Don't Be Shy 15 (Patreon)

Her make-up seemed to burn as Kara put it on. She had to set it down and pick up her comb. Brushing tangles out of her hair at least suited how she felt, which was stupid-stupid-stupid.

What was she doing, talking to Lena like she was having it out with her girlfriend? She was a contractor! Lena was her boss! This was all a business deal. She couldn’t forget that, just because Lena had fingered her. Especially because Lena had fingered her.

She needed to play this cool, keep some distance between them… Kara didn’t know if she could take it, failing at being a hooker of all things. A few more days of this and she’d have a nice nest egg. A couple weeks and she could go to school, finish her degree. But only if she didn’t screw it up.

She would have to be the best hooker Lena had ever seen.

Taking a deep breath, Kara started on her make-up again. She put her hair up in a braid, then selected a little black dress. She didn’t want to go all out for Lena—being too showy would be a constant reminder of the friction between them.

Looking at the final result in the mirror, Kara judged that she looked nice. Like she was making an effort for Lena. And she’d follow through on that with charm. She was going to treat Lena like her own personal goddess; give her five thousand dollars’ worth of love.

She came through the door into Lena’s room and suddenly felt subconscious about being barefoot. Should she have put on pumps? Maybe slippers? It was too late to back out now. Lena was sitting on the couch. She’d taken off her bra and blouse, putting on a mock neck sweater and drawstring pants. And little moccasin slippers, which didn’t reassure Kara about meeting the dress code. There was a wine bucket at her feet, glasses and a charcuterie board of crackers, cheeses, and slices of sausage on the coffee table.

Lena fixed Kara with a look. “You’re lovely,” she enunciated.

“Thanks,” Kara said. “I wanted to look nice for you.”

“You should’ve said you wanted to look beautiful for me. Beautiful you succeeded at. Nice… you overshot the mark.”

Kara blushed. Lena sometimes made it very hard to remember this was a financial arrangement. She bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself. She was performing a service, nothing more.

She walked up to the couch to sit down.

“Stop,” Lena ordered her, a snap in her tone that made Kara just wish she had her mask off so she could see what look could possibly be on her face. Her eyes weren’t enough. That stare of hers could be heavenly or hellish and not change one iota.

Kara resisted the urge to squirm. And then there was the fact that when Lena talked like that, it usually meant something kinky was in the offing. Which Kara would be apprehensive about, after being promised a quiet movie night—but what had Lena done that she hadn’t enjoyed?

“You can’t tempt me that way and then leave me bereft,” Lena told her. “Turn around. Let me see all of you.”

Kara dutifully spun around, feeling Lena’s gaze rake over her.

“Very nice,” Lena purred.

“Don’t you mean beautiful?” Kara couldn’t resist needling.

“Yes. I suppose I do. Turn around. Face away from me. And bend over.”

“Over what?” Kara asked, wondering if Lena meant the settee, where she’d be in position for all kinds of—

“Touch your fucking toes,” Lena said, leaving Kara in no state to argue.

Kara bent low, reaching down until her fingers could interlace her toes. Her ass was in the air… she remembered how it’d looked in the mirror when she’d turned her head over her shoulder… she hadn’t considered getting down on all fours for Lena.

“Beautiful,” Lena intoned. “Except for the panty line. I want you to take them off.”

“Mistress?”

“Your panties, Kara. Take them off and then sit with me. Unless you think your pussy is too dirty to sit on my nice clean couch.”

Kara’s mouth went dry. “No, Mistress.”

“Good.” Lena didn’t even look at Kara as she bent to slip her panties out from under her dress. She picked up the remote and turned the TV on. “We’re watching The Quiet Man, director John Ford, star John Wayne. You’ll like it, unless you have awful taste.”

Kara straightened, holding her panties in her hand. Something about Lena not even watching as she stripped herself… it did things inside Kara. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t. “And where should I put these?” she asked.

“I hate when people talk during a movie, so set them on the coffee table in case I need something to gag you with.”

“I don’t like people talking during movies either,” Kara said, sitting down beside Lena and setting her panties neatly in a triangle with the wine glasses and the charcuterie board.

“Maybe I should start a collection.” Lena put her feet up on the coffee table. She rolled the panties under her heel. “Of course, it would be a lot more fun if I made you come in them before I took possession. Imagine how many of your orgasms I could have hanging on my wall.”

“God,” Kara gasped.

“I prefer Mistress. I hate putting on airs.”

***

Gina looked as good up close as she did through the telephoto lens. I listen to her run through the rules, barbed advice telling me in smilingly vague terms that though we have our privacy, there is someone around to make sure I behave.

I know all about that, of course. In a joint where the clientele and the management make a Venn diagram look like the moon coming in for an eclipse, there won’t be video, but there is audio. Always someone listening.

“Any questions?” Gina finishes up, dropping down on the bed with a practiced flourish.

“No… not really… more of an observation.” I reach into my jacket and take out the baggie of white powder. “You seem like a girl that likes to party.”

She smiles widely. “I hope I do.”

If anyone ever wants to bet on whether a prostitute is a junkie, take them up on it. You’ll win money every time.

I unbuckle my belt, lower my pants, sit on the bed in my underwear. I pile some of the white onto my thigh. Gina likes the idea. She bends down to snort it and stays down there, kissing my leg a few times before she starts to drool.

“Wow… that’s some stuff…” she mumbles.

“Yeah, it is,” I agree, getting up to go to the minifridge.

As I’d hoped, there’s a bottle of water in there. I open it up and take another baggie from my jacket. This one has two Tums in it. I drop them into the water, holding the cap on top of the bottle as the water turns white and fizzy.

By now, Gina is out of it. No high, just a sort of fugue state that makes her pliant and suggestible. Only I have no suggestions for her right now. Just a question.

I bend down low and whisper into her shuddering ear. “I know there’s someone listening to us… close by so he can step in if there’s trouble… where is he?”

The words come out of Gina like gas bubbling up from a swamp. The drug makes her conversational too. “Jerry… he’s at the end of the hall… the janitor’s closet…” She laughs.

I pour the water onto her face and across her breasts. That’s just in case I was wrong about the cameras. At a glance, Gina would definitely look sick instead of drugged.

Then I pant. Hyperventilating. Slapping myself on both sides of the face to flush my cheeks. And I burst out the door and run down the hall and to the door marked Janitorial, which I pound on with a balled fist: “HELP! I NEED SOME HELP! I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW!”

The door opens. Jerry is big and black and wears a tux about as well as the doorman downstairs, although out of the public eye, he’s unbuttoned the sleeves and undone the collar.

“It’s Gina!” I tell him. “We were talking, just talking, and suddenly she started shaking, she’s throwing up, I think she’s dying—”

“Ah SHIT,” Jerry swore, and charged past me to see for himself.

I tripped him. A stomp on his left knee kept him down, then a kick into his gut shuffled the air out of his lungs. I worked on his head last. It takes some work to break through the human skull.

I was wearing steel-toed boots.

I take him by the ankles and drag him back inside the ‘broom closet.’ He leaves a smear of blood on the carpet, but if there’s one place no one’s going to closely examine stains, it’s here.

I take his undone bowtie with me back to Gina’s room, closing the door to the broom closet behind me.

Now that Gina and I can talk, I use the bowtie to clean her up and ask her my questions.