About
half an hour
later there’s a knock on the door and I open it to see Linda
standing there,
with the girls flanking her. I stand aside and she leads them into my
room.
Both are wearing pastel pink dressing gowns and both have that newly
scrubbed
look and scent to them. I inhale deeply as they walk past and a shiver
of
expectation rolls through me.
‘If
you need
anything, just call,’ Linda says softly, handing me a capped
syringe and a
small coil of rubber tube on the way out.
‘Will
do,’ I reply,
closing the door behind her.
In
the flesh, Chloe
is a lot less pale and, though there are still dark smudges under her
pale blue
eyes, she certainly looks a lot better than I expected. Though
she’s not the
scrawny kind that seems so in demand, neither is she a big girl,
either.
There’s a delicacy about her, especially around the face
which is much more
finely featured close up, crowned with a messy, recently rubbed dry mop
of shoulder
length dark, almost black, hair. Barefoot and freshly scrubbed in a
hotel gown,
she has an air of grace and poise about her, even when she’s
standing still,
and she brings to mind a ballet dancer. I can’t express it
any better. But
there’s something else, too.
When
I saw her on
the feed she looked like the typical sexually abused child, all
dead-eyed and
traumatised as I like to call them. It’s why I skimmed so
thoughtlessly over.
Looking at her now I can see I was wrong; she’s wearing a
mask.
You
see girls of Chloe’s
age that do what she does, very quickly get hollowed out.
It’s not the abuse so
much as the variety of people who hand it out. Think about it;
doesn’t matter
who they meet, what gender or color or age that person is, all of them
are there
for one thing; to use her. In fact usually the only thing that makes
one person
any more memorable than another is the nature and severity of that use.
And
here, the house controls that which means every time she’s
taken to a room,
it’s pretty much a case of ‘same shit, different
day’ for her. There’s no-one
to tell, no-one to protect her and no-one to rescue her. No matter who
they
turn to, the result is the same. Eventually they often get so bad they
need a
little extra something to show any signs of life and so you arrive at
Debbie.
Debbie,
in pretty
much every way, is a polar opposite of Chloe. I think that once upon a
time she
was a very pretty girl and might have become a beautiful woman, but she
was
taken down a different path.
She
has long blonde
hair that still looks lank and grubby and though her face has an open
and
wide-eyed look, it’s charmless, underpinned by a furtive
restlessness. Her skin
has the slightly waxy sheen of someone who’s feeling far from
their best and
her eyes look vacant and confused. Even just stood on the spot,
she’s a mess of
furtive little movements. Her tongue flicks across her lips but
doesn’t moisten
them. One hand hangs limply by her side, the other grips the collar of
her
gown, the fingers on both flicking and rubbing without her seeming to
be aware
of it. She’s starting to cluck a bit and I wonder how long
it’s been since she
recorded the feed and how big a dose they gave her when she did. A while ago and
not much of one
seem to be the answers.
Looking
at her, I
have an image of her a few months from now, damaged beyond repair,
unfeeling
and unaware, telling a camera how she knows the risks and wants to pay
them;
Danielle’s heir apparent. I find that image pleases me very
much.
‘Debbie,
go in the
bathroom, get in the shower, get the shampoo and soap and wash yourself
properly. When you’re done, put your robe back on and come
out.’
Her
eyes are
elsewhere and it takes me a second or two to realise she’s
looking at the
syringe in my hand. I hold up between thumb and forefinger.
‘Do
that and I
might, might
let you earn the chance
to have a taste of this,’ I say. She gives a couple of quick
nods and then
hurries off to the bathroom.
I
turn to Chloe.
‘This
way, you,’
and I take her off to the wardrobe. As I said earlier, clothes are very
important to me.
It
doesn’t take
long to find her something to wear; I’d already made a mental
note of what I
would most like to see her in and we spend a few minutes with me
holding
outfits up to her small frame. Once I’m satisfied, we return
to the living area
with her clutching a small, neatly folded pile. I have her sit and wait
as
Debbie, still in her robe, walks in.
‘All
clean?’
She
nods. ‘Yes,
sir.’
‘Good,’
and I
waggle my finger in the universal ‘come hither’
side and she too takes a trip
to the wardrobe.
‘You’re
a very
pretty little girl, Chloe.’
‘Thank
you, sir,’
she says but her thin smile may as well be painted on.
‘Not
the first to
tell you that, am I?’
She
shakes her
head. ‘No, sir.’
‘No,
I bet I’m
not.’ I purse my lips throughfully. ‘What would you
like to do?’
She
gives a little
frown. ‘Whatever you… want me to, sir.’
‘No.
What would you
like to do? Watch some tv? A film?
Are you hungry?’ I pause for a second or two. ‘Ah,
I’ve got a DS in my bag… I
think. Might not have packed it.’ I rummage through my case
and then hold it
up.
‘Why?’
Chloe asks.
‘Why
what?’
‘Well…
Why do you
care?’
I
look puzzled.
‘Why do I care what you want to do?’
She
nods.
I
sit in the chair
facing her, Debbie stood off to one side, ignored for the time being.
‘Where
you’re kept
here, where you sleep… is it fun?’
She
shrugs, looks
pained for a second or two. ‘No. It’s not
fun.’
‘Okay.
Is it as
nice in that room as it is in this one? Is it as warm? Is there a big,
clean
bathroom? A clean bed? New clothes?’
She
looks around
the room as if seeing it for the first time and then shakes her head
again.
‘No.’
‘Debbie’s
having a
hot shower and probably getting cleaner than she’s been in
ages. Could she do
that in the other room?’
Another
shake of
the head.
‘Ok.
Now, what day
is it today?’
Chloe
thinks for a
second. ‘Friday.’
‘Yes
it is. And you’re going to be with me, in
this room, until Sunday afternoon when I leave. After that,
you’ll go back to
the other room, won’t you?’
A
nod. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where
would you rather
be?’
She
hesitated, a
small shrug and a ‘don’t know how to say
this…’ kind of expression on her face.
It suddenly occurred to me why she wasn’t sure.
‘Guess
that depends
on me, doesn’t it?’ I said, realising her dilemma.
She said nothing, just
nodded.
‘Well,
what I plan
on doing tonight is having you two play a little dress up and then
I’m going to
give our little junkie what she needs to make her want to be a good
girl for
me.’
Chloe
looks at me
in a very matter-of-fact way. ‘And what do you want me to
do?’
‘Well,
this is the
thing you see; I know what Debbie is and what she exists for. I think
you do,
too. But I look at you, Chloe, and I don’t quite know what
you are. I mean, it
doesn’t really matter; you’re small and
I’m big and I could, if I wanted, do
whatever I wanted to, couldn’t I?’
Chloe
nods. ‘Yes,
sir. You could.’ Her eyes are big and clear and calm.
‘And
I think that’s
what you’re used to, what you expect. But I don’t
think it’s what you
exist for.’ I pause. ‘Does that make
sense?’
Another
little
shrug and I squeeze her hand.
‘So
although I
think you’re a very pretty girl and I’m aching
to see you all dressed up, I
don’t plan on doing anything with you.
Tonight, I think, will be between me and Debbie.’
I
turn to face the
blode teen and she looks at me with the wide eyes and slightly parted
lips of
someone simply waiting to be told what to do.
‘Okay,’
Chloe says
in that same steady voice.
‘But…
if you want
to come over and spectate, if you get bored maybe, feel free.’
I
meet her eyes.
‘That ok?’
‘Yes,
sir,’ she
says. ‘If that’s what you
want…’
I
push the
furniture aside to give a bit of space and then settle in the chair to
watch.
‘Chloe,
you first,’
I say and she obediently picks up her little pile of clothes and stands
a
little way in front of me. She starts to undo her robe.
‘No,
Debbie will
dress you,’ and I look to the older and increasingly agitated
looking girl.
‘Won’t you?’
She
nods, stands by
Chloe and takes her clothes.
‘Help
Chloe out of
her gown, Debbie,’ I say softly and Debbie does so, putting
the clothes
carefully aside, standing behind the unnervingly still younger girl and
slipping the robe from her shoulders, laying it across one of the
chairs.
She
is, I have to
say, very easy
on the eye, her pale
skin given a kind of suffuse glow by the lowered lights in the room.
Her heair
looks darker still now and there is a susprisingly abundance of shape
and curve
to her given her age. Even her small, pinked nipples have a slightly
puffiness
to them. She is smooth and unblemished asfar as I can see and I make a
slow
twirling motion with my finger, having her turn so I can make sure.
Slim but
not thin, solid but not chunky, Chloe gets better and better the more I
see of
her.
I
get up and fetch
the cosmetics kit from the walk-in and put it on the floor by the girls.
A
nimble
application of foundation, a rose red taint to her lips, eyes seemingly
opened
even wider by a brush of mascara follow.
Watching
Debbie
dress her is inexplicably pleasing to me, the older girl slow and
deliberate
despite her obvious need.
The
stockings are
first, Chloe balancing on the bent form of Debbie to raise each leg to
be
sheathed in the sheer black nylons. They’re hold ups, the
elasticated tops
pinching slightly into the sweet flesh high on her thighs. Panties
next, black
again, a simple design in silk that accentuates both the perfect V
between her
legs and the slight but unmistakable swell of her rear.
Next
Debbie brushes
Chloes hair into something resembling a style, a shoulder-length look
that
frames her face, and wafts over it with a can of hairspray.
That
done, Debbie
lifts up a shimmering black silk chemise that Chloe slides into with a
little
shiver of motion. All that remains is the very gothic looking, wide
lace choker
that clasps around her slender, graceful neck.
I
get up and fetch
the cosmetics kit from the walk-in, put it on the floor and kneel in
front of
Chloe.
‘Do
you know how to
use make-up?’ I ask gently.
She
looks a little
confused, taken aback, shakes her head.
I
smile. ‘That’s
ok.’
I’m
not great with
cosmetics but I know what I like and, thankfully, I’m a man
of simple tastes. A
light application of the palest foundation, a rose red taint to her
lips, eyes
seemingly opened even wider by a brush of mascara and the dark smudges
eased by
a judicious use of eye-shadow.
I
lean back on my
haunches, nod approvingly at my work.
‘Not
too shabby,’ I
say mostly to myself. ‘You look… well…
you tell me,’ I say and hold up the
mirror.
Chloe
does look,
turning her head this way and that, pursing her lips, blinking her eyes
and
opening them wide. She smiles a little, too, a proper one, too, looks
at me and
nods.
‘Thank
you,’ she
says.
‘Glad you like it.’
I
turn and have
Debbie kneel down so I can deal with her, giving Chloe the hairbrush.
Debbie's hair is longer by far and in need of a cut, so I show Chloe
how
to pull
it up into a high ponytail, pulling the hair tight enough to make
Debbie wince.
Her
make-up is less
subtle than Chloe’s, to say the least, but it’s
much more predictable, a
smoothing foundation under eye-liner, shadow, heavy mascara and a deep,
bright
red lipstick.
I
also dress Debbie
myself and have Chloe stand attentively to the side and hand me the
clothes. Where
she is dressed in black, Debbie will be white.
Again,
hold up
stockings, fishnets this time, pulled high onto her shapely thighs. An
underbust waist cincher, pulled tight before having Debbie inhale and
hold it
and then pulling it tighter, leaving her to take shallower breaths that
give
her a slightly flushed look I always find appealing. Her breasts, which
are
pronounced if not prominent, I leave uncovered, but she slips into a
flimsy
pair of white silk panties with tie sides. Last to go on are the heels,
high
and white and delightfully slutty. I catch a glimpse of Chloe looking
at them
and perhaps she wonders why she doesn’t have anything on her
feet and if that
means anything.
Regardless,
that
will do for both of them tonight.
I
stand them side
by side, black and white with Debbie now significantly taller, and
drink them
in, happy with my work. Chloe’s now almost unrecognisable
from the girl I saw
on tv earlier. Debbie merely looks like the same girl scrubbed up.
‘So
what do you
want to do,’ I say to Chloe, returning to the question.
‘Can
I play with
your DS?’ she asks hopefully.