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Message-ID: <35086asstr$1012932605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASSM} First Ever Repost (10): The Blueblood Slut (MF) ~ by DrSpin
Date: Tue,  5 Feb 2002 13:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The Blueblood Slut (MF slow)
by DrSpin (aka Neil Anthony)
(first ever repost - originally posted January 2000) 

---------------------------------------------------------
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

She was beautiful and she was not. Less than medium height. 
Thin. Black hair cropped short, often flopping untidily in 
strands like that of a 15-year-old boy. A face which rarely 
showed emotion but which expressed an intangible sadness. 
Dark eyes set wide apart. A thin vulnerable nose. But a 
mouth to treasure, with top lip dominant. She wore black 
dresses mostly, and black stockings with black high-heeled 
shoes on which she walked sharply, quick-clack. When she 
wore jeans she could look like a skinny adolescent of 
imprecise gender. Jane was not pretty. But she was severely 
beautiful and men and women of all ages watched when she 
passed. I fell in love forever the moment I saw her. 
Tragically, of course. Naturally. 

She was married successfully before the world and its eyes. 
The trappings of it were readily evident. She had a four-
year-old son of luminous beauty, a husband famous 
throughout the land and beyond, a big house in the country 
and an elegant apartment in the city. She herself was 
nearly famous and certainly recognisable, superficially as 
a photogenic appendage to her husband and secondarily as an 
intelligent and quirky critic, patron and observer of the 
arts. She was much in public demand. 

She was just 30 when I saw her first. It was a good age for 
her, adding maturity to her mouth and her eyes. I was 23, 
her husband's cousin, brought in to assist the family by 
dint of my excellent degree, my gentle upbringing and my 
discretion and sensitivity, to manage its time and its 
affairs. The job was never described but I was to all 
intents and purposes her personal secretary. I lived in the 
two houses. I organised her life, wrote her letters and 
many of her articles, researched her interests and 
separated the wheat from the chaff. I saw her every day. I 
supervised her public face and I scrutinised it privately. 
I adored her. 

The matter came up one day, after I'd been with her nine 
months or so. I was in my office and she was there, 
flipping through invitations and reading the notes I had 
attached. She chuckled at something I'd written. "You know, 
you are my best luxury," she said. "I don't really need you 
but, really, I do." She looked up at me directly. "Blue, 
tell me," she said. "Do you love me?" 

"Yes," I said, simply and honestly. I was not one to 
dissemble, at least with her. 

"That's nice," she said. She sighed. "But it's untested and 
it means so little." 

She went back to her invitations and I offered no comment. 
She spoke truth, not spite. She had called me Blue from an 
early time in our relationship and I had never asked why. I 
accepted it like a puppy inherits a name from its owner. 

Without my cleverness I was an ordinary package. Pale blue 
eyes but weak, requiring strong spectacles. Pale hair, pale 
skin, pale everything. I looked, I thought, like an 
underground burrowing animal blinking in accustomed 
sunlight. But I was clever enough to dress well and to take 
care with it, disguising my mediocrity in the apparel of 
conservative good taste. The hand-tailored woollen dark 
grey suit had been made with such a man of manners as 
myself in mind, and I wore one in a succession of minutely 
different versions every day of the week including Sunday, 
when she religiously visited church and took me with her. 

My love remained untested and, to be truthful, my work 
barely so. I had a flair for it. It suited me comfortably 
and it required lesser skills than those with which I was 
equipped and largely a sure-handed efficiency which came 
naturally. It came to pass that some of the things she did 
were better done by me, and she knew it and let me lead the 
way with grace. She took all the credit, of course, which 
was appropriate and proper. In any case, she could deliver 
my better lines better than ever I could. We became cosy 
conspirators. 

Within 18 months I had become her formal extension. I spoke 
in her affairs with her voice and her mouth and I expressed 
her opinion and delivered her judgement, and she trusted me 
to do so as far as I trusted myself, and if I didn't trust 
myself I brought the matter before her and she generally 
trusted my advice. I basked in her confidence and 
dependence. But there were domains in which I had little or 
no business. I saw the son, Dominic, frequently but I had 
no part in him; and the husband, my cousin Richard, but I 
had no advice he wanted or needed to hear. I dined often 
with them all, or some of them and others; indeed more 
often than not; with status higher than staff, lower than 
family and far less than any of the many brilliant or 
attractive regular guests. I was just Blue. Everybody 
called me Blue. 

Newspaper columnists called me Blue. Charity dowagers 
called me Blue. The Prime Minister called me Blue. "Ah 
yes," he said, shaking my hand firmly. "You must be Blue." 
It may have been a politician's trick but he appeared to 
have heard of me. I had made Jane better than she might 
have been and she had made me Blue. I was her creature. It 
was all sublimely satisfactory. I wanted for nothing and I 
was perfectly suited to a life of noble and gentle 
unrequited love. I had been born and bred for it. 

The bane of a well-mannered highly-organised and smugly-
comfortable long-term existence is a single split-second 
stroke of chaos. This was not anticipated. It could not be 
processed, planned for or pre-packaged and thus, when it 
happened, it brought anarchy. Richard and Dominic were 
returning in an aircraft which fell out of the sky. There 
were no survivors. Of all the 226 victims, Richard was the 
most famous. The crusading Minister for National Economic 
Reform was given the honour of a televised State funeral. 
This, more than anything, made it so wretched for Jane to 
bear. 

Naturally Blue stood up to be counted. It wasn't anarchic 
to me. It was work. I was drenched with the detail of it 
for three feverish days and nights. The widow stayed in her 
room and took no calls; took nothing except subsistence 
food and drink and twice daily briefing notes from me which 
she noted and initialled. I didn't see her until late on 
the morning of the afternoon of the great funeral service. 

She wandered into my office looking like an unmade bed but, 
in all other respects, as cool and straight as always. "I 
don't want to go," she said flatly. 

"You must," I replied immediately. "It is not a matter of 
choice." 

"I can't face people. I can't look at their faces. I can't 
talk." 

"You don't have to do anything but be there." 

She looked at me gravely. "Then you have to be with me. 
You'll have to do the looking and the talking and the 
kissing and the shaking of hands. I can't do any of it." 

"Of course," I said gently. "You know I will look after 
you." 

Her face was blank; emotionless. "Poor Blue," she said. 
"What will you do now?" 

I was taken aback but tried to disguise it. I knew she was 
talking about the future. 

"That's hardly important," I said. "The question is, what 
will you do?" 

"Yes, I've been thinking about that." The corner of her 
mouth lifted slightly. "I'll tell you later." 

"Get dressed," I said. "You know what to wear. Something 
undemonstrative." 

Again she smiled a small and wintry smile. "Black and 
understated. That's more than half my wardrobe." 

"Don't worry. I'll protect you." 

"Yes," she said. She stood and headed for the door. "But it 
can't go on." 

She was courageous under fire and I expected nothing less 
of her. She declined the heavy sunglasses and stood clean 
and upright through the two hours of black-bordered 
ceremony, her face still and her eyes dry. Only once did 
she nearly falter; when her son's small coffin was lifted 
and borne away. She clutched at my hand and I gripped her 
tightly. Nobody would have noticed. I had prepared the way 
and I ushered her past the crowd of well-wishers smoothly, 
murmuring polite expressions of appreciation and regret. 

"You did well," I said to her in the car. 

She turned her head and looked at me indistinctly. "Is it 
over?" 

"Yes." 

We rode home in silence. She went back into her room and I 
didn't hear from her until the next day. Late in the 
afternoon she appeared in my office. "We have to talk," she 
said. 

I put aside the letter I was reading. "Certainly, if you're 
ready." 

"Blue, I can't go on like this." 

"Yes, that's what you said." 

"My life is a sham." 

I said nothing. 

"I'm a fake." 

Nothing. 

"I have been playing a role I never designed for myself. It 
just happened." 

Nothing. It was not time for me to speak. 

"It's over. I am neither wife nor mother. I am just me." 

I nodded slowly. "I understand." 

"Do you, Blue? Do you understand I intend to leave all 
this?" She gestured about her. "It's not me. I'm going away 
to be me." 

"A holiday. Good idea." 

The corner of her mouth lifted into the suggestion of an 
apologetic smile. "No," she said. "Forever." 

I blinked at her nervously. "You can't." 

"I can and I will." 

"What about your work, your friends?" 

"I have no work and I have no friends." 

I passed on that one. "What about the estate?" 

"Sell it." 

A long silence ensued. She watched me carefully. "But," I 
said, and trailed away. 

"Go on," she challenged. 

"Who will look after you?" 

"I will," she said softly. "I will look after myself." She 
walked to the window and watched the traffic down in the 
street. "I'm waiting for you to ask the real question." 

"I guess you mean," I said, "what about me?" 

"That's it." 

I shrugged. "It's not important." 

"It's the issue that's troubled me more than any other." 
She turned to face me. "Blue, I can't take you with me. I 
can't do that and find another life. What's now would just 
go on and on and I would be nothing. You're me better than 
I am. Worse, you're my only true friend and I have to give 
that up as well." 

"I'll survive," I said, more stiffly than I wanted. 

She looked at me sadly. "I'm too tired to think about it," 
she said. "Come and see me tonight, after I have a rest." 

"Say, eight?" 

"Make it nine." 

At nine she opened the door to her personal suite. She was 
made up and dressed smartly, down to black stockings and 
high heels. "Going out?" I asked, surprised. 

She seemed business-like. "No, staying in." She indicated 
me to an armchair. "I have much to talk about and I know 
you're a good listener. Tonight I want you to be a really 
good listener. Understand?" 

"Absolutely. You talk, I listen." 

She was nervously energetic and busy with her hands, almost 
agitated. "Blue, you don't know me. You think you do but 
you don't. I'm not the person you think I am. I have to 
stop pretending." 

"I heard you this afternoon," I said. 

"No," she said, with her hand up. "Listen. I asked you to 
listen. For example, my marriage and Richard's mistress. Or 
his latest mistress. You'd know about it, of course. 
Richard and I have barely had sex together in two years. 
I'm not sure now whether I even liked him. I just put off 
thinking about it. But," and she wheeled and looked at me 
directly, "that hasn't stopped me from having sex. Did you 
know that? No, I can tell from your face you didn't. Though 
not like Richard. I didn't have a convenient lover." She 
was pacing again. "I grabbed at opportunities as they came 
up. I liked it like that. Quickies. One night stands. More 
like half-night stands. Sometimes half-hour stands." She 
stopped and looked at me, a taut smile on her face. "Am I 
shocking you? I hope so. Don't worry, I didn't do it all 
that often. Not often enough for my liking, to tell the 
truth. Last time was about three weeks ago. I did it 
standing up against the wall of a back corridor in the 
Astral convention centre with a man from Berlin. It lasted 
less than 10 minutes but it was wild and it was great. I 
must be shocking you now." 

Yes, I was shocked. Jane? Jane did this? Could it be true? 

"I'm not inventing it," she said, anticipating my doubt. "I 
have no need to do so. Do you know, for example, that I 
rarely wear pants under my dress? It helps stoke the little 
flame of rebellion that I need, and it means I can hike up 
my dress and screw a guy in a corridor. Or a rest room, 
which I've done. Or in a car, which I've also done. A few 
times. I like it. I've never brought a man home. I try to 
be discreet. Never with a family friend. Or even an 
acquaintance. Usually a stranger." She held up a hand 
again. "I know it's dangerous. Many times it's also 
unprotected. But that's what makes it good. What do you 
think now, Blue? Does it sound slutty? Don't say anything. 
Just keep listening. I've never been faithful to Richard, 
not for six months at a stretch. Not even when I was 
pregnant. Nor he to me. I've never been faithful to 
anybody. When I was 13 I seduced a man older than you. I 
had a body like a stick but it was so easy. For three years 
I did everything sexually possible with him. Before I was 
14 I sucked his cock and swallowed his semen. I did 
everything but be faithful to him. I cheated on him with a 
boy my own age. I like sex, Blue. I've always liked it, and 
I take it when it's available. You hear what I'm saying? 
You don't know me. I'm not the person you think I am." She 
gestured at me. "It's okay. You can talk now." 

I was speechless. She went on after barely a pause. "I'm 
not finished. I've scarcely started. For example, there's 
the matter of you. Blue. My own Blue. You've been with me, 
how long? It must be nearly two years. My keeper, my 
saviour, my spokesman, my protector, my loyal lieutenant, 
my extension, my shadow. A perfect treasure who has kept me 
sane and kept me going when I might have stumbled. And who 
loves me and adores me and worships me and puts me on an 
impossible pedestal, and I'm not worthy of any of it. I 
have been gripped by a strong desire to stand in front of 
you and slowly raise my dress and watch your face. You have 
no idea the number of times I have come within a breath of 
doing it. Such a delicious erotic prospect. But you're so 
loyal and faithful I couldn't bring myself do it, even when 
I was determined. You won't look down my dress when I 
afford you the opportunity, even if I haven't much cleavage 
to offer. You look away deliberately. You're so virginal, 
even though I know you're not because I know somebody you 
slept with and she told me. Dear Blue. It was the one thing 
you failed to deliver. When I needed sex you gave me love." 
She ran both her hands through her hair. "The silly thing 
is that everybody assumed your duties included intimate 
attention to me, including Richard. I'm talking a lot. Are 
you still listening?" 

I cleared my throat. "Listening, yes." 

She stood directly in front, one hand on hip, looking down 
at me. "Still you have doubts. You're thinking I'm 
strangely affected by recent events, probably." She had a 
little smile turning up her mouth in a curious manner. 
"It's time for a moment of truth." Watching me with her 
dark eyes and her strange smile, she lifted the hem of her 
dress daintily. Slowly it lifted up her legs and her 
thighs, past the tops of her black stockings, the sort 
which were held up on their own, and up to her belly. She 
was indeed wearing no pants. Her pubic hair was dark-near-
black and the puffed tuft of it was nearly perfectly 
triangular, and prominently forward. Her legs, all of her 
legs, were elegantly wonderful, like I knew them to be. She 
stood there, dress held against her stomach, observing me. 
Studying me intently, while I looked at her body. "So 
sexy," she whispered. 

"Yes," I agreed in a fluttering voice. My breath was short 
and again I cleared my throat. 

"Not me," she said. "You. So sexy to watch you watching me. 
I knew it would be. I knew it would." She lifted the dress 
higher, all the way up her body and over her head. She 
wriggled out of it and dropped it on the floor. Wearing a 
black bra, black stockings and high heels, Jane lifted her 
chin slightly and smiled her thin little smile. "Nothing 
special," she said. "I am just a woman like any other 
woman." 

"I cannot accept that," I said. 

"I know," she said. "But you will after you fuck me 
tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next night. Then I can be me." 

She reached out her hand to me in invitation. "No," I said, 
not moving. It did not seem feasible. The offer was 
invalid, surely. 

Her hand waggled in front of me. "Yes," she said firmly and 
with a trace of impatience. "Blue, you cannot deny me." 

Indeed I could not. I could not deny her anything. I would 
have given her my soul to sell to Lucifer for a bar of 
chocolate and she knew it. "Come on," she said, beckoning. 
"Fuck me and set me free."

Oh Lord, I fucked her. No Lord, that's not true. She fucked 
me, because I was uncertain and hesitant and took no 
initiative. She undressed me and lay me down backwards on 
her huge and hard bed. Passively I watched the widow Jane 
in black stockings and black bra as she bent over me, 
cooing and hissing, pressing and sliding the heels of her 
hands down and across my body. She sprang on to the bed and 
the stockings whirred and purred to each other as she eased 
herself to me and straddled me. She grasped my erection in 
a fist. "Got you," she said, and looked straight into my 
eyes. She was triumphantly gleeful, and so wicked with it 
that I was shocked to the soles of my feet. 

I did nothing but contribute a stiff dick. In the small 
pool of light cast by a bedside reading lamp I yielded like 
a vampire's victim and watched her above me, concentrating, 
working, applying herself and murmuring at me but without 
sense or coherence and it was eerie the way her face was in 
darkness, out of the light. I searched for what I knew best 
about her, and that was her eyes. But I saw only deep 
shadows beyond the horizon of her black bra. 

She gurgled with soft laughter as I shook and spasmed and 
spurted into her and quickly she rolled aside and flung 
herself face down beside me. "Got you," she said, though 
quietly this time and muffled by the sheets. 

"Jane," I said gently, beginning. 

"Not now," she said, face down. "No talk." She reached out 
blindly and clicked off the bed lamp. "I'm desperately 
tired. But you have to stay, Blue. Stay and sleep with me." 

Oh Lord, your gifts of chance and circumstance are 
bittersweet. I loved her more than this. A sticky coupling, 
with the evidence of satisfaction drying and going cold on 
my genitals. But unfulfilling. Devoid. Disembodied. Even 
unworthy. I sighed and flipped the bedcover over her, 
because she already seemed asleep. I burrowed into the bed 
and, because thinking would not solve anything, sooner or 
later fell asleep myself. 

I woke in early daylight and found her in the bed, cuddled 
and hunched against my back. I could feel the warm length 
of her, lithe and smooth. No stockings, no bra. Just Jane. 
She was not normally an early riser but I was, and I 
started to slide out of her bed. There were things to do. I 
assumed she was asleep but she wasn't. She snaked out an 
arm and held me back. "No," she murmured. "Stay." 

"Jane," I said quietly, beginning. 

"No talk," she said. "Just stay". I pushed out of bed 
anyway. The tasks of the day required it. "Fuck you too," 
she muttered grumpily, rolling over. Fine with me because 
it meant I didn't have to look at her and I didn't want to 
because it was too hard. 

Much later in the day she strolled into my office looking 
fresh and rested but dressed casually for going nowhere. 
"So," she said, dumping herself into a chair, "do you still 
love me?" 

"Of course." 

She smiled. "Then you're an idiot," she said, but without 
rancour. And abruptly she hauled herself to her feet and 
left the room. 

I didn't see her again until she knocked on the door of my 
quarters that night. "I can't remember ever being in here," 
she said, looking around. "Usually I just ring. Small but 
tasteful." Then she saw the single bed. "Blue," she said, 
"you sleep in that? My God, you must be a monk. You expect 
me to sleep in it? Oh well, why not. It might be cosy." I 
watched, wordless, as she shed her clothes and climbed into 
the bed. 

A different night and a different Jane. Ardently 
affectionate, fervently willing. The sharp edge of spite of 
the previous night was gone. It was still, I could tell, 
something of a performance as she applied herself to the 
task of primarily pleasing me and secondarily pleasing 
herself. I did not doubt her affection for me. But she was 
still the senior partner and I the junior and there was no 
doubt about that at all. I loved her hopelessly and without 
prospect. I was getting from her that night all she could 
give me, and I knew it in every cell of my being. 

I woke when she stirred at the earliest light, too 
attentive to her moods not to know. She eased herself 
quietly from me and I let her go. She picked up her clothes 
carefully and left me. I cried slow tears because I was 
alone again. And because she did not love me and she never 
would. 

I rose later than I normally would and started work much 
later than I normally would. On the desk was an envelope 
addressed simply, Blue. It was a letter I did not want to 
read, though of course I did. She didn't waste words. It 
said: 

`I have gone. I may not be back. I do not know what to do 
about all I leave behind. You must stay on and look after 
it until I do. I don't know where I will be. I will contact 
you occasionally by letter or email with any instructions. 
Do not try to find me because I don't want to be found. Do 
this because you love me. - Jane.' 

And that was that. I had no option but to obey her wishes. 
The obligation was unavoidable; any other choice 
inconceivable. It's what I was there to do. 

The duty of work filled that day and the days following. 
There was much to do. As executor I could employ the 
formidable resources of an old, respected and powerful 
family, and I did. The affairs of the country estate were 
pruned prudently to allow that considerable property to 
maintain itself, but no more. I laid off all the staff of 
the city house but for one housekeeper and hired myself a 
dogsbody assistant. I preserved regular payments to Jane's 
three favourite charities on condition she was not pursued 
beyond that. The matters of Richard I left to the family's 
legal firm. I had no obligation to Richard. 

I obeyed her faithfully according to her instructions 
except on one issue. I retained a discreet company of 
investigators to track her movements at a distance and to 
keep me advised. For a while I feared she had vanished 
completely. Then, after nine weeks, she was located. 

I looked first at the half dozen photographs, grainy and 
snapped through a telephoto lens. No doubt it was Jane. 
Dressed down like a backpacker, but still Jane. In two she 
was with a man, a big and strong fellow with an arm across 
her shoulders. I turned to the accompanying documentation. 
She was in the English city of Plymouth. It was the height 
of the sailing season and she had some association with it. 
Certainly she was living aboard a vessel moored at 
Plymouth. She'd accessed funds via ATM only three times in 
nine weeks, and then only modest amounts. I knew everything 
there was to know about Jane, or at least I once thought I 
did. I knew nothing about Jane knowing anything about 
sailing. 

Once located she was easily tracked. In the following two 
months she criss-crossed through Europe in summer, always 
travelling low-budget and on her own. The occasional 
photographs often showed her with men as easy company. 
Then, as the grey skies of autumn settled in she started to 
move south, apparently following the sun. Greece, Turkey, 
Egypt and then Nairobi, from where she sent me an email, 
which I knew because my spies told me where she was. She 
knew I knew it. That's what the email was about. 

`I'm being watched,' she wrote, `and I know you must be 
behind it. Do not betray my trust. Stop from this point. If 
you do not leave me alone I will kill myself. I promise. - 
Jane.' 

I called off the tracker dogs. It was possible she would do 
as she threatened. But I could still follow her remotely 
and without risk, now that the agency had established a 
covert relationship with a bribed officer at her bank. I 
could trace her through ATM transactions. 

Durban, Madagascar, the Seychelles, Perth and Sydney. Then 
Jakarta, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Hong Kong. Where she 
disappeared. No more withdrawals. No emails. After three 
months I set the dogs loose again, but with instructions 
for extreme discretion. Nothing. No knowledge. She was 
backtracked to a certain day in Hong Kong in November. Then 
nothing. 

After another three months I was very seriously concerned. 
I feared she was dead, one way or another, and apart from 
any personal consideration I needed to know for legal and 
financial reasons. I let go the reins on the investigators. 
Find her, I directed. Spare no effort and no expense. 

It took another five agonising months. My spirits soared as 
I flicked through the photos. She'd changed her appearance 
but she looked wonderful. The short hair was now shoulder-
length, still black, but falling straight like a heavy 
curtain around her face. She was dressed elegantly to suit 
her slim figure and made up starkly. She looked 
dramatically beautiful and alluringly sexy. I read the 
report and discovered the reason. Jane was a hooker in San 
Francisco. Not a street scout, thank God. She worked for an 
elite escort service and she was expensive. She called 
herself Janey. 

I was chilled to the bone. Her destructive will had taken 
her to this. No wonder she needed no funds. She was earning 
her own way and, according to the report, doing so 
handsomely. But she was a call girl, no matter how 
purportedly high class, and it was as dangerous an 
occupation for her as could be devised. 

I considered the situation and the options shrank quickly 
to one only. I booked a flight to San Francisco. 

Ensconced in a suite at a first-class hotel, I slept away 
the dregs of the flight and prepared myself. Then I rang 
and hired her. Janey. I was specific. She'd been 
recommended, I said. Mr Edward in room 1501 at 7.30 
precisely. The service rang back to confirm. 

She rapped on the door at precisely 7.30 and indeed it was 
Jane. Her face betrayed not a flicker of emotion. "This 
cannot be coincidence," she said. 

"Will you come in?" I asked politely. 

"You're paying," she said, and swept past me as I stood 
aside. 

She stood with her back to me, looking out the window at 
the city lights. It was close to a year and five months 
since she'd slept the night with me in my room. She'd 
improved on herself. The straight black hair suited her 
well, sweeping away from memory the boyish look she once 
sported. 

"You're angry, of course," I said. 

"What if I am?" She remained with her back to me. 

"You're my employer. You could sack me." 

Unexpectedly she laughed. "You're right," she said. "I'm 
your employer. Which means I'm currently paying me for my 
services." She turned to look at me. "And by the hour, too. 
Do you know how expensive I am? Only somebody like me could 
afford me." She laughed again. 

"It is my duty," I said, "to look after your interests. I'm 
here because I'm concerned your interest is at risk." 

Her eyes searched my face. "You mean me and what I'm doing, 
I suppose," she said. "It's not something else?" 

"No. But I could catch you up on affairs at home if you 
wish." 

She waved a hand. "Please don't." Abruptly she turned aside 
and dropped herself down on the sofa. "For God's sake, 
Blue," she said. "Get me a drink." 

I'm not who I am for nothing. I mixed her favourite drink, 
having already made certain the ingredients had been 
delivered to the suite. "Superb," she said, sipping at it 
almost reverently. "Suddenly I remember why I like you." 

"Jane, you look very well." 

"You think so?" She seemed oddly pleased. 

"Yes, considering the life you've been leading." 

"How much do you know, Blue?" 

"Very little. I backed off according to your request. But 
when you disappeared off the face of the earth I had to 
know whether you were alive or dead." 

"And now you're here." 

"Yes. I had to know." 

"So how much do you know now?" 

"Very little." 

"Then let me tell you, seeing you've gone to so much 
trouble. I'm a prostitute, Blue. I'm paying my own way for 
the first time in my life, and I like it. I like making the 
money, I like the independence from you and all that I left 
behind, and I even like the job. After all, it only 
formalises what I've been doing for free all these years." 

"But, Jane, you wouldn't describe it as a long-term 
career." 

She shrugged. "I don't see anything as long term. Face it, 
Blue, I'm a slut. Been one since I was 13. Now I've turned 
professional." 

"You are not a slut," I said firmly. "You are Jane." 

She smiled sadly at me. "I remember telling you about me. I 
remember showing you. But you learned little, obviously. 
Tell me, do you still love me?" 

"Yes." 

"Then it's time to be brutal about this. Look, it's okay to 
be friends. It's okay to be loyal. But it's not okay to 
love me. Because I'm a slut, and you should never love a 
slut. I don't love you. I don't love anybody. I like you, 
Blue. I'm deeply fond of you. I trust you. I need you to be 
back there looking after things, not here looking at me 
with your doting doggy eyes." 

"I cannot allow you to destroy yourself." 

"You cannot stop me." She sat upright and attentive on the 
couch with her knees pressed together. Her face was set and 
determined. "If that's what I wish," she added softly, as 
an afterthought. 

"Jane, what do you wish? What do you want?" 

"I don't know. But I'm happier doing what I'm doing now 
than I have been for years. That's the simple truth." 

"I can't talk you out of it?" 

"No." 

"But it's all so completely dangerous." 

She smiled at me. "Compared to where I've been and what 
I've been doing, it's as safe as my bank in Geneva." 

I let that one go. Her bank was not nearly as safe as she 
thought it was. "Where have you been?" I asked. "What have 
you done?" 

"Lots of places. Bad things." 

"Such as?" 

"Why do you want to know?" 

I sighed, exasperated. "Because I cannot believe you can be 
in a more dangerous situation than you are now." 

"At least I don't get raped any more," she said, looking at 
me stonily. 

"You were raped?" 

"Three times. I mean, on three separate occasions." 

"Jane, that's awful. Were you hurt?" 

"Not a lot. And I learned a valuable lesson, though all too 
slowly. I was too much accustomed to doing what I liked 
when I liked, and I found out the hard way that life's not 
like that when you're out there on your own." 

"And now? What's changed?" 

She reached into her handbag and drew out a small 
signalling device. "I'm not alone any more." 

"How did you get into this business?" 

"Through a friend," she said. "A woman friend. We share an 
apartment." 

"And you share an occupation?" 

"Yes." 

"Anything else you share?" 

She tilted her head at me, amused. "Actually, yes. Your 
suspicions are correct. I told you I like sex, Blue, and it 
comes in many forms." 

It was becoming increasingly apparent that I was not going 
to make a breakthrough. I looked at her despairingly. 
"Jane, are you ever coming back?"  

"Maybe not," she said. 

"But maybe?" 

"I don't think so, Blue. I don't want to go back to that." 

"But why this?" 

She shrugged. "Because I like it." 

I couldn't fathom it. "But it's so sordid. Nameless sleazy 
and seedy clients." 

She smiled. "You're not nameless. Or sleazy. Or seedy." 

"I'm not a client." 

"In fact you are. You booked me. The meter is running." 

"I didn't book you for that." 

"Nevertheless." 

"Jane, can you stay the night?" 

"I have nothing else on. But I'll have to ring in." 

"Do it." 

"It'll cost you, Blue." 

"Do it." 

She smiled again. "Are you going to fuck me, Blue?" 

"I'm going to talk to you, Jane." 

"Boring," she said, stretching an arm above her head. "And 
pointless. I'm not coming back." 

"Is there nothing I can do?" 

"To persuade me? Nothing. But the least you can do is fuck 
me. That's what you're paying me for and I take pride in my 
work." 

"Jane, that's distasteful." 

"Is it? You didn't think so once." 

"That was different." 

"Maybe not so different, Blue. Then I was an amateur and 
now I'm a pro. You were easy then and you'd still be easy 
now." 

"Jane, that's cruel." 

"Is it? That's good, because maybe I'm starting to get 
through to you at last." 

"Don't you know how cruel you are?" 

"Yes, Blue, I do know. I've always known." She stood up 
from the couch. "Now wipe away those tears and come and 
fuck me." 

Every word she said was a dagger. She stood there in front 
of me, sharply and coldly beautiful. As beautiful as ever. 
Even more so. 

"Blue," she said. "Look." 

Carefully and deliberately, watching me intently, she 
raised the hem of her black skirt. Above her knees. Above 
the tops of her stockings. Above her groin. She was not 
wearing pants, of course. She was Jane. But her pubic hair 
was gone. She was smooth and pale-white and shockingly 
naked. 

She smiled her wicked smile and I remembered it 
immediately. "Got you," she said.

Mockery hurts. It is belittling and diminishing, and it is 
especially hard to bear when it comes from the only woman 
you will ever truly love. But it delighted her. She 
prospered on it. 

Jane stood before me with her skirt raised, exposing her 
smooth and hairless sex. She smiled contentedly, certain in 
her knowledge that she was irresistible. She barely had to 
work at it. 

"I know what I'd like," she said. "But I'm not the client 
so it's not my place to ask." When I didn't respond she 
continued. "I'd like you to come to me and lick me till I 
can't stand." I sat on my chair, not moving. "But then 
again," she said sardonically, "you wouldn't be any good at 
it anyway. Poor Blue. It's just not your sort of game, is 
it." 

She could always hurt me without trying. She didn't need to 
try this hard. 

"I should have taken you in hand back then," she said. 
"Back in those good old days. You could have had me on my 
back 15 times a week if you'd only shown a spark of 
invention. I should have taken you in hand. I should have 
taught you to lick me like the faithful basset hound you 
are." She laughed ironically. "Well, at least you could 
come and give me a kiss. You can do that much, can't you?" 

I approached her with foreboding and put out my hands to 
take her by the shoulders. 

"Not on the mouth," she said, shrugging away. "I'm a long 
way past sentimental." She bent her head. "Down there, 
Blue. That's where I want you." 

Slowly I sank to my knees, leaned forward and pressed my 
lips to her smooth and cool skin. 

"That's very good," she said. "Keep going. Smother me with 
kisses." 

She smelled of powder and perfume. Fragrant bath oils, 
perhaps. And so smooth, like she'd never had hair there at 
all. 

She let the skirt drop over my head and placed her hands in 
my hair, urging me forward. "That's very good," she said. 
"You see how easy it is? I'm just so easy to please." 

I pulled away from her, away from the dress, and looked up 
at her looking down at me. "Yes," I said. "Sluts are like 
that." 

I thought she'd be angry. Furious. I thought she'd leave. 
But she smiled down at me almost benevolently. "That's 
right," she said. "It's taken you a long time to find that 
out." 

She took me to bed, again. She led and I followed. I did my 
best to please her because that was all I was ever fated to 
do. She held my head and guided me with a demanding hand as 
I licked and lashed her to an orgasm that squeezed out of 
her with an intensity I found disconcerting. I knew she was 
using me and I knew there was a reason for it but I didn't 
know what it was. Still don't. But there was something 
behind it that was dark, spiteful and not nice to look at. 
Once more she put me on my back in the bed and took me 
inside her, black eyes staring down at my face and mouth 
set thin and cold. She didn't pump but wriggled and 
writhed, bending forward till she was poised above me, face 
to face, her body held up by straight arms. Her eyes dulled 
and she flinched. She squeezed, twisted and squirmed to her 
second orgasm and I watched her like a detached observer. 

She rolled away and lay beside me on her back. "You bring 
out the worst in me," she said, her voice laboured. 

I tried to know. "Why?" 

"You just do," she said. And there was a definite full 
point to the comment. 

I drifted away to sleep and she did too. Later in the 
night, in darkness, I woke because she was crying. She made 
no sound but I knew it just the same. 

"Why are you crying?" I asked softly. 

"I was thinking about Dominic," she said. "I never do that. 
It must be because you're here." 

I turned towards her and she came into my arms, small, 
slight and fragile. "Now you know why I can't come back," 
she said. 

She rose at first light and dressed quickly, back to her 
brisk and brittle self. I sat up in bed and watched as she 
searched in my coat for my wallet, and as she counted out 
hundred dollar bills. "No need to tip me," she said with 
heavily laid irony. 

She stood beside the bed, black-haired and black-eyed. 
"Well, Blue," she said. "I think this is goodbye." Without 
waiting for a response, and I didn't have one anyway, she 
turned sharply and left. I heard the door shut. 

I flew home that same day. I shut down her pursuers, let 
her be, and got on with my life. I never stopped thinking 
about her but I let her be. I met a girl who said she liked 
me, and she was not nearly as clever as I was, so I knew it 
had to be true. In bed I led and she followed. It was 
ordinary but satisfactory. But it always felt like 
something was missing. Some factor, some component that was 
lacking. In about a year we became engaged. Families drew 
together and a wedding of substance was planned. 

Then a senior police officer came to my office. He was so 
senior he was wearing a dress uniform, and I knew it was 
going to be about Jane. She was dead, of course. Stabbed in 
the neck. The knife had been embedded to the hilt, employed 
with malevolent force. The circumstances were not known, 
other than the fact she had been killed in a hotel room in 
Las Vegas. Investigations were proceeding but the police 
officer said without saying an outcome was unlikely. 

He was most discreet and so was I. When it was established 
I knew about her lifestyle he let the matter drop straight 
away. He left and I put the matter into the eminently safe 
hands of the family solicitors. 

She left me everything she had. Nobody else was mentioned. 
I turned 30 a wealthy man and I married Jane. The plain 
one. I hope I always treat her well. But sometimes, in the 
dark of the night when memories are blackest, I find I 
don't want to.

ENDS
---------------------------------------------------------

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

* also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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