0 comments/ 11048 views/ 1 favorites Vixens - The Triple Story 01 By: Nellskitchen Home Late - For the second time this week she had worked late. It was after three when she quietly unlocked the apartment door. The TV was on. Muted, its flickering images danced smartly in the darkness. Her sitter, Sable Ellis, lay sleeping on the couch. Gently, she shook the reliable high-schooler who, as usual, didn't complain about the time. But it was a school night and Lissette gave her an extra twenty, then watched as the weary teen shuffled down the hall to her family's apartment. Next, she looked in on Emily. The five year old was right where her mom wanted her, in bed, clinging possessively to her pink Teddy Bear. Leaning down, Lissette planted a loving kiss on her forehead. Exhausted but relieved at the calm, she weaved her way to bed, dropping her clothing an article at a time along the way. Finally naked, the tired escort fell forward, closed her eyes and slept. Barely a blink later, the ring of her iPhone jarred her to semi-consciousness. "Hullo," she offered groggily. The owner of the abrupt voice was unmistakable. Celeste, Eileen Lindholm's oppressive office manager, spoke crisply. "Ms. Church? Mrs. Lindholm wants you in her office at eleven." No girl wanted to hear the words, "Mrs. Lindholm wants." Being 'wanted' meant being in trouble. She stalled instinctively: "Um...aha, sure. What's this is about?" "Eleven," the churlish phoner repeated. "Be on time." She hung up. Still fighting to clear the cobwebs, Lissette hoped it was a bad dream and dropped back to the pillow. But just as she closed her eyes, the phone unnerved her a second time. "Lissette? Did little Emily make the bus? It's a school day." "Oh my God, Emily! Shit! Fuck!" Suddenly alert, she stumbled from the bed, tangling her feet in the blouse she'd cast aside in the middle of the night. Kicking it away, she burst into the little girl's bedroom. There, still asleep, was her precious child. It was nine-thirty. In tears, the harried mom leaned back, her head thumping hard against the wall. By the time the child was up and off to school, she'd miss half her lessons. The day hadn't started well. Late Morning - 'Never,' she shouted back silently, 'never has anyone pushed me around this way. She has some nerve! I should walk out - quit!' "Are you listening, young lady?" Frozen in place, the shocked girl knew she wasn't holding the cards - Eileen was. "I will not - do you hear me? - I will not tolerate problem girls at Vixens." Normally unflappable, the madam's words were braided with warning. "That stunt you pulled last night was unconscionable and you know it. And what's more, you did it with one of our regulars! Now he's gone off and registered indignation on a dozen websites! Look!" Eileen shoved a stack of loose papers under the jittery prostitute's nose. "Read," she ordered. Lissette's tired eyes skimmed what she already knew it said. "Out loud," Eileen demanded. With a hesitant nod, she recited the details of his indictment: "Vixens, the self-styled 'Superlative Escort Service' in NY, is not what it seems. For sure, it charges the most. But the girls don't deliver. Example: Liss**** is a pricy letdown! Yes, she's beautiful. Though advertised as a 'Total Package Escort Companion' she gives the impression she has a train to catch and the 'ending' - the part that counts? SHE SKIPS IT! At those prices, a guy shouldn't get the bum's rush! Bottom line: Screw Vixens!" - Jerome K***** Lissette tried resisting. "Eileen, he..." The exacting madam cut her off. "Mouth shut!" she insisted. "The whole world reads reviews! I should fire you! But you happen to have the loveliest eyes in the city. You're educated, cultured - I need girls like you. You cleared a ton of money your first week, so it's obvious you make the big spenders like you - at least when the mood strikes!" "Sorry, Eileen, but..." "'Sorry' doesn't cut it, girl. He paid extra and you had an obligation to see he was satisfied." But Eileen," she stammered on, "Some guys expect..." "...too much? TOO MUCH?" Standing abruptly, the savvy madam snapped back at her. "This isn't Escort 101, Lissette. It's the big leagues. You're a thousand-an-hour girl. Get a grip! I'm giving you a day - one - this one! Handle it! It's what I pay you for. Am I clear?" Not knowing how to get out of the mess and desperately needing tuition money for her kindergartner, Lissette had little choice. "Yes ma'am," she abjectly yielded. Eileen crossed her arms over her breasts and let the room go quiet. "You're assigned a triple." Lissette blanched. "My God. Mrs. Lindholm, a triple? But my babysitter...I mean, just last night I got home late...I can't...I beg you." "You can and you will. It's a triple or you're out." All the girls hated triples. Three clients in a day meant running around half the city, catering to God knows what. To make matters worse, any guy could demolish an escort's reputation by following up with a phony complaint. Eileen's ultimatum meant being perfect and so far today hadn't shaped up as perfect. Eileen wouldn't budge. "I have a business to run, Lissette. I work hard to make Vixens the best and you fucked up. Give me excellence." The message was clear: 'Get it right or work the streets.' Lissette hated the streets, with its twenty dollar blow jobs and outlaw pimps, things she had lied to Eileen about when she interviewed. She'd had to, since Vixens didn't hire street whores. Having no stomach to return there, she cowered. "I'll make it work, Mrs. Lindholm. I...I promise. Thank you for the second chance." "It's your last chance, Lissette," the madam said disinterestedly. "In an hour, I can find ten girls to replace you. Now get out." Picking up her phone, she turned away. On the elevator, Lissette mulled the self-important client's damning complaint. Bastard, she thought. Not fair. I let him come in my mouth, just like he wanted. So I spit? Big deal! She put a call through to her sitter. Mid-Afternoon - At three o'clock sharp, her client opened the door. A big, jovial man, his bearing spoke to friendliness. He wore a white dress shirt, a blue silk tie, white cotton briefs and held a half-empty pilsner glass in his hand. "Boa tarde," he said invitingly. With a dignified bow, he kissed Lissette's hand. "Boa tarde to you, Senhor," Lissette cooed, taken by the unforeseen display of Latin etiquette. Straight away, the Brazilian sales executive was on her good side. "Some beer?" he offered. With an eye on the clock, she declined politely. Strolling up to him she thumbed the elastic of his shorts. "No, no," he said, backing away. "You see, that is not why I called for a Vixen Girl." "Oh?" she pouted coyly, drawing back in bewilderment. "What, then? Tell Lissette." "Pointing to a hallway door, he instructed, "You will go to the bathroom se faz favore?" Aiming her thumb over her shoulder, she repeated, perplexed, "To the bathroom..." "Yes, to stand in the shower. OK?" Confused and amused, she half-turned and guardedly asked, "Should I...take off my clothes?" "Take off your...but why?" Now it was his turn to look puzzled and with a shake of his head he declared, "Certainly not. You are bedazzling." Curious, she slipped past him to the bathroom where she found a steel chair positioned just outside the shower curtain. The pale blue sink was filled with ice and Coors Light. She waited. "So...it's a shower, right Estevan?" she probed. "Will you watch, or," she held out her arms tantalizingly, "will you join me?" He shook his head again. Assuming its floor might be too slippery for heels, she leaned to remove them, but he stopped her. "Shoes on." he instructed. In a gesture of gentlemanly elegance, he held her hand as she clumsily stepped into the stall. At a loss, she turned to face him. "This is very good," he complimented. "Hands behind you. Wear these." Pulling a set of cuffs from his back pocket, he dangled them up to her face. Lissette's heart sank. "Shit, you're...you're a cop!" Luckily, his rollicking laughter said otherwise. Still smiling broadly, he gulped his beer and assured her, "No, no my dear, I'm no policia. Turning around and joining her wrists, she let him snap the steel bracelets in place. Loss of control wasn't high on the escort's list of fun things, but Estevan felt safe to her. Again, she waited. "Lissette, my dear," he earnestly explained, "You appear, um...unacquainted with my wishes, no?" Baffled, she shrugged. "You see," he went on, "I described each detail to your efficient office manager...to Celeste, is her name. She neglected to explain?" Lissette knew he was telling the truth and thought back to Eileen's tongue lashing. Knowing the agency kept things from girls who got sent to the penalty box, Celeste, undoubtedly acting under Eileen's orders, had intentionally concealed Estevan's agenda. Now, however, it was clear. Plain and simple, the merry Brazilian was a pisser. Eileen had handed Lissette a mess and though what he wanted was nothing new to her, she wasn't in the mood today. "I have been with many Vixens and always request they remain dressed for my...special events! It is much more fun!" Desperately wanting to do this nude, she gave him a skeptical look. "But Estevan, I really should get un..." "No," he said emphatically. He downed another glass of beer and caressing her face with strong fingers, he added, lowering his voice, "American beer. It makes me pee." Ominously tapping the glass, he grinned, before carefully undoing the top three buttons of her white silk blouse. For a moment, Lissette hoped he might continue on down, but he didn't. Instead, he stopped. Pissers, though essentially harmless, annoyed her. But understanding that a man's sexuality is what it is, she directed her silent anger at Celeste who, due to having kept all this a secret, was to blame for the fact that Lissette arrived immaculately-dressed. Had she known, she wouldn't have donned her best woolen suit. The escort wanted to scream. But she was committed now and of course turning him down meant unemployment. "So," he went on, "Se faz favore, you will compliment me and stand here in the shower while I finish imbibing. I like to look at you. You are so beautiful." He filled his glass again, consumed his beer in a gulp and drew another frosty can from sink. Quickly finishing, he set the glass down, got rid of his shorts and stepped onto the chair. His flaccid penis dangled in Lissette's face and hung loosely over a hefty scrotum covered with pubic hair. His cock, long, thick and uncut, fit perfectly with his athletic frame. Knowing what was coming; Lissette tightly shuttered her eyes and sealed her lips against the cloudburst. "No, no, no...I told the lady, your Celeste - OPEN, OPEN - mouth open...eyes open!" "What a surprise," Lissette abjectly whispered. Disappointed though she was, she opened. His stream was insistent, torrential. Elevated as he was, she made the perfect target and with leisurely calm he drenched her hair and splattered her face. Summoning all the discipline she could, the pathetic girl stayed still for him, but coughed uncontrollably as urine stung her eyes, filled her mouth and nostrils, forcing its way down her throat. Estevan, consciously hesitating at her neck, peed into her open collar, sending vile urine cascading in a current between her breasts; in seconds reducing her to a filthy, sopping mess. She struggled for breath, coughed more, but remained still as he returned his aim directly to her face. When he at long last ran dry, she was thoroughly soaked, hot urine even having puddled in the soles of her new shoes. Finally ending, the silly man exploded into laughter and stepping off the chair, he spun her around, unlocking the constraining cuffs. "Perfection!" he thundered, handing her a fluffy towel. "Absolute perfection! I love - love all Vixen girls," he happily complimented. Lissette, trying to smile, couldn't stop coughing. Stepping past him to the sink, she feverishly pressed ice cubes to her inflamed eyes. Estevan patiently toweled her hair before giving her five crisp hundreds. "To replace your suit," he informed kindly. "And here," he added, handing her a cash-filled envelope. "Take this also. A gratuity for a lovely lady who gracefully put up with the likes of me!" Taking the elevator to the hotel lobby and wearing a long trench coat to hide her blotched clothing, Lissette was sure the stench of pee permeated the little enclosure and was thankful to be its only passenger. Thinking back on the hour, he was, she reluctantly concluded, an all right assignment. She liked him and squishy shoes and all, she walked a steady pace the few blocks back to her apartment. On balance, she thought him a decent trick and mindful of Eileen's warnings, Lissette humbly texted the madam, assuring her she would do him again if he wanted. Eileen didn't acknowledge the message. Unthinkably grimed and knowing her very existence hinged on becoming clean again, Lissette knew that no matter how hot the water, no matter how hard she scrubbed, it would never be enough. She hated water sports but was realistic and recognized it as part of the game. If she had to do it, she felt good it happened with the pleasant foreigner and in spite of the vile nature of the experience, he had been kind. Scrubbing herself till she hurt and as clean as a girl can be clean after suffering such humiliation, the harried escort dressed again, locked her apartment door behind her, dumped her filthy clothing into the chute and rushed off to her second matinee. To be continued... Vixens - The Triple Story 02 *Late Afternoon - Dealing with artists typically involved puzzling instructions. This one had prefaced their date by sending a peculiar email. It was beyond demanding and Lissette had read it twice: --- "Skirt - short - very - Pleats/Catholic School - Red only/school girl look - Sheer blouse/red - see through - Button tightly - at wrists - Bra/none - Panties, brief, but not too - lace - red - no thongs/no stockings. Cameo necklace with red collar/paid for -- Pick up item at Pandora's on 7th - Note: Modifying requested attire nullifies tryst. If unwilling to follow instructions, stay home - will request Vixens send Etta. --- At five, she cautiously stepped off the elevator and into his studio. Her eyes, pink and swollen from the pisser, strained to surveil his work. Sketched in charcoal, each canvas was gargantuan, several extending two stories from the ceiling. Provocatively displayed, they swayed from the studio's roof, their straining hangers attached to corroding hooks. Above were translucent skylights, furnishing every artist's dream - ample natural light. Each piece grandiloquently exhibited strikingly sensuous models who, clearly having just completed the sex act, oozed creamy semen. Each piece focused on the woman's exaggerated and pouting vaginal lips and prolapsed rectum. Her orifices dribbled semen in caricature, convincing Lissette the portrait's subject had just finished servicing multiple partners. "Rebekah! You fucking cunt! Restrain that blessed squirming!" His voice was stabbing, insistent. Stopping mid-step, Lissette stared at her, the object of the artist's irritation. His models, one male, one female, both nude, lay coupled on a thick bed of straw. The artist, obviously hurried and apparently experimenting with a novel technique, worked contrarily, frantically sketching with white chalk onto black canvas. The girl, though striking, wasn't like ordinary models. She wasn't lean and didn't sport the usual implants. She was cherubic, Renaissance-like, with lovely natural breasts and womanly curves. Despite obvious discomfort, she exuded a virgin's innocence and to Lissette, the artist's interest in her for the role of 'Eve' was a no-brainer. She struggled, however, to keep her legs apart. Strangely and to his obvious consternation, every few seconds those legs snapped shut, at which point the artist raged at her, throwing down his chalk and screaming epithets for breaking the complex pose he labored to capture. Lissette watched her as she attempted a distorted rendering of the Biblical First Lady, who held a bitten and highly-polished apple up to her counterpart, an edible-looking 'Adam,' who, slightly older, sported muscular arms and a long, slender penis; erect, if largely encapsulated. It appeared to Lissette that Adam's only duty was to lie still and to gaze uneasily at the forbidden fruit, all the while having his woody lodged in Eve's throat. Though she seemed comfortable with her nakedness and hadn't reacted when Lissette's heels hit the hardwood floor, the artist had a point, as the girl continuously wriggled; her hips reflexively twitching, resulting in legs snapping closed, as if controlled by some external force. "Rebekah! FOR THE LAST TIME, STAY STILL!" the artist ordered. "Movement fucks up my sketch!" With a tear streaming from the corner of her eye and with her mouth filled with Adam's shaft, Eve suddenly stopped sucking and popped his cock, freeing it to flop aimlessly onto his stomach. Standing, she shouted back at the artist, complaining loudly, "I can't keep him hard, balance this stupid apple and deal with a blessed serpent!" Dropping the apple and to Lissette's wide-eyed astonishment, she frantically reached between her legs and seized the glistening tail of a wriggling black snake imprisoned in her birth canal! Yanking the squirming reptile from its sinful captivity she tossed it halfway across the room, where it landed at the terrified prostitute's feet before slinking into hiding under a chair. "Fucking thing bites my insides!" she vehemently screeched. Storming away from the improvised Garden of Eden, she added, "I need a joint." As she walked off, the divine-looking Adam reached under the chair, grabbed up the slithering creature and followed after her. "It's only a ratsnake, Bekah!" he loudly reminded. "The thing's harmless!" He implored her to come back. Unmoved, the artist sighed loudly. "Creativity resumes in half an hour, people. And find a different apple. This one's had it." Neither model answered so he turned to face the shaken call girl, trembling after having witnessed the snake's inconceivable extraction. The plainly harebrained artist addressed her calmly. "I like red," he said, casually looking her up and down. "And I see you picked up the choker. That's good. Listen sweetheart, I've forgotten your name. What is it again?" "Lissette." "Lissette, yes. Well Lissette, there's an extra K in it for you if you dispense with the goofy condom," he said matter-of-factly. "They're barbaric. I won't use them." Having observed his handling of the models, Lissette understood the artist would dispatch her if she said no. Plainly, it was no condom - no encounter - no tip - and no job. Mindful of Eileen's official "condoms only" rule, Lissette went ahead and did what girls do; she acquiesced, rationalizing that doing someone of his towering artistic renown wasn't the same as doing just anybody. He's famous, she reasoned. "OK, but...but," she stuttered, "no snakes. I...I don't...I mean, I don't like snakes. Is...that OK?" With safe sex negotiated away, he looked her over a second time, nodded agreeably, straightened the cameo of her choker and motioned for her to lean over a pool table. "Ass in the air, face flat to the felt," he ordered indifferently. From her exposed position, the escort found herself looking squarely at a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. "I'd ask you to join me for a drink, but from where you are, I doubt gravity will work in your favor." He grabbed the bottle and she listened as he poured, sipped and unbuckled. With conversation past tense, he lifted the pleated skirt onto her wide hips, gently worked her panties to mid-thigh, slipped himself deeply into her cunt, then waited, all the while sipping. Seeming content to stay put, he barely moved for the next ten minutes. At long last, she heard a muffled grunt after which he pulled out, zipped, handed her a box of tissues, then pencil-sketched as she wiped away the semen running down her thighs. "Tell me what you think?" he asked, reversing the sketch pad for her to see. Impressed, Lissette couldn't help but smile. In seconds he had produced a breathing image of a hooker's cleanup after a hasty fuck. Lissette nodded. "You're awesome," was all she could think to say. "I know," he said magisterially. Signing it, he tore the page away and handed it to her along with a packet of hundreds. Doing an about face, he marched from the room shouting, "Listen up, people! Where's that unholy snake!" It was five o'clock. She let herself out. To be continued... Vixens - The Triple Story 03 Part I - Evening - Very Late She knew it; everybody did. Certain things were certain after all and like it or love it, Zuccotti Park had become the most identifiable spot on earth. To Lissette, the place was scary and as they approached, she sought protection on Troy's arm. She wondered though, why risk it? He was everything the Occupiers hated - the perfect object of scorn for zealots whose mission in life was protesting - him. "Can't we go another way?" she asked. "It's creepy here." It was late. She was tired. Her sore feet reminded her of trudging home in sodden shoes after parting with the Brazilian. Exactly as Eileen had wanted, the long day was clawing at her. "It's the park or nothing, girly girl," he replied steadfastly. Nervously, her thoughts reverted to the angry madam's stern ultimatum: "Vixens will not tolerate more complaints, young lady." Troy Garrity was the last of the hellish day's triple. So far, she had made it all work and thinking back to the Brazilian and the artist, she knew she hadn't done anything either could complain about - and neither had been an easy mark for her. A hodgepodge of trees came into view, under which she saw the small but instantly recognizable tent city. The little area was hemmed in by NYPD officers flushed with annoyed looks. She hesitated. "I'm afraid, Troy. Can't we..." "No," he replied curtly. "Where we go is the client's choice, right?" She didn't answer. Having won the round, he smiled. "I'll have you here." With his Rothman Suit, his neatly cut hair and his too-perfect manners, she had hoped for the Tribeca Grand. Her sore body needed bed, room service and a soothing whirlpool bath. Something else was troubling Lissette, however. Troy Garrity didn't fit here; he didn't belong. So why, she wondered? Why the insistence? To provoke this riffraff into some kind of confrontation? Not likely, she concluded. But she worried. One thing was certain; here he would stand out in the crowd - which meant she would. But he was right; by agency rule, the customer determined where they fucked. She cast him a casual glance and thought; he's a poster-child for what haters hate about Wall Street, with its evil speculators and hard-hearted bankers. They'd met an hour earlier and instantly, she had tasted his greed, his yearning for more. He was patronizing, intentionally objectifying her. Squeezing her a little too tightly, he pressed his lips to her forehead but instead of the welcoming kiss women hunger for, he instead breathed in her skin's fragrance, as if getting his money's worth. Stepping back, he ran his eyes the full length of her, observing, "So they've sent me a girly girl." Playing coy, she countered, "What, pray tell, is a girly girl?" "You know," he said offhandedly, "Too pretty, a little too delicate, too lady-like. Anyway, it's too late to request someone else. You'll have to do." 'Girly girl,' she thought to herself, taking her arm from his. 'Whores aren't girly girls.' "But you ordered up a Vixen, Mr. Garrity," she observed, smiling. "What did you expect?" Bastard, she thought. A few quiet steps later, he condescendingly answered. "Expect?" He turned, seized her narrow shoulders and effortlessly lifted her off the sidewalk. "Maybe - maybe someone - with rougher edges." Managing lazy eyes in spite of the comment, she chanced a whisper. "If it's rough edges you want, maybe Vixens isn't for you." Smiling wryly and setting her back on her heels, he chuckled. "For the moment, I'll yield the point." He wasn't bad looking, but his icy eyes burned holes in a girl. Standing straight and tall, his hair was dark. His strong arms readily manipulated her modest frame. But much as she liked liking her clients, she didn't like him. Self-importance turned her off. She reminded herself that although detesting clients was tolerated, showing it was not. It was the rule of all rules and Eileen marked girls for violating it, leveling stiff fines which the escort's finances could ill afford. So straining to mind the very manners her exacting boss insisted she mind, Lissette forced herself to stroll under the street lights with a mystery man she wasn't sure she could handle and about whom she felt the chill of an ill wind. A moment later, the couple stood at the entry to Zuccotti Park. Part II - Evening Performance Lissette surreptitiously checked the time. It was nearly one and Mr. Wall Street was interfering with a promise to her sitter to be home early and a desperate need for sleep. But nearing the end, she was confident. As promised, the escort had been a good girl; providing requisite services, following orders. Requisite services! Dodging that snake. Playing condom roulette for a crazed artist. Performing as a human toilet for a pleasant but eccentric Brazilian, and now accompanying a cold-hearted mystery man into a bee hive of professional haters. Anxiously, she scanned the surroundings. "Welcome to the new center of the universe." Troy beamed, more excitedly than she expected. Like most New Yorkers, Lissette avoided the controversial place. But now, holding his hand tightly, she followed him. Its atmosphere surprised her. Excepting the shrieks of a woman either giving birth or in the throes of orgasm, the famous enclave was eerily silent. There was only a handful of people milling about. They walked past a campfire, around which sat some men and a very pregnant woman. Students, Lissette supposed. Methodically sharing a small pipe, the obviously stoned woman stood and confrontationally demanded, "Vlad! Who the fuck is she?" Lissette's mind froze. The girl's behavior was possessive; she knew him, called him "Vlad!" Tugging his arm, the guarded escort questioned him. "Who's she talking about? Who...who is Vlad?" Without answering, he instead called back to the girl. "Just an old friend, Nikki." That's when the alarm sounded in Lissette's head. Garrity was a fake who had slipped past Vixens' typically rigorous vetting service. To escorts, pseudos were especially dangerous. Everybody hides something -- these men hide more. But what? What was he hiding? Her mind stiffened with fear. One of the men chided him. "She's the second old friend this week, Teichberg. This one's real eye candy!" Laughter filled the air and turning his attention to the prego, the same man added, "Hey Nikki. Isn't she hot?" His sarcastic question drew two menacing middle fingers from the angry woman and he changed the subject. "You missed today's rally, Teichberg. We so fucked with the cops! You should have been there." "Yeah Spike, I know, I know," Troy admitted. "But you guys don't need me for that stuff. Just do what I told you. Video everything, upload it to the internet and fuck Wall Street, right?" Agreeable laughter followed. The frightened Lissette tugged again. "Vlad...whoever you are, how do you know these people?" she asked. Detecting her alarm, he hurried her along the pathway. Arriving at a domed tent, he unzipped the flap and whispered, "Inside." Every instinct said run, but with Eileen's ultimatum still buzzing in her brain, she was too afraid. Inside, she found a narrow cot, some rumpled blankets, canned soups and a plastic storage container overflowing with twisted jeans - not the kind of attire he had on and not the kind she expected. It was clear Troy Garrity wasn't Troy Garrity. He was Vladimir Teichberg, Occupy Wall Street's online streaming video chief. She remembered seeing his picture. The pot-smoking girl by the fire was his wife Nikki! Switching on a battery lamp, Vladimir zipped the flap closed, placing fabric between man, escort and flight. Loosening her silk scarf, Lissette's questions came fast and furious: "So, Mr. Teichberg, mind telling me what the cloak-and-dagger stuff is about? I admit the three piece suit had me fooled. And why lie to Vixens about who you are? And who is Troy Garrity anyway?" Smirking, he observed, "You ask too many questions for your own good. But I'll explain anyway." He paused. She waited. "Let's just say Troy Garrity is my alter ego. He gets me inside the Stock Exchange. He's an intruder, a detested figment of everybody's imagination now. He even fooled you and that stupid Celeste." Lissette frowned, hating his dishonesty. She grew more assertive. "That doesn't explain why you lied to Celeste - meaning Vixens put me here with an unknown. Why that? Buying a girl is buying a girl. You could have had me anyway." He stepped forward menacingly. Instinctively, Lissette backed away. "You're really afraid, aren't you," he whispered. "Well, don't be. I intend to destroy the capitalist system, but you? You take care of hurting yourself for me. Think about it. You're a whore; a victim, right? You should...should, be one of us, part of the 99%. But instead, look how you allow yourself to be exploited by that rich-bitch madam, a charter member of the one percent! My problem with whores like you is that you permit it, so to me you're nothing but a venture capitalist, in the same class as her. You sell your body while she rakes in tons of money and doesn't pay her fair share. Don't tell me I'm not right, either." Lissette felt cornered by this mad man so she wasn't about to differ. Instead, she did what she was taught to do; she lied, about everything. "It's true," she admitted. "I hate her. And I hate myself for giving her money to exploit me. But I need to work and selling myself is all I know." He seized her in his arms and held her tightly. "It's a bullshit excuse!" His strong hands hurt her. She was losing control and tried to change the subject. Feigning affection, she gazed up at him and asked, "Tell me, Mr. Occupy, when does your victimized whore find out what you want from her? And Mrs. Occupy sitting out there by the fire? She's OK with this?" "Never mind her," he ordered. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he shoved her to the cot. Rough though he was, Lissette knew the routine and eyed his bulging crotch. A simple blow job, she thought. After the kind of day she'd had, a simple blow job was heaven. Unzipping his pants, she reached inside. Skillfully, she worked his cock into view and lifting it; she carefully took a testicle into her mouth, rolled it gently, then did the same with the other. Releasing them, she reached into her purse and fumbled for a condom whose foil wrapper she expertly tore away with her teeth. "No way," he announced. Like most men, Vladimir obviously perceived the condom as an affront. "House rules," she pouted, lying coyly. "You'll like it, Vlad...I'll make you like it." His face darkened. Grabbing her hair, he jerked her head back and ripping the condom from her teeth, he tossed it away. She tried getting to her feet, but he held her down. "Please, Vlad, I...I can't. My boss...I'll scream!" Fright had overwhelmed her and he knew it. "You can," was his firm response. "And if there's any hope of escaping Zuccotti Park in one piece, you will. Take heed, bitch. With a word, my people out there will shred you." Still holding her down, he ordered, "Mouth open." Wrestling with a dozen fears, she opened and he jammed his erection deep, choking her. "There," he said, relieved. "Yeah...feels good." In an instant, her throat was awash in pre-cum, something experienced girls didn't normally let bother them. But the more he forced her, the more she struggled, first to get up, then for air to breathe. However, after a moment, he unexpectedly backed off. Offering a kind of truce, she relaxed her shoulders. In response, he withdrew but holding her face in the vice of his knees, he aimed the tip of his glistening cock at her eye, making her blink. She knew now what Vladimir was about; he played darts. Earlier, the Brazilian's seemingly harmless antics had left Lissette's eyes burning and pink with irritation. Though lacking Vladimir's overt aggressiveness, Estevan had, nonetheless, abused her, consciously targeting her eyes; eyes she had known would swell and burn for hours. "Please, Vladimir, don't," she pleaded. Wincing, she shut her eyes and turned away. "Please," she appealed again. "Come in my mouth. My eyes hurt...I can't..." He didn't reply. With her head locked in place, he held her wrists with one hand and madly yanked at his cock with the other. "Bloodshot eyes," he muttered contemptuously. "They send a girl with bloodshot fucking eyes?" Lissette broke into uncontrollable sobs but not caring, he twisted her arms and ordered, "Open. Keep them open or I'll break you! Vixens sucks!" He was hurting her so she complied. "Let me," she offered resignedly. "Just let go of my hands and I'll do it." "OK," he agreed, "but behave yourself. A beast is what you are and my alter ego says he plans to bitch to your boss. Troy, that capitalist prick; he's going to get your pretty ass fired!" Lissette begged. "Please Vlad; I said I'd do it. Only don't tell on me. I'll hold my own eyes open, I promise." Nodding, he let go of her wrists and continuing to jerk off, he looked on as Lissette held both eyelids wide apart for him. "Head back...hurry," he grunted, obviously close. The girl, exhausted and emotionally drained, gave in. Tilting back and fighting her own reflex to close them, she held her eyes open waiting for his splash. With a grunt, he burst and hot sperm flooded the wretched escort's eye sockets. Instantly, her vision turned gauzy white, a burning haze which her involuntarily fluttering lids instinctually sought to blink away but which only worsened the biting sensation from his singular viciousness. Blinded, she listened to his gasps, waiting as his labored breathing gradually diminished. Semen ran down her cheeks, into her ears and slid into her open collar as Lissette desperately felt along the cold floor, searching for something, anything to wipe away the stinging fluid. "Stay still," he ordered. With a click, a glaring, knife-like light, flashed through the filmy filter still fogging her vision. Followed by a second, he captured today's portrait with his smart phone. "That's perfect. Guess our girly girl is just another messy mess," he said with more than a hint of self-satisfaction. "Tell you what. I promise not to upload this photographic hors d'oeuvre to Hamster's picture gallery if you promise to keep Troy Garrity and his little games a secret. Do we have a deal?" The sobbing girl nodded despairingly. With a zip, he opened the tent's flap and said, "Now get out." Part III - Home Late For the third time this week she had worked late. It was after three when she quietly unlocked the apartment door. All was dark. All was silent. The place felt eerily empty. "Sable?" she whispered. With no response from her sitter, she turned on the lights. The living room was empty. Lissette called out once more - louder now. "Sable? Emily?" Again hearing nothing, she ran to her daughter's room. The bed was empty but resting on the pillow was a note. Picking it up, she guardedly read: Ms. Church, When one o'clock came and went with no sign of you, I felt obligated to take my daughter - and yours - to my apartment. Child Protective Services picked up little Emily at two. Maybe it's cruel, but a little girl needs a mother who loves her - not one who stays out all hours of the night. Investigator Jerome Keller left this number: 800-342-3720. He said you can reach him after 9:00 in the morning. If I were you, I'd have a talk with a good lawyer first though. I think he knows what you're up to. Shame on you. Caryn Ellis End