CHAPTER ONE...
The Present...
The cold, wet washcloth between my legs felt good against my used and slightly bruised pussy lips. 'Just-Call-Me-Jim' had been a vigorous lover. Looking into the bathroom mirror, I couldn't see any more cum on my pussy and thighs, and I adjusted my dress. After another look in the mirror to make certain I'd cleaned my face of all traces of sex, I did a quick touch-up of my make-up. Straightening my dress again, I exited the bathroom and had to laugh. Jim was standing almost naked beside the bed. Almost naked because he'd found my thong panties while I'd been in the bathroom dressing and cleaning our sex from my face and between my legs. My thongs were now dangling from his still semi-erect cock.
"Thank you for scrounging those from under the bed for me," I managed after stilling my laughter. Closing the distance between us, I was reaching for the panties when Jim pulled me close.
Hands clasped my ass cheeks through my dress as he whispered into my neck, "Are you sure you need to leave? We can have some drinks… Maybe order some room service to pass the time until I'm ready for Round Three."
If I'd met Jim earlier in the day, I would have agreed. The extra money would have been nice. But..."I'd like to, Baby. But it's getting late. I need to go." Letting him down gently with a kiss, I reached between us to close my fingers around his shaft. After slow stroking for a few seconds, I leaned backward until his hands on my ass let go. Plucking my panties from his now hard cock and after checking I wouldn't sit in a wet spot, I sat on the bed we'd occupied only a short time before. Jim watched in silence as I slipped them on. Pulling the hem of my dress back down, I snagged my purse and made my way towards the door to the hall. Jim slowed my progress with grasping hands, pulling me to him for last kisses and gropes of my tits and ass cheeks.
Finally making it to the door, Jim handed me an envelope without comment, and in the same silence, I slipped it into my purse. I did thank him for my gift by gripping his cock for one last squeeze as he kissed me again. "I hope you'll call me if you're in the city again," I said when he opened the door for me.
"I will! I definitely will," Jim promised as I slipped through the door. I added a little more sway to my hips in case he was watching as I made my way to the hotel elevators.
Stopping in the Ladies' Room off the hotel's lobby, I checked that our last kisses hadn't smeared my lipstick. I retrieved and opened the envelope from my purse. I don't count 'Gifts' in front of clients. Four crisp Benjamins. Added to what my first client had gifted me earlier in the day, plus my share of the fee Marla charged each client for my time... The Louis Vuitton purse and matching shoes I've been wanting were soon to be mine!
Giving Marla a quick call as I waited for the doorman to flag down a taxi, I gave her a quick run-down on our service's newest client. His likes and dislikes, etc. Marla would make notes. If he called again, I or another girl would know a bit about him rather than going in cold as I had. I heard the click of a keyboard in the background, and Marla told me that my share of the fee this client had been charged for my time was now deposited into my bank account. Another very profitable day was over.
Marla had explained her 'payment plan' when she'd recruited me. She ran a completely cashless business. Money would be transferred to an offshore bank from a client's credit card. A series of bank transfers would automatically occur and from a different offshore bank, my share of the fee would be transferred into my banking account.
I never had to discuss money with clients. If I was sent by Marla, it meant my time was already paid for. Marla ran a very exclusive business. Beautiful girls were offered to very wealthy clients. As she'd once told me, 'If their credit card doesn't have a high enough limit to pay my fee, then they're not wealthy enough for me to fool with.'
Wealthy clients meant nice gifts. Three to five hundred dollar gifts were about average. On one very good day, after seeing two clients, I'd gone home with a thousand dollars in my purse. All cash and tax-free. The money Marla deposited into my bank account was taxable though, darn it!
Glancing at my watch in the taxi, I knew I was cutting it close, but I would make it on time to catch the train to the suburbs. I had the driver drop me two blocks from my Brownstone. I've had clients try to track me down outside of work, and now I took precautions. I went inside the apartment building I was dropped off in front of and exited out the back door.
Taking shortcuts through parking areas, I hoofed it as quickly as I could in four-inch heels to my building. Inside, I stripped off my heels, checked my mailbox (empty), and ran the stairs to the top floor as my nod to cardio.
Locking my door behind me, I stripped off my 'Work Clothes'. Clothes my parents would never have let me wear in public. My gift money joined other hundreds in the tin marked Flour on my kitchen counter. From a small drawer beside my stove, I pulled out an even smaller baggie. I'd fucked two clients today. Questing between my legs, I found the string and pulled out the tampon I'd inserted to stop Jim's cum from wetting my panties. The tampon went into a baggie, and the baggie went into the trash.
After washing my fingers, I carried my clothes into the bedroom and left them on my bed. All the jewelry my mom would never believe I could afford on what I earned as an office temp was left on my dresser. My watch was the only indulgence I allowed myself to wear at home. It was exhausting enough to remember to change one set of jewelry for another. Luckily, my parents wouldn't know a four thousand dollar Cartier Rose Gold watch from a ten dollar Wal-Mart Swatch.
Turning the water on in my shower, I twisted my long hair into a bun and pinned it. A quick wash under the warm water to remove sweat, any undiscovered cum, and the smell of sex... I was toweling off when my phone rang. Damn, I'd forgotten to turn it off after calling Marla. As expected, it was Mom. I'd told Mom the plausible lie that employers didn't want to see temp workers on the phone and kept my phone off during the day. It was after 4:30 pm, so I couldn't plead work to not answer.
There was no reason for Mom's call except to be sure I was going to be on time for supper. But my mom is a talker. She can talk forever about nothing. I put my phone on conference call and placed the phone on my bed as I dressed in the 'Suburban Clothes' I'd worn as I left the house this morning. Dressing, I shook my hair out of the bun and finger-fluffed it out while giving appropriate responses to Mom. After pleading having to run for a taxi, I hung up.
My Brownstone apartment is in a perfect location. Three short city blocks from the train station and two blocks the other way from the subway. Another thing that made it perfect was the Coffee Clutch I stopped at on the way to the train. Strong coffee and a pastry would keep me going until dinner. I bought two pastries. I hadn't eaten all day.
The house and suburb I'd grown up in was about a thirty-minute trip by train. I used the time to relax and to ignore the admiring looks from the same old guy I saw on the train many evenings. I'm six-foot tall with long, blonde hair and a slender build. Except for my boobs. They weren't slender. They were 34DDs that strained the buttons on any blouse I wore. Big boobs can rarely be hidden except under a Winter coat. It was Spring so I just ignored the attention from men my boobs drew. I've had almost four years to practice 'ignoring' since my fifteenth birthday when my boobs finally stopped growing. It was a twenty-minute walk from the station to our home. On nice days I rode my bicycle. Today was a nice day, and soon I was coasting to a stop in our garage. Entering the house, I tossed my bookbag on a chair and yelled, "I'm home, Mom. What's for supper?"
**********
The next morning, my phone rang as I stepped from the train onto the platform. My commute from the suburbs to the city had ended in its predictable way. A call from Mom to catch up on my life since I'd gone to sleep the night before. Because I was always up and away from the house before Mom and Dad were up, morning phone calls took the place of the conversations we used to have over breakfast before school.
The usual pleasantries followed but soon segued into predictable themes, 'When was I going to look for a better job than being an office temp? A job that offered benefits and security. Was I still uninterested in going to college?' She'd just begun to express wishes that I'd find a guy, 'I'm not getting any younger. Grandkids would be nice to have around while I'm still young enough to enjoy them.' At that point, pleading being in a hurry, I hung up and checked my messages to make certain I had the correct time for my first appointment.
I had plenty of time, so I stopped at the Coffee Clutch for coffee and a sugary pastry to snack on as I slowly walked towards my apartment. An apartment my parents knew nothing about. I've given serious thought to moving out of my parent's house and to the city. I was almost nineteen and out of high school. Many girls I'd graduated with were finishing their freshman year of college. Others had jobs and were living on their own. A few were already married! Money was no longer an issue, but...
But the city was a short ride by train from our suburb. If my mom knew I had an apartment she would be dropping by at all hours of the day, any day of the week. I'd never be able to keep my secret a secret. Instead, I considered my apartment as a very large closet where I changed clothes. I lived at home in the bedroom which had been mine since I was sleeping in a cradle. Mom and I still rode bikes together. Shopped together. Gardened, talked, and watched weepy-eye Lifetime/Hallmark movies together. To keep Mom happy, I even went out on dates occasionally.
My Dad? Oh, he huffed and puffed and bellowed like an elephant wondering, 'When are you going to leave the damned nest so your mom and I can have some damned peace and quiet around here!' But on Saturday mornings after falling asleep on the couch during a late-night binge of watching the aforementioned weepy-eye movies, I'd find a blanket covering me and Dad making a huge breakfast while bellowing, 'Eat you idiot child and put some meat on those skinny bones so you have the energy to find your own damned place and leave me in peace!' Yeah, I've had Daddy figured out and wrapped around my little finger since I took my first steps.
Thinking of steps, I looked at my watch and increased the pace of mine while licking my fingers clean of gooey sugar. I ran the stairs again for cardio and on the third floor landing I met Danny heading down. A senior in college, Danny lived in the apartment below mine. With hair that always needed to be cut and dressed in his usual jeans and wrinkled t-shirt, he still looked delicious in a rumpled, un-made bed, shaggy sad-eyed sheepdog kind of way. I knew he had a little crush on me and wanted to ask me out. Schoolwork, part-time jobs, lack of money, and a bad case of shyness kept him from asking.
Exchanging 'Heys', I was several steps past when I heard him stumble and almost fall with the thud of a bookbag hitting the steps echoing in the stairwell. Grinning, I tried very hard not to laugh. I just knew he'd turned his head to check out my butt and tripped. I stopped on the landing above his and watched as he fumbled for his dropped bag.
"You okay, Danny?"
"Ahh, yeah. Just clumsy, I guess," he answered while trying to keep a furiously blushing face turned away as much as possible. Danny changed the subject by pointing to my coffee. "You know, Olivia. It'd be cheaper to brew coffee instead of going out to buy one every morning."
I'd made up the story of going to the Coffee Clutch for coffee when Danny had met me coming in as he was going out once too often. "I know. I guess, I just like the taste."
"Hey, Olivia," Danny said as I was turning to run the remaining steps to my floor. "Thanks. I know I haven't mentioned this, but having someone as quiet as you above me, I mean, living in the apartment above mine, it's really great. I saw the hardwood floors when I moved in, and I was afraid that I'd be hearing the clump, clump, clump of footsteps at all hours. How someone as big as you can move so quietly, well, when I'm trying to study it really means a lot."
Since I couldn't explain that the reason I was so quiet at night was because I wasn't in my apartment at night, I just took the compliment with one reservation, "Someone as big as I am?"
"I meant as tall as you are. You're nowhere near fat! You have an incredible... I mean, your body is totally... Ahh..."
The laughter I'd kept in earlier bubbled out, and I took pity on the shy nerd. "It's fine, Danny, and thanks for the stammered-out almost compliment. I gotta run to get to work on time, but score an A on a test for me today."
Mine was a large corner apartment on the top floor. No clumping footsteps above me to have to put up with. Closing the door behind me, I tossed my bag and keys on the table beside the door and breathed in the sweet smell of privacy. This was my first apartment, and although I didn't spend much time here, it was still mine. All mine!
I could decorate it the way I liked. Paint the walls with the colors I like. Buy furniture that I like. I could even run naked through all the rooms. Cook in the nude. Throw caution to the wind and even fry bacon in the nude! Tried that once. Hot bacon grease spattering out of the skillet had me grabbing for an apron very quickly. So, okay, probably wouldn't fry bacon in the nude again, but the important point was that I could if I wanted to.
Going to the bedroom, I stripped and tossed all my clothes onto the bed before opening the doors to my closets. The outfits I wore to and from home were for my dad and mom's benefit. The clothes I kept here in my apartment were my real work clothes. Shopping in stores far above what I could have afforded on my pay if I were an office temp had filled my closets with beautiful clothes. Knowing who I was meeting, I picked out a backless, black dress and held it to my front. Shaking my head, imagining what my dad would say if he saw me headed out the door for a date in a dress this short and without a bra, I laid it on the bed. Hose, garter belt, and panties, also black, joined the dress.
My apartment has two bedrooms. Not needing two, I'd paid our building's super to turn my second bedroom into my Shoes-and-Accessories Closet by lining the walls with shelves. My building's super loves me. I pay in beer and cash and always wear a revealing top when I ask for something. I surveyed the choices I had and picked my ash-colored Christian Louboutin's. Unlike many of my friends who exceeded 5'8", I liked being tall. Unless I'd had another growth spurt, I was still just a hair over six foot tall in my bare feet. The heels of my Louboutin's would elevate me to over 6'4" and the client I was seeing this morning liked tall women. Tall women who didn't wear panties… My panties went back into my panty drawer.
Dressed and accessorized with appropriate jewelry and purse, my last act in the bedroom was to spritz the air three times with my favorite perfume before walking through the sweet, scented mist. One last look in the mirror and I grabbed my purse. In the kitchen, I took some condoms from the tin marked Sugar and slipped them into a side pocket of my purse. Some of my clients asked for condoms, and it was better to have too many than not enough. From the tin for Tea, I grabbed more tampons and put those in my purse. Ready for the day, I locked my door and headed for the stairs. Walking towards the entrance to the subway, I texted Marla that I'd be on time for my first appointment. Time to shake my money maker…
I'm sure anyone reading this is pretty confused by now. But there's a simple explanation. You see, some months ago, I was an office temp fresh out of high school. One afternoon, as I was walking out of the building where I'd been filing papers all day, a woman approached me, handed me her card, and offered me a job...
CHAPTER TWO...
10 Months Past…
"DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM," I read off the card. "Sounds like you work for the CIA or something," I joked, setting my bookbag down beside a chair to accept the coffee cup Marla offered me.
"Or something," Marla replied with a small smile She sat with perfect posture in the high-backed, leather chair behind her desk. Sipping from her coffee cup, she smiled, "I've noticed you working in the building this past week. You're a very pretty young lady. Head cheerleader and Prom Queen in high school?"
"Thanks for the compliments." I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. I've never felt comfortable accepting compliments for things I'd been born with. After all, how much credit can you take for being the recipient of a lucky arrangement of bits and pieces of genetic code? "Cheerleader, yes, but not the head cheerleader, and I got enough votes to be a member of the Queen's Court but not the Prom Queen."
Marla laughed, "You were content to be the Queen Bee, weren't you."
"Well..." I shrugged. "It seemed to really mean a lot to one of my girlfriends. It just wasn't worth it to me to split our group into competing factions."
"I thought so. Anyway, about the job offer. You see, twelve years ago, I was sitting in a chair much like the one you are sitting in now and looking across a desk very much like this one. I was being offered the same opportunity I'm offering to you. Different office, different city, of course, but the offer was the same."
"And in just twelve years you worked your way up to being the boss? Or CEO, or whatever your job title is? You must have been very hard-working."
"I was. One might say I worked my ass off to get where I am today. Also, the job I was offered, and I'm now offering to you, has, sort of, an expiration date. You either move up to management in a few years, or you leave the field entirely. Six months ago, I chose to move here, open my own agency, and move up to management."
"Well, you must be doing something right. I mean, your office decor costs thousands! I measured an office to help order furniture for a new Vice-President of a company I temped at. I saw the magazine they were ordering furniture from, so I know something about how much furniture like these costs." I reached out to run my hand over the smooth surface of her desk. "Solid cherry. Probably cost more than I'll make in a year on my salary."
"Very perceptive. So, in a nutshell, let me make my pitch to you. Out there," Marla began with a graceful, encompassing wave of her hand. "Out there in the city, there are hundreds, thousands, of successful men and women. They became successful because of long hours of hard work. Long hours of hard work which left them exhausted and with few opportunities to truly enjoy the fruits of their hard work.
"They had little time or energy to socialize, to date, to meet new people, to fall in love. Some of them remained single. Some settled for 'good enough'," Marla said, using air quotes. "Most of my target demographic are men in their forties or older. All of them are well off financially and tired of being single. Tired of having settled for good enough.
"They're still relatively young. They're much better off financially, and they're out there looking for the excitement that was denied to them when they were on their way up the corporate ladder and not so well off. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me and perhaps you, a leopard doesn't change its spots so easily. They are still stuck on that corporate treadmill. Long hours of hard work are all they've ever known for so long that getting off that treadmill seems impossible for them."
Marla shrugged her shoulders to express bewilderment at the idea that people would voluntarily work so hard. Rising from her chair, Marla walked from behind her desk to the chair beside mine and sat.
"But... Isn't there always a but? But now they have corner offices and private secretaries. Large bank balances. Nice stock portfolios. Plush homes in gated communities. Luxury cars. They have all the material things they once thought they wanted, and the damned fools are still working eighty hours a week! The idiots just can't stop from working themselves into an early grave.
"But... There's that, but again," Marla said with a laugh. "But humans want excitement, crave intimacy. Since my clients seem incapable of relaxing and taking the time to go out and find that intimacy, I provide them with intimacy. Any type of intimacy they desire, when and where they want. Do you understand?
It took me several seconds, but the light bulb finally lit up over my head. "You're a Madame?!"
Marla smiled and held her hands up and out, "What's in a name? Madame, CEO, Company President, Pimp. Call girl, escort, consort, mistress, hooker, whore... All the same thing. A rose by any other name... The only thing which changes is the degree of respectability the public attaches to the name."
Marla sat back in her chair and, over steepled fingers, asked me, "What would you say if I told you that all women become whores at times?"
"I'd say that you're wrong," I replied forcefully. "My mom would never become a whore."
"Really? Give me your definition of a whore?"
"A woman who has sex for money."
"So, you agree that if a woman has sex for compensation, she's a whore. But money isn't the only form of compensation there is. So now expand that definition. My definition of a whore would be... A woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment. Are you a virgin, Olivia?"
"Umm, no..." I stammered, taken aback by Marla's bluntness.
"Do you think that you've whored yourself?"
"NO!"
"Really?" There was a tone of satisfaction in Marla's voice. As if she'd already won our argument. "Ever been with a guy out on a date and he's all over you? He's whining about how horny he is. Pawing at your boobs and between your legs? Trying to undo your bra? Your jeans? You don't feel like having sex but to keep the guy happy and calm him down, maybe you gave him a blowjob or handjob? Maybe you've even thought, What the hell? and get naked and spread your legs in the back seat? Wouldn't that qualify as having sex not for your enjoyment but for the compensation of stopping his incessant whining? Did you ever feel you were obligated to have sex because he was paying for the date? Haven't you already whored yourself?"
Marla stopped talking and waited for my reply. Remembering some of my dates in high school and what had happened on them, I thought about her definition of a whore as a woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment. I thought about it and... Marla took my continued silence as a yes.
"Olivia, we've just met, but I'd make another bet that our experiences growing up were pretty much the same. Middle-class values. Pretty and popular in school. I was the Prom Queen, by the way. We all whored for something," Marla said. She didn't say it in a gloating voice, though her tone was of someone just stating a fact. "You're tired of his whining so you have sex just to shut the asshole up. Maybe you think it will gain you popularity in school. You're afraid of not having a date for the big dance so you do what it takes to keep the guy who will invite you to Senior Prom. There are so many reasons other than because you wanted to have sex."
Marla reached over and picked up a leather folder off her desk. "What I do is simplify things. I discard all the reasons a woman will have sex except for one. Money." Taking a paper from the folder, she wrote on it before handing it to me. The only thing on the paper was a number.
"That is how much a woman earns every time she meets a client I send her to. If my girl agrees to see a client, she's only obligated to spend two hours doing what the client wants. The number is doubled if the client wants to include someone else. Tripled for the third person, etc., etc. That number is doubled for every hour or part of an hour the client keeps my girl after two hours."
I started doing the math and was speechless while Marla continued.
"So, let's say my client needs a date, arm candy, for a party. The party lasts three hours, and at the end, he or she has a friend who wants to party on into the night for another two hours."
I tried to do the math. I doubled the number for the third hour and added it to the first number, then added another doubled number for the third person joining the fun. That still left the fourth and fifth hours to double and add...
"Would you like to use my calculator," Marla asked with a laugh.
"Here, I'll make it simple," she continued. Pulling the paper from my hand, she wrote another number down and handed the paper back to me. "That is how much my girl will make for five hours of her time."
Holy Shit!!! I was speechless! A five-hour party with two guys would go a long way to paying for a semester at City College. I'm pretty sure that there are times when each of us will wonder what we'd do for a large sum of money. I took another look at the number Marla had written down. I was tempted to ask for that calculator, so I could calculate the number of days I'd have to work at the temp agency to get to that number.
"Men actually pay this..."
Marla interrupted me, "Olivia, this is pocket change for my clients."
I shook my head and sighed as I handed the sheet of paper back to Marla, "I live at home. Even if I were tempted I could never 'date'." This time, I used air quotes. "Go out on dates every night and still work to explain how I was making money."
"Who said anything about working for me only at night," Marla asked. She rose and opened the blinds of a window. The city skyline was prominent. "Out there today, I had six girls working. I still had to turn down clients. I'd have to turn down clients if I had ten girls working every day. I brought many girls I worked with to this city when I made my move, but some of my girls are like you. They live in the suburbs, and, when they're able, they come to the city and work with one or two clients, sometimes even three clients a day if I can work the scheduling right.