This story was inspired by a photo I saw on W.W.Amateurs.com and that shaped the outfit Caroline changes into at the show and got me into thinking about white. The rest stems from women I have encountered while travelling in Belgium and the Netherlands. Antwerp, possibly surprisingly is developing as a fashion centre. Caf� d'Anvers has hosted rave music nights and ModeNatie is a venue for fashion events.
Caroline had always dreamed of owning her own yacht-designing business, but knew that she would need a lot of cash behind her. As a sensible young woman she sought a career that would allow her to stay close to the water and build up the savings that would allow her to set up her own business by the time she was thirty. Maritime business law seemed the way, well paid and allowing her, she hoped, to travel to harbours across the world. Well, that had been the idea. She certainly got to visit ports, but generally to gaze at the backsides of freight ships and supertankers. Then her company offered her the chance to travel to Europe. Having lived in Montreal since she was five, Caroline had a good grasp of French and had warm memories of France from a high school trip. She imagined that even if her work kept her at industrial ports, at least she could spend time eyeing up the yachts in places like Cannes and Deauville. Though her original expectations were slightly altered when she was told she was being sent to Antwerp in Belgium, looking at the maps, she knew the distance to the French towns with yacht berths would be a fraction of the distance she would travel to reach Europe in the first place.
Caroline threw herself into the language lessons the company provided as in Antwerp they speak Flemish, the Belgian version of Dutch. She proved to been a quick learner and felt ready to take on Antwerp. It was a reasonably large city, hardly glamorous, but not as ugly as some and its fashion industry was on the climb, though Caroline imagined it would be a while before it came close to Milan. Caroline reconciled herself to thinking of the different food she would taste and maybe the chance to meet some of the more attractive elements of the local male population, favouring a shipping line executive over any of the dockers or seamen she too often encountered. Things seemed to be going fine, she was located in a nice office and the company had arranged a decent apartment in easy reach. However, having spent her travelling money she began asking about her salary. It was revealed that it was still being paid into her account back home. Her bank seemed pretty reluctant to let her get at it from abroad and she was loath to start charging up everything on her six-month trip to her credit card, especially as she had no way to settle the balance until she returned home. As a result she was reduced to submitting everything as expenses claims and had only a limited allocation each day. This left her cooking at home or simply eating in burger joints with no money for trips or clothes or anything else her company considered a 'luxury'.
Caroline had been in Antwerp for almost two months and was now feeling that it was a bit like a sentence to a penal colony. There was a lot to do and see but she never had any money to exploit the opportunities. The scope of her entertainment was second-hand paperbacks and bus rides to look at the sea or sit in a park. Even those distractions were beginning to pale and today she decided to simply wander around hoping to run into something or someone who would spark her interest. She had never come out of the apartment block this way, favouring the front exit that brought her closer to the bus stop. There was a row of small shops, a couple looked like the same shop stretched over a couple of pitched. Caroline idly wandered past the florist, but her attention was caught by the shoe shop next door. For a quiet street it stood out. Above the window were spiral patterns that reminded Caroline of Sixties pop art; in jazzy letters was written the name 'Streetwalker'. Caroline was not certain whether that was the surname of the owners or something else, but it seemed to fit an urban shoe store.
Caroline gazed through the shop window like a child looking at cakes or sweets on display. The shop seemed to specialise in footwear that was more extravagant than the usual run of things. Almost all the shoes, and the numerous boots, had high sharp heels. Many were gleaming with a slippery shine that for some reason appealed to Caroline. Maybe it was because they were so different to what she habitually wore: plain court shoes for work and sneakers for the days off. In the centre of the room there were a pair of shiny white boots on display. They were long; Caroline guessed that on her they would stretch as far as her thigh. Most shoe shops showed their shoes sitting demurely on a shelf but this shop was different. The boots had to be on leg forms as they were thrust upwards as if worn by a woman lying on her back paddling her booted legs in the air. Caroline had already seen that tastes were different in Belgium to back home and in a city like Antwerp that was simply increased. Women went to the shops in boots stretching over their knees, in leather trousers and long leather coats. Back home they would be mistaken for whores but here it was part of the fashion, even for women twice Caroline's age. So, maybe Caroline pondered, a shop like this was pretty mundane here.
Caroline had the urge to go in, but stopped herself. She lacked the money to buy anything in there and, anyway, were these the kind of shoes she would ever think of wearing? Caroline chided herself - she was a young woman, why should she not have something that was a little sassy. Caroline refocused on the display in the window and now her eyes were caught by the white ankle boots. She had never owned a pair of white shoes, but there was something about the colour which asserted itself. Who paid attention to black footwear? Then again these were not over-the-top. Caroline had often noticed businesswomen with very pointed, sharp-heeled boots peeking out from beneath their conservative suit trousers.
Caroline wrestled with her desires for a few more moments, and then, almost automatically found herself walking into the shop. A woman in her early thirties dressed all in black, a loose shirt over baggy trousers, stepped up smiling welcomingly.
"Hi, I'm Petra. Is there anything I can show you?"
"Erm, er, the ankle boots in the window."
"The white ones?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I could see they appealed, I think they'd be perfect for you. What size are you? A 37?"
"Yes, that's right."
Judging her Continental shoe size correctly by looking suggested to Caroline that Petra knew her job. In minutes Caroline had shed her sneakers and was zipping her feet into the slippery ankle boots. Then she stood, a little wobbly on the high heels, but feeling great with them on.
"They're not leather?"
"No, vinyl. You can't beat the shine that it provides, it lasts forever."
"Yes, I like the shine. They're so different to, to..."
"To what you'd normally wear? But you still like them; you feel sexy in them. We often find that's the case with women who come in here as we don't stock run-of-the-mill footwear. These are vinyl but the shoes are designer, they're limited numbers in each size."
As Caroline walked up and down in the boots she felt that she had to have them, that somehow they would change her life into something a little more sexy and exciting. She loved the way the pointed boots made her feet look so sleek and the way the shine caught the light. However, with every step Caroline felt she was lying. There was no way she could afford these boots; she told herself to remember them and hunt for a pair when she returned to Canada. However, what Petra was saying about the limited numbers suggested it would be difficult for her to find or afford them even then.
"You'll take them." Petra said firmly; Caroline wrongly took it to be a question.
Reluctantly Caroline sat down and started unzipping them. "I do love them, but they're beyond my budget at the moment."
Just then another young woman, dressed in a smart business suit, came into the shop. She crossed to a pair of black patent leather boots detailed with buckles. Petra turned to focus on her, and seeing her chance to get out of the embarrassing situation, Caroline stood, slipped into her sneakers and hurried from the shop.
Caroline had avoided going past the shoe shop for almost three weeks now. However, in that time she had found she was almost becoming obsessed. She kept looking at the footwear worn by the women she saw in the street, somehow disappointed when they were not wearing boots or their heels were low. Increasingly she noticed she was looking out for any woman wearing white boots and one Saturday morning even went on an unnecessary bus ride out of the city just so she could gaze at the shiny white knee-length boots of a female raver returning home from Caf� d'Anvers.
As Caroline walked self-consciously past the entrance to her block and down the street to the shop, she felt like an anxious teenager hoping she would run into a fellow student she fancied. It was hard to admit she felt something sexual about going back to gaze at the boots. She guessed that it was a little like pining over the poster of a movie star. Was that the right way to feel about an item of clothing? Maybe she was simply catching up with a large section of the female population for whom fashion was a vital part of life.
Any thought of walking on by and taking a quick, guilty glance in the shop window was scuppered when she saw Petra standing in the shop doorway, even more so when Petra saw her. The shopkeeper came out.
"Hello, Caroline." Petra said enthusiastically. "I knew you'd be back. Are you ready for the boots?"
"Erm, er. Well... I'd love them, but..."
"But, it's the money. I know, we get quite a few ladies like you whose urge for great boots outstrips their budget. We know that's the case, and we've got a way to help you out. Come inside, I'll talk you through it."
Caroline felt a little bewildered by Petra's suggestion, but she seemed welcoming. Caroline thought at least she would get another look at those boots and hoped that that would dispel her craving. The shop was empty as the two women walked in. Caroline was led to a small kitchen in the back. Some coffee was waiting and she consented to a cup. Petra sat down beside her at the round table.
"So, how would you like to do some modelling for us, and get a pair of boots of your choice as payment?" Petra asked directly.
"Erm, er, yes, I suppose so."
"We like to employ everyday women rather than models, we feel it appeals more directly to customers and to stores who we sell under licence to, if they can see women like themselves or their wives wearing what we produce rather than stick thin, distracted model types."
"So what's involved?"
"Well, you know since the Eighties Antwerp's really been developing as a real European fashion centre. This Saturday evening we're having a show, but rather than ModeNatie, we like to have a different venue each year, usually a big industrial space on the edge of the city - parking's no problem and we can be as loud as we like. We'll ferry you out there from here. We supply all the clothing and make-up and the boots of course, all you have to do is walk up and down the catwalk, letting potential buyers see what you're wearing. Then, at the end of the night you get a pair of boots as a thank you. I think I know which pair you'd like."
Caroline flushed as if her guilty secret had been discovered. However, the thought of getting her hands on, or rather her feet into, those boots made her head reel.
"Certainly, sign me up."
"That's great. You'll be wonderful. Can you be here at six; the show starts at nine?"
"That's no problem. I live in the apartment block just up there." Suddenly some shafts of concern pierced Caroline's rosy imaginings. "But I've never done a fashion show. I'm sure I'll be too awkward."
"Nonsense. I've worked in boots for a long time. I see how you walk. Anyway, we want it to be natural, that's one reason for using non-professionals, they seem so much more suitable than over-rehearsed models. You'll have a chance for a run-through before you go on stage. Believe me, you'll be fine."
Caroline felt surprisingly reassured by Petra's words.
"Come, we'll seal the deal."
Caroline followed Petra back to the shop's storeroom. She reached down a pair of vinyl white boots in their box and opened it to show Caroline they were the ones she wanted. Petra scrawled on the lid in pencil 'For Caroline' and put them on another shelf with an assortment of boxes; Caroline guessed these were for Petra's other recruits.
"See you Saturday at six, don't be late."
"I won't." Caroline responded knowing it to be the truth.
Excitedly, Caroline hurried from the shop, really feeling lifted of a burden and eager that Saturday came. Only briefly did she dare to think what it would be like once the boots had become hers, but somehow she sensed life would be more thrilling, certainly sexier.
The days until Saturday passed quicker than Caroline had anticipated. She had been uncertain what to wear but knew that it did not really matter as Petra had said suitable clothes would be provided. Caroline guessed they would be selected to show off the boots to their best and what kind of clothing they could go with. As a result she chose a plain white blouse and loose cream-coloured trousers, plus a pair of slip-on shoes she could get out of quickly when needed.
Reaching the shop, Caroline found three other women there. One was French, the other two Belgians. Petra was welcoming and plied them all with cool white wine. It was not long before their driver, Petra's business partner, Karl turned up with a minibus. He was in his thirties, with a relaxed appearance which seemed to initally conceal both a drive and an attention to detail. Apparently he had been picking up women from across the city and neighbouring areas and Caroline's group was the last batch. Excitedly the four women clambered into the van, chatting about what they imagined the event would be like.
"Elise, Sophie, Silke, Kaatje." Karl read out from a list on his clipboard as he looked over the women in his van from the door.
"That's right." Petra responded.
Caroline thought she had made a mistake. She had caught the names of two of the others, Lina and Paulette, and guessed Karl must simply be confirming the last batch of women he had ferried to the venue. She said nothing and then Karl was closing the door and he and Petra getting into the front seats. Caroline had been a little apprehensive about the whole thing, but now with these women, one of whom was a student, the others businesswomen like herself, she felt a growing sense of camaraderie. As they were driven out through Antwerp's suburbs she was increasingly certain that she was going to enjoy this evening, and hoped she could stay in contact with some of the other women after tonight.
Caroline had no idea where they were when they pulled up in front of the warehouse. There was no signs outside it, but a man at the gate opened it letting the minibus into a car park which already held half-a-dozen vehicles. Noise and light was emanating from inside. Lina opened the door and the four women clambered out.
"That's what I like to see, eagerness." Karl said. "This way, the others will be already getting ready."
They crossed the car park and went in through a narrow door. Almost immediately they were into what Caroline anticipated backstage at a fashion show would look like. There were lighted mirrors down one wall of what looked to have once been an office. At each were women being ministered to by other women, and occasionally men, doing hairstyles and make-up, handing over and trying on clothes and boots. There was an air of excitement and panic. Someone had stuck a glitterball in the centre of the room and the bright lights it refracted simply added to the unreal air of the place. Noise of microphones and music being tested echoed from deeper in the building. Caroline expected to feel nervous but was surprisingly calm, and she wondered if Petra had added some Dutch gin to the wine earlier.
"Right, Silke ..." Petra said to Caroline.
"No, I'm Caroline."
"Sorry, yes, Caroline. Juggling all the names is a nightmare. Right, Caroline. You're number eighteen. If you tell the costumier that, she'll have the right outfit ready for you. Then come back over here to see Isabella. She knows what hair and make-up you're getting. Have you got any valuables you'd like me to take care of?"
"Just this purse; I didn't bring much; my phone's at home."
"Right, give me your watch too. We might want you to have some jewellery with your outfit."
Caroline handed over her watch and Petra added it into a ziplock bag with a big '18' scrawled on the outside.
"So many things get lost at an event like this, it's always best and it avoids arguments. Right, see you in a bit."
"Yes, I understand, thanks."
Petra then hurried over to Lina and Caroline headed in the direction she had been pointed. A short, dark-haired woman in her late thirties took Caroline's number and returned with a hanger of white clothes. Moments later she was back with some boots.
"Change over there." The woman directed and then disappeared back among the clothing rails.
Caroline glanced at the clothes. Only part of the outfit seemed to be there, a bra, a short furry white jacket and a pair of shiny trousers. The white boots matched, but were knee- rather than ankle-length. Caroline chided herself for assuming she would be modelling the boots she was going to be given. Of course this show would highlight Petra's new ranges rather than what she already had on sale. She was pleased that these boots were white though, and the sharp steel heel was certainly sexy.
Caroline sat down in a quietish corner. The clothes of the women around her looked like they were going to a rave, but then she guessed that was the flavour of the show. Maybe Petra had assumed what clothes Caroline would like to wear from the kind of boots she liked. In addition, Caroline, told herself, models never had any control over what they were asked to wear. It did not really matter, there would be no-one here she knew, why should she not be dressed like a rave chick for the evening? Caroline quickly shed her blouse and bra replacing it with the silky white bra top. She slipped the cropped fake-fur jacket on to give herself a little more coverage. Then she was out of her canvas trousers and into the shiny white pair. She realised they were like the boots, made of vinyl and very tight. She took a few minutes to pull them into place and then noticed her panties were clearly visible through the smooth shine. Hurriedly she removed the trousers and had her panties off. The vinyl felt amazing against her naked bum and pussy, dismissing any qualms Caroline had had about removing her underwear. She draped her discarded clothes as best she could around the hanger.
Now Caroline turned to the boots. They seemed so right with the clothes she now wore. They slid easily across the shiny trousers and in moments Caroline was standing and admiring their pointed toes. They were so different to what she usually wore. She wondered what any of her colleagues would think if they saw her now. Would they even recognise her? There was something exciting about that thought and Caroline was glad she had come along. Caroline glanced across to the lines of mirrors. A Hispanic woman was waving for her to come over. Caroline guessed this was Isabella and she hurried across as Petra had directed.
"Hi, you're Silke?" Isabella said enthusiastically. "Number eighteen?"
"Erm, yes, I'm number eighteen." Caroline thought that was little point in correcting Isabella's mistake and wondered if this Silke had dropped out at the last moment.
"Take a seat. We've got a lovely style worked out for you. Anki'll do your make-up. Just sit back."
Caroline did as she was instructed. A tall, thin, blonde woman with a sweet smile introduced herself as Anki and had Caroline close her eyes whilst she painted them. A drink was pressed into Caroline's hand and she realised the commotion had made her thirsty. It was some strange fruit infusion, but tasty. Caroline found herself drifting away as Isabella and Anki worked on her hair and face.
"Done." Isabella said.
Caroline snapped open her eyes, guessing she had drifted off. Isabella span the chair around so Caroline faced away from the hairdressing mirror, and pulled off the cover that had protected her clothes. Caroline stood up feeling the snug clothes she wore holding her tight. Ahead of her it seemed there was another model, similarly dressed, coming over, presumably to have her hair and make-up touched up. She looked really sexy and, like Caroline, was dressed in white. Her hair reached a short way below her shoulders and was layered with blonde highlights over a darker shade. Her make-up was cool: silver colours which complemented her clothes but made them seem vibrant rather than washed out. She wore a cropped fluffy jacket which stopped short of her waist. Beneath it she wore just a bra top. Her legs wore skin-tight trousers of the shiniest white plastic, unmarked by fastenings or pockets. These slipped into knee-length boots of a similar gloss material, with spike heels and pointed toes, both picked out in polished steel. Caroline stepped to one side to let this vision in white pass. The woman mimicked her gesture. Caroline laughed lightly and went to apologise but then she realised she was looking at her own reflection. Now Caroline gasped, astounded at how much the women had changed her.
Caroline walked forward hesitantly, but with increasing pride in what she saw. The glitterball's shards of light seemed to pick her out and emphasise this appearance. Somehow Caroline thought she heard someone whispering about what she was, what kind of woman she was, especially dressed this way, and how good that that was. Caroline glanced around but could not see anyone looking at her. It seemed that the models were ready; the hairdressers and make-up artists, winding down.
Petra stepped into the centre of her room and clapped. At the signal everyone fell silent and the twenty or so models gathered around her.
"Right, this is the rehearsal. This is what I want you to do when you are out on the catwalk and we'll practice it here. I want you to get yourself into number order, then walk across the room from that door to this. Stop here for a count of ten, then turn and walk back. You should follow the girl in front once she has taken five steps, we don't want you all tripping over each other. However, keep your eye on the mirrorball as you do. It will help you keep a proper posture. Above all, relax."
The women quickly grouped themselves by the wall, Caroline was near the back. Petra kept her eye on them and they were soon all ready. Suddenly they all fell silent.
"Right, let's go." Petra said as she flicked on the CD player she held.
The music was a thumping rave track with a really pulsing backbeat. The lyrics came out a little like the whispering Caroline had heard earlier and she guessed she had mistaken the tune for someone speaking. Caroline was nervous as one-by-one the women in front of her stepped forward. Then it was her turn, she focused on the sparkling light from the spinning ball on the ceiling and felt relaxed. She stepped forward, her actions partly shaped by the clothing she wore, especially the boots themselves, but also by how surprisingly sexy she felt.
It seemed like no time before Caroline was across the room. She stopped, counted her ten and walked back. Moments later she was back among the others. Once the last woman had finished the walk, the chatting started again.
"Excellent, I can see you've been practising. This is going to be a great show." Petra said. "One more time, then head through there and we'll line you up. The show's on in thirty minutes."
Caroline repeated the performance with all the others. This time she felt even more confident and let a sexy wiggle enter her walk, wondering what it would look like from behind with her bum held so tightly in these shiny trousers. This time Petra had them all clap each other. Caroline felt excited by that. She also noticed that it was if her mind was becoming unfocused. Well maybe not unfocused entirely, just concentrating on different things to what she was used to. There was no time to worry though as Petra was soon shepherding them into the area leading to the catwalk. The minutes seemed to rush by. It was not long before Caroline could hear the music starting to pound from front of house. She passed the time looking at the different outfits the women around her wore and imagining how they dressed day-to-day.
Then it was Caroline's turn. Anki was doubling up as usher and came to fetch Caroline and walk her to the edge of the catwalk. She counted down from five and then, almost without thinking Caroline found herself stepping from the gloom of backstage into the bright lights of the catwalk. As she strutted, Caroline kept her eyes fixed on the glitterball at the end of the runway, the way that Petra had advised. She found herself walking with surprising confidence despite being unaccustomed to such high-heels and such tight clothes. She could hear the audience around her and was pleased that she was proceeding so smoothly. Her stage fright seemed to have evaporated. She wondered if she had been slipped something in her drink to calm her nerves; whatever it was, it was working well and she felt good.
With each step Caroline found herself thinking more about her reflection and how sexy she had looked. At first she had found it difficult to believe that that was herself but now as she strutted in her boots, her legs and bum sheathed in the slippery vinyl and with the skimpy bra top and jacket, she felt increasingly comfortable dressed like this. She began wondering if she could somehow keep these clothes. She had been promised the boots, but could she persuade Karl and Petra to let her keep the rest? As she took a few more steps, enjoying the glittering light, she was certain they would. Then she thought about what kind of woman dressed like this and what it would indicate to people who saw her dressed like this on the streets of Antwerp. Would they see her as a slut? 'Slut'? Suddenly that word sounded really sexy. In her mind she tried out the phrases: 'I dress like a slut', 'I am a slut'. In moments that felt right, she naturally dressed like this because she was a slut and that made her feel excited.
Caroline reached the end of the runway. She was buzzing with excitement. Now she bent over not knowing where that urge had come from. She reached for the pointy toes of her boots then slowly ran her hands up the back of her clinging, slippery trousers until she cupped her bum and wiggled it at the crowd. Then she straightened up and stretched one leg forward to show the sleek lines of her boot and her vinyl-clad thigh. As she did this she really hoped there were men in the audience getting a good view of her body. She placed her hands on her hips which causing her jacket to be pulled back and her breasts to thrust forwards.
With the bright lights it was difficult to see the audience clearly. The front row seemed filled with men, with only the occasional woman. Some were making notes as she would expect at a fashion show, but others were raising their hands as if bidding at an auction. Caroline realised she knew little about the fashion world and how it worked and even less about the footwear side of it. Increasingly a voice inside her head told her not to worry about it, just to concentrate on her performance. Caroline strode back along the catwalk, swaying her shiny hips, lapping up the music and above all, the attention of the crowd around her.
Ahead of her she could see the strobe light pulsing above the mirror at the end of the catwalk. With every step Caroline came closer to it, and with the light flashing it was almost like a series of snapshots, yet each showed her as this sexy woman, this sluttish woman, this whore, this prostitute. Surely that was what she was strutting here for: the pleasure of others and being paid to do so. The image of her dressed like this, behaving like this, was burned deeper into her mind every time the strobe flashed to light her. Caroline kept walking, her purpose was fixed, but her mind felt fogged, she was finding it difficult to grasp at memories even of the day before. Through the mist, though, protruded solid rocks of thoughts, how she loved the clothes she was wearing, how sexy that made her feel and what sort of woman they showed her and everyone she met, that she was. Caroline took the final step, coming right up to the mirror, feeling some kind of process, a change, an exciting change, had become established and now all she had to do was relax and let it run its course.
"Silke," Petra said with the Dutch inflexion, as Caroline stepped rather dazed from the runway, "just wait in here for the moment until the others come off."
"Erm, okay, but I'm..." Caroline replied in Dutch and sought to correct Petra's mistake, but found it difficult to think straight; she guessed she had to be tired.
Petra guided Caroline through a door into a small room with a large mirror at the end of it. Caroline guessed it was just for a moment so she was out of the way of the other women coming up to perform. She stood looking at herself in the long mirror. The room was brightly lit but there seemed to be some kind of flicker from the neon lights above her, but a little too fast for her eyes to catch it. There was a sound too, a little like a hiss or maybe it was words just spoken so quietly she could not make them out. She strained to hear, someone seemed to be repeating her name over and over again telling she was something.
Silke straightened a rogue strand of hair and admired the shaggy cut she had. It made her look both cool and sexy. It matched her clothes too, a sort of clubbing style, with a real sassiness. She loved going out dressed like this when so many others had to stick to mundane clothing. These trousers showed off her tight thighs and bum so well and she loved the strut the boots gave her. Silke felt proud that no-one could mistake her for anything than what she was: an Antwerp prostitute. It had been fun performing tonight, but she knew it was just a step to getting a job in Amsterdam, a good position behind a window in the Rossebuurt district and those lovely boots she had been promised.
Suddenly the door opened behind Silke and she turned.
"Silke?" Petra asked as if uncertain.
"Yes, who else? You put me in here." Silke replied, though not unkindly. "Are things a bit quieter out there?"
"Yes they are. You know where you're going?"
"Well, unless you've backed down on the deal, it's non-stop to a window seat in Amsterdam," Silke said with a tinge of excitement, "and I'm going to hold you to those boots."
Petra smiled; she seemed suddenly to have relaxed. "A deal's a deal, they'll be waiting for you. Here's your bag."
Petra handed over a small white PVC shoulder bag. Silke knew it must be hers. She ran through it quickly to check nothing had been nabbed while she had been busy. It held the euros and the condoms she remembered, plus her identity card and credit card: Silke Deridder the name on them read; these were indeed hers. She was glad nothing was missing.
"Thanks."
"My pleasure." Petra said. "Karl's firing the van up out back. There's six of you going to the same place. He put your suitcase in already."
"Right." Silke said, pleased that Karl and Petra seemed to be so efficient.
Silke had a vague memory of packing her things ready for tonight. It was quite a send-off, but she guessed if a shoe shop owner wanted to use prostitutes it was her choice; getting Silke in touch with Karl and his Amsterdam contacts was a real bonus.
Petra stepped forward and gave Silke a hug. "It's so good to have had you here tonight. You're one of our first success stories."
"I hope you'll have many more. If it brings in business having pros stepping out in boots they've bought from you, then go with it."
As she thought about this, she remembered back to that day when she had walked into Petra's shop and picked out these lovely spike-heeled boots in shiny white. Of course, the long ones Petra had promised would be for work, but these were cool for day-to-day.
"Karl'll be waiting. He'll soon have you in Amsterdam."
"Thanks for sorting this all out for me, Petra." Silke said with real gratitude.
"No worries. I'll see you in Amsterdam; I'll come for a visit, when you're settled in, and bring you ladies some nice new boots. I'll make sure to save the shiny white ones for you."
"Thanks."
The pair hugged again briefly, then Silke strode out the door to the van without looking back. Four women were already in it. Karl was standing next to it, looking at his watch a little impatiently. Silke sat down and took the cigarette Sophie, a Frenchwoman proffered. The smoke felt coarse in her throat and she had difficulty finishing it without coughing. In minutes, the final woman, another Belgian, Elise, hurried to join them. She wore a tight black leather corset, a matching leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings and patent black leather boots, with rows of buckled straps down the side. The boots stretched to her knee and like those of the other prostitutes had sharp heels.
Elise looked a little flustered. "Sorry I'm late, I love these boots but they're tough to walk in."
Silke wondered for a moment why Elise was not used to such boots; in fact her lovely leather clothes seemed to sit a little awkwardly on her, but maybe that was because they were so new. Silke's thoughts soon faded as Karl closed the van door and started off. Silke spent the journey chatting with both Sophie and Elise about the show and what working in Amsterdam was going to be like.
The journey seemed to pass very quickly and soon Silke was stepping from the van with the other women. Karl came round and fetched out the suitcases. It was clear that they were already in the red-light district of Amsterdam. She was sure she could turn better tricks here than in Antwerp: there would be all those German and American businessmen who would tip her well. In the van, Karl had told her and the others he had struck a good deal with a Rikki here in Amsterdam for them to become part of his string. Silke was pleased at that and hoped she would be put to work that night. As often happened the sexy clothes she was wearing were already making her feel aroused and eager to get some cock inside her. Silke wondered if she had been dressed in a plain suit or jeans and teeshirt whether she would feel this good. However, she knew that that was not going to happen, she loved the tight shiny clothes that showed off her body too much and, as a result, was going to be bound to be turned on much of the time.
The women were led up the back stairs of an old building and were told these were to be their homes. Rikki was also to be their landlord and he would take a slice of their profits for rent. Silke stepped into the small flat she was allocated. It was clean if a little sparse and an odd shape. She knew she was better off than many of the women who worked the streets, well here in Amsterdam, actually, the windows. That thought excited her. Sitting in a well-lit window being gazed at by passers-by, many of them she was sure, who would become her customers, excited her. Silke walked into the small bedroom and put down her suitcase. Lying on the bed was the gift she had been promised. Despite what Petra had said, Silke had worried that she and Karl had forgotten their promise, but lying in front of her were the thigh-length white vinyl boots she had dreamt of. Next to them was a matching swimsuit-style outfit. Silke knew these would be her working clothes.
Already a thought was coming to her mind, she would call herself Star to clients or anyone who asked from now on. That would be her new name here in Amsterdam. Shiny white would be her distinctive colour; she would shine out among the pros like the North Star. Silke quickly shed her coat and her bra top. In moments she was sliding from her boots and trousers but soon was easing into the swimsuit. It was like a long, slender 'v', each side covering a breast and little else; pointing like an arrow to her pussy. It cupped her bum nicely. She hurried to slide her legs into the long boots, loving how they stretched along her legs so sexily. Then she stood, rising on the sharp heels. Silke strode to the mirror and stood swaying, pouting her lips, feeling hungry to have men's cocks in her pussy, her hands and her mouth.
There was a knock on the door. It was Rikki.
"Are you ready?"
Silke nodded, any tiredness from the journey seemed to evaporate. She had the strong feeling that getting some male flesh inside her was really what she needed. She strode over to Rikki loving the feel of the shiny vinyl clinging to her body.
"You like the boots?"
"They're perfect."
"Right from Petra's shop."
Silke lent forward and kissed him, something denied clients. She wondered if Rikki was one of those who would not sleep with his ladies to avoid rousing jealousy or whether he could be persuaded to take her like this to christen her new outfit.
"There's a window free for you."
"Good." Silke replied, businesslike.
Out in the corridor was Sophie. She had also changed, shedding the maroon leathers she had worn in the van. Now she was dressed in bright red rubber and Silke began thinking how good it would be for the two of them to pole dance together as fire and ice. Silke had vague memories that she had slept with some of her fellow prostitutes before, it was a little vague in her memory but as she walked behind Sophie eyeing her bum held so tightly in the scarlet rubber it became an appealing thought.
In minutes Rikki led Silke to her window room. There was a small ante-room behind which held just a naked bed.
"This is yours for the next two hours, then you'll swap with Yvonne. The latch to open it is there and you can pull the curtain across when the john comes in. Nothing less than two hundred euros for sex back here; fifty for a blow job when clothed, well, in what you're wearing."
Silke nodded, none of this was news to her. His duty done, Rikki left Silke alone in the room. It was all white with a chair in the centre of the room and bright lights around the window frame. Even the curtain was of a fluffy white material that reminded Silke of her favourite 'off duty' jacket. Silke knew she would get tired, but for now, she was keen to be seen and to be bought. She strutted to the window and gazed out at the passersby. It was coming up to midnight and about a third of the windows around her were lit. Then she began parading before the window, the sense of what the right thing to do came from somewhere deep inside her. At least here in Amsterdam she was in the warm and she loved the fact that people could see her on show not half concealed in the shadows. For her, sex was a performance and her sexy moves were the thing that would bring men in to sample more of her.
It did not take long for Silke to attract attention. A man in an expensive business suit stopped in front of her window. Silke liked his boldness. Unlike many men he seemed unashamed to be seen eyeing up a prostitute. Silke knew that some men liked the power that using a pro like her gave them; sex on tap with them in control. Some of those liked it as public and as tacky as they could get it, in sharp contrast to their pampered, expensive lives. Silke now focused on the man. She was not going to tap on the window like many of the women did, after all, he was already at least partially interested. Silke knew it was going to be her performance which made up his mind; she had to show him what a sexy experience it would be to have her.
Quickly, though, the man indicated for Silke to open the window. She went over to the latch. The man was already producing a couple of hundred euro notes from his wallet. Silke had expected to him to ask her price and haggle, but he seemed to know what he was about.
"Come in." Silke said stepping back to let him in.
The man did not hesitate and stroked his hand across Silke's slickly encased bum as he passed her. She closed the window and fastened the latch before pulling the curtain over it.
"You want full contact?" Silke guessed from the amount of money he had flashed.
"Yes, but keep the clothes on and we'll start in here standing up, okay?"
From his accent Silke guessed he was Dutch.
"Okay, it's your choice."
"Call me Max."
The name rang some bells deep in Silke's mind. She looked at his face. He must be in his late thirties and there was something familiar about the dark grey-brown shade of his suit.
"Max Valkering from Rotterdam? You're in shipping."
For a moment Max looked a little alarmed, then smiled. "You read the business pages during your breaks, looking for a nice mogul to become your sugar daddy?"
Silke had not really thought about it, but she realised that that must be the case. "Sure, I guess so."
"Well, if you're as good as you look, who knows I might be him. Show me what you can do and I'll see if you're the sort of girl who I'd invite to one of my parties. Don't worry, I know Rikki of old, he's not averse to me renting out some of you window hangers for a night. For now, though, you've got to prove you're worth my euros."
Silke did not answer with words, she simply began swaying her hips and running her hands slowly up and down the shiny outfit she wore, certain that it was part of what had led Max to pick her over the others available on the block. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes and sighing gently as she somehow knew was the right thing to do. As she did so, though, she realised she derived real pleasure from the performance, something that stopped her becoming jaded the way many pros did. She stepped back slowly towards the wall, sensing that Max wanted to take her as he would do it in the street. Silke was right. In seconds she felt him pull aside the bare covering of her breasts and then his tongue lapping them. He pulled down the zip over her pussy already wet for some cock as it felt it had been so long without.
Silke flashed open her eyes and saw Max's large cock was already out of this trousers and he was rolling on a condom. She liked a man she did not have to argue with and so hold up proceedings. She guessed he was sensible however dirty he might like his sex. She recognised he liked the power of buying a woman and using her as he needed, just on a whim, the way he might drop into a caf� for a cup of coffee when passing. Silke closed her eyes again and felt Max's rubbered cock stroking her pussy lips. She had to shave down there, it was overdue she was sure; she remembered she liked a nice clean pussy and it seemed that it would go so well with this outfit.
Then he was inside her. His arms wrapped around her and she was pinned against the wall. The thrusts went deep then switched to back to the mouth of her sex. Then they were in again. This man knew how to work a woman well no doubt for his own pleasure, but Silke was certainly far from complaining at the effect it had on her. She began the vocals, the grunts and then the long, loud moan; she called his name as he thrust, as if this was the best sex she had ever had. As she did, she realised that it was not far off that level. Like a typical man Max came with a series of simple grunts. He stayed inside Silke for a little longer letting his hands run over the white vinyl that held her before withdrawing.
"That was good." Max muttered as he pulled off the condom and zipped his flies.
Silke adjusted her outfit, zipping her wet pussy back beneath the vinyl and putting the tantalising strips back over the aroused breasts. Max handed her a further fifty to supplement the two hundred.
"You're good. I've got to have you at my next party; as long as you come dressed like that. Deal?"
"Deal."
"I'll be in touch with Rikki when I need you. Have a good night."
Max went over and pulled back the curtain himself. Within moments he had opened the window. Then it was closed; he was out on the street and lost in the growing crowd. Silke tucked her money into her boot top and strode back to the window. She began doing her dance again, bending over so her pert bum was shown to potential customers. As she ran her fingers sensuously up the long, shiny white boots she thought how much she loved wearing them and how much good luck they had already brought her.