I thought I knew what shock was.
I thought I knew.
I thought I knew what fear was.
Thought it would never touch me.
I thought I knew what my world was.
Me.
Jennifer.
Sitting in my office late on a slow Tuesday afternoon. Seeing one last big-fish client for the day.
I just looked at his smug, amused face across from me, sitting in the good guest chair across from me.
That face.
I wanted to scratch it. Spit on it. Throw it the hell out of here.
But I sat frozen.
I glanced around instead, avoiding his stare.
Filled with boiling rage, trying to hold it in check, even shaking a little now, wanting this to all be a big joke, I glanced at things familiar instead.
My picture of Tom and me on our honeymoon, framed on my desk.
The nieces and nephews in smaller picture frames all across the front.
My folks on their big trip last year, taking that cruise.
My sports team awards hanging on the walls.
Looked at the window.
The coffeemaker.
There was a portrait picture sitting right on my blotter in front of me, even as I sat here and it was all going dark, even now, and I stared at it, avoiding his eyes still. Just wanting this to all go away.
A perfect portrait picture of me and my mom and my aunts and cousins in our new choir robes. We’d gotten new gowns and the pastor was going to hang this picture in the hall. I was off to get a frame for it at lunch tomorrow.
Me.
My world.
I thought I knew a lot of things.
I did not.
I felt the adrenaline gushing through me, the giddy shake in the knees like you get when you’re a kid and a bully wants to fight you. The anger gushing into my throat like venom.
“Bob,” I said with a slight tremble, trying hard to control my voice, keep it even.
“Bob, please leave. Please get out of here and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened, okay? Tear up your contracts and we’re done, okay?”
I looked at him now, trying to maintain control as I started shivering harder, felt the bile in my throat.
“Jennifer, honey, come on, “ he said with that smug confidence, leaning back in the chair across from me, crossing his legs, getting comfortable, shaking his head and smiling.
Pig.
“Jen, honey, come on. Why do you pretend?”
He leaned back waiting, as if I didn’t get it yet, and I just stared dumbfounded.
Stared at the handsome face, the handsome patrician face, the ever-glowing blue eyes, the sparkling eyes of a favorite uncle, a kindly grandpa.
“Jen, you’ll love it,” he continued. “You ski right out the front door. Right down the mountain!”
Like he’d said something I should like.
I just stared at him, the content successful rich man heading toward Fifty. Fit, trim, with the time and will to take care of himself.
Robert Simmons.
My first big client.
My showcase account.
Scum.
Handsome in a soft spoiled rich boy sort of way. The face of the one who plays the kindly family doctor in a TV soap opera. The damned smug patronizing smile with the perfect white teeth.
Rich boy is what he was. Old money. Owns the local newspaper and many media companies.
All inherited for Mr. Patrician, with his head of perfectly coiffed graying hair and constant tan. His Italian loafers with no socks and dark gray wool suit over a black T-shirt, his wrist sporting a Rolex.
Mr. Leader-of-the-Community. Big on charity work and letting people know about it. That’s what my ad agency did for him. Liked putting pictures of himself in his newspaper. Golfing. Yachting. Cutting the ribbon on a free clinic he’ll never visit again.
My showcase client. Opened many doors.
Mr. Big Shot.
A man I’d admired. Was grateful to. Thought was my friend.
Thought wrong.
Because my ‘friend’, Robert Simmons, had just propositioned me!
And told me that if I didn’t spend a weekend with him at his place in Utah, he would print lies about my husband Tom’s Dad!
“Bob, I am a happily married woman,” I said trembling, my tone rising, my voice shaking a little now, trying to stare him down, glare at him, get him the hell out of here.
“I am not one of your bimbo whores, asshole!” I said loudly, slamming my fist on the desk, standing to say it.
“Who the FUCK do you think you’re talking to!??”
I stared straight down at him. Sat down again.
Holding my ground.
I was furious, and I let him know it.
Pig scum.
He just stared at me like Grandpa watching a temper tantrum. Vaguely amused but getting impatient. Oh yes, the dark shadow was across that happy-uncle face now. I could see it.
Rich boy being told No.
“Listen, Jen honey…”
”Don’t CALL me that! I am NOT your fucking HONEY!”
“Listen, Jen huuuuu-neeeey……”
Asshole.
“Sweetie, I saw how you came on to me all those months back when I signed again,” he said, shaking his head slowly back and forth.
He paused, like I would get it now.
“I saw how you were, sweet thing… that hot green dress, I mean, why do you pretend?”
He talked like he was talking to a small child.
And he kept leering at my body, eyes going up and down, staring at my breasts.
I felt creepy, like I’d turned over a rock. Like bugs were on me where he was looking.
“Honey, I know you like to party. Like old Bobby here does too, okay? No need to hide. A girl needs to get by, bring in clients, I respect that. You’re no bimbo. That’s why I’m here. Hubby won’t know unless you tell him.”
He leaned back, waiting.
“Is it such an awful prospect?” he asked, like I should have gotten it by now.
“Is it so terrible, Jen? Am I so awful?”
He smiled wider, smug and self-satisfied. Like I’ll understand now.
I’ll wipe that smile off your face, I thought.
Fight-or-flight, as they say.
Well, Jennifer fights.
“Get. The Fuck. Out,” I said in a low rumble. “Now. Or I call Security.”
We stared across the desk at each other.
I could feel tears forming. I fought it. I held the phone up.
He just smiled.
“Honey, I’ll print it. Just come up for a weekend, okay?”
That scared me.
“Why ME?” I asked him, desperate now, trying to reason with him, hold back the anger that was boiling through my veins.
“Just go get a bimbo, Bob. I’m TAKEN, asshole, OKAY???”
He looked angry now.
“No, Jenny-poo, not okay.”
Our eyes stayed locked.
‘Jenny-poo.’ What the hell was that?
Dipshit.
He put his hand on mine. I recoiled like I’d touched a snake.
He just stared.
“Why do you pretend?” he asked again, shaking his head, looking genuinely perplexed.
“I know how you really are. Just get rid of that boy-scout husband of yours…”
“Fuck you!”
Get RID of him,” he said, louder, leaning toward me, “and come up for the weekend!”
I picked up the letter opener on my desk and held it like a dagger.
“Not okay, old Bobby. I don’t ‘play.’ Out, now, or I call Security.”
He didn’t budge.
“Honey, if you call them, I’ll just say I refused to let you stop me from printing the truth about Judge Daddy Boy Scout, and you kicked me out. Like that, would you?”
Pig.
Pig scum.
How I hated him.
Tom’s Dad is a prominent local Judge, widely respected.
Years ago, he’d accidentally gotten involved as a young lawyer with the wrong crowd. The’ bent-nose boys’. As soon as he found out, he broke away from them. In fact, prosecuted many of them later for racketeering.
But Bob could spin it differently. No idea how he knew, it was years ago.
Could hang a permanent question mark over Tom’s Dad’s head.
Ruin him.
Ruin us. The questions, resentments.
Ruin me. My family’s happiness ruined, because of me, how could I live with that?
And all because I won’t sleep with him! This spoiled rich boy who always gets what he wants.
“Fuck you, Bob. Get out!”
He came around the desk at me.
I was really scared now and swiped the letter opener into the air in front of him, just to keep him away.
“Get OUT!”
He hit the opener out of my hand with one hand, I charged anyway to push him to the door and he slapped me!
Smashed his palm right across my cheek!
That stopped me. I fell back into my chair.
He backed up.
He regretted it. I could tell.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer. I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, a little shocked himself.
I just touched the sting on my cheek and stared.
Hating him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just defending myself. Why are you BEING this way?”
He was genuinely contrite. Had gone over the line.
He shook his head, sat back down.
“I’m sorry.”
I gathered myself up, still holding my cheek.
Fight or flight? Guess.
“You know, stud,” I said, trying a different tack, rubbing my cheek, ”this phone calls your new little wifey-poo just as quick as it calls Security. Is she home from school yet?”
And then he did something I totally didn’t expect. He laughed!
A big old belly-laugh, head thrown back, he loved it!
Freak.
I really didn’t get it.
He was laughing!
I’d just met his new wife at a party we were all invited to just two weeks ago. And to think I was flattered to be at a party at his beautiful house with all the local movers-and-shakers!
His wife Karen is half his age, very pretty with green eyes and shoulder-length thick brown hair, gorgeous body.
Easy picture, the wealthy older sugar-daddy and the young hot-thing.
His fourth wife. I’d always known he was a womanizer, no secret, and had even felt flattered when his stares at me went a little long sometimes. Flattered!
Pig.
His wife Karen at the party had told us that she was an “actress” before “she and Bobby fell in love like fireworks!” and now she was “settling into a whole new life!”
Frannie—my veep and business partner-- had laughed like hell driving back from the party.
“Yeah, ‘an aaaaactress’ “ she mimicked.
“But how much did she charge per hour for all that aaaaaacting??”
We’d laughed hard at that.
And why was he laughing at me now?
“Jen, huuuu-neeey, you sure do run hot and cold, know that?”
He was smiling again, all chipper, a little more humble after popping me.
“Jen,” he said, back to talking to a small child, but humble now, kinder, “Jen, it was her idea!”
I went totally frozen.
He waited. Shook his head impatiently.
“Jen, she saw how you stared at her at the party. Then I told her about how you get contracts signed, that green dress, the way you stared at your secretary, veep, whatever she is, that day, prancing around here, getting me to sign those contracts, ten kinds of hot in that short little dress, honey my little Karen is INTO you!”
He might as well have revealed that he’s really a Martian.
Or I am.
Sure I’d talked to her for a long time—the dumb bitch, hell, no one else was, I was just being nice!
“Jenny-poo, my little Karen swings all ways.”
He beamed a smile now.
“She liiiikes you.”
I must have looked so shocked he clearly found it funny. Like I was putting it all on, knew what he was talking about but faking shock.
I wasn’t faking.
“In fact, sweetie, that’s why I need you. Just you. She likes you and….well, you’re her birthday present! Just the three of us up on that big old mountain!”
It really took me a minute.
It came out a low rumble, and for the first time today, I rubbed that smile off his face.
“You. Fucking. Perverted. Freak. Another woman? You expect me to be not just with you but another woman???”
It was all too much.
I really could not even deal with this.
A woman AND him! A threesome???? An orgy???? What were they pretending they saw? How demented and delusional can these people be?
Me???
How absolutely disgusting, a woman?
Beyond words. Gross beyond words.
Dear God, who is this kinky nutjob? And who gave him all that money?
“I don’t know who you think you are,” I continued, “or who you think I am….but you are leaving right now FREAK! Or I WILL call Security you PERV FUCK!! “
I smashed my fist down again and stood up. Eye-to-eye.
I was done.
I was ready to open the door, invite everyone in, tell them what a pig he was, call Tom, call the cops, call my Dad…I was done.
Done with this Freak-azoid ASShole! Kinky perv ASShole!
“All right Jen, play-act it your way.”
He was leaving. He was giving up.
I felt a rush.
He was heading for the door.
“One week from tomorrow, Jen,” he said, looking at me with his hand on the doorknob.
Thank God.
“One week to call my secretary, get your plane ticket, or read your Sunday paper, honey. I’ll make it good. Better than a novel. All those ‘unanswered questions’ about Tom’s Daddy. Who needs it?”
He tried to still feign amusement. Clearly he hadn’t expected my reactions.
“And,” he added, ever cool, ”pack light Jen. You won’t need much.”
I picked up my paperweight, the heavy one.
“Jen, you are just a perfect birthday gift for the girl who has EVERYthing!”
He was laughing and I threw the paperweight as hard as I could like a baseball right at him.
“Perv FREAK!” I yelled.
I didn’t care who heard me. Wiped that smile off, all right.
He looked at me, angry and perplexed again, easily deflected the paperweight. It thudded against the wall.
“Play it your way, Jen,” he said more seriously, grim, not Mr. Happy anymore.
“One week, or I print it.”
And he left, pasting his smile on for my employees to see, as he walked out.
The tears burst before I could even lock the door.
I was crying crying crying, the tears gushing.
I let go, was shaking violently, shivering, felt cold and hot.
I leaned into the far corner of my office, slid down to the floor, sobbing, curled into the fetal position and hugged myself.
Rocking back and forth, I couldn’t stop crying.
Oh I know he didn’t touch me, except for the slap.
But I still felt violated.
Dirty.
Vulnerable.
Helpless and afraid in a cruel ugly world.
I cried and cried.
And that’s how Frannie found me, an hour later……
“You HAVE to tell Tom! You have to tell his Dad! Hell, you should call the cops!”
We sat at the patio bar next to the office. I was on my second martini. I’d finally stopped shaking.
“I can’t, Frannie. He could really do bad things. And Tom and his brothers will go ballistic. He’ll take them all down with his paper, his lies….”
He can’t do ANYthing Jen!”
Frannie was furious, ready to fight. She was so great.
“You need to…”
“No,” I said.
I was a little surprised myself.
Normally I would be more like Frannie, but I wasn’t.
I was afraid.
Meek and skittish and afraid.
“This isn’t like you, Jen. He needs to get the SLAM!”
“No. No. I just need him to go away,” I said quietly.
I really didn’t know why it was so scary, why I was so deflated, so afraid to take him on.
“Okay, then we’re calling your friend Lydia.”
“No, I…”
YES. Gimme.”
She grabbed my cell, punched up the address book, punched buttons and handed it to me.
Frannie and Lydia had met briefly when Lydia was here last, a few months back.
Didn’t recall much except they’d gotten along great. Lydia always asks about her now. And Frannie asks about Lyd too, they’re pals.
Lydia was groggy. She was home, in Africa. I’d woke her up.
She barely got out “Hello” and I blurted out everything.
I went on and on.
She made me repeat myself a lot, go over stuff.
Finally I couldn’t say anymore.
She said, “I’ll be there in two days, baby. Hang tight. I’m coming.”
“No,Lyd, I didn’t mean for you to…”
“Shh. Two days. Hang tight. On my way.”
Her voice was steel.
And truth be told, I did want her here.
Needed her. My best friend Lydia.
I did need her here.
Now.
“Okay,” was all I said.
“Hey you!”
“Lydia!”
I threw myself into her arms and we did a big bear hug. She was here!
“Come in, Jen. I made tea. Come on!”
I went into the luxurious penthouse suite.
This wasn’t the same one she usually gets. Maybe the short notice, after all she’d come to help me. All the way from Africa.
This one was bigger, more contemporary, modern, no antiques like the other one.
Luxurious white leather furniture, beautiful views of the city on two sides, a big bar. Lots of chrome and glass and sleek lighting.
This one was for working and living too, there were actually conference rooms on one side and a bank of connections for computers.
I guess rich people bring the office to them.
For a second it sounded like sound was coming from a radio or something. I could hear it faintly.
Lydia is such a great friend.
She’d sent a CD yesterday by messenger of this beautiful soothing music—I don’t know if she composed it or not, she just said it would help me relax.
Did too! I listened to it all night on the headphones while Tom worked late in his home-office. It was very beautiful. Didn’t say what orchestra, I’d have to remember to ask.
And now she was here!
“Wow! Biker chick on the prowl!” she said, looking me up-and-down, laughing.
I laughed too.
I’d gone pretty risque. When you have a pal who looks like Lydia, you have to keep up, to not be the frumpy-friend-of-the-hot-girl. Not that I’m frumpy! But Lyd gives me a chance to do it up.
I’d gone leather today.
Tight black leather mini-skirt.
Black fishnets, black open-toed high heels.
My blond hair long too, and all teased out—I’d made an emergency run to the spa yesterday, gotten the full treatment, red nails, facial, hey Lyd’s coming!
Wore a little black corset that made my boobs look great.
I did indeed look fantastic.
Covered it all in a red jacket that I could take off now, it was so warm in here.
“Come on, Jen, let’s talk,” she said, still looking me up and down approvingly. Taking the jacket. Glancing at me to smile.
She was wearing a really thick, pretty full-length blue robe that covered her completely.
Classy robe a rich lady wears, bopping around the Penthouse. Jeez, what a life.
Barefoot, pretty red nail polish too, dark as mine, same, she liked toe-rings, had two of them, hair and makeup impeccable as always. She looked so beautiful. The wonderful jet black hair—she was wearing it super-long these days—her sparkling eyes, what a vision.
My beautiful Lydia was here!
“Have some tea, baby,” she said.
She knew I wasn’t a coffee person. She sipped her coffee in a big mug while I drank practically the whole pot of herbal tea.
We talked.
I told her I hadn’t heard from Simmons. We went ‘round and ‘round on what could be done, what I might do.
It was getting really hot in here. She handed me a tissue to wipe my brow, as if reading my mind.
“Jen, I really don’t think it will get to that. Hey, I have a call to make, a long one. Some charity work I’m doing.”
She smiled. Got up.
Put a new pitcher of tea down.
Walked over to a huge TV. One of those wall ones.
“Why don’t you watch this new travel piece we’re releasing—well, this is the rough edit, we will clean it up—but hey check this one out and I’ll be back, ‘kay?”
“Sure thing, Lyd.”
“And stop worrying Jen! My Dad can buy and sell ten Bob Simmons!”
I laughed. I guess the worry showed in my face.
“But it won’t get to that. Relax, baby, watch this while I work, and I’ll be back.”
It was an awesome video. Rich sound like in a movie theater.
All about the world’s best beaches. Glorious views, beautiful oceans. Pretty ladies in their bikinis.
The cameramen are definitely men, I thought. They did dwell for long delicious seconds on the pretty ones!
The music was very similar to the CD from yesterday.
How cool. I settled in.
I sipped tea and really got into it, the white flashes and volume changes not even bothering me the least.
It was so hot in here!
I didn’t see a remote anywhere, or any buttons on the TV, so I just let the video run and repeat.
It was awesome to watch, I really got into it.
How delicious it was to see these beautiful people prancing around. She even had the European nude beaches on here. Some of these women! Those are lucky guys in Europe, delicious pretty pretty women who prance around like that!
The warm room and the tea were making me sleepy, and as the video ran a third or fourth time, maybe fifth, I sort of dozed off.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up—still groggy—Lydia was standing above me.
She wasn’t wearing the robe anymore.
Oh no. Sure wasn’t.
She had on a tight snug black mini-dress with fishnet sides. Bare legs. Black heels like mine. Super low-cut and tight, she looked as sizzling hot as I’d ever seen her.
I tried to shake the sleep off and sit up. Shook my head.
“All done, baby,” she whispered, crouching down as I awakened.
“How delicious that video is…super-delicious, isn’t it Jen?”
I got all dizzy and a little groggy for a second. All tingly.
Her finger stroked my cheek. Knees touched mine.
“Isn’t it delicious, Jen? The beaches, aren’t they just absolutely delicious delicious to watch baby? Hmmm?”
And then she couldn’t’ t talk anymore because our lips were locked in the sweetest wettest warmest kiss there could ever be. The one that should last forever.
I spun out and it was all Lydia. It was all, my beautiful, glorious Lydia.
We kissed and kissed. She stroked my legs and moaned while I drove my breasts into hers hungrily, covered her neck in light feather kisses.
Swirled my fingers behind her knees and felt hers tickle behind mine.
Oh God it was good to be in Lydia, the lavender scent, the glorious hair, the sweet heat exploding straight through my legs and back in and around inside my body.
I went on absolute fire and twisted and writhed on the couch with Lydia. There was nowhere else to be…how good to feel her again….
I was floating away, when suddenly she got up.
“Wait, baby, wait,” she said in a hoarse rasp, voice lower, breathing hard. Pushing hair out of her eyes.
“Wait.”
She got up and went very quickly around the corner.
I started to follow, wanted to be in the bedroom .
“No, baby, wait.”
I sat again.
And was not ready for what I saw next!
Lydia came around the corner with another woman!
A naked woman, crawling on all fours while Lydia pulled her on a leash!
Lydia brought her over.
“Stand up, baby.”
I did, looking down at this very pretty woman. Medium-brown hair, delicious, luscious young body.
Covered in sweat. Breathing hard, rasping.
Head down but pretty green eyes staring up at me. Hungry, desperate green eyes.
Starving eyes.
“Jennifer darling,” Lydia said, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Slut.”
Slut moaned. Still looking up at me.
And suddenly I hated her.
Despised her.
I had no idea who she was, had never seen her before, but I was filled with anger.
I hated her.
“Slut, meet Mistress Jennifer.”
Slut bent down and covered my feet in light kisses.
“Yes, Mistress,” she kept repeating to herself quietly as she kissed my feet.
“Bitch,” I said.
I didn’t know where that came from, I just said it.
“You’ve displeased Mistress Jennifer,” Lydia said harshly.
“Bad girl.”
Lydia reached down and whacked Slut’s behind.
Slut cried out, head lolling back and forth—I suddenly realized Slut was bathed in sweat, and I greedily eyed those succulent stiff nipples on those perky perfect breasts.
I sat down and extended my leg, letting Slut kiss one foot.
I let my shoes fall off.
I took my other foot and grazed those sweet delicious little titties.
She moaned loudly.
Lydia was kissing me from above the whole time, and I sucked her beautiful breasts from below, the dress now unhooked.
Lydia suddenly reached down and un-cuff’ed Slut’s wrists.
Slut looked hopeful, lifting her head for a moment.
“Serve Mistress Jennifer’s legs, Slutty Girl,” Lydia said sternly.
Then looking over and smiling at me.
Slut very slowly, reverently slid my stockings down, covering one leg then the other with licks and kisses, driving me into absolute orbit.
Every touch of her tongue stoked the fire between my legs. There was a hot branding iron in my pussy and she was pouring gasoline on.
After she’d slid my stockings down, she reached up for my panties.
Her fingers were busy where I wanted them, and then the panties slid down.
I moaned, I was losing it, grinding now.
Lydia slid her dress off and I let the skirt fall when I stood.
Lydia kissed me, and with one hand stroked my ass while the other pulled Slut.
We got to the bed.
Lydia unhooked Slut, re-fastened her moaning writhing body to the bed, wrists and ankles cuff’ed.
Slut was on her back below us now.
I grabbed her by the hair and drove her face into my pussy, and the swirl of her tongue was a wildfire!
Lydia was at the other side of the bed.
She reached under.
“Time for a snack, baby,” she said to me, breathing hard, eyes all unfocused.
Looking wicked, Lydia pulled out a white box.
A bakery box.
She opened it, stuck her hand in, and pulled up a handful of cake.
A white one, with pretty green and yellow sugary frosting.
A birthday cake.
Lydia slid on to the bed—we were both over Slut now—and slowly smeared cake and frosting all over Slut’s tits.
“Guests first,” Lydia rasped.
I dove in, making a pig of myself and just as wicked as Lydia.
I licked every crumb and saw that Lydia was smearing cake on Slut’s feet, tickling her while I licked.
Slut was a writhing animal below us, groaning incoherent sounds and twisting, her head beating on the pillow and twisting left and right.
Suddenly Lydia was kissing me and re-fastening Slut’s collar.
“No! No No Please don’t stop!” Slut cried.
“Shut up!” I said.
And I slapped her.
Hard, once, across the face.
I slapped her.
Lydia pulled her off the bed and fastened her leash to the dresser. Slut looked crestfallen, almost weepy.
Now Slut could only watch us. On her knees, shackled, covered in smeared cake frosting, watching us.
I slid back prone and Lyd was on me and she swept around into a ’69 and at the first taste and first feel of her golden tongue, we had liftoff.
Sweet flight. I was flying again.
It was always like this with Lydia. Straight into the sky.
The first ones were hard and staccato, I too was a writhing animal, like Slut.
Then, as we switched, they came slower.
Like the waves lapping the beach, slow sweet release, slow and a wave of sweeter anticipation, then back again.
I was a mile high and I could feel Lydia coming and coming too.
How good to please her. There was only pleasing my beautiful Lydia.
Eventually, we lay heaving, hugged tightly into each other’s arms.
I floated slowly back.
The room cooling. Breathing getting normal.
Suddenly I realized a sound. Heard a sound.
Whimpering.
Coming from Slut.
I turned.
Saw her hot body, on her knees, smeared with cake, breathing hard, looking at us with desperate hunger.
Lydia rose, walked over.
I started to fade, but I heard Lydia say, “You WILL make sure he watches them constantly!”
“Yes Mistress!”
“You WILL make sure he listens and watches all the CD’s CONSTANTLY! He WILL LISTEN AND WATCH! You can only come if you obey!”
“YES Mistress YES!!!”
And then Lydia released Slut, who drove her fingers into herself deeply.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were Slut’s screams as she came and came.
I couldn’t hold on….I wanted Lydia back in the bed, but I couldn’t hold on….I drifted….drifted…into sweet sleep….drifted……
Lydia had told Monty that this assignment would be “a treat.”
That’s how she said it.
“A real treat for you, Monty.”
He was filled with anticipation, wondering what she meant.
As usual she only told him just enough, not too much.
Hard to believe there could be a treat is store around here, he thought, surveying the boarded up storefronts, smashed pay phones, broken windows. Trash blowing in the street, a wino asleep in the alley across the way.
Monty checked the hidden lock on the glove box as he parked, leaving the loaded .45 automatic inside.
He locked the car too as he got out, in front of the flea-bag hotel, the only business still open on this block.
Knew locking wouldn’t do much good in this war-zone rat-hole neighborhood, even in the daytime, but then again, you didn’t buy this car alarm in a store.
It would give him the two minutes he needed.
He gingerly stepped over used condoms and broken hypodermic needles laying in the curb next to the car.
Checked his work jacket. 9mm automatic zippered in on one side. Sap, brass knuckles, pepper spray in the other.
All loaded up.
Not that he usually needed them, most of his work was not violent.
It was more where he would find himself, like this neighborhood.
He’d made a lot of money from them over the years. Lydia’s family, and other wealthy families like hers.
Mr Fix-It.
The quiet jobs, little backroom fixes, have the hushed conversations, the ones no one needs to know about.
He felt like the janitor sometimes, cleaning up the rich people’s messes.That’s how some of them acted too. Like he was their janitor.
He charged those types more, he mused with a smile.
But Lydia’s family had always been okay. Less arrogant than most. Paid well. Paid on time.
He dwelled on the connection as he stepped over the glass from smashed wine bottles and walked into the hotel.
A few days ago, Lydia runs a background check on a wheel named Bob Simmons. Takes Monty all day. She pays an obscene amount of money.
Not so obscene he didn’t take it.
Now, on the radio coming down here, he hears Simmons is missing.
Disappeared. Gone. Hasn’t shown up anywhere.
And the wife won’t do a missing-persons. Said he’s off to ‘find himself.’ Confident he’s safe. He ‘just had to get away.’
Monty knew not to ask questions.
He ignored the stench of garbage as he walked down the hall, stepping over the broken glass from smashed light bulbs, only one still working, held up with duct tape.
Just above the cracked plaster, also duct-taped. Christ, the whole place was duct-taped!
He knocked on a door that felt like cardboard.
And when it opened, he knew instantly what she meant.
A treat.
Yes indeed.A genuine, bona fide treat.
Gorgeous.
Wow.
Absolutely gorgeous.
“Hi. Are you Monty?”
“Yes.”
He felt the white streak of hot electric heat go through his body, the heat go into his crotch.
His bulge started to grow before he was even through the door.
“I’m Bobbi. Come in.”
Perfect.
Jesus.
“Thank you, Bobbi.”
He handed over the plain envelope just as Bobbi shut the door.
Loved the sweet subtle perfume.
Bobbi didn’t even look, to make sure the five-hundred was in there. Just tossed the envelope on the broken dresser, Monty liked that.
Monty took it all in.
The clingy red satin mini-dress that barely covered Bobbi’s ass. Straps hanging over muscular shoulders.
The low-heel red pumps. Blue nail polish, gold jewelry.
Long thick blonde hair, high-quality. Would never know it’s a wig.
Awesome.
Lydia had known Monty’s tastes for a long time. It was no secret which team he played on.
But he didn’t realize the depths of her knowledge.
Yes, Monty liked men.
But what Monty really liked was tranny-boys.
Oh, not the ones really into the transformation, Monty hated that.
The stupid plastic fake breasts, the body corsets, the coming-out parties. All nonsense. Despised it all.
No, what Monty liked was tranny’s who look just like what they are: men playing dress-up games.
Sissy-boys prancing around in girlie clothes is where Monty lived.
And this one was gorgeous.
Not young—Monty liked them much younger, this one was about Monty’s age—but smooth, hairless, muscular man’s legs and shoulders, manly but still soft and smooth.
Awesome, awesome.
“I’m surprised you found me,” Bobbi said in the perfect falsetto, coy little spoiled brat tease voice that really flipped Monty’s switch.
He felt his bulge expode out, fill up hungrily, intense already and he’d just hung his jacket on the doorknob.
Instant. Hot hunger.
“I just put my web page up a couple hours ago, “ Bobbi said, flashing a beautiful perfect white smile. That coy look.
Monty was rock-hard. Moved in closer.
Bobbi’s skin was smooth and hairless on his chest, too.
Didn’t even have on a training bra.
Perfect.
Such strong, muscular shoulders under those red straps.
“Actually, you’re my first customer,” Bobbi said softly, unbuttoning Monty’s shirt. Running those long blue fake nails across Monty’s chest.
Rock hard and growing. All white heat now.
“Well I’m certainly glad I found you,” Monty said softly, sliding the straps off.
He could see Bobbi’s bulge under the dress as it fell. Poking out of the lacy panties.
Perfect makeup job, too. Lots of them used too much. Looked garish.
Not this one. Just enough pancake to cover the stubble. A little rouge, some mascara around those blue eyes, of course the tasty-looking ruby-red lips.
Too perfect. A dream.
Monty slid the straps off and the dress fell just as Bobbi slid his shirt off.
He went weak in the knees when Bobbi unbuckled his pants. Moved that finger just right, slowwwly taking down his zipper.
Their bulges were touching. Monty grinded his hips in a little, Bobbi grinding back.
Monty slid his hand down Bobbi’s ass.
Heaven.
Damn nice equipment lay in Monty’s future.
Bobbi kicked the shoes off and went to the bed, wearing just the lacy red panties, sashaying that ass just right.
Monty kicked his shoes and pants away, followed.
Wonder if this one kisses, he thought, sliding above Bobbi, who lay prone, legs spread, arms spread in welcome.
Some do, some don’t.
Monty went down.
This one did.
Nice sloppy wet hungry kisses like a man would make. Monty loved the slight feeling of stubble under his lips.
“I need to ask you a favor,” Bobbi said softly, twisting to talk and grind into Monty too, all coy tease, smiling that perfect smile. Getting hot now too.
“Sure, baby,” Monty purred, sliding those little panties down.
“My actual working name is Jennifer,” Bobbi whispered, sliding Monty’s briefs down at the same time.
They were fully touching now.
Naked, kicking the undies away.
Go time.
“Would you please call me Jennifer?”
“Sure baby. Anything you want,” Monty said softly.
And as Monty plunged headlong into this perfect moment, he thought:
Thank you, Lydia.
You were right.
This one WAS a treat!