by John Argus
‘Show us your cunt!’ a man to their right roared, laughter following the crude demand, and the girl turned her bottom his way, bending over and wagging it at him as he laughed along with the rest. Leah grimaced with disgust as the girl thrust two fingers into her sex and pulled it open wide, revealing the gleaming pink interior. Someone threw beer at her and it splashed across her back and bottom, dribbling down her thighs as she slowly straightened and turned again.
‘Do you think you’d like to be up there, MacInnes?’ Mbweni asked.
‘No,’ Leah answered adamantly, ‘I certainly wouldn’t.’
The girl lay on her back, legs straight up in the air, and then let her feet slowly part. She lowered them to the floor and raised her pelvis, rolling her hips as she pumped her fingers inside her sex.
After a while her stint was over and she left the small stage, another girl taking her place. She was no more talented than the first, though with larger breasts which seemed to fascinate the drooling audience. Their vodkas arrived, but Leah wrinkled her nose at the plastic cup, not wanting any part of touching, much less drinking anything from the dirty little bar.
‘I bet this place hasn’t seen a health inspector in years,’ she said.
‘Not ever, I’d say,’ Mbweni agreed, sipping her drink. ‘It’s not a licensed establishment.’
The first girl was in the audience now, wearing a tiny slip dress, moving amongst the men searching for those willing to purchase a private dance. One nearby agreed, and she began to grind against him as his mates laughed and cheered him on. The girl was soon naked, straddling his lap as she slid her breasts up and down against his face.
‘Why are we here?’ Leah asked.
‘A lot of drugs move through this place,’ Mbweni said. ‘An enormous amount of drugs.’
‘I don’t see anything.’
‘That’s because it’s all done in the toilets, behind the bar, and they’re wary whenever strangers show up. They know their clientele very well here.’
A third girl stepped out on stage, and it was almost an anticlimax but still jarring when Leah realized it was Sara Yi. The girl did not look as dazed as the others, but her eyes were haunted as she stepped through the curtain and moved uncertainly forward.
‘What is she doing here?’ Leah hissed under her breath.
‘She volunteered to work here undercover, as it were,’ Mbweni replied in a low, amused voice.
Sara was wearing a sexy pleated skirt and a blouse, and she cringed visibly as men called out obscene remarks and racist insults. She began to dance awkwardly to the music, her hips swaying from side to side, and then her fingers rose, slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse.
‘Why are you making her do this?’ Leah demanded.
‘I didn’t make her do anything,’ Mbweni insisted. ‘It was her choice. Besides, watch her. She really gets quite into it.’
‘But I don’t—’
‘I said watch.’
Sara looked desperately embarrassed as she pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and slowly drew it open, revealing a lacy black bra, then squealed and stumbled back against the pole as half the contents of a cup of beer splattered against her face and chest, then turned her back to them, rolling her hips as she peeled the beer-stained blouse off her shoulders and dropped it to the grimy stage. She turned again and again, her fingers fumbling at the catch of her skirt, trying to undo it.
‘Show us your tits, you fucking chink!’ someone bellowed drunkenly.
‘Suckee suckee for fifty cents!’ another roared, clearly reveling in the laughter his unfunny comment produced from his fellow drinkers.
‘Get your clothes off, bitch!’ shouted another.
The skirt slid own Sara’s legs and she kicked it off, almost tripping as she did so.
‘She dances like a horse,’ Mbweni said, shaking her head. ‘I’m sure you’d be much more graceful.’
Sara danced awkwardly in stiletto heels and her flimsy underwear, then undid her bra and slid it off. There was a look to her face now, and as she kicked off her shoes she began to move more lithely, her eyes darting about at the front row of the audience. Her hips rolled and her hands moved up and down her undulating body as scattered cheers goaded her on.
Then her fingers peeled her thong down and off and, naked, she danced with more fluency. More beer was flung at her, but now she seemed to bask in it, arching her back, cupping her breasts, then turning and grasping the pole to her slick body and twisting around it.
‘Pink! Pink! Pink!’ the audience yelled.
She twisted and twirled, then dropped to her knees, crawling along on all fours, rolling her bottom lewdly, a smoldering look in her eyes. She turned her bottom to them, spreading her legs, pushing her sex out. Her fingers slid beneath her and up into her pussy, pumping in and out as more beer showered onto her. She rolled onto her back, knees spread wide, bottom rising and falling as her hands moved over her wet body, stroking and fondling, then down between her thighs. Leah blushed as she saw three fingers thrusting in and out of Sara’s pussy, watching her knees draw far back, spreading wide as she pretended – if it was pretense – to masturbate.
She climbed up the pole, dragging herself up, keeping her legs spread wide, her bottom out. More beer was heaved across the stage, plastering her hair, her entire body glistening as she curled her legs around the pole and rode up and down against it.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mbweni said. ‘She’ll get her reward in a little room backstage. For twenty dollars she’ll suck any of these men off. For fifty they can choose whether to fuck her in the cunt or in the ass.’ To Leah the blatantly crude language didn’t seem right coming from the lips of her boss. ‘So she’s pulling in quite a useful addition to her normal salary.’
Leah had heard enough. She rose and headed for the door, slapping aside a filthy hand that reached out to grope her bottom as she passed. She breathed deeply once out in the car park, but felt dirty, as though she needed a shower.
Mbweni took her time following and smiled when she saw Leah’s glare. ‘Have I offended your precious sense of morality, young lady?’ she mocked.
‘You threatened to fire her if she didn’t do this, didn’t you?’ Leah challenged.
‘I have no power to fire anyone, MacInnes, you know that,’ Mbweni said casually. ‘All I have the power to do is recommend someone be investigated by Internal Affairs. If Yi is so ashamed of her conduct she prefers this to having it dragged into the light, well, that’s her choice.’
‘And is that what you have in mind for me?’ Leah demanded.
Mbweni smiled. ‘Not quite, no. You’re far too middle class for such a place, and frankly, far too beautiful. A woman of color like Yi can get away with it. She can pretend her English is much worse than it is, pretend she’s a helpless, illegal immigrant. But no one would believe someone like you would work in a place like that.’
She got into the car and Leah reluctantly slid in beside her. ‘So I suppose you’ve got me earmarked of a more upscale strip club,’ she said sarcastically.
‘No, my dear, you’re going to an upscale escort agency,’ Mbweni announced as she pulled out of the car park and turned into the road.
‘Excuse me?’ Leah gasped.
‘You heard me. We can provide you with a suitable background, and you’ll have no difficulty proving your credentials.’ She smiled wolfishly. ‘And then you can start gathering evidence as you go on appointments. The agency in question is owned by organized crime. We want you to get their records for us, particularly client names, and more importantly we want to see where the money is going.’
‘I won’t do it,’ Leah insisted.
‘You won’t fuck a few wealthy men?’ Mbweni taunted. ‘Of course you will, and in return I won’t leak that little old video I have in my possession.’
‘Oh, I think you will,’ Mbweni said confidently. ‘Just think of what such devotion to duty will do for your career… and think of how humiliated you’ll be if your little dalliance with Yi were to be common knowledge.’
‘Why don’t you think about what the courts will do when they find out I got my information by fucking people,’ Leah countered.
‘But they won’t find out, dear girl. You’ll never be identified as a police officer; you’ll never have to testify. Provided, of course, that you recover sufficient evidence to force a plea bargain.’
‘Is that what this is, a plea bargain?’ Leah demanded.
Mbweni smiled. ‘Of course. Your punishment is withheld in exchange for cooperation.’
Within a half hour they were pulling into the garage beneath the district police headquarters. Mbweni parked in a distant corner of the garage and turned off the engine, then turned to face Leah, sliding her skirt up as she did so.
‘Now let us see if you remember what you’ve been taught,’ she said, leaning back against the door, drawing her legs apart and revealing her naked sex. Leah nibbled her lip anxiously and looked around the empty garage, then sighing resignedly, leant forward, gasping as Mbweni seized her hair, drawing her face down between her parted thighs. Her tongue flickered out and Mbweni tugged at her hair impatiently. ‘Come on, you can do better than that, slut.’
Leah slid her tongue between the woman’s pussy lips, pressing her mouth hard against Mbweni’s sex, and winced as she felt a hand squeezing beneath her and spitefully squeezing her breast.
‘I’m sure you’ll be an excellent assistant, once you’re fully trained as I want you,’ Mbweni sighed.
Chapter Ten
Leah downed the brandy in one gulp and then gasped, panting for breath as it burned her throat. It had been a shattering day, almost from start to finish. First had come that humiliating meeting with Mbweni, then her shocking trip to the strip bar, no doubt to be shown what Mbweni could do to her if she annoyed her sufficiently, and then an ‘interview’ with the manager of the Little Sisters escort agency.
She had at least been allowed to return home and remove the harness and dildos before going to see the man, but that had done little to revive her pride, for she’d been forced to remove her clothes soon after entering the man’s office for an utterly humiliating interview. Demonstrating her value, which included how she looked naked, was horrible. Yet she’d had little choice, and her face flamed as she walked to and fro, naked, under the smirking gaze of the manager. And then came the inevitable requirement that she demonstrate her sexual skills.
Her mind shied away from even remembering that, and she thumped the empty glass down on the cabinet and tore her clothes off, flinging them on the floor and kicking them away. That bitch, Mbweni. She would pay her back somehow. She poured another drink and drank it more slowly as she prepared for a much needed shower.
His office was filthy, the door off its hinge, hanging wide open. On her knees she had to perform oral sex on him to demonstrate her commitment, her willingness, her abilities. Only the best girls for his agency, he muttered, stabbing his erection into the back of Leah’s throat.
She stepped under the cascading water, turning it hotter still, trying to erase the memories of how he’d come on her face, then ordered her to bend over his desk as one of his men, a large thug, joined them and fucked her roughly from behind. Shameful it had been, but worse was that her ‘acting skills’ he had later praised had been entirely natural. She did not fake the orgasm that gripped her, but fought desperately against it to no avail.
She soaped and scrubbed herself, thinking of the filthy hovel where Sara danced and, if Mbweni was being honest, prostituted herself. How had they allowed themselves to fall so completely under the woman’s control?
She winced a little as her fingers slid down between her legs, gasping at the thrumming pleasure and soreness she felt. Her hands slid back, around her hip, over her bottom, and she winced once again.
The bitch! For this was no ordinary escort agency. No, the clientele of Little Sisters had a particular penchant. So she’d been positioned over the manager’s lap and soundly spanked, to see how she reacted, how she coped with the beating. For there was big money in allowing men to spank pretty girls, and that was the house specialty. But her bottom was already sore from Mbweni’s earlier spanking, so she squealed and squirmed right from the start.
She rinsed and soaped again, furious, knowing Mbweni had simply chosen not to tell her, knowing how amused the woman must have been. Still, she consoled herself, she had endured it bravely. And in truth she was the main investigator into the dealings of the agency, not a nearly nameless door ringer, and if Mbweni could really give her the credit without letting out what she had been forced to do to get the information it would indeed be a feather in her cap.
It was dangerous though; for if they found out she was a cop she’d be in real trouble. But how would they? Why should they suspect such a thing?
She stepped out of the shower and dried off, then used the blow-dryer on her hair before fetching herself another glass of brandy.
The agency was raking in serious money, and quite a bit of it wound up with the girls. It was a top of the line operation, and their services went for two thousand dollars per two hour visit, and two thirds of that went to the girls. She could easily make more in a day than she made in a month in the police, and none of it taxed.
She heard the phone ring and turned, frowning. There seemed something indefinably wrong with the sound warbling softly through the quiet apartment. She looked at it, not moving, listening as it warbled again. She had no desire to speak with anyone. Her inclination was to let it ring, to let the machine pick up.
It rang again, and she found herself fighting the urge to cross the floor and pick up, an urge which grew with every insistent warble. It continued to ring and she felt a moment’s confusion, wondering why the answering machine had not kicked in. Then she bit her lip lightly, irritated that whoever was ringing her continued to wait, continued to let the phone warble. But perhaps it was urgent. She glared at the phone as if it were a contest of wills between them. Would they never hang up? If she did pick up and it wasn’t urgent she was going to flay whoever was on the other end of the line. Defeated, she stalked across the room and snatched up the receiver.
‘Yes?’ she snapped.
At first she heard nothing but a soft humming. It was not machinelike, but distinctively alive. She started to speak, to demand whoever it was speak up, but there was something disturbing about the sound, something familiar yet just out of her reach. Tension began to build within her and she felt her chest tighten and her stomach flutter.
‘Leah…’
Her name was barely audible, a whisper, and hardly human. It was the moan of the wind going beneath a doorway yet formed into her name.
‘Leah…’
She tried to swallow and found her throat dry. Her name was a long, soft moan.
‘Leah…’
Louder now, but still an inhuman moan drifting through the shadows. And then something else; a soft chuckle, just as inhuman but definably male. Leah slammed the receiver down, holding it on its cradle as if in fear it would leap up at her. She was breathing raggedly, her heart pounding, her pulse racing.
The phone rang again and she let out a small yelp of shock. Her hand was still on it, her knuckles white as she clenched the receiver. It rang again and again. She would not pick it up, but nor could she bring herself to pull her hand away.
She snatched the receiver up, holding it in front of her as though it were a dangerous snake. Yet she heard the soft humming, and then that voice again. ‘Leah… Leah…’
‘Leave me alone or I’ll fucking kill you!’ she screamed into the mouthpiece before slamming it down again.<
br />
The curtains suddenly billowed out behind her and she whirled round with a shriek as damp wind blew in through the open balcony door. She crossed quickly to shut it as the air turned ice cold, and she shivered as it blew over her nakedness. She tugged at the door, which stuck, then took the handle in both hands and managed to slide it closed with a bang.
Despite this it was very cold in her apartment. Or perhaps it was her. She crossed her arms over her breasts. It was too cold to be undressed, and her warm robe was on the sofa where she’d left it previously.
As she walked towards it the fireplace suddenly roared to life, the flames jumping and licking out at her. She shrieked and stopped abruptly, jerking back, and then yelped as she felt her wrists pulled forward. She struggled against the unseen grip, and realized it was the gold bands themselves that were straining towards each other, and she twisted and strained against the pull to no avail as slowly but remorselessly the two bands neared each other. They snapped together suddenly, like powerful magnets, and locked tightly in place.
‘Shit!’ she cried, turning and twisting, her arms pulling against the bands. And then she cried out again at another startling pull, stumbling sideways and then forward, her nipple rings pulling outward by an unseen force, pulling her towards the roaring fire. She pulled helplessly against the gold bands, bands that had effectively become shackles, yet she could no more break free than resist the excruciating pull on her nipples as she was drawn towards the fireplace.
The flames died like a light being switched off, but the pull drew her closer, the rings drawn upward as they reached the wall, forcing her onto the balls of her feet, then onto her toes. She watched, trembling, gasping, as the rings seemed to merge with the wall, the metal running like liquid until it melted into the wall and nothing remained of them. And her nipples, which had been stretched outward, now seemed to have merged with the wall, only her areolas still visible.
The balcony door slid open and the curtains billowed again as icy air blew in. Staring at the wall just in front of her, Leah hardly noticed at first. But as the cold increased she began to shiver violently, goose bumps rising all over her body.