Team Spirit: The Second Half free porn video

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF By Meps98 FOREWORD Several years ago I read a story written by Janice the Dreamer titled "Team Spirit". It was wonderful, inventive, and involving, with compelling characters. There was no hero or heroine, just damaged people seeking justice ? as defined by them. This story stuck with me and I found myself asking the classic question, what happened next? I kept creating my own sequel to the original story in my mind. Finally, I was able to contact Janice the Dreamer and ask for permission to attempt to actually write a sequel. Janice was gracious enough to let me try but there was one proviso, that I not make Amy Hanson a hero. It took me more than two years to complete this story, which starts out a little raw but don't let that put you off. Since completion, I have had the invaluable editing help of Geoffrey Kidd, djkauf and Stanman63. I also need to give thanks to femur of TGComics.com for his comments, encouragement and kind words. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the original "Team Spirit," I strongly suggest that you read it before starting this story. I pick up the story approximately three years after its end and do not attempt to summarize it in this story. You will find my story much easier to follow if you do so. The original "Team Spirit" is available at Fictionmania.tv and is well worth your time to read even if you decide not to read my sequel. All comments will be gratefully accepted. CHAPTER ONE If I'm lucky, really lucky, this guy will kill me. I'd thought about it a lot, killing myself, just putting an end to all the pain and misery, all the humiliation, all the torture. I even once collected a bunch of pills I "found" in the dressing room over a month's time. Didn't know for sure what they were but since a few of the other dancers do some pretty heavy drugs, I figured that the ten I was able to scavenge would be more than enough to do the job. Unfortunately, when it came time to take them, I couldn't do it. Maybe I'm a coward; maybe deep down in my heart I think that there may be some way to escape. I don't know why but I ended up flushing them down the toilet. You'd think that after three years, I'd have realized that that there is no escape. Hanson has me truly trapped. That's why I'm hanging from a hook in my room at Anthony's club, tied up twenty ways to Sunday, while this greaseball jams his cock down my throat. He's got my arms and legs tied together and I'm bent doubled over, ropes everywhere, with all kinds of knots. It took him almost forty five minutes to get me just the way he wanted and he had a hard- on the entire time. There's no doubt what kink he's into. After hanging me from the hook, I was just dangling in front of him, unable to move at all, my mouth and pussy level with his cock. He's been poking both holes for the last fifteen minutes. The worst part is that I'm begging him to fuck me, when he isn't gagging me with his dick. I haven't had Anthony's semen for almost twenty two hours and I'm so horny that it's hard to concentrate on anything but my burning need to be screwed, good and hard. The anticipation while he finished hogtying me was almost unbearable, and now that he's finally getting down to business, he's too slow and small to satisfy me. If he knew what to do with his cock, it wouldn't be so bad but it's clear that he knows a lot more about knots than nookie. He pulls his cock from my mouth so I try to encourage him. "Come on stud, take that big cock and fuck my hot cunt. Just stuff it in there and show me what you've got." He takes his dick in his hand and slaps my cheek with it a couple of times. "Is this what you want whore? Is this what you WANT?" "Oh yeah, stud, that's what I need!" "Beg for it." That is too much! This piece of shit wants me to beg him to fuck me? Four years ago, I'd have beaten this son of a bitch to death for even touching me. I was a thirty nine year old all pro quarterback then. Unfortunately, I'm a weak, teenage female whore now, helplessly tied up and about ready to go nuts from a pussy screaming to be screwed. I didn't think that I had any pride left to swallow, but I do. So I swallow it and beg. "Please fuck my cunt. I need it bad. I need your big ... enormous dick in my hot, tight pussy. Pleeeaassee fuck me, help a horny girl out, please." The smile on his face makes me sick to my stomach. "Since you said the magic word, sure whore, you can have it, all the way to my balls." He spins my around several times, the nausea from the motion joining the nausea from my begging. He stops me, lines me up with his cock and then plunges in. I try to squeeze his small dick with my pussy to maximize my satisfaction. It's almost adequate. He may not be good, but he's better than nothing. "Oh yea, that's the stuff! Pound my cunt ... oh yeah ... fuck me hard ... keep going." I can feel an orgasm building, my pelvic muscles start to twitch. I've got to get off before he does. Johns don't give a damn about my needs and I need this orgasm, it'll take the edge off my horniness for a little while. I'd be rubbing my clit right now if I had my hands free but he does know his ropes, so I'm stuck with his little cock and my experienced muscles. He picks up his pace and that helps a lot, though it also means he's getting closer. I arch my back, which changes his angle of penetration so that his cock gets closer to my clit, hitting it about every fourth thrust. That's all that I needed. It's not much of an orgasm but it will do. The greaseball cums a few seconds later, but it's just a nuisance to me now. As the high from my orgasm fades, the pain from the ropes starts to build in my arms and legs. "You're just as good as promised, Honey, maybe even worth paying for next time." This was a FREEBIE?! He picks up my discarded panties, wipes his cock clean, puts his underwear, pants and shirt back on and gives me a final spin. I spin rapidly to the right until the rope winds tight and then spin back, at first slowly, but the speed quickly builds until the rope goes tight again and then I spin back the other way. This cycle goes on for several minutes while my queasiness gets worse. It's all I can do to keep from throwing up. As the spinning finally comes to an end, I can't see the greaseball anywhere. He's left me tied up and hanging, my body burning with pain. "Help! Is anyone out there? Please, someone, anyone, please help me! Hello? Please, I'm dying in here!" I keep shouting for help but no one comes. I can hear the music from the stage through my closed door so maybe nobody can hear me. I try to shout louder but the ropes are so tight around my chest that I can't get a lot of air in my lungs. By now, my arms and legs are starting to go numb but my cunt is starting to itch again. After going this long without Anthony's' semen, normal sex only gives me temporary relief. If I could get free, I'd masturbate with the vibrator that Dr. Hanson gave me but I can't even feel my hands, let alone get them to move. I hear my door open. Thank God! "Son of a BITCH! He really did a number on you didn't he, Honey?!" I'm slowly spun around until my eyes meet Anthony's. He's squatted down to my level. "Yes, Sir." "How long you been hanging there?" "I don't know, Sir." I can't ask him to let me down and release me, Anthony doesn't like it when I ask him for anything, a lesson I learned years ago. "You want me to let you down?" "Yes, Sir, please, Sir." "I'll take a few pictures first, if that's OK with you." "Yes, Sir." He takes a small digital camera from his pocket and snaps several pictures. He spins me once and keeps shooting. I think he's switched to video mode. He does this every once and awhile, usually after a particularly bad client. I've got no idea what he does with them and I'd never ask. He puts the camera back in his pocket. "Mr. Smith suggested I give you a try before letting you down, said you were a great fuck. I always like to get positive customer feedback about you, Honey. What do you think, should I let you down or fuck you first?" He doesn't care what I think. He just wants to hear me say one thing. "Whatever you want, Sir." He laughs. "That's right Honey, whatever I want." I hear his zipper and then his belt. I really do need to be fucked and right now. He spins me around and his semi-hard cock comes into my view. He puts its bulbous head against my lips. "Get me good and slick, whore." "Yes, Sir." * * ** * ** * ** * * I just received an email from Anthony, complete with attachments. They are photos and videos from after Honey's latest exotic customer. I originally enjoyed the results of all of her encounters with Anthony's clients, but that became boring after awhile. These men, if you could call them that, were very unimaginative. The occasional one showed some initiative, showed something different or uniquely painful but it was routine sex mostly. I instructed Anthony to document Honey's condition after any particularly trying encounter but these photos and videos are just not enough. The most enjoyable times are the Wranglers' post Super Bowl parties. To see Honey passed from man to man, eagerly fucking, one, two, even three at a time is the highlight of my year. The look of horror and disgust on her face while she bounces and writhes on every available cock is just priceless. It is a shame that the team refuses to let me record the event, then I could relive it time and time again. I completely understand why they won't permit it; they don't trust me enough to take the chance that the video wouldn't end up on the internet or some scandal rag. Truly unfortunate though, some of those players are particularly brutal. I close my laptop and prepare to leave the Gold Club Lounge. I still have at least an hour to kill before my connecting flight to Dallas. The preferred flier facilities are a welcome relief from the hustle and bustle of the terminal, but I have been sitting for two hours and need to stretch my legs. I leave my bags behind and stroll out to the food court area. I'm not particularly hungry, just bored. The treatments may maintain my youthful appearance but it is still necessary for me to watch my diet and exercise regularly. Those Cinnabons are tempting enough that it is probably better if I get my exercise elsewhere. I leisurely walk towards the stores in the retail concourse. They are full of overpriced merchandise, typical for airport stores and their captive customers. As I pass the Hammacher Schlemmer store, something in the window catches my eye. I step in and get the attention of the sales clerk. He steps out from behind his counter and walks towards me. "May I help you, madam?" "Yes, that clock radio in the window. Am I correct that it contains a video camera?" "Yes, a wireless color video camera with sound. It broadcasts to a receiver, which can be anywhere within three hundred feet of the camera. The receiver connects to a TV, VCR, computer or DVD Recorder. We have one set up in the back as a demo." I follow him to the back of the store where there is another clock radio on the shelf and a plasma TV displaying the view from the device. "Where is the camera?" "Right here." He points to a clear plastic plate next to the time display. "It can transmit on one of four channels to avoid interference, should you want to use more than one camera." "Wouldn't more than one clock radio in a room be suspicious?" "Uh ... yeah, but most people put one each in up to four separate rooms." Of course. I had been thinking of multiple views in the same room. Well one, properly placed, should be more than adequate. "Many people use these as nanny cams to monitor how their children are treated when they aren't around." I smile. "Almost exactly what I have in mind." CHAPTER TWO Business is a bit slow today. The lunch crowd was light and the evening crowd is starting out the same way. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always the least busy. Thursday booms because it's union payday. Friday and Saturday are the weekend, which are good days and they carry into Sunday. Mondays aren't great but not nearly as bad as Tuesdays. If this was a sports bar, Mondays and Sundays would be better but games take attention away from the dancers and the drinking they promote. One of the new girls is performing. She's not bad, needs to make better eye contact with the crowd though, such as it is. I can see most of the room from my seat at the bar. "Hello Anthony." I turn to look at whoever's calling my name. It's Doc Hanson. Odd, she doesn't usually come to the club, not unless she's got something new in mind. "Hey Doc, have a seat. Honey's entertaining someone in her room right now. You want to see her or me?" "You first, Anthony. I have an addition to Honey's room." She drops a shopping bag on the bar top. I peek in the bag. "What is it?" "A video camera disguised as a clock radio." "What for?" "I want you to install it in her room and put a VCR in your office. I have decided to record her ?private encounters' for posterity." Posterity my ass. You just want to get your rocks off watching her getting fucked. "How's this help me, Doc? Most guys aren't interested in having someone record them visiting a whore, particularly if they're married or have a girlfriend, too many chances of it falling into the wrong hands. "Then don't tell them." "What do you plan to do with the tapes?" "Keep them completely private, I assure you." "I don't know Doc, seems like it's more trouble than it's worth." "You may have noticed Anthony that I did not request that you to do this for me." "I noticed." "Then we understand each other. I will show you where to put the camera once Honey is free. There is one other thing. I may occasionally send people to you to sample Honey's talents. They will identify themselves by use of a code word or ticket, I haven't decided yet. Either way, they are to have full access to Honey without any supervision on your part." "Whoa, hold it right there! Who's paying for this? Also, I can't guarantee Honey's safety if I can't screen her clients. I know that you want her to suffer but I keep the real crazies away because I can't afford to have her out of commission for any length of time. If she ain't fucking, I'm not making money." "From this moment on, let the crazies in. They can do nothing to her that I can't fix. I will increase the frequency of my maintenance treatments to keep her fresh and on the job." "Even if I think they might kill her?" "Certainly, if you think that is a realistic possibility, but, other than that, they get access to her." "And the money?" "Consider it the cost of doing business." Every time she gets a bright idea, it costs me money. I can't really bitch too much, Honey's expenses are insanely low and I take 100% of her income and tips, so she's pretty much pure profit. Don't want to point that out to the Doc, so it's good to complain a little before she gets what she wants. "You've got to guarantee me that she won't miss more than twenty days a year. Any more than that and I'll hardly be breaking even." "Do you think I'm a fool? Honey's presence in your club is the same as your own private cash machine. You feed her crap and I pay for her clothes and costumes." "Only because you want to control how she dresses." "Regardless as to why, it is one less expense for you. Besides, you enjoy my choices. As for her down time, it should be no worse than thirty days, max." I don't really have a choice and she knows it. "Fine, I'll give it a try but if there are too many problems, we stop it." She smiles, seeing through my half-hearted objections. "Agreed. Who knows? If this goes well, I may decide to grant your request to enlarge Honey's breasts." She always says that to smooth over any hard feelings on my part but she never does anything about it. What's wrong with a pair of 38's? I notice Honey's latest customer leaving the hallway to her room. "I think we can get into her room now. I suppose you're wanting to try that camera." "Yes, the sooner it is installed, the sooner I start getting my videos." She picks the bag up off the bar and we walk back to Honey's room. I stop to knock but Hanson scoots by me, pushing the door open. Honey is standing at the sink, naked, washing herself with a cloth. She barely reacts when we come in. "Hello, Honey." "Hello Dr. Hanson." Her voice is flat and unemotional, like she is either not surprised or doesn't care anymore. "I have a present for you." "Thank you very much, Dr. Hanson." That same flat tone. "Don't thank me, you haven't seen it yet." "I'm sorry, Dr. Hanson." She takes the box out of the bag, opens it and removes the clock radio. "Anthony told me that you were having a hard time getting up on time each morning so I thought that this might help you. I don't want you getting in trouble for being late. You need to keep Anthony happy, don't you?" "Yes, Dr. Hanson, thank you very much." "Now, where is the best place for this?" She looks around the room. There's so little furniture here, not much to choose from. "I think the dresser is perfect if we shift its position slightly. Anthony, would you please move this..." she stands next to the dresser and swivels her head around until she finds the angle she wants "...here, parallel to the bed." It's mostly empty so it's easy to move. "A little further please Anthony ... perfect." She sets the clock radio on the top of the dresser, shifts it slightly to the right; then plugs the cord into the electrical outlet. "There! It's just right! Now, when the alarm goes off, you'll have to get out of bed to shut it off, no hitting the snooze button and falling back asleep. Leave this just like this, Honey, until Anthony can permanently attach it. You will see to that won't you, Anthony?" "Sure, Doc, no problem, thanks." "Oh, no thanks are necessary, Anthony, I am happy to help out. Anything for my Honey. Isn't that right, Honey?" Honey looks confused for a second or two, like she doesn't know what she should say to keep Hanson from getting pissed at her. In the end, she falls back on the old reliable. "Yes, Dr. Hanson." "That's a good girl. Well, I must be off and I am sure that you have several customers waiting for you, such a popular girl. Anthony, please join me at your office and we can install your gift. Do not touch that yet, Honey, Anthony will be back to set the time and alarm. Goodbye. I will see you later." We leave the room and I close the door behind us. Hanson laughs wildly all the way to my office. * * ** * ** * ** * * The alarm goes off and I reach over to shut it off. I glance at the face of the clock, it reads 7:30 a.m., time to get up and exercise. I toss my blanket off, sit up and swing my legs off the cot, letting my feet hit the cold floor. Dr. Hanson doesn't waste money on heating my cell at her clinic. I've been here three days, getting treatments to keep me looking young and beautiful. The life of a whore is often short and brutal. Mine is certainly brutal, particularly this last couple of months, but Hanson wants to make sure it isn't short. I don't know where some of the johns have been coming from recently but they've really worked me over. Most of them are my regulars but there is the occasional guy who's into totally weird shit ... and I do mean shit. It's gotten so bad that I actually look forward to just regular sex with the Neanderthals that come through my door. I slip on a robe and step into pair of heels. Hanson won't let me go barefoot or wear anything with less than a 3" heel. Walking down the familiar halls, I head for the exercise room. When I get there, I go to the locker room, twist my hair into a long ponytail; then change into a pink crop top, panty shorts, white tights and 5" heels. This isn't a regular exercise routine. I hear the hand claps. "Come on Honey, shake a leg! Time to get started!" It's Ms. Baker. Hanson brought her back to teach me a new routine while I'm here for my treatments, "Killing two birds with one stone," she said. I hurry out of the locker room; you don't want to keep Ms. Baker waiting. "I'm ready, Ms. Baker." She looks me up and down. "I just can't get over how beautiful you are Honey. I wish that I had you on the Wrangler Girls squad full time, you'd be my lead dancer for certain." I can't keep from blushing at her praise. I know that she was in on the whole plan to change me from Josh Thomas to Honey Sweet-Lay but she also treated me like a professional. She'd yell at me if I screwed up a routine but it was always constructive criticism, she just wanted me to be the best dancer/cheerleader she could make me. If I did it right, she'd let me know that too, encouraging me to keep improving. I can respect that. She's the only person here at the clinic who doesn't treat me like crap. I wouldn't call her a friend but I feel comfortable around her. "Thank you, Ms. Baker, I'd like that too." Anything to get out of the club. "No time to waste, let's start the warm ups, dear." I quickly drop to a mat and begin my stretching routine. Whoever Hanson got my DNA from, one of them must have been a contortionist. My body is very flexible, partially due to my dancing, partially my bedroom acrobatics but also a natural aptitude. Dropping into the splits is second nature, along with back arches and hand stands. After about fifteen minutes of stretching all the major muscle groups, I'm ready to start. "Let's pick up were we left off yesterday Honey. We will concentrate on the pole moves today and tomorrow and then tie everything together on Friday." Hanson had added a stripper pole to the room since I was last here. "Before we start, I need to mention something. There are some similarities between dancing for the Wrangler Girls and dancing at the club. The rotation of the hips, the strut, the tit jiggle, the prance, all moves that work at both venues. Of course, there are differences too. There are not many stripper poles at NFL stadiums ... at least where the public can see them. However, the major difference is not physical, it is mental. A Wrangler Girl is playing to an impersonal crowd of tens of thousands. There are so many people that they cease to be individuals, they are just ?the crowd'. She strives to appear both sexy and innocent, that she is so happy to be there, so pleased to be young and beautiful that the sexiness is second nature. Dancing at the club is almost the complete opposite. You are performing in front of individuals, so close that they can reach out and touch you, and often do. Sexiness is primary, not secondary but it is more than just sexy, it is seduction. You are trying to seduce every man in that club with each step, each bump, each grind, each jiggle, twist and thrust. So far, you have done very well learning the physical moves of the new routine but you lack the proper attitude. You have the big smile of a Wrangler Girl who is stripping." "But that is what I thought you wanted?" "I know, I didn't bother to correct you because it was an unnecessary complication, but I believe that you can handle it now. You have the basics of the routine down, it is just a matter of refinement at this point and one of those refinements is your attitude on the stage." "I ... I ... don't ... know if ... I can do ... what you want. Slapping a big smile on my face is one thing but actually ... seducing guys from the stage ... I don't know." "You seduce Anthony, don't you?" "Not really, I just do what he wants me to do?" "And how do you know what he wants?" "Are you kidding? He wants what all men want." "Then you know what you need to do on stage. If you can't find it inside yourself, then pick someone in the crowd and concentrate on seducing him, or more than one if necessary. I've seen your work, you're quite good," There's that damn blushing again "but there is something lacking. I think it is because you don't feel it on stage." "I don't!" "It shows, not that your audience notices, though, they just want to see skin, but a true professional can tell." "If they are happy and Anthony is happy, why should I change?" She slowly shakes her head. "If you wish to accept others' lower standards, that is up to you. I thought that you preferred to rise to a challenge, to be the best that you could." I don't have to make her happy, just Hanson and Anthony ... then why does it bother me that I'm disappointing her? I've been an athlete for too many years, had too many coaches in my life. Some of them have been physical, some screamers and some have been above it all, but the best were the quiet types who were "disappointed" when you didn't live up to your potential. Damn her! "I'll try, Ms. Baker, I will." She pats my head. "That's my girl, now get up on that pole and show me what you've got!" * * ** * ** * ** * * Honey got back from Hanson's clinic yesterday and she looks goooooddd, actually looks younger than when she left a week ago. I don't like losing the money, but I will enjoy fucking the new, improved Honey Sweet-Lay. She's also unveiling her new routine tonight. I got a preview yesterday and it's a killer! I don't know who she worked with at Doc Hanson's but I wish they would do the same with the rest of my dancers. If they were half as good as Honey, I'd be able afford a new building. The new routine was my idea ... well, I did the music. Doc Hanson said that she had someone who could do the choreography and the costume but without the music, it's nothing. Candi has just finished her set, which was pretty good, she's probably second best to Honey. I dim the lights a bit in the bar, it makes the stage seem brighter, a little melodramatic but I want everyone to pay attention to this. I hold up the start of Honey's set, to build a little suspense. Honey is standing just inside the stage door, ready to begin. I pick up the microphone and flip it on. "Gentlemen! I am pleased to present Honey Sweet-Lay, recently returned from a brief tour of Europe! Let's welcome her back!" OK, she's never been more than forty miles from this club but they don't need to know that. I hit "play" on the digital player and her new music starts. It's "My Wife" by The Who, with a few edits by me. The guitar of Pete Townsend shrieks, quickly followed by the erratic genius of drummer Keith Moon and the wailing of Rodger Daltrey, all supported by the steady base of John Entwistle. Honey comes charging out the door, attacking the stage. She's wearing a short, Donna Reed type dress, sunshine yellow, with wide lapels and deep cleavage. The dress hits a few inches above her knees but it has a full petticoat, so it seems shorter while it bounces with each step. Every one can see the garter straps that hold her sheer stockings. She has matching yellow pumps with 5" heels, carrying a big yellow purse, her hair is piled up on her head in a kinda beehive style. Her makeup is bright and bold, red lipstick, dark lashes, ruby cheeks. She's the image of a 50's housewife as drawn by Alberto Vargas. Her costume shows a lot less than the usual strippers' outfit, which somehow makes it sexier ... a lot sexier. My life's in jeopardy Murdered in cold blood is what I'm gonna be I ain't been home since Friday night And now my wife is coming after me She circles the stage, looking both proud and angry, head high and turning, as if she is searching for someone. She circles the stage again. Give me police protection Gonna buy a gun so I can look after number one Give me a bodyguard A black belt Judo expert with a machine gun Her head stops moving around and she seems to focus on someone or something in the back corner of the room, a seductive smile spreading across her face. She reaches out, grabs the pole and spins around several times, keeping time with the driving drums. She drops the purse at the base of the pole, bends over at the waist, while keeping her feet together, showing the crowd her perfect ass. She unzips the purse, then slowly lets her legs start to spread apart, dropping into the splits, all the while still bent at the waist. Half the crowd groans with lust, while the other applauds and shouts. Gonna buy a tank and an aeroplane When she catches up with me Won't be no time to explain She thinks I've been with another woman And that's enough to send her half insane Gonna buy a fast car Put on my lead boots And take a long, long drive I may end up spending all my money But I'll still be alive She rolls backwards, quickly stands up and then struts around the edge of the stage again, peeling off her dress as she does. It's held together by Velcro patches and comes apart easily. Underneath, Honey's wearing a white lace pushup bra, white satin waist cincher with garters and a tiny white thong. The style is again more 50's housewife, except for the thong. She's not playing it like a stripper, but like an unbelievably beautiful wife who is stripping for her husband, and every guy in the house is that husband. She grabs the pole, swings around several times with her legs trailing behind in the air, then flips upside down, her hair now free and falling straight down to the ground. All I did was have a bit too much to drink And I picked the wrong precinct Got picked up by the law And now I ain't got time to think She crosses her ankles around the pole above her and lies back, the crack of her ass pressed into the pole and her body suspended parallel to the floor. She reaches up to her tits and unsnaps her bra, revealing her amazing boobs, letting the bra fall to the floor. She lies further back until her hands touch the floor. She uncrosses her ankles, releasing the pole. It's now a handstand with her legs spread wide. She slowly drops to the floor, resting on her stomach, spins around, then rises up, first to her knees, then her feet. She parades around the stage again, playing with the Velcro holding her panties together, shaking her tits and fluffing her hair, swinging her ass. Gonna buy a tank and an aeroplane When she catches up with me Won't be no time to explain She thinks I've been with another woman And that's enough to send her half insane Gonna buy a fast car Put on my lead boots And take a long, long drive I may end up spending all my money But I'll still be alive All the while, she has a kind of fire in her eyes and look of both lust and anger on her face, as if she wants to both fuck you and hurt you. Most of the crowd, at least those who aren't too drunk to pay attention, are mesmerized. After finishing her lap of the stage, she returns to the pole, tears off her thong, jumps up, grasping the pole and spreading her legs, showing her cunt to the world. I made sure that she was very horny before her set tonight, it has been about twenty hours since she'd gotten a dose of my jism. Even though this place is full of foul odors and sweaty guys, I swear that you can actually smell her hot pussy. I'm at least forty feet away from the stage, but I think I can still catch just a hint of that familiar odor. Probably just my imagination. And I'm oh so tired of running Gonna lay down on the floor I gotta rest some time so I can get to run some more She drops back down to her feet, then spins around the stage, hips swinging, tits bouncing, her feet keeping time with the manic drum beats. There is a fine sheen of sweat on her skin, giving her a glowing look. When she nears the pole, she stops and bends over again, just as before, this time her moist pussy is on display for all to see. She reaches into the purse and pulls out a penis shaped squirt gun, about 10" long. She strides around the stage, stopping now and then, legs spread wide, pointing it at different guys. If they beg her, she shoots them. After a few shots, she returns to the pole, leans back against it, her feet about three feet apart, knees slightly bent. Holding the squirt gun in her right hand, she slowly pushes it into her pussy, all the way to the trigger, while she kneads her tits with her left hand. She's comin'! She's comin'! This keeps repeating, the crowd joining in on the chorus, as Honey fucks herself with the squirt gun, faster and faster. There's still that look of anger and lust on her face but lust is winning. You could hear her moan if the music wasn't so loud. Her eyes roll up into her head and her legs begin to tremble as she repeatedly pulls the trigger, filling her cunt. She collapses to her knees as an orgasm wracks her body, her head flailing left and right, her hair flying about. The crowd cheers and applauds. She slowly stands, pulling the squirt gun from her cunt, then curtseys and smiles at the crowd. She picks up her costume and props; then prances off the stage. It couldn't have gone any better. I could charge $100 bucks a head and twenty guys would line up to fuck her tonight. Unfortunately, there's only time for five guys at best. This won't last, so I better take advantage while I can. When I get back stage, there is some woman hugging Honey, congratulating her. When she lets Honey go, I recognize her, she's the person in charge of the Wrangler Girls, Baker I think. "Terrific job, Honey! Just terrific!" I say. "There are at least twenty guys ready to fuck your brains out tonight. Get your costume back on and let's get started." She's still horny, so I should have some satisfied customers tonight and they will spread the word. I can probably milk this for a month or so. The other woman looks at me with disgust. "You have a true artist here and you abuse her this way? I know that Amy wants her to suffer but there are limits to what a person should have to endure." "Look Lady, you got a problem, take it up with Hanson, until she says otherwise, this is the way it's gonna be. Now, get your ass in gear, Honey." She glances at the Baker bitch. "Yes, Sir." Baker reaches out and touches her arm. "I am so proud of you Honey. It was an extraordinary performance. I hope to see you soon." "Thank you, Ms. Baker." I cough and point to the door. Honey scurries off to her room. Baker gives me a look of contempt, then leaves. Time to make some money. * * ** * ** * ** * * Anthony has given me good reports about Honey's new routine and its effect on his clients. The videos that accompanied those reports confirmed that he was correct. It was mostly fairly vanilla sex but the men seemed enthusiastic. Honey was often just as enthusiastic, depending on the time of day. I think I enjoyed the encounters where she was less willing to participate the best. Sometimes I regret making it possible for her to enjoy intercourse so much but it does guarantee my control. Andrea Baker came by three weeks ago and questioned my treatment of Honey. I politely listened and informed her that she was free to drop out of her "maintenance" program any time she liked. Needless to say, that shut her up in record time. She may have objections about how I do things but she would not jeopardize her own self-interest to help Honey, none of my people would. That is the power that I hold over them. * * ** * ** * ** * * Things have started to calm down a bit since the new routine was introduced. I'm still getting above average attention but it's slowly falling back to normal nuisance levels. Being so good up on the stage has pluses and minuses. One of the pluses is that it is an ego boost, proves I'm still good at something, very good actually. Another plus is the time I'm on my feet on stage or in the bar doing lap dances is time I'm not on my back in my room, which brings up one of the minuses. The better I am on stage, the more interest I attract and the more the scumbags line up to fuck me. That's if I'm lucky. If I'm not lucky, fucking is just the beginning. I could just do the minimum on stage but Anthony has already seen me at my best and he won't settle for any less now. He can be very persuasive. Ms. Baker's advice has been helpful. It is easier to get in the right mood if I can focus on one or two guys instead of the whole crowd. I'm careful to pick different people for each set, don't want any particular guy thinking I'm coming on to him on a regular basis. That might cause trouble if I pick the wrong guy. Anthony only has me do the new routine a couple of times a week, he wants to keep it fresh and special, which is fine with me because it's a bitch. The rest of the time I do my old routines but even they are better with my new focus technique. It is hard to find someone in the crowd who doesn't disgust or scare me but I can usually find somebody. There is this one guy though, he's ... hard to describe. He's here a lot, not every day but often three to four days a week, different days of the week for the last couple of weeks. Average height, average weight, brown hair, dresses in mostly gray or dark blue baggy clothes, never sits close to the stage but never at the same table. Always sits alone and doesn't hire lap dances. The other girls asked him early on but when he turned them down, they stopped asking, looking for more willing targets. He nurses one or two drinks the whole time he's here. He doesn't shout or scream but isn't depressed or frowning. You usually find two types at a strip club, guys ready to party and guys trying to cheer themselves up but this guy is neither, doesn't smile, doesn't sulk, just a bland look all the time. But he has bright, alert eyes, like he sees everything. He's not happy, or sad, or nervous, or scared, or angry, he's just ... comfortable. He does nothing to stand out, which kinda makes him stand out, if you know what I mean. I tried to use him as a guy I could focus on during a routine but it was no good, he would never react, never give me feedback. It was like playing to a blank wall. To be honest, he is so different from the usual customer; I think he scares me more than the obviously scary guys, at least with them I have some idea what to expect. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was a cop but Anthony pays off a couple of local cops and they ignore him completely. As I said, he's hard to describe. * * ** * ** * ** * * Another relatively quiet Tuesday night. I had to toss a couple of bastards who showed up already nearly drunk. They were just looking to cause trouble, which I'll tolerate if they'll buy my booze but you do your drinking someplace else and I've got a short fuse. Honey is just about to finish her new routine, well, new five weeks ago. It still gets a great reaction from the crowd, there's just not much of a crowd. No matter what I try, Tuesdays and Wednesdays suck. I thought that if Honey did the new routine it might help but even that only added about ten people to the average. Only about three to four guys show any interest in fucking her, or getting blow jobs. At $50.00 a pop, that's only $150.00 to $200.00 each of the two days. I'd reduce her rates but I don't think it would help. After a while, customers just get tired of the same old house whore. They need variety. I hear applause and look up from wiping the top of the bar. Honey's picking up her stuff while the small crowd shows its appreciation. She did her usual good job, just one of those days. I go back to cleaning the bar. Someone sits down on a stool in front of me and coughs. I glance up at him. "Can I help you, buddy?" "Yes you can. I would like to speak with the owner or manager if he is available." "I'm both. What do you want to sell me?" "Nothing, I just have a question. Who is responsible for the music used in that last set?" I give him a closer look. Probably between 5' 10" and 5' 11," 200 to 220 lbs, hard to say since his clothes are kinda loose on him. Brown hair, brown eyes, average complexion, nothing special. Calm look on his face. We'll see about that. I rise up to my full 6' 6" height and lean over the bar, looming above him. "I am, what's it to ya? You with the musician's union or something?" This move intimidates the best of them but he just looks directly up at me, a little crooked smile on his face. "No, I am not with the musician's union, just a fan of The Who. It is my understanding that the run time of ?My Wife' is three minutes thirty six seconds, give or take, depending on which cut. The one I just heard was over six minutes. Where did you get that version?" I smile at that. I'm pretty good with the digital editing program. "Made it myself. I needed it to be longer to fit Honey's routine so I looped the instrumental sections between Daltry's singing plus looped the end." "You certainly did a wonderful job. I have listened to it several times and could not hear a single glitch." "Thanks, it's a hobby of mine." "You are certainly proficient." Proficient? What does that mean. He's smiling, so it must be good. "Appreciate it Mr. ..." "James, Bob James." He reaches across the bar with his right hand. I take it to shake and give him an extra hard squeeze. He responds with almost the exact same pressure, possibly just a tiny little bit more. Pretty impressive for a guy his size. "Anthony Coleridge, pleased to meet you, Bob. What can I get you?" "Miller beer." "Light?" "No thank you, regular please. I do not believe in light beer." I nod in agreement and pour him a full glass, not the usual partial with extra foam. He picks up the glass, tips it slightly towards me; then takes a swig. "You know Bob, you're the first person who's ever said anything about the music." He chuckles. "Not to denigrate your work but I certainly can see why. Your performer is extraordinary, a very attractive girl. I was wondering if she is available for some personal services?" "Oh yeah, $50.00 and she's yours for whatever you have in mind for up to an hour." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. "I have something more extended in mind. Would she be available for a couple of days, including overnights?" "What?" "Specifically, Monday evening from closing to opening on Thursday. I have been keeping track of her schedule the last few weeks and that is her slowest time period, rarely more than five clients a day, plus lap dances of course. I would guess that she averages less than $600.00 for the two day period." A lot less. "I am willing to offer $1,000.00 for the same two days..." he opens his wallet, takes out three bills and lays them on the bar, one at a time "...for three consecutive weeks ... in advance." Each one is a thousand dollar bill. DAMN! "If things go well, I may extend the engagement indefinitely." GOD DAMN! I can't take my eyes off the pile of cash in front of me. A thou a week. That's over $4,000.00 a month, $52,000.00 a year! "What does she have to do for that kind of money?" "Nothing extreme, nothing she has not likely done before. She will be completely safe, I assure you. If either you or she becomes uncomfortable with the arraignment, you can terminate it, no questions asked. Consider the three weeks as a trial period. Assuming it is successful, we go on from there." That's a lot of green for just two days a week, particularly those two days. Sometimes it's so slow that I have her blow me just out of boredom... OH SHIT! Overnights! She'd go nuts if she didn't get a dose of my jizz at least once during that stretch. Damn it! "Look, Bob ... it is Bob, right?" "Yes." "OK Bob, I'd like to work that deal with you but Honey has ... a medical problem. She needs her medicine once a day." "It is not AIDS is it? Some other STD?" "No! No, absolutely not, she's not contagious or anything, she just needs to get it once a day." "That should not be a problem. Send the pills or liquid or injections with her and I will make sure she takes it. I am familiar with syringes so I should be able to handle any shots she needs." "Uhhhhh ... it may not be that simple. Let me talk to her doctor and see what she says." "I do have other candidates, Anthony, but Honey Sweet-Lay is my first choice, so I can wait up to a week before making my decision." "I appreciate that, man, ?cause I'd like to do business with you if I can." "Good." He slides off the bar stool. "I will speak with you next week." He sticks his hand out again and we shake. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Anthony." He picks up his money and leaves. I hate to see that cash go. Time to talk with Doc Hanson. CHAPTER THREE I pulled up to gate in the driveway of Hanson's house. I'd been here several times before, the first time to plant the drugs that framed Josh Thomas. She had bought the house when the bank foreclosed to collect on the unpaid mortgage. She bought practically everything that was in the house, including all Thomas' trophies and memorabilia. I've brought some more of Honey's tapes with me to grease the skids. There's one with this guy who's into water works that makes me sick to watch. Hanson will eat it up. I ring the bell. It takes a minute or two for the intercom to come on. "Who is it?" "It's Anthony, Doc. I've got some new videos for you." "Anthony? It is almost ... 9:00p.m. Couldn't you deliver them to my office tomorrow?" "I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd save a trip. It'll only take a couple of minutes, besides there's one here I think you'll really enjoy." She doesn't respond right away. The intercom crackles back to life. "Very well, come on in, Anthony." I hear the lock on the gate click open and it swings back as I drive in and park on the circle in front of the door. By the time I get to the front porch, Hanson is waiting for me at the door. "Come in, Anthony." "Thanks, Doc." I look around as I walk into the house. She's removed everything that was here when she bought the place but I hear that it's all in storage somewhere. New paint, new carpet, even moved the walls around. I stop in the living room. She walks past me and sits down on the couch. "What do you have for me?" I hand her the box of tapes. "Mostly the usual stuff but you should check out #3. Made me want to puke." There's a sick gleam in her eye. "I do have a quick question, Doc." "What is it, Anthony?" "I and a couple of friends want to go on this week-long fishing trip in Canada, just a bunch of guys, you know. What do you suggest I do about Honey?" "Simple, take her with you." "Your missing the point, Doc,. I don't want to take her with me." "And you are missing my point, Anthony. You do not have any choice in the matter. You and she are joined at the hip. She goes wherever you go, at least if it is farther than a twenty four hour round trip." "Can't you give her a shot or something? She started off just needing anybody's semen, can't you temporarily switch her back to that?" "What you are asking for is not simple. You want me to alter her basic body chemistry for a week, then do it again a week later, just for your convenience. There is no guarantee that I can safely do either. No Anthony, this is the deal that you agreed to when I gave you Honey to punish and profit from. It's a little late for second thoughts." "I really need this vacation from her, Doc. You don't know what it's like, having to be there every damn day." I'm exaggerating quite a lot but the pressure has been nagging at me for some time. Wanting daily sex and being forced to have daily sex are two separate things. "Sorry, Anthony, I can't help you." Bullshit! She ain't sorry and she could help me if she wanted, but it's clear I won't be getting any useful solutions from her tonight. "Fine Doc, guess I'll have to think of something else." "Good luck with that," she says with a smirk. She doesn't think I can do it, come up with an answer to my problem. Screw her! I leave the house, semi-slamming the door behind me. Looks like she won't be getting any more tapes for a while, technical difficulties you know. * * ** * ** * ** * * I've been thinking about it for three days but still nothing. I don't see any way to get Honey through more than forty eight hours without sex with me. She's only gone about thirty hours a few times and those were for the post Super Bowl parties for the Wranglers, which is pretty much non-stop sex for several hours with more than forty guys. Unless Bob James is an amazing sex machine, she'd wear him out by about hour twenty two. The only choice is for me to fuck her at least once during his time and how the hell do I explain that? Sorry to interrupt you Mr. James, but I need to fuck Ms. Sweet-Lay while she's on your dime or she'll go nuts in a few hours... Why? Because she used to be a famous pro athlete, maybe you've heard of Josh Thomas? Yes? Well she's him and she's addicted to my sperm. How did that happen? Don't ask man, just don't ask. Yeah, I'm sure he'd understand that. I pour myself another drink, bourbon, neat. Not that crap I serve at the bar but the good stuff I keep in my office. I take a slow sip, savoring the taste and the burn as it flows down my throat. Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. A little of that goes a long way... Wait a minute ... could it be as simple as that? There's one way to find out. I should have all that I need around here somewhere. There's several empty 8 oz. seltzer water bottles behind the bar, the condom machine is in the bathroom. I leave my office, walk down to the bar, pick up three empty bottles with screw caps and stop at the bathroom to get a condom. When I get back to my office I dig an old copy of "Playboy" out of the bottom drawer of my desk for inspiration, drop my pants, roll the condom over my cock and get down to business. * * ** * ** * ** * * I had just finished cleaning up after fucking my last customer for the night. It was 2:24 a.m. and I was both tired and buzzed, tired because it had been a busy and long day, buzzed because I hadn't had a taste of Anthony's sperm all day. He'd taken to giving me my daily dose at the end of the workday so that I would be hot for my customers during the rush hours. I hear him walk down the hallway to my door. "Finish up there, Honey, and come down to my office, be quick about it!" If it's his office, that means it's probably a blow job. Fucking usually happens in my room, though not always. I slip on a flimsy robe and heels; then rapidly walk to his office. The relief from my last orgasm is fading fast and I can feel my pussy getting wet in anticipation, my nipples swelling and hardening. Anthony's sitting behind his desk, waiting for me. "I'm ready, Sir." "I can see that, but we're going to try a little experiment tonight." Oh God, what does that mean? He leans back and opens the mini-fridge in the wall behind him, removing an empty seltzer water bottle, one of the small ones. Oh ... wait, it's not quite empty. "Have a seat, Honey." I pull the robe tight around me and sit in the chair opposite the desk. He pushes the bottle across the desk towards me. "Drink this." I reach out, pick up the bottle, carefully remove the cap and sniff the opening. I can't smell anything unusual. I want to ask him what this is but I don't dare. Guess that the best I can do is hope that he doesn't have a reason to hurt me too bad. After taking a deep breath, I upend the bottle, pour the liquid in my mouth and swallow. It's a little salty, slightly thicker than water, tastes like ... my eyes open wide in surprise while Anthony laughs. "That's right, you guessed it. How do you feel?" I do a quick system check. My horniness is disappearing, falling back to my normal level, just like it always does when I get my dose of his semen. Why did he bottle his semen? "I feel fine, Sir." "Any difference from how you usually feel after we have sex?" "Not really." "Good! Do everything tomorrow just like normal and we'll try this again. If this works, Honey, it could mean a whole new life for both of us." He's smiling like a maniac. I haven't seen him so happy for some time. What the hell is going on? "Is there anything else, Sir?" "No, Honey, that's it for now. Good night." "Good night, Sir." I return to my room, kick off the shoes, hang up my robe and climb into my stained and saggy bed. I get to put clean sheets on it in the morning, but I have to sleep in the mess left behind by my customers, in the nude. Another of Hanson's goddamn rules. Usually, I'm so tired it doesn't matter, but tonight, my mind is full of questions. What is Anthony up to? Why is he giving me his semen in a bottle? Is that going to change the way it affects me? Unfortunately, no matter how long I think about it, there are no answers, so eventually I fall asleep. I'm just as confused in the morning when I wake up but I'm feeling OK, the same as usual. The day goes as normal, same routines on the stage, same lap dances, same soulless sex in my room as my need to be fucked slowly increases throughout the day. Anthony calls me back to his office at the end of the day and gives me another bottle from his fridge. Again, it quenches the heat in my pussy, leaving Anthony grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Great! Great! This is going to work! Hanson can go fuck herself. Check with me when you get up, Honey. I want to make sure it's all good." I still haven't got any good ideas about what is going on but, so far, my life isn't any worse, no better either, but the best I can hope for is that things don't go downhill for me. I report to Anthony in the morning that everything seems normal. He couldn't be happier. A happy Anthony makes my life more pleasant all around. He slaps me on the ass and sends me off to work. * * ** * ** * ** * * I'm ready for Bob James when he comes back on Tuesday. "Good day, Anthony. What did Honey's doctor say?" "Couldn't be better news, Bob. She's good to go. When do we start?" "I would like to start next Monday evening, assuming my background check is satisfactory." "What background check?" "I assume that you want to check me out, make sure that I do not have a criminal record, review my references, inspect my house, that sort of thing. You certainly have every right to make sure that Honey will be safe while in my company." Shit! I hadn't thought about that. Guess I can have one of the cops I'm paying off do some kind of check. "Sure, of course, I was planning on doing that." He takes a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. "This is the important information, name, current address, last three prior addresses, date and place of birth, phone number and so on. If you want additional information, you can contact me. Do you have any questions right now?" "No ... Yes, why are you doing this?" "I would like to keep my motives private, at least for now. I can tell you that I am recently retired and looking to make some changes in my life." "Retired? Aren't you a little young for that?" Looking at him, I can't really tell how old he is but a bit of flattery can't hurt. "Early retirement. Anything else?" "What did you do?" "You mean my job? I was in shoe sales, importing from overseas and selling to stores in the United States." "Good money in that?" "Enough that I can afford $1,000.00 per week for two days of your girl's services." "Gotcha." "Anything else?" "No, not now. Give me two days and I'll call you." "That seems fair. I will speak with you then." After he leaves, I reach for the phone to call my cop. CHAPTER FOUR Anthony called me to his office early Monday. "Have a seat, Honey." I take the chair next to his desk. "I've worked a deal with a guy who wants you to spend a couple of days each week at his house." HUH? "I had him checked out and he's legit, seems to be an OK guy." You're gonna drop me at some stranger's house and leave me?! What if he's a freak? I could be dead before morning. "He's paying me a thousand dollars for Tuesday and Wednesdays, starting late Monday and ending early Thursday. Normally, I don't like it when you ask me questions about what I'm doing because I've got you so well trained." He's right. My first thought in any situation is almost always "What would Anthony like?" "But since this is something new, I'll let you ask me a few questions, just so we're both sure about what I want." "Thank you, Sir... Do you know what he wants me to do?" "No idea, I asked but he won't say, though he did say that it wouldn't be anything that you probably hadn't done before." Great, I've done so much the last few years, that could be damn near anything. "Whatever he wants, I expect you to do it unless it looks like he's going to kill you. Not hurt you, kill you. You can put up with a little pain for $500.00 a day." My pain, your money. "We've agreed to a three week trial period so I want you to make him happy, Honey." "What happens after three weeks, Sir?" "Not sure. I think he wants it to continue long term if he can find the right girl. I want you to be that girl." He's already spending the money in his mind. "Am I going to see you each day for my ... uh...." "Daily dose of my ?love juice'?" "Yes, Sir." "That's what my experiments have been about. It occurred to me that while you need a serving of my jism each day, we didn't know exactly how big that serving needs to be. I've been jacking off, catching it in a condom and dividing it up into smaller doses. You've been on half rations the last few days but seem to be fine. I had a friend get me some small re-sealable medicine bottles. I'll put a dose in each bottle and you'll take two with you. I've already told James that you're taking some kind of medication so you should be golden. Just make sure you bring the empties back with you, I can reuse them." "What is my medical problem?" "You don't have one." "I know, Sir, but what do I tell him if he wants to know why I need medicine?" Anthony pauses, apparently he hadn't thought that one out yet, then he chuckles. "Tell him it's a protein supplement, which is technically true." "What if he asks other questions about me?" "Lie to him Honey, make something up. Don't even think about telling him the truth, though, because you know what Doc Hanson would do about that." I do know. "Yes, Sir. Do I need to take anything with me?" "He didn't say." Well what the HELL do you know? "I assume he'll provide any clothes or costumes he wants you to wear." "When am I leaving?" "Midnight tonight. I'm going to check out his place and then you're staying if everything is OK. I'll give you a cell phone so that you can call if things get too dicey." "Do I know him?" "His name is Bob James, ring any bells?" "No, Sir." "I can't say that I recognize him so he may not have been here before or maybe only once before, but he had seen your act and was impressed. He also knew your schedule around here." Anyone who sees my act is impressed. "Are you worried about this deal, Honey?" "Yes, Sir." "I'm sure it'll all work out. Just make sure he's a happy camper come Thursday morning, you got that?" "Yes, Sir." "Fine, get back to work then." The rest of the day goes pretty quickly because I'm obsessing about who wants two whole days with me and what exactly he is expecting me to do for him. There is no way this can be good. Ever since I became a whore for Anthony, I'd done things I never dreamed of, shit I'd never even considered doing to a girl when I was a man. The one saving grace was that any particular john had limited time. Even if they were into beating me, they only had a short time before Anthony would come and kick them out so the next guy could get a shot at me. Now I'm going from one hour to forty eight or more hours. It could be a long term bondage thing, some kinda extended role play or something really kinky like S & M, and my only protection is a cell phone, to be used only if I'm about to die. How fast is Anthony? How long before he shows up to save me? A cell phone is better than nothing, but not much better. As Anthony drives to my new client's home, I look around at the scenery as it rolls by. I don't get out much, only a couple of times in the last three years. We seem to be heading to one of the northern suburbs. At least it isn't some isolated farmhouse. After passing several subdivisions, we turn into one of the older ones and pull up in front of an inconspicuous split level with a brick front and two car garage. Anthony opens his door. "You stay put until I check the place out. I'll come and get you. If the other guy comes to get you, drive like hell to the cops." Anthony gets out of the car and I walk around to sit in the driver's seat. Anthony walks slowly to the front door, looking around as he approaches the house. He rings the bell and waits. In a few seconds, the door opens. I can't see the other persons' face. Anthony steps in and the door closes. Nothing happens for several minutes. I fidget with my dress, pulling the too short hem down my thighs. I couldn't figure out what to wear so Anthony chose the black mini tank dress. It's pretty low cut, showing a lot of my cleavage. It's also very tight, clinging to every curve. The black patent leather shoes have 3?" heels, my shortest. I've got my purse for some makeup, Anthony's bottled semen in a small cooler bag, and the phone. Being dressed like a whore in the club is bad enough but being out in the real world is much worse, who knows who may see me. Suddenly the front door opens and Anthony steps out. He's smiling so he must be happy. He quickly strides to the car and opens my door. "You're up, Honey. Everything looks fine to me. Remember, make him happy." I slide out of the seat and he slides in, slamming the door shut. "I'll see you Thursday morning." He starts the car and drives away, leaving me standing, nearly naked, on the driveway, my arms crossed in front of my chest, hugging my slim shoulders. I look towards the front door. There's someone standing there, in the shadows. I take a deep breath and walk towards the door. Where else can I go? The closer I get, the better I can see his face. I pause and squint at him. OH FUCK JESUS GOD! It's that scary quiet guy from the club, the one who sits in the back! I could run, but where could I go? What would Anthony do to me when he found me? I've got no choice but to go on, just like I have no choice in the rest of what passes for my life. I try to put a smile on my face as I keep walking towards his door. When I reach it, he steps forward, smiling, offering me his hand. I take it and we shake hands. "Hello, Ms. Sweet-Lay, I am Bob James, please come in." He steps aside and extends his arm into the open doorway. "Thank you, Sir." I walk through the door into a small foyer. He shuts the door and steps past me. "I will give you a quick tour of the house." We step into the living room. "Obviously, this is the living room. Down this hall are three bedrooms. The first one is mine, the second is yours, the third I use as my office." We step into his bedroom, there is a king size bed, a large dresser, a small table on each side of the headboard and a large bookcase on one wall, holding a TV, VCR, DVD Player, Stereo and lots of books. I back out of the room into the hallway and look in the second bedroom. It has a queen size bed, a wooden rocking chair, the same two tables by the headboard, a dresser and smaller bookcase. I walk in and open the closet. It's empty, so is the dresser. I sit on the edge of the bed and bounce slightly. This is a quality mattress. It also has a private bath. I look up and see Mr. James in the doorway. "Let's see the rest of the house," he says. He leads me to the kitchen. It's larger than you might expect for a house this size, nicely equipped, two ovens, gas range, microwave, big fridge. He walks to the sliding glass door, flips on the outside floodlights and opens the door. I look outside. It's a fenced in yard with a solid wooden eight foot fence, an in-ground pool with attached hot tub and natural stone tile all around. Very impressive. Not