Sweet Pea (Chapters 1-12)

Disclaimer: The following story involves transformation fantasy featuring magic, gender, flattening, animal, or inanimate (often clothing or doll/mannequin). The story is implicitly erotic in nature and may feature sexual situations and/or BDSM. All characters involved are older than 18 years of age. If you are offended by this type of thing, please stop reading. 

Chapter One: Caught

The pressure on the back of my neck kept me flat against the bar. I lay mostly helpless, my face sandwiched between empty shot glasses on one side and a plate of half-eaten pretzels with cheese on the other, not that I could see either that well with my eyes and nose shoved against the slick, sticky surface of the bartop. All Roger Barton needed was one hand on my neck to keep me at his mercy. 

Of course, I was smart enough to realize that even if I could have gotten away, the gun against the small of his back and the ones held by his two goons would have stopped me long before I ever reached the door. 

"What a shame, Mr. Pritchard. You don't seem to quite be yourself today," he said, then slapped my ass hard with his free hand. "In fact, you don't seem to be a mister at all."

As if to accentuate his noticing my predicament, he traced his fingers from the top of my back, across the small of it, and then right down my backside, his digits entering the 'no man's land' between my two bubble-shaped, newly acquired cheeks. Once he was past that, he continued to the top of my thighs before stopping. 

"The only question is whether this little change was intentional or accidental. I mean, I wouldn't put it past you to sleep with a carrier on purpose, figuring that when you turned into a girl it would put us off your scent." 

His fingers were on my back again, walking like a morning jaunt in the park. 

"But, knowing your proclivities back when you were a man, I can't rule out sheer stupidity on your part. Not that I can't sympathize. As a man myself, I understand the need to dip your wick in a hot piece of pussy can make you careless, even in these times."

"Please..."

"Please? Please what, Mr. Pritchard?"

"Please let me go."

He laughed loudly, and his goons joined in with their own caterwauling howls of delight. 

"Please let me go, he says," Barton said. "She says, it says, whatever. Please let me go. That's a good one. Original too." 

"Yeah, Mr. B. Never heard that one before," said one of the goons. 

The other said nothing. I heard a pistol clicking behind me, and I was certain, my last sight would be the inside of the two-bit bar I had stopped into to pass the time. Perhaps in hindsight, not the smartest decision I had made. 

Of course, I wasn't known for my wise choices. Starting with stealing money from Jerome Wriggley, Jr., or J.W. as most knew him, or Jerry Stilleto as he was known to those unfortunate enough to piss him off. Not that they ever knew him as Jerry Stilleto long. Once they had bled out, the knowledge was gone from their mind, just like the light from their eyes and the rhythm of their heartbeat. They were as dead as Latin. Or disco. Or not wearing white after Labor Day. 

"Don't get me wrong, P. It's a nice body. I almost hate to have to mess it up. I mean, I figure you haven't taken it for a test drive yet, and I wouldn't mind giving you a little something to remember me by before I have to kill you."

"Yeah," said the goon again. "You're pretty hot now, P. More like a Sweet Pea." 

Barton laughed. "Perfect. Yeah. Sweet Pea. That's what I'll call you. After all, it just doesn't feel right calling a girl with such a delicious little body 'Mr. Pritchard.'"

"P- Pl.. please," I managed to spit out just enough for them to hear me. "I'll pay him back as soon as I can. I promise."

"Oh, J.W. ain't worried about the money, Sweet Pea. He never was. He's got more than enough of that to spare." Barton's hand pushed me even more firmly against the top of the bar, and my new breasts started to hurt from the forced compression against the unforgiving wood. "It's more about the principle of the thing. You did the boss dirty, and now you need to become a lesson to others about what happens to people who get too big for their britches. You know, to help sway them otherwise." 

"I'll..." I stammered, trying to get the words out, knowing I'd regret them, but sure it was the only option I might have left. "I'll do whatever you want. Just don't kill me."

Another hearty round of laughter from the three mobsters. 

"Oh? Anything, huh? Maybe Sweet Pea here is more of a girl than we figured. Maybe she has already given up her ass to some dude or sucked his cock. Maybe our girl here is more of a slut than a victim."

I tried to shake my head, but he kept her firmly on the bar, and the motion only hurt my nose. 

"No," I said. "I haven't done anything like that. But I will if it will keep you from killing me." 

"Did you hear that, boys? Our girl here is still a virgin. Oh, now that is enticing." His hand left my back and cupped my ass. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You're telling me you'll give me the first crack at this sweet little ass -- no pun intended -- and all I have to do is go against the boss's orders."

I tried to nod but failed. So I used my words instead. "Anything you want. Fuck me. A blowjob. I don't care. Just don't kill me, please."

His hand slipped between my thighs and rested against my crotch. Two fingers gently massaged my pussy lips. Even as irritating and humiliating as it was, at that moment, it did create enough of a sensation to make me curious about what actual sex as a woman might feel like. I pushed the wondering from my mind, but the constant motion of Barton's fingers kept bringing it right back in. 

"So, all I have to do is let you go free, pretend this little meeting never happened, and in return, you'll drop down to your knees and suck my cock, swallow my load, and then bend over one of these tables and open your virgin pussy to me."

"Yes..." I said then added for effect. "Yes, sir, Mr. Barton."

"Oooh. Yes, sir, Mr. Barton. That's nice." He stopped speaking for a moment, but never let up with his fingers. Every now and then, he even managed to find my clitoris. Once, I almost let out a moan, but I stopped it with only a noticeable gasp. "Like that, do you, little tramp?"

I said nothing. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir." 

"I think I liked it better when it was yes, sir, Mr. Barton."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton. I like that." 

"Good girl," he said. 

I was humiliated, yes, but what could I do? My life was in his hands. And while the last thing I wanted was to be taken like a girl, to give myself up to a man, I would much rather face that than die in a dive bar because I was too proud to use what I had available to barter for my life. 

I had the rest of my life to get the taste of his dick out of my mouth -- but first I had to convince him it would be worth his while to let me go. I knew there was no way I'd be the best suck and fuck he'd ever had, but I did have two things going for me. One, most dudes would have killed to put their dick in a GV-girl who had been transformed from a man into a woman because of the so-called Gender Virus. And two, he would be the first to use me, and well, the stereotype of guys wanting to break in virgins would exist without some element of truth -- and doubly so for a virgin GV-girl. 

"So, you think that if I let you call me sir, and pump your pussy, and fuck you in your slutty whore mouth, that will be worth me disrespecting the man who takes care of me and keeps me all up in money and cars and pussy. You think that one little skanky twat is worth me disobeying Jerry Stilleto so that he'd be chasing me just like he had me chasing you. Is that right?"

Shit. This was definitely not going in the direction I needed. But despite his words and his tone, his fingers were still stroking my cunt. And I was really starting to feel it. Unable to move or to resist him, I had no choice but to feel each gentle movement, whether on the lips, just broaching the slit between them, or teasing my clitoris. My body responded with moisture inside, and I could already start to smell my reaction through my pants. I glued my teeth together with willpower to avoid moaning. 

"What's to stop me from taking all that anyway and then blowing a hole in your whore head and dropping your dead ass into the river?"

I didn't answer. 

"Well?"

I still didn't answer. His fingers pushed deeper inside my slit, as much as they could through my pants. 

"Well, slut? No smartass comments now, Sweet Pea?"

"No, sir," I said. 

"That's damn right. If I wanted to fuck you, there's not a damn thing you could do to stop me." 

"Yes, sir," I said again. 

He let go of my neck. 

"It's a good thing Mr. Wriggley wanted me to bring you directly to him instead of just shooting you then." 

"What?!" I said, lifting my face from the bar.

"Put your god damn face back down on the bar, bitch!" he snapped. "Did I fucking tell you to get up?"

"No, sir."

"No, sir, Mr. Barton," he corrected. 

"No, sir, Mr. Barton," I repeated obediently. 

"That's right. When I called J.W. to let him know what had happened to you, he said to bring you in first. And since I'm a better employee than you, I figure that's exactly what I plan to do."

Barton stepped away and moved toward the front door. He jerked his smartphone out of his coat and started typing on it. 

The quiet goon took out a wad of one hundred dollar bills and put them on the bar. "Sorry for the trouble, sir," he said in a sort of whispered mumble. "This ought to cover any annoying or trouble we might have caused you." Then he shut up again. 

"Hey, boss," the other goon said. "What about the bitch?" The short, squat man in his thirties sported a dyed black goatee and looked toward me like I was supposed to feel hurt by the word 'bitch' when he said it. Barton stuck his hand up and gave the universal sign of 'don't bug me, I'm working here,' but the goatee goon kept it up. "Knock her out? Drug her? Put a hood over her face? What?" He smiled with something evil in his expression. "But it'd be a shame to cover that beautiful face with a fucking hood. I mean, why do all the GV girls have to end up so god damn beautiful?"

Barton wobbled his hand in the air to press the point that he was busy. This time, Goatee got the point and shut the hell up. His partner, Silent Goon, joined him a few feet away from me, nodding. 

I stayed where I was with my face on the bar like I'd been told. I had gotten a little bit of a reprieve thanks to J.W. wanting to see him in person before deciding my fate, and I damn sure wasn't about to fuck that up by being a bad girl now. 

"Fuck!" I heard him yell, and then. "God damn. He was serious about that shit?!"

He typed some more and grew quiet again. After another minute, he told the Goatee to get the bag from the trunk. 

"Seriously?"

"Did I fucking stutter, ass-wipe?"

"God damn, don't have to be a dick about it, Barton."

"Boss says to give her the bag, you get the fucking bag and give it to her. You hear?"

"Fine. Fine. Whatever."

Barton went back to his phone and Goatee exited the bar. He returned in a few minutes with a lit cigarette and a pink paper bag with handles. It had a foreign word I didn't have a clue about on the side in a fancy script. He walked to me and shoved the bag at me. I took it. Then he walked to a table and sat down, being sure to readjust his chair so that he had a good look at me at all times. 

Silent Good pointed at the bag, and since I assumed he was telling me to open it and look inside, that's what I did. 

There was something red and silky inside. 

For me, I could only assume. 

Barton had only been having his fun with me with all the violence and sexual aggression. He had known from the minute he walked in what plans his boss had for me. I noted that tidbit of information then marked it on an index card in my head, and then finally filed it away in a box in my memories. 

It told me many things, but mostly that despite his big talk, Barton, deep down, really did want to fuck me. And knowing that just might save my life before the day was over. 

I reached into the bag and pulled out the red, silky something. It was a dress. A short dress, flimsy. It looked more like lingerie than an outfit, but it was long enough to cover me, I noticed as I put it against my front out of instinct. Inside the bag was also a pair of white stockings -- not pantyhose, stockings of the thigh-high variety. At the bottom of the bag was a shoebox. Size seven. My size. 

I checked the dress. Size five. Also my size. 

How the fuck did they know my size?

Had they known about me for a while? How long had they been tracking me, knowing full well that I was a woman? Long enough to know my sizes, that was for damn sure. 

I had a million questions, but I kept my fucking mouth shut and didn't voice a single god damn one of them. 

But I had learned one more thing from the bag.

Staying alive was a lot more likely than I had previously dreamed. 

And with any luck, I might even get to keep my new female virginity in the process. 

I pulled out the box of shoes and opened it to see a pair of black, strappy leather ankle boots with a spike heel of about three inches. Not as comfortable as my running shoes no doubt, but it definitely fit the motif of the outfit better. 

Barton's voice came from directly behind me. He had returned while I had discovered the gifts for me that had been in the shopping bag. 

"Get dressed. The boss is expecting you." 

I looked around the room. Not too far away was a ladies' restroom. I gathered the outfit and shoes and headed toward it. 

Barton grabbed my shoulder. "No. Stay here where we can keep an eye on you."

"You're the boss," I said, trying to cut the mood, and feeling more than a little bit better after realizing my new possibilities for getting through the day alive. 

Right then and there, right in front of the bartender, Barton, Goatee, and the Silent Goon, I stripped out of my yoga pants, t-shirt, socks, and shoes until I was standing shivering in front of the four men in just my cheap bra and panties. As I started to put on the dress, Barton stopped me and shook his head. 

"All the way," he said. "Nude." 

I took a deep breath and removed my underwear. Barton nodded. 

"Okay, go ahead."

So I did, slipping on the flimsy, silky dress first. It reached almost down to mid-thigh and had a V-cut for cleavage and spaghetti straps to keep it from falling off. I put on the stockings next, careful to make sure the seams in the back remained straight. Then finally I stepped into the boots and laced and buckled the pair of straps that adorned each  

"No underwear?" I asked, humbly, even though I really wanted to be snarky about it. But, as the saying goes, needs must.

Barton reached into his pocket and handed me what looked and felt like three pieces of string. He grinned with what looked like lust in his gaze. As I unwrapped the tiny garment, I realized it was a G-string with just a tiny triangle of pink lace to cover my pussy and strings over my hips and up into the crack of my ass. 

I slipped them on and adjusted the fit to be as comfortable as I could make it, as I was still unused to the fit of such a pair of panties.

When I was dressed, Barton grabbed me roughly by the arm and dragged me toward the door. I struggled in the heels to keep up, not at all used to wearing something so girly. As his fingers tightened on my skin, I assumed the time for playing nice was over. 

With his free hand, he pointed at the clothes on the floor, the ones I had taken off. "Toss this shit out," he said to the bartender. "Or burn 'em. Whatever. I don't care. Either way, this bitch ain't gonna need 'em anymore."

"Hey, my clothes," I interrupted, but he squeezed even harder and gave me a look that said shut up and shut up quick, whore. Then he jerked me through the door and outside, then kept up the pressure all the way to the black Lexus waiting in the parking lot. 

Silent Goon pressed a button on the keyfob and the car blinked and beeped, followed by the clicking of the locks shooting up into an unlocked position. He walked around to the driver's side front seat, and Goatee took the passenger side front seat. Barton opened the back door passenger side and growled at me to get in, which I did. He told me to scoot over, which I also did, and then he climbed in beside me and slammed the door shut. 

"Take us to the boss," he commanded Silent Goon. 

The car started up. I crossed my legs and held onto the handle to keep my balance through the U-turn to exit the lot. 

"Lean forward," Barton said when we were out on the street and moving in the flow of traffic. 

"What?"

"Lean the fuck forward, Sweet Pea. Or did turning into a chick also make you hard of hearing?"

"I heard you. I just didn't know what you meant."

He gripped my neck and pulled me forward so that I was bent over, my face almost between my knees. "Now stay there a minute." 

Something clicked around my wrists, and when I pulled at them, I realized he had cuffed my hands behind my back. 

"Up," he said, barking out the single-word command like I was a trained dog. 

I got up anyway. 

He leaned over my lap, pushed me back against the seat with his shoulders, and reached far enough to get a hold of the seatbelt catch. Then he pulled the straps over my chest and lap and fastened me in. 

Stuck. Good and fucking stuck. 

As long as the cuffs kept my hands behind me, I wasn't going anywhere. I certainly wasn't getting out of the back seat of the Lexus. 

We rode for a few miles and then got on the expressway heading out back to the big city. As we settled into the smoother ride of the interstate, Barton rested his heavy, calloused hand on my thigh between the hem of my dress and the top of my kneecap. "I hate to admit it, but god damn you're cute, Pea. I half regret now having the balls to take you up on your offer back there."

"I bet," I said. 

I wasn't like I could deny I was cute. Not just cute. Hot even. As Goatee had said, the virus didn't just turn dudes into girls, it turned them into real bombshells. The kind of girl who jerked a hetero guy's dick to attention without having to even ask for the appreciation. 

The view from my mirror in the motel room was still in my head like a background image of the loading screen of my brain. Bouncy brown hair danced on my shoulders. Blue-green eyes looked out from beneath curly bangs that never remotely needed to be reminded of their shape by a curling iron. Pink, natural lips that would probably look much better in a super-slutty red. 

Yeah, and that was just from the neck up. From there, the view got way better way fast. D-cups. Hourglass. Slim waist. The kind of hips that wiggled and waggled like the shadows in a gangster movie. 

And the dress I was wearing now only accentuated each reminder of what, of who I had become. 

Barton's hand remained on my knee. He didn't move it except to squeeze tenderly every now and then. 

"So, you were really getting off on all that attention back there, huh?"

I chose not to respond. 

"Yeah, I know. You don't even have to answer. I heard how your breathing changed. I even heard you pant a bit. Hell, you fucking moaned twice even though you thought you caught it and hide it from me. I bet you were just dying to have me actually shove my fingers up in that twat of yours and finish you off." 

I kept my eyes forward and didn't say shit. Barton was right and he fucking knew it. Anything I said would just be "the lady doth protest too much." 

"I get it," he said. "Hell, I wouldn't want to admit it either."

Suddenly his hand moved a few inches around to the inside of my thigh, still just shy of the hem of the dress. 

"Still, it might be worth taking a shot before you get to the boss. After all, this might be the shot I got, right? Never know what J.W.'s gonna do to you."

There it went. Barton's hand moved just inside my dress, his fingers touching the bare skin above my stockings. They were warm and rough and god damn if they didn't make me remember the way I had felt when he was massaging my pussy at the bar. 

"All he said was to put your ass in the dress and bring you to him. I don't know if he wants to humiliate you and then shoot you himself or humiliate you, fuck you, and then shoot you. Hell, maybe he'll get a good look and decide to put your ass out on the fucking street. I'm sure you'd make good money for him, maybe even pay back what you stole from him."

As much as I wanted to push for more information, I knew when to keep my damn mouth shut. So I did. Besides, power over me had loosened Barton's tongue and maybe he would answer my questions without me even having to ask them. 

"Of course, with all the places he owns, he could do almost anything with you."

Barton's fingers hard reached the edges of the triangle that barely covered my pussy. 

"Strip clubs, whore houses, you name it. Fuck, with all the people he keeps happy it's entirely possible he means to give your dumb ass away to somebody else as a gift or a favor in exchange for a piece of their business." 

Oh shit. I hadn't considered that. Rather than killing me, Mr. Wriggley had done it before. There were certainly more than a few times when a fellow boss had visited with his own girl and left with one of J.W.'s to boot, usually because the fellow boss has simply expressed his interest or his appreciation of the looks or talent -- or both -- of one of the strippers or whores. None of the girls looked happy about it as they left with their new "boyfriend," but none of them were dumb enough to say no or complain about it either -- at least not after the first black eye. Usually, the drugs they were strung out on made the decision an easy one. The only way to get their fix was to follow the new daddy to his place of business.

Oh, fuck! The thought hit me like a Mack truck. Of course, that was an option too. It would be easy as fuck for J.W. to lock me up and give me the first few hits for free, then keep me around to work for him, on him, under him, whatever if I wanted to get my addiction filled. A few weeks on the really hard stuff, and I wouldn't be in any shape to resist anything he told me to do. Dance. Strip. Suck. Fuck. Pull a six-way gang bang into a back room. Get tied the fuck up and whipped by some really sick shithole of a dude. I wouldn't even care. And I would just keep on going until the addiction fucked me up so bad no one would ever want me again as a toy to play with. Then he'd have me thrown out on the street for good to be picked and "protected" by one of the low-life pimps who couldn't pull class and just gave their girls to anybody with a few bucks. 

"If I ask nicely, maybe he'd even let me have a go with you before he blows a hole in you or puts you on the street or makes you dance for the dollar bills." Barton was grinning, and two of his fingers had slipped beneath the silky triangle to finish what they had started in the bar. "After he has his way of course. I'm well aware that when it comes to the boss, sloppy seconds are the best I'm gonna get." Both fingers slipped suddenly inside me, and I gasped out loud. "But for a good-looking GV-girl cunt like you, I can live with that." 

"Shit," I said, startled by my reaction to his invasion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barton. I'll be quiet." My breath threatened to disagree with my words, however. 

"It's okay, Sweet Pea. You make all the racket you want to." 

The fingers picked up the pace just a little. His thumb found my clitoris. 

I shuddered suddenly and my breath caught in my throat. The cutest and most humiliating squeak escaped my lips. 

"You hear that, fellows?" Barton said. "I do believe this little whore likes being a woman now. Her twat certainly does."

"I heard her, Barton," said Goatee. "It sure sounded like she was getting into it to me." 

Silent Driver Goon grunted but didn't speak. 

"Maybe she just likes being helpless when I shove my fingers in her. Maybe that's it. Maybe this bitch really gets off on the kinky shit."

I wanted to resist. I wanted to disagree. Hell, I wanted to not like the feeling, but I couldn't. My god damn clit wouldn't let me not like it. True, I didn't like getting taken advantage of, being raped by my former co-worker's fingers. And I really didn't like having my hands cuffed and being trapped by the seat belt. And you could be god damn sure that I didn't want to be helpless and left to the mercies -- what little mercies there were -- of Barton and his goons, but any debate on my part wouldn't mean shit after my voice betrayed me with that single whimper. 

"If she breathes any heavier, her tits are gonna pop out of her dress," Goatee said, turning in his seat and leering back at me, obviously wanting his turn to abuse me and not doing a damn thing to hide it. "Look at those beauties heave up and down."

"Turn around, Levitt," Statton said to Goatee, giving me a name finally. Levitt was new, or at least new to me. As a boss, J.W. ran in so many circles that even the Venn diagrams didn't all touch.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Levitt said but did as he was told. Good to know. 

"How long?" Barton asked Silent Driver Goon. 

"Two hours, give or take," he mumbled. "Bad traffic this time of day road into the city." 

"No problem. More time to play." 

Barton turned to face me and I turned to match the motion and face him too. 

"Right, baby?" he asked and pinched my clit between his thumb and both fingers. 

I didn't respond. I couldn't. I howled out in a sudden thrill of electricity sparking at the top of my pussy. 

"I think she really liked that one, Barton," Levitt said, starting to turn around again.

"Did I tell you that you could fucking turn around, god damn it? Face your dumbass eyeballs forward."

"Fuck, man. You're a real dick today."

He didn't say anything. He only held my jaw still with his free hand so that I had no choice but to look directly into his eyes as he made my body react to him. He wanted me to know that he knew what I was feeling. He wanted me to know that he had been the one to make me feel it. He mostly wanted me to know that I wasn't just a GV-girl now because of some plot or accident on my part, that I was a girl period, and that he had been the man to tame me and the first to make me know a woman's pleasure.

The thing is, he was right. I hadn't even played with my new plumbing even once, since I was so angry about the transformation. Hell, if the chick who had passed the virus on to me had still been around the morning I woke up with big tits and an innie would my outie was supposed to be, I'd have probably capped her ass myself. I hadn't been man enough to admit a damn thing, and I'd hidden my new body in baseball caps and yoga pants with way-too-oversized t-shirts. But I had also been unable to notice the new me in the mirror after my showers in the morning or when I tossed the keys and wallet beside the TV in the cheap motel rooms. Even then I hadn't had the guts to do to myself what Barton was doing to me at the moment. 

And I certainly hadn't howled out like a fucking banshee because my clit was being pinched. 

But here I was, trapped in the back of the Lexus with Barton, his fingers up in my snatch, working my new body to try to convince how wrong I was to insist to my stupid brain that I was still a man after the change. 

"I read in one of the chick mags that the real girls don't like the GV-girls because not only does the virus make them hotter usually, but it also gives them a stronger sexual response to physical stimulation. So guys tend to prefer a GV because she's usually got a better body and she reacts to a fuck with lots of noise and lots of returning the attention. And what dude doesn't like a chick who appreciates him and makes him feel like the man of the hour?"

During his little speech, I couldn't turn away, so he saw the anger in my eyes weaken and fade. He saw the gritted lines on my face soften and twitch as my body reacted. He saw my mouth give up trying to stop the lusty sounds from coming out. He saw me become his -- at least for the moment -- and all just because the god damn asshole knew how to use his fingers to play my body like a fine musical instrument. 

"Say it," he told me as she squeezed my clit again.

"Fuck," I said.

"Say it," he repeated. 

I only tasted a sudden sharp breath and grunted when it released. 

"Fucking say it," he said, grinning widely. 

"Say..." I fought through my breath for the word. "Say what?"

"Tell me how it feels to have my fingers inside you. Tell me how it feels to know that even though you thought you were a big man and could get away with stealing from Jerry Stiletto, you're really nothing but a whore-cunt piece of ass that needs to have her pussy filled up."

"I... I liii..." I started but I stopped when he pinched my clit again and elicited another loud moaning squeal.

"What's that, baby?" he asked, that god damn smile still threatening and owning me at the same time. 

"I like it," I said. 

"What do you like?"

"Don't. Please don't."

"Oh no, cunt. You're gonna tell me."

"Please."

He laughed out loud. "Fucking say it."

"I told you I liked it. What else do you want, Barton?"

He squeezed my chin hard enough to make me wonder if he could easily dislocate it if he chose to. "Mr. Barton," he said. "You call me Mr. Barton, slut."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton."

"That's better." He let his grin return. "As for what I want, I told you already. Now all you have to do is admit it like the whore-cunt you are."

"I... I can't," I said, then added, "sir." 

"You can, and you will." 

With that, he pushed the fingers deeper inside me than he had gone before. A third joined them and my tiny virgin pussy felt like it would be ripped open. All the while his fucking thumb was jabbed way up against my clit and moving with an up and down regularity and kept my brain from thinking about anything else than the sensations inside what passed for my panties. 

I could smell my lust so easily. There was no hiding it. I had smelled it before as a man, particularly when I had gone down on a woman, but I smelled it now without even having to cram my nose into anyone's twat. 

"I like it, Mr. Barton," I said between heaving breaths. 

He pushed hard against my clit as if trying to shove it up into my waist. I gritted my teeth and knew I had actually started to cry, whether, from pain or pleasure, I wasn't yet sure. 

"You will tell me," he said. 

I closed my eyes, wanting to focus on the blackness, and let the rest of my senses explore what was happening to me instead. 

"You open your god damn eyes, bitch," he said, and I did as he told me. 

He all but ripped his fingers out of me and pinched my clit hard one more time. I let out the horniest sound I'd ever heard. Whatever he had done, my body liked it. My body locked up and paralyzed me for those few moments. My body almost felt like it stopped and that my lungs, my heart, and my brain might never start to function again. And then, with a sensation of total release, it all started up again but it was as if I had passed out while remaining completely aware and conscious somehow. 

"Shiiiiiiit," I said, not caring how the three men might react. 

"Fucking say it."

"I liked it. I liked it a lot, Mr. Barton."

His grin was different now. It spoke of conquest. It had relaxed in the defeat of its opponent -- me. He shook his head. 

"Fine, I fucking loved it. Is that what you want to hear, Mr. Barron?" I bit down on the word mister since it tasted like dog shit, but I said it, god damn it I said it. 

His eyes remained locked on mine. They didn't seem to think I was finished saying what he wanted to hear.

"It felt amazing to have your fingers inside me. It felt amazing to have you play with my clit." 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked. "See, it's okay to know and to recognize what you like and what you want." He finally let go of my jaw. "And like it or not, since you're a GV-girl, your body likes this kind of shit. It likes it a lot."

My pussy was suddenly empty and I watched as he stuck his fingers into his mouth and cleaned them. 

"Oh my, little Sweet Pea, you're abso-fucking-lutely delicious. A man could use to the way you taste. God damn. You GV-girls even taste different from regular pussy. What the hell? The magazine didn't say shit about that."

My body all but melted into the seat. It was only then that I remembered to feel the pain in my shoulders from the position the cuffs forced my arms into. 

"How long now?" Barton asked Silent Driver Goon.

"Another hour and forty-five minutes according to the GPS," he responded. 

Barton draped his arm over my shoulder and let it dangle over my left breast. Before I knew it, he slipped it inside my dress and was gently massaging my tit and nipple. 

"An hour and forty-five minutes, huh? So much time." Without removing his hand, he thumped Levitt on the back of his head. "And don't even fucking think of turning your god damn head around again, asshole." 

"Yeah, yeah, fuck," said Levitt.

Barton groped a nice, full squeeze, then played with my nipple between his forefinger and thumb. "So much fucking time. Right, baby?"

All I could think to do was nod. 

Chapter Two: Reunited with Jerry Stilleto

Jerome Wriggley was sitting in front of the stage of the Golden Globes, one of the cheapest and most scum-baggy strip clubs he owned. Even with all the high-dollar, classy joints, he knew that it was places like the Golden Globes that brought in the real money. The fancy joints were great for the weekends and the conventions, but the real dirtballs with more cash than brains, they were always -- always, always, always -- at the cheapest place they could to get a beer and watch a decent-looking woman shake her naked tits at your face and shove either a hairy or shaved snatch just outside of your reach. They were the bread and butter where naked flesh was involved. 

Every fucking eye in the sleazy joint turned to look at us when Barton and the boys escorted me inside. 

"Pritchard," Jerome said with a practiced smile as he stood up and walked toward us. "I've missed you. Been waiting for you after Barton here let me know when he found you. Been really looking forward to this..." he let his smile eat the air between us for a moment, and only when he was standing in front of me did he finish the sentence, "...reunion."

"Mr. Wriggley," I said, lowering my head and bowing my best humble motion to the man who quite literally held my life in his hands. 

"And imagine my surprise when he tells me that you're not the same Teddy Pritchard you used to be. I must admit that when he sent me the photo of the all-new you, I was more than a little intrigued."

He eyed me over and walked a circle around me to take in the full, 360-degree view. 

"Nice. Nice."

"Still the same old bastard thieving asshole," he said. "But now you look a lot more like someone I might want to fuck in the asshole." He turned to Barton. "Am I right?" 

Barton and the boys nodded. 

"Mr. Barton --" I started but Jerome interrupted. 

"Fucked you, or at least fucked you in a way. I know. Who do you think gave him permission?"

"What?"

"Besides, you owed him after all the trouble he has been through tracking your elusive ass down. Did you know there were several times he also had you, only to miss you leaving some podunk town less than an hour before he got there? God damn, you were a tricky bastard." He laughed. "And you were just a tricky a bitch too." 

"I'll pay you back, Mr. Wriggley. I promise. Whatever I have to do. Whatever it takes."

He smiled. Then he rested his hands, one on each shoulder, and pressed down. He didn't say a word, just kept pressing and I got the message that he wanted me on my knees on the floor of his strip club. Without my arms to counterbalance it wasn't easy but I made it, and within a few moments I was kneeling in front of him. 

He snapped his fingers, and two girls from behind the bar came over and lifted the dress over my head and pulled it over my head, and draped it behind me like a cape, and it quickly slipped down to my wrists,  leaving me in just the G-string, stockings, and heeled boots. I was all but naked, my face level with his crouch. I had a good idea of what his idea of getting paid back was. And after all, I had just been fingerbanged by Barton in the Lexus so taking a tour around the boss man's cock wasn't going to kill me. Hell, it might even keep me alive. 

I licked my lips and leaned forward. He glanced at me, then at the girls and Barton and the boys, then back to me. I wasn't sure what to do with my arms still cuffed behind me, so I rested my lips against his slacks and kissed where it appeared his cock was starting to stiffen. 

He laughed and backed away. 

"Damn, you really are a slut, aren't you?" 

"Wait? You don't..." I asked. 

"You do?" he responded. He turned to Barton. "Hey, Barton, if this slut is so gung-ho on giving someone a blowjob, you game?"

Barton was already unzipping his fly and looking at me hungrily. 

"You know me, boss."

"Well, keep it in your pants for now. Maybe a little later." 

He zipped up his pants again. I knelt on the dirty floor, truly feeling like a dirty whore for the first time, even after my deflowering in the car. This hadn't been forced. I had simply made a move on J.W.'s cock, only to be shut down. If I had expected embarrassment, I was getting true humiliation instead. 

And not only that, I had already been promised to Barton like any other of Wriggley's whores. There was no denying that it wouldn't be long before I would repay Barton's attention with his fingers by taking his cock in my mouth. 

He motioned to a woman behind the bar, this one well-dressed, obviously in charge. 

"Well, Tina, what do you think?"

"She's fucking gorgeous, that's for sure."

"Damn right."

"But can she dance?"

"She can fucking learn," he said. "Anybody can fucking learn how to wiggle back and forth and take their fucking clothes off."

"You'd be surprised," Tina said. 

"Yeah, well, the folks at this pisshole don't want Gypsy Rose Lee, honey. They want a bitch with her tits on display and a pussy they can see and make an offer on if they're really horny."

"True. I was just thinking that, with that body, if she could actually dance, she could be better used at one of the better joints. And hell, if you advertise the GV angle too, she could make you a good bit of money, that's all."

"Oh no," he said. "It ain't about the money. It's about my dear friend Pritchard here."

J.W. nodded at Barton, and he got the hint. The man whose fingers had claimed me stepped forward and unzipped his dark jeans again. 

"Tina and I need to talk business. Why don't you do me a favor and keep this bitch's mouth full so she doesn't disturb us while we talk?"

"Sure thing, boss. I'd be happy to."

He motioned with his fingers for me to crawl to him, and I did. His expectations alone were helping him get hard without any help from me -- well, any active help at least. 

"Go ahead, Sweet Pea," he said. "Suck my cock." 

"What's that?" J.W. asked. "Sweet Pea?"

"Something we thought up earlier," Barton said. "When we worked together, Pritchard was just called P. and Levitt thought she was such a Sweet Pea with her smoking new body that it just stuck."

"I like it," the boss said. He turned to Tina. "You think you can work with it?"

"You could call her Dog Shit, and the guys in here wouldn't care, not as long as she shakes her tits and puts her cooch in front of them."

"Did I tell you to stop, Sweet Pea?" Barton said, his palm resting on my head. "Go ahead. It's not gonna bite and better not either if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton," I said and I repositioned my aching shoulders to move my face to a position where I could slurp my open mouth onto his surprisingly average cock. He talked big, but his manhood didn't back it up. Of course, for a newbie like me, any cock would most likely feel huge in my mouth.

When he was completely inside and I felt him pushing at the top of my throat I was effectively gagged and it was safe to say that I wouldn't be interrupting any discussion between J.W. and the woman who probably ran several, if not most or all, of his strip clubs.  

"Do you expect me to do all the work, slut?" Barton asked. 

I responded by moving my lips back up his shaft and down again, then slid the tip of my tongue along the bottom of his cock. Once he was almost out of my mouth again I used my tongue to play with the little helmet at the top. He quivered a bit, and I knew that what I was doing was right. Of course, when I had been a man myself, I learned quickly what I liked in a blowjob and now as a woman, I hadn't lost any of the memories and my body knew exactly what to do to make a man's cock feel good inside my warm, wet mouth. 

Maybe it was some effect of the virus, but when he was inside me and I could taste the male musk of his shaft, I didn't find it as repulsive as I had expected it. God, I hoped it was the virus, not just me being such an easy victim. 

"Good job, slut. That's nice," he said as I continued to fuck him with my welcoming mouth. 

While I did, I could hear every word of the conversation between Tina and the boss. 

"She's got two weeks," he said. "Two fucking weeks and she better be hauling in money like a fucking pro."

"Two weeks should be plenty," Tina said. 

"Well," J.W. responded. "If it ain't then that's it. Hot GV bitch or not, if she ain't no use to me at the Golden Globes as a stripper or as a whore, then the only thing she's good for is to dump in the river."

I must have let my focus slip because Barton swatted the top of my head and told me to get back to work. I did. After all, if I couldn't give a decent blow job, I'd never cut it as a whore, and if I couldn't cut it as a whore, my dumb ass was going to get killed. 

"And I mean it. I want her pulling the good numbers, not the shit numbers that the really strung-out bitches do. She doesn't have to be the top act, but she'd better be in the top five. And the same for her whoring. She doesn't have to be the most popular, but her ass better be getting more pay-for-play than most of the girls."

"As I said earlier, it wouldn't be a problem if you let me play up the GV shit. Dudes flip for that shit. I'd have johns lined up for blocks to see a GV stripper. All the ace joints have at least one and they bring the bank, you know. And as for folks wanting to fuck her, with all the rumors about how awesome they are in the sack, well, dudes would be on a month-long waiting list to dip their wick in her pussy."

"No," J.W. said loudly. "Fuck no."

"Hey," Tina said defeated. "You're the boss."

"Damn right. And I said before it's not about the money. It's about Pritchard, well, about Sweet Pea I guess now. Fucking thief stole from me and now her ass is gonna pay for it."

"Quite literally sometimes."

"As often as possible I hope."

"And you're sure you don't want a go yourself first?"

"Nope. Not interested. Besides, I have lots of ass hanging around when I want a good suck and fuck. And after Barton is done with her I don't want her loaned out to the boys either."

"No?"

"Hell no. You know as well as I do that these dickheads who work for me fall in love too easily. And if I'm right, they'll fall in love with Sweet Pea even more. The last fucking thing I need is some lovesick dumbass trying to rescue Princess Sweet Pea from her Strip Club prison."

"Makes sense." 

About that time, I felt Barton's cock twitch in my mouth, and as if to make sure I didn't leave his manhood alone, he gripped the back of my head and shoved himself so deep into my throat that I gagged and sputtered and struggled to breathe. Then he exploded and shot a load of salty cum in my mouth and throat. I managed to hang onto and even swallow most of it but some dribbled out of the corners of my mouth, and I started to wipe it away when he let me pull my face off his cock. 

"Don't you fucking dare," he said. "Let it drip, slut. Wear it proudly."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton," I said between swallows and breaths. 

"Good girl," he said. 

"Too bad about not loaning this bitch out to the boys, huh Barton? You looked like you enjoyed the hell out of that."

He nodded. "Hell of a blow job, that's for sure. She knew just what a guy wanted. Are you sure you don't want a go at her, boss? She's all right. Really all right, I mean."

J.W. shook his head. "Tell you what, if she survives the next two weeks and doesn't end up in the harbor holding a cement block, I might just let you fuck her." 

"Sounds like a plan, boss man. Although, to be honest, what I'd really love to do is go down on her. You wouldn't believe just how fucking delicious this chick tastes. I ain't never tasted a GV before today, and damn if I don't think it's the best pussy I've ever slipped my tongue into."

J.W. laughed. "That good, huh?"

"Yeah, at least now. Don't know how shit she's gonna taste after two weeks of strangers pumping their cum into her, along with whatever unsanitary habits they might be sharing with her."

"True," the boss said. 

"Oh well," Barton said. 

"You ain't gonna ask?"

"Nope. You offer, I'll take it. But I ain't gonna ask. Don't want to think I'm falling in love."

They both laughed along with Tina. The woman put her hand on J.W.'s shoulder. He smiled. 

"Fine. Go ahead. Take her to the back and eat her out like it's prom night at the fancy restaurant. But don't uncuff her." He turned to Tina. "You either. The fucking cuffs stay on until she's in the basement, and she doesn't go anywhere outside of this club until I say whether she lives or dies. Got it?"

"Clear as a bell, boss," Barton said, jerking me up from the floor. 

"Crystal," said Tina. "Drugs or no?"

He shook his head. "I don't think she's gonna need 'em. She heard what's at stake, didn't you, Sweet Pea?"

I nodded meekly. "Yes, sir, Mr. Wriggley, sir. I'll be a good girl I won't give you any trouble."

"Well, ain't that the sweetest thing with all the 'yes sir, Mr. Wriggley, sir' shit. But I trust you as far as I can throw you, bitch. So you watch yourself. You try to run away, the next time my boys find you, you'll be buried in pieces all over every county in the state. If you fail to do what Tina tells you, I will personally beat the shit out of you with a belt until you can't fucking stand up, let alone dance. And if you fail to become one of this shithole's highest earners both on the stage and in the private lounge, you get to go for the longest swim you've ever been on. Do I make myself clear, whore?"

This time, when he called me a whore, I knew it wasn't just him being demeaning to me. It was my new job title. 

And if it almost fucking killed me, I knew I had to be the best whore at the Golden Globes, or someone would really, actually, fucking kill me. 

I didn't get to see him leave. Barton was already pulling me toward the private lounge with his arm over my shoulders. I struggled to keep up thanks to not only the swanky high heels but also the fact that my arms were kept securely behind my back by the cuffs and that meant my balance was off from normal. He didn't let up though, and it only took a few seconds before I was ushered through the double swinging doors that separated the backstage area from the bar and stage area. 

Barton didn't say anything and neither did I. I was still way too busy thanking my lucky stars that I was alive. You could be damn sure I wasn't about to do anything to fuck up that turn of events. 

He dragged me back through the narrow hallway, past the room where the girls changed and did their make-up. Two more doors, and then we reached the last room. The red door was closed and the key was in the lock with a long, red lanyard hanging down. He tried the door, found it locked, then twisted the key, took it out and shoved it into his pocket, and pulled me inside with him. Once we were in, he guided me to a fancy day bed and pushed me onto it. He then returned to the door, closed it, twisted the latch to lock it, then tested it to make sure -- I guess -- that no one would interrupt us. 

I was still trying to position myself comfortably on the day bed, but it wasn't easy, and it only got more difficult when Barton joined me. 

"I've been wanting to do this since I tasted you before, baby," he sort of whispered. He pressed me onto my back and then shoved his knee between my thighs to open my legs and make my pussy more easily available. 

With one hand he kept me flat -- or as flat as I could with my arms bound behind me -- on the bed, and the other he let rest on my crotch. His mouth quickly found my bare breast, and he sucked and lapped at it like a hungry dog -- licking, slurping, kissing, biting, nibbling. He did it all, and damn did my new body respond whether I wanted it to or not. While his mouth and tongue attended to my nipples, his fingers found their way inside me again, and before long, I was fighting to keep my own damn mouth shut. 

Every few moments he would pull them out and stick them inside his mouth and suck them dry with a satisfied "mmmm" sound. Then he would return to fucking me with his talented fingers again, all the while sucking and kissing my boobs and nipples. 

When he grew tired of my nips he turned his attention to my neck. He was careful not to suck so hard to leave a mark that might damage me for the sales floor when I started my first shift at the Golden Globes. But the passion was clearly there. I may have just been a fuck to him, but I was damn sure a fuck he wanted badly. I was clearly a fuck he had been thinking about and had been lusting after for several hours. 

It might not be love, but it was something more than mere interest. 

After a few minutes, he scooted down to a position that let his face hover just above my crotch. 

His breath puffed inside me and I sighed loudly. 

He pulled the tiny lace triangle away from my twat and revealed my labia. 

He kissed them tenderly, no tongue. 

I shuddered. 

My mind didn't want any of it to happen, but something animal inside me did. And I mean really did. Whatever the hell that something was, it had been awakened in the car and now it was still hungry for more. 

I suddenly realized I had shifted my legs slightly wider apart without thinking about it. The kiss deepened and his tongue darted inside me. I closed my eyes and sank into the bed as if melting. 

I hated and loved it at the same time. 

Did all girls feel this good when a man went down on them? Or was it just something that happened to GV girls? And why hadn't I done this with someone before -- someone who wouldn't be just as likely to kill me as kiss me?

Fuck it, I thought, and I spread my legs even further. 

Apparently appreciating my invitation, he really went to work on my pussy then. His mouth pressed hard enough against me for his stubble to scratch the tender skin of my labia. I suddenly appreciated the many times my girlfriends had asked me to shave before eating them out. His tongue probed so deep inside me that I couldn't help but wonder how long the fucking thing was. Each time it flicked my clit, I tightened my hands into fists and let out a bit of a grunt even though I was trying my best to be quiet and not let him know how he was affecting me.

Feeling it was an embarrassment. Having him know I was feeling it and wanted it was humiliation. 

Regardless, it was a losing battle. My poor little clit had been ignored for several weeks since my transformation, and it was clearly in control of my body at the moment. It had taken the wheel and was jamming down on the gas and making the shift into fifth gear, and there didn't seem to be a single god damn thing my brain could do about it other than sit in the passenger seat and enjoy the ride. 

Barton lifted his head for a moment. "God damn, a man could really get addicted to a pussy like yours." Then he disappeared between my legs again and all I could see was the top of his head and even that disappeared from my view as I closed my eyes each time he lavished attention on my clit again. 

Within minutes I was no longer concerned about anybody knowing anything. I was moaning loudly, and I was even gyrating a little bit to help give him better access to my holy of holies. 

Each time he emerged from my pussy he was smiling and licking his lips. 

Each time he emerged from my pussy I wanted his mother-fucking tongue back inside me.

I forgot about the cuffs. I forgot about having to suck him off right in the middle of the god damn club in front of everybody. I even forgot about the challenge before me and what would happen if I failed to be a good-earning stripper and whore at J.W.'s shittiest shithole club. I forgot I was now just a low-rent cunt who also took off her clothes for dollar bills. 

I focused only on the amazing fire that was lit up in my clitoris. That was all my life was about at that moment. Sure, there was a before, and there would be an after, but I didn't really give a flying fuck about them right then. 

When he finished, I lay panting almost dreamily with my arms and wrists digging into my back. I didn't care. I was water. I was Jell-O. I was a fucking puddle of exhaustion and ecstasy where a woman had once been. 

"Fuck me, you're so fucking delicious," Barton said. "I could do this all day."

I  nodded weakly. "Yeah."

"And it looks like you'd let me too," he added, and I regretted both the nod and speaking up. He continued. "Well, I guess that's it until we see how well you impress the boss. But if you do a good job and be a profitable little slut, then maybe you can enjoy some more of this later."

I knew I'd regret the thought, but at that moment, I couldn't think of anything else I wanted more. Getting to experience Barton's tongue inside me was as good a reason to impress J.W. as any other one, even staying alive. 

Especially if staying alive meant these kinds of sensations. 

"Well, let's get you to your new suite, Sweet Pea," he said as he gripped my shoulder and pulled me up from the bed. As I stood, the left strap of my dress slipped off my shoulder and the top slid down to expose my still erect nipple. Rather than helping me fix that, he just jerked me on toward the door, unlocked it, opened it, then locked it again behind us and left the key dangling in the lock as he had found it. 

We went back up the hallway toward the club but stopped at a door that, when he opened it, revealed concrete steps going down.

"Next stop, the luxury suite," he said with a laugh as he pushed me through. 

At the bottom of the steps was another door, this one locked with a combination lock. He twisted the knob a few times and pulled it open, then removed the lock and swung the door wide. 

"Your room, milady." 

Inside it wasn't really a room at all, just a big storage closet with a thin roll-away cot and a utility sink. 

"Well, it ain't the Ritz, Sweet Pea, but it still more than you deserve." He stepped around me and pulled me inside. "And it's a far sight better than having a fucking bullet hole in your god damn head, ain't it?"

I nodded. 

"Well, ain't it?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton. It is a far sight better than getting shot in the head."

"Good girl. Now turn around." 

I did, and he grabbed the cuffs and jerked my wrists up so he could reach them better. Then he unlocked them and shoved the damn things into his pocket. I swung my arms around to my front for the first time in a few hours, and I massaged my wrists as well as I could.

"I'm gonna lock you in here, so try to get some rest if you can. Somebody will bring you some food later and in the morning Miss Tina will send someone down with your outfit for tomorrow. You do what she tells you and be a nice, obedient Sweet Pea, and I'll see if the boss will let us enjoy each other again as long as I don't actually fuck you." 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton. I promise. I'll be a good girl and do what I'm told." 

He grinned. "And no trying to escape. It would be a waste of a truly delicious pussy to have to put you down like a rabid dog, you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mr. Barton. I promise." 

"All right. I'll be back when I can."

He walked to me again and dug his index and middle finger inside my pussy one more time. I all but fell into him and gave him my full weight. But he pushed me away and pulled out the fingers and slurped them clean in front of me. 

"Yeah, I'll definitely be back as soon as I can."

Chapter Three: Stage Fright

My next three days were a blur. Two of the girls would wake me at seven each morning and bring me my workout uniform for the day -- the first day was a Catholic schoolgirl get-up, the second a slutty cop, and the third a sort of zippered-up dominatrix thing -- then take me upstairs for aerobics and yoga. After that, it was basic dance lessons, just the simplest of steps, really little more than a step up for what I had always called the "white boy two-step" mixed with a lot of shaking my tits and wriggling my ass. They taught me how to writhe from my top and bottom and back up again in a sort of S with my shoulders, chest, waist, hips, and knees. 

We didn't even think about the pole. They said I wasn't remotely ready for that. Not as a newbie. 

I have to admit that I was a little interested in the pole if just to prove I could do it. But, of course, they were right, and when I insisted on trying it I only made a complete fool of myself. 

They both laughed and shook their heads at me. 

"One day, sweetie, but not yet. Not even close," said the short, big-boobed blonde called Lottie Love, or Whole Lottie Love when the DJ announced her. I think her actual name was Lottie, or at least that's what other folks in the club called her. 

The other, a dark-haired, taller girl with a slim build and much smaller tits, went by the stage name of Desiree, just Desiree, no last name. She had been a real dancer, professional, for a stage show back in New York. Off-Broadway, not a Rockette or anything that famous. But she knew her stuff and she was determined to help me after Tina told them the kind of deadline I was up against. 

Neither of them knew I was a GV. Tina, as J.W. had requested, kept her lips zipped about that piece of intel. 

When the Golden Globes opened at three each afternoon, I was showered and ready to work the tables as a waitress. I had my white stockings and boots, my g-string, and a black micro-miniskirt. No top. None of the waitresses were allowed to cover their breasts. Nope, boobs out meant better tips and with Tina and the club scoring the first twenty-five percent, that mean flashing the girls every chance we got.  

But on the afternoon of the third day, Tina surprised me by telling me to pick out a song. I was going to dance. It was time to show off what I had been learning and see if I was worth her time and effort or not. I begged her to wait one more night, told her I wasn't ready, that I didn't have a routine worked up, but she insisted and told me that I'd better get fucking ready fucking quick because, in two nights, the boss was coming to check on my progress from the front row. 

So it was that I found myself standing at the curtain in my schoolgirl outfit peeking at the rather dismal crowd of drunk bastards waiting for Belinda Big'uns to finish her act and for my song, "Cherry Pie" by Warrant, to begin. 

That's when I noticed Barton sitting near the stage, right at the end where it circled back around like a cul-de-sac. He had a beer in one hand and was watching Belinda with a clearly impatient stare. 

He was there to see me. Tina must have let him know I was taking the stage for the first time and he wasn't going to miss that. 

I took that bit of information and stuck it in the same box in my brain I had all the other things I knew about him and how he wanted to fuck me. 

When Belinda's song, "Back in Black," ended, she strutted off the stage holding a stack of bills. 

"Let's hear it again," said the DJ, some college kid named Bart something or other, "for the bodacious Belinda Big'uns." 

And the dudes who had just shoved cash at her clapped again but quieted the applause just as quickly. 

"And now, let's have a rowdy Golden Globes welcome for the new girl," he said. 

The first riff of "Cherry Pie" kicked off over the P.A. 

"Sweet Pea!!!!"

The enthusiasm was less than overwhelming. I was an unknown commodity, and the regulars had no vested interest in me or what I might have to offer. I quickly took in the faces of the folks nearest the stage, the ones I would have to impress most quickly in order to get those bills. There was a fat dude who was either redneck or just getting off a blue-collar job. There was a dude in a suit and tie with the tie loose and the suit about a size too big for him. There was a young guy with long, stringy hair and a Metallica t-shirt. And finally, there was a middle-aged man in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis. I pegged him as my first mark right off the bat. 

Determined to do my best, and mostly to impress Barton so he'd give a good report to J.W. -- after all, my life was still on the line -- I strutted my ass onto the stage and spun around a few times on my heels. Then I did the S thing with my body twice and went into a shoulder shake that really made my tits almost pop out of my top. Then down to where my knees almost touched the floor and a quick spread 'em and tease before standing up again and turning around to shove my ass in polo shirt's face. 

He shoved a five in my skirt's waistband. Not a bad start. 

I didn't know the names of any of the shit I was doing, but I could copy the moves from what the other girls had shown me. It was almost as if my new body had extra joints and some kind of ability to almost instantly memorize the motions the girls taught me. In just a few days I had learned how to wiggle my hips, waggle my tits, and gyrate my pelvis in such a way as to give a gentleman in front of me just the tease of closeness to my freshly shaven pussy. 

I spun away from Mr. Polo Shirt and took up a new position in front of Mr. Metallica. I dropped to my knees and roll over to all fours, and then gave him a full view of both cheeks as a shook my ass at him. I glanced back between my legs as he pulled out a wad of rolled-up bills and peeled off two ones. I cut my eyes at him, and he added two fives. I shook my appreciation at him and almost moved back far enough to touch his nose. 

Next in line was Mr. Suit and Tie. He already had his money out and was smiling like a hungry cat. I sidled up to the side of the stage nearest him, and he put two fives in my waistband. I return his smile. I squatted and gave him a quick open and close with my knees, and his grin widened. "How much for a lap dance?" he asked. 

"Fifty," I said. 

"In a private room?"

I grabbed his tie and pulled him to me, then let go after pulling him close enough to almost kiss. 

"Seventy-five to start. Goes up from that."

He nodded and settled back into his seat.

There was another five-dollar bill with the others. 

My skirt hit the stage floor, leaving me in only my heels, stockings, and g-string.

Finally, it was Fat Guy's turn. He was sweating already and he didn't even pull his hand out of his pants as he lifted his eyes when I spun into his field of vision. They threatened to roll back into his head. I arched my back and shook my tits in a circle that might have swirled tassels if had been wearing any. He shoved a handful of ones in my waistband with his free hand. 

"Thanks, handsome," I said. Then I stood up and spun away to the pole, ignored it since I hadn't mastered that talent yet, and then returned to Mr. Polo Shirt. I managed to get another few bills, singles this time, from him and turned my attention to Mr. Metallica, who looked like he was waiting for me to yank my g-string off before he coughed up any more cash. 

So I did. Well, not all the way, but I did pull it to the side and give him a good, unobstructed view. Two more fives. 

I did the same when I made my way back to Mr. Suit and Tie, and he gave me ten more and motioned with his eyes to the door heading to the private rooms.

Shit. I thought. He was serious about that. 

I smiled and faked excitement for him, and he dropped another five. 

I shoved my ass in his face and pull the g-string to the side. Another five. 

Easy money. 

Finally it was Fat Guy, and I danced in front of him as the last fading choruses of "Cherry Pie" played. Just before the song ended I yanked the tear-away knot on the side of the panties and stood exposed for a few seconds while I spun around and did one last squat with an open and close. 

The song ended, and I picked up my skirt, along with the cash that had fallen out when I snatched off the g-string and walked offstage. 

Barton was waiting for me in the wings after I got dressed again. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"Not bad," he said. "First a first time. You'd get a lot more with a night crowd, but not bad for an afternoon haul."

"Not bad for a first time, huh? I saw you, you know. You should wear looser slacks if you don't want to give yourself away."

"Of course I was hard. I'm a man and your tits were waving around up there. Don't take it personally. I've been harder for worse."

"Oh?" I couldn't believe I was actually flirting -- as if his opinion actually mattered to me -- but it did matter to J.W., and I needed Barton on my side if I wanted to stay alive.

"Don't get cocky, Pea," he said. "You've got a long way to go." He took me by the arm and was leading me back to the front, but I noticed Mr. Suit and Tie approaching the edge of the bar, presumably to meet me for the rendevous he was expecting. 

"Sorry, sailor," I told him. "You'll have to wait your turn. I got propositioned for a private lap dance."

Barton laughed. "Of course you did."

"Seriously. See that guy over by the bar? The one in the suit with the paisley tie?"

"Gerald?"

"You know him?"

"Oh yeah. He's a regular. I'm surprised you don't. He likes to get each of the new girls in the room. Can be a big spender, but he can get handsy. The best thing is to be touchy yourself so he doesn't have to be."

"Well, here I was thinking I'd impress you."

"With Gerald? Hell no. You get the cheapos to cough up for a room and then I'll be impressed."

"Well, shit," I said. 

"You made your bed, Sweet Pea. Now got grind your ass against it." 

He took me up to the bar, said hello to Gerald, and let go of my arm. "Take good care of Sweet Pea here, Gerald," he said. "And remember the rules this time."

"Oh, absolutely, Mr. Barton. Unless the girl agrees, it's hands off." He cleared his throat. "But what if they agree?"

"Well, that's up to you and your wallet. You know the price list and so does she."

Damn right I did. It had been the first thing I had been expected to memorize. Seventy-five bucks for a basic dance in the private room. Only in the private room, the girls would actually grind against you and could stroke your face and chest and shit, only you weren't allowed to touch them back. Throw in an additional fifteen for a handy or twenty-five bucks for a blow job. Beyond that, it took a total of a hundred and fifty for a basic fuck. Anything more freaky than that, and the girl had to clear it with Tina. That meant kinky shit like light bondage or spankings, but if a girl wanted to go back door on a basic fuck, that was up to her and her alone. But not both. Never both without an additional payment. After all, Tina had told me, we're not here to give this shit away.

Of, I was well aware that by "this shit" she meant my pussy. 

"So, your name's Gerald?" I said. "Nice to meet you." 

He grinned. "Oh, we've met. I've been watching you wait tables for several days. I was hoping you'd get up and dance so I could be the first to request you for a private room."

"Aren't you sweet?" I said, trying not to gag on the words. 

I had a bad feeling that my "date" would end with this regular's dick in my mouth, and Barton's smirk only reinforced that idea for me. 

"You're really pretty."

"Thanks."

"She's got nice tits too, right?" Barton interjected. 

"Oh, totally," Gerald said. 

"Thanks," I said again, then I cut my eyes at Barton. My glare said, I don't need your help, thank you very fucking much. But I wasn't sure he got it or even cared. 

"Really great tits. I like 'em smaller like yours actually."

"Thanks." I had apparently been reduced to a single refrain.

"You kids have fun," Barton said and turned back to the bar. 

I led Gerald to Private Room #3, the one Tina had told me was reserved for my guests that evening. I only assumed that meant afternoon too. Gerald followed me in and closed the door behind him. He wasted no time sitting in the oversized leather chair. I turned on the speakers in the room. 

The music was prefab, and my room was a mix of soft techno beats, relaxed house, and even some almost smooth jazz over electronic drum loops. The BPM never fluctuated, always a smooth 100 beats per minute. 

I was already topless in just my g-string and skirt and stocking, so I was already pretty much naked. I listened to the music for a few minutes and asked him, "Cash or card?"

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he retrieved a silvery, plastic card. "Platinum card," he said. 

I got the card reader from the shelf behind him and returned with it. He slid the card between the edges and made a leering expression as he did, probably imagining it was his dick and the reader was my pussy. I just smiled and swallowed a deep breath. 

"Know what you want or do you want me to start a tab?"

"Just the dance and a handjob." 

"Anything to drink?"

"Michelob Light?"

"You're the boss." But I thought, what a pussy.

I entered the drink and dance on the screen, then entered a 'coupon code' that indicated an extra service -- the handy -- and totaled up the tally. Then I turned the screen toward him. He signed with his finger. 

"Tip?" I asked. 

He nodded, then made the inevitable joke. "Just the tip."

I feigned a laugh, and he clicked the box for an extra ten bucks. 

"Thanks," I said. 

He smiled. 

I put the card reader away and started to dance. I moved around the chair, stroking his face, his chest, and his shoulders, the way the other girls had taught me. It was purely clinical on my end, just motions I was getting paid for. For him though, it might as well have been love. He moaned and quickened his breath. I almost expected him to start rubbing one out himself, but he somehow kept his hands away from his johnson. 

When I returned to the front of the chair I faced away from him and moved my ass closer and closer to his lap. When I touched the tops of his thighs I pulled away and turned to face him. I leaned at my waist and let my boobs hang in his line of sight. He gulped a breath and I saw it go all the down his throat. 

Damn, I was good. 

But Barton's words echoed in my mind. "Don't get cocky, Pea."

Cocky. I laughed at the unintended pun. 

Cocky, or at least cock, was exactly what I was getting out of this little room visit. 

I must have laughed, or at least cracked a smile, because Gerald asked. "Something funny?"

"Just getting in the mood," I said. 

I leaned closer to him, touching my breasts against his face. He leaned a bit but didn't try to engage me in any way even though I half expected him to try to kiss my nipples. When I knew I was safe, I pulled away and turned around again to present him my ass. This time I actually pushed myself into his groin and grinded against him. He was already stiff and ready, and I figured I didn't need to push it and have him blow his load before I actually had him in my hands. Still, I owed the customer his money's worth or I'd surely hear it and catch hell from Tina. 

And there was no option where that would be a good thing for me. 

My life depended on my ability to make Gerald the regular very, very, very happy. 

So I continued to grind, stopping every few seconds to turn and breathe into his ear or massage his chest, anything to take his mind off his throbbing cock. Whatever it took to delay his gratification and use my allotted time efficiently. 

When he at last said, "I'm ready if you are," I steeled my resolve, remembered how much was riding on this handjob, and stood behind him. I leaned almost on top of his shoulders with my bare boobs as I reached down his chest and tummy and unzipped his slacks. I fumbled his surprisingly ample manhood out and gripped it in my dominant right hand. 

"Oh," he muttered. 

His skin was warm and musky, and the captive cock twitched in my hand. 

"Oh," he said again, a little softer, dragging out the single syllable. 

I said nothing, only played with his dick without moving up or down yet. I remembered how I enjoyed a woman just toying at it with her fingers rather than trying to rip it out of my groin, and I focused on the kind of attention I had appreciated. 

He grew quiet and I noticed his eyes had closed. 

I played with the tip, a helmet as he had been circumcised, with my thumb, all the while gently stroking the seam on the underside with my index finger. With each touch, he lurched a little in my grip, and I knew I couldn't hold him off for long. He was going to lose control soon, very soon. 

So I tightened my grip and started to slide my palm and fingers up and down the shaft. It only took about forty-five seconds or so before he exploded all over my hand and the crotch of his slacks. He squirted so high that some of it hit me in the face and on his lapel. 

"Oooh," he said, changing the 'o' sound after his ejaculation. "Wow. I should have tipped better." 

"Maybe next time," I said, agreeing with him. 

"Wow," he repeated. 

"Spread the word," I said, hoping it sounded as nonchalant as I intended. Though, in reality, it was just another lock on my new life the more word got out that I gave an excellent handy. Given the alternatives, I'd rather make the money by shaking my tits and ass rather than giving any kind of job, hand or blow, or god forbid, having strangers shove their cocks in and out of my pussy or asshole. I shuddered at the thought. 

Not that I had any way to avoid that at the moment. But the longer I remained alive, the more opportunities I might have to escape this new career J.W. had sequestered me into. 

Gerald zipped up, then went to a sink, wet a paper towel, and wiped the front of his pants and his lapels until the cum no longer showed. He placed a twenty on the side of the sink. 

"For me?"

"You earned it," he said, nodding. "You dancing again tonight."

My turn to nod. "I'll stay long enough to watch."

"My hero," I said. 

Is this how girls endured and survived this business? I wondered as I added the twenty to the rest of the cash I'd made on the stage. Just fake it and flirt until the guys believe you really like them so they part with their money more easily? And then hide the hopelessness in drugs? Or did they actually enjoy the life? I wasn't sure. Maybe some of them did. But then some of them were just dancers and didn't take part in the extra services that J.W. and Tina demanded of me. I was sure I was the only girl constricted into service, and maybe that made the difference. I wasn't here by choice. I was only here to save my fucking life. Maybe I was the only unhappy one. After all, the other girls didn't seem trapped. Well, except for the ones who clearly had some kind of drug addiction. 

I waited for Gerald to leave, and then I straightened up the room, wiped down the counter near the sink, and cleaned up the chair. It only took a few minutes and soon I left, closed the door behind me, and went to the dressing room to change into my waitress uniform -- white stockings, a white lace thong, black patent leather heels, and a leather choker with a pendant of the club's logo on it. Once dressed, I returned to the bar area. 

"Took you fucking long enough." Tina put out her hand. 

I looked at it with a confused glance. 

"Don't be a dumbass. The cash."

"Oh," I said, and I started counting out twenty-five percent to give her.

"All the cash," she said. 

"I thought --" I said, but a firm hand on my shoulder, from behind, stopped my words. 

"You thought what?' said Barton.

"I thought the club took twenty-five percent."

"From the regular girls, yeah. But you're a special case remember. You don't draw a salary, Pea. You make money for J.W. You stay alive as long as you make money. If you need something, he'll take care of it. What the hell do you need money for anyway, slut?"

The tone hurt. I had to admit it. After the sort of bantering and the post-orgasm talk the other day, I figured I was on better footing with Barton. But clearly, I wasn't. I was still just a whore, a slut, not even worthy of being one of the girls. I was a special case. And special meant lesser, not greater. I wasn't a sex worker. I was a sex slave. And he was driving that point home to me. 

"Can I at least get something to drink?" I asked. 

"Grab a water under the bar. I don't need tipsy waitresses."

"Thanks, boss."

Tina nodded. "And then get your ass back to waiting tables. At least until seven. You'll do your thing at seven and again at nine. If you get requests, you'll take care of those after you leave the stage. If not, you'll be out here on the floor taking orders for drinks and food. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. 

"Good, then get back to work."

"Yes, ma'am." I glanced at the clock behind the bar. Almost a quarter to five. 

But I couldn't leave. Barton was still holding me locked still with his grip on my shoulders. 

"Mr. Barton, sir?"

He didn't respond. 

"I need to return to work, sir."

He grinned. 

"What did you do extra? I've never seen Gerald look so satisfied. You know you don't get to decide on unpaid extras. J.W. doesn't like that."

I shook my head vigorously. 

"I want the truth, slut."

"It's the truth, Mr. Barton. I just danced and gave him a handy."

"Men don't look like that after a handjob, Pea."

"That's all I did. I promise. I just... Well, I remembered what I used to like and how I did it to myself back when... well, you know... back when I had a dick too. And I just did that."

"Uh-huh," he said, not convinced. "I'm afraid I don't believe you."

"I have to work, sir," I begged. 

"Yes, you have to work," he repeated. "You have to work your magic on me and convince me you're not doing free favors."

"I didn't even want to do any of this," I said a little too loud.

"Sure. But that just means you're desperate. And a free extra might make a customer fall in love and try to rescue you. I wouldn't put it past you." He cleared his throat. "But I'll tell you what. You do the same to me like you did with Gerald, and if I'm convinced you're telling the truth, we'll have no more trouble tonight. That sound fair, whore?"

I looked at the floor. Then I looked at Tina. She nodded. I looked at Barton again. 

"Yes, sir. That sounds fair."

Chapter Four: The Contest

"Are you really gonna make me do this, Barton?" I followed him inside Private Room #3 and closed the door behind me. He took a seat in the big chair and smirked at me.

"Did you forget your manners, Sweet Pea? Did you think we were becoming friends or something just because I enjoyed the way your sweet lips felt around my cock and the delicious taste of your GV pussy?"

I took a deep breath, then another. "No sir, Mr. Barton. I'm sorry."

"Then I want you to show me everything you did to him. I want every move, every word, every fucking breath you breathed with him. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And if I'm not convinced you're as good as his face said you are, then I'm just gonna have to assume you did something you weren't supposed to, and then I'll be the one to give you your punishment. Are we clear, slut?"

"We're clear, Mr. Barton."

"Good girl. Now get to work." 

I sighed. He wasn't going to make this easy for me. 

"Okay."

I turned on the music and started to sway, touching my hips, my shoulders, and then my breasts, lingering there as I danced. 

"I asked him what he wanted, and if he wanted me to open a tab to add services, but he said he just wanted a hand job and he paid with a Platinum card."

I continued to dance and made my way to the side of the chair. I let my fingers slide along his chest and shoulders, and I felt him relax beneath my touch. As I continued around the chair, I teased his shoulders and neck, ruffled his hair a bit, and then found his chest again on the other side. Once in front of him again, I curved my body into the slinky 'S' wiggle and went from that to a squat and gave him a long look under my skirt as I opened my knees. As I stood up I rested my hands on his thighs for balance. Okay, maybe I hadn't done that for Gerald, but that wasn't extra, not an extra service at least, so I didn't consider it cheating. 

Then it was time to show off my ass, and I looked over my shoulders to make eye contact. He was engrossed. He probably hadn't expected me to do so well. Only, I had the benefit of years of watching girls dance, and I knew what got me hot. And I knew it was the same thing that made other guys hot too. Even Barton. Or especially Barton at that moment anyway. 

Then it was back around the chair for the sizzle. He'd have to wait for the steak. 

I found his shoulders incredibly tense, and I gently rubbed them with my fingertips. I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "You're so tense, honey. Let me help you with that."

He made a sound that didn't remotely resemble words, and I went to his other ear, my breath heavy against his skin as I said, "I know just what will help you feel better, baby." 

That's when my hands wandered down his chest, caressing his nipples as they slowly found their way to his lap. Then I unfastened his belt and the top button of his slacks, revealing his plaid boxers. 

"Oooh," I said. "I just love a man with easy access."

As I spoke, I fished his manhood out of the hole in the front of the boxers. I let it fumble and twitch in my open palm, not grabbing it or giving him a quick release. I traced my index finger the length of the shaft, circled the top, then stroked a return patch back to his tangle of black pubic hair. 

Another one of those non-word sounds spilled out of his lips. 

My chin rested on his shoulder. 

I played with his cock for several minutes before I ever wrapped my fingers around it, and even then, I gripped it not to jerk it up and down but to vary the pressure from tight to loose and back again as I used my thumb to tenderly stroke the tip, even splitting open the little slit that allowed him to pee. 

After all, my life was riding on this. 

I only gave him pressure play for about a minute and a half and I had to go slowly to help him avoid cumming too soon. My goal wasn't to masturbate him. My goal was to thoroughly seduce him with just a single hand job, to make him understand what treating me better might earn him. 

When I finally started jerking him off, he didn't wait long, no matter how slowly I went. I intentionally leaned over and aimed his cock toward me so that the bulk of his cum splashed all over my face, but I didn't even try to taste it. That bordered on a separate service, one that usually accompanied a blow job. But I was sure that his jizz on my face was enough to let his mind fill in all the rest. 

"Save a little for next time, sweetie," I said, his now spent dick softening in my grip. 

"Fuck," he said. 

"That face looks a lot like Gerald's," I whispered. 

"Fuck," he said again. 

"And then I cleaned up and gave him some towels to clean himself up too. When he left, I sanitized the chair and returned to the bar."

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'm convinced."

I left him alone and went to the sink to wash my face and hands. I wet a hand towel and tossed it to him. 

"Don't have to kill me then?"

He grunted at me, then said, "Not today anyway." 

Once I was clean I walked to the front of the chair and knelt in front of him. "If we're finished with the proof, is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Barton, sir?"

"Straighten up the room and then get back to work. Those drinks aren't going to serve themselves." 

He stood up, nearly knocking me flat on my ass. I could only assume he was pissed that I had won our contest. Not only that, he had to admit, to himself if not out loud, that I had won him over and been totally in control of him for at least several minutes. 

"Whatever you say, Mr. Barton. You're the boss." 

"And don't forget it, whore." 

We were back to whore again. Probably slut too. Whatever he needed to feel like the big man again. 

At seven my ass was back on the stage, and this time I had a far better crowd, but still only about a quarter full. The steady regulars and the out-of-towners and conventioners didn't hit until after eight or nine, I was told. I raked in a little over a hundred that time, and I had three folks roster up for a private lap dance. No extra services, but at least my name was getting noticed. 

After serving tables again, I was dancing again a little after nine, and the bar was a bit over half full by then. I cleared a solid two hundred and had five private dance requests waiting for me. I guessed I was doing okay for a first-timer. 

I must have guessed correctly because Tina told me to go ahead and take a spot at eleven and at one A.M. Eleven was the best take yet, close to two-fifty. Smaller tippers but far more of them so less show per viewer, so it made sense. One o'clock was more like the seven o'clock show, but I didn't complain. In one day of work, on top of tips from the tables, I had made around eight hundred fifty dollars on the stage and earned the bar right at a grand in the private room. And thankfully, only three of those were special services, all BJs. 

Each customer promised it wouldn't be the last time they requested me. 

At the close of the day, a little after two-thirty in the morning, Barton frisked me for any cash I might be trying to hold onto, found none -- I was being a very good girl indeed -- and even groped my ass a bit. 

I, of course, didn't say a god damn thing. 

"Let's go," he said, taking me by the arm and leading me back to my closet in the basement. "You don't have to... Well, actually, you do have to go home, or at least to your special apartment downstairs."

"Can I at least have something to drink?"

He smirked. "I guess you earned that. Sure. Whattaya want?"

"Jack and Coke."

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "I should have remembered that."

"From the good old days," I said. 

"Yeah, before you became such a fucking idiot."

"From your mouth to God's ass," I said. 

Tim at the bar poured me the drink and Barton handed it to me. "This will help you sleep too, I'm sure."

"After tonight, I'll sleep like a log. I'm exhausted." 

He took my arm again and guided me backstage and to the basement, then down the stairs and to my room. He left the door unlocked. 

"Don't forget to wash the costume," he said. "And yourself. You reek of sweat."

"Wanna shower with me, Barton?"

He cut me a glance. "That's Mr. Barton. And no. Don't forget where we stand. You did good today, and you're sexy as hell, but you're still the enemy here. Or at best,  prisoner of war."

"Just offering."

He shook his head with a vacant look in his eyes. 

"Doesn't matter what I want. Rules are rules."

I had already stripped down to just the g-string. 

His eyes were all over me. 

"Fuck it," he said. "Lay down, Pea."

I didn't say shit. I just lay down. 

He all but ripped the panties off me and buried his face in my pussy. 

"God damn," he said mumbling between my thighs. "Even soaked with sweat, you're still the most delicious fucking pussy I've ever tasted." 

I didn't say anything, at least not anything that had any letters other than 'm' or 'o.'

When he finished, he left, ordering me to close the door, which auto-locked, after I had showered and tossed my outfit in the wash. He reminded me that the basement door was locked too, so there wasn't any chance of escape. The open door to my room was just a gateway to a slightly larger cage. 

"Prisoner of war. Got it," I said. "Herr Kommandant."

"Shut up." 

"Yes, sir," I said, saluting.

"Don't push it, Pea."

"Ah, c'mon, Mr. Barton. If I'm stuck, at least let me have a little fun while I'm stuck. It beats moping around and feeling like I want to slit my wrists or sneak into the drug stash."

"You do either of those and you'll get the shit beat out of you." He looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, a little regretful even. "Or worse."

"I know. So at least let me try to relax and enjoy what little I can."

He shook his head again. "Don't forget the door," he said, turning to leave.

"Thank you," I said.

"For fucking what?" He stopped and turned to face me again. 

"For not killing me today. For eating my pussy. For actually smiling for once." 

"Shut up." 

"Yes, sir."

After the shower, I fell asleep so deeply that it took one of the girls banging on my door for several minutes for me to start to stir, much less to wake up. When I finally made it upstairs, Tina was already pissed at me for oversleeping and warned me I'd better get used to the god damn schedule as long as I was a regular dancer and not to fucking slack off again. Her words. Also, J.W. would be coming in two days to give me his initial lookover and I had better fucking impress the shit out of him unless I wanted to decorate the bottom of the river. 

Chapter Five: Trial by Fire

I worked my ass off of course and had improved my day's take from right at a grand to almost two grand between tips, dancing, and private sessions -- particularly the private sessions. That didn't make me the top dog or anything, but it did put me squarely in the middle of the pack and a solid earner. 

I was surprised and more than a little upset at myself at how that little victory made me feel proud, as if shaking my tits and sucking cock was something I had always wanted to master all along. 

It was all to stay alive, I reminded myself. It was okay to be proud of staying alive, even if it left the taste of cum in my mouth. 

Saturday night, the night J.W. was coming to witness my "ascent to stardom" as Barton had called it one evening while I was sucking his cock and before he once again enjoyed the taste of my pussy, the joint was packed full. Saturdays usually were once the sun went down, Tina said, and if I didn't clear at least three grand, then I was doing something wrong. 

I totally understand the unspoken, "And you don't want to do anything wrong tonight," in her tone. 

I went on at five, seven, eight, nine-thirty, and again at eleven, dancing my little fucking heart out while J.W. sat in the front row. He got a lot of my attention but not once did he slip cash into my waistband. Between dancing, I barely had time to wait tables because my private room queue was filled to overflowing. Just a few private bump-and-grinds, and just two handies. The rest was all BJs, and my throat was killing me, but I didn't say a fucking word about it. I just popped a few Ibuprofen and went on about my cocksucking and dancing business. 

After my eleven o'clock dance, Tina told me to clear my schedule and go put on the outfit waiting for me in my room. 

And to wash off a bit, but quickly. 

I did. No sense in even asking why. I figured it had everything to do with J.W. and him giving me my grade for the night. 

In my room, a slinky black mini-dress hung on a hanger on the edge of one of the shelving units that stored cleaning supplies. A pair of spike-heeled strappy sandals sat beneath it on the floor. On my bed was a pair of black fishnet stockings with seams and a black lace thong panty. No bra. 

I slipped out of my g-string and navy blue stockings and heels, then wet a cloth and cleaned off the sweat from all the dancing, and then I squirted some lavender-scented sanitizer into my palms and rubbed it all over my neck and chest and legs. Once I was sure I didn't stink and I could pass inspection, I got dressed. 

The dress fit as if it had been designed to look like body paint, hugging each curve like a mile of mountain road. I struggled with the fishnets to keep the seams straight, then fastened the heels around my ankles. The thong was wider than the g-strings and I could feel it riding up between my ass cheeks. Honestly, I preferred the g-strings if I wasn't going to be allowed to use regular panties that actually covered some of my ass. 

I went back upstairs and noticed J.W. wasn't there. I saw Tina and Barton at the bar, so I shuffled to them. "I'm ready. What's next?" I asked. 

"Next," Tina said, "is this. J.W. is waiting in the limo out front. You're going to go outside and get in when the driver gets the door, and then you're going to keep your mouth shut and listen to the boss."

I nodded.

"And then you're going to do whatever he tells you immediately as soon as he tells you."

I nodded again. 

"No disobedience," Barton added. "Unless you want to get dead."

"Yes, sir, and yes, ma'am," I said.

"You did okay tonight," Tina added. "Don't fuck it up now." 

"Thank you." 

I looked at Barton. He motioned with his eyes for me to go outside and meet J.W. for my rendevous and critique. Those eyes also seemed to hold a little regret that we didn't get to enjoy our regular evening together, I thought. Or maybe he was jealous of whatever J.W. would do either to me or with me. 

For that matter, just what the hell did my boss plan to do? 

I walked out into the night's breeze and immediately felt the chill on my exposed shoulders, back, and cleavage. The limo waited just beyond the entrance, and when I stepped out, the driver took my arm and led me to the door and opened it. I climbed inside and sat on the cool leather seat next to the boss. The driver shut the door behind me, and the latch clicked down to a locked position. 

"Don't want you falling out," J.W. said. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Sir. Good. Keep that up."

"I--" I started to say but he shut me up with a finger to his lips. 

"Good girls are quiet girls," he said, and I got the picture without him having to tell me twice. 

I nodded. 

"You looked good up there tonight. You either enjoy the dancing or you're better at it than anyone expected you to be. Honestly, I don't fucking care either way as long as it means you keep looking good up there."

I lowered my head, not quite nodding but trying to let him know I appreciated his comment. 

"Not only that," he continued. "Tina tells me your private room is staying booked. That's good. Right now, dancing and whoring is your life. Do it well, and stay alive. Do it poorly, and we'll have to reexamine where I can best put your slutty ass to use. Understand, whore?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. J.W."

He cleared his throat. 

"So, for now, you're doing okay, better than I expected."

I noticed the driver had started the car and pulled onto the road.

"Thank you for not killing me, Mr. J.W."

"Yet," he said. 

I nodded yet again. 

While the limo drove through town, I sat in silence and so did he. He rested his hand on my knee like his grip was a mark of ownership, and I supposed it most likely was just that. 

We rode for almost a half hour and then stopped in front of one of the hotels J.W. owned. It wasn't the Ritz, but it wasn't a Motel 6 either. The driver opened the door for both of us and I joined J.W. outside the car. His heavy, possessive arm draped over my shoulder like a yoke might fit a bull. 

He led me inside, nodded toward the man at the front desk, who motioned us through, and then guided me to the elevator. Once inside, he pressed the button for the 8th floor, the top floor, and when the doors dinged open, he all but pulled me down the hallway toward the suite at the far end. He opened the door and pushed me inside, and I stumbled a bit to keep my balance in the spikey heels. 

"Pour me a drink," he commanded.

"What would you like, sir?" I asked. 

"Whiskey on the rocks."

"You got it, boss."

I put three ice cubes in a short glass and then filled it to just below the rim with Hemingway Signature. J.W. always had an eye and palette for good whiskey. 

"Here you go, Mr. J.W."

He took the cup and sipped it. 

"C'mere, Sweet Pea," he said, using my name for the first time instead of calling me slut or whore. 

I came there. 

He turned me away from him, facing the back of the couch, then he pushed me over so far I had to balance by putting my weight on my hands when they touched the seat cushions. 

Then, without a word, he lifted my dress onto the small of my back.

Oh shit. I was about to get fucked. 

Only, instead of entering me, he slapped my ass hard, and I winced and yelped out a loud squeak.

"I like that. Keep it up."

Another smack. Another yelp. I'd like to say I was doing the yelping on purpose for him, but his spankings really stung that bad. I was certain my ass was already turning a lovely shade of pink, well onto its way to an even lovelier shade of bright red. 

Smack. 

Slap. 

Smack. 

"You've got a cute ass, Sweet Pea," he said. Then he sat his glass on my back for a moment as he fished my thong out from between my ass cheeks and pulled it to the side of my pussy. He lifted the glass again, and I heard the ice tinkle as he took another swig. Then there was the sound of his zipper, and I was suddenly invaded by his cock. 

I grunted from the force of his push. I couldn't help it. He wasn't very long, but his girth was enormous. It was like being fucked with the fat end of an old-fashioned Coke bottle. 

"Oh god," I muttered, and I could swear I heard him grin out loud. I wasn't even thinking about trying to play him or his ego though. He was stretching me out wider than my virgin cunt would comfortably loosen. I was almost in tears and he hadn't even started to pump me yet. 

"Fucking tight," he said. 

"Ugh," I said. 

"I like that," he said. 

"Ugh," I said again.

Then he started to pump me like some kind of machine. Not too fast. Not at all slow either. But constant and never letting his cock fully escape my pussy. He wasn't going to allow me to wholly relax. He was going to keep me stretched and aching throughout the entire ordeal. 

Eventually, he twitched and he came inside me. I could feel the slop of his goopy mess as it filled me and drained toward the opening of my nether lips. I was panting and breathing heavily. 

He slapped my ass again. 

"Get up and turn around," he commanded.

I did. 

"On your knees."

I did that too.

He didn't have to command me what to do next. I took hold of his slick, gooey dick and I gently guided it toward my waiting mouth. Then I choked myself on the thickness of it, cleaning all the salty flavor from him until he only tasted like sweat and musk again. While I cleaned him, he got hard again, and I assumed he would want me to finish him off a second time, so I kept going until he exploded again, this time into my mouth and throat. I coughed and sputtered and couldn't hold it all, spitting some out with the cough, at least that which didn't seep out of the corners of my lips. 

"Get up," he said, and I did. "If you miss a period, tell Tina. She'll take you to the doc to get it taken care of."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text. 

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. 

"Go get the door," J.W. told me. 

When I opened it, Barton was standing there. 

"C'mon. Time to get you back home." 

"Yes, sir." I turned to say goodbye to the boss.

Barton shook his head. "You're not his god damn girlfriend."

I got the point. 

Barton took my wrist and pulled me into the hallway. 

"Fuck," I whisper.

"Yeah, you did get fucked." 

I nodded. 

"That's a good sign. He could have shot you."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. You did good tonight, Pea. Keep it up, and you might even earn a real apartment instead of the storage closet."

"You think?" 

"Anything's possible." 

Barton took me to the elevators, back downstairs, and finally out to his sedan. 

"Get in," he said, not getting the door for me."

I did. 

"Well, shut the fucking door."

"Sorry." I shut it.

He cranked up the car and peeled out into the street. 

"I hope you didn't think you'd stick around for pillow talk," he said. "That's not the boss's style. Still, it's a good thing. He gets the first fuck on the new girls. That means he's planning to keep you around."

I grunted.

"Hell of a night, huh?" he asked.

"You can say that again," I said.

"For the record, if it matters to you, now that he's signed off on you and fucked you, you don't really matter much to him, not anymore. He won't wait much time even thinking about you at all. So there's that." He paused. "Unless you try to run off or become a problem again. But as long as you keep doing what you're told and be a good stripper and an even better whore, then you'll do all right."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I'm just the pickup driver." He gulped in some stale air from inside the car. "Oh, and this means that Tina will make sure the regulars know you're fully open for business now. Up to now, you were only able to accept blow jobs and hand jobs."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Now, you're cleared for anything they want, per the regular rules of course." He glanced toward me. "And if anyone tries to get rough, you let the bouncer on duty know."

"Oh. I get protection now."

He nodded. 

"You always had it, but now it's official."

"Wow. I'm a real girl now."

"Well, you're a real stripper and a real whore now anyway."

I sighed. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Pea."

"Yes, sir."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Barton said. "That dress looks really good on you."

"Thanks. I thought so too."

Another minute or two passed without us speaking. 

"Are you tired?" he asked finally. 

"Exhausted. That was a lot of dancing tonight, and then even though the sex wasn't long, I'm sore as hell from getting my cherry popped."

He nodded. "Yeah. I had forgotten about that."

"Hungry? You didn't get time to eat before he carted you off to the hotel."

"Starving. But I can grab something from the kitchen at the club when we get back."

He shook his head. "You earned a little something. I'll pull through a drive-thru."

And he did. Minutes later, I was chowing down on a double cheeseburger, fries, and a large root beer. "Thanks," I said between bites. "Do I have to work this off?"

"Nah. My treat tonight. You're doing well. Just keep it up."

After I scarfed the last bite of the burger, I slowed down and remembered how to chew and take my time. 

"Listen," I said. "Am I really safe now, at least for a while?"

"As long as you keep your numbers up, yeah. But you're still in a different class than the hired girls. You're still--"

"A prisoner of war, I get it."

"Well, don't forget it. You're a prisoner of war with benefits, but still a prisoner. He may not waste too many thoughts on you now, but that doesn't mean you don't show up on his reports as a special line item to keep an eye on. And all he needs is to hear one bad report to get you put right back on his shit list."

"Oh. I see."

"I hope so. I'm getting used to seeing that sexy body around. I'd hate to see it suddenly disappear."

"Oh," I said as coyly as I could. "You think I'm sexy?"

"Don't pull that shit with me. I'm a good soldier first and a horny dick second. Always in that order."

"So I do make you horny then?"

He laughed. 

"Don't try to play me just because I'm being nice."

"I like it when you're nice."

"Well, be good and you get nice. Be a bitch and get not nice. Dig?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barton."

We pulled off the interstate on the exit that led to the club, but instead of taking me straight there, Barton instead turned into an abandoned warehouse parking lot and parked around the back. 

After shutting off the car, he got out and climbed into the back seat. 

"Join me," he said.

"Oh," I said.

I joined him. I was being a good girl. I was getting nice Barton. I saw no reason to fuck that up. 

Instead of sitting beside him I climbed onto his lap and rested one leg on each side of his legs. Then I leaned in and kissed him deeply. I could hear and feel his breath catch as we shared the same air for a moment. 

I pulled away from the kiss.

"Is this what you had in mind, Barton?"

"Mr. Barton."

"Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Barton?"

"Yeah, like you asked, yeah, you make me horny. I've been wanting to have you to myself ever since that day I caught you. You're all I can think about. I don't know if it's something about the virus, or some weakness in me, but ever since I tasted your pussy, it's like I'm an addict wanting a fix."

"I was hoping we could spend some time together tonight too. I don't like to admit it, but I do love it when you go down on me. In my old life, multiple orgasms were few and far between, but every night you eat me out, I cum at least three times and I sleep like a baby."

He smiled, and I went in for a second kiss. But I backed away quickly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I forgot I gave Mr. Wriggley a blow job. You probably don't want to kiss me after I had his dick in my mouth."

He responded by pulling me into another deep, deeper this time, kiss. His tongue found my own and they made love all on their own. As we kissed, I fumbled with his belt and the button of his slacks. He moaned into my mouth and I swallowed every sound. I didn't like it, but I was aching for his attention. He had been the one constant, the one good thing during my trial and trauma. Sure, it wasn't attention I had originally wanted, but the way his tongue felt inside my cunt had won me over, and I had learned to enjoy and even welcome the sensations. 

In no time, I had fished his erection out of his pants and boxers, and I felt it solid against the front of my thong. Moving the thong to the side, I guided him inside me.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked. "Is this okay? I don't want to get you in trouble with the boss."

"He's done with you. You're fair game now."

"Good," I said and I lowered my body onto him and sat there feeling him fill me up inside for almost a minute before I started to ride him.

"You feel almost as good as you taste," he said. 

And he was right. If I had thought I'd be looser after J.W., I was wrong. It was just as tight with Barton's longer, but thinner cock. But how. Apparently, I had a lot to learn about being the owner of a proud new pussy. 

I rested my hands on his shoulders and used him for leverage to help me push up and down on him. I made sure to go as deep as I could with each stroke. We continued to kiss. I felt his hands hold the small of my back. 

"Fuck," he said.

"Fuck," I echoed. 

Then he emptied his load inside me. Seconds later, I came too, not as hard and wet as when he used his tongue and teeth on my clit, but hard enough to make my eyes threaten to wobble back into my head a bit. I clenched my fingers on his shoulders and he pulled me down onto him as if we were trying to melt into one body connected at the crotch. 

"Fuck," I said again. 

He kissed me tenderly on my lips. 

"Can we do that again sometime?" I asked.

He looked at me suspiciously.

I back-pedaled. "I'm not trying to be your girlfriend or anything, Barton. I know where we stand. But hell, I liked that, and I want to do it again. That's all. I'm not trying to make you fall in love and bust me out of J.W.'s prison." I took a deep breath. "But if I'm a prisoner with benefits, I'd like to enjoy those benefits from time to time."

He squenched up his eyes like he was mulling it over. "We can't do it all the time. People will think the wrong thing. But as long as looks as if I'm doing it to you to boss you the fuck around and just treating you like some slut whore, then we can probably get away with it from time to time, not that you won't be getting fucked a lot more regularly already between dances."

I felt him stiffen inside me. 

"Can we do that again now?" I asked, sliding up slightly to encourage his cock to keep up the good work. 

He responded quickly enough and I rode him a second time. When he was spent after a second ejaculation, he immediately went weak and limp and I knew there would be no opportunity to coax a third out of him. 

"Oh shit," I said suddenly. "What if I get pregnant? I forgot to ask if you had a condom." 

He laughed. "Not an issue. Vasectomy three years ago."

"Oh. Good." 

He nodded. "So don't worry about me."

I nodded in response.

I kissed him again, and when we broke it off, he pushed me off his lap. 

"I need to get you back home, Pea," he said. 

"Okay," I said.

And we drove the last few miles back to the club, the only sound the soft jazz on his CD player. 

Chapter Six: The Diner

A month into my new employment, Tina finally broke the news to me that I wasn't going to have to live like a trafficked sex slave in the basement any longer. J.W. had arranged for me to have a room at the motel he owned, the same one where he first "approved" me for active duty. 

The room would, of course, come out of any monies I made, and I would also finally start to get a stipend for expenses. Only, where the regular girls kept seventy-five percent of tips and twenty-five percent of specials, I was only going to get ten percent of tips and five percent of specials. That didn't, fortunately, include my rent, which would come out upfront from the ninety percent of my tips I'd never see. 

"He's not afraid of me trying to escape?" I asked. 

"Are you that fucking stupid?" she asked.

I shook my head. "It just seems weird."

"You're not going to be there by yourself, honey," she said. "You'll have a watchdog."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Adjoining rooms. No lock between them."

"Oh."

"Right. Just because he thinks you can live out of the closet now doesn't mean he actually fucking trusts you."

"I guess not. Anybody I know."

"Somebody whose dick has been in your mouth quite a lot."

"Barton?" I hoped I hid the flicker of light in my eyes at the thought.

"Don't get excited, Sweet Pea. He's there to keep you on your leash, that's all. If you get out of line, and he can't get you back in line, then it'll be his ass that's up Shit Creek right along with yours."

"Oh."

"So don't forget it."

In the end, I had really nothing to move except a laundry bag of clothing that I had been given when I first arrived. Mainly panties, thongs and such, a few pairs of yoga pants, some shorts and t-shirts, and two pairs of shoes, some trainers for working out and a pair of leather sandals. Well, and then several pairs of high-heeled pumps and sandals for work. Nothing else belonged to me. Anything I had owned prior to becoming one of J.W.'s whores and dancers was gone, left behind with my old life when I had been captured by Barton and his two goons that day in the bar. 

The room was small, just a double bed with a loveseat, desk, and a TV with basic cable. Even after I hung up my clothes and put them away in the drawers, it looked empty. At least until Tina came over and brought a plastic vase with some cheap, drugstore roses in it. 

It was the thought that counted, and I knew the thought hadn't been much, but it was better than nothing. 

She also brought a few short dresses that the other girls had gathered up for me. That was at least more useful than the flowers. I thanked her anyway for both the flowers and the dresses. 

She was still hanging out, sitting on the loveseat, when the door between the adjoining rooms opened and Barton popped his head in.

"Howdy, neighbor," he said with a flat expression. 

I knew he was around. After all, he was the one who had driven me from the club to the new room. He had become not just my regular driver, but my regular guard dog, my regular blow job, and my regular pussy eater. And my occasional fuck. 

Even though I was fair game now and regularly giving my pussy away to customers -- and even my asshole several times -- we still didn't advertise the regularness of our interactions. The wrong kind of attention might make the boss think we were building some kind of romantic or at least co-dependent relationship that could lead to a lovesick fool trying to help me escape. 

And that was the last thing Barton wanted. He made it clear that regardless of our growing ease with each other, he wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in my head if the boss told him to and I would do well to remember that shit. 

"You'd really shoot me?" I had asked after a mind-shattering climax thanks to his wonderful tongue. 

"Fuck around and find out," he had said before diving into my pussy again for my third orgasm that night. 

So I knew where I stood. Good girls get nice Barton. Disobedient bitches get nasty Barton. It wasn't the ideal life, but nice Barton was definitely my preferred choice, no matter what it cost me in terms of body and soul and identity. 

"I'll leave you to get settled in," Tina said and waggled her fingers at me in a half-hearted wave as she left. 

"Get settled in?" I asked with a smirk. "What the fuck do I have to even settle in with?"

"Just an expression, Pea. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"My panties are about all I have to settle in with," I laughed. "What now?" I said as I plopped my tired ass onto the loveseat. "I'm not used to having a day off. What the hell am I supposed to do with a day off?"

"You could rest for once."

I patted the cushion beside me. "Or we could fuck."

"That's not the reason J.W. assigned me to keep an eye on you."

"But it could be one hell of a perk, couldn't it?"

He made no move to join me on the couch. 

"I'm so bored." 

"Well, you're not trapped in the room, you know. You're welcome to go out and grab a bite to eat, catch a movie, or go to the library. Whatever you want, as long as I'm with you."

"What do you want to do then? Are you hungry?"

"Nah. I just ate before driving you here."

"Want to go see a movie?"

"We're not here to start dating, Pea."

"Then I suppose the library's out of the question too."

He actually laughed. I laughed with him. 

He noticed and got quiet again. 

"Shut up," he said. 

"Or we could fuck," I repeated.

He sighed. 

"My place or yours?" I asked. 

"Fuck you," he said. 

"That's the idea, Barton. You. Fuck. Me."

"Are you sure you weren't gay or bi before you caught the virus? I just can't imagine somebody changing their entire personality so quickly like you have."

"Well, I did what I had to do to survive. Isn't okay if I learned to enjoy it a bit so enduring it wouldn't be so awful."

"You're enjoying it a lot more than just a bit, Pea. You're becoming some kind of slut." 

There was no tone behind the word that time. Just the word itself. 

"It was either learn to enjoy it or do it and grow more and more depressed about the direction my new life was going. And I figured if I acted all depressed and mopey about it, there was no way I was going to do good enough to not get dropped in the river."

"I suppose."

"I know. I fucking lived it."

He shook his head at me and cut his eyes. 

"Or, if you don't want to fuck, you could eat my pussy again. I can never get enough of that."

"Me neither. But don't think I'm here for your pleasure."

"It's okay to me if you think I'm here for your pleasure though, even though you'll have to share me with every customer who wants to ram his dick inside my mouth or pussy." 

"That's why I said I'll never date a whore." 

I looked at the carpet. 

"Or one of J.W.'s enemies, and I'm still not sure where you stand on that."

I kept my eyes on the floor. 

"Besides, I can have all the pussy I want. I told you that before. J.W. likes to reward his men for a job well done."

"Well, then," I almost whispered. "Why not my pussy then? Why can't it be a reward?"

He ignored me. "Besides, you're a wild card. Get too close and I can become guilty by association. Don't forget why you're in the fucking situation in the first place."

My voice still soft and weak, I said, "Like I'll ever be allowed to forget that." 

I stood up. "I never fucking said I wanted to be a girlfriend. I don't want to fucking be a girlfriend. But why can't I at least be a piece of ass for you to enjoy? What's wrong with that?"

He stood up and walked to me. He grabbed my shoulders and held me so hard that I figured he'd leave fingerprints. "Because you want it too bad. And that makes me suspicious."

I didn't let up, not even in his vise grip hands. 

"So if I didn't want it, and you had to force me to fuck you or suck your cock, just rape me or whatever, that would be fine. Is that what you're saying?"

I got so riled up that I slapped him, actually fucking slapped his jaw. I immediately regretted it. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Barton. I didn't mean to do that. I just got so mad."

He said nothing. He didn't even bat an eye or twitch his lip. 

"I'm sorry. It won't ever happen again, Mr. Barton."

He let go of my shoulders. 

I stopped breathing, expecting the worst. 

He dropped his arms to his sides. 

"Mr. Bar--"

"Shut the fuck up. Don't say a single, god damn, mother-fucking word. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I said not a word."

I nodded silently. 

"Get dressed in something nice."

"Wha--" I started but stopped cold when I caught his glare. 

Then I nodded and walked to the closet. I pulled out a pink and black minidress with a corset top. I held it up for his approval but he said nothing, only walked back into his room through the open doorway. I slipped out of my yoga pants and Ratt t-shirt and I put on the dress. I even changed into a pink lace thong that matched. I decided on a pair of black, sheer stockings and stepped into a pair of pumps with a strap that fastened around the ankles. 

Then I went into the bathroom to fix my make-up and hair. 

When I returned to the room, Barton was waiting, sitting on the loveseat with his legs crossed. 

"May I speak, sir?" I asked. 

"No," he said, so I didn't ask him the question I was so scared to know the answer to. Where was he taking me?

He got up, walked to me, then grabbed me roughly by the arm and took me from the room and down the hallway to the elevator. I wondered if all the top floor was reserved for J.W.'s staff and 'guests.' 

We went down to the lobby, and Barton waved goodbye to the desk jockey without loosening his grip on my arm. He marched me to his car and opened the door then shoved me inside. 

I kept my trap shut as he got in and slammed his own door, then started up the engine and pulled into the road. He didn't say a fucking word as we drove for nearly a god damn hour and a half on the expressway out of town through traffic. 

Finally, he pulled into a little diner that looked like a 1950s malt shop. 

"Get out." 

I nodded, still keeping my fucking mouth locked tight. 

He motioned toward the front of the joint and took my arm, less roughly this time. He led me to the door, then we stopped. 

"If I wanted to fucking rape you, then I'd just do it. Hell, the boss would probably reward me for it now that you're fair game."

I nodded again 

"But I don't trust you, not by a long shot. And I know inside that stupid little slut brain of yours you're figuring out some way to eventually get free. And I will not, not ever, let you make me a part of that, either intentionally or just because I fall into stupidly."

I lowered my face but raised my eyes to look at him directly. 

"But I can't deny that I love having sex with you. And I love eating your pussy. And I love having you go down on me. I love it. Okay. You understand?"

I nodded. 

"But I don't love it enough to let your stuff whore ass get me killed by the only fucking boss who ever treated me fairly." 

He took my arm again. 

"C'mon." 

Inside the diner, it was mostly empty. Three booths had folks eating. Two strangers sat with four stools between them at the bar. A tiny, red-headed woman in her twenties told us to sit wherever and what did we want to drink."

"Sweet tea," Barton said. 

"And for the lady?"

"Well?" he said. 

"Oh," I said, surprised I was allowed to speak again. "Coke."

"You got it," said the woman and she scampered behind the bar to get the drinks and some menus.

"I'm going to buy this place," Barton said as we took the booth in the back corner. "One day, when I have the money, I'm going to buy this place."

I didn't respond. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to. 

"It's okay. You can talk," he said. 

"I'm really, really sorry I slapped you, Mr. Barton."

"We're not talking about that now," he said firmly. "That's over. I said what I have to say on it." 

"Yes, sir."

The lady returned and handed us each a menu. 

"Order what you like," Barton said flatly. He didn't sound like he wanted to kill me, but he didn't sound like he wanted to kiss and make up either. I figured the truth was something on the angry side of that sliding scale, and I didn't want to push it. "You look nice."

"Thank you, sir," I said. 

"When we're here, just call me Barton. That sir shit sounds weird."

"Yes, sir." I caught myself. "I mean, sure thing, Barton."

"Much better. Just two people eating dinner."

I ordered the country-fried steak with gravy and a salad. He got a ribeye and wild rice. When we were done, he pulled his legs up into his side of the booth and leaned against the wall. I crossed my wrists on the table in front of me, keeping my hands where he could see them.

"This place always relaxes me," he said. "My parents used to eat here all the time."

I said meekly, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I don't know. I guess it was something to do to keep me from hauling off and beating the shit out of you." 

"You could have, you know. J.W. wouldn't have said anything about it. I'm sure he would have believed I deserved it."

"I'm sure he would have." He took a long swallow of tea. "Listen, just because I don't want to see you get killed doesn't make us friends. And just because I think you're sexy doesn't make us friends. We're not friends, not even close. You're my job. And if that job has some sideline benefits, that's fine."

"As long as I don't want it too much."

"Don't be a smartass."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be. I really just want to understand."

"Yeah, then. As long as you don't want it too much. I mean. I know you're not in love with me or any dumb shit like that. So the only other option is that you want to seduce me and use me. And I'm not dumb enough to fall for that."

"What if all I want is the sex? What if it's not you after all? What if it's just the sex?"

"You get sex all the fucking time, no pun intended."

"But it's different with you. You take the time to enjoy it with me. You don't fuck me like I'm just a hole. You actually make me cum most of the time."

He smiled and then laughed. 

"C'mere," he said and motioned for me to join him on his side of the booth. I sat at the edge. "Closer," he said, and I scooted closer. He spread his legs and patted the booth between his knees. "Closer." I got the point and sat between his knees and leaned back against his chest. 

"This feels kind of like a date," I said before I could stop myself. 

"Consider this diner our neutral ground then," he said. 

And before I knew it his hand was inside under my dress and sliding between my panties and my freshly shaven pussy. 

"Mmm," I said. 

"Shush. Quiet unless want someone to hear and find out."

I shut up. 

Two fingers played with my labia while a third slid inside. Then the other two joined it and he stroked me with a steady motion. It was all I could do not to moan and give myself away, but he didn't relent. 

He stopped finger fucking me long enough to tease my clit, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"If you keep that up, I'm going to have an orgasm right here."

"Who's stopping you?"

"I don't think I can do that quietly."

"I don't think you can either. That's what makes this fun."

"You're mean."

He grinned and bit my earlobe softly. I felt his breath warm and moist inside my ear just as he pinched my clit. 

"Oooh," I said with a sort of high-pitched squeal.

I rested my hands on top of my dress, covering his motions so I could at least pretend to hide what he was doing.

Then he suddenly stopped and removed his fingers from inside me. 

"Get up."

I got up. So did he. 

I moved out of the way so he could exit the booth. He dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table. Then he took my hand, my hand, not my arm this time, and pulled me toward the door. 

"C'mon. Let's get out of here. 

Ten minutes later, I was fumbling with his belt as we leaned against the door to Room 14 of a hotel with hourly rates, kissing deeply. I no longer cared who heard me moan or pant. He fooled with the doorknob and when the door opened we both stumbled inside the room. We said nothing. Not with words. But we communicated perfectly. 

I kicked the door shut behind me and he guided me to the bed. I pushed him onto his back, hiked my dress up to my waist, and crawled onto his chest. I buried my cunt on his face and begged and pleaded with him to eat my pussy like a diner buffet -- my exact words -- and I arched my back to give him the best access I could. 

He was more than up to the task, and before ten minutes had gone by, I had howled my way through two body-rocking orgasms. 

Only then did I move and kiss my own taste from his lips and tongue before sliding down to the part of him I really wanted. I carefully positioned my eager cunt above his cock and I guided him inside me until I was flush with his balls. I sat there for several seconds and enjoyed the length and the feeling of him stretching me around his long, thin prick. 

I rode him slowly, savoring the depth of each stroke. 

"Oh, fuck," I said. 

"Fuck. Shit. Fuck," he said. 

"You feel so good inside me," I said. 

"Fuck," he said. 

I continued to ride him with slow, deliberate motions. I wanted him to last a long, long time. I rested my hands on his chest for balance and he returned the favor, grabbing my boobs and massaging them as I pumped him. 

"Oh, yes," I said. "I like that."

"Good," he said. "I like your tits."

"They like you too,"

"Fuck. Shit." 

I moved in such a way that his cock rubbed against my clit and I hit my third orgasm. I screamed out loudly, "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

I couldn't control myself any longer and I picked up the pace, bronco-ing his cock like the prize bull at the rodeo. He twitched inside me and soon spurted his jizz into my baby-making parts. Thank god he was shooting blanks. 

He softened inside me, and I fought to keep him inside as I lay down on his chest and kissed his nipples. 

"I love fucking you," I whispered against the curls on his chest. 

He said nothing, just lay still and breathed deeply. 

Then he lifted my face and pulled me to him, kissing me deeply again, our tongues hitting each other's grooves like well-trained partners. 

"I love fucking you," I moaned into the kiss.

"And your so god damn good at it," he said. 

Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

Just as I suspected, the upper floor was completely reserved for J.W.'s trysts and J.W. girls, but only the ones he needed to keep an eye on. That meant me, obviously, and six others. Four of them had been in his 'service' for several years, and three of those were so addicted to pills that whatever brain cells they had left were prioritized for dancing and sex. The other had been the daughter of a competitor who tried to have J.W. killed, only to have the assassin take J.W.'s better offer and cap the competitor instead. So, to add insult to murder, he took the dude's daughter and turned her into a dancing whore just like he had done to me. The two others were girls from somewhere that ended in a "-stan," and had been gifts to J.W. from a visiting customer who gave them away to get a better price for shipments on an ongoing basis. They had grown up in the life and at this point saw no one boss as different than any other. 

We were all watchdogged in one fashion or another, though none with an exclusive pit bull like I had. Whereas Barton was practically a roommate, the other girls had a one-guard-to-three-woman ratio, but that worked out since either the drugs or their history had already made them docile and complacent. Even Rose, the competitor's daughter, had learned her new place in her new life. She had probably been through a lot of violence to get there, but it had stuck. She most likely fought against it harder than I had. 

I wasn't sure if it was because I had a greater drive to keep on breathing or if I was just too patient to let myself resist too much. 

Or maybe I was learning to just 'get used to it.'

God, I certainly hoped that wasn't it. 

I tried to get to know them, either striking up conversations in the bar, at the pool, or coming and going in the hallways, but outside of the two gifted girls, no one really opened up or wanted to make friends. The druggies made sense to me. They weren't anything other than empty shells anyway. But I really wanted to get to know Rose, since our situations were so similar. 

The other five girls who danced at the club, I had learned from Safaya and Amina during a shared trip to the washer and dryer facilities one afternoon, only danced and lived wherever they had before taking the job. They were the 'cover' story, payrolled dancers who knew about the whoring but didn't take part unless they wanted some extra cash from time to time. They had no idea the rest of us weren't the same, or if they did know, they didn't let on. I guess the lie that I had only stayed in the basement until my room could be made ready had either been enough to fool them or they just didn't care to get involved.

But the rest of us -- Rose, Safaya, Amina, and the druggies, Lulu, Marion, and Ginger -- were more prostitutes than dancers. The stage was just our billboard to advertise what we were truly selling. 

And, to be fair, my advertising was working better than I had expected, better than I had ever wanted it to. If I wasn't dancing, I was getting fucked now. Actual penetration was the preferred service to just a hand job -- very rare now -- or a blow job -- only about a quarter of the time. And just bump and grind private dances were practically non-existent, reserved for the girls who were special like me and my neighbors on the top floor of the hotel. 

After three months, I was raking in money for the club and was at the bottom of the top-tier earners, having left the middle behind and standing head and shoulders above the regular girl, thanks to the other, more expensive services I had no choice but to offer. 

Many of my customers had become regulars, particularly Gerald, who had been the first client to partake of my pussy when Tina took off my training wheels and let the clients know I was available. Mr. Metallica, whose name was Tom, had started to pay for private time, along with Fat Guy, a graphic designer named Howie, who always chose to fuck me in the ass, though thankfully he had a little prick that didn't hurt no matter how hard he pumped. Then there was Mr. Greerson, who requested that I call him Daddy while he fucked me, and Craig Roman, who was a trust fund bro and loved to tip higher if I encored the fuck with a blow job to clean him off -- that he paid for, of course, no freebies, I remembered. They were the regulars. But my dance card was always full, whether regulars or newbs. 

As I had been a very good girl, I hadn't encountered Nasty Barton in several weeks. All was smooth sailing with Nice Barton. It was no secret that he 'forced' me to go down on him or open my legs so he could enjoy the taste of my pussy. Nor was it unknown that he would fuck me every now and then, but it was always something that he would do from a position of control and a way of reinforcing my slavery to J.W., never something we mutually enjoyed. 

At least not publicly. But we knew the truth. We fit sexually like we were made for each other. And he took care of my new body's needs in ways that my clients either didn't or couldn't. 

Of course, he was always fucking other girls as well, some of the ones from the club and others he met while living his life and doing his errands for J.W. Neither of us could remotely be exclusive with each other. Besides, I wasn't sure he wanted that anyway. I didn't care. My body enjoyed his attention and with my job, my pussy, mouth, and ass for up for public use daily. 

I had been taken by J.W. to his 'fuck suite' twice more, and bent over the couch to be taken from behind again, once in the ass, then quickly dismissed and sent back to my room without so much as a goodbye. He hadn't grown any thinner and his girth still felt pretty damn good, but he fucked like a stud dog just wanting to cum rather than having a single care for my enjoyment during the exchange. 

It was the night after my third time with J.W. that Barton knocked on the door between us gently before entering.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "I guess I have to be, don't I?"

"Well, yeah. But are you?"

"I'll be sore. He's got a fat dick, but whatever he has in width he lacks in length. It's like being fucked by half a can of soup."

Barton laughed. "Never let him hear you say that."

"Hell no." 

He took a seat beside me on the edge of the bed. I rested my head on his shoulder. 

"Is the door locked?" he said. 

"My side, yeah. Yours?"

He nodded. "Not that it matters. J.W. has a master key if he ever wanted to use it." 

I slipped my dress over my head and shoulders and sat in just my panties and pink stockings. I stretched onto my back. 

"You spend more time naked around me now than clothed," he said. 

"Nothing you ain't seen before. No sense in me being modest."

He laughed. "I guess."

He lay on his side next to me. His right hand gently caressed my breast. 

"That makes me feel much better," I said. 

"Then this you help even more."

He moved his hand to the top of my panties and let his mouth and tongue finish what his fingers had started on my boobs. Then he slid that hand under the silk and lace and sent two digits in to explore my lover's cave. 

"I think you are indeed correct, Mr. Barton."

"Just try to keep it quiet, and let me know if it starts to hurt, okay."

"You can hurt me anytime, boss," I said. 

"You keep saying that and I hope I never have to actually take you up on it." 

"And ruin the best fuck you ever had?"

"Yeah, and ruin the best fuck I ever had."

"But don't forget, you will if you have to. I know where I stand." 

He shrugged. "Doesn't mean I have to want it to happen. I'd much rather keep things the way they are." 

His finger strokes were gentle and slow and it felt more like a massage than what the kids called third base. I felt my tension release as he continued, and I welcomed the sensation of melting into a horny puddle. 

"Oooh," I said. "That's nice. Just like that, please." 

"Feel good?"

"Feels great."

He didn't even try to get me off. He seemed intent on just helping me relax after J.W.'s pounding. Before I got close to an orgasm, he stopped and sat up. 

"Feel better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

I continued to rest on the bed. I closed my eyes. Before I knew it I was asleep. 

I awoke in total darkness, still on top of the covers, still in my panties and stockings. 

I patted the bed, half hoping Barton was still lying beside me. But the bed was empty. I was alone. 

"Ugh," I said, then sighed loudly. 

"Looking for me?" Barton asked from the darkness. The lamp clicked on, and I noticed him sitting on the loveseat. "Everything okay?"

"Just curious. Wasn't sure how late it was." 

"A little after two A.M. You zonked right out."

"Why are you still here?"

"You want me to go?"

"Not at all." I sat up and peeled away my panties. Then I walked to him. "I want you inside me," I said. 

He nodded. "I wanted that too, but I didn't want to --"

"Look," I said, "I still feel bad about that rape crack back them."

He smiled and slid off the couch to his knees. Then he buried his face in my muff. His breath warmed me all the way through to my heart. Then his tongue brought the electrical tingling to my clit. 

"God, you taste so good," he said. 

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do." 

"But you'll still kill me."

"It's my job. Nothing personal." 

"Nothing personal," I repeated, then shut up to focus on the sensations in my pussy as he worked me with two fingers, all the while sucking on and nibbling my clit.

After a few minutes and came so hard my body threatened to slump onto his shoulders. He lifted me and carried me to the bed, then lay on my back on the covers again. In the light of the single bulb from the lamp, I watched our shadows on the wall mount and get mounted and I heard the woman's shadow moan softly while the man's shadow lifted its ass up and down to fuck her with a slow, steady motion. 

"Jesus, fuck," I said. 

He said nothing.

"Holy fucking fuck," I said. 

"Not so loud."

"Yes, sir, boss."

He rested his hands on my tits and played with my nipples. I kept oozing into a puddle beneath his touch. 

I watched the shadows enjoy each other as I felt his member maintain its steady rhythm in and out of me. I couldn't hold my voice in. I whimpered, whined, anything to avoid being loud. After all, I had learned that, at least when Barton was fucking me, I was something of a screamer. 

Eventually, he came inside me, and since I hadn't come yet a second time, he lay beside me, kissing my neck and face, sucking on my earlobes, all the while using his fingers to finish what his dick had started. 

It only took a few minutes before my second orgasm hit me, and I clenched his fingers as best I could down there and arched my back and sucked in a deep, long breath that I held for a full fifteen seconds before I relaxed enough to resume just being alive and aware again. 

"Thanks," I said. "I needed that."

"You're welcome," he said. "I wanted that too."

"I said I needed it. You said you wanted it. Not the same thing."

"Needed. Wanted. Who cares? It happened, and we both enjoyed it. They're just words."

"I suppose," I responded. I knew he didn't understand. Wouldn't understand. Even if he could. That would cross a fucking line he wouldn't let himself step over. 

"Hey?" he said, his voice a little higher, with a questioning lilt at the end of the word. "Would it make you feel better if I said I got a little jealous when J.W., you know..."

"Fucks me?"

"Yeah. Fuck you. I do. I don't think about it much with the clients at the club. That's your job I mean, like dancing with tits and your twat shaking around. But with him, I get jealous, because he's just doing you, you know, because he can and you don't have a choice."

"Aren't you sweet?"

"Shut up," he said. 

"Don't go all white night hero on me, Barton. You still might have to shoot me one day." I hoped he heard the joking in my tone. 

"And you know I will if it comes to that. But I don't know. It's not like I'd say shit to him or try to save you from him or anything like that, but it makes me feel bad, guilty, jealous, something. I don't know how to put it into words."

I sat up and kissed his cheek. 

"I understand." I smiled and kissed his lips this time. "And thank you." 

"I'll still shoot you," he said. 

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Mr. Barton," I said. 

We laughed. I was beginning to wonder if he still meant it after all. Not like he was falling in love or anything, but why waste a good, sure-thing, piece of ass that you connected with and enjoyed so well?

"Go back to sleep, Pea. You've got another busy day tomorrow."

I watched him leave the room, the door between mine and his wide open. I heard him rustle again and watched the light flick on in his bathroom and eventually flick off again, then heard the bed frame squeak as he climbed under the covers. I flipped off the lamp and crawled into my own bed, pulling the covers up tight to my chin, not caring that I was still wearing the stockings and not a damn thing more. 

He woke me up at seven-fifteen in the morning by jerking open the curtains. 

"What the actual fuck, Barton?" I half mumbled, half yelled.

"Get up. We're getting you some breakfast."

"I'll order in."

"The hell you will."

He tore the covers away and left me exposed in my stockings. "Nice sleepwear, Pea. Looks good on you." 

I reached for the covers but he kept them far enough away that I couldn't reach them. 

"C'mon. Rise and shine. Get your lazy ass in the shower. I want you ready to go in thirty minutes. That's an order."

"C'mon, Barton. I'm wiped."

"That's why you need a good meal. Today's going to be rough. Don't forget J.W.'s entertaining potential new partners tonight. Fuck it up and you might find your ass given away to some dude from overseas as a gift. You've got to be amazing tonight, the best you've ever been."

"Shit. That serious?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "You remember Sophia?"

I shook my head. "Of course you don't. She was here while that dumbfuck Pritchard you were then was on the run. She was someone from the streets of Detroit, a gift from one of the partners up that way. Only she never was able to get her shit together. Only Dante Abijawa took a liking to her, and J.W. up and gave her to him. It was better than keeping her around the club as a failure."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck. So even though you're doing well and getting J.W.'s approval, that doesn't mean that a fuck-up tonight couldn't spell disaster for you."

"And for you."

He shook his head. "I suppose. But I could always find another good-looking piece of ass." 

I got it and I got it quick as fuck. 

He sighed. 

I let my eyes fall to the floor.

"Listen," he said, "Don't worry about it. Just keep doing like you're doing, and I'm sure you'll be fine. Just be sure to be one hundred percent obedient and willing tonight whatever happens. It won't be easy or even fun necessarily, but if you keep impressing J.W., you'll be fine."

"Are you going to be there?"

"Not that I can get involved, but yeah. I'll be having the boss's back tonight. But I'm there for him, not you, so don't put any hope on me helping you out."

I nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry for even asking."

"It's okay." He nodded toward my bathroom. "Now go get a fucking shower."

"Wanna shower with me? Maybe wash my back."

"Hell no. Are you trying to get me killed?"

I sighed. "No. Of course not. I just..."

I let it slide. 

"No," I said. "You're right. I'm not your fucking girlfriend."

He grinned. "Maybe this weekend, okay. It might be nice. But not today. I don't want you distracted."

"Gotta be on my A-game, huh?"

"More than that. I can't speak for tonight, but I know what these meetings have looked like before. And it doesn't end with the potential partners just watching the dancers. Most likely, several of you girls will end up at a private party."

"Private party?"

"Private orgy where pretty much anything goes." 

"Anything? Like what?"

"Like any-fucking-thing you could imagine. That kind of anything."

"Oh."

"Now go get your fucking shower. I'm starving."

An hour and a half later we were at the diner again, the one he planned to purchase one day. The redhead wasn't there, but another waitress, a blonde in her fifties, met us and showed us to a booth near the door. It was the only choice left since the joint was so packed. 

"Coffee, honey?" she asked me.

I nodded. "Please." 

"And you, sweetie?" she said to Barton.

"Yep. Thanks." 

She excused herself and said she'd be back with the coffee and two menus. I moved from the side opposite and and sat next to Barton on his side instead. 

"What're --" 

"I need this. I feel like if I don't relax, I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack."

As I spoke, I dropped my hand into his lap and found my way inside his slacks. 

"Just don't make me cum. I don't have another pair of pants in the car."

I nodded. "Yes, sir, Mr. Barton, sir."

The server returned with the coffee and menus, but I didn't move my hand from its mission. That was far more important to me at the moment than food. It was the distraction my brain needed. 

"Two breakfast platters," he said. "Number three with bacon." The blonde smiled, wrote something on her pad, then took the menus and returned to the counter to call the order to the short-order cook in the back. 

I didn't stop playing with his cock until I felt him start to get twitchy in my grip. Reluctantly, I let go and zipped him up. There was a little bit of pre-cum on my fingers. 

"Want to go wash your hands?" he asked. 

I just ran my fingers across my lips and shook my head.

He smiled. 

"You're gonna be okay, Pea. I promise."

The server returned in a few minutes with our breakfast platter number threes. He ate in peace, but my heart was still banging against my chest like a horserace tormented the track. I wasn't so sure that I would be okay. I wasn't sure about that at all. 

Chapter Eight: The Gauntlet

At a little before eight that evening, J.W. entered the club with four folks I'd never seen before. Barton and Levitt flanked him, and he entered behind the four new guys. The two up front were Asian and wore impeccable suits with thin black ties and matching hairstyles. The third one looked to be Middle Eastern and was shorter than the other. The last was a tall, Texan-looking asshole in a bolo tie and black cowboy boots. I guessed he probably had a convertible Cadillac with steer's horns on the front in his garage back home. 

Tina had warned me to keep my private room schedule clear in case the boss needed me on the spur of the moment and to just wait tables between dances. I could always apologize to the regulars later, she said. I figured a night off from eight to ten fucks with strangers wouldn't be such a bad idea. 

The Texas asshole studied my tits while I served drinks to some dudes in the back. I quickly handed them the beers and then hauled my ass backstage to get ready for my time onstage. Rather than the schoolgirl get-up, I had been given a few other ideas to try, and over the past month, I had been a sexy cop, a goth Lolita, a dominatrix with a riding crop, and even a stereotype of a Native American. Tonight it was the gothic Lolita again, per J.W.'s command. 

I found the costume waiting for me in the dressing room. A black, ruffled micro-mini skirt. Thigh-high fishnets with a wide diamond pattern. Platform patent books with zippers. A crop-topped black corset. Fishnet opera gloves. And two huge black bows that held my hair into two childish pigtails. 

I mean, don't get me wrong. It was hot, and the guys loved it, but those fucking boots were uncomfortable as hell and the skirt itched because of the fluffy lining. 

I was ready in five minutes and waiting in the wings when the DJ, some new college kid who was a friend of the old guy, announced, "And now, put your hands together for a big Golden Globes welcome to your hometown favorite, Sweet Pea the Queen of Your Darkest Dreams!"

A remix of "Personal Jesus" cranked out of the speakers and I pranced my sexy Lolita ass out onto that stage as though my future depended on it. 

Because I totally fucking knew that it did. 

I smiled at J.W. and his companions. They all smiled back. That was a good start at least. This time I strutted the outside edges of the stage to tease the guys in front, and then I went straight to the pole. I had been practicing like crazy, and I had to admit working the pole was a lot of fun. Something athletic about it made me love it, and the clients loved to watch me grind against it after a good spin. 

I used every trick in my arsenal and my tips were off the charts with the full house. I had to turn down an overstuffed request list for the private room because of what Tina had told me, not that I minded a reprieve from being whored out. 

After the dance, I went back to serving drinks and appetizers and was all but ignored by J.W. and the folks hanging out with him. They sat at a table in the back, talking business I guess, and since it was in Rose's section, I didn't have a single god damn clue what was being discussed -- and hoping to hell it didn't include my name even once. 

My next dance was at nine. Then another at ten. Tips kept up and so did the meeting in the back section. 

It was close to ten-thirty when I saw Tina whispering with Barton and Levitt. When they finished, the boys went back to J.W. and Tina came over to me. 

"Pack up your shit. You're done for the night."

I almost fell to the ground. "I can do better. I promise. I thought I did a good job tonight. What did I do wrong?"

She shook her head. "Don't be stupid."

"I don't understand."

"You didn't do anything wrong. Just go put on something gorgeous and barely there, then meet me back at the bar in ten minutes.

"I..." I took a deep breath. It was better not to ask, I figured. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good girl." 

I returned in the same black dress J.W. had selected for my initial deflowering. I hoped he'd recognize it and that seeing it would please him. I could use every trick in the book to get through the night, not only alive but also not given away as an exotic gift to a foreign business associate to sweeten a deal. Not that I'd have a choice either way. 

And I couldn't really count on Barton for any help either. After all, like he said, he could always find a new hot piece of ass. We were just fuck buddies and that wasn't worth him dying over, no matter how well we fit together, as he reminded me often.

I chose a pair of spike-heeled low boots and black, seamed stockings, and a black lace thong to complete the outfit. I fixed my make-up in a smokey cat's-eye with grays and blues and glitter and bright red lips. Like it or not, I was looking pretty smokin' hot. I mean, I had to admit, I'd have done me without a second thought. 

I did catch Barton sneak a glance as I entered the main room once I had changed, but I only caught sight of him for a minute as he was following the boss outside with the rest of the entourage. I smiled at him, but it was too late. He was out the door. 

Rose, Marion, and Safaya were at the bar with Tina, waiting for me. Since they had already danced before I did, they had gotten ready first. Rose wore a black dress similar to mine that made her pale skin look even more Goth. But the black eyeliner and lipstick worked for her. It always made me look like a zombie. Marian had on a red corset and a white leather miniskirt with bare legs and rhinestoned, strappy sandals. Safaya wore a lavender sheath dress that showed off all her curves. She topped it off with nude stockings and a pair of patent "fuck me" heels. 

"Good. You're here," Tina said. 

One of J.W.'s guys, a goon I didn't know, stood beside her. He was tall and built like a walking mountain. I could tell he was the kind of guy who wasn't used to telling anyone to do something twice. "That the last one?" he asked.

Tina nodded.

"All right, girls. You follow Leon here and he'll take you to the party. I shouldn't have to remind you to be on your best behavior tonight and do everything --" As she spoke the word, she locked her eyes on Rose, then on me. "And I do mean everything you are told to do tonight." She took a sip from a glass in front of her. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," we all said, practically in unison. 

"Good. Go have fun."

"Or try to," I muttered under my breath.

"Something on your mind, Sweet Pea?"

"No, ma'am," say loud and quickly. "Just curious about tonight."

She grinned. "Oh yeah, this is your first party. Just relax and go with the flow. Be a good girl, an obedient girl, and everything will go just fine. But remember this isn't a night you want to risk fucking up."

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Let's go," Leon said, snatching Marion by the arm. She followed robotically and the rest of us fell right in line. 

He led us to a waiting limo outside. We got in and he climbed in last, taking a seat between Rose and Marion. Marion gave him a smile, but Rose looked at the floor. I nodded in acknowledgment that he was there. 

"Ready to party, girls?"  he asked as if it were just an everyday event for a weekend. 

Safaya nodded in deferment. 

"Don't mess this up. These gentlemen are important to the boss and his expansion plans. Understand?"

We all said, "Yes, sir," more or less in unison and the limo got dead quiet again except for the sound of the AC blowing and the tires on the road. 

About fifteen minutes later we pulled up to a high-rise hotel that wasn't one of the ones J.W. owned. We filed out of the limo and inside the swanky foyer and straight to the elevators. Leon must have seemed to be the coolest guy in the joint to be surrounded by four sexy babes. Or that image only reinforced the idea that we were hookers brought in for some party. Truth in advertising, I supposed. 

Leon pushed the button for the seventeenth floor and had to insert a keycard to get access. When the doors opened it all made sense. The floor looked to be one huge room with fountains and seating areas all over it, a bit like a fancy-ass restaurant without any tables. Two girls in black cocktail dresses and fishnets walked around serving drinks, and J.W. sat at a leather sofa with Levitt standing behind him and Barton standing nearby leaning against a marble column. There were at least twenty of the columns decorating the massive room. J.W.'s guests stood around drinking and sampling a smattering of the boss's drugs. 

When we entered, though, they immediately turned to greet us, grinning ear to ear. 

The dude from the Middle East marched to Safaya and took her hand. Without a word, he led her away around a corner. 

Both Asian guys approached Marion and, one on each side of her, guided her to a large open area near the far window. Even from the entryway, I could tell it had a gorgeous view of the city at night with all the lights shining over the bay. I figured the poor girl was about to get double-teamed. 

That left Rose and me for the Texan, who hadn't stepped toward us, but was instead still sampling some Coke. Rose motioned to me that we should probably get our asses over to him without waiting to be called. 

I followed, but J.W. stopped me and waved Rose on toward the Texan. 

"Good evening, sir," I said as sweetly as I could fake, and he smiled. 

"You did good tonight," he said. "Real good. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Mr. Wriggley, sir."

"And that's why I reserved you for the floor show tonight."

"The floor show?" I asked. "Do you want me to dance again?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes, but you'll see in a few minutes."

Then he walked me toward a tall woman with dyed black hair to her waist and a body full of colorful tattoos. Skeletons. Butterflies. Kanji. Tribals. She had no rhyme or reason for the patterns. Just a walking billboard of options one could choose. I half expected to see prices tattooed beside the images to complete the look. 

"This is Jessica," J.W. said. 

I nodded and stuck out my hand. "Hi, Jessica. Nice to meet you."

She shook my hand and let go. "Yeah, you too, kid."

Kid. I almost laughed. She was only in her mid-thirties if she was a day. But, I reminded myself -- my new body was a lot younger than I had been so many months ago when Mr. Pritchard existed -- before Sweet Pea became one of J.W.'s dancing whores. 

"Are you --" I started but J.W. cut me off.

"No. She's not. Not anymore."

Both he and she must have seen the confusion in my eyes, but neither responded to the question it so clearly asked. Tonight wasn't a nice for answers. It was a night for a floor show, whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. 

"Come with me, kid," Jessica said and took my hand as gently and sweetly as if I were the princess in a fairy tale. Only, she didn't lead me to a handsome prince or even a beautiful princess. Instead, I saw a large X-frame with leather cuffs at the utmost edges and a wide belt that hung loose in the middle with the two beams intersected. 

"The floor show?" I asked.

She nodded, not letting go of my hand.

"Oh," I said. "And S and M thing?"

She shook her head. "Not really. It's more for show than pain. Besides, the last thing the boss wants is to hurt his girls, at least the ones he plans to keep."

I could only assume the word "keep" meant good news for me and that I wouldn't be traveling to another country as a gift at the end of the night.

"Time to get naked," Jessica told me as she helped me out of my dress. I started to remove my panties and stockings but she shook her head and told me not to worry about those. They were fine just as they were. 

The cold air in the room made my sensitive nipples stand out despite my learned 'comfort' at being naked in front of so many strangers. 

"Step up," she said and she helped me rest my back against the giant, wooden X. "Up," she said, motioning for me to raise my arms and she gently fastened them in place above me and cinched the leather straps tightly on my wrists. Then she parted my legs and did the same with my ankles. As a final bit of entrapment, she locked the wide strap across my waist and pulled it tight enough to keep me from moving around on the frame. 

Whatever this floor show was, I was stuck, completely at the mercy of Jessica, J.W., and his new partners and whatever weird-ass shit they might have planned for me.

But whatever, I was getting used to it. No longer being the master of my own body was my life now, like it or not, and as long as I realized that and understood it I could stay alive and healthy, all things considered. It might be the life of a kept whore, but it was life regardless, and it was a far sight better than being tied to a cinderblock in the river. 

"Comfy?" Jessica asked.

"For now?" I responded. 

She smiled, then grinned. "You'll be fine."

"Hope so."

Then she left me alone on the X-frame, and for the next thirty minutes, I was on display and fondled by anyone who wanted to feel me up. All except J.W. and Barton, although Levitt did come by to pinch my tits and tell me how much he was looking forward to 'this' -- whatever 'this' was. 

I told him "Thank you, sir," before I realized the damn words had come out of my mouth and it was too late to take them back from the asshole. I wanted more than anything for Barton to visit so I could ask him about the floor show, but, of course, he stayed no more than four steps away from J.W. all night and kept his fucking mouth shut. As much as he talked about being a good soldier for the boss, it wasn't just words. He lived that shit every day. It made me rethink whether or not he'd be willing to kill me after all if commanded to. At least maybe he'd regret it afterward. Maybe that was the best I could hope for with a loyal lieutenant like Barton. Maybe some lesser goon like Levitt would have been a better target, but someone like that wouldn't be the kind of lover Barton was. 

God damn new female brain. God damn new female neurology. God damn new female instincts. 

I had read online -- well, after J.W. had approved limited outside access for me in one of his biggest displays of trust since capturing me -- that GV girls were often manipulated by their own thoughts and ideals from their time before the transformation. The article had been written by somebody a hell of a lot smarter than me with more alphabet soup after their name than anyone I knew, and it had been backed up by doctors and researchers from all over the world, not just American virus researchers. Anyway, the gist of the theory was that the established patterns and prejudices of the person changing genders were key factors in determining the personality of the new person he or she transformed into. Women who favored sensitive men tended to transform into sensitive men. Women who liked bad boys tended to transform into men who easily took on that role without much prompting. On the other hand, men who had presumptions that women were primarily around must for sexual conquest and should defer to men as the stronger, dominant sex tended to have those same attributes once they transformed into women. Many an asshole who treated women like little more than property or holes to stick their dicks in ended up becoming the kind of woman who could easily be kept as little more than property and readily available for an asshole to stick his dick into. 

That made as much sense as anything I could have thought up. I wasn't a total asshole, but I had been the kind of guy who was attracted to women who knew their place, but not in a punching bag kind of way. So I ended up the kind of young woman who got used to my place pretty quickly and without too much fuss, even though I wasn't fond of the harsher treatment I had received at the beginning. Hence my almost immediate acquiescence to my new life and my 'attraction' to Barton as a potential protector.

Still, knowing that and acknowledging it still didn't mean I had to like it. But I  knew had little choice but to accept it. I wasn't the type of person to come up with a plan to risk my life to get away from the new life. It was easier to accept it and learn to enjoy it the best I could. 

I hated myself for knowing that, but I hated even more the idea of getting beaten on a daily basis just because I was a "hard-to-train bitch." 

Actual words I had overheard J.W. tell Tina. Words I took to heart. Words that shaped the new me. 

I wondered if I might still be as docile if Barton were the one coming up with a plan to save me and set me free. I wondered if I might be willing to take a bigger risk if he was willing to divide the risk on my behalf. Would his strength make me stronger?

And I hated myself for being sure of the answer to that one too. 

Fuck. 

I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed that J.W., Barton, Levitt, the Asian partners, the Middle-Eastern guy, the Texan, the girls, and Jessica had taken places in front of me. The girls remained with their 'partners' for the evening, getting groped and fondled without complaints. Barton gave me an almost imperceptible nod, but it was enough for me to notice, and I appreciated it. Any small comfort, I figured. 

Jessica wheeled a cart toward me, and I flinched against the bondage but found I couldn't move more than an inch or two of wigglings side to side. 

"This is going to hurt, but it's going to look incredible," she said. "I offered J.W. the opportunity to let me numb you, but he said he'd rather let you fully experience it. Sorry."

I nodded. Just an acknowledgement, not permission. Permission was an autonomy I no longer possessed. 

"But first, he wanted more piercings for your ears."

I had endured Tina piercing both my ears so I could dangle huge hoops on stage since the regulars preferred those on the girls, preferably with shining gems that caught the light and made sparkles all over the stage floor. But that was it. 

Jessica got the piercing gun and quickly snapped a new hole just above the existing one in my right ear. Then I felt something jammed into the new hole and fastened. Then she did my left ear in the same place. After that, she smiled and told me they were beautiful, not real diamonds, but no one would know without taking them to a jeweler to appraise. 

I gritted my teeth. If the ears were the 'but first,' I dreaded what might follow them. 

She returned to my right ear and this time aimed her piercing gun against the top of the ear, roughly the two o'clock spot on a clock. Snap! I winced but held my tongue and didn't scream out. But I did feel tears gather in the corners of both eyes, hopefully just from squinting so hard. 

Jessica put the gun back on top of the tray and held up a mirror for me to take in my new adornments. Just above the hoops I had put on earlier, there were also two sparkling white gems that did shine remarkably like diamonds. And on the top of my right ear hung a smaller gold hoop with a matching faux diamond attached to the middle of the ring. 

I let out a deep breath and only then realized I'd been holding it in. 

Jessica smiled and retrieved a moist towelette to dab the spots where I was still bleeding. 

"You okay?" she asked. 

I nodded. 

"Are you okay, Sweet Pea?" she asked more adamantly. 

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Jessica," I said. 

She grinned. "Just Jessica is fine."

I nodded again. She let it go at that. 

"Ready for more?"

"More?"

"Yeah."

Then, without another word, she cleaned the point on the gun and shoved it next to the right side of my nostril. 

My eyes went wide. 

Snap! The needle drove through my tender skin and I cried out with a tiny but sincere yelp. I saw J.W. smile and nod as I did. He was enjoying himself. 

When the mirror returned, I had a faux diamond on the side of my nose to match the three on my ears. 

I fell into a sort of there-but-not-there headspace and when I returned to full awareness, I also had a silver ball on my tongue and another gem in my navel. 

"And now for the main event," Jessica said as she put down the gun and replaced it with a long needle. In her other hand, she held a tiny barbell with a diamond-like gem on each end.

"Oh shit," I said weakly, figuring out immediately where the new piercing would go. 

"This will hurt a little, but it will pass in a few minutes. The better you can be still, the sooner we can be done." 

I nodded again and clamped my jaw shut. I would not give J.W. the satisfaction of my pain. 

Then Jessica slowly poked the needle through my left nipple. Despite my resolve, I howled like a fucking banshee. The pain was intense. But of course, it would have been. After all, I had felt the pleasure that came from all the nerve centers that gathered there during my nights with clients and even moreso my nights with Barton, who had a great affection for my tits and hearing me moan as he so masterfully teased them. 

If they could feel that much pleasure, then it only made sense they could also feel amazing levels of pain. 

I didn't see J.W. smile that time. I couldn't see a damn thing through my tightly shut eyes. The tears fell freely, and I didn't give a fuck who saw them. 

"Hang in there, sweetie," Jessica said. "We're almost done." 

She pushed the barbell through and closed it, but I didn't care to watch. Instead, I tried to gather my resolve to face the next piercing with greater courage.

Of course, I failed that too, and my tears and cries arrived to thunderous applause as Jessica slipped the bejeweled barbell through my right nipple too. She stepped aside to let my audience witness the decorated work of living art she had made me. 

"Don't touch her, please," she said as the men came forward to inspect my new piercings. "She's going to be very sore and very sensitive." 

The men didn't like that much, but with the exception of the Texan, they followed her recommendation. He, of course, couldn't be bothered to follow the rules, and he pinched each nipple and told me how much he would love to see the same thing happen to my clit. I shuddered as he spoke, but Jessica's quick headshake set my fears at ease. 

Then he slipped his arm over Rose's shoulder and dragged her off to one of the couches out of my field of vision. 

"Shit," I said faintly. 

"I know. Normally I like to numb the area first, but..."

"Yeah, J.W." I took a deep breath. "At least we're done."

Jessica gave me a slightly sad look. 

"Not done?" I asked. 

"Sorry, sweetie." 

She opened a tray beneath the piercing tools, and I saw a tattoo pen. 

Oh shit, I thought. She's also going to put a new tattoo on me. I already had two, both from when I had been Pritchard. An eagle holding a heart on my right arm from my time in the Army and a dragon with the Kanji for 'power' just below my left shoulder on my back. Both had remained when my DNA rewrote itself to turn me into Sweet Pea. 

I couldn't even imagine what new design J.W. might have dreamed up for me. Maybe his name. Maybe the word slut. Maybe a foreign word for whore. Maybe even a Geisha. Those all seemed to be his style. 

"Where is that gonna go?" I asked. 

She rubbed her fingers across the almost flat expanse of my stomach just to the left of my freshly pierced navel. 

The new partners left after a few minutes to find a place to fuck the girls. Only J.W., Barton, and Levitt remained to watch the last bit of adornment for the night. 

"Consider this your mark of protection," she said as she turned on the pen. 

Almost two hours later, I was exhausted. 

The 'mark of protection' was a four-inch colorful image of an open stiletto knife. I'd seen it on other girls in J.W.'s stable of whores. Perhaps 'mark of ownership' was a better way to describe it. But, at least for the time being, it meant that he had no plans to get rid of me. My playing along and being a good girl had earned me a regular place in his 'employment' and I had at least a temporary reprieve as long as I kept it up. 

Chapter Nine: Recovery

That night, after Leon took us back to the hotel, Barton was waiting for me in the lobby drinking a short glass of whiskey. He saw me before I noticed him, and he motioned me over. Without a second thought, and despite how tired I was -- and still sore, particularly my nipples -- I went directly to him. 

"Have a seat. I'm sure you're wiped out."

I nodded.

"Can I have a sip?" I asked, glancing at his glass. 

He handed it to me and I took a long swig.

"Want one of your own?" he asked. 

"I'll just enjoy yours," I said, trying to push a laugh to the surface. 

He snapped his fingers, and in a minute, the bartender walked over with a fresh drink. 

"Go ahead. Finish that one."

"Thanks." 

We drank in silence for a minute. When I downed the last sip, I set the empty glass on the little round table in front of us. The bartender returned and refilled it.

"Thanks," I said, then downed the fresh drink in one long draw.

"Careful," Barton said.

"I'm good. I have tomorrow off anyway, so I plan to sleep until I come back to life." 

"Oh, so you're dead now? Like a zombie or a vampire or some shit like that?"

"Might as well be. My titties and my tummy hurt like hell, and my back is all out of sorts from hanging on the damn frame all night." 

"I bet." He took a sip from his glass and then held it in the space between us. "I guess you need a break tonight." 

"Oh?" I asked. "Already wanting to put my new tongue piercing to good use, is that it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no, but nah. I just meant I figured you needed to rest." 

"Probably for the best," I said. Then I scooted over on the bench seat next to him. "Did I do good tonight, Barton? Was I a good girl?"

He laughed. "Yeah, Pea. You did great. You were a very good girl." 

I lay my head on his shoulder. "Is this okay? I'm so fucking tired."

"Just this once, okay."

I relaxed against him and placed one hand on his chest to help my balance. 

"I'm just gonna close my eyes for a minute, okay?"

The next thing I knew I was in my bed with the sun shining in through the narrow crack between the blue curtains. Barton must have heard me stirring because he was suddenly in the doorway between rooms and approaching me with a cup of coffee and a bottle of Motrin. 

"Still sore?" he asked.

"As a mother fucker." I sat up and pushed my back against the headboard. "It's almost like some sort of sadist pushed needles through my nipples and then stabbed me over and over again with a tiny dart covered with dye."

"Well, when you put it that way."

I took the coffee and had a sip. "Hot." 

"Yeah, it tastes best that way."

"Smartass."

"How many?" he asked as he opened the Motrin.

"Seventeen. Yeah, seventeen sounds fantastic."

He dumped three into his palm. "Here, let's start with three."

"Thanks," I said and took the pills from him then popped them into my mouth one at a time and had another sip between each one to swallow them individually. "Hey?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you bring me up to the room last night?"

"Yep. Like a sack of potatoes. Just threw you over my  shoulder for everyone to see."

"Thanks."

"Well, you weren't in any condition to walk."

"It was a hell of an evening."

"I bet." He left the room for a moment then returned with a mug of his own. "Sorry I couldn't warn you about that. J.W. wanted it all to be a surprise. He wanted to gauge your reactions and if you'd become trouble. Think of it like a sort of last test."

"Especially since he's got his mark on me permanently now."

"Well, like I'm sure Jessica told you too, that tattoo also protects you as one of his girls. Folks will back the fuck off if they know they have to answer to him for anything that happens to you."

"Unless he is the thing that happens to me."

"That's just part of the deal, Pea. You know that already."

I nodded.

I realized suddenly that I wasn't naked. Someone, Barton I assumed, had dressed me in a pair of blue panties and a dark green sports bra.

"Umm," I said as I motioned to the clothes.

"Cindy's recommendation. She had hers pierced years ago. Says without something covering them everything they rub against hurts like hell for about two weeks. After that, you can go back to ditching the bra like normal, she says."

"Oh," I said, not sure of what I could add to the comment anyway. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and placed the coffee mug on the floor. 

"Seriously, thanks for being there last night. I know we didn't say shit to each other, but I'm glad you were there."

He grinned. 

"Gotta take care of your favorite piece of ass, right?"

"Something like that."

"But you'll still shoot me if you have to."

"Absolutely."

"Hey, Barton?"

"Yeah, sup?"

"Can we do breakfast this morning? At that place you like, I mean?"

"Sure. Any reason why?"

I paused a moment. He noticed.

"It's not a date," he said. "You know it can't be a date."

I nodded. "I know. But I guess I feel like a person there, not a whore. It's a nice break, you know."

He laughed. "But you are a whore. You're J.W.'s whore."

"I know that, and you know that, but nobody else there knows that. Anywhere around here, everybody knows that."

"Ever think that was part of your punishment?"

"Oh," I said, and I winced as I felt a stab of pain in my nipple as I shifted in bed, "I know damn well that's part of it. But even a moment to breathe like just a normal person is okay as long as my guard dog is still chained to me, right?"

"Pretty sure you're the one on the chain, Pea."

"Pretty sure you're right," I said. "Are you calling me a bitch, Barton?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't." 

I sighed. Sure, he was developing feelings for me, but none that I could manipulate farther than getting sex and a little protection out of him. Nothing that could help me escape J.W.'s fate for me or even escape the confining feelings of J.W.'s methodical humiliation and degradation of me. No. I was in for the long haul, regardless of how much Barton wanted me. He wanted to stay alive more. And he and I both knew that when it came time to choose, he'd choose the boss not the babe. 

"Forget I asked," I said. "I can just call room service."

"I didn't say no, Pea. Don't get your nipples in a twist."

"Oh?"

"I just said it's not a date and you're still the boss's property. No getting around that, and I don't want you to be disappointed."

"Look in the mirror and say that, big boy." I immediately regretted letting the words slip out. His expression changed to introspection and then quickly to anger. Then he dropped it and made his smile go flat.

"Maybe tomorrow instead. Order room service today."

Then he returned to his room and left the door cracked between us. I heard his TV turn on to the sound of the news. 

After my shower, I slipped into a pair of tight, white shorts and a pink cami top -- keeping the sports bra for my sensitive nippples. After gathering my courage for a few moments, I knocked on the door. 

"Yeah?" he said.

"Mind if I come in?"

His TV clicked off and I heard his footsteps approaching. 

"I'll come over," he said.

I grunted something that I hoped sounded like uh-huh.

In a few seconds, he opened the door and stood over me.

"What? Need something?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I made it weird. I know I'm just a stripper and J.W.'s cheap whore, and I know you're only here to made sure I don't get out of line or try to escape."

"Yeah?" It didn't sound like he was questioning anything I had said, just wondering if anything was coming after it.

"So if you need to punish me for that, I'll understand."

He smirked, then laughed slightly. 

"I mean it." 

"I know you do." He grunted. "But what do you really want? You didn't knock on the door to tell me to hurt you."

I looked up into his gaze. The only way this apology would work was with direct eye contact. I dropped to my knees on the carpet and fumbled with his belt. 

"I believe I offered you a test of the new tongue piercing last night and you said you'd like that."

"You did."

"And well, I'm an honest whore, and I keep my promises."

"I see."

I fished his cock out of his jeans and boxers, and it was already stiff just from the thought of me taking him between my lips. Thanks to the virus, I had learned to appreciate the feel of a man's dick in my mouth. Sweaty or freshly clean, I no longer cared. I didn't look forward to it, well, not with just anyone, but I didn't shy away or feel repulsed anymore either. 

"You don't have to," he said. "I know you're still sore from last night."

I shook my head. "If I'm just a whore, then I'm going to have to learn to apologize like a whore. I don't want you to think I have the wrong idea or I'm trying to be something I'm not."

But as I leaned in to wrap my lips around him, he pushed me away. 

"Barton?" I asked, genuinely confused. 

"Get your shoes on. I'm taking you to breakfast."

"I..."

"No questions. Just do as you're told." 

I stood up and looked at the floor. "Yes, sir, Mr. Barton."

"Good girl," he said. 

An hour later we were at the diner I'd originally asked about. I was halfway through a ham and cheese omelet while he was shoveling cheese grits into his maw as fast as he could swallow. Between chews, I told him, "Thank you, Mr. Barton."

He nodded, took another bite of grits and otherwise ignored me.

I knew better than to push it. 

Afterward, I refused to let him drive me home with the only power at my disposal. 

Before he could start the car, I lay my face in his lap and told him I intended to damn well finish my apology. Then I fished his manhood out of his pants and went to town on it until he I had taken all he had to give and then kept at it until he couldn't keep it up any longer. Only then did I ask him if he'd drive me back to the hotel. 

I was resting, hopped up on Motrin again that evening when I heard him yell "Fuck!" through the doorway. Then, "Fuck! Fuck! Fucking fuck!"

Even in my drowzy and pained state, I got up and walked to the door to ask him if everything was okay. 

"That fucking bastard!" he said, not looking at me.

"What's wrong, Barton?" I asked. 

"Fucking Levitt."

"What about him?" 

"He's doing a special job for J.W. and he requested you as his bonus for it."

 "Bonus?"

 "Yeah, when we have to do something that might get us hurt or killed, like a hit or something, the boss lets us claim a favor as a kind of possible last request."

"Oh. Okay." 

"He's coming for you next week."

"Oh?" 

"Like 'for you' for you. As a whore, not as a fourth for cards, Pea."

"Shit."

I had managed to avoid any of J.W.'s men other than Barton no matter how often I'd been sold, or at least rented, to clients at the Golden Globes. And I especially have no interest in servicing that asshole Levitt. 

"Fucking A!" Barton said. 

"Why?" It was all I could think to ask.

"He's going off on a special job. The kind that gets special pay. The favor he asked for was you. He specifically wanted a night with you."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit. And there's not a damn thing either you or I can do about it except let it happen. It's gonna be rough -- that's just the way Levitt is -- but you're gonna have to be brave and submissive and do every fucking thing he demands of you. J.W.'s orders."

"Shit," I said.

Barton nodded. 

"Just another test, I suppose. That's how I'll have to think of it." 

"Test my ass," Barton said. "This is just Levitt being Levitt. He's been wanting to fuck you since before we caught you. It was practically all he could talk about on the way to the bar to pick your ass up that day."

I sighed. 

Deeply.

Chapter Ten: Reunion with Levitt

Rose and Ginger came over to help me get ready, since they had already been a guest of Levitt and knew his preferences. As such, they made me up in heavy blush and lots of blue eye shadow with lashes that were annoyingly long. The outfit they had selected included a black strappy rayon top, a denim micro-miniskirt with fringe, black fishness, and red 'fuck me' stilleto pumps. And the biggest gold hoops I'd worn yet in my ears. 

"I look like I put the trash in white trash," I said. 

"He has a type," said Rose.

"I'll say."

Ginger didn't say much, just kind of mumbled a bit and smiled weakly as she adjusted my top to reveal more cleavage. 

"This isn't going to be fun, is it?" I asked. 

Ginger looked away. 

Rose shook her head. "Sorry. No, it's not, but when you get back, come see me. I've got just the stuff to cover up the bruises for when you dance."

"What the fuck?!" I yelped. "Bruises?"

She nodded. 

I looked to where Barton was in the corner. He just looked away when he caught me staring. 

"Bruises?" I repeated.

"Yeah. He likes to get rough. Not so rough he gets in trouble with the boss, but as rough as he can get away with."

"Shit."

"Yeah. So be careful and just do everything he tells you to. Don't give him any reason to be angry or feel like you've insulted him as a man."

"Shit," I said again.

"Right," Rose said. 

This time, Ginger nodded and showed me a scar on her leg where it looked like someone had put out a cigarette on her upper thigh.

"Levitt do that?" I asked. 

She nodded. "And worse," she all but whispered. 

"He's the reason she's broken," Rose said quietly, cupping her hand to keep Ginger from hearing. "He really did a number on her when she smirked at how small he was."

"Down there?"

"Yeah. So be prepared. Don't let him notice you when you see it. Just remember it's the best and the biggest you've ever seen, and you'll get through the night mostly okay."

"Can't say I like the way that sounds."

"None of us do, but that's why he volunteers for the risky shit from the boss. That way he gets special favors, and he always picks the one girl he wants to either punish or put in her place."

I slumped and sucked in a mournful breath. "And tonight that's me."

Ginger and Rose nodded. 

Then Ginger practically leaped at me and hugged me as if we'd never see each other again. "Go limp," she whispered. "Whatever he wants, be a doll, not even a whore."

Then she let go, and I could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 

I became aware of a sudden silence and realized Barton had moved and was standing between the rooms. Rose and Ginger excused themselves quickly after gathering their make-up and brushes and puffs. 

"Sorry to interrupt," he said at last.

"Interrupt anytime. I'm a caged bird. Want to hear me sing?"

He grinned. 

"It is a test," he said.

"I figured."

He shook his head.

"Not for you. For me. I think J.W. is getting word about me choosing you more often than other girls." 

"Oh?"

"And since he knows about Levitt's tendencies, he wants to see how I'll react."

"Oh."

"That means I can't do shit to help you out. I can't even open my fucking mouth to have an opinion about it. Whatever shit Levitt does or wants to do, you're gonna be on your own, Pea."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He gave me a sad glance that spoke volumes.

"You're gonna have to be."

A text chimed on my burner phone saying Levitt was downstairs and to get my ass in gear because he wasn't used to waiting on bitches and cunts -- his words. Barton nodded goodbye and returned to his side of the adjoining rooms. A second text popped up telling me he was already getting tired of waiting. 

Bastard, I thought. 

He nodded like a hungry dog when he saw me walk to join him in the lobby, obviously approving my look. Rose and Ginger had chosen wisely. Street-walking slut for pay was apparently his type after all, and damn did I look the part. 

He didn't speak, but he grabbed my arm just above my elbow and pulled me to the door. I was dragged to his waiting car, a souped-up Mustang -- red, of course -- and he opened the driver door only and made me lean over and crawl across the gear shift to take a seat on the passenger side. He even giggled as my ass was presented for his amusement while I worked my way there. 

"Nice ass," he said and smacked it before I could reach the seat. I said nothing, not wanting to either encourage more attention or convince him I was getting mouthy. Quietly submissive was going to be my M.O.

I was still fastening my seatbelt when he peeled out of the hotel's parking lot and whipped the muscle car into the street. He kept only one hand on the wheel, no matter the speed, and pretty much locked the other on my thigh with a consistent grip. Every few moments, he grunted a sound that seemed to be a way of appreciating my legs in the fishnets. 

Barely twenty minutes later, we pulled into the front lot of a casino called "Dirt Cheap Slots." He parked across two spaces, then opened his door and made me crawl back out over the shift again. 

"Door got fucked up in a fender bender," he said, and I figured for a moment an apology might accompany the explanation, but I was disappointed. "I like the way your tits hang loose when you crawl to me facing me like that. Nice."

I faked a smile. "Yes, sir, Mr. Levitt."

"Oh, fuck no. That Mr. this and Mr. that shit might fly with Barton and the boss, but when a bitch is out with me, she called me Daddy. Got it, cunt?"

"Yes, Daddy."

He grinned. "I like the way that sounds out of your mouth, Sweet Pea."

I just bet he did. Personally, I'd have preferred to each day-old puke.

He clapped his hands, making a loud popping sound. "Well, slut, let's go gamble."

"Yes, Daddy," I repeated, trying it on for size again. Nope. I'd still prefer the vomit. 

"Here's how tonight is going to go, whore. You're gonna be my arm candy and my good luck charm while I shoot some craps and play some Blackjack. You bring me good luck tonight, and we will have an enjoyable night afterward. You bring me bad luck and I'll have an enjoyable night afterward. Comprendo?"

I wanted to correct his Spanish, to tell him he meant "Comprendes" or "Comprende," but I also didn't want my jaw slapped off my face, so I kept my trap shut. 

"Yes, sir, Daddy."

"Good. Then let's go."

Only thirty minutes into the games and he was already down 600 dollars. By an hour, he was in for a little more than a thousand. By the time we left two hours later, he was out for almost two grand. 

In other words, I was screwed. Apparently, when it came to being a good luck charm, I wasn't much to speak of, regardless of how fucking cute I was as a piece of ass for him to use as arm candy.

He cussed and fussed to himself and grabbed my arm to drag me back to the front of the casino and back out to his car. 

"As me how much I lost, slut?"

"How much did you lose, Daddy?"

"Two grand. You sure ain't shit for luck."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"That just means I need to take that two grand outta your ass tonight."

"Oh?" I asked, beginning to feel genuinely worried about what he might do. 

He huffed and puffed and growled all the way to the car, then shoved me inside -- over the shift again -- and sped off toward someplace in what seemed to be a bad, dangerous even, neighborhood.

He squealed onto the grass and parked the Mustang in the front yard.

"Get the fuck out, whore," he said, and I did as I was told. 

There was a single hanging bulb on the tiny front porch, but that was the only light for the property. Not even streetlights. No telling what kind of shit could happen to me in that situation. I wished I could have called Barton. Sure, he would choose the boss over me, but he would at least keep me safe as long as that choice wasn't on the table. 

Levitt, on the other hand, I didn't know what he might do. He already hated me and for all I knew was still pissed at Barton for shutting him down regarding using me on the day they caught me back then. If he wanted to get back at Barton, well, I was the perfect target to abuse, and he knew it as well as I did. 

He snatched my wrist and jerked me toward the little house. It seemed more drug den than a place to live. He unlocked the door and when he opened it, I was shocked to see it was actually cute and clean inside. Not fancy, but not like a camp for the homeless or a side room to a meth lab. He slammed the door behind me, locked the deadbolt with a key so I was trapped inside, and motioned for me to follow him to the hallway. 

"Get naked," he ordered.

"Here?"

"Fuck yeah, here. You think you're too damn good to strip in the hallway so I can see your god damn titties? Well, you're fucking not, so get your ass naked."

The walls were painted and clean, but there weren't any photos on the wall, so I assumed, this was the kind of place Levitt kept to bring his conquests, not the kind of place he lived in. And as his latest conquest -- not that I had the privilege of actually fighting back -- I was just the next piece of pussy in a long line to visit the place. 

I was stepping out of my panties when he got tired of waiting and pushed me against the wall hard enough to make the wall complaint with a thud. He slapped me hard across my cheek and said, "Hurry the fuck up, Sweet Pea. We don't have all night. I got places to be come midnight."

"Yes, Daddy," I said, then added without thinking, "Your job for the boss?"

He didn't miss a beat, and he slapped me across the opposite cheek. "Damn right, but it's none of your fucking business. Still, might as well tell you," he bragged. "I've got to put down a dog who's been biting at J.W.'s heels a little too long." 

"Oh," I said dropping the panties on the floor. 

"Permanent like, if you know what I mean."

"Oh," I said again, fully naked in the narrow hallway. 

He surveyed my nude body from head to toe and back up again, then smiled and let it curve into a sort of leering grin. "Nice," he said, motioning for me to twirl. 

I did.

"Yeah, as good as Barton was bragging."

I resisted the urge to question him about when and where Barton might have commented about me. That would definitely not help out either of us in the long or short run.

"Thank you for noticing, Daddy," I said, still hating the disgusting flavor of the word. 

After I twirled, he twisted me round to face the wall and then shoved me into it so that my boobs were smushed flat and I had to turn my face to the side to avoid a busted nose. He smacked me hard on the ass, first one cheek, then the other. 

I yelped out loudly from the pain of the blow. 

"That's it, whore. Tell me how much you love getting your fine ass spanked."

He kept up the spanking, still alternating from one cheek to the other for almost three minutes until I could feel heat rising from my bare skin and I knew I was a bright pink if not already a hearty red. He kept it up for another few minutes, and I almost started to cry, but held it in only because of my pride. When he stopped, he pointed me to the bedroom at the end of the hallway and pushed me toward it. I did as instructed. 

The room was small but big enough for what I guessed was a guest bedroom, not the master. Levitt took a seat in a blue cloth chair in the corner and ordered me to sit on the edge of the bed.

He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small zip bag with two pink pills inside. 

"Before you do that, go get me a beer," he said.

"Yes, Daddy," I responded. Then I got up and figured out where the kitchen was. Sure enough, the fridge was full of cheap beer and snacks. This was definitely the kind of place guys hung out, not lived in. I grabbed a beer and brought it to Levitt, who was still sitting in the chair, only this time he had his floppy cock out in his hands. 

"Well," he said. "Do you need a fucking invitation, you dumb slut? Open it."

I nodded.

"Sorry, Daddy."

"Yeah. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, sir."

"Now get your ass on that bed and open up your legs so I can see that wonderful pussy Barton said was so god damn delicious."

I sat down and spread my knees as far apart as I could comfortably keep them. 

"Niiiiice," he said, smacking his lips. "Now play with yourself. I want to watch you get off. I want to watch you cum. And don't even think about faking it. You're already in enough trouble for costing me two grand tonight. You sure as hell don't want to add to that."

I had hoped he had forgotten about that, not that it was my fault. It was totally his own shit card playing and refusal to stop even though he was losing... and badly. Still, I wondered, if the spanking and having to get myself off in front of him wasn't the punishment, what was?

"What are you waiting for?"

"Sorry, Daddy."

So I put on a show, massaging my labia before pushing a finger, then two, inside to fuck my own pussy. I alternated every few strokes to tease my clit. Levitt's eyes locked on my vadge like a hawk on its prey. 

"Stop," he said after a few minutes. His cock was getting harder but still not anywhere near ready to go. "Dance for me, like you do at the Globes."

I stood up and put on the routine that always got me the best tips on stage. I had to modify it, of course, because as I was already naked, there was nothing to take off as a tease. To beef up the enjoyment and try to avoid adding to whatever punishment was coming my way, I turned it into a lap dance. Judging by the growth of his erection, I figured whatever I was doing was turning him on. 

I had figured just seeing me naked and available would have been enough. It always was for anyone else who requested time with me. 

"Don't touch me!" he yelled when I actually ground my pussy on him, and he pushed me back to the bed. "Fuck!"

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I thought you wanted me to --"

"You're not here to think, whore. You're here to do what the fuck I tell you."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever. Finish playing with your pussy. You've got two minutes. If you don't come by then, your ass will really be in trouble."

As confused as I was, I knew the only way to make that timetable happen without resorting to faking it would be to concentrate purely on my clit, and even then, when the timer hit zero, I was not quite there. 

Shit, I thought. 

Levitt was holding a digital watch in his spare hand and grinning like he'd just won the lottery. 

"Come here, slut," he said, and I did. He shoved his face into my crotch and took a deep, deep breath. "You do smell good, just like Barton said." Then he grabbed my hand and licked the two fingers that had just been inside my pussy. "Hmmmm... Good, very good."

"Go lie down."

I returned to the bed and lay down. He walked to one side and took hold of my wrist. He jerked it roughly toward the head of the bed and I heard and felt a handcuff click in place around me. I tugged and snatched at it, but I knew I wasn't going anywhere. 

He went to the other side of the bed and grabbed my remaining wrist. I knew better than to resist him. In a few seconds that one was secured too. 

I was trapped, my arms spread far apart. 

He grinned but didn't speak. He opened a bedside table and showed me a length of white cord about a quarter inch around. 

I wanted to ask what he planned to do with that, but I once again knew better and kept my damn mouth shut. Besides, I didn't have long to wait.

He tied a knot -- a little too tight for my comfort -- around my left ankle. Then he pushed my leg up so that my knee was touching my stomach and my ankle was near my left ear and roped the cord through a space in the headboard behind me. When he let go of my leg, it fell toward the bed again, but he grabbed the other end of the cord and pulled it. My knee went right back up in the uncomfortable position and my ear and ankle became neighbors again. 

"This will help you keep it there," he said, and he pushed my other leg up into a matching position and tied the free end of the cord to that ankle. Once he was done, my arms were spread wide and my legs were up so that my ass and cunt were exposed to him, leaving me no way to close any of it off. As it was, my ass was even lifted about two inches or so above the bed cover. He stuck a small pillow under me to prop me up a little higher, making my ass a much more presentable angle for him. 

"Perfect," he said. 

"What are you going to do, Daddy?" I asked, nervous as hell. 

"Whatever the fuck I want, bitch."

I didn't press the question. 

He grinned and raised his hand, then swatted it down fast and hard right onto my naked twat. I yelped loudly, and that time I actually did start to cry. 

"Nice. Let's see if we can get that delicious pussy heated up a little bit. I always did like my dinner cooked, not raw."

I didn't respond. I was still stinging from the blow. 

He hammered down ten more in rapid succession, and my tears flowed freely. I couldn't see it, but I was certain my labia were puffy, swollen, and a bright red. He stopped for a moment, grabbed both sides of my lower lips, and pulled them as far away from each other as he could. It felt to me as if he was trying to rip my pussy lips off me. 

I screamed and kept screaming.

"That's it, cunt. You keep telling me how much you love it when I whip that pussy everybody at the Globes loves so god damn much. You think you're hot shit. Well, your pussy sure looks like it's heating up to me right now." 

He kept talking but I stopped listening, I was in real pain and all I wanted was for him to let go and let my pussy get back into its normal shape. Eventually, he did, but I didn't catch a break because he started slapping it again for what felt like several minutes. 

Hell, I couldn't tell for sure, because I was lost in the pain, not able to focus on watching a fucking clock. 

When he finally stopped abusing my pussy, I was sure my hooker make-up was running down my face. I must have looked a sight, I figured, but I didn't care. I just wanted the stinging to stop, but even though he wasn't hitting me anymore, it was still present, and it felt like it might never go away. 

"Now that's a pretty little twat," he said as he climbed off the bed. His erection was the biggest I'd seen in yet, though still not just below average in both length in girth, but for him it was enormous. He obviously got off on being a sadist, as Rose and Ginger had said. They just hadn't said how far or mentioned many specifics. "Oh, don't worry yet, darlin'," he said when he noticed me watching. "We aren't even close to ready for that yet. We're still watching the opening band."

As he spoke, he unbuckled his belt -- a brown leather one about two inches wide -- and slid it out of his loops. Then he folded and snapped it with a sharp pop and grinned at me. 

"Just in case your ass is getting jealous of your pussy," he said. "I think we ought to paint it red too."

"Are you going to whip me with your belt?"

"You mean 'Are you going to whip me with your belt, Daddy?'" he corrected me. "And the answer is yes." He smiled and made the leather snap again. "To the tune of about two thousand dollars. How much of your cute little ass will it take to equal that amount of money, do you think?"

I didn't answer. He obviously didn't like that.

"Well? I asked you a question, whore?"

"I don't know, Daddy. I guess you'll have to teach me." The words tasted horrible, but I figured the more I played along, the better off I'd be in the long run. 

"Damn right I will, you unlucky bitch."

He rared back and slung the belt in a wide arc, connecting with my bare ass. It crackled to life with a loud thwack and I screamed again. The belt hurt far worse on my ass than his open palm had on my pussy, not that I could have remotely imagined any pain worse than that at the time.

Four more thwacks hit quickly, and soon my face was drenched with tears again. I only realized after a few moments that the blows had stopped but I was still screaming.

"You be as loud as you want to, Sweet Pea. Ain't nobody gonna ever hear you out here. And even if they did, nobody would care."

He roasted my ass once more. 

"Whattaya say we give you 50 bucks per swat, huh? That way with the five you got so far, you've paid me back 250 bucks."

I started to complain, knowing full well that if I to 40 smacks from Levitt's belt, my ass would be bleeding before he was finished, but what choice did I have? Even if I resisted or told him no, tied up as I was, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Nor would Barton come to my rescue and get his own ass in trouble. And J.W. would just consider it additional payback for what I had done to him all those months ago. 

"Yes, Daddy. Fifty dollars per whipping sounds fair," I said, already crying again. 

He whipped me again. And again. 

When I had earned back 12 hundred bucks, he stopped. I was sure the only thing keeping me conscious was the pain. Without it, I would have passed out. I had never felt such a stinging and burning as I did at that moment. I was sure the belt had already cut into my skin, and I could only hope the crisscross lines and marks wouldn't cause permanent scars that would hamper my earning potential at The Golden Globes.

"I'll make you a deal, slut," he said as he panted and smiled down at me. 

I didn't answer. It was all I could do to breathe properly. 

"You've only got 800 bucks to go. That's sixteen more swats if I belt you on the ass. But how 'bout I belt you on your delicious pussy instead. I'll even give you an extra fifty per swat on your pretty little cunt -- not that it'll be so pretty after I finish, of course."

I gave him the only answer I was sure he expected from me. "Whatever you want to do, Daddy."

Then he slapped that belt roughly between my thighs, and I yelled, "Fuuuuuuck!!"

He laughed and cracked it a second time. That time though it went a little off to the side and gave a full blow to just one side of my labia and caught the tender space between my lips with the edge of the belt. I screamed again. 

"Six more and we're all done with the punishment, babe," he said. "Then we can get to the pleasure." 

He swung out six more rapidly and when he stopped I actually did pass out for a few minutes thanks to the high level of pain. 

I woke up to the sensation of his dick rubbing my ass raw in a fast back-and-forth motion. Thanks to the beating he'd given me, every thrust was outlined in pain. I hadn't yet learned to enjoy being fucked in the ass anyway, and definitely not after such a rigorous belting. 

In a few minutes he came and when he pulled out his jizz streamed out onto the top of the bed covers. He wasted no time though before inserting his now bloody dick -- my blood no doubt -- into my equally raw and ravaged pussy and began to pump it like a jackhammer. There was no tenderness. No sex even. Just more abuse. He may have considered this pleasure but it was just more pain for me. 

It took a little longer before he came this time, thanks to the pills I figured, and since he was still hard, he shoved his cock right back into my asshole until he ejaculated there again. 

He still had some go left in him after that, and he smacked my pussy with his open palm a few times to bring the pain back to the surface before rutting inside me and emptying his balls deep into my twat.

Once he was finished that time, I noticed his erection starting to fade, and I hoped my evening of horror was over. He checked his watch and smiled. 

"Still got an hour and a half before I need to take you back, slut," he said. 

But instead of fucking me again or even whipping me, he simply rested his head on my chest and closed his eyes. His version of cuddling, I guessed. Within moments he was snoring softly, so I figured it was up to me to keep an eye on the clock on the wall and wake him up when the time came. 

Chapter Eleven: A Little Tenderness

Levitt skidded to a screeching stop at the hotel front doors then climbed out and let me scoot on all fours over to the driver's side door again. Without so much as a good night, he got back in the Mustang, slammed the door, and peeled away. I leaned against the stone column for a solid minute to get my balance after the abuse my body had taken from Levitt and his belt. 

The lobby clock said 10:30 when I made it inside. I looked for Barton but he wasn't waiting for me. I tried not to let it bother me. I had hoped to be able to lean on him for the trip back to my room. Instead, Rose and Safaya sat at the bar and smiled at me when they noticed. They both stood and walked to me. 

"How bad?" Rose asked. 

"Bad," I replied.

"The belt?" Safaya added.

I nodded. 

"Bastard," they both said together. 

"Not a good fuck either," I said with a forced laugh. 

"Are you hurt?"

"Like a mother fucker."

"Let's get you up to your room," Rose said. "I'll bring the salve to keep those streaks from becoming scars."

"Thanks." I glanced around the lobby and bar a second time. Still no Barton. "Hey, where's --"

Both girls shushed me. Rose motioned with her eyes to a dude in a gray suit hanging out at the front desk going through the morning's paper. 

"-- Ginger?" I said, redirecting the question and getting the point. The dude was obviously there to see how Barton reacted when I got home. So of course he wouldn't be waiting for me. But how the girls knew about us, I wasn't sure. 

"In bed. She couldn't wait up," Safaya lied, helping me keep my cover. I owed her bigtime. 

When we got to my room Safaya helped me lie down on my belly on the bed. The sheets were already pulled back and felt cool on my skin. She stripped me carefully and gently while Rose went to get the salve she had mentioned. Once I was naked, Safaya gasped loudly. 

"Damn! On your privates too?! That's going too far.

"Oh, was that not part of the regular service?" I tried to sound flippant but the pain was evident in my voice. I was sure of that. 

As I spoke, I looked to the shut door between mine and Barton's room. 

"He out," Safaya said. "And don't be so obvious." 

"Obvious? About what?"

It wasn't convincing.

"Oh, please. We've all seen the way your eyes brighten when you notice him watching you dance."

"And I can hear you next door. You're not exactly quiet, you know," said Rose, reentering my room and closing the door behind her. "You two are going to get each other in trouble if you aren't careful not to spread the love around."

"Don't get me wrong," said  Safaya, "As a lover, he's actually quite gentle and thorough. I could see someone falling for him. Just not one of us here at the hotel. We're special to the boss, as you well know."

"Yeah, Barton could date any other dancer at the club other than us, and there'd be no problem. But we belong to Jimmy Stiletto..." As she spoke, she lifted her shirt and showed off her tattoo that matched mine. "...so we're good for a fuck but are available to fall in love with."

"He's not in love with me," I said. 

"But what about you? Are you Stockholming him yet?" asked Rose.

"Am I what?"

"Don't worry. It's okay. It happens to all of us when we first became the boss's property. We can get attached to the person holding our leash, especially if they reward our availability with being nice instead of beating us."

"Oh, Stockholm Syndrome," I said. "No. It's not that." 

"Well, whatever it is, don't confuse it with love or even genuine affection. Not with Barton. He's a loyal dog for Stiletto, no questioning that. He can play nice and enjoy the boyfriend experience, but he's not going to fall for you. And thinking that he might is the kind of shit that can really get you in trouble with the boss."

"Like tonight?"

"Yeah. Like tonight."

I let myself rest on my belly again and tried not to wince as Rose rubbed the salve on my still burning ass. When she was done, I rolled onto my back, and she smiled as she massaged the clear goop on my tortured pussy as well. I tried not to moan when she accidently brushed my clit, but even with that little jolt of pleasure, mostly all I could feel was the pain and the ingrained memories of pain that might never go away. 

Barton didn't return that night nor the next. I figured he was keeping away for a reason, but I couldn't deny that I actually missed him. The girls came by often to reapply salve and keep me company while we watched TV and talked about the regulars at the strip club. 

Luckily, Tina learned what Levitt had done and gave me the week off to recover. Plus, her words, none of my regulars wanted to see me shake an ass full of scars and welts at them, not in her club. I didn't argue. I could use the break from dancing and from getting rented out. 

When Barton did finally return, he took Ginger to his room that night and let her slobber all over his cock before fucking him. The thin walls left no secrets. As they had sex, I fingered myself and fought through the soreness to endure my first orgasm since my night with Levitt.

The next morning Barton was standing in the doorway between rooms when I awoke. 

"Hi," I said as I shook the grogginess from her head and wiped my eyes. 

"Hey," he responded. 

"Well, that was... something."

"I hope the bastard gets shot while he's gone." 

"I think we may need a fire sale at the club now for my pussy and ass. Call it 'not so gently used.'"

"Yeah, Rose said you got it pretty bad."

"I thought the nipple pierces were bad, but what he did was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life."

"You're not the first, and you probably won't be the last. Guy's a god damn lunatic."

"You're willing to shoot me. I do hear the irony."

"If the boss demands it, yeah. That's my job. Hell, even back then when I caught you, most of that aggressive shit was an act. He told me to scare the hell out of you, so I did."

"And finger fucking me?"

"That was me. Still, he had said it was okay."

"Ah. A good little soldier?"

"Always. You know that. I know that. The boss knows that."

"But Levitt? Is he not a good little soldier too?"

"He's a fucking psycho. Gets off on being an asshole. That's why J.W. let him have you."

"Gotta keep my ass in line, huh?"

"Still hope he gets shot though."

I laughed. 

"Well, aren't you just my hero?"

"Shut up."

Make me."

He glanced my way. "You're not in shape enough yet for me to do that. Get some rest. Get better."

I patted the side of the bed. "Do you mindjust sitting with me while I go back to sleep. Can't sleep well yet. It hurts no matter which way I lay, side, front, or back."

"I bet."

I patted the bed again. "Please."

He sighed. "Just this once."

He sat beside me and I curled around enough to rest my head in his lap. 

"What do you think you're doing, Pea?"

"Finding a comfortable position to sleep."

"In my fucking lap."

"Right now it's just a regular lap. Maybe in a few days we can make it a fucking lap."

He laughed, and I smiled. 

"Just for a little bit, okay. We're safe for now, but it would be stupid to take too many risks."

"If anybody knocks, just slap me and call me a fucking cunt."

"Sure."

"You don't have to agree so quickly."

"Like hell I don't." 

I fell asleep with my head in his lap, and didn't even dream. The blackness was far more welcome than any dreams might be. It was like ceasing to exist for a few hours. When I woke up again it was a little past noon, and he was on his cell phone while sitting on my little sofa. 

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"You left me."

"Sure I did. You drooled. My pants got wet."

"Oh?!"

"Not like that."

I laughed. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked. 

"Still hurts like hell. I feel like my bruises have bruises."

"Want me to get you some pain meds?"

"How about rubbing some of Rose's goop on me instead? That shit is amazing!"

He smirked. "Fine."

After grabbing the jar from the bedside stand, he opened it and slopped a big wad out onto his fingers. Then he rubbed that into his palms and smooshed them together before applying the cool gel to my skin. I rolled over and gave him a good access to my ass. He lifted my oversized t-shirt and pulled down my panties, then gently massaged the salve on the lines that still showed on my bare ass. 

"Looks like they're starting to go away. This stuff is as good as Rose said it was," he said. "I don't think the belt is going to leave any scars." 

"I hope not. I hear the customers don't appreciate a roadmap of the city when I drop my underwear."

He laughed. "I suppose not. Turn over."

I did and gave him the full naked glory of my stubbled pussy. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't feel up to shaving yet."

"It's okay. Damn. He really went to town on you. I may have to shoot his ass myself. That looks like it was nasty when it was fresh."

I had to admit it was looking better, but I still had a crisscross pattern of pink lines across my lower lips, and I was still a bit swollen down there. It hurt to sit on the toilet and pee even. 

I told him so.

"Fucking bastard," he said.

"Don't get too upset. People might think we're friends."

"Well, we did used to be."

I started to respond, but instead, I shut my yap. I wasn't sure where he was going, bringing up the man I used to be, Alden Pritchard. Was he reminiscing about when we had partnered to do Jerry Stiletto's dirty work? Was that driving 'nice Barton' even more than me being a willing and ready piece of ass at his disposal? Was it because my GV pussy was somehow better to him than that or a natural girl? Or was it some combination of all those things?

"Do you miss it?" he asked. 

"All that shit J.W. made us do? A little."

"Then why did you steal the money and run away? Why'd you start all this shit in the first place, Pea?"

"I... Well, do YOU miss it?"

"A little yeah. Weren't you happy busting heads together? Friends?"

"I'm not sure friends is accurate for anybody in J.W.'s crew, Barton. Not really. We were more soldiers than friends, thrown together by necessity, not because we ever actually liked each other."

"That's pretty dark, Pea."

"It's a pretty dark world we're in, Barton. Levitt just left the state to go whack one of J.W.'s enemies. I'm basically being trafficked as a forced sex worker. And you are the jailer who has almost total control over me and my future, whether I get smacked around or meted out little teases of a real life from time to time. If that isn't dark, I don't know what fucking it."

He didn't respond.

"But that diner. That's the bright spot. I can see you running that place one day, retiring from J.W.'s crew and settling down with someone outside the life, and being a little family and running the diner. I hope you get that, Barton. I hope you can get out of this life."

"Maybe you c--"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell. I know that and you know that. My future is either in the bottom or a river, being given off to some potential partner to sweeten a deal, or dying in a gutter of an STD. I made my choice when I ran away. Now I gotta live with it." 

"Shit. What the fuck?! Where's all this coming from?"

"I don't know. Maybe thinking about the next time Levitt requests to beat the shit out of me. Maybe it's because of what you said."

"What I said?"

"I'm not arguing or trying to butter up or anything like that, but it's like you said several times. We're not dating. I'm not your girlfriend. We're not friends. I'm a prisoner of war. I'm a whore, and I don't even belong to myself. My options aren't good, Barton. I'm never getting out. Why the hell do you think I try to find at least a little something nice in the middle of all this bullshit? Why the fuck do you think I want to rest in your lap or feel you go down on me, or hell, even fuck you so god damn often? I want just a few fucking minutes that don't feel like prison."

"Shit. You think I don't know that?"

"Yeah, right before you put a bullet in my god damn brain."

He didn't respond. 

"How do you feel right now?" I asked.

"Pissed off."

"Yeah, because you know everything I'm saying is the truth. You know that one day you've got a dream diner waiting for and I've got a six-foot hole in the ground waiting for me."

"Fuck, man."

"Man?! What man? And that's it too. I mean, hell, I knew the minute I woke up with tits and pussy the man part of my life was over, but I figured I could at least still have some kind of life. But now, hell, now I can't even have a life as a woman. I'm not a woman. I'm just a whore. Whether I work from a stage or from the streets, I know what I am and I know what my life will always be about."

He waited for a moment before speaking. "Listen, do you want me to rub some of this shit on your pussy or not?"

I nodded. Best to change the conversation anyway. 

"Okay. I'll be as careful as I can be."

"Okay. Like it matters," I said. 

Chapter Twelve: Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Levitt came back a week later bragging about how he had offed a dude in one shot and left J.W.'s message clear as a fucking bell with an aluminum baseball bat to make the body a royal mess, his words. He was impossible to be around, Barton said, after that, and he kept telling the boss how eager he was for the next special job just so he could ask for his special favor again. And this time, he had plans that went beyond just his belt. 

Meanwhile, I had healed to the point of being able to dance again and I had resumed shaking my ass and titties at The Golden Globes six nights a week. In addition to dancing, I was still keeping a full rotation for my private room and having my pussy and asshole and mouth stuffed with cocks on the regular. 

In fact, I was doing so well that I regularly hit the top three earners across the next six months. I even topped the list twice. Tina was happy. J.W. was happy. I was proud, and it didn't bother me so much anymore. 

But Barton, I wasn't so sure how he felt. 

A month after our depressing conversation, he had been pulled from one-on-one guard dog duty, and J.W. had assigned Leon to me and two new girls who stayed at the hotel but danced at different clubs. I didn't really get to know them since they kept to themselves and acted like frightened kittens most of the time. 

Barton still dropped by to watch me dance often, and ocassionally he even buy some time in the private room to fuck me, but it wasn't like it had been. Something had changed, and we both knew it. Something dark continued to grow between us. Maybe it was reality showing us that anything we had even remotely pretended had just been lies. The chasm was too great. We lived in the same world but our futures diverted away from each other at sharp, hard angles. 

I spent most of my time hanging out with Rose and Safaya, sometimes Ginger when she wasn't strung out. We watched movies, went to dinner, talked shit, that kind of thing. It was as close to normal as we knew we'd ever get. Then we'd entertain Leon  or some of the other top-floor guard dogs, sometimes solo and sometimes as part of a multi-girl act. Leon, for one, really got off on the kinky lesbian shit and Rose and I were often more than happy to oblige him. 

About once a month, J.W. would arrange to have me delivered to his special suite and use me before sending me unceremoniously back to my room. 

I missed my period once, and Tina made sure that I was taken to a clinic for 'the procedure.' I didn't know if the guy who knocked me up had been J.W., Leon, or one of the other guard dogs, nor did I care. Three days after I learned about it, it was taken care of, and I was back on the stage as soon as I safely could be without ever having lost my 'sweet little figure.'

When I had been working at the club almost a year, Barton all but stop coming by the club at all. Each time I tried to catch up with him and find out what was going on, he avoided me. He always looked like he had the world on his shoulders, so I figured J.W. was keeping him away from me, that the boss had finally nailed the final nail in my coffin of ever having any sort of "nice" in my life as his captive. Without Barton to balance out the whoring and stripping, I was left as mere property. 

On the few times I actually saw him, there was a development. There was always a new girl hanging out behind him, a waif of a dark-haired girl who couldn't have been older than 18 or 19, and most likely younger than that -- probably why she wasn't dancing or whoring... yet. She cowered behind Barton as if he was a wall that protected her. Every time anyone other than Tina or Barton talked to her, she clammed up and shrank away behind him again. I figured she must be his new project, the same way that J.W. had assigned him to me when I was "joined" the team. That made sense, and it explained why he wasn't around anymore. 

I never could figure out who the new chick was though. 

Around the hotel, we all figured it was either some girl who was important to the guy the boss had sent Levitt to off and having her in his stall of girls was just another trophy for J.W. to keep in his case, so to speak. 

Around that time, I also noticed that I hadn't seen Levitt in a long time as well. I asked Tina about it, but she only shook her head and told me to mind my own fucking business if I wanted to avoid a bullet. I figured that was good advice, and that nothing about that asshole Levitt warranted me risking any kind of danger. Good riddance, as far as I was concerned. And not just me, but the rest of the girls as well, especially Rose. Even Ginger started to improve... a little. 

And so life continued for several more month, at least until the night Tina interrupted me on the way to my private room for another rendevous with the guy I'd first met as "Metallic T-Shirt." 

"I'm sorry, but I'll have to comp you another girl, sir," she said. "I'm gonna need Sweet Pea for the rest of the night for a special project."

The guy looked disheartened at the loss. He was always choosing me, but he didn't seem to mind getting a freeby either. 

In the end, Tina took me into the back, handed me off to Leon and told me to do as I was told. Leon grabbed my arm and checked the back door to make sure we weren't being watched, then took me quickly to a black sedan, shoved me in the back, got in the front and quietly drove off into the night. 

"Where are we going?" I asked. 

"Shut up," he said. 

"I'd at least like to know if I'm about to get whacked. I mean, I figure you owe me that much after all the times I'm sucked you off."

"Please shut up."

"Really?! See if I ever offer you ano--"

He smacked the back of his seat hard, so hard I finally got the point. "I said to shut up, Pea."

I shut up, wondering just how uncomfortably my size six stiletto concrete blocks my fit me.

He pulled into a house in the suburbs about two towns over, a little place called Wilsonburrough. About at low-key as it sounded. Right next door to Wally and Beaver and the Brady Bunch. Lots of porchlights and kids bikes still in the front yards leaning against closed garage doors. 

"C'mon," he said, not getting the door for me. 

"We're a long way from the river," I said. 

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" 

I smiled.

"And I never said nothing about whacking you. That's all on you. Now get out of the damn car and come in."

"You're the boss," I said. 

He grunted and led me to the lit-up front porch. Two rocking chairs sat off to the left and a potted fern was on the floor on my right. He knocked twice, waited a few seconds, then knocked once more, then quickly twice more.

I heard the chain slip loose inside, and the door cracked open. The tip of a pistol poked out.

"It's Leon," said my companion.

"Just being careful," said the voice from inside. Barton's voice. 

The pistol disappeared, and the door fully opened. 

"Quickly," Barton said, and Leon pushed me inside. Then he turned and headed back to the car.

"Not coming with me?" I asked. 

"Shut up," he said. 

"Get in," Barton said pulling me by my wrist. Once I was in, he slammed the door and latched the chain again. 

"You're here. Good."

I almost fucking kissed him to hear that. But I resisted. 

"Why all the cloak and dagger?" I asked. 

"I need you."

"I need you too."

He cut his eyes at me with a sort of "stop joking around" glance before continuing. "The boss needs you and me together on this."

"Sure. Together is okay. But what the hell is 'this' exactly?"

I glanced around the interior of the little house. It was a suburban ranch with a foyer at the entrance. To my left was a living room and dining room combination and to my right was a hallway heading to the back for the baths and bedrooms. If I went straight, I would have walked into a kitchen. I could only assume it opened up with a sliding glass door to the backyard and a deadbolt door into the garage. Probably a laundry room back there too would have been my guess. 

He led me into the living room and motioned for me to take a seat.

"Okay, I'll bite," I said. "What the fuck is going on?"

"We've got a job to do, one that we have to do on the sly. The boss needs someone who can pass for a married couple, so he figured up real quick that he could use you and me to do that."

"I'm not complaining, but --"

"Stop yapping so I can finish explaining it."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Well, you know I haven't been around for a long time, not around you anyway."

"Right."

"And you probably are wondering about that kid you keep seeing me with, the girl."

"Can't say I've noticed."

"Stop being cagey and jealous. I'm trying to tell you what's going on. Please shut up and listen."

I slumped my shoulders. I was having fun baiting him, but apparently, he wasn't game. Not anymore. Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe he preferred younger pussy now. 

"The kid is under the boss's protection. That's all you need to know for now. And he figures the best way to keep her safe is to hide her in plain sight. Only, not as herself. See, as far as anyone here knows, I'm Roger Bartlett, and you're my wife Penelope. And the kid, she's your little sister Jenna."

"I suppose I have a maiden name other than Sweet Pea."

He smiled at last. "Sure. You'll love it."

I waited.

"Sweeting," he said. 

"Penelope Sweeting?! That's just Sweet Pea backward."

"Well, you're not Penelope Sweeting anyway. You're Penelope Bartlett. The kid is Sweeting. Jenna Sweeting."

"Could I at least hyphenate?"

"You know, I bet I wouldn't get this much grief from Ginger." 

"No. No. It's all cool. I'm sorry. Please continue, dear husband."

He sighed and rolled his eyes at me. 

I heard movement in the hallway and caught sight of a shadow near the edge, but the person casting it remained out of sight. Most likely the girl listening, I figured. 

"Anyway, we just moved out here from Missouri. Jenna will be enrolled in a private school as a junior --"

"So she is young."

"Yeah, eighteen. But because she can pass for younger, she'll be enrolled as a sophomore in a private school where two of our guys just started work as maintenance guys. And she'll join us at work after school so we can protect her then."

"Work?"

He laughed out loud this time. "Yeah, to make this work, the boss put up the money to buy the diner. I own it now, and I run it. Well, you and me for now anyway, and Jenna works with us after school."

"I've gone from whore to wife, mom, and waitress. I'm living the American dream, Barton."

"Bartlett. Get used to it."

"And just who is Jenna? Am I allowed to know that?"

More rustling from the hallway but the girl was still just a shadow. 

He shook his head. "Jenna is your mission. And in a way, your boss too. That's all you need to know."

"Okay. It beats fucking the regulars, I guess. And it'll be fun to ride you again after so long. I've really missed the way..."

I let the words trail off when the girl's face appeared in the hallway. "Well, shit," she said.

She stood no taller than five foot one or five foot two. Her dark hair was long and hung straight just onto her shoulders. She wore no make up, but had a sort of creme-white skin that while not pale, wasn't tan or shiny either. She was pretty, but not in any way that would be considered hot or sexy by more men's standards. And her figure was slim enough to be considered flat and boyish. But her eyes and her cheeks and smile. They were gorgeous in a way that seemed exotic despite all the other evidence to the contrary. She wore a pair of black jeans and a button-up blouse with a pair of black and white saddle oxfords. She looked as out of place among the way I looked as a whore-stripper fresh off the stage and Barton as a mob-goon in a dark suit fresh out of a movie. 

"At least she has good manners," I said with a grin.

Barton put his finger to his lips. "Don't get mouthy. You're not any freeer than before. Only the bars are more invisible here."

"Yes, sir, Herr Commandant."

"God damn," the girl said. "I'm gonna be dead before the end of the week at this rate."

I started to get up to give the chick a piece of my mind, but Barton gripped my thigh like a vise and sat me back down quickly. 

"She may be a kid, but she outranks you, Pea. Don't forget that. You're here because I vouched for you, but piss off the kid and that could change real quick-like." 

"Well, shit," I said. 

The girl laughed at me copying her. 

"Well," I said. "I guess we're family now, like it or not."

The girl entered the room and took a seat on the other side of Barton, huddling close, almost shrinking away behind him. 

"Someone's got a crush, husband," I said.

He cut his eyes at me. 

"I do not," the girl spat with venom but with no real volume, as if in spite of her words she was afraid of me somehow.

"Look, Jenna," I said. "It doesn't matter who you are. I'm selfish and I like staying alive, so if the boss wants me to be your big sister and help Barton here -- sorry, Bartlett -- protect you, then that's what I'm gonna do. Sure, J.W. may have made me a stripper and a whore, but he hasn't killed me yet, so I figure I owe him at least a little something, and well, this job at least will give me a break from spreading my legs for strangers."

"See," Barton said. "We're all friends here."

"Does Leon know?"

Baron shook her head. "Not all of it. Just what he needs to know."

"Oh," I said.

The girl shuddered against Barton.

"Maybe not a crush, but Jenna obviously is close to you."

"Maybe a little. It's my job to keep her alive. If that keeps her close, then that's a plus." 

"As long as she allows her big sister some time with you too," I said, intending to make her laugh. It didn't work. She just glared instead. "I mean, we do have to convince the neighbors we're in love and happily married."

Barton nodded.

"I assume this has something to do with the job Levitt went off to do. Did it go off the rails?"

"Need to know only, Pea."

"I think if my ass is on the life, maybe I need to know at least a little something."

Barton motioned for me to shut up, but the girl stopped him. 

"It's okay this time. Yeah, it's related to that. But that's all you need to know. Other than one more thing. If you ever see Levitt again, you tell Barton so he can kill that son of a bitch.

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