Working Girls

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Urban Books, LLC
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Wyandanch, NY 11798

 

Working Girls: Carl Weber Presents

Copyright © 2016 Katt

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-6228-6983-1

 

 

 

 

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The impact of the liquid slamming into her face brought her back to consciousness.

“Wake the fuck up!” an unfamiliar voice demanded as Jewels was doused with ice-cold water through the gate that separated the front seat from the back of the vehicle.

She had no idea how long she had been knocked out. The last thing she remembered was hitting the alarm and grabbing hold of the door handle on her chrome colored Maserati. After that everything else was a blur.

Jewels could tell she was lying on the floor of a van. Her shoulders were sore, her stomach was cramping, and her ankles were bleeding. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her ankles were cuffed as tight as they could be. She could hear masculine voices in front of her.

She struggled to open her eyes. When she finally did, the liquid that had been tossed in her face caused them to burn. She immediately shut her eyes, wondering what had been thrown in her face other than water. She also wondered how many hours had gone by since she was snatched. She had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the temple. Her head was killing her, and to top it off, she had to pee.

All types of thoughts were going through her head. She couldn't believe she had got caught slipping. But by who? was the million-dollar question.
Was it Kareem's peoples? The white trick's? The one she had killed after Sassy's murder? Or was it in retaliation to something Rome had done?
All these questions filled Jewels discombobulated mind. She couldn't stop wondering what was going to happen to her.

She said a quick prayer.
Please, Lord Jesus, I know that it's been a while since I've been to church, and I haven't prayed in a while, but you know my heart, so if you get me out of this fucked-up situation this one last time, I promise you that I will change my ways. Amen.

She wondered whether Rome knew she had been snatched. She tensed when the vehicle came to a screeching halt. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. She didn't know what was going on. All that could be heard was her heart pounding. Then Jewels heard a car door slam, and seconds later another car door slammed. She heard what sounded like two different voices, but she couldn't figure out what they were saying. They were yelling about something. Suddenly, the sliding side door popped open....

 

“Jewels? What the fuck are you doing up there?” The voice penetrated the bedroom door of twenty-year-old Jewels, snapping her out of her trance. She hadn't even realized she had traveled back in time. But she was not surprised. All her life she had daydreamed and reminisced about what and where she had come from. Life as the only child of a mother who was her father's ho had left memories that would haunt her and would be a part of her forever.

“I'm coming!” she replied as she shook off the memory of her parents and carefully outlined her full lips with her lip liner.

Since the day she was born, Jewels had been told she was beautiful by her mother but had never received any real major love from her father. He had always made it perfectly clear that he didn't particularly care for her. Still, Jewels had convinced herself that she actually was the shit. And both her father and her mother were wrong. Beauty-wise, she believed she had exceeded even her mother's expectations. She was nothing short of gorgeous and everything lovely. Her skin was a flawless café brown, and she had mountain-brown eyes. She had a well-toned body, which came from her home workouts four times a week. She had pothole-deep dimples, and a perfect smile to accompany them. A new hairstyle was her newest change in appearance. She had cut her hair, which had gone past her shoulders and down her back, and had styled it in a curly twist. She had been taught at an early age that her beauty was to be used as a means to an end, that end being financial stability and security, safety and independence. In other words, she should not depend on a man for anything. Which was why she took pride in both her looks and her appearance.

To put it bluntly, Jewels was a professional escort. And she had absolutely no problem with her title. In fact, she loved being one. She believed it allowed her a measure of freedom. Besides, her mother had been a whore, so she was convinced the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree. It was her mother who had taught her mostly everything she knew about a man and the power of the “P.”

Jewels was just twelve years old when she turned her first trick, one year after she lost her virginity. Since that day she had never had sex with anyone without getting paid for it. She liked sex, but she loved money even more. She loved the power that her sexual prowess gave her. Like her mama, she did it all for the love of the cash. She kept her mother's words at the forefront of her mind—“Ain't nothing in this world free”—and Jewels lived her life believing and knowing that. She was thankful for the lessons she'd been taught by her mother when she was just a young girl. It was because of those life skills she had instilled in her that Jewels was the strong young woman she was today.

And thanks to her mama, she had been blessed in all the right places and looked every bit of her worth. Jewels had the radiant complexion of R & B singer Mariah Carey. Just from looking at her, it was obvious that she was mixed. Although she had European features and very light skin, she had definitely inherited her mother's black genes physically. She had a very small waist, thick thighs, and a high, round ass. Now, at the tender age of twenty, she constantly stayed on her grind like a drug dealer. Like a gas station, she was available 24-7.

She worked for an escort service and independently for herself through her Web site. The thought of being a stripper had never crossed her mind. She refused to shake her ass for what she believed was a bunch of drunk-ass dudes who thought they were “making it rain” just because they threw a few one-dollar bills at a bitch onstage. Besides that, she didn't want to have to wrestle with a bunch of funky-ass bitches for those few dollars. Instead, she met with and provided sexual favors and comfort to lawyers, judges, doctors, and anybody else, for that matter, if the price was right.

As a general rule, she fucked only white and Asian men. She had learned early on in the business that they made the best tricks. She had made as much as twenty-five hundred dollars in one night with an Asian client, and all she had had to do was piss on his chest. Although it had been creepy to her, she'd been turned on by what she was paid. It had happened on her eighteenth birthday. She had made more than that in a single night, though. Ironically, that high-paying encounter hadn't been with a white or Asian john. It had been with a man of color. Which was why he was an exception to the rule.

Jewels wasn't the type to fuck with the so-called “ballas” and drug dealers. She felt they were cheap tippers and didn't know how to sample good pussy and keep it moving. They always wanted to try to lock her down and turn her into something she believed she'd never be. She wondered if they had ever heard the saying “You can't turn a ho into a housewife.” Jewels was definitely not a housewife. She was a whore. Besides that, she didn't like big-dick niggas. She couldn't afford to have them wearing her prize possession out. What she had between her legs was her moneymaker, with her head game running at a close second. She couldn't front, though. She did crave her some black dick every now and then.

But she was particular about the type of black man she'd be with. Full-blooded African was her binge. She didn't want any black man who was African-American bred. She despised men of color who had been brainwashed into believing you had to act, sound, or look white to make it in this world, and she definitely couldn't stand black men who acted like niggas and ran the streets. Give her an African Mandingo straight up and down when she needed to actually feel something inside of her. It wasn't often, but she loved to be piped out by a good pipe-laying African client, while getting paid for it. The only two downsides to dealing with an African man, Jewels believed, were, one, he always wanted to lock the woman down, and two, she was always sore for a week after seeing him. She would be walking like she had been riding a horse.