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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
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Under New Management (mc, md, mf, nc)
By Q. Daphne A (strip-qda@mindless.com)
****
This story may be distributed via any on-line medium, so long as
no one is charged any amount for access to the story, and the
above e-mail address and this disclaimer are retained verbatim.
Copyright 1998. Q. Daphne A --
****
The door-buzzer split the quiet in the rented condo. Lisa nearly
jumped out of her seat when it went off. As she stood up, putting
her book away in the drawer next to the chair, she thought that it
was good she and and the other girls with whom she split the
"trick pad" were letting this place go at the end of the month;
that buzzer was getting on her nerves. Nina, Julie and Dawn can go
get a place of their own, and I can finally start looking for a
job I can still do in ten years.
Keep him waiting, but not too long, she told herself. She grinned
as she remembered Steph, the Grand Old Dame of prostitution (at
least, that's how Lisa remembered her), telling her that on her
first day of work. She surveyed the room, making sure everything
was in order: clean sheets, candles, condoms discreetly tucked
into a carved wooden box on the bedside table, lube in the drawer
below. Lisa walked into the entryway, surveying herself in the
mirror. Long blonde hair neatly brushed and down around her
shoulders, lipstick adjusted (just one shade too red of perfectly
tasteful), big blue eyes unobscured by glasses. ("Get contacts,"
Steph had briskly instructed her when she was hired. "Only wear
glasses if the client wants a bookish woman. No exceptions.") A
few lines around her eyes and mouth, but they enhanced her looks,
made her lovely instead of cute. At least, Lisa thought to
herself, that's what I like to believe; in a few years, I'll be
ready for Grand Old Dame status myself. In her ads, she was 26,
six years younger than her driver's license would report. For a
call-girl, admitting to being over 30 was like placing an ad
reading, "Gorgeous, buxom escort with only a mild case of leprosy
seeks generous gentlemen."
Lisa adjusted her dress, a little black number, which delicately
displayed her ample bosom. "Remember," Steph had lectured her,
"the client wants a slut, but in a lady's wrapper." She took a
deep breath, and raced to the door, glancing at the hall clock as
she did so. 7:02pm. Punctual. I like that in a client, she thought
as she pulled open the door, leaning forward slightly. Lisa
thought of this particular presentation as her specialty: it
looked like she had been *rushing* to open the door, automatically
excusing the delay, while the lean gave the client a direct view
down her front. Clients seemed to appreciate it.
This one certainly did. His eyes flicked down to her front and
lingered there, obscuring her view of his face. She said, in her
best slightly-out-of-breath voice, "Hi! You must be Richard."
Clients liked it when you remembered their names from the
appointment book, and this was test #1 for weirdos: they always
used assumed names, and over half of them couldn't keep straight
which one they used. If he acted surprised, or confused, that was
a warning. This one, however, didn't bat an eye; her cleavage was
clearly a bit too fascinating.
Eyes reluctantly leaving her tits, the presumed Richard looked up,
and smiled. "Yes. Victoria?" he asked. Lisa scanned him quickly:
good suit, understated tie, not old (mid-30s, probably), grey
eyes, dark hair, just a trace of gray at the temples. Looks fit.
Nice smile. Lisa relaxed; both his tone of voice in saying her
(professional) name and four years of reading the body language of
clients told her he was safe. Every escort worries that the next
client will be that one in ten thousand who will later appear on
the news, in an orange jump-suit conveniently labelled "Blass
County Jail," while his neighbors talk about how, no, they can't
imagine that *he* was the one that killed all those women, he was
always so nice and polite. Kept to himself.
Enough of *that* line of thought, Lisa told herself firmly. I'm
not going to get in the mood for anything that way. "That's me!
Come in, and thanks for being right on time." Lisa opened the
door, and let him pass her. "Just head off to the left, there."
Lisa followed him down, taking some time to study him from the
rear. Nice body, she thought. Firm step. That briefcase has to
have cost big bucks. Assuming that he's not too strange, I could
get used to a regular like this.
He turned the corner into the "living room," which had been turned
into the main bedroom. He sat down on the couch, comfortably, as
if he lived there himself. Lisa sat down on the other end of the
sofa, and waited for Richard to start the conversation.
He cocked his head to one side, and grinned. "Thank you for taking
the appointment on such short notice," he said. "I hope I didn't
inconvenience you."
Lisa smiled back. "Not a problem at all." Her mind immediately
dropped him into the "visit to the dentist" category. Most clients
want to be treated like they are on a date, Steph had told her,
and that's sometimes a bit of stretch, but you can go with it.
Others, she had said, either are into, or just don't mind,
realizing that it's a visit to a particular kind of professional.
Like a visit to the dentist, only much more fun. You probably
won't get a huge tip out of them, but they make good regulars.
Good old Steph. I hope she'll be happy up in Oregon on that ranch
she bought, Lisa thought, briefly.
"So, how did you get our number?" Lisa asked. Time to start the
conversation.
"Well, actually, I got it from Stephanie Tilson," Richard said.
Lisa blinked. "From Steph? You know her? Are you, um, a client of
hers?"
Richard laughed. "No, not a client. A ... well, a business
associate."
Lisa looked him over, more interested now. "Well, Steph always had
lots of irons in the fire." OK, Lisa, you'll need to go the extra
mile for this one, she thought.
Richard nodded. "A very clever woman, Ms. Tilson. I was very
impressed by her."
OK, Lisa, she thought, time to get down to it. "Speaking of
business, did Steph tell you about our usual... well, our
usual..." This was the one part she had never gotten good at, the
"OK, it's going to cost you this much to get access to this body
you've been staring at. Cough it up." speech.
Richard smiled, "Usual fee? Yes. I have $400 with me, in cash; I
trust that will be acceptable for the hour appointment?"
Lisa tried not to let the amazement show on her face. That was
nearly twice her usual hourly rate. She paused for a moment... was
Steph doing some kind of weird test? But what if she was? Lisa
didn't work for her anymore, hadn't for years, and Steph would
never let a free-spending client go with anything that wasn't
nailed down still in his wallet. "That's fine," Lisa said, as
casually as she could.
Richard just smiled, and pulled out his pocketbook from his
jacket; from it, he took a bright green envelope, and handed it to
her. It made a very comforting weight in her hand. "So, Richard,"
Lisa said, standing slowly. "If you'll make yourself comfortable
here, I'll be right back."
Lisa gave him another smile, and walked out of the room to the
kitchen. She opened the envelope, and pulled out the stack of
$20s. One hundred, two hundred... yep, $400. Cool, she thought;
this will be a very nice little sum with which to end the evening.
She tried to keep from just wasting the cash as it came in, put
some away in savings, but it never seemed to quite happen. Stop
*spending* it all, she chided herself again, as she hid the money
in the crisper in the fridge. Make sure it all doesn't vanish into
books, records and clothes. Not many more days of turning tricks
for you, dearie, she thought as she slid the drawer closed. All
that nice tax-free cash is going away, so you'd better make every
last penny count.
She walked quickly over to the smaller bathroom. Time for final
preparations. She pulled off her panties, tucking them into the
bag she left there. Sitting down on the toilet, she carefully
applied lube in her slit, up into her vagina, indulging herself
for a few moments by sliding a finger up and down over her clit.
After the reaction of her first few clients when they saw her have
to lube up before they could fuck her, she knew that this was one
part of the fantasy that *had* to be perfect: she had to be wet
while being untouched by human hands, at least down there.
Cleaning off her fingers, she adjusted her garters, stockings, and
dress, and with a final confirmation in the mirror, she left, back
into the living room.
She expected to find Richard nude, or at least in the process,
when she returned; after all, isn't that what the universal
prostitute code phrase of "get comfortable" means? But he was
still sitting on the couch, hadn't moved an inch, his briefcase
open on his lap. He was reading from a small, red, spiral-bound
notebook. When Lisa saw the notebook, she had a strange, sinking
sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't imagine why.
"Um, well, don't you want to get a bit more... unclothed?" she
asked, trying to sound alluring. Why is my throat so dry? she
thought.
Richard looked up, and looked her over, his eyes starting at her
hair and methodically working their way down to her legs. Lisa
automatically dropped into "position," one heel-clad foot forward,
hips rocked provocatively, bust out, letting him eye her. What's
wrong with me? she thought. Having a client stare at me is part of
the job; why is it bothering me now? She tried for a flirtatious
smile, but she could feel her mouth refusing to behave itself, as
her nerves got worse. Great, she thought, a perfectly nice client
comes in, pays me twice my usual rate, and he's a friend of
Steph's, and I make a face at him. But that red notebook! It looks
so familiar...
Richard broke the awkward silence, his voice still light and
friendly.
"You are a very beautiful woman, Lisa."
"Why, thank you, Richard, that's..." Lisa started, then stopped.
She could feel her thighs grow cold with fear, her face drain of
blood, her heart start to race. He had called her by her real
name. *No* client had *ever* found out her real name, and several
had tried, sometimes to the point of getting a bit scary. "Um,
Richard, please call me Victoria." No point in denying it, she
thought, but let's cut it out now.
Richard smiled again, his winning smile. "But that's just the name
you use for clients, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but you're..." Lisa started. Oh, Jesus, what's going
on? What's up with him? Did Steph tell him her name? What else did
she tell him?
Richard shook his head, very slowly, as if in possession of a
delightful secret. "No, I'm not really a client. I'm the new...
proprietor. Steph sold out to me."
Lisa blinked. Sold out? Sold out _what_? The old agency? Steph had
closed that down after the police pressure had gotten heavy... it
had been an election year, after all. Lisa cleared her throat, and
tried to keep her voice even. "Well, but, I don't work for Steph.
I haven't for years. She got me my start, but I left her agency
back... oh, three years ago. More. And I'm perfectly happy working
independently."
Richard looked at her with his head cocked, again, as if he was
having trouble understanding her. Suddenly, his expression
cleared. "That's great! That's just wonderful! She did a great
job!" he said, looking at Lisa as if she were a particularly nice
piece of statuary.
"Richard," she said firmly, "I'm think I'm going to have to..."
Richard cut her off. He looked in the book, and said something to
her. It was a word... no, three words... but she couldn't hear
them. Or, rather, the sounds went into her ears and into her
nerves but some part of her brain caught them, dragged them away,
took them as a trigger to do something to her. Suddenly, she grew
dizzy, staggered a bit... and she could feel herself drop down to
her knees, as if suddenly struck but that wasn't important because
doors were opening walls were falling memories were coming back
where was she what was happening...
She was in Steph's office. Steph was sitting across from her in
the desk, chain-smoking as always. Lisa hadn't been happy when she
heard that Steph Needed To Talk To Her... why? Lisa couldn't think
of anything she had done wrong.
Steph looked across at her, and snapped (Steph always snapped),
"I'm closing down the agency."
Lisa blinked. "Closing down? Why?"
Steph sat back, heavily. "It's a fucking election year. I can't
keep the DA off my back, he's running, and his honorable
opponent," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "is going to
make an issue of his not dealing with the scum of the earth, like
us." She sighed. "Murder's down 10%, robbery 22%, so if there's
going to be an issue, it's going to be us."
Lisa thought for a second. "Um, but, what about the girls?" she
said, thinking, What about me?
Steph stubbed out her cigarette, and looked at her, her eyes
suddenly burning with intensity. If Lisa hadn't been sitting
already, she'd have taken a step back. "You're going to keep
working. For me. All of you."
Lisa returned the gaze, although it took an effort. "I... I don't
get it, Steph. If there's no agency, how are we going to keep
working for you?"
Steph looked at her as if she was a trouble-making child in
school. "You're all going independent. The DA isn't going to make
a big deal out of independents, it's the big agencies like ours
that he wants. You'll go independent, and you'll pay me a
percentage of your income, just like now."
It was Lisa's turn to stare. "Um, Steph, listen. You know I've
never tried to cheat you." "I know, hon, you've always been
straight with me," Steph nodded, giving Lisa a thin smile. Lisa
continued, "But, but there are plenty of girls who would screw you
for every penny if they could. It's bad enough now... if we're
independent, how are you going to keep track of the money?"
Steph sat back in the chair. What's up with her? Lisa thought. She
looks so strange... sad, even. "Lisa, that's the other reason I
wanted to see you. There are going to be some other changes. I'm
tired of disloyal girls. I'm tired of taking the little sluts,
teaching them a good living... a very good living... and having
them stab me in the back every time I turn around. Cyndi turned
state's evidence on me last year, did you know that?" Lisa didn't,
but that kind of thing happened. Cost of doing business.
Steph snorted. "I loved that girl like a daughter. Cost me $25,000
to beat that rap, and I still only got out of it by having Nina
blow the prosecutor about a dozen times. And *then* only because
he was too stupid to check for a hidden camera." Steph scribbled
something in the red notebook, the one where she kept all of her
girl's names and numbers... in code, she had assured the younger
girl, when her employee had worried about the notebook falling
into the cops' hands.
"So, what? You're going to get rid of all the back-stabbers?"
Steph nodded. "Something like that. Here, let me show you
something." She picked a remote control up off her desk, and
turned on the small TV in the office. Lisa looked over at it,
wondering why it was turned away from Steph's desk, towards her.
And when did Steph get a VCR?
The TV screen was suddenly filled with swirling, dancing colors,
pulsing and writhing. It was pretty, in a weird, sickening sort of
way. Lisa tried to look away, to ask Steph what the hell this was,
but it kept dragging her back... pulling her back... pulling her
in. Vaguely, she could hear Steph's voice say with infinitely
sadness, "Sorry about this, Lisa, but business is business. No
exceptions."
Then, there were just the colors, swirling and writhing,
penetrating her like no client, no lover, nothing had ever
penetrated before, deep into her mind, opening her up, eating away
at her brain, and she thought she might have given a little
scream, or a moan, or some small and helpless noise before the
colors closed in, slid into her brain like a cock into a cunt,
filled her with thoughts that weren't hers, but she might not have
made any sound at all, she might have just thought briefly that
she wanted to...
Lisa slowly opened her eyes, remembering. She wanted to move, to
say something, but she felt so tired, like every muscle in her
body was fatigued, useless. Her eyes were half-open, not really
seeing the room around her. Richard was sitting, now, on the
dresser next to the couch, next to the TV, the TV and VCR that
they used to show porno movies if the client wanted them.
Lisa remembered, now, that she never took all of the money back
out of the crisper. She only took 60%, never more than 60%, round
down if you can't make change, never more than 60%... She could
even see the math in her head like a caption across the bottom of
her vision, "$200 means $120, $180 means $100..."
Richard watched her, and she realized he was talking. "Ms. Tilson
is a very good businesswoman in her own way, but she lacked
vision. I provided her with a rather amazing apparatus, and she
used it to solve the most trivial of problems. She got all of her
girls, including you, working for themselves, carrying all their
own expenses... and still got to keep her fee. No one could ever
track it back to her, even if you got arrested. And who'd bother
hassling an independent working girl? Clever, I suppose, but not
nearly clever enough. It's like inventing gunpowder, and only
using it for fireworks."
What was he talking about? Lisa thought. What's going on? Why can
I not... move at all? What's he doing?
Richard pulled a tape out of his briefcase, and slid it into the
VCR. Reaching over, he turned the TV power on, then put on a pair
of sunglasses, with odd, opaque-looking red lenses.
As the TV warmed up, Richard continued. "Ms. Tilson was of the old
school of madame. Having been a hooker herself, she identified
with them. She couldn't imagine a truly different way of operating
the business. But I can. Things are changing, now, Lisa. The
business is going to be very different. Clients want new things,
different things. Things that a girl just can't provide without
suitable training. Things that a good actress just can't deliver.
Things that can't be provided by a woman rented by the hour."
Suddenly, the TV screen came on, and the colors were back. The
fascinating horrible wonderful hideous writhing complex colors
that started instantly working their way into her, touching her
everywhere, penetrating deep into her mind and she could feel
things changing and she could feel her sex getting wet and it
wasn't just lube and her mouth opened a little bit like a cock was
waiting for it and it was like her mind was wet and open and
spread wide and panting and eager for this huge horrible wonderful
cock that was sliding into it from the colors and fucking her
brain hard again and again and she was forgetting things and
remembering others and her name wasn't even Lisa anymore and it
never had been and what was happening and who was that man in her
mind and what was he doing to her and...
Richard stood up, pulled out a cellphone, and started dialing. He
said, more to himself than to her, "And there will always be those
who would rather buy than rent."
This time, she knew that she screamed. But it wasn't very loud.
Richard spoke for a moment with someone on the phone, then hung
up. He looked at Lisa... or, at least, the former Lisa. She was
staring at the TV, the lights playing over her face, her eyes
huge, glazed and staring. Mouth half-open. One hand was at her
groin, slowly playing with herself. Her large nipples showed
clearly through the black dress. Richard sighed. He'd considered
briefly keeping her for himself, but the offer was just too
generous. And business was business, and "no exceptions" was a
good policy. There would be plenty more girls, soon enough. Nina
was working tomorrow night, wasn't she? he thought, checking the
notebook.
The doorbell rang softly, and Victoria sprang to her feet, pulling
her dress down carefully. She looked at the clock as she dashed to
the door;
7:55pm, nearly an hour late... but Thomas was often late. That was
OK, he's an important man, she told himself; he has lots of
obligations besides her. A wife, kids, an important job at an
important bank, even another mistress. She knew that, but that
didn't keep her from getting impatient. She'd been masturbating,
just a little bit, while she waited for him. Even knowing he was
supposed to be there made her SO wet...
She flung open the door, bending over, nearly falling out of her
dress. Thomas was there, and she could feel her cunt clench
slightly just seeing him. Even after all these months as his
mistress, he still had that effect on her. He gave her a small
peck on the cheek (*clench* *drip*), and breezed by her with a
brief, "Sorry I'm late."
He sat down heavily in the chair in the living room, and she came
over, kneeling beside him, stroking his legs. "Hard day, love?"
she said, her huge blue eyes filled with concern. God, whatever it
takes to make him happy, she thought. Anything. Anything at all.
He looked down, and smiled. She could feel her spirits lift at
that smile. "Not that bad. Just long." He stretched, slowly. "Just
a blowjob tonight, though, Vicky."
She could feel her cunt pulse, a droplet of her moisture running
down her leg at the suggestion. "One blowjob, coming up, Master,"
she said, smiling as she reached for his zipper. She loved calling
him Master, it made her feel like a prize possession, an exquisite
work of art, cherished and taken care of. In moments, as her mouth
slowly slid down over his amazing, wonderful, incredible cock, she
had the first orgasm of the night, but, she was sure, not the
last.
By the time he had her bent over on the bed, and was fucking her
*hard*, she had long since lost track of the orgasms. Just the
thought that her oral sex skills were good enough to make him want
her pussy, too, had driven her over the edge. Her body responded
so well, so automatically to him that she could let her mind
drift, just a bit, back to when she was first introduced to him by
Richard. It was all she could do to keep from dropping to her
knees and *begging* him to let her be his mistress, his slave, his
toy, his possession, anything he wanted. She could feel her
panties soak through, that instant. Richard had been right, like
he always was; Thomas was her dream Master. She liked to go back
to that night; it was the most pleasant memory she had.
Later that first night, when Thomas had mounted her for the first
time ever, covering her, spreading her sopping, whorish (but only
for him, now, forever) cunt wide open, fucking her, pounding into
her, making her the sex-slave she always wanted to be, being the
dominant, possessive lover she had always needed, she had a
sudden, funny thought, and whispered in his ear, "So, *gasp*
Master, should I get *oooh* panties that say *ahhh*, 'Under New
Management'?"
They both had laughed.
--
--
QDA <strip-qda@mindless.com> (Remove the "strip-" to actually
reach me, thanks.)