by West, Sam
“You’re gonna get everything you deserve, bitch,” he called after her instead. “Everything.”
Yeah, you’re right. I am.
CHAPTER FIVE.
It was gone four by the time Pam was back out on the streets. She’d been back to the hotel for her second shower of the day, and to change into her final outfit. She wore a short black dress and high heeled black shoes with black stockings. On an attractive woman the look might have fallen just on the right side of slutty. But on Pam, it looked ridiculous and comically trashy.
She knew perfectly well she didn’t have the figure for what she wearing, but she didn’t care. She no longer gave a shit what people thought about her appearance, because come tomorrow she was going to wish herself beautiful. She fancied herself as a caterpillar that was soon to emerge as a beautiful butterfly.
So fuck everyone that had ever called her a dog. She would show them. She would show them all.
Pam had taken a black cab to Whitechapel for the last round up of the day’s tasks. All she had left to do was two blowjobs, and to pick up a man for money. Whitechapel was supposed to be teeming with prostitutes. But so far, she could see no one that even remotely resembled a prostitute.
Maybe they only come out after dark.
Which made a whole lot of sense. She looked completely out of place on the main high street. The place was teeming with burkas and Indians. A few students from the neighbouring Aldgate University wandered down the broad street, perhaps on their way to their digs in Bethnal Green on the other side of Whitechapel.
She was certainly the only person dressed as a slapper.
Perhaps I should go to Bethnal Green for a few hours, there’s a ton of pubs there, maybe I can get a couple of blowjobs in before I come back here.
She decided to walk rather than take the tube as it was less than a quarter of a mile hike. Her feet were in agony though, and she regretted her decision pretty quickly.
She didn’t notice the shiny, black car that had pulled in parallel to her as she waked the street; the flow of traffic in London was so constant she had learned to mostly block it out.
“Hey baby,” called out a deep male voice from the wound down window.
She didn’t know what kind of car it was, although the shape looked vaguely familiar. It looked expensive anyway. Seriously expensive.
“Hey,” she called back, stopping in her tracks.
“Get in the car baby, I’ve got money, lots of it, just name your price.”
His face was partly obscured by the shadowy interior of the car, and something in the tone of his voice gave her pause.
Don’t get in the car. That’s a really bad idea…
But God, did she ever want to get this shit over with. The rate she was going, with any luck she’d be tucked up in her hotel bed by nine and this day would fade away and become a long forgotten, sleazy nightmare.
She sighed deeply, torn over what to do.
Fuck it, she thought, walking around the parked car and opening the passenger door. I’m sure this guy can’t do anything worse to me than what I’ve been through already today.
She got into the scrupulously clean car with the black leather interior.
How was a prostitute supposed to act? Give him her price list up front like they did in the movies?
The guy was younger than she had first thought; his deep voice was misleading and made him sound a lot older than he really was. He was blonde, about her age, slim. He was wearing a well cut, dark suit that made her think of her Djinn.
Good looking too, she noticed in surprise. No, scrap that, make that drop dead gorgeous. What the hell is a guy that looks like him doing picking up prostitutes? Never mind a prostitute that looks like me….
She figured that maybe he was just wired up that way, like the actor Hugh Grant. Why a man as rich and handsome as Hugh Grant felt the need to pick up a hooker was beyond her. But whatever the reason, this guy was obviously suffering from the same affliction.
Pam wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Doing this guy would be a pleasure, not a chore. She smiled to herself, she had really struck lucky.
“What can I do you for?” she said to his handsome profile.
His full lips curled up in a grin.
“How about we go back to mine for a few hours? I meant what I said about paying. And I’m talking thousands.”
Alarm bells went off in her head. This was just way too good to be true. Pam had a pretty good bullshit detector. No man wanted to fuck her out of choice. Not unless there was something seriously wrong with said man, or he was desperate, or there was something in it for him. She thought briefly of Wayne, who fit all those categories. He was only with her because she was willing to graft hard and give him all her money. Not only that, he liked to beat women and she was stupid enough to let him.
She felt a rise of anger. Why oh why had she let him treat her like shit for so long?
Because you’re a desperate fat slag and you’ll never get anyone else.
Well, that was about to change. She would show him when she was beautiful.
“Why?” she asked. “You’re a gorgeous looking guy, you could have any woman you want, why pick up a prostitute?”
They stopped at some traffic lights and he turned to smile at her.
Fuck, he’s dazzling.
His eyes were a glittering pale blue and his blonde hair flopped onto his forehead. He kind of reminded her of a young Leonardo Decaprio and her stomach gave an appreciative little lurch.
“Because I don’t want any emotional complications. Women are just so clingy, you spend one night with them and in the morning they’re setting a date for the wedding.”
Yeah, with this guy she could well believe it. She could easily imagine he would have that effect on most women.
“I wouldn’t have pegged myself as your type.”
“Look… Wait, what’s your name?”
“Pam,” she replied, seeing no point in lying. “What’s your name?”
“It’s James. I’ll level with you, Pam. I don’t care about you, or why you do what you do. I don’t want to talk to you, apart from to discuss terms. I want to fuck you, I want to be rough, and I’ll pay handsomely for the privilege.”
As on edge as she was, a little part of her couldn’t help but be taken in by the whole, ‘Pretty Woman’ fantasy. A cold man incapable of affection, taught to love by the woman he had bought precisely for that reason, to avoid emotional attachment…
She shook her head in disbelief. Where the hell were these ridiculous, romantic notions coming from? She was in a stranger’s car about to whore herself.
“Whatever you want. Where are we going? I would like to know that.”
“My place. It isn’t far, just in Soho.”
“You must be rich to live there. What do you do for a living?”
“I thought I was clear that I’m paying you not to ask stupid questions.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t often go back to a client’s place.” No shit. “I just want to know what I’m getting myself in for.”
He sighed. “Fine. I inherited a shit load through the family line, we got rich through property. Right place at the right time, and all that. Like I say, I’m quite the catch. I would like to fuck a woman without her picking out a diamond ring afterwards.”
Conceited. But then, I suppose he has every reason to be.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Pam didn’t want to piss him off anymore by prying so she kept her trap shut. She snuck glances at him as he drove, marvelling at his perfectly straight nose and square jaw.
Half an hour later they reached their destination.
“You live here?” she gasped, unable to stop herself. “Fuck me.”
“I intend too,” he said with a disarming, boyish grin.
They had pulled into the driveway of a terraced town house on a side street in the heart of Soho. She gazed up at the big, square façade and guessed that it had to be worth
upward of least five million.
The garage door before them glided smoothly upwards, revealing a plain, concrete interior which James drove into.
The engine died and the garage door clicked shut behind them. A small tremor of fear coursed through her. For some reason she was deeply on edge, the garage door closing putting her in mind of coffin lid being nailed in place.
“Come on,” he said, opening the driver’s door. “there’s a side door in the garage that takes you straight into the kitchen.”
Yeah, she thought, also getting out of the car. Don’t want the neighbours to see your bringing an ugly slag like me into your beautiful home.
She closed her eyes for a second and dreamed of the day when guys like James would take her through the front door and be proud to show her off.
“Home sweet home,” he said, shrugging off his jacket as soon as they were in the kitchen.
By London standards, the kitchen was massive, done out in the style of a country kitchen. The room screamed money, and she supposed the style of it was what might be described as ‘retro,’ considering a young man lived here. Modern oils hung on the stone walls, one depicting a faceless man in a suit carrying a beautiful, naked woman in his arms like a baby. The painting made her shiver. It was just so… soulless. Like the room itself, for all its bright colours and fussy décor, there was no disguising the coldness.
He removed his bulging wallet from an inside pocket and draped his jacket over a wooden, kitchen chair. He pulled out a wad of notes and casually slung them on the table top. The notes fanned out prettily.
“There’s ten grand there. Take it, it’s yours.”
Ordinarily she would have been impressed. Ten grand was a lot of money, but with one billion in her bank account? Not so much.
“All I ask of you in return is that you no longer ask me questions. You are to do everything I say and not complain, is that understood?”
She nodded dumbly and picked up the money because she knew that’s what she should do, and stuffed it into her shoulder bag.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”
He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt as he spoke, like he didn’t want to get dirty or something.
I hope he lets me suck his cock, then this will be the second to last task of the day instead of the third.
“Please remove your clothes and hop up onto the table.”
OK… Weirder and weirder.
But there was something incredibly compelling about him. He was just so handsome, in all her life she hadn’t even so much as seen a man that looked like him in the flesh, yet alone been with one.
Beneath those electric blue eyes that seemed to fizzle with pent up energy, she stripped off her clothes and perched on the edge of the table.
Her painful self-consciousness was mixed in with something else. Lust.
This man isn’t right…
This man is gorgeous….
“My God, you are so ugly,” James said, running his fingers down a saggy, oversized breast. “So perfect.”
His hand travelled lower down her flabby, stretch marked belly, brushing the top of her thick wedge of pubic hair.
“Lie on you back and open your legs.”
A little tremble of fear and excitement rippled through her lower gut. Part of her wanted to grab her clothes and get the hell out, the other part wanted to see what he would do.
Stop thinking about what you want and don’t want. Just do as he says. Finish the God damn task.
She shuffled her fat rump back a little, and lay down on the long, pine table.
“Do you mind if I tie you up?” he asked with boyish grin.
Yeah, she did mind, as it happened.
“I don’t know…” she began.
“Come now, I have just given you ten grand. I want to tie you down, which is why I’m paying you. Most of the girls I’ve been with get all squeamish about my sexual preferences. But you’re not most girls. You’re a street walker.”
His voice was so deep and seductive, and if she bailed out now, who’s to say what lowlife would pick her up instead?
“OK, OK, do what you must.”
“Thank you.”
He left her there on the table and reappeared a moment later with a long length of thin rope draped over a shoulder. He proceeded to tie the rope around the table leg and pulled it tight across her torso, wrapping it over and under the table many times until the rope covered her from neck to ankle, pinning her arms to her sides.
Pam was frightened. She comforted herself with the knowledge that if she really wanted out of the binds, it was possible. All she would have to do was wiggle upwards and the rope should, in theory, slide down her body enough for her to be able to sit up and escape.
He finished off his handiwork by securing the end of the rope around the table leg at her left foot.
“This is only so you don’t wiggle too much when I chop off your toes.”
“What?”
“You heard. Are you deaf as well as ugly?”
Oh no, this can’t be happening. Not again…
“Let me go,” she said, hating how those words felt all too familiar on her lips.
She felt a sudden urge of anger. It was all just so unfair. Why couldn’t these bastards just leave her the fuck alone?
“I thought you might say that so I suggest you shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
Each time he said one of those words he lifted her head by her hair and brought the back of her skull crashing down on the table top as if he were using her head as a punctuation mark.
She groaned, her head exploding in pain. Stars flashed, and she sobbed in a mix of agony and shame and anger.
Not again, was all she could think. Just please, not again.
“I’ve never done this before,” he said, his voice seeming to drift to her from very far away. “You’re my first. I’ve thought about it, of course. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’d love to do one of the high society bitches that are constantly sniffing around me. I don’t know, I expect I will one day. I’ve heard these things are kind of a slippery slope. Wait there a second.”
As if she could do much else. She lay there groaning, concentrating on focusing her vision on one of the spotlights in the high ceiling above her. His boyishly handsome face leaned over her, blocking out the view of the ceiling, that healthy blonde hair hanging downwards in a glossy curtain.
“Open wide,” he said in a friendly voice, before shoving a red rubber ball gag with leather straps either side of it into her mouth.
Her cries of protest were cut short by the ball which filled her mouth and flattened her tongue.
Stupidly enough, all she could think for a second was; how am I supposed to give him a blowjob now?
The thing felt horrible in her mouth, slimy and nasty and her jaw was stretched wide around it. He lifted up her head to tighten the strap and then carelessly let it drop back down to the table, sending a fresh jolt of pain firing through her.
“Now, where were we,” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “Yes, that’s right, I was about to chop off your toesiewoesies.”
He retrieved a knife from a kitchen drawer and resumed his place by her side.
“Eenie, meenie, miny moe,” he said in a sing song voice, lightly tapping each of her toes on her right foot. “Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go, eeny, meeny, miny, moe. This one.”
The knife sliced through her little toe. Pain exploded through her foot and she tried to jerk upright, but the rope held her down, viciously cutting into her.
“No!” she screamed, but the sound was forced back down into her body and came out as an incomprehensible, muffled sob.
“So much blood,” he said wistfully, wiping his brow with the hand that held the knife.
A streak of red smeared his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps care.
“I’ve read up on this stuff,” he said conversationally, “and I really don’t want you bleedin
g out and dying on me too soon, that would be such a shame, because we’re going to have such fun together.”
She shook her head from side to side and screamed into the gag.
“Hush now, don’t cry. You’re going to choke on your own snot at this rate.”
Agony billowed out from her little toe. Or lack of one.
In that moment she wished with all her heart that the stupid Djinn had never come into her life. Then there were no more thoughts when he lightly traced the knife over one puddingy breast that stuck out through a gap in the rope.
“I’ve never chopped off a tit before,” he said thoughtfully. “Jack the Ripper was fond of that. He’s the only reason I chose Whitechapel to pick up a whore.” He laughed softly. “Isn’t that predictable?”
Yeah. Lucky me.
He stopped talking for a moment to study her missing toe, twisting her foot from side to side as he did so which had her squirming in fresh agony.
“I have no idea how much pain a human body can endure before the person blacks out, or snuffs out completely. I’m guessing that everybody is different. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Agony shot through her, locking tight every muscle in her body. All she could hear was her own screams, deafening to her own ears, if not to his. She could feel him severing her toes from her foot with the knife, one by one from the outside in.
The pain was excruciating. It was indescribable. It consumed her like wildfire and she stared up at the ceiling, just praying for it to stop.
When she first heard the whooshing noise that sounded like a gas oven being lit, she thought it was the blood pumping in her own ears. Then she felt heat at her mutilated foot. The heat turned into a full on burning and the smell of cooking meat assaulted her nostrils.
It took a moment for her pain addled brain to work out that it was she who was on the menu. She managed to lift her swimming head, and saw he had a chef’s blowtorch trained on her foot. The sight was too horrific, too disgusting. The smell, burnt and sweet like a forgotten pork joint in the oven, crawled into her brain and smothered the last vestiges of her sanity. Her head flopped backwards and she felt herself falling into a welcome blackness.