Denise calls, “Jamie, Michelle.” Two young sales clerks hurry over. They lead Angie to a dress rack, chatting and flattering her.
I ask Denise, “How’s it going?”
She says, “Wonderful! I’ll brew you an espresso.” She leads me to her office. While we’ve talked, she hasn’t let go of my arm.
I sit in one of her leather chairs. The frosted glass she chose for her walls makes a statement she and I understand. We’ve worked inside glass, surrounded by transparent rooms where men and women bare themselves and do everything.
She keeps her back to me while she messes with the coffee machine. I ask, “Everything okay?”
She says, “Running a business is harder than whoring. The bottom line’s great, but I have to stay on everything all the time.”
Denise as Desiree, perched on the fender of the antique red convertible, her face painted in silvery blue diamonds, her perfect legs bared all the way, her body lighting fantasies in the eyes of the rich men crowding around her.
I say, “Maybe you need some night work.”
“Ha! No way.”
“What if we bid ourselves as a twosome?”
She shakes her head. “Walter made me swear to quit.” But she’s trying to hide a grin. I know she’s intrigued.
I ask, “How’s Wally?”
She says, “Fine. Staying busy.”
What her fiancé, Walter Cross, does with his time isn’t obvious. He acts self assured, though he’s obviously not the breadwinner. The money for their penthouse condo on Puget Sound and the capital to set up à la Seattle came from what Denise earned as the star whore at Seattle Young.
A male voice and female laughter come from the front of the store. Denise says, “Here he is.”
Walter lets himself in the office. He’s dressed in a dark suit and his retro fedora. He gives me a nod and a “Hey, Laurie’” His arm goes around Denise. He squeezes her ass to juice their kiss.
They make an amazing couple, him thick-bodied and buff, her golden-haired, pale, long legged, and slender. She keeps her hand on his chest and says, “Laurie was suggesting a girls’ night at the shop.”
He says to me, “Nice try, but she’s a one-man woman.”
I say, “Lucky you.”
Denise asks, “How’s business?” She means my night job. What I make from lawyer wok is a pittance compared to my income from whoring.
I say, “Brisk.” I took her place as the most desirable woman in Madame Renee’s stable, and I’ve reaped huge sums by letting my body be auctioned three nights a week. Most of the riches come from the live video feed, an unlisted internet site for those who can can afford to pay the steep subscription price.
Walter asks, “Join us for lunch?”
I say, “Another day. I’ve spent the morning in court. I think I’m headed for a workout and the spa.”
Denise says, “Thanks for dropping by.”
I say, “Great to see you both. You’ll bill my account for ninety percent of what my friend chose?”
Denise nods. I leave them standing arm and arm, Walter’s big hand resting on her ass. Outside her office, I keep a blank face in case the sales ladies are watching. The way Denise sounded when she spoke of Walter, and the way she didn’t look at him, makes me think she’s hiding a problem.
Angie is waiting for me with a big gold dress box under one arm. She says, “This stuff was ninety percent off!”
“They save their bargains for special people.”
“Thanks, Laurie. You’re a buddy.”
She shelters the dress box under her coat. We pull up our hoods and return to the rain. I raise my arm to signal a cab.
A woman walks between us, though she had room to circle around. Her old black leather jacket is pulled partially over her head. The rain batters her lowered face and tousled hair. The hiked jacket and her low-rise denims bare the tattoo on the small of her back, a pattern of snakes and birds. Below it she’s wearing a short leather skirt, torn net hose, and clunky platform heels.
It takes me a moment to recognize my client of the morning. She’s back on the street, probably headed for some dry spot on the curb under the awning of an abandoned building. She’ll stand in the chill until a john offers her enough to pay for a meal, a room for the night, and a hit of whatever drug she relies on.
She makes no sign of recognizing us, but I know she didn’t pass between us by accident. What did she think when she saw the lawyer who represented her and the lawyer who tried to send her to jail chatting outside the fanciest boutique in town?
A man in a hoodie shuffles along a few steps beside her. He says, “Hey, baby. She slows to let her pimp catch up. He swats her ass. She walks behind him.
Angie’s look shows she recognized the woman. A cab pulls over. We climb in. I see a last glimpse of my client turning a corner.
Angie says, “I feel sorry for her, but what are we supposed to do?”
I say, “We’ve done it.”
Chapter Four Together
When I enter the Red Room where the whores of Seattle Young gather before the night’s first shift, Denise is waiting. Her face is painted in blue diamonds to match her ultra short silvery blue dress. I’m in my usual slinky, high slit and low cut black dress and black-winged face paint. Fantastically long false eyelashes add to my feathery look. We hug under the red-lit chandelier, Laurie and Denise transformed to Raven and Desiree.
I ask, “Bid ourselves together?”
Denise says, “Two for the price of three.”
Toussaint has a way of showing up at your elbow when you didn’t know he was near. “Oh, excellent,” he says. He heard our agreement to partner. He asks Denise, “Desiree, the boutique is doing well?”
She says, “Business is fantastic. But I want money to upgrade the fall line without dipping into my portfolio.”
He says, “You’re looking fine.”
She tells him, “I’m ready.”
The last women hurry into the red room, straightening their costumes and joining the line at the head of the spiral stairs. He says, “Good,” and gives us a nod. “The two of you go to the front.”
He used his chat to check Denise out, making sure her body looked good enough and she needed the income. We’re worth big money if we’re in top form and motivated.
The familiar 1940’s piano music rises through the stairwell. Denise takes my hand. We lead the parade down the glass spiral staircase. I touch the brass rail to control the way I wobble in my super-high heels. Do it right, and the hotshots waiting to buy a fuck find your walk irresistible.
Butterflies fill my stomach. Night to night the routine in the Torch Lounge changes little, but the faces of the hotshots are always different. Cocks not so much. One is like another, when they’re inside me.
This evening’s customers gather at the bottom of the stairs, applauding and whistling. The wildness starts fast. Hands run over my body. Denise and I make our way to the glossy red old car in the center of the dance floor. A pinch on my ass makes me look over my shoulder and purse my lips in a cross between a pout and a pucker. The expression lights fire in the hotshots’ eyes.
I’ve never shared the fender of the antique convertible with another woman. Denise and I press our butt cheeks together to fit atop the long, polished steel curve. We keep our smiles wide, and wriggle our asses.
To come within caressing distance of us takes a serious down payment. Five men and a woman buy their way into the circle. Less expensive whores hurry to fill the arms of the other hotshots.
A hand slides up the inside of my leg and finds my cunt barely covered by my thong. Another reaches through the side slit of my dress and plays with the thin bikini top hanging loosely over my nipple. The hand on my boob is the woman’s. I say, “Naughty, naughty” to no one in particular, arch my back, and slither my hips.
Denise draws more touches than I do. She’s showing me she’s still the champ. They’ve worked her dress off her shoulders. She’s topless. Hands glide over her splendid breasts.
For five of the six hotshots, the groping is all of us they’ll get. Second-string whores are waiting to console them when they drop out of the bidding. The hands turn bolder. Two men reach down the low back of my dress and squeeze my ass. One of my nipples is getting rubbed by a long-nailed fingertip. A thick middle finger slides under my thong.
The desires building in their heads press at me like a hot wind. In the Torch Lounge, my ability to divine the sexual thoughts of people who look at me becomes overloaded. All the hotshots have wild sex on their mind, and they’re keyed to want it badly.
Sometimes I pick up a clear read on what positions a certain bidder plans to try, but more often the specific thoughts are lost in a storm of males and females thinking with their cocks and cunts.
Toussaint steps in with his iPad ready. He says, “If you will finish, please, we will proceed to the auction.”
The hands leave me. Toussaint says, “Tonight is a rare event at Seattle Young. We offer you a three-way with Raven and Desiree, our two most popular ladies.” He passes the iPad to the female bidder. Her eyes are hard. If she gets me in the glass room, she won’t be easy.
Take it, baby. Run your tongue where you please. Bend me like a rubber doll. Fill my face with your cunt.
She taps the pad, sees the challenge in my glance, and taps it again on a higher number.
Toussaint glances at the iPad and hands it to one of the men. The woman looks disappointed. She entered a bid she thought preemptive. The man holding the pad looks at her entry, screws up his face, and touches a higher number. The woman shrugs and leaves the circle. Another whore kisses her and leads her to the glass rooms.
Three of the men give up when they see the new bid. Eager women are quick to engage them. Toussaint hands the iPad to the one hotshot in the running for Denise and me who hasn’t entered a bid. His white dress shirt and expensive-looking denims cover a slim body. I make a mental note to kick off my shoes if he wins. My heels make me taller than him.
He looks at the bid on the screen, raises an eyebrow, and inspects me. I shift my shoulders, which causes my dress to fall away from my exposed breast. His stare works slowly down and over me, intense as a touch. He doesn’t look at Denise.
I can’t tell what’s on his mind. Maybe it’s because I’m in the center of a typhoon of lust, but I’m not catching any hint of his desires. I’d swear he’s not thinking about sex, if such a thing is possible.
The other bidder still in the running, a big blond with square shoulders and a round gut, leans over Denise. He glares at the guy holding the iPad. If he wins the bidding, I’ll be bent over with my ass in the air for most of the hour. He has more elaborate plans for Denise, but I can’t read them clearly.
His scowl doesn’t have any effect. Neither does Toussaint’s discrete fidgeting, nor the frenzied embraces and giddy laughter of the whores and hotshots paring off all around us. The man holding the iPad studies me. I’m a burning, breathing statue. He’s a cool connoisseur.
Recognition hits me.
He’s been here before.
Two nights ago, he came in second in the bidding for me. He wore a three-day beard and a cashmere blazer. Tonight he’s showing a different look, clean shaven and jacketless. The eyes are what I remember.
While I fucked the obese guy who liked to chew my toes, I looked across the glass rooms and found this hotshot watching me while he put my friend Sienna through her paces. She was rolled in a ball, her knees next to her ears, and her ass pointing at the ceiling.
He was astride her, his knees bent and his cock lowered in one of her openings. I couldn’t tell which. The way I hugged and licked my hotshot’s belly seemed to amuse him. I’m getting the same look from him now.
Yeah, well fuck you.
My face betrays my thoughts. He winks. I pull my shoulders back and smile. It’s my way of telling him I’m exclusive merchandise.
I don’t recall seeing this guy’s cock. It was inside Sienna’s cunt, ass, or mouth whenever I checked him out through the glass walls. He was fit looking, I think. Possibly he showed off a chest covered with curly hair.
The other bidder growls, “Well?”
The guy holding the iPad keeps staring at me. I wonder who he might be. The richest and most powerful people are lucky to be allowed inside Seattle Young twice in six months, yet he shows up twice in a week. He nods at me and tells the other bidder, “I’ll take this one if you want the other.”
Toussaint says, “I am sorry, gentlemen, but the bid tonight was for the two together. I cannot permit you to change the terms. It’s both, or none.”
Mr. Special taps the iPad and hands it over. The other man taps a higher number, and hands it back. The iPad is exchanged three more times. Toussaint, who never shows excitement, can’t help licking his lips.
The iPad is back in the hands of the man leaning over Denise. He looks at the bid, hesitates, grimaces, and hands the pad to Toussaint without tapping a higher number. He turns away. A woman comes to his side. At a nod from Toussaint, another joins her. He’s earned his own twosome, but not with the stars of the show.
I stand beside the winner, and press my bare boob against his arm, and take off my shoes to lower my height to his. He says, “Put them back on.” I do. Now I’m looking down at him. Denise hugs his other arm. His hands take possession of our asses.
I say, “I’m glad you won this time.” I’m lying. I don’t care who I fuck.
He says, “I’m not here to talk.”
Even this close to him, and with the glass rooms in our immediate future, I swear he’s not thinking about sex.
Chapter Five Please, Please
The wildness flies inside me, a bird in a cage. Denise and I lead our hotshot to the glass rooms through a passage dimly lit by a flashing display of purple neon tubes overhead. One set grows in the shape of an erection, the other spreads like a cunt.
The hotshot’s hand works my ass. His other does the same to Denise. If sex isn’t on his mind, he’s good at going through the motions. I reach for his crotch. Denise is holding it. Damn. I want to feel him. I push my fingers below her fist and find the hard base.
He pulls me to him. His lips part mine. My tongue races to meet his. Denise’s cheek brushes my face. She licks his ear and nibbles his neck. One of his hands takes my bared breast. The other slides down the deep vee of my neckline and dips under my thong.