A sequel to the classic "Team Spirit" by Janice the Dreamer (available on Fictionmania.tv). All-pro quarterback Josh Thomas, now teenage dancer/whore Honey Sweet-Lay, has been working at Anthony's club for three years since her transformation when a mysterious man comes into her life. Indicated elements apply to entire story. Chapters 1-5 of 48.

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF
By Meps98
FORWARD
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 ½” 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 as nice as my old house but not bad. I step out and walk around a bit. Mr. James follows me.

“I bought it primarily for the kitchen and the pool, though I have not used either as much as I thought I would. Please come back in, Ms. Sweet-Lay, we have a lot to talk about.” I walk back in and he slides the door shut. “Have you had supper yet?”

Anthony had given me a bologna sandwich to eat on the way over. “No, Sir.”

“It is too late to fix anything, how about pizza?” I haven’t had a decent pizza in years.

“That would be fine, Sir.”

He picks up the phone and dials a number. “What kind of toppings do you like?”

“Whatever you want, Sir.”

“Come now, you must have a favorite?”

“No, whatever you want will be fine.”

He looks skeptical but goes on with his order. “Yes, a large sausage and pepperoni with cheese breadsticks please... No, we have our own drinks, thank you.” He gives them his address and phone number; then hangs up.

“It will be twenty minutes but we can start our talk now. Do you want something to drink? I have Coke, 7-Up, and bottled tea, plus water, of course.”

“No thank you, Sir.” Again, he gives me that puzzled look.

“Very well, we can talk in the living room.”

He walks through the door and I follow. There is a recliner, a love seat and a couch, along with a coffee table, a couple of floor lamps, magazine rack/table, a wall sized bookcase surrounding a 50” plasma TV. He sits in the recliner and indicates that I sit on the love seat. I sit down, smoothing my dress underneath me, keeping my knees together.

“Ms. Sweet-Lay, I am sure that you are full of questions. Even if Anthony told you everything he knew, you should still have questions because I did not tell him much, he seemed more concerned about the money. Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

“First, please call me ‘Bob’. I am not a ‘Sir’. Will you do that for me, Ms. Sweet-Lay?”

“Yes Si... Bob.” He gives me crooked smile.

“Thank you, Ms. Sweet-Lay. Are you sure you do not have any questions?”

Of course I do but I dare not ask them. “No questions.”

He slowly shakes his head. “Anthony must have done a real number on you. No favorite pizza, no questions. We will see about that later. Since you have no questions, let me start. I have retained your services for the next two days. As long as you are here, you will have your own room, to decorate as you wish, at my expense, within reason. No screwy paint schemes or holes in the wall or original Picassos, but I am flexible. In the morning, after breakfast, we will go out and get you an appropriate wardrobe, again, within reason. There will not be a lot of clothes at first but that can change if things go well. The next three weeks are a trial period, to see how we get along together. If all goes well and you are in agreement, I plan to extend this arrangement indefinitely. Oh, I almost forgot. Anthony said that you had some medication that needed to be refrigerated.”

“Yes Si ... Bob.” He smiles again. It’s not a bad smile, a little crooked, more like a smile/sneer but his eyes are bright and clear.

He stands up. “Hand them to me and I will put them in the kitchen fridge.” I don’t want to let them out of my sight, but they do need refrigeration so I reluctantly hand them to Bob. He walks to the kitchen and I hear the fridge door open with a ‘whoosh’, then it quickly closes. He is back in seconds.

“After clothes shopping, we will go the grocery store and stock up a bit. The rest of the days will involve cooking and cleaning. Can you cook, Ms. Sweet-Lay?”

Actually, I can. When I was in college, the jocks were in either “Sports Management,” “Criminal Justice Studies,” or “Restaurant and Hotel Management,” my major. You had the occasional player who was also a student, but most of us spent our non-practice time at the frats playing video games. The coaches made sure that the fix was in on our grades so no one ever actually went to class unless absolutely necessary. I blew off my share of classes, but discovered that I really enjoyed some of my RHM classes, mostly cooking. My mom always said that if you enjoyed eating, you better learn how to cook. I don’t know if it was the teachers, or the ability to eat your homework or the high babe to male ratio, but I rarely missed a cooking class. I also used that particular skill when I was trying to seduce a reluctant woman. If my charm and good looks weren’t enough, my “Seafood Fettuccini a la Thomas,” a Caesar Salad and a good bottle or two of wine would usually do the trick. It’s been some time since I prepared a decent meal but it’s one of those riding-a-bicycle skills you never lose.

“Yes, I can cook.”

“Good! Glad to hear it. Anyone can clean, you just need the proper instruction, but not everyone can be a good cook.” The doorbell rings. “Must be our pizza, I will be right back.” He goes to the door and I hear a brief, muffled conversation. He’s back in less than a minute with the pizza box.

“Not exactly fine dining but it will do in a pinch. Shall we eat in the kitchen?” I don’t know if that is a question or a polite order but I stand up and follow him to the kitchen. He sets the box on the table, goes to a cupboard for two plates, then opens a drawer for knives and forks. The last things are some paper napkins from a dispenser on the counter. I sit down on the wooden chair.

“Would you like something to drink now?” I would but I can’t decide what. I’ve spent the last three years wearing, eating, and doing what I’ve been told. I’m actually out of practice making decisions about what I want. I just sit there, frozen. Mr. James lightly touches my hand. I look up at him. He smiles back. “Would you like a Coke?” I smile in relief.

“Yes, a Coke would be good. Thank you ... Bob.” He goes to the fridge, gets a plastic bottle of Coke and a can of Sprite, hands the Coke to me and sits down. We eat in silence, studying each other.

He seems harmless enough. In this environment, he’s very normal. I guess the guys you meet in a strip club aren’t exactly a representative sample of men in general. Still ... there’s just something about him. I must be hungrier than I thought because I eat about two-thirds of the pizza. Bob just watches me scarf it down. Once I finish the last piece, he stands up.

“It has been a long day and I anticipate that the next two will also be long and busy. It is probably best if we get some sleep. You do not have any night clothes with you and you may prefer to sleep without any, but I do have an extra large T-shirt you could wear, if you want.” I hesitate, another decision to make.

“Yes, I will. Thank you.”

“You are welcome Ms. Sweet-Lay. I want you to know that you can ask me any question that you wish. I may not answer it but I will never object to you asking it. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. I will show you to your room.”

We stand up and he leads me back to the hallway and into “my” room. “There are towels here,” he opens a cabinet in the bathroom “along with soap, shampoo and conditioner. We can get things more to your liking tomorrow but they should do for now.” He reaches into a bathroom drawer and removes a big T-shirt, handing it to me. “If there is nothing else, I will bid you good night.” He nods his head slightly and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I wait a few seconds and then try the door. It’s unlocked. It does have a push lock built into the handle. I push it in. Probably not much of a lock but it does give me a bit of peace of mind. I undress, hanging my dress in the closet, placing my shoes next to the bed and my underwear on the chair. After washing my face, I slip the T-shirt over my head. It’s like a sleepshirt, warm and comfortable. I walk back to the bed, pull down the covers and slide in. The sheets are crisp and cool but quickly warm up. The mattress is firm but soft, just the way I like it, particularly compared to the bag of lumps that I sleep on at the club. I am nearly asleep when there’s a knock at my door.

“Ms. Sweet-Lay? Is everything acceptable?”

“Yes, Bob, very acceptable.”

“Good, I will see you in the morning, then.”

“Bob?”

“Yes, Ms. Sweet-Lay?”

“You can call me Honey ... if you want.”

“Certainly ... Honey, sleep tight.”

* * ** * ** * ** * *

I had several dreams that night but can’t recall any of them clearly. They weren’t nightmares, which is different from the usual. When I wake up, I’m confused for a few moments, not recognizing where I am, then remember that I’m not at the club. I sit up and look around, blinking the sleep from my eyes. It’s dark in the room, the curtains drawn shut. Crawling out of the bed, I open the curtains, letting the light stream in. The window overlooks the pool, the morning sun bouncing off the ripples moving across its surface. I stare at it for a few minutes, almost hypnotized by the effect. The smell of fresh brewed coffee snaps me out of it. I walk barefoot to the door, unlock it, slowly push it open and then stick my head out. I hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Might as well get the day started. I carefully move down the hall, through the living room and peek into the kitchen.

Bob is at the stove, his back to me. The coffee pot is to his left, popping and hissing as the last few drops drip out of the filter basket and fall into the pot. Suddenly the bread pops up in the toaster to his right. When he reaches over to pick up the toast, I can see that he’s frying eggs on the range, spitting hot oil all around. Bob seems not to notice as the oil hits his forearms.

“Good morning, Honey. Did you sleep well?” He doesn’t even turn around when he says that, how did he know I was there? I step into the room, rubbing my eyes with the back of my left hand.

“Good morning ... Bob. I slept fine. It’s a very good bed.”

“I am glad you were comfortable. Would you care for some coffee?”

“Leaded or unleaded?”

“Leaded, of course. I’m not into healthy eating, particularly breakfast. I am frying eggs, is that acceptable for you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There are coffee cups in that cupboard, along with plates. If you would set the table, I will finish up here.” He nods towards a cabinet to his right. I open it, remove two cups and plates, place them on the table and get some utensils from the drawer, setting them next to the plates. Bob carries the pan over to the table and slides the eggs onto the plates. He returns to the stove, opens the oven and takes several pieces of toast out, setting three on each plate. “You can pour the coffee, Honey.” I remove the pot from the coffee maker and fill each cup. “I tend to make it a bit strong so you may need to add a little water.”

“I like it strong.”

He grins at me. “Glad to hear it. There is sugar on the table and milk in the fridge.” I sit down, careful to keep my knees together. The T-shirt is long enough, but I’m not wearing any panties. Bob is also wearing a T-shirt plus pajama pants. I add two teaspoons of sugar to my cup and stir. Bob takes his coffee black.

“Dig in, Honey. I am afraid that my eggs taste worse when they cool.” I take a bite. They are more than a little greasy so he’s probably right but I won’t bitch. It’s been some time since I had fresh eggs in the morning. Snarfing them down, I occasionally glance at Bob, who’s watching me, that slightly crooked smile on his face. I finish first but he’s right behind me. He stands up, takes both our plates to the sink, refills the coffee cups and sits back down.

“I know that you have questions Honey, anyone would in your position. But, for whatever reason, you do not feel comfortable asking. Let me explain a few things that might put your mind at ease. I have not brought you to my home for sex or some kind of kinky activity. While you are a very beautiful girl, perhaps as attractive as any I have ever seen, I do not have a need for those kinds of services. What I do have a need for is someone to occasionally cook and clean and some companionship. I have visited many establishments like the one where you work and found you to be the most appealing.” He shrugs. “Do not ask me why, it was just a gut reaction.”

I bet it wasn’t just his gut that reacted. Nobody pays the kind of money he’s paying for someone like me and not expect to get some kind of sex, the freakier the better. I think Bob read the skepticism on my face. There’s that smile again.

“I certainly understand that you may not believe me. I can hardly blame you, given the life that you have led. I can only imagine what it has been like.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “No, I don’t think you could.”

“Perhaps you are right Honey. Regardless, I hope to earn your trust over the next few weeks, if not your trust, at least the benefit of the doubt. The first step is to get you some appropriate clothes.”

“Like a French Maid outfit?”

“Only if that is what you want to wear. I certainly would not object but was thinking more along the lines of jeans, polo shirt, and comfortable shoes, whatever you are content with. They need to be functional and I have always thought that the classic French Maid costume, while extremely erotic, would be a handicap when scrubbing floors or doing the laundry. But that is just my opinion”

Is he serious? That’s all he wants from me? “You said I could ask any question?”

“Yes, but I also said that I may not answer it. I will have questions for you in the days to come and I do expect answers.” He shrugs again. “I realize that this is not fair but that is the way it will be, at least for now. We have an employer/employee relationship currently, though that could change, I hope it does.”

“OK. What is all this about? Really? This is just too weird to be true.”

“Everything is as I have told you, no funny business.”

“But you could hire cleaners or cooks for less.”

“I am looking for more than a cook or cleaner can provide.”

“What’s that?”

He winks at me. “One of the questions I will not answer ... for now. Are you ready to get a new wardrobe?”

“If you say so, Bob.”

He shakes his head. “We will need to work on that too accommodating attitude, Honey, but that is for later. You get dressed in your clothes from yesterday and we will leave in five minutes.”

I’m uncomfortable in my mini-dress from yesterday. At the club, I blend in with the rest of the girls, but out in public with regular people, I look like the classic whore. Bob drives to a nearby Super Wal-Mart. It’s early on a weekday so the store’s not too crowded. As we walk through the aisles towards the women’s section, I’m looking down, trying to hide behind Bob. When we get to the racks with casual clothes, Bob steps back.

“There you are, Honey, pick out something you like. I would suggest pants of some kind but if you are happier with a skirt or dress, that is up to you.”

I start to browse through the pants, but don’t know my size. Since the change, I’ve worn nothing but short, slutty dresses or stage costumes. Besides, there are so many items to choose from. I’ve spent the last three years doing what I’ve been told to do. Even if I get to decide something, my objective is to do what will keep either Anthony or Dr. Hanson happy. I don’t know what makes me happy, other than not being beaten or tortured. I keep looking through the clothes, killing time, hoping that Bob will tell me what to pick.

“Is there a problem, Honey?”

“No ... no ... I ... uh...” I grab the nearest pair of pants. “What do you think of these? Are they OK?”

He cocks his head slightly to one side. “What size are they?”

I look at the label. “12”

“And what size are you?”

“Uhhh ... I ... I’m not sure.”

“A teenage girl who does not know her own size? I may not be the most astute person in the world when it comes to the opposite sex, but it is my understanding that teenage girls tend to be somewhat obsessive about clothes.”

“I don’t get out much, and I’m not a teenager, I’m twenty two.”

He holds out his hand. “Let me see your driver’s license.” I fish my wallet out of my purse and hand it to him. He flips it open. “Huh, date of birth, April 1, 1986. I stand corrected, though I would have guessed eighteen, nineteen at most, which is odd because your type of career tends to make a woman appear older than she is, not younger. Why are you the exception?”

I can’t tell him the truth, both Anthony and Dr. Hanson would kill me, or worse. Besides, he’d never believe it and I’ve got no proof of anything. “Good genes, I guess.”

“You had a beautiful, youthful mother?”

Actually, she was very pretty. “Yeah … sure.”

“You sound uncertain of that.”

“I’m certain, she was always beautiful and looked young for her age, so did my dad.”

“Really? How lucky for you. Where are they now?”

I’m ready for that one. “Dead, died in a car accident, a drunk driver.” That always gets me a sympathetic apology and a quick switch to a new subject.

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did your parents die? Where did it happen? What was the driver’s alcohol level? What kind of car did they drive?”

I don’t know how to answer him. No one has ever asked any follow up questions before because they don’t really care about the details. “Is all that necessary? Why do you even care?”

I get that crooked grin again, but this time it seems a bit more malicious. “Just trying to get to know you a bit better, Sorry if I upset you, Honey. Perhaps you should take several pairs to the dressing room to determine your correct size.” I grab four pairs and hustle to the changing room.

After closing the door to the cubicle, I shimmy out of my dress, kick off my shoes, remove the pants from the hanger and step into them, pulling them up past my hips. They’re too big and too long. I haven’t been permitted to wear pants since I escaped from Dr. Hanson’s clinic just before my final transformation, and they didn’t fit either. I try on the remaining pairs and find one that actually fits pretty well. Turning in front of the mirrors, I have to admit that I have a spectacular ass and fabulous legs. Anthony might actually like these. Having figured out my size, I put my dress back on, take the other pants back to the rack and find two more pairs that match the first.

“Are you sure that you want three identical pairs of pants? You can get other styles if you wish.”

“No, these fit fine.”

He shrugs. “It is your choice. Now, what about some tops?” We walk over to the next aisle where I grab a couple of different types of shirts, mostly short sleeves. I return to the changing room, put the pants back on and start trying on shirts. Two button front cotton shirts fit best, a little long but really nice across the bust. The blue polo also fits. I leave the changing room wearing the polo and pants.

“Are these OK?”

“Very nice, Honey, very nice. That color compliments your eyes.” I can feel myself start to blush. “You can wear those to the shoe area if you wish.”

“Oh thank you! I felt like everyone was staring at me in that dress.”

He chuckles. “They were, but you may get almost as many stares in those pants, at least from the males. Likely fewer looks of disgust from the females though.”

I go back to the changing room, put my heels back on, pick up my selections and dress, and then head for the shoe area. I chose three pairs of sneakers. It’s been so long since I’ve worn less than a 3” heel, they feel weird at first but the more I walk in them, the more comfortable they feel. It’s hard to believe that I’m strolling through a store in regular clothes, wearing comfortable shoes, among people who aren’t grabbing or screaming at me.

Our next stop is the underwear aisle, where I quickly select some plain white cotton bras, panties and socks. I know my bra and panty sizes, 36 D and 6. I toss them into the cart that Bob picked up.

“That should do for now.” he says. “There is a grocery store here, not exactly gourmet faire but good for purchasing staples. We can get a few necessities and then go back home. Ultimately, I will expect you to do the grocery shopping on your own along with planning meals, but we will do it together for awhile, until you get comfortable.”

Cleaning? Meal planning? If this is sexual, it’s a kink I’ve never heard of. We select some steaks and fish along with fresh vegetables and pasta for the next two days. I’ll need to take inventory when I get back to the house to see what I have to work with and what else I may need to buy. No matter what, I’ll be eating better the next two days than I have the last three years. We check out, load up Bob’s car and drive back to his house. After putting the groceries away, I go to “my” room, unwrap my clothes, hang them up or put them in the dresser drawer. I stop to look at myself in the mirror, turning left, then right. It’s been years since I’ve worn clothes that don’t cause me intense embarrassment. I’d gotten used to the feeling but it never went away. Seeing myself in normal clothes for a girl my age, I felt ... not happy but ... at ease. Maybe that’s part of the plan, get me comfortable then spring the big surprise on me, whatever that is.

I return to the living room where Bob is waiting for me.

“Since supper is going to be simple tonight, I thought that we could start with some basic cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, laundry, that sort of thing. I will help today to give you an idea as to what I want and I will help in the future, if I can.” We start in the living room and work our way through the house until about 1 o’clock. We take a break while I use the pasta and vegetables to make a light lunch. Bob has water but I have a couple of glasses of white wine. He helps me do the dishes and then we return to cleaning. While we work, Bob asks me a lot of questions, just trying to get to know me he says. What kind of movies I like, my favorite foods, sports I played, my hobbies, favorite TV shows, where I went to school and so on. I’d used those types of questions in the past when I was trying to score with a chick but it doesn’t feel like he’s hitting on me. Of course, he doesn’t have to; he’s paying $500.00 a day. I can’t answer all his questions truthfully so I lie when necessary. The house is already pretty clean so there’s not that much to do. Bob doesn’t seem to be interested in deep cleaning, just keeping things neat and well kept.

We’re done by 5:15 p.m. so I start supper. Bob has a gas grill outside in the back. He grills the steaks while I make a salad and asparagus soup. It’s a nice evening so we eat outside by the pool. I have a red wine this time. He keeps asking me questions, always pleasantly. If I don’t have a good answer, he asks follow up questions. Sometimes, I can’t come up with a good lie. He just smiles and moves on to the next question.

“What were your favorite television programs when you were young, Honey? Mine was ‘Rocky and Bullwinkle’.”

“Didn’t the same people do “George of the Jungle’, ‘Super Chicken’ and ‘Tom Slick’? Those were ones I liked.”

“You are correct, Jay Ward Productions did them all. They also did ‘Fractured Flickers’.”

“Afraid that was before my time.”

He smiles again. “Well, there is a slight difference in our ages. That was a delicious meal, Honey, I am quite impressed. You sit and I will clean up.” He picks up the dirty dishes and carries them back into kitchen. I hear the water running as he starts to wash them. I lean back in my chair and prop my feet up in Bob’s empty chair, sipping my last glass of wine. Looking around, I realize how nice the house and pool are. I could definitely get used to this.

It only takes about fifteen minutes for Bob to finish in the kitchen. He comes back outside when he’s done.

“I was planning on watching a movie tonight Honey. There is a fairly extensive DVD collection in the binders on the shelf in the living room. Have you ever seen ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’?”

“Are you kidding? Who hasn’t seen ‘Raiders’? I actually first saw it at a sneak preview that had practically no advertising.”

“You did?”

“Yep. There was an ad in the paper about a sneak preview of the new George Lucas and Steven Spielberg movie starring Harrison Ford. I thought, hey, if it’s even half as good as ‘Star Wars’, I can’t go wrong. So I walked into the theater without any idea what the movie was about. It was like two thirds full and I had a perfect seat.”

“What is your perfect seat?”

“Dead center, one third of the way back from the screen. They also had just installed a new sound system. When that Paramount logo faded into that shot of the mountain and that whip sound cracked from the back to the front of the theater, it just blew me away. My knees were actually weak when I walked out of that movie.”

“So you would not object to watching it tonight?”

“I’d love it. You got popcorn?”

“And palm oil.”

“Oooohhhh, that stuff will kill you, too bad it tastes so good. I’m ready when you are.”

Bob’s popcorn popper was one of those Stir Crazy poppers, six quarts with a built in stirring rod. I made two batches and filled a big wooden bowl, which I carried out to the living room and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He dimmed the lights and started the movie. It is a nice plasma TV and a kick ass sound system, nearly as good as the THX system in the theater where I first saw it years ago. Harrison Ford looks really young ... and hot.

Jeez, I haven’t taken my daily dose of Anthony’s semen yet. I can feel my pussy start to get wet as I fantasize about fucking Harrison Ford. I manage to shake that image out of my head but become antsier as the movie continues. I concentrate on eating the popcorn to fight the urge to start rubbing my cunt through my pants. Bob reaches over and touches my arm.

“I need to go to the bathroom. I can pause the movie or let it play. Which would you prefer?”

“Pause it. I need to go take my medication, anyway. It’s still in the fridge, right?”

“Yes. I will be right back.” Bob stands up and quickly walks to his bedroom. That seems a little odd, why the rush? Not my business I guess. I walk just as quickly to the kitchen, open the fridge, remove the little glass bottle, unscrew the top and drink the contents. I can’t taste anything because of the popcorn I’d eaten. There’s a little left in the bottle so I stick my index finger in the mouth of the bottle, swirl it around, remove it and then lick it clean. I screw the lid back on and return the empty bottle to the fridge. Anthony wants the empties back; I guess he plans to reuse them. I pause to check my level of arousal. The treatment seems to be working; my pussy no longer tingles for attention.

I take a bottle of Coke from the fridge and return to the living room. Bob’s not back yet. I go over to his bedroom and knock on the door.

“Bob? Do you want something to drink with the popcorn?” He doesn’t say anything right away.

“Yes Honey, I will have a 7-Up. Thank you for asking. I will be right out.”

I go back to the kitchen and grab a bottle of 7-Up. Bob is back on the couch by the time I return. He pushes “play” on the remote as I sit down and hand him his drink.

“Thank you, Honey.”

“You’re welcome.”

The movie starts again and I reach for another handful of popcorn. Bob hasn’t tried to make any kind of move on me at all, which leaves me confused and ... slightly disappointed. I don’t get a gay vibe from him so why hasn’t he even made the slightest attempt to mess with me? He’s paying lots of good money for my time so he could just order me to do whatever he wants. I get the impression that he’s not the shy type but I don’t know what type he is. No matter what, so far, it’s a hell of a lot better here than at the club.

Damn! Harrison Ford really was hot ... wonder why I never noticed it before?

* * ** * ** * ** * *

My alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m. Bob told me last night that all the meal planning would be my job today, except for breakfast because he’s already ordered eggs, juice, toast and fruit. After breakfast, I’m supposed to inventory all the food supplies and then go buy what I need, on my own. This will be the first time I’ve been out alone in years. I take a quick shower and change into a new outfit, one I bought yesterday. I pull my hair into a long ponytail and head for the kitchen. Bob’s door is still closed.

I start with the fruit, peeling oranges, chopping pineapple, slicing grapes and bananas. Next is the toast because I can keep that warm in the oven. The frying pan is hot and ready when Bob comes into the kitchen. He eats his fruit while I fry the eggs, sunny side up. Once they’re done, I place them on a warm plate I take from the oven. Bob cuts them up and takes the first bite.

“These eggs are quite good, Honey, quite good indeed. Certainly better than mine. You will need to show me how you did that. Aren’t you eating something?”

“I already have. I’ll get to work once the dishes are done.”

“It should not take you all day to complete your assignments. You are free to use the DVD collection, library, internet or pool if you have the time, though you would need to purchase a suit if you plan to swim.”

“It looks pretty private out there, is a swim suit necessary?” My back is turned towards him but I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Well, that is up to you Honey. I do not want the neighbors complaining about a beautiful naked girl in my hot tub, though I suspect that I may only get complaints from the female neighbors.”

“Anthony may not like it if I have tan lines.”

“You would know that better than I. I do know that you make a very good breakfast.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. “Here is $300.00. That should cover the cost of what you need to purchase today, including a swim suit if you decide that you need one.” I take the money from his hand and pocket it. “I will expect receipts for all purchases.”

“I should be back in plenty of time to fix lunch.”

“Do not hurry unnecessarily. Just make sure that it is lunch for two, I expect you to eat as well as I do.”

Bob finishes his meal and I quickly clean the kitchen, it really wasn’t much of a mess. By the time I’m done, Bob is in his office. I look in the door before entering. He is sitting in the desk chair, his back to me, but I can tell something is wrong. He is sitting up, head cocked to one side, arms locked, hands grasping the arms of the chair, his body all ... stiff. I don’t think he’s breathing. I watch him for a couple of seconds. Just as I start towards him, he slumps down, relaxing and taking a big breath.

“Are you OK?” He swivels the chair around to the left so that he can see me.

“Yes Honey, I am fine. Just a muscle spasm.” I’ve seen lots of muscle spasms in my time and that wasn’t a muscle spasm, unless it was every one in his body. That looked more like a seizure, but I’m not going to question him, it’s none of my business,

“I need the car keys Bob. Any suggestions about where I should shop?”

“You know where the Wal-Mart is but there is a Super Target two blocks north along with an Albertson’s one block west of that. I believe that there is also a Jerry’s Supermarket and a Kroger in the vicinity. Any of them would do for now.” He reaches into a desk drawer and tosses me the keys, which I easily catch with my left hand. “Nice catch. Drive carefully, Honey.”

“Thanks, I will.”

I walk to my room, grab my purse, then go to the garage, get in the car, adjust the seat and mirrors, push the remote to open the garage door, start the car and drive off. I feel a sense of freedom, though I know I’m not going far. Still, just driving a car gives me the feeling of control, something that has been missing in my life for so long that I can’t clearly remember the last time I felt it.

I like it!

* * ** * ** * ** * *

I stopped at all five stores, not wanting my day out to end. Strolling up and down the aisles, pushing a grocery cart, mixing with normal people, it all felt like a different world. Sure, I attracted a certain amount of attention, how could I not, but nothing like dancing at the club. No one hassled me, fondled me ... fucked me. Time was running out and I needed to get back to Bob’s house.

The last thing I did was to check out swim suits at Target. I wasn’t kidding; Anthony wouldn’t want me to have tan lines. He’d bitched at some of the other girls about it, one of his pet peeves. He couldn’t control them but he sure as hell could control me. But, I could go out after the sun goes down. An evening swimming or in the hot tub would be great. I don’t know what Bob’s got in mind so a suit makes sense. I look through the whole rack, searching for something not too sexy. Unfortunately, anything short of a burlap sack would be sexy on me, and some guys would get off on the sack. There’s this black one piece that’s not too bad, a little high in the leg, a little low in the front, but it’s the best choice of the lot.

After checking out, I take everything to the car. There are a couple of young guys following me, watching my ass as I walk ahead of them. I’ve seen the look in their eyes before, in the eyes of my many “clients”. They both want me bad. Thank God it’s the middle of the day, the parking lot is busy and they’re forty feet behind me. The keys are in my hand by the time I get to the car. I hit the remote which unlocks the doors and quickly toss everything in the back seat, open the driver’s door and jump in, locking it as soon as it shuts.

I glance out the window at my stalkers. I’d caught them by surprise, moving faster than they expected. I stifle the urge to wave at them, no need taking any chances. My hands shaking, I start the car and pull into traffic. Maybe I’m overreacting, maybe they just wanted to talk with me, but my gut says otherwise. At the club, Anthony would have been there to make sure nothing too bad happened, at least until they paid him. Even then, I wouldn’t have been hurt that much. Guess life on the outside can be dangerous too.

By the time I reach Bob’s house, I’m calmer. I don’t know why, but I feel safer here. It’s not just that I’m inside, away from the unknown. My instincts tell me that Bob is an OK guy. We’ve been together more than twenty four hours and he hasn’t done a single threatening thing. He’s been a gentleman the whole time. It could be an act but I’ve seen and experienced a lot in the last few years. I think he’s the real deal. I’m sure that he’s not telling me the complete truth, but I can wait, particularly if I can wait at this house. Bob greets me as the garage door closes.

“Any trouble, Honey?” What can I say; there really wasn’t any trouble, just the possibility of trouble.

“No trouble. I found everything I was looking for. I decided to buy a swim suit. That was OK wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely, whatever makes you comfortable. I will help you unload and put everything away.”

I kept a close eye on him as he carried the bags into the kitchen and unloaded them. He seemed to be fine, no after effects from the seizure I thought I saw. It really isn’t any of my business, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, it would put an end to any chance I have of more days away from the club. It only takes a few minutes to put things away. Bob picks up my swim suit, holding it out in front of him at arms length.

“Very nice choice Honey. Supper is several hours away. Do you plan on using it now?”

“No, I can’t afford those tan lines.”

“I thought that you were joking about that.”

“I wish. Anthony is very particular about my appearance.”

“There is still the au natural option.” A sly smile flits across his face. He’s not ordering me to get naked, leaving it up to me.

“Not this time, maybe next week.” Give him a reason to invite me back. “I thought that I might just swim in the evening.”

“A reasonable solution. The pool is heated so that will work. Since the pool will be later, what do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know. A movie? You feel like a movie?”

“I have some work to do in my study but I should be available in about thirty minutes. You could watch TV until then or perhaps start a book from the library.”

“I’ve never been much of a reader, Bob.” It’s not an admission I like to make but it’s true.

He nods. “I understand. You should find something of interest, I have a satellite antenna.” He hands me the remote and walks back to his study.

I turn on the TV and satellite receiver; then start flipping through channels. There are so many choices. It’s surprising how much things have changed in even three years. After about five minutes, I realize things haven’t changed that much; even with all these channels, there’s still nothing on. I keep flipping. A pro football game comes on. What the hell? No one plays on Wednesdays. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s a replay of a playoff game from last year on “The NFL Network”, Minnesota verses New York. I never saw the game, Anthony doesn’t let me watch any television on my own, I just see what may be occasionally playing on the TV in the bar. Settling back on the couch, I prop my feet up on the coffee table and watch. Despite what has happened to me, I still enjoy the game. Even performing as a Wrangler Girl, I actually watched the game instead of primping on the sidelines.

New York seems to have Minnesota’s number. Their linemen can’t pick up the New York blitz packages and their quarterback doesn’t recognize the coverages. He’s a second year guy I never heard of, another overpaid first round draft choice. It doesn’t help that New York is playing keep away with their power running game. I’ve seen them go on two drives that took over ten minutes each. A quarterback’s three best friends are a great left tackle, a decent running game and a kick ass defense. I find myself starting to yell at the screen, calling out the coverages. You can’t really see enough to be sure, the camera doesn’t show the entire field but I’m usually right. We played New York twice a year and they still have the same Defensive Coordinator, so they haven’t changed that much. The first half ends and I notice that Bob is standing in the doorway to the hall, smiling at me.

“You seem to have found something to watch, Honey. I could hear you all the way down the hall and I had my door closed.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt your work! I’ll change channels right now! Please don’t tell....” He raises his right hand slightly and I shut up.

“It was not a problem, Honey. My work for today is done. I am glad that you found a program that you enjoy. May I join you?”

I scoot over, making room on the couch. “Sure, it’s your house, whatever you want. It’s just a replay.”

He sits down. “So, you have seen this game before?”

“No, Anthony won’t let me watch TV. I haven’t seen more than a few minutes of a live football broadcast in about three years.”

“You appear to know quite a bit about what is going on, including the nomenclature.”

“Nomenwhat?”

“The unique terms of the game, Cover Two, Cover Three and so on. How did you learn all that?”

Over twenty years of playing the game. Yea, he’d believe that. “Oh, from family. My father coached so I saw a lot of games.” The second half was starting. Since this was a replay, there was no halftime show to speak of. My attention was once again focused on the game. Minnesota got the ball to start the half and actually had a drive going until they got to New York’s thirty five yard line. It was third and ten, Minnesota went four wide but New York’s strong side linebacker had cheated forward about a yard and slid to the outside shoulder of the tight end. He was acting as if he was going to cover the tight end but he was blitzing.

“Audible to a slant! Audible to a slant!” I shouted. The ball was snapped, the linebacker blitzed, hammering the quarterback for a twelve yard loss, pushing them out of field goal range.

“What was that?” asked Bob.

“New York’s strong side linebacker, Tagert, he’s got a tell when he blitzes from that formation. He always tries to make it look like he’s covering the tight end but he’ll come in tight off his outside shoulder, slowing the end just enough to screw up your timing then going straight to the QB. You need to audible to a slant by the slot receiver to the spot Tagert just left. Everyone else is in press coverage. If the slot can get the jump on his guy, he’s wide open. You hit him in stride and there’s a good chance he breaks it all the way. Minnesota’s QB couldn’t see that.”

Bob looks at me for a few seconds. “And you did. Are you sure that you have not seen this game before?”

“Nope, never seen it. Don’t even know who won. The defense’s first objective is to sack the quarterback. If that fails, they want to force a quick pass to the outlet receiver and then tackle him fast, holding Minnesota to a short gain at worst, that’s why the press coverage. If that slot can break clean, he could go a long way.”

“So why did the Minnesota quarterback not audible?”

“Probably didn’t see it. You can watch all the film you want but it takes real game experience and lots of it to recognize what’s happening and react in time to take advantage. Also, the slot receiver may not be any good.” He chuckles at that.

“Fine, you’re the expert, what happens next?”

I look at the TV. “You mean what play is New York going to run? I’ve got no idea.”

“What? I thought you knew all about football.”

“Sure, but I don’t know anything about their game plan, their players, or Minnesota’s players. If I spent a week watching tape from all their recent games and reading scouting reports, I’d stand a pretty good chance of picking the next play.”

“OK, then what is the defense going to do?”

“Hard to say. The camera angle doesn’t show the whole field. I can’t see the safeties or any of the other guys in the secondary. Can’t see the weakside linebacker either.”

“I think that you are making excuses. You always want more information before making a decision. Go with what you have. What happens next?” I stare at the screen.

New York’s third and five, a tight formation, only one back, unbalanced to the right, which is the wide side of the field. Minnesota is off the line, so they probably aren’t coming.

“They’re probably running to the right, off tackle ... no, the back just went in motion to the right. It’s a screen to the tight end on the left.” They snap the ball.

I was right but they only made four yards.

“Very impressive, Honey. Let’s go again.”

We spend the rest of the game with me predicting each play. I start off hitting about 40% but by the end of the game I’m closer to 70%, which is a combination of me getting a better feel for what each team can do and the options being limited late in the game. I explain to Bob why I make each call, it’s a matter of pride that he not think that I’m just guessing blindly. I’d rather be wrong than lucky. When the game ends, he turns the TV off.

“I must say, that was a very interesting experience, Honey, like having my own private color commentator. You managed to acquire a great deal of knowledge watching your father’s games. Where did he coach?”

Oh God! Not more personal questions! He never really stopped but had slacked off recently. He was so subtle, slipping them in the normal conversation, always about whatever subject we were talking about. He’d keep asking, all nonchalant until I get in trouble with my lies and then he’d move on. I never thought that he was giving me the third degree but he was so persistent. I’d lost track of all the lies.

“Southern Pennsylvania. I didn’t realize it was so late.” I hop up off the couch. “I’ll get supper started right away.” Bob stands up too.

“No hurry Hone...” He stops mid word, his body going stiff, arms and legs rigid. It’s another seizure. Bob’s jaw is clenched, eyes closed. It only lasts about twenty seconds; then he relaxes again.

“Are you ... OK?” I ask.

“Fine Honey, I am fine, just another muscle spasm. I get them a few times a day. They are just like muscle cramps.”

Bullshit. He may not be thrashing around but that was a seizure. I know muscle cramps and that ain’t a muscle cramp. “If you say so Bob. You relax and I’ll get started in the kitchen.” I walk away, glancing back at him. He seems fine again. Whatever they are, they don’t last long and he seems to recover quickly.

It takes me about forty minutes to get everything ready. Bob still slips in a few personal questions while we eat, but it’s mostly about my life at the club. I don’t have to lie on those questions, though I obviously can’t tell him the complete truth either. Some of my answers sugarcoat things a bit, I’m too embarrassed to admit how fucked up my life really is. He takes the last bite of his Chicken and Rice, folds his napkin and lays it on the table.

“I hate to state the obvious Honey, but it seems that you have every reason to leave that club as soon as possible. Why are you still there?”

“I... I ... don’t have a choice. Don’t ask me to explain it, I’d just get into trouble ... really big trouble.”

“If you told me, I might be able to help.”

“Just being here helps a lot, Bob. Please leave it alone. There’s nothing you or anybody else can do about it.”

“You make it sound like an impossible task ... I like impossible tasks. They give me a reason to get up in the morning.” There’s that smirk again, but the look in his eyes is different, more intense.

“Pleeaasseeee Bob, you don’t understand, don’t do anything. That’s the best thing for me right now.”

He stands up, pushing his chair back. “If you insist, Honey, you know what is best for yourself. I will do the dishes and clean up so that you have more time in the pool.”

I look out into the back yard. The sun is low in the sky, only about ten to fifteen minutes from setting, so it is safe for me to go out and swim. I’d been looking forward to this all day. When I was a kid, I practically lived at the local city pool. I was a bit of a troublemaker even back then so the lifeguards kept an eye on me but I mostly just swam. As I got older and puberty struck, I naturally discovered that it was a great hunting ground for babes but swimming was still a priority. Once I became a pro, I’d often give the hotel pool a try whenever the team was on the road. Some cities had quite a reputation for poolside tail, particularly Miami, Tampa Bay and Jacksonville. I’d often score a couple of times before the game ever started. Even then, I always spent at least a half an hour in the water before beginning my hunt.

That was a lifetime ago.

I leave Bob at the kitchen sink and hurry back to my room, unzipping my pants as I go. Quickly stripping out of my clothes, I pile them on the bed and then step into the black, Lycra swim suit, pulling it up my legs, over my round, taut ass, slip my arms through the straps and adjust my boobs in the sewn in half cups. I really should have tried this on before I bought it. I thought that it was a kinda conservative one piece just looking at it on the rack, but now, as I check myself out in the mirror, I see I was dead wrong. The material is very thin and stretchy, making it look more like it’s painted on. The bust is lined, but only push up half cups, so my nipples are only covered by the thin fabric. They are already perkier than I would like and way out there. I know it will get worse as soon as I hit the water. The leg openings rise all the way above my hips, making my legs appear long and lean. There’s way more cleavage than I hoped for and the scoop in the back drops almost to my ass crack. At least it isn’t a thong. If I was wearing heels, I could make this work at the club. Bob’s gonna think I’m trying to seduce him.

Well, it’s too late now. I take one towel from the bathroom and tie it around my hips like a skirt; then drape a second towel around my neck, covering my tits a bit. I walk back to the kitchen barefoot. Bob’s standing at the sink, his back to me, washing dishes. He turns his head to look at me as I come in, his eyes widening a little.

“That looks different than I anticipated.”

“You and me both. Do you need any help?”

“Not at all, I am almost done. You go ahead and I will turn on the lights.”

I walk over to the sliding glass door, push it aside and step out onto the deck. I can feel the residual heat of the day through the soles of my feet. As I walk to the edge of the pool, several lights go on. They are more like mood lights, adding just enough illumination to see what is going on but not enough to light up the whole back yard. When I reach the edge, I bend down and trail my right hand through the water, fingers spread wide. The temperature is just right, cool but not cold. I see a number of lights at the bottom and sides of the pool. This will be like swimming in an aquarium. I stop at the metal table to remove the towels and glance back towards the kitchen window. Bob’s standing there, he waves at me.

Suddenly, I feel a little self-conscious about losing the towels. I spend practically every day of the week dancing nearly naked in front of strangers but now I’m worried about wearing a swim suit in front of one guy. What’s that about? I take a deep breath and then untie the towel from my waist, letting it slide around my hips, and then I hang it on the back of the chair. I lift the other towel off my shoulders and lay it on top of the first. When I look back at the window, Bob isn’t there. I feel an odd mix of relief and disappointment. I shake my head slightly to clear it and then walk around to the deep end of the pool. The sign near the edge says 8 feet. I move to the edge, feet together and toes barely over the water. Bending forward at the waist and flexing my knees, I throw my arms forward and in one smooth motion, dive into the pool.

My body slices through the water, a couple of feet below the surface. There is a soft light all around me. As the momentum from my dive fades away, I kick several times to keep up my speed. I don’t want to come up for air just yet. I’m trying to get all the way across under water. It’s about average size for a residential pool but this is harder than I remember. Probably because the last time I did this, I didn’t have 36D tits. My lung capacity is down a bit too, but so is my body size. Whatever, I’m not going to make it this time so I pop up to the surface, then stand up. The water is about 4 feet deep at this end. I fall onto my back and slowly backstroke to the deep end, luxuriating in the feel of the cool water as it flows by. I’d never swum as a girl; it’s certainly a different experience. More resistance but more buoyancy. When I reach the deep end, I take a deep breath and then dive down, trying to touch the bottom of the pool. I kick and stroke, fighting my body’s natural tendency to float. Stretching out with my right hand, my fingertips scrape the hard surface. I flip forward, rotating my body so that I am squatting on the bottom and push up with both legs. I burst to the surface, my head almost 3 feet above the water, laughing and squealing with joy before I fall back into the water.

Shit! Where did that come from? The last time I sounded like that, one of my semi-regular customers was giving me a particularly good fucking. The guy knows what he’s doing and takes his time, unlike most of them. I swim back towards the shallow end, grab the edge and stand up.

“Very natural, very graceful, Honey.”

I look around. Bob is sitting at the deck table, quietly clapping his hands. I quickly check my suit to make sure everything is where it belongs. Now that it’s wet, it’s even more transparent, my nipples almost as big as my thumbs, plus I notice that I’ve got an obvious camel toe. I slip back down so that only my head is out of the water.

“You appear to have a lot of experience in the water. Did you swim competitively?”

I tread water until I’m back in the deep end. “No, just a rec swimmer. I had a season pass at the local public pool when I was young. A great deal at forty bucks.”

“Which pool was that?”

“Veterans’ Park. It had a big waterslide and a ten foot diving board. I swear it felt like fifty feet when you stood at the end of that board.”

“Did you ever have to go back down the ladder?”

“ME? Never! I dove the first time when I was ten years old, which was the minimum age. Did it on my birthday, couldn’t wait.”

“A birthday present to yourself eh?”

“Yep. They also gave you a free Slurpee on your birthday. It’s a nice pool.”

I roll over and do the freestyle stroke to the end of the pool, make a flip turn and swim to the other end. I’m just cruising, not swimming hard. Since I’m taking it easy, concentrating on the sensation of gliding through the water is easier. My skin feels alive, all tingly. My nipples seem to be switched to high. Swimming as a man was never this sensual. I keep doing laps until my arms start to tire. Gliding over to the steps in the corner, I pause to check my suit again. I look up to see Bob standing at the top of the steps, holding a short, white, terry cloth robe spread out between his arms.

“I thought that you might be more comfortable wearing this when you were done.”

I climb the steps out of the pool. He moves around behind me and holds the robe up so that I can slip my arms into the sleeves. He gently pulls the robe towards my back as my hands emerge from the bottoms of the sleeves, draping it over my shoulders, then wrapping it around my body, practically hugging me from behind. The air has gotten several degrees cooler since I first dove into the pool and I start to shiver just a little, but it is more than the cool air. I can feel the soft cloth against my nipples, shoulders, arms and legs. It’s all surprisingly erotic. My heart is beating quickly and I find it a bit difficult to breathe. Bob lets me go and returns to the table. Taking the sash, I loosely tie it around my waist, wasting a few seconds adjusting it until I calm down.

“Thanks.” I say as I sit down. “It’s a very nice robe.” Bob shrugs.

“It is mine, so naturally it is too large for you but you can buy one for yourself that fits, particularly if you plan on making swimming part of your regular routine.”

“Why didn’t you join me?”

“I was enjoying watching you too much. The view is much better from the deck. Besides, I am not much of a swimmer.”

“Then why have a house with a pool?”

“Therapeutic exercise. Full range of motion with less stress to the joints.”

“You have arthritis?”

“Not exactly.”

“So that explains the hot tub.”

“Actually, I rarely use the hot tub, but you certainly can if you want.” I look at it over my shoulder. There are a few wisps of steam rising form the bubbling surface. I always loved the hot tub at my house ... which is Hanson’s house now.

“You sure?”

“Certainly.”

I stand up, untie the robe, let it fall from my shoulders and hang it on the back of the chair. As I walk towards the tub, I feel Bob’s eyes watching me, probably checking out my ass, which is spectacular. There is a set of steps built into the inside of the tub so I carefully place my foot on the top one and then slowly descend into the tub, pausing a couple of times to adjust to the heat. I used to just jump in but this body is a lot more sensitive than my male body. When I reach the bottom, I turn and sit on the submerged bench that runs around the inside of the tub, laying back with my arms stretched out to the left and right, resting on the padded rim of the tub.

“Oooohhhh yeeeaaa,” I sigh. “This is niiicccce. You sure you don’t want to jump in?”

“Not now, maybe later. Would you like something to drink?”

“Uuuhhhh ... some of that white wine would be nice, but I’ll get it.”

I start to stand up but Bob holds up his hand. “No, I need to go in anyway. You stay and relax. I will be right back.” He stands up and I settle back into the warm, swirling water, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. There are several nozzles sending water my way so I shift my position a little to get comfortable.

Oooooooo, that’s interesting. One of the nozzles is pointed at my pussy, which is being massaged by the jet of warm water. I slide my hips forward a few inches, spreading my knees wider. Uuuhhh my God that’s good! I reach down and pull the crotch of my suit to one side, fingering my cunt as the water pulses. A minute or two of this and I’m nearing an orgasm.

“Here you are, Honey.”

My eyes spring open. Bob’s holding a glass of wine out towards me. He has the bottle in his other hand. How long has he been standing there? Does he know what I’ve been doing? I pull my hand away from my crotch, reach out and take the glass from him.

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Honey.”

He doesn’t crack a smile, just a mostly blank look on his face, though there may have been a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He returns to the table and sits down. I take a sip of the wine. It’s chilled, straight from the fridge. I’ve never been much of a wine connoisseur but I do like it and this one is pretty good, taking the edge off my sexual tension. I wish Bob had waited a few more seconds, I was ready to get off. I take another sip and set the glass aside, again settling back in the tub. I can’t resist positioning my ass so the water jet hits my cunt. With Bob sitting just 10 feet away, I’m not able to masturbate but the water starts to do its job. I pick up my glass and drain it.

“Would you like a refill, Honey?” asks Bob.

What the heck, why not. “Hit me.”

I hold my glass up. He grabs the bottle, walks over to the hot tub and fills my glass to the rim. I carefully bring the glass to my lips for a quick drink so that I don’t spill it. I take another drink, put the glass down and return my attention to my aroused pussy. I don’t know what it is, the swimming, the warm water, or the wine, but I really need to get off ... now. If I go inside to the bathroom, I could take care of this quickly.

“Honey, what time do you normally take your medication?”

Of course! That’s why I’m so turned on. I haven’t gotten my dose of Anthony’s cum yet today. “I should have taken it already. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.” I stand up and have one foot on the first step, but Bob is already half way to the house.

“Stay. Relax. You have had a long day, Honey. I know where it is, I will bring it to you.”

“No, no. I can take care of it, you don’t need...”

“Please Honey, I have it. You would need to dry off before going inside.” Bob’s already at the sliding door. I can’t stop him from getting my “medicine”. He opens the door and steps into the kitchen, closing it behind him. I sink back into the tub.

That swim should have jogged my memory. There was no way that I should have felt that way from just swimming laps. I’ve got to develop some kind of routine to remind me to take the stuff. At the club, Anthony decides when I drink his jism. Out here, I’m on my own. The sliding door opens and Bob steps out, the vial in his hand.

“Here you are Honey.” He strides up to the edge of the hot tube, handing it to me. I remove the top and glance at Bob. He’s standing there, waiting for me. I really wish that I could do this in private but how do I explain that to him? He thinks that it’s just some kind of drug or something. I bring the vial up to my mouth and chug the contents, ignoring what I know it is. I recap the vial and hand it back to Bob.

“Anthony wants me to bring those back to him. If you set it on the table, I’ll take care of it.”

Bob holds the vial between his thumb and forefinger, about a foot in front of his right eye. “Exactly what was in this bottle Honey?”

I’d been dreading that question. I can feel my heartbeat quicken. “I’m not sure, some kind of protein supplement that Anthony says I need.”

“Why do you need a protein supplement?”

I try to keep a calm expression on my face. “Just some diet problems, nothing serious.”

“Exactly what diet problems?”

He’s not buying it, I can tell. “Uh ... sometimes I have ... you know ... female problems ... and this helps.” Most guys back off when you say “female problems”.

“Female problems?” He stares at me with narrowed eyes, saying nothing for several seconds. I resist a growing urge to say something more. He reaches up and scratches his head. “Well, who am I to question a woman about ‘female problems’?” He places the bottle on the table and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

The dose of Anthony’s semen has done its job and I’m feeling pretty good. The wine has probably had something to do with that too. I finish my second glass and Bob fills it again.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” I ask him. “This isssh very tasty.”

Did I just slur my words? It should take much more that a couple of glasses of wine to affect me. I used to drink people under the table on a regular basis. Admittedly, I weigh more than half as much now as then and am a girl but still, two glasses? It has been awhile since I had any significant alcohol to drink. Even though one of my jobs at the club is to get customers to buy his ridiculously watered down drinks, Anthony doesn’t allow me to drink booze of any kind. I think it’s more Hanson’s rule that Anthony’s. Can’t have me using something to relieve the pain now can we? I occasionally get a sip from a customer during a lap dance when he insists, but that’s about it.

“I never really developed a taste for alcohol.” he replied. “I can either take it or leave it. Tonight I am leaving it.”

“Your loss.” I say as I take another sip from my glass. I don’t know what it is, the wine, the hot water or the after effects of Anthony’s semen, but I am feeling extremely relaxed and comfortable.

Bob pulls his chair closer to the edge of the hot tube. “Let’s talk a bit, Honey.”

* * ** * ** * ** * *

I wake up in my bed at Bob’s. I’m not hung over, my head isn’t pounding, my mouth isn’t parched. I am wearing the T-shirt from the first night and I can see my swim suit hanging from the bar in the shower. Well, he’s seen me naked, then; I hope he enjoyed it. I don’t think we had sex. I certainly can’t remember it and my pussy doesn’t feel used. Actually, I can’t remember a whole lot from last night after that third glass of wine. I do remember that Bob asked me a whole bunch of questions but I can’t remember what they were and what my answers were. If this is what wine does to me now, no wonder Hanson doesn’t want me to drink. Just then, there’s a knock at my door.

“Honey, are you awake? I fixed some breakfast. Anthony should be here in about an hour to pick you up.” I get out of bed and open the door a crack. He’s standing there just outside the door.

“I’m up. I’ll shower and be right out.”

I close the door and hurry to the bathroom. I need to make sure that I’m completely ready when Anthony gets here, he doesn’t like to wait, particularly on me. I shower, shave my legs and underarms and then dress in the clothes I was wearing when I arrived here. I’d had a chance to wash the lingerie, so it was clean. The dress is surprisingly embarrassing, I’d gotten used to regular clothes so quickly. I walk to the kitchen barefoot, no need to put on those high heels until I have to. Bob’s sitting at the table, reading the paper. There’s coffee, milk, juice and donuts on the counter, along with plates and glasses. I quietly put a couple of donuts on my plate and pour a glass of milk.

Bob sets his paper aside just as I sit down. “About last night, Honey...”

“I know, I’m so sorry! Please don’t tell Anthony! I don’t know what happened! One minute we were having a really nice evening and then...”

Bob holds up his hand and I stop yammering. “It is all my fault, Honey. I often forget what a potent mix alcohol and a hot tub are. I was the one who insisted that you keep drinking, I should have warned you.”

“Did we ... uh ... you know?” I ask shyly.

“Have sexual relations?”

I blush and lower my eyes. “Yes.”

“Unfortunately not.” UNFORTUNATELY! All you had to do was say “Fuck me” and we would have been doing it like rabbits. “Though, I must say that helping you undress was almost as good.” I blush again.

Bob continues speaking. “That did not come out as I intended. You were in no condition to get ready for bed unaided and the swim suit was soaking wet, otherwise I might have just put you to bed as you were. It is not my habit to undress beautiful young women without their permission but there was no other good option last night. If it is any consolation, I do profoundly apologize and guarantee that it will not happen next week or any other week.”

“Is there going to be a next week?” I ask brightly.

“If you want to.”

“OH YES! You have no idea what these few days have meant to me! It’s like ... a two week vacation.”

“Well, there will probably be more work in the weeks to come. This was mostly a ‘get to know you’ kind of visit for both of us.”

“That’s not a problem! Compared to the club, this is Tahiti.”

I finish my breakfast and start to put things away. When I open the refrigerator, I notice that there is only one of Anthony’s jism bottles on the shelf.

“Uh Bob, where is the second medicine bottle? Did it get left outside last night?”

“About that. I was helping you inside and carrying the bottle at the same time. Your knees buckled and I dropped the bottle. It shattered on impact. Do not worry, I will take all the blame with Anthony and pay for a new one, if necessary.”

Anthony isn’t going to like that but there’s not much I can do about it now. Hopefully, he’ll accept Bob’s story and won’t beat me. I take the remaining bottle back to my room and put it in my purse, first wrapping it in toilet paper for padding. I return to the kitchen and finish the dishes. The doorbell rings just as I hang up the dish towel.

My heart sinks, back to the daily grind for me. Bob heads for the door as I go to my room to get my purse and shoes. I pause and look around. Just five more days and then I’ll be back. I can do five days. I slip on my shoes and walk to the front door. Anthony reaches out with a long arm, grabs me around the shoulders and drags me close to his body. “Looking good Honey. Bob here says that you were all that he expected and more. He wants you to come back next week. What do you say to that?”

“Thank you, Sir. I look forward to serving you for as long as you wish, Sir.”

“That’s my girl. You got the bottles?”

I tense up but Bob jumps right in. “Honey told me that you wanted the medicine bottles back but I accidentally destroyed one. Got up in the middle of the night for a drink and knocked it off the shelf. All my fault, simply not used to something being there, you know how it is. I will make sure to be more alert in the future. Naturally, if there is a replacement cost I will be happy to pay it.” Bob reaches for his wallet, and then pauses, looking at Anthony, head cocked slightly to the right. I’m looking up at Anthony from the corner of my eye.

He seems confused for a moment, his usual reaction when things don’t go as planned, then he smiles and pats Bob on the shoulder.

“Not a problem, not a problem, just wanting Honey to clean up after herself. Not your worry, Bob. If you’re happy, I’m happy. See you next week, same time and place, right?”

“That is correct, Anthony.” They shake hands, Anthony firmly grabs my arm and we walk to his car. He lets me go and I get into the passenger seat as he squeezes behind the wheel. We drive off in silence for the first couple of blocks; then he speaks.

“You look OK, no obvious cuts or bruises. So, what did he have you do all those days?”

“Cooking, cleaning and shopping Sir.”

“WHAT!? You mean like a maid or something!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did he have you dress up in a costume or outfit?”

“No, Sir, just regular clothes Sir.”

“How often did you fuck or blow him?”

“We never had any kind of sex, Sir.”

He seems taken aback. “You mean that he had a hot piece of ass like you around for more than two days and didn’t fuck you once?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What a waste. Son of a bitch must be gay.”

* * ** * ** * ** * *

Bob closes the front door as Anthony backs out of the driveway. He begins to whistle tunelessly as he returns to his office, his left leg very slightly dragging. Once in the room, he sits down in the swivel chair behind the desk, pulls a key from his shirt pocket, unlocks the desk, opens the large drawer on the lower left side and removes an unsealed FedEx box. He reaches into the box and removes three clear plastic zip top envelopes, one of which contains the missing vial, the other two hold a paper napkin and a wine glass. Laying the envelopes on his desk, he picks up the phone and dials a long distance number. It is answered by an automated system. He starts speaking slowly and clearly.

“Bob ... James ... Alpha, Tango, Three, Seven, Echo, Nine, Victor, Two, Five,”

The voice recognition system accepts his call and passes him on to a secure operator.

“I would like to speak with George Peterson, Lab Director.”

He was put on hold but only for less than a minute.

“Hello George………….retirement is fine, you should try it some time…………….No, Dallas, but only for a short time…………I have a favor to ask, if you are not too busy…………….just three samples, not a rush job……………Well, not exactly. Two are just standard DNA with an ID search, all available databases. The third is a glass jar with unknown contents, it gets the works…………No suspicions, at least nothing I want to tell you, don’t want to skew the results…………I understand, a low priority job, but I will be very appreciative if I can have the results in five days or less……………Tell me about it, I was a budget cut. Do what you can and I will show you my appreciation……...... You know I can not be more specific, Big Brother is listening……………Not too bad, my medications are working reasonably well for now. How is Penny doing?................Give her my best wishes, if her chemo is done, the worst may be over…………..Could you transfer me to Records? Thank you George………….Yes, I would like to speak with Connie if she is available……...... no, I would prefer to hold. Thank you.”

Bob switches to speaker phone and reboxes the samples, sealing the box and adding an address label. The speaker phone crackles to life.

“Hello?” Bob picks up the receiver.

“Hello, Connie?.........Bob James…………Not quite yet, but closer than I would like. Still, each day we are all closer to death………..You never were a sentimentalist Connie…………..I need to play one of my ‘you owe me a favor’ cards…………..my records show at least ten left, not counting this one………...... No, that one was on Jack Bates’ tab, not mine. I was just the messenger…………. a full records search on ‘Honey Sweet-Lay’…………it’s not a joke. S-W-E-E-T hyphen L-A-Y. White, female, DOB 4-1-1985 Social Security Number 452-78-9654 but I would not bet on it being legit. She has a Texas driver’s license, number 4551-563-88967. I have checked the public databases, with little success…………exactly, all of those less public data bases you are famous for…………..anything and everything you can find. George is also helping me so he might come up with an additional name or two for you to check…………five days, if that is possible…………digital copies will be fine, you have my email address and encryption key in your records…………..very funny Connie, we all enjoyed your bawdy sense of humor…………..yes, quite beautiful, fat lot of good that does me………..... no, that is one problem the meds do not help with……………..do what you can Connie, quick as you can but I would rather it be thorough than rushed…………..the Lisbon job was rushed and it nearly killed me so I know what I am talking about…………no grudges Connie, besides, it bought me more than half of my ‘you owe me a favor’ cards, didn’t it?...............Good bye.”

He disconnects and then calls FedEx for a pick up.

CHAPTER FIVE

The week just drags by, like the week before Christmas. Time won’t move fast enough. What’s worse is that all the shit I accepted as inevitable in my life, the dancing, the sex with selfish, filthy bastards, my daily encounters with Anthony have become almost unbearable because I know that there will be a time, short as it may be, that I won’t have to do any of it. I can live like a normal human being at Bob’s ... at least as normal as possible for me.

Anthony kept asking questions about what I did when at Bob’s. Part of it was to make sure I would be safe, has to protect his valuable property. Part of it was simple curiosity. The last part was trying to understand what Bob was up to. I was doing the same thing. There had to be easier and cheaper ways for him to get someone to do his shopping, cooking and cleaning than hiring a whore like me. Whatever questions Anthony asked, I answered truthfully. God help me if I ever lied to him, but that doesn’t mean I have to volunteer any information. I didn’t say anything about the swimming, hot tub or the wine, particularly the wine. I spend my down time at the club reading some of the magazines the other girls leave in the dressing room, searching for recipes I could use at Bob’s. I cut a couple out to take with me. There’s other interesting stuff in them too.

Monday finally arrives and I do the best I can to hide my excitement. Anthony may not care if I enjoy my time at Bob’s but Hanson sure as hell would. I’ve never asked him if she knows what I’m doing and he’s never mentioned it on his own, so she probably doesn’t. If it was painful or agonizing, she’d applaud his initiative but if she knew what was really going on, she’d stop it instantly.

I quickly pack my working purse after the last set and am waiting in my room when Anthony comes to get me.

“Ready to go Honey?”

“Yes, Sir!” I say, a little too loudly. Calm down girl, be cool. I pick up my purse and we walk to his car parked in the back.

I don’t have a watch but the sign outside of the bank says that it’s 2:45 a.m. A few minutes later we arrive at Bob’s and I’m careful to not rush to the front door. I let Anthony ring the doorbell. There’s no response for about half a minute and Anthony starts to reach for the bell again when the door opens.

“Hello, Anthony, Honey. How are you tonight?” He’s standing just inside the door, a cane in his right hand.

“I’m doing good, Bob.” says Anthony. “Better than you it seems. What happened to your leg?” Bob shuffles back slightly and I step in.

“Nothing serious, just an old injury acting up.”

“Well, Honey will take good care of you, won’t you babe?”

I look directly at Bob and our eyes meet. “Yes, Sir, I’ll take very good care of him.” A small smile briefly lights his face and I can’t help smiling back.

“Ain’t she something, Bob?” Anthony can’t resist trying to make the sale.

“She certainly is,” replies Bob, still locked in on my eyes. He smiles again. I manage to resist the unfamiliar urge to giggle, but my left hand does play with the hem of my short dress.

“If she causes you any problem at all, you just let me know and I’ll take care of it right away.”

“I am sure that we will be fine, won’t we, Honey?”

“Yes, Sir, better than fine Sir.”

“Well, I’ll guarantee that, Bob.”

I don’t think Anthony has realized that he’s no longer part of this conversation. Bob reaches out, places his hand on the doorknob and starts to slowly close the door.

“It is late and I am sure you are anxious to get home, Anthony. I will see you Thursday morning. Good night”. The door clicks shut. I’m glad that I’m on this side of the door right now.

“Welcome back, Honey.”

“Thanks, Bob. Are you OK?”

“More or less. It comes and goes. Right now it is here.”

“Are you going to tell me what ‘it’ is?”

“I would prefer not, at least at this time. I have your bedroom ready.” He starts to hobble towards the bedrooms. I don’t follow him.

“Uhhhh, Bob?”

He stops, looking back at me. “Yes?”

“I’m not really tired right now, still a little wired from work ya know, and I was thinking....” I trail off.

“What were you thinking?”

I take a deep breath. “That maybe I could go for a swim? Just a half an hour or so, just to relax?”

“Are you sure? It is late and there will be more work than last week, particularly since I will be helping less due to this,” he raises his cane.

“I know, I’ve been planning all week. It’s only a half hour,” I plead.

He shakes his head slightly. “All right, go ahead. I thought something like this might happen so I heated the pool. I however, am going to bed. Put your medication in the fridge and lock up when you are done. Remember, you are making breakfast this morning.”

I want to kiss him in thanks. I’ve already taken a step towards him before I stop myself.

“Thanks a lot, Bob, I really appreciate this.”

He waves me off. “Not a problem. See you in the morning.” He continues to limp towards his bedroom.

I hurry back to my bedroom, find my swim suit in the chest of drawers, quickly change into it and scurry to the kitchen, pausing to put the two vials in the fridge, switch on the outside lights, then step out of the sliding door and walk to the edge of the pool, shaking the tension out of my arms and legs as I go. When I reach the edge of the pool, I pause, take a deep breath and dive in. I manage to reach the other side this time without stopping for air. When I pop to the surface, I’m ready for my new, temporary, life.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

The two days pass much too quickly. They are pretty much a repeat of last week, just more of it. The meals were more elaborate because I had time to plan them. The shopping took longer because I needed more ingredients for the meals. I did more on my own because Bob wasn’t able to help, but I had a much better idea about what he wanted done and where everything was so it all went faster. I also bought some more clothes, not a whole lot, just a couple of nicer bra and panty sets, a few pretty tops and a silk nightshirt. I couldn’t keep wearing Bob’s T-shirts could I? That’s not fair to him. I still had time for some evening swims and the NFL Network. We watched a couple of replays from 2006 and I managed to be right about 60 percent of the time in predicting the plays. Bob was very impressed. In fact, he complimented me quite a lot.

He also didn’t make any moves on me. I first thought that Anthony might be right, that he was gay, but he never gave off that gay vibe. I caught him several times looking at me like he wanted me but he never did anything about it. Maybe he’s just got a lot of self-control, but why bother? He knows what I do when I’m at the club, it’s not like I’m unskilled. I know for a fact that I am one of the best fucks in town. Why won’t he take advantage of the opportunity? It’s not like I need it or anything. Besides, he’s not a great looker himself. Not ugly by any stretch but hardly movie star handsome. Still, he’s a lot better than most of the lousy bums I see at the club. I do enjoy a two day break from whoring, but the whole thing leaves me confused.

I’m physically ready when Anthony shows up Thursday morning, but it’s still hard to leave Bob’s. I manage to put a smile on my face but my heart isn’t in it. I think Bob knows that but he doesn’t say anything. He does give Anthony a glowing report about me, which pleases him. A happy Anthony makes my life easier and I appreciate all that Bob does to keep him happy. Anthony doesn’t have that many questions for me this time when we drive back to the club, but he still can’t believe that Bob isn’t screwing me. I just answer his questions again, not volunteering anything.

I slip back into the routine of the club. One of the other girls, Candi, has been here a couple of weeks and we’ve become friends, sorta friends at least. We talk about the job and things and she’s given me a lot of hair and makeup tips. Hers is always perfect and I got a late start in learning how to do stuff like that. She’s really nice and acts like an older sister or something, though technically I’m almost twice as old as she is. She’s already backstage when I come in on Thursday morning.

“Hey Honey! Where have you been?” I drop my bag on the table and open my locker.

“Anthony has me doing some outside work.” I take out my “Donna Reed” costume.

“Where’s that?”

“Just a guy’s house.”

She steps closer to me. “Soooo, what do you do at this guy’s house?”

“It’s not kinky or anything, I just cook and clean ... oohh and shop too.”

“You’re getting paid to shop?” No, Anthony is getting paid for me to shop. “Need an assistant?”

“Not now, but I’ll keep you in mind.” I sit down and start working on my eyes.

“I see that you’re getting pretty good with your eye shadow.”

“Thanks to you.” I say as I start to apply my mascara.

“You just needed help with the techniques. You’ve got a real knack for knowing what men find attractive.”

I give her a smile. “It’s just experience.”

“How much experience could you have, you’re just a baby.”

“More than you can know Candi, more than you can know.”

“Bullshit, girl! I think you go out of your way to cultivate an aura of mystery.”

She gives me a friendly punch on my right arm. I punch her back as she laughs. I smile at her despite myself, her good humor is contagious. I keep working on my fifties-style makeup as Candi lends a hand with my hair. She’s very good at it.

I change into my stage lingerie and slip into my costume. After checking my purse to make sure the squirt gun is loaded and ready, I sit until it’s my turn. The act is still a killer but the response from the crowd is less than it used to be. If you don’t give men some variety, they get bored. They really don’t appreciate all the hard work we dancers put into our performances. They’d rather see a new routine full of screw-ups than a finely honed, skillfully performed classic. Men just don’t value what we women do for them.

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