Dear Katherine: I require that new girl (I believe her name is Tess Fairchild), the ravishing redhead from earlier in the week, to be my full-time escort. I will pay her at double my usual rate for the following: no panties, no bra, just a white garter belt, white stockings and red high heels. I want to watch her bring herself to orgasm on the sofa in the conservatory amongst the orchids. Please advise her I will send exact instructions over the intercom as necessary.
Oh lord. I am uncertain how I feel. Obviously, Jonathon’s sister thought I was taking advantage of her somehow by not fessing up earlier, but pleasuring myself while someone watches in the shadows—how creepy is that? Maybe I could pretend it was Jonathon watching me. That might be the only thing that could possibly work. Part of me wants to make enough money from this perv to avoid the auction, I realize. And the higher rate will definitely help.
When I get a text from Jonathon explaining he’d been called away I make up my mind to do what I have to do.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. But I had debts to repay and a grandmother to help, so what real choice did I have? But holy crap, I felt like a slut as I pulled up to the client’s gate. Wasn’t the right term “John”? Funny the difference money makes to labels. Some people just have too much money. I pull into the garage. I have no idea how I’m going to manage to go through with today’s special request. I’m trying not to think of it as the garage door goes down like a trap snapping shut behind me. I am up to bat.
I shed my coat in the foyer as before, instantly feeling the cool breeze on all my naked flesh. My nipples bud. How in the hell am I going to do this? But I dutifully put on my red high heels and click my way down the hall to the door marked “Conservatory”. I pull the windowless door open and enter a wonderland: an ocean of flowers that brings to mind Bifrost, the rainbow bridge from Asgard to Midgard in Norse legend. I am putting my foot on a path that leads to a different world and it unsettles me. The scent of flowers is overpowering, and my senses are under assault as I take the left path as instructed. My full breasts jiggle from my movements, but I keep going. The sooner I get this over with the better. At least no one will be touching me. Remember it’s double the rate. Funny how money is easing my conscience. Or maybe it’s not funny. And just maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about this right now!
I come across the white sofa he had mentioned in his email. Now, how do I go about this? I gingerly sit down feeling the soft fabric beneath the cheeks of my naked ass. Too weird. I turn off my brain as much as I can manage and concentrate instead on bringing an image of Jonathon to the front of my mind. I lie back, and without letting myself think, I open my legs. As instructed, I stay perfectly still for a few minutes.
“I am sending someone to give you a Brazilian wax. I will pay an extra five thousand for this.”
No, I scream inside my brain. But I lie as if paralyzed as I hear a door open and soft footsteps coming closer. A white-coated woman carrying a tray comes into view. Her expression is noncommittal. She’s all efficiency and looks middle-aged with her hair drawn into a bun and little makeup to soften her harsh features.
She says nothing but sets her tray down on a table near me. She puts plastic gloves on. She is not smiling. How bad will it hurt? Is my first thought. Sally tried it once and she said it was pretty bad, but that the pain went away quickly. I take a deep breath and watch her advance toward me with a stick covered with what looks like honey-colored wax and a long narrow strip of cotton. I grit my teeth as she applies the warm wax to my nether regions, and then rubs in the strip of fabric. Then she yanks it off and I surge up off the sofa. Yikes! Sally was telling no lies when she talked of the pain, but surprisingly it recedes as quickly as it came. I take a deep breath as the woman continues across my mound. It feels so strange. I know I’m naked down there and I’m not certain if I should look or not. But she holds a hand mirror over my nether regions as if she’s quite proud to show me what she has done and I take a nervous look. I’m so pink and rosy I instinctively close my legs tight.
She turns away, tidies her tray and leaves, never having spoken a word.
“Touch yourself,” a voice commands. Though I know this is coming, still, I jump at the sound. I do as I’ve been told, my right hand creeping down to feel the silken flesh now so vulnerably exposed between my legs. The sensation is arousing and in spite of circumstances it turns me on.
“Spread your legs.”
This is harder. I bring Jonathon’s face back to the forefront and then allow my thighs to drift slowly apart.
“Pull your pussy lips apart. Show me. I want to see up inside you.”
I tentatively try to do as he says, but my fingers are shaking. My heart hammers in my chest.
His tone hardens as if he is becoming annoyed at my slowness to respond.
“Pull your pussy lips apart.”
I finally do as he says, hating myself for finding it arousing. Why would it feel good? Maybe because I’m pretending it’s Jonathon watching? I flush all over at the sensation of being a slut for doing such a thing for money.
“Now,” the disembodied voice commands, “I want you to touch yourself, to do what it takes to bring yourself to orgasm. It shouldn’t be too hard. Don’t you young women do this all the time? Just pretend you are alone with that pretty pussy of yours just aching for a man’s cock.” His tone is debasing and seductive at the same time. I cringe at the explicit instructions but I cringe more at the realization I am not who I thought I was.
It takes a long time and I am about to give it up when my pussy finally succumbs to an orgasm. I keep Jonathon with his easy smile and talented tongue at the forefront of my mind and it takes me away.
I recover, and picking up my high heels in my hands, race for the exit. I fling on my jeans and sweatshirt. I want to go home so badly and cower under the covers that I can think of nothing else. Tears streaming down my face, I stumble to my car and manage to yank open the driver’s door and get inside. My hands shake so badly I can hardly fit the key in its slot, but after a few tries I manage and then back the car out of the garage and blindly head for the road. Exiting the compound, I leave it in my rearview mirror and direct the car to my new apartment. I can only think of getting away.
I pull into my allotted parking space and turn off the motor and let my feelings out in a torrent of tears. And then finally I gain control and dry my eyes. I need to get some perspective. Call Sally. The idea gives me hope and I dial up her number on my cell phone, still sitting in the parking garage. I feel cocooned in the car and that helps.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s up?”
I swallow hard, my throat is sore from all the crying.
“Having an off day. Are you busy?”
“I can take time. Where do you want to meet?”
“Where are you?”
“Just leaving school. I can be home in ten.”
“I’ll meet you there.” I hang up and fifteen minutes later I’m back in familiar territory.
I knock at my old apartment door, thinking of how uncomplicated my life had been when I lived there, and hear a muffled, “Come in.”
I hurry inside and give Sally a wobbly smile before breaking into tears once more. The whole story tumbles out. About the strange client, Katherine, but mostly about Jonathon and how he makes me feel.
Sally listens patiently, not interrupting ‘til I’ve had my say, one of the things that have always endeared her to me.
“So, you’ve fallen for Jonathon and business dealings are getting in the way. Stands to reason. But look, you’re making that money your Gran needs and that’s a good thing. No shame in doing what has to be done, Tess. I’d do it too.”
Sally’s common sense is just not that common, I think, giving her an appreciative smile followed by a big hug. What would I do without her?
“I think Jonathon is trying to protect you from Katherine because he cares about you. Who knows what she would have you doing. She seems to only care about business.”
“I want Jonathon to date me like a regular guy.”
“Well, you’re hardly a regular gal. I happen to think you’re darn special. Making do with what life has thrown at you.”
My shoulders slumped. I was trapped as much by circumstances as the miners back home. But at least they had their dignity.
“Okay. No more feeling sorry for what we can’t change, girlfriend.” Sally got that no-nonsense look on her face I prize.
“Yeah, you always know just what to say. You’re not just a regular gal yourself,” I compliment her.
She gives me a full-on grin. “So, how do you like your Brazilian wax? I warn you, it will take forever to grow in and be itchy as hell for a few weeks. Almost better to keep it up.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “It was too weird. This weird dragon lady went about it cool as a cucumber. I mean, what an off-beat job.”
“I’ll bet that old pervert was getting off to his own beat!” Sally jokes, bringing on more gales of laughter.
Tears come to my eyes and I wipe them away. At least they are the healing tears of friendship.
“I can’t imagine paying for such things. How desperate do you have to be?” Sally says.
“Maybe he’s a recluse. You know, got disfigured in a terrible accident and this is the only way he can pleasure himself.” That thought is sobering. “If that were the case maybe I was doing charity work.”
“Yeah, it was just a simple transaction that does not reflect on you whatsoever. That’s my best take on this.” I could see my best friend changing gears in her mind. “Now what do you say we have a girls’ night out? I know for a fact that Judy and Clare are free tonight. And maybe we can scrounge up a few others if we call around. We can go out and have a blast tonight and then you can crash here afterwards. Say you will. It’s my best recipe for what ails you, I promise.”
It’s the last thing I want to do but at the gleeful look on Sally’s face I decide to go along with it, if just for her sake.
“Okay, you’re on. I left some of my clothes here so I don’t even need to go home. If I can borrow some makeup, we’re all set.”
“I can do you one better. I’ll do your makeup and hair for you.”
And so she did. An hour later we were both transformed into high class party girls. We’d managed to round up four other women and arranged to meet at Shenanigans. The best part was the long, hot shower to wash away the dirty feeling I’d had since my afternoon’s exploits. I look good, I think, giving a final check in the mirror. My hair’s in a soft up-do, my makeup was intense what with the smoky eye and all, but I still recognize myself which is a good thing. My eyes look a little haunted, but I think I’ll get over it in time. I put on a brave smile and join my former roommate in the living room. At least my bank account was growing by leaps and bounds. Too bad I didn’t have any more hair on my pussy to sacrifice. Five thousand dollars for such a thing. Can you just imagine?
Shenanigans is quiet when we arrive and we are shepherded to a table right away. Our whole group is in high spirits and everything seems funny. We order beers and tequila shots right off and it fuels the joking around. The bar fills up and it adds to the excitement. I drink shot-for-shot with my friends and the liquor dulls the ache in my heart. Everything begins to seem over-the-top funny and every joke sends us into gales of laughter. The room begins to spin a little by closing time and I lean on Sally as we head into the darkness.
“We’d better call a cab, girlfriend,” she says and I nod emphatically.
“Yup, I think so.” My voice slurs but I don’t care. I just want to go home and sleep and forget everything.
Sally is trying to hold me up and call for a cab, not a mean feat. Somehow she manages both and trundles me into the back seat, giving our address.
“I should never have moved out. I miss you so-o much.” I lean against my best friend, hugging her arm. She smiles down at me, holding me close.
“We’ll be home soon,” she promises just before I pass out.
The next thing I know she’s shaking me. I lurch awake. The driver is impatient, I can hear it in his tone, and it spurs me to try and find my feet. We manage to get out of the cab and make our way to the front door. It’s a long way to the third floor and I don’t think I’ll manage it, but with Sally’s patient help I do. She pulls off my shoes and puts me to bed, covering me up.
“Sleep tight,” is the last I hear before passing out for the final time.
* * * * *
“Ow,” I say softly as I wake up. My head is not a happy camper, too much tequila and beer, duh. I sit up, fall back against the headboard. Thank God I don’t have anything pressing today. I smell coffee and that decides me. I have to get up.
I walk on eggshells to the kitchen, feeling like hell, and spy Sally who’s her chipper self. She always could hold her liquor. Being a foot taller than me must help, I think crankily, disliking my lack of tolerance.
“Ah, Tess, you’re looking a bit under the weather this fine morning.”
“Ya think,” I grumble and sit down gingerly.
She gives me a blatantly patronizing look that I know I’ve well earned. She says nothing else while pouring me a steaming cup of coffee. I’m grateful.
“Thanks,” I mumble, add a lot of cream and drink it down in quick gulps. I so need the caffeine. The throbbing is dead center between my eyes. The sunlight streaming in so darn cheerfully makes me want to put on my darkest sunglasses.
“Some night, eh?” Sally gives me a sympathetic smile while stuffing her lunch into her backpack. I couldn’t even imagine wanting food or looking at food today.
I rouse myself. “Thanks for being such a good friend.” It’s not Sally’s fault that I over-indulged.
“Why don’t you go back to bed? The apartment will be empty all day and you can hang out all you like. Even move back in, if you want. You know I’ll always be here for you.”
Moving back in sounded great, but it would not fix things for my grandmother.
I manage a small smile of thanks and watch her finish up and leave. I refill my coffee, turn the burner off and take the coffee to bed. I lean back against a pile of pillows. I rouse myself enough to check my messages and find a number of texts from Jonathon. Oh-oh. He was worried when he couldn’t reach me last night.
Where are you? It’s after 12 and you’re not home. J
3 AM. Are you all right?
7 AM. I’m worried. Call me, please.
Fudge. It’s ten o’clock.
I hit redial and the phone is instantly answered.
“Tess. Where the hell are you?”
“I’m at Sally’s. I’m fine.” Except for the hangover. It still pounds away with wild abandon. But now I can add guilt to the mix.
“Sally’s. How did you end up there? And what were you thinking agreeing to that client’s crazy demands?” He sounds equal parts angry and worried.
Well, that I can answer. “Just doing my job. Katherine sent me the email with his special request and I agreed to it.”
“Katherine shouldn’t have put pressure on you to do the job.” His tone is apologetic and I soften a little.
I shrug though I know he can’t see me. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I want to see you right away.”
“I’m still in bed,” I protest.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” There is a pause and he adds, “Tess, I really need to see you.”
I relent. “Okay.”
Great. Just what I need with a pounding headache. I get up and rummage in my purse for some aspirin. Swallowing two with the last of my coffee, I head to the bathroom to pull myself together. Having a pee, I find I still look odd to myself down there, but I have no time to dwell on it, which is probably a good thing. I gargle with mouthwash and brush my hair into some semblance of order and tie it back. After washing my face, I slap on some moisturizer and figure that’s as good as it gets.
A loud knock at the door spurs me to acti
on.
Jonathon gives me a quick assessing look as I open the door to greet him.
“Nice to see you in one piece. I was ready to start calling the hospitals.”
I bristle. “I just had a girl’s night out. I didn’t know I needed to check in for every little thing.”
“When you break protocol again and again, you cause everyone a lot of headaches. How was I supposed to know you’re okay when you vanish right off the radar?” His anger surfaces and I cringe.
“It’s hardly again and again,” I sputter, trying to help him regain some perspective. “It was just twice.”
“Out of only three times you took a job. How am I supposed to trust you after that? Five thousand dollars extra. What on earth was that for?”
He didn’t know and I was too queasy to bother to dance around it.
“I let a white-coated aesthetician give me a Brazilian wax.” There, I’d said it with the same baldness I was in fact experiencing at the moment.
His eyebrows shoot up and he stops talking. Good. I’ve shocked him into being quiet.
“Well, that’s an odd turn of events,” he finally manages, surprising me with a grin. “How did it turn out?”
“Want to see?” I ask, unable to keep from returning the grin.
For a second I think he might just take me up on the invitation, and then he appears to think better of it and says, “Well, now that I see you’re all right, I can get on with my day. When are you going back to your condo?”
“In a few hours at most,” I say.
“I don’t like you taking chances. I care about you.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“But how else can I make the necessary money to pay for my Gran’s medical bills?” Oops. I hadn’t meant to let that slip, but in my aggravation and open communication commitment I totally forgot myself.
“You’re doing this for your grandmother? Why on earth would she let you do that?”
“My Gran doesn’t know!” Now I’m hot under the collar, and my ire along with my headache ratchets up another notch. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”
The Power of Tess Page 11