*
Amy walked out of the cozy (who was she kidding – the place was the pits) confines of Miss Jena’s Escort Service and shut the heavy metal door behind her. The alley, like always, stank of sour urine and stale beer. She stepped over a puddle of what could only be described as a grotesque mixture of semen, piss and beer, and started down the alley. Sure, the escort service wasn’t located in the best part of the city, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. After all, the shittier the neighborhood, the less likely the service would get busted by the cops. And if that happens, Amy thought, I’ll be out on the streets for sure. Amy only had a tenth grade education. She had dropped out to take care of her dying mother, and hooking was the only thing she knew. Hell, who was she kidding – it was the only thing she was good at, selling what God had given her: the best pussy this side of the river. Hell, maybe the entire city. She was sure of it.
Amy exited the dark shadows of the alley and stepped onto the well-lit sidewalk. She looked from side to side. Nothing; not a bum, drug dealer or another prostitute as far as the eye could see. She turned to the left and started walking. After a block or so of not seeing another living thing, she saw something in the distance. Two even dots starting to come closer and closer – headlights. At least they’re on, Amy thought, always remembering if you saw a car in this part of the city with its headlights off while it crept down the street, you best take cover in fear of a drive-by – or worse.
Amy knew one escort in particular that got caught up in some nasty shit. From what she could remember of the story, an escort was walking down the street and a car came crawling down the road with its lights off. Whether the girl had been warned or not, Amy didn’t know, but when the car pulled alongside her, she hadn’t bolted off and hid in the shadows. Instead, she stopped walking, went over to it and bent inside the window, obviously looking for a John that she could blow or fuck for a little extra money on the side. Then, when her head was inside, a man (or so the story went) grabbed her and jerked her into the car. The vehicle then sped away and took the girl to some alleyway where she was tortured, raped, tortured some more, then sliced, diced and gutted, and dumped in some alleyway on the other side of the city – relatively the same area where Amy was supposed to be working tonight.
Amy’s bowels tightened as the car continued to inch closer. For a brief moment, she thought about running back the way she had come and into the relatively safe confines of Miss Jena’s Escort Service, but there were two problems with that. One, Amy knew if she came back early without taking care of the client that was paying top dollar for her services, Miss Jena would have a fit and possibly even dock the money she brought in from the next John. And two, even if she did make it safely back the few blocks to the alley, raced down the dark area and avoided getting jumped from the shadows or slipping on a puddle of God only knows what, she wouldn’t be able to open the door anyway.
Miss Jena had made an almost fail-proof plan for getting her girls to not come back before it was time (i.e., before they blew or fucked the customer – John – and got paid). She did this by giving each customer a one-time unique code that the girls would only learn after they had performed their duties. This was given to each customer over the phone, once they placed their order for the evening but before they hung up. The escort would then have to punch in the code on a special keypad that was bolted on the building’s wall beside the metal door. Only then would it unlock. There had been a few instances in the past where the customer had given the escort the incorrect code, either on purpose or by mistake, and as the girl was trying to unlock the door, she had been jumped by a bum or a rival pimp and either beaten, fucked or worse. But, for the most part, the code system worked well for Miss Jena, please and thank you very much.
Finally the car came into view under a nearby streetlamp and Amy was relieved that it was only a taxi and not some crazed gangbanger ready to gun her down, or some loony son-of-a-bitch that wanted to grab her and fuck around with her for a bit before dumping her cold, lifeless body in some stank alley or the river. No thank you, Amy thought as she raised one of her skinny arms in the air to hail the approaching cab.
As the yellow-and-black pulled to the curb, Amy heard the pop of the doors unlocking. She walked a few steps, grabbed the handle, opened the creaky-hinged door and got in. She quickly shut it after pulling her legs inside.
The driver, a husky bearded man probably in his late fifties to early sixties, locked the doors and twisted around in his seat to peer through the plexiglass. The man’s eyes traced the outlines of her black stockings and garter belt to her tight red corset, smooth neck, and then looked into her big brown eyes. His mouth curved into a twisted smile. “Where to, young lady?”
Amy exhaled the deep breath she had been holding, smiled and said, “1456 Cornwood Avenue. But you can just drop me off at the corner of West 130th and Prospect and I can walk the rest of the way. I don’t want my—”
The man’s strange smiled disappeared. He looked a mixture of confused and all-knowing, if that made any sense. “Ah, OK. I getcha, miss. No problem.” He turned around, put the car into drive, and they started off towards Amy’s destination.
Amy hoped she could get her John off in half the time so she could get the hell out of there and onto the next cash-paying client as soon as possible because, as every self-respecting working girl knows, “the more dick you get to squirt in a night, the more money in your pocket come sunlight.” At least that was the motto Amy tried to live by, and so far it seemed to be working relatively well.
*
Steve paced while taking the occasional sip from his ever-growing warm beer as Marc shuffled back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. Steve’s nerves were shit right now, and watching Marc frantically trying to straighten up the ridiculous mess in the living room wasn’t helping matters. He could almost hear his heart pounding inside his chest, could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and tiny balls of sweat leaking out of the pores on his forehead and streaming down the sides of his face. Some of the salty liquid ran into his eyes; he wiped it away with his free hand. Finally he’d had enough.
“Dude, seriously.”
“Huh. What?” Marc said, stopping in mid-stride while holding an assortment of empty beer bottles, crushed Diet Coke cans and what looked to be some sort of old moldy fruit (Steve couldn’t tell what kind).
“Dude, you’re scurrying around here like your pet rat—”
“He’s not my pet.”
“Whatever. You’re still running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and to be totally honest, you’re making me flip out even more than when I heard what was going down tonight.”
“How so?” Marc asked, walking the rest of the way to the kitchen and dumping the junk into the receptacle.
“You’re really gonna ask me that? Really? Dude, we have an escort—”
“Hooker, whore—”
“OK… whatever. We have a hooker, as you so delicately put it, coming over in less than half-an-hour and we haven’t even talked stuff through.”
“What do you mean, ‘talked stuff through’?” Marc asked, returning from the kitchen and flopping down into his chair with a thud. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to catch his breath. “So?”
Steve took a long swig from his warm beer, draining the bottle, and walked over to the couch and sat down. He looked around the room at what his friend had accomplished in fifteen minutes. Surprisingly, the room looked halfway decent. Not clean by any normal person’s standards, but good enough for a bachelor pad. Steve wondered why, if Marc could tidy this much in a short amount of time, he couldn’t spend a few minutes doing the same each day. And then he remembered: it was all about the sex he was going to be getting soon. Of course it was. Steve had known Marc his entire life and if it wasn’t about getting to stick his meat into another tight (or loose, whatever) cooch, then his friend never showed any signs of living a normal life. But, oh boy, when it came to some
girl giving it up (or taking it from her, which he had told Steve about a time or two), Marc all of a sudden turned into the perfect housekeeper, gentleman and had pockets as deep as Donald Trump. Any other time, Marc was a slob who barely kept himself up, let the trash mound around him and allowed vermin to have the run of the place.
But even with all his flaws, Marc was the best friend Steve could ever wish to have. Sure, there had been times in the past where Marc had made fun of him in public or whatever, but nothing to warrant not being his pal. And sure, there were moments in high school where Marc totally ignored him and let him eat lunch by himself while he was trying to pick up a hot cheerleader (which was never going to happen in a million years anyway). But, all in all, Marc was a good guy – except when it came to sex.
The thoughts of what happened down in Carol’s parents’ basement started to creep back into Steve’s mind. He shook his head to get rid of Cynthia calling his member little, the macabre sexual events that he and Marc had performed on poor Carol that night, and hoped against hope that tonight wouldn’t be a repeat. He figured everything would be OK as long as Marc didn’t lose his temper when the hooker, er, escort turned down his request at a threesome.
Steven’s thoughts were cut short as the intercom on the wall next to the apartment’s door started buzzing.
The escort had arrived.
At the sound of sex in the air, Marc shot off his chair and jumped (as well as he could, anyway) up and down, clapping his hands and shouting, “Ding dong, the hooker’s here, drain your beer and get ready to get some hair!”
It was a vulgar rhyme that didn’t make all that much sense, but Steve figured Marc didn’t care about poetry at this point. Marc finished saying his limerick one more time and then headed for the intercom to buzz the escort into the building.
Steve stood up from the couch, put one hand behind his back, interlaced two fingers for hope against hope, and put on his best smile.
Tonight was finally going to be the night he lost his virginity.
He just hoped he wasn’t going to vomit the pizza he had eaten a short time ago in the process.
*
“Hiya, fellas,” Amy said as she walked through the door.
Marc shut it behind her. Steve noticed him quietly deadbolt and chain it but didn’t say anything. The escort hadn’t noticed, as she didn’t turn her head. Quickly, Marc came from behind her and walked over to Steve.
“Uhhh…” is all Steve could manage to say. His throat was dry and he wished he had another cold beer to make the itch go away. He could also feel his heart quicken again, and his palms got moist. He slowly wiped them on his pant legs, hoping the girl didn’t notice. He continued to smile the entire time, but was scared out of his mind. He didn’t know what to expect from her, or worse yet, what Marc was going to do when…
“Well, hello there, young lady,” Marc suddenly barked. “You made it in world-class time, and for that, me and my friend thank you.”
“My pleasure,” the girl replied, looking between the guys. “So, who’s getting lucky tonight?”
“Better question is… who’s not?” Marc said under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Huh? What? Oh… nothing. I said, ‘this whore is hot’.”
“Oh,” the girl replied and scrunched her nose. “I don’t get it.”
Steve looked from the escort to his friend and then back again. He muttered, “He is,” and nodded in Marc’s direction.
“Oh. Well, alright then. It’s just you and me, big boy. So if you just pay me—”
“Actually…” Marc said, interrupting her.
“Huh?”
“Well,” Marc continued, “we were actually hoping for a threesome… of some sort.” He smiled.
“Oh,” the escort said in a chipper voice. “Well, that’s great! My price for two goes up to—”
“One.”
“Huh?”
“The price of two is one. It’s the simplest math you can do,” Marc said, then laughed. His rotund belly shook with each hot breath of air that blasted from his decaying-teeth filled mouth.
“Uhhh…” is all Steve could manage.
“Actually, no it is not. If you boys wanna have a threesome, I’m down for that, but you gotta pay the piper. Besides, double the dick is double the cash. Rules are rules. It’s up to you guys, take it or leave it. I’ll fuck one of you, but not both unless you have the extra money on hand. Any other arrangements are off the table.” The escort crossed her arms over her chest.
“Name is Steve.”
“Huh? Fella, I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
“He said his name is Steve, bitch. And fuck your rules. Now, get down on your knees and get ready to blow us!” Marc barked, unzipping his pants and waddling towards her.
The girl slowly inched her way back towards the door. Steve was pretty sure she still didn’t know Marc had thrown the deadbolt and chained it.
Marc looked behind him and said, “Come on, Steve-O. Time for us to get us some sweet, sweet hooker pussy.”
He bum-rushed the escort. With his dick half out of his pants, Marc’s giant body collided with the girl’s tiny frame. Her back slammed against the door, followed by her head. Her eyes rolled back. She hit the floor like a ton of bricks.
Marc picked himself off her and looked at Steve. “Well, man, what ya waiting for? Let’s get this slut tied up.”
Again, Steve couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt or what he was thinking. He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. And then, as he started walking towards Marc and the knocked-out escort, he knew…
It was going to be another one of those nights.
*
Amy let out a soft moan. Her eyes scooted from side to side underneath their closed lids. The back of her head hurt and her brain pounded inside her skull. She could feel her heart beating erratically – thump thump, dump thump, dump. She was cold and gooseflesh erupted over her body. The sides of her buttocks and breasts felt like someone had jabbed her with a hot poker. Her wrists and ankles were tightly smashed together. She hurt so much that she didn’t dare move. As the waves of consciousness continued to wash over her, she started to hear more than just the sound of her adrenaline-induced arrhythmia. All the sounds seemed intermixed, but she could definitely make out a few of them: two men, a woman that sounded like she was having it put to her really good, and another man who was moaning. The man and woman who sounded like they were having a good time seemed to be coming from a television set within the room. The two men seemed close.
Amy finally conjured enough strength to pick her chin off her chest. She felt like she was going to pass out from the spinning inside her head, but had to see where she was now. As her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the meager apartment, she remembered. She had been on a job, and after arguing with the large man that was sitting on the couch next to the skinny one, she had been attacked. His mammoth body had slammed against her, flying her backwards – hitting the back of her head against the door. That’s when she must have passed out. Bingo!
But now, oh now, as she looked down at her naked and bleeding cut-up body, she knew things were a lot worse than the lump that was probably forming on the back of her head.
“Weeeeell, hello there, missy,” Marc said, standing up from the couch and waddling towards the escort.
Even through her blurry vision, Amy could tell that he wasn’t wearing any shirt, pants or underwear. The only thing he had on were his white tube socks, which Amy had always thought was a strange thing for a guy to leave on while having sex. Maybe they didn’t like their feet getting cold and throwing off their game in the sack? Amy had no idea the reason. In any event, she watched as the fat man continued towards her. She then looked past his rotund, hairy frame and noticed the skinny guy get off the couch. He was completely naked too – no socks on this one. But what he lacked in socks he made up for with something else: he was carrying a blade. From the distance of fifteen or so
feet, Amy thought it looked like a steak knife of some sort, but couldn’t be sure, not with her eyes still being out of whack.
Both men halted in front of her. Staring. Taking in her nakedness. It must have been quite a sight, as each of them were looking her up and down and licking their lips, their members standing at attention.
The fat man was drooling a little from the corner of his mouth. He glanced over at his counterpart. “So… what do you think we should do with her? You seemed to like cutting her when she was asleep, so if you wanna keep going with that I’m good with it. I can just sit on the couch and watch if ya want.”
“Well…”
“Well what, man? This bitch right here is a prime cut of meat.” Marc laughed. “I said ‘cut’.” He giggled some more.
Amy looked at the skinny one and batted her long eyelashes. She wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but it was worth a shot. Hell, anything she could do to survive this horrible ordeal was worth a try at this point.
The skinny one smiled for a few moments, but then his smile turned upside down. His eyes went from concerned to bloodshot. He was mad. No… he was pissed. About what, Amy had no idea, and she didn’t want to find out. The sad part was, she probably didn’t have a choice.
“You don’t want a shot at her, man?” the skinny one asked his partner.
“Nah.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not? You said you wanted to mess around with the escort—”
“Hooker, whore, slut…”
“Right, sorry. I thought you wanted to be the first to stick your dick inside her and everything?”
“Well,” Marc said, “I wanted to, sure. But then I saw you in action with the knife and it kinda turned me on, ya know? Never seen a bitch cut like that before. Shit, man, you were slicing away with one hand and had the other buried up inside her and shit.”
Fuck the Rules Page 16