by Zoey Parker
“So I guess the fact that your big brother is a free agent once more doesn’t mean you’re going to go back to being respectable?” I shook my head.
“I’m getting way too much out of this,” I told Micah. He laughed and pointed to his crotch. “That too,” I admitted. I could feel the tightness between my hips; every time I saw him again, I felt completely and totally alive, full of the most exciting questions: what was it going to be—was he going to push me down onto my knees and make me beg to taste him? Was he going to finger me until I was whimpering with the need to feel his cock? Was he going to teasingly threaten to take me to a piercer he knew while he played with my breasts, tweaking and torturing my nipples, murmuring that he was going to buy gold hoops to mark my tits as his?
“I’m starting to think you’re here as much for me to fuck your tight little body as you are to keep business going,” Micah said, his voice lowering. “Greedy little slut.” I shrugged.
“You don’t seem to mind,” I countered.
“Come over here,” Micah said firmly. I rose to my feet and walked around the desk, tingling all over. At a gesture from him I lifted myself onto the desk in front of him and he reached up my skirt, not even hesitating; he began touching me, nothing in his way. “I should visit you at work sometime,” Micah suggested. “Get you in a supply closet somewhere and make you scream about how you’re mine where everyone can hear you.” The threat in that—even if I knew he probably wouldn’t in a million years try it—made me even wetter, even hotter. I knew, after almost a month under Micah’s thumb, that he loved to test my limits, to push me up against my most basic sensibilities and pride.
I moaned as his fingers slid in and out of me, his thumb rubbing roughly against my clit. “E-everyone... important... already knows,” I told him between little panting gasps for breath.
“Not your coworkers,” Micah pointed out, working me harder, faster. “Not your bosses. I think I’d like to see the look on your face…” He leaned in and bit the place where my neck and shoulder met, brought his mouth up to my ear. “I’d love to see the look on your face if I fucked you right in front of your boss, your tits hanging out of your dress, bent over like the cheapest whore I own.” I shivered, picturing it—feeling the little twinge of humiliation like I knew Micah wanted. “You wouldn’t be able to tell me no, would you little Sadie?” I shook my head. “And why is that?”
“Be—because I’m yours,” I told him. “Because I’m your personal little slut.” He pulled my skirt up until it bunched around my waist and shoved me down onto my back onto his desk, barely keeping from ripping the buttons off of my blouse as he got it open to get to my breasts.
Every week—at least twice a week—I found myself in Micah’s office, telling him about the next few sessions I’d arranged, discussing details of payment rates, talking shop...and then, being brutally, mercilessly fucked until I came so hard it was almost hard to believe. Micah was right—I would let him do whatever he wanted to me, he felt so good. The fact that I knew he wouldn’t push things to the point where he’d jeopardize his business didn’t matter. I loved the way he sometimes pressed his fingertips to my tight pucker while he pounded into me from behind, the way he told me that if he wanted to take my ass itself he knew I would let him—and come for him on command. I’d thought, once, that he might actually do it then and there; he’d taunted me that he was going to call Brody in, tell the man to get some lube from one of the girls, and do it, before relenting and finishing buried deep inside my pussy.
More than once, Micah told me about how he wanted to take me back to his place, to really show me how much I belonged to him—that he’d keep me there for a weekend, make me take him as many times as he wanted, until I was so completely fucked that I would never even question who I belonged to. The idea of it made me shiver, and I had to admit—privately, deep down in my mind—that some of that shivering was from delight. I couldn’t deny the fact that if Micah had invited me to his place—or ordered me there—I wouldn’t hesitate to go. I would have let him tie me up, and let him take me, and given myself up to him completely and totally.
It was like something magnetic; I couldn’t keep away from Micah’s office, I couldn’t make myself not think about how incredibly hot it would be to let him have me again, to give myself to him. I knew it was crazy, and I knew I was playing with fire, but it felt so good—so right to belong to Micah sexually that I almost would have kept it up, or tried, even if things weren’t working with his girls and the bank’s clients.
“Lisa told me what that client of Jack’s wanted,” Micah told me, kissing me hard before biting my bottom lip harder, rubbing my clit while he pounded into me.
“O-oh?” I grabbed at his shoulders, pushing my hips down to meet him.
“He made her put on a schoolgirl uniform,” Micah said, slowing down just enough—I knew after a few times—to be able to keep going for as long as he wanted. “He spanked her with a belt until she cried, and then fucked her mouth and her pussy and then her ass.” I shuddered, thrilled and appalled all at the same time. “Gave me a few ideas.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. Micah laughed, and dipped down to my breasts to claim them with his mouth, harsh enough to make me cry out.
“You’d do it if I told you,” Micah said. “You’d walk right in here, let me spank you like a naughty little schoolgirl, and let me take you however many times I wanted, however hard I wanted, wherever I wanted.” I shook my head again. “You would.”
“Hope he pay-pay-paid extra,” I said, gasping as Micah began to speed up again.
“For the spanking,” Micah agreed with a nod. “But the rest was in the rate.” I laughed, breathless. “Fuck, Sadie—you’re every bit as fucking tight now as you were a month ago.” He pinned me down on the desk by my hip, by my shoulders, and I loved the feeling of it, being helpless and trapped under him. I loved the fact that he was still so big that when he thrust into me it felt like I couldn’t quite take him. It felt better than I would have ever guessed, even a month before, to feel Micah’s huge cock push deeper and deeper inside me, brutally filling me up, to have him pin me down almost painfully and make me tell him I belonged to him.
I went straight back to business as soon as we’d both finished, feeling the slithery, creepy feeling of Micah’s cum along my labia as I sat across the desk from him. “I think I’m going to have six jobs for you next week,” I told Micah, waiting for my heart to slow down.
“Good, good,” Micah said; anyone who walked into the office just then—apart from the telltale smell lingering in the air—would never have suspected we’d been having sex just moments before. “If you can get it up to eight, I can justify taking another two girls and putting them on the job.”
“I don’t know if it’ll get to that,” I cautioned him. “But I am starting to get little lines dropped to me from some other guys at the bank—people who’ve heard about how Jack and Nate and Paul have suddenly become so successful.” I shook my head, grinning to myself at the thought of the huge—unofficial—Christmas bonus I was going to get.
“Just let me know,” Micah said, adding a note or two to his records. “If you can swing it, I can definitely use the momentum.” The girls were making, I knew, easily a couple thousand a night that they were with the clients; that was more money than they made with their usual client haul, and Micah had mentioned cutting back on their other working nights—after all, he wanted his stars to be rested, ready, looking perfect for their high dollar clientele. We’d talked about the fact that he eventually wanted to switch over almost all of his girls, if possible, to what he jokingly called the “corporate beat.” I didn’t think that was necessarily realistic, but I thought we might be able to get to about half his roster of prostitutes.
We talked some more about possible ways to move forward and I actually felt sad leaving; not because I wanted more sex, but because I was starting to enjoy just talking business with Micah. I left his office to head home feeli
ng physically satisfied, mentally invigorated, and eager to get into some pajamas, eat something delicious I didn’t have to share with my brother, and crawl into my own bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Manny
I rolled up to my shift at the bar, but I wasn’t even sure why I bothered anymore. Ever since that bitch—Bamber’s sister—started working with Micah, there were fewer and fewer girls working the bar, fewer on the streets, and fewer in the call rooms that needed check-ins. Rob, the dumbass, didn’t care much; he said that we should be glad to have the lower-stress job. But the lack of girls getting action in Micah’s scheme of things was cutting into my personal profits.
“Hey, Manny,” Claire said from behind the bar. “Corona and Cuervo?”
I nodded. I might as well have a little fun—after all, I wasn’t going to make any extra that night, that was for damn sure. Claire was pretty cute; not hot enough in the right way to work with the girls, but she had a nice ass and long legs, which she showed off in short shorts that went with her tank tops. She did well enough to get the guys’ appetites going for the girls who were actually selling.
She poured my shot and took the top off my beer, and I knocked back the tequila first, biting into the little wedge of lime on the shot glass. “How’s it looking here tonight?” Claire shrugged, doing her side work like always.
“It’s probably going to be slow,” she said. “Wednesdays are always slow, and Micah won’t listen to me about getting some kind of event going for the night.”
“I could talk to him about it,” I told her. “I like to see us all succeed.” Claire grinned.
“Well the girls are doing fine,” she pointed out. “It’s my tip envelope that ends up a bit thin on slow nights.” I nodded.
“I got you there,” I said. I sipped my beer and looked around the bar. The place was a dump. I’d told Micah more than once that he needed to put more money into it—that if he wanted a higher class operation with the girls, he had to give them a higher class base to work out of.
Of course, when that bitch Sadie had rolled up on the scene, he’d taken my advice and run in the wrong direction with it; instead of making the bar better, he’d started taking the girls—best ones on the beat—and putting them into the hotels with the bank guys. Of course, Rob and I didn’t make any kind of cut on the earnings of the girls who went off to the hotels; we just got our standard pay, same as Claire did on a slow night. Rob didn’t care, because he was also working for Micah on the drugs end—not a lot, not enough that Micah couldn’t trust him to keep his hands clean—but enough to where he was making plenty.
When Micah had started letting the girls sell their clients on a bit of the good stuff as an add-on for the night, I’d had my idea. Micah had explained it to me and Rob like this: the girls would have a little menu on them, with the different drugs that they could order for their johns. It wasn’t a lot—a little bit of meth, or a bit of E to make things better. It was a way for the girls to cross-promote Micah’s other business interest, was how Micah had sold the idea. They’d sell these guys a hit or two, maybe convince the guys to buy them a hit, and one of the runners—guys like Bamber—would bring the drugs and take the payment. Rob and I were not supposed to have anything at all to do with it.
But the guys who were running the drugs and money weren’t part of the usual group that dealt for Micah either. They were new guys mostly, ones who could be trusted a little bit, but not ones who were really hard and deep in the business. For someone like Bamber, who ended up working the job, it was a way to kind of get a foot in the door for the org, and maybe move up later on down the line.
I didn’t have anything against guys proving themselves and working their way up later on. That was how I’d gone about life. But it did give me an opening, especially since the guys weren’t all that trusted; after all, they were new. I wasn’t as directly involved in the drugs part, so I wasn’t making as much money as I thought I deserved. I talked to a couple of my friends, and convinced them to go along with me by giving them their own cut of the earnings we could make.
The big vulnerable point was the guys working for Micah, running the drugs to the call rooms. They had money from the buys, and they had the drugs for the sales. It wasn’t like with the dealers who usually had spotters, security working for them along the street; these guys—like Bamber—were just taking a night’s worth of drugs from the dealers and distributing as they needed, going up to the rooms to collect and drop off. So they were easy fucking targets—easier targets than probably anyone else in the city. The scam was simple: I’d give my friends some seed money, just enough to buy an hour or two with the girls, and a couple of bumps. They’d get the info on as many of the runners as possible—I didn’t know that many myself, and I couldn’t ask Rob, considering the plan and what it involved.
Once they had a decent idea of who they were looking for, they would stake out, and wait for the right moment, usually halfway through the night, to get the guy. They’d attack him, grab the cash and the drugs, and send the guy on his way. It’d been going smoothly, since it was new enough that Micah just figured he’d made some bad choices hiring guys. I’d come out of it about two thousand dollars the richer every week—and my friends got some cash to pay me back the seed money with and some drugs to use or sell how they wanted.
As far as I was concerned it was a perfect system. I’d keep milking it, a little at a time, and supplement my income, and as Micah expanded the new business connection, I’d be able to take a little more. Maybe I’d start charging the guys doing the running protection money, make that part of my game. But for the moment that was as far as I’d thought.
Right up until that bitch, Bamber’s sister, had stuck her nose into shit. As far as I was concerned, Bamber was just collateral damage; he was new in the business and if Micah made an example out of him it was no skin off my ass. But instead of just leaving town, or taking his lumps when a couple of my guys robbed him, his sister had gotten involved behind my back, and had halfway talked Micah into forgiving him.
And then of course Micah had gotten the idea to start using her, and not just to collect old debts. I barely cared about that and I didn’t think Micah cared much more about guys who owed him money from way back. But when Micah had figured out where the bitch worked, he’d started getting her involved with getting the girls into hotels, away from the streets and call rooms. Before I knew it, half the staff I was supposed to be watching—the girls who were supplying me with my side income and my cut of the action and even my normal salary—weren’t even working my beat anymore.
“Yo—Manny! How’s it going?” I looked up to see another one of Micah’s guys, a dealer named Carlo, walking up to the bar. I gave him a nod and he came to the seat next to mine.
“Not bad, not bad,” I told him. “Just getting the day started.” Carlo raised a hand and Claire brought him his regular: two shots of Jack and a PBR. He lit a cigarette.
“Man, some of these guys—these business guys that Micah’s going after—know how to fucking party,” Carlo told me. He knocked back his first shot and chased it with some PBR.
“That so?” Carlo nodded.
“I got a couple of them buying from my guys,” Carlo said. “Separate—not using the girls themselves. Asking for names. Rob’s been telling them.” I looked at Carlo, and tried not to make it obvious that this was news to me.
“Well from what I hear the runners have been getting their asses handed to them, so that makes sense,” I said. Carlo nodded again.
“I think Micah’s trying to figure out a way to make that shit more secure before he expands it,” Carlo said. “Best thing to happen for both of us, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. But deep down I was pissed at Rob for telling the girls they should refer their clients directly to the dealers. I wasn’t sure if Micah knew he was doing that—he’d wanted to keep the dealers separate from the girls, and he’d wanted the upgrade system to stay its own thing. But if Rob
was putting together the fact of all the guys getting robbed, then I could see him trying to take care of shit his own way.
Rob wasn’t stupid—I knew he was smart—so the next thing would be to make sure that he didn’t catch on that I was involved in that shit. Carlo went to pay for his drinks and I pushed his money away, nodding to Claire. “On me,” I told them both. After all, Carlo had told me something important.
We shot the shit, talking shop about our beats. Carlo was one of Micah’s big dealers—he did mostly E, worked the club circuits, did some private parties, and there were a few big-dollar clients who came to him on the regular. “Want to hear something weird?”
“Go for it,” I told Carlo. He always had good stories, him and Lenny—Lenny did meth for Micah—both.
“So I get this call from this chick,” Carlo says, and I feel my heart beating faster. Was it Sadie? Was Bamber’s bitch sister getting her fingers in the dealers’ business too? “She says she’s heard about me through the grapevine and shit.”
