both girls asked in unison.
“Big.” Judith knew better than to throw out a number. That was all relative. “If I’m saying it’s big, then it was probably big.”
“You said he was a Spaniard?”
“Yes, technically. Though he was from Monaco, I think.”
“Monaco! Whoa!”
“Like Monte Carlo Monaco?”
“The same.”
“That is hot.” Holly snuffed into her quinoa. “Why can’t I get a client like that? This whole week has been pencil dicks and guys who smell. The most exciting thing was the guy who fucked my ass and pulled my hair, but I could still barely feel it. The dick, that is. I felt that hair pulling.” Of course she did. Holly was a ginger, to put it lightly. Her curly red locks were perfect for tugging, hard. On a good day those cute little freckles would get her half the men in the room. Sometimes at once. That’s why she’s annoying. She always brags. Bragging was so uncouth.
“I haven’t done too badly this week,” Grace said. “I had my patron the other night, and he always knows how to please me.”
“Show off.”
“Anyway, then there was that guy on Wednesday. Remember him, Judith? The artist?”
“I take it you mean the non-doctor one.”
“Um, yes. The other guy you were with came off as such a stick in the mud.”
Judith couldn’t help but smirk. “He wasn’t so bad. Didn’t fuck me, but he also didn’t say no to me sucking him dry. I think he could be fun. Seeing him again this afternoon.”
“If you say so. You’re better with those types anyway. I prefer his friend. Guy was hung. Ended up with me bent over my couch crying for mercy.”
“I hate you both right now.” Holly sniffed. “Grace with her attentive patron and Judith with her hung son of Grace Kelly. I don’t even have a patron yet!”
Because men love fucking you, but your personality scares them away once they’ve come. Holly was good at enticing men with her fake laughs and tit jiggles, but they quickly tired of her whiny tone and pouting. She would be great for a man who wanted to take care of a permanent teenager and fulfill some sick fantasy like that, but finding one was a challenge two months in the making. Now I get to do it. “Don’t worry. My patron skipped off to the UAE. I’ve got to find a new one.”
“Really? That’s rough. You’re the first girl to lose a patron since…”
Grace stopped. Judith didn’t continue. Even Holly knew better than to say anything. Since Sylvia. A woman whose bad experiences haunted the Château. Last Judith heard, she was getting arrested for soliciting all the way out in Portland. How the mighty fall. No sense thinking about those unpleasant things.
“We’ll be hunting a patron together. What a great rivalry I need.” Holly finally started to eat, crumbs falling from the corner of her mouth and getting all over her baggy green sweater. “How am I supposed to compete for men with Judith? At least they know who you are.”
“We’ll see.” Holly was younger, more nubile, and new. Men liked new, especially when it came to women like them. I give Seth two sessions before he’s chasing another woman to paint. It would be interesting in the meantime. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting ready.” For an appointment in four hours. Such was life at the Château.
Judith had a relatively simple beauty regimen. She tried to keep things as natural as possible, not only for minimum upkeep, but to keep her options open as she grew older and… aged. If men see me look like this now, they’ll accept me better ten years from now. Most women wanted out of her line of her work by 35 at the latest. Honestly? Judith had no idea what she would do otherwise. If she wasn’t making money from having sex in some capacity�
�� fuck, what was the point? This was a woman who got her start stripping, then curating a client base, then doing side-jobs in porn, then camming when that became easier with computers… by the time she was working at a high-profile place like The Dark Hour, she already had a great income. The Château was the biggest league she could hope for, outside of trophy wife. Except trophy wives weren’t supposed to have sex with more than one man. That was a travesty, and made Judith turn down more than one proposal in her life. That poor Grecian billionaire. Still crying into his Egyptian cotton pillowcase because I said no. She barely remembered him, anyway. Mediocre in every way, minus his bank account.
Some women were more than content with that. Judith needed more.
She washed and moisturized her face before doing a quick BO check. Passable. She would have to take a quick shower before the party that night, but some deodorant would be fine for Mr. Doctor Artist. What is his deal? Judith rolled on the deodorant and checked her pores.
Minimal makeup was necessary. She would put on more for the party, where the guys wanted to see dolls as they got trashed on expensive alcohol and buried their faces in tits and ass. I’ll need more deodorant than what I have on. Judith got up from her vanity and perused her closet for something easy to wear. Not a hard choice. She basically had one style: the little black dress. Sometimes in other dark colors. Never pastels.
Even so, she wore a flirty cotton ensemble for her artist. Judith assumed this would be nude modeling, so the clothes were a mere formality until he told her to take them off. Wonder if he’ll want another blowjob. She picked up a glittery gold notebook she tracked her clients in. All in code, of course. If the police finally decided to take this place down one day – Yeah, right – she didn’t want something conspicuous to get used as evidence that she was a dirty, rotten girl.
She wrote Seth’s initials at the top alongside the date. Modeling - $500 was written in full. Judith left a few lines blank in case she had other services to track. A part of her didn’t think so, but the man had taken her freebie…
She had finished him off for free. Judith King never did that.
It was the heat of the moment. Even a pro like her could be swayed by her own desires. She had been so into that man that she didn’t think twice about letting him finish in her mouth. Sure, being paid for it would have been a nice bonus… but it wasn’t always about the money.
Only 90% of the time.
***
“Dr. Christens is here.” It was Chelsea, the closest thing Judith had to a friend outside of Monica. “Were you supposed to go down and meet him? He’s brought… well, he’s brought half a studio with him.”
I bet. “Send him up. Tell him I’m waiting.” Judith returned to her furniture rearranging. Not that she knew shit about setting things up to best catch the sun’s rays coming through her window. She figured Seth would change everything around anyway.
“All right. I don’t know what you two are going to be up to, but it looks interesting.”
Chelsea left Judith’s bedroom door open. Judith popped into the bathroom as quickly as possible, and was surprised to find Seth already poking his nose in when she reemerged.
“Good afternoon.” She flashed her warmest smile as she went to him. That’s not half a studio. Maybe a 20th of one. All Seth had with him was an easel, a small canvas, and a large briefcase of supplies. The man himself was dressed in another cashmere sweater – this one a dark, rustic brown that brought out the depth of his amber eyes and the chestnut that was his hair – and black slacks that were more comfort than style for someone of his income level. Judith didn’t mind. Her clients could come in wearing overalls and grease stains if they could pay up. I once dated a mechanic. Whatever. “Do you need help?”
He was caught staring at her from the doorway. Judith was used to men staring at her. She was tall, strawberry blond, and knew her worth to the point she was more intimidating than their own mothers. Then they wanted to fuck her.
“No, I’m fine.” Seth lumbered in, taking the view of her room. “You have a sophisticated aesthetic, Judith.”
“Thank you.” These old things? They were from a pile of donated antique furniture, and the only ones that didn’t make her gag when she rummaged through them. Some pieces she acquired on her own, others were gifts from clients, and the 16th century ottoman in the corner… that was from Mitch, the fucker.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to set up right here.” Her client gestured to an empty spot on the side of the room, right in front of the bathroom. “I’m glad to see your room faces west. Excellent sunlight at this time of day.”
Judith took the easel in her hands. He looked at her as if she had grabbed his dick. Right. Artists and their toys. I mean implements.
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s fine. It’s a travel easel.”
“Right. Your nice one is at home.”
His nose twitched. “Actually, yes.”
Judith brushed her hand against his. “I haven’t modeled in a long time, and I’ve never modeled for an artist like you before.” She touched him again, this time on the wrist, a tried and true erogenous zone. Get hard. Fuck me. A woman had to put that out into the universe to make it come true.
Five-hundred dollars was easy money for an afternoon of lying on her bed, which was where Seth sent her, dress still on. Apparently he wasn’t eager for her to rip them off. If Judith could get more money out of him, hey, good for her!
“You’ve modeled before?” Seth repositioned his easel at least ten times, attempting to find the perfect spot to catch the light on his model’s body. “Fashion? Like magazines?”
Men were so utterly hopeless. Fashion like magazines, huh? Judith didn’t concern herself with designer fashion, although she stocked whatever clients gave her and what looked nice because it was necessary for her job. She only knew the names Givenchy and Donatello because she had to.
“Not quite.” Judith kicked off her flats and drew her legs up on her bed. With her head propped up on her arm, she regarded the artist taking out his supplies with mild curiosity. “Unless you used to subscribe to Hustler, you’ve probably never seen my pictures.”
To his credit, Seth remained unfazed. “Depends on how long ago it was.”
Laughing, Judith rested her head on the bed and kicked one leg up behind her. “What was it… must’ve been ten years ago, almost. Like I said, it’s been a while.”
Seth went to the window and fiddled with the lace curtains, letting in more light, then forcing it back again before finally deciding it was acceptable. He returned to his easel, canvas now ready, and picked up a large, sharpened pencil. Here we go. “You’ve been doing this for a while, huh?”
“What do you mean… this?”
Always telling how a man responded to something like that. Were they assholes? Dirtbags? Well-meaning fuckheads? Were they going to rescue her from sex work? Use her until she died? “Adult work, I suppose.”
“We call it sex work, although there are different levels of it.”
“Wasn’t sure I was actually allowed to say that here. Everything is so coded and subtle…”
“Legalities.”
“I figured.”
They were silent for a minute, Judith trying to remain still but finally relaxing against her own bed. “Yes, I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen, pretty much.”
Seth glanced between her and his canvas, pencil lead softly scraping. “Tell me about it.”
Judith laughed. “Why? You don’t care about my career as a professional seductress.”
“You don’t have to share those kinds of details. Tell me things most people don’t hear about. Tell me the boring behind the scene things.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to be together for two hours, and I like to get to know my models. Helps bring life to the portrait.”
“Hmm.” Judith kicked both legs up. “All right. Where do I begin?”
She started from the b
eginning. Over the next half hour, Judith regaled him with the truncated story of her life. How she tried going to community college after high school but was bored and boundless. She started paying her tuition with sexy photoshoots she saw advertised in a magazine. She only had to show a little skin. I liked it. Most scandal I enjoyed in a good long while. Someone suggested she work at an erotic restaurant where the women were topless. With breasts like hers? Tips poured like the beer from her pitchers. Then she started working weekends at a neighboring strip club. Her first brush with full-service sex work was when things got heated during a private lap dance. One minute she was doing her thing to the Yin-Yang Twins playing on the speakers, and the next the good-looking businessman asked her how much for the full ride.
She never had a pimp. Monica was the closest to such a thing, although pleasure houses were a different beast from internet-based or street work. While Monica did most of the grunt work to bring clients in, Judith was mostly paying for the privilege to work there. She also had to follow the rules, but the rules were worth following when she could make thousands of dollars in a night.
Between the strip club and the Château, though, there was doing side work online. Camming, mostly, although she took clients through Craigslist for a while. She didn’t get into the BDSM stuff until a fellow worker asked if she wanted to try for an opening at a dungeon. Judith had finally found a new home to express some of her darker tendencies. Whippin’ and chainin’ and callin’ men filth? Sign her up! The money was awesome!
After a few years she made it to the big show at The Dark Hour, which Seth had heard of. “I used to do shows there, sometimes with the same partners, other times with volunteers from the audience.” Judith tugged her skirt up her thighs, hoping to catch Seth’s attention. He looked at her skin, but then returned to his canvas. By now he had put on a pair of spectacles that made him look like a learned professor. Teach me something. “It was there I met Monica. She poached me, although sometimes I do exhibitions in exchange for free advertisement up here.” She might have to do that again soon if no patrons were forthcoming.
