Trust Comes Easy

TRUST COMES EASY part 3 By Rogue Writer

(FF, FFF, exhibitionism, non-consensual, toys, threesome, drugs, violence, death, destruction of a high-grade printer)

AUTHOR NOTE: If you like this hilariously grim little tale, read some of my other equally uninspired fiction:

After the Party Daphne's New Life How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Carol Hitchcock A Death, Baked Bob, and the Personal Ad Screwing My Ex

They came out in that order, and according to one reader I got better as I went along, so do yourself a favor and read them in order to avoid getting disappointed by my early lack of skills. Please send feedback to roguewriter@hotmail.com.

DISCLAIMER: Pay attention! This story is fiction and not meant to do anything more than entertain, don't read this stuff with any intention other than having a good time, don't take life too seriously and don't swim after you've just eaten. Isn't it stupid that I have to write these warnings in case someone goes out and does something bad because of what they read in my story? What's happened in our society to cause this? I know, I know, lawsuit-happy people and the lawyers who run commercials that inspire them. Now you have to put warning labels on everything. And I understand that some things need warning labels. Hydrochloric acid -- big warning label on that one. With letters four feet tall. But I don't need a cup of coffee with a warning label that says it's hot. I know it's hot. I wanted it hot! Well, not that hot. I take it light, actually.

III. First Time, Last Time

Amanda was reading. Even though she should have left the country by now, and despite the fact that every second she spent here was putting her in danger, she was sitting on the bed, reading.

But doing it was important, what she was reading could help her get something she wanted. And with the power Amanda was about to have there was no reason why she shouldn't have Maggie all to herself. The only question was how to get that prize. Maggie had obviously changed, since she was no longer driven by the desire for a goal. It made her less vulnerable to being controlled, which reminded Amanda of one of the many lessons Daddy had taught her -- the most easily manipulated people are those who desire something, while those who are content cannot be forced to do anything.

Yet she had forced Maggie and Kaye to do things. And when she did, that feeling of power had come back, and it was sooo good. At first there was just the taste of it, the moment she mentioned the videotape and what she could do. Then later that day when she toyed and played with Maggie and Kaye, it struck like lightning, a surge that she hadn't felt in years. The broken Amanda, the one who spent four years on the run, was gone. The person she strived to be was back.

Using Maggie and Kaye was like having two slaves, as it was with the Greeks and Romans. Amanda had heard about the modern day version, the "white slave" market as it was called, and the thought of it had always intrigued her. She figured she would find out more once she gained enough power in society, once the real doors of privilege opened for her. Owning a human being, that was true power.

But still, it wasn't the ultimate power. Ultimate power was taking a life. Amanda started to wonder if killing Kaye was the solution to her problem. It would remove Maggie's anchor, the thing that made her content, and also give Amanda a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. After she took the life of Dr. Sara Gold, Amanda felt a rush unlike any she'd ever known, including working with millions of dollars in her old job. It was unreal, and as soon as the rush faded she wanted more. Problem was she couldn't indulge without risking the police getting back on her trail.

Through her research, Amanda learned that the investigation in New York had probably gone cold within a year, and her case file would've been shoved in a filing cabinet somewhere to make room for the new ones coming in. The cops would have forgotten her name halfway through their next investigation. But a murder linked to Amanda Gailing, through forensic evidence or fingerprints or both would renew interest in her old case. Then they might think to re-interview Maggie, and maybe, just maybe, the cops or Maggie would look in places they hadn't before. Then they would find her power.

So Amanda forced herself not to kill, not to indulge her need for the feeling of power. She made it a test of her discipline, of her ability to choose the Smart Move over a stupid one. Like Daddy had taught her. From the time she was a little girl, Daddy always explained to Amanda about how the world worked. It was very simple -- there are people who have power and people who don't. Those who have power are business people, company owners and entrepreneurs. They are the people who matter, the ones who control their lives on their own terms. Those who have no power, the servant population as her father called them, are merely paid to perform and live their lives in service of those who have power. From waiters to concierges, truck drivers to senior management personnel, policemen to politicians, firefighters to farmers, all these people were there to serve people with power. People like her.

Which brought Amanda back to Maggie, and how to get what she wanted. While killing Kaye was appealing, taking away the woman who made Maggie happy wasn't going to endear her to the murderer. What Amanda desperately needed was a carrot to dangle. And a few minutes later Amanda found it in what she was reading, something so shocking it made her realize two things -- her Daddy was wrong about content people, and the solution she was looking for didn't actually involve killing at all.

I woke up Sunday morning with Amanda lying next to me, and the very sight of her turned my stomach in knots. Last night the idea of killing her seemed like an obvious solution to my problem, but now the moral and social consequences started to sink in. I was thinking about ending someone's life. Taking it away completely without the chance of ever turning that decision around. Even worse, the ability to live with it wasn't really something I could decide now, but a weight I'd have to deal with over time. And even though I no longer believed in religion, the nasty thought of a possible afterlife spent in an uncomfortably hot place plagued my thoughts.

But the more I thought about my situation, the more convinced I became that killing Amanda was the only answer. We couldn't throw her out, we couldn't call the cops, and asking her nicely sure wasn't going to work. Amanda said she was going to give us the tape when she left, but something deep down told me we were going to get screwed. If she ended Kaye's career it would devastate the woman I love, and that's something I know I couldn't live with. And that reminded me that this was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life, the day I was going to ask Kaye to marry me. She may not have said yes, but the mere possibility, the hope, was all I needed. Now it felt like that hope was no longer hanging in the balance or teetering on the edge of possibility, it was just plain gone. All thanks to Amanda.

The woman in question woke up. Her eyelids didn't flutter open like she was coming to; they simply opened up like a computer switching on. Then she leaned over and started kissing me, slow and soft, while her fingertips danced on one of my nipples. Here she was threatening to ruin our lives...well, she was threatening to ruin Kaye's, she might have already ruined mine...and she has the audacity to play with me sexually. This was something that hadn't changed about Amanda -- her arrogance. She would take things to their breaking point and then dare to go further, all because she didn't like living by someone else's idea of where to draw the line. That's what made her so good on Wall Street, but then again it's also what put her on the run.

Amanda moved her hand down past my belly button, sliding her fingertips over my bare mound, letting the pads of her digits glide gently on one pass while raking her nails on the next. She knows it is a sensation I enjoy, and she stared intently at my face as she did it. As much as I was getting turned on I tried not to let it show. But when a slight smile glided up the right side of her mouth, I knew she could tell what's going on inside me. At least everything below the neck.

So what if I did kill her? That still left the question of what to do with her body. I've watched enough Law & Order, CSI, and Bill Curtis hosted shows to know that most criminals these days don't get away with anything, thanks to forensic technology and interrogation room tactics that border on psychological warfare. And I certainly wasn't going to be interrogated by anyone as hot as Jill Hennessy. It made me wish we lived in an earlier era, before cops became so savvy. Back then a murderer could commit their crime with a halfway decent chance of getting away with it as long as they didn't leave any fingerprints or obvious clues.

These days, you have to wear one of those suits they use in nuclear reactors to keep from leaving any trace evidence. I wonder where they sell those?

My God, listen to me. I'm complaining that it's not so easy for people to kill other people. What's happening to me? Have I become that jaded? No, what happened to me are Kaye and Amanda. One has given me the most happiness I've ever known. The other is threatening to take it all away. But does that give me the right to kill someone?

"Give into it," Amanda whispers, and then she presses her fingers between my legs and against the sensitive folds. We both feel moisture there, and she moves her fingers around until she finds my slit. Her fingers press inside, moving past the slight resistance of some dryness, and my head rolls back as I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Amanda's lips kiss down my exposed neck as her long fingers started to move in and out, reaching up inside of me in a way that Kaye's never could.

My girlfriend's head and thigh were visible just past Amanda's body. I was pretty sure she was still asleep, despite the movements Amanda and I were making. I've watched Kaye snore her way through a heavy metal concert, a fire alarm in the building, a small earthquake, and four marching bands performing a halftime show. This is one time I'm happy she's out cold.

I brought up my leg to give Amanda more access and she started pumping in and out of me hard. She bent her neck and licked all around my left nipple, teasing and taunting and wiping her tongue all over it, until she finally took the sensitive flesh between her lips and sucked on it. I wanted to cry out but I managed to keep the noise in the back of my throat. Amanda moved her other hand so her finger could start flicking my clit, and just as she did that her teeth bit down on my nipple. My jaw dropped and a slightly strangled sound emitted from my mouth. Amanda's fingers were ramming me now, and her mouth moved up as she picked a spot and started sucking on the side of my neck hard. The pain was overridden by my orgasm, and as it happened my hand grabbed a handful of hair on the back of Amanda's head and squeezed.

Soon I was past the high point and my body relaxed, enjoying the slow trip down to post-orgasmic bliss. My body slumped against Amanda's, her naked skin warm and soothing against mine. I was almost comfortable. Then I looked up and I saw Kaye, her eyes open and a tear running down her cheek. I opened my mouth to say something but she turned over and faced away from us. My stomach tightened at the thought of how all this was hurting her.

But then another thought entered my mind -- do I tell her about what I'm planning? About maybe killing Amanda? The first immediate thought that popped into my head was no, don't you dare. She doesn't deserve this. Why would I need to anyway? Well, the answer was that maybe I need the help. I'm worried about whether or not I should do it, and how not to get caught. Kaye is very smart and very detail-oriented. She tends to think of things that I don't. Besides, this has become her problem too.

No, I can't. Even just telling her about this plan will make her an accessory to the crime in the eyes of the law, and forget about what it would do to her moral compass. Kaye is a devoted pacifist. No, if I told her about what I was planning she'd just try to talk me out of it. Then again, Kaye is a bit unpredictable. She exercises and practices yoga to keep her body fit, then goes out and drinks and smokes pot like a teenage celebrity on the rise. And this situation is so extreme that she may just say fuck pacifism, let's off the bitch.

By that point my head was so full of contradicting thoughts I felt dizzy. I've experienced confusion like this once before, in making a decision that I now know had consequences I couldn't have imagined at the time.

Both my roommates were out the night that first call came, and I've always wondered how things would have gone down if they had been home. We lived in a one-room apartment on Morton Street, near the West Side Highway, and to call the place a dump was a joke. If I spread my arms I could touch both walls, and my knees were higher than the refrigerator, which held half a pint of milk, two stalks of celery, and five packets of sugar. Our stove was a hotplate on a small phone table. Underneath my floor supported mattress were two flattened cardboard boxes that kept it from turning into a block of ice during winter. Michelle and Greta shared a similarly insulated mattress across the room. Entertainment came in the form of a window which looked out onto the street five stories below or the apartment building across the way where no one ever heard of curtains.

What made it even worse were the paper-thin materials they had advertised as walls, ceilings and floors. I was trying to concentrate on homework while the idiot below me held band practice at top volume. Just as the phone rang I started laughing about how bad it is when someone downstairs from you is louder than the person above you. My mind was so wrapped up in it that I answered the phone, "Noise Central."

"Is this Maggie?"

The voice of a stranger, but one I recognized. The receptionist in the office I'd visited the other day. After forty minutes in the waiting room, hearing her nasal voice answer the phone a hundred times, I figured either they were the busiest escort service in the city or everyone who has ever said they'd never pay for it is full of shit.

Later, when I finally went in to meet the owners of the agency I was surprised. The Klendiski's looked like a middle-aged working class couple. He was thick and beefy with a jovial face and the body of a dockworker, and she was thin with dyed hair and conservative clothes that made her look like the saleslady at a department store. They asked me a bunch of information about myself, asked to see my driver's license, and then made casual conversation. Mrs. Klendiski asked if I would mind stripping. It was very strange being naked in front of people I didn't know, but then I realized I'd have to get over that quickly if I was going to do this. Later, I found out getting naked was less about seeing if I was attractive and more about making sure that I really was a girl. Welcome to New York City.

I figured they'd take one look at me and know that in a city full of actress and model wanna-be's they could do much better. But Mr. Klendiski said even though I wasn't the knockout beauty the ad called for, I have a pretty face and a natural look that would be attractive to some clients. They said they'd take me on, if I were interested. From the moment I saw the ad I was on the fence about it, but figured I'd gone this far and accepted.

They sent me into another room where I met Dana, a fortyish woman who said she'd been a call girl for many years. She trained me in how to act on a 'date': what to expect and what was expected, how to speak, how to carry myself, what was appropriate and inappropriate behavior on both sides, and how to talk money without incriminating myself. That last lesson included a piece of paper with the names of several bail bondsmen and the statement that if I was caught I was on my own.

"If you do get busted," she said, "keep your spirits up. Usually I try to remember I'm making more money per year than the cops that busted me."

The last part freaked me out, and later I decided that when they called with my first assignment I'd tell them I changed my mind. Chalk it up to an interesting story to tell my kids, if I ever adopted any. "I ever tell you about that time I interviewed to be an escort?" Okay, maybe I shouldn't have kids.

"Maggie?"

"Yes, sorry. This is Maggie."

"Are you available for a date at seven?"

Suddenly I realized it was this or leaving school. I'd tried to find other work, but nothing paid enough to cover my lost scholarship. And from what Dana had told me about rates, escorting alone could easily help me pay for school once I got established. One job as opposed to the three I already had.

Then I thought, No way, there has to be another option. I could find something else, it would be tough but I could make it work. Yeah, right, and when would I have time to do it? From six to ten in the morning I was a waitress at a coffee shop, from ten to five I had classes, followed by a job at a music store followed by homework. On weekends I worked as a waitress at a restaurant. So a fourth job meant I either gave up homework or sleep.

"Maggie? You there honey?"

Who am I kidding, I finally thought. This is the other option.

"Yes, I'm available."

"Drake Hotel, on Lexington between forty-fourth and forty-fifth. Room five seventeen. Got that?"

"Okay," I said, trying to sound confident. It obviously didn't work because the receptionist said, "Don't be so scared, sweetie. No one gets taken advantage of faster than a nervous call girl."

At six thirty, after a train and a three-block walk, I was sitting in the lobby of the Drake wearing the red dress that Miss Yang had bought for me when I went stag to my prom. It was the first dress I'd ever owned that stopped at the knee.

My long, dark hair was in a ponytail, or at least it had been for the past two minutes. I kept taking it out and putting it back up, not sure which way looked better. Finally I went back to the bathroom and took it out, adjusted my dress, and went back out to the couch in the lobby.

I wasn't really nervous about how I looked. I was trying to keep myself calm, but it wasn't easy. Here I was about to take a huge step into an area of life I never thought I'd see, much less be a part of. It's against the law, considered by most people to be morally reprehensible, and almost everyone I've ever known sees hookers as cheap low-life's who sell their body for money. On top of that I had my whole religious upbringing rolling through my head, yelling at me in fifty different ways. The voices of my priest, my parents, my brother, and all of my friends, reading me the riot act while quoting the Bible filled my brain with so much doubt that I was on the verge of tears. At one point I almost got up and walked out.

But I stayed seated on that couch, driven by the pure need to succeed. All I kept thinking was that if I don't do this I'll have to give up college, or at least go to a much less prestigious place part time. I'd worked too hard in high school to throw away what I'd earned, and I wasn't ready to give up yet. Not after I had come so close to achieving my goal, to succeed as I might have if everyone at home had never betrayed me.

And that's when it happened. I realized all the people I was worrying about weren't there. They didn't matter in my life anymore, and it wasn't a choice I had made, either. For all their moralizing and preaching about right and wrong, those people failed me at a time when I needed support the most. Why am I worried about them?

So that left just me, and what I thought about it. Most of my thoughts were against escorting, or hooking or prostitution or whatever you call it, because I had always heard stories about abuse and exploitation and drug addiction, usually accompanied by images of scantily clad women on the street offering themselves to anyone who drove up and getting the occasional beating from a pimp. But already this didn't seem like what I thought it was. There was an interview process, where I was asked what I would and wouldn't do, and the cut the agency takes sounded reasonable. No one had hit me or abused me, at least not yet, and no one offered me drugs. I certainly wasn't walking the street in garters and high heels.

In fact, the hotel I was sitting in was one of the most expensive in the city. The lobby alone was bigger than an entire floor of my building, and the chandeliers and oak paneling and marble floors probably cost more than four years of tuition. There were three doormen and two concierges and everyone who walked into the place wore expensive clothes. I highly doubted a scantily clad streetwalker would get past the front desk here. So obviously there were different levels of hooking, and escort agencies provided for places like this.

Granted I hadn't even been on my first date yet, but at that moment I realized what I had thought about prostitution was based on what other people told me, and those people had heard it from others, and so on. Which meant I had a pre- judged view of things, and for someone like me, who was looking to be a scientist, experimentation was necessary to find results. Especially when you find flaws in someone else's.

That line of thinking put me in front of the door to Room 517. I had no more doubts about going through with this, or at least trying it and seeing what happens. But I was still nervous. In my head I went over what Dana taught me -- start out by making casual conversation with the client, that way you can find out what they're looking for with the date while making them feel comfortable. Hell, I was going to need casual conversation to make me feel comfortable. After that I needed to bring up money, and once that was out of the way I should go to the bathroom and strip down to my 'sexiest pair of underwear'. Being school poor and raised religious, my sexiest pair of underwear were the basic white bra and panties. I'd used a pair of scissors to knock the panties down to a crude thong and cut a bunch of small slits around the cups of the bra to make it look provocative. Taking a deep breath, I quickly went over it all again in my head. Then I knocked on the door.

Almost immediately it swung open and I was confronted with a woman in a short bathrobe. She had a nice pair of legs that led to an even nicer pair of feet. Her red hair was cut to the curve of her jaw line. I've never been great with guessing ages, but I put her somewhere in her mid thirties. She had a cell phone pressed against her ear, to which she said, "Okay, yeah, I understand..."

She moved her head to indicate I should come in and then walked away. I entered and shut the door behind me. Despite the fancy décor it was still a basic hotel room, with a bed, a table with two chairs, and a desk that was covered with papers and folders and a laptop open to a spreadsheet filled with numbers. The woman walked to the other side of the bed, picked up her watch and looked at it. Then she turned to me, put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Go ahead and get naked," before going back to her conversation.

So much for a by-the-book date. I moved to the other side of the bed and disrobed. As I slipped off my bra and panties I was glad she was facing the other direction. She might have laughed because I looked like I'd fed my underwear through a paper shredder. By her conversation it was obvious that she was a take-charge type, and by the way she spoke to the other party she had very little patience for incompetence. So when I was finished stripping I simply stood there looking at her across the bed, awaiting further instruction.

"Yes, I understand. But you need to understand me Steve, if you don't re-adjust those figures I'll cut your balls off and feed them to my fish back in Seattle." She listened for a second. "If you think I'm kidding then try it and see what happens."

She ended the call, put the phone on the night table and turned to me. "I'm sorry, this is going to have to be quick." She undid the sash on the robe and it dropped on the floor, revealing her naked body. "I have to meet my boss for dinner in an hour and explain why I work with stupid people."

She climbed onto the bed on her knees and I did the same from my side and when we met in the center our arms went around each other and our mouths started kissing. It was an exciting kiss, full of passion and need and desire. The way her tongue practically invaded my mouth while her lips devoured mine made me feel wanted and desired in a way I'd never experienced before. By that point in my life I'd had more than a few girlfriends, and none of them came close to making me feel like this woman did. In my short experience with her she raised my expectations and gave me a whole new idea of what sex could be like.

The woman's hands roamed my body, moving from caressing my back to rubbing my ass and teasing my crack to pressing against my hips and then moving slowly up my sides until they were cupping the undersides of my globes. I moaned in her mouth as she caressed them slowly, sensually, and tenderly, until she moved up to my nipples and pinched them between her fingers. Then she brought her hands around me again and dragged me down on top of her as she fell onto the bed.

Once there we continued to kiss until she rolled us so she was on top. She moved down and had her face on the side of my boob, giving little love bites to the soft flesh there. When she sucked on my nipple she used her tongue at the same time, flicking the tip of my nipple inside her mouth. She did the same thing when she sucked my clit into her mouth, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, as a finger slipped inside of me and then she did something I'd never experienced. I felt her finger curling, like she was beckoning someone towards her. The sensation caused my butt cheeks to suddenly tighten and my entire torso rose from the bed. Luckily she stuck with me and started to twist her hand in different directions as her finger continued to beckon. It was an insane feeling, and as soon as her thumb touched my clit it sent me spiraling into an orgasm.

While I lay there, half in pleasurable bliss and half in awe of how she made it happen, the woman crawled up to my face and gave me a kiss that was all at once soft, gentle, hungry, aggressive and hot. Her tongue melded with mine and I could almost feel her passion through it. She grabbed me and rolled us over so she was under me. I took the cue and when we broke the kiss I started slowly licking up and down the side of her neck. Her moans spurred me on, so I gave a few gentle love bites, licked some more, and then opened my mouth and sucked on the side of her neck, pressing my teeth gently onto her skin.

"Don't leave any marks," she said. "Otherwise my boss won't be able to concentrate during our meeting."

I stopped and let out a giggle. Then our eyes met and the way she looked at me set a fire between my legs again. There was an intense lust in her eyes, and somehow it seemed to fill the air around us. The whole room, in fact, seemed to crackle with a sexual energy. That seemed odd at the time, but when I thought about it later, I realized that a good amount of sex takes place in your average hotel room over its existence. And I'd once read that some people believe a place stores up the energy of its experiences, which can be felt by those having a similar experience in that place. Maybe mumbo jumbo, but I know I felt something in the air that night.

After a moment I got out of my head and leaned down to the woman's breasts, letting my wet tongue glide over her soft, warm skin. Her hands were on my head again, stroking my hair and my ears and pulling me towards her when I got it just right. I licked and sucked on her left nipple, savoring the taste of her skin and the moans it caused. I gave the same attention to the right one, and then I pinched and squeezed both while I moved down to her belly button. My tongue rimmed the outer edge, jumped inside and wiggled around until she laughed, and finally dragged slowly down to the red hairs covering her mound.

The woman spread her legs and pulled herself open for me before I could do it. I smiled at her but she didn't smile back, the look on her face saying she was in desperate need of release. She was obviously an A-type personality, all aggression and quick satisfaction. So I lowered my head and gave her what she paid for. My tongue licked around her labia and feasted on the juices that had gathered in her folds. Her taste seemed to feel alive in my mouth. In fact, every sight and sound and sensation seemed to be more intense since I walked into the room. Probably a combination of my nerves and the pleasure of what I was doing. I toyed with her nether lips a bit and finally sucked one into my mouth.

"Ahhh," was her response to my action, so I did the other one as well. Then I gave her whole pussy a good licking all over until I went to her clit and batted it with my tongue a few times. My fingers started teasing the outer edge of her slit, and as my lips came down on her clit and gave a hard suck I slid a finger in slowly.

"OH!" filled the room like a boom of thunder. I moved inside her past my second knuckle and stopped, and that's when I did the same beckoning motion she did to me. The woman made an eerie sound, like metal grinding on metal. Quickly I stopped, fearing I'd done something wrong.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked in fear.

"Oh God, anything but," she gasped, "Keep going!"

And I did. Her orgasm was marked by a loud moan that had a small growl towards the end of it. When I thought it was safe I crawled up next to her and we kissed again.

"I need to shower before dinner," she said. "Want to join me?"

I said yes and she took my hand and got up and led me to the bathroom. It was very elegant for a hotel bathroom, with off-white tile and a large mirror in an etched metal frame. There was an actual hair dryer that sat in the towel closet, not one mounted in the wall so you couldn't steal it. Anyone who could afford this room could afford their own hair dryer.

We got into the shower and laughed and played like children as we washed each other. There was a little sensual play, some kissing and caressing of breasts, but her appointment kept us from getting into it again. I wanted to, and I resisted the urge to try and seduce her. Remember, I thought to myself, this is a job.

I walked out of that room with almost the same amount I made in tips for an eight-hour shift on a Saturday night at the restaurant. Yet here I'd only done forty-five minutes work. The hotel bar was half empty when I stopped in to celebrate the fact that I wouldn't have to leave college. It was a one-drink celebration too, that place was truly expensive. While I sat there, almost giddy over the fact that my problem was solved, I realized the funniest thing -- I never even got the woman's name.

As the memory faded away I realized the decision to escort was made under pressure, much like my decision to kill Amanda. Maybe I don't make good decisions under pressure. So maybe someone should help me make sure this is the right one. I needed to talk to Kaye.

Getting Kaye alone didn't happen until after our shower. Amanda had the three of us take one together, or more accurately Amanda had us shower her. Kaye washed her front while I stood behind her and did her back, and as I did it I realized I hadn't thought of how I would kill Amanda. When it first came up I took out my knife, but it occurred to me how messy that would end up. It was also a very violent way to kill someone, and I might freak out midway through the act.

Amanda half turned to me. "Don't forget to wash my ass. Someone might have to stick their tongue up there today."

I used the washcloth and gently cleaned between her cheeks as my mind raced with violent thoughts. Amanda's hair was to one side and I started looking at her neck. Choking her to death would be cleaner. But it would also take longer, and as much as I hated her the thought of taking that long to kill someone might freak me out as well. Plus Amanda has already proven that her reflexes are much better than mine, meaning the chance of overpowering her for a prolonged amount of time was slim. The knife offered a best chance of quick success.

"I just realized" Amanda said, "you got left out of the fun this morning." She was talking to Kaye. Then I heard a moan, which meant Amanda was probably fingering my girlfriend. I had just finished rinsing Amanda's ass when she half turned and said, "Lick me."

I got on my knees and spread open Amanda's ass cheeks. Slowly licking up and down her crack, pushing my face deeper between her globes, I moved further and further down until I reached her rosebud. Despite what you see in porn, it's not easy to reach someone's private parts when they're standing and you're kneeling behind them. It took a little maneuvering, but I finally managed to make contact and Amanda moaned, followed by another moan from Kaye. I licked Amanda's asshole for a little while longer, and then decided to give back what I got that morning. I put some liquid soap on my index finger and pressed it against Amanda's rosebud. She moaned and I started to alternate between caressing around the crinkled rim and pressing against it. I peered around Amanda and saw that her fingers were moving between Kaye's legs, sometimes curled up inside her and sometimes coming out to move over her clit.

My finger gained access to Amanda's rectum as her rosebud finally relaxed. I brought my middle finger up and slid easily into her pussy as well, and with that I started double pumping her. Amanda called out, "Jesus fucking Christ!" Kaye was making some noise of her own, and Amanda had both hands working now, one in front playing with Kaye's clit and the other reaching around behind, probably fingering her asshole as well. We kept that position going for a while, and my hand started getting tired. Amanda had Kaye on the edge, and I think she kept her there purposefully until she was ready, because she said, "Maggie, get my clit!"

I reached up with my other hand and brought it around her front. Something in my head realized this was an opportunity, so when my fingers found her clit hood I didn't rub. I pinched. Hard.

"Ahhh ohhhh!" I knew I hurt her, but I think she came as well. She managed to bring Kaye to orgasm just after that, and my girlfriend leaned against the shower wall to avoid leaning against Amanda. I pulled my fingers from her and stood as I began to wash them off. Suddenly Amanda spun around and grabbed my nipple rings and pulled hard.

"Ow!!!"

Amanda smiled at me. "Just getting you back, sweetie."

After the shower Amanda 'ordered' us to stay naked for the day, and then instructed us to clean up the mess from the party while she stayed in the bedroom, doing God knows what. Kaye and I started working in the kitchen. We hadn't said two words to each other all day and I felt this huge tension between us, but I couldn't think of what to say to break it. It didn't seem right to start out with, "Do you think I should kill Amanda?"

Suddenly, out of the blue, Kaye turned to me and quietly asked, "What do you think she's doing?"

I almost asked her if she was talking to me. "Um, working on her laptop."

Kaye sighed and rolled her eyes. "I mean why is she here."

"I told you, I don't know."

With a stern look Kaye said, "And you're sure you don't have any idea?"

"No, I..." I stopped drying the dish in my hands. "You don't trust me now?"

Kaye stopped washing. "Can you blame me? You lied about yourself."

"I didn't lie to you!"

"No, you just didn't tell me the truth," Kaye said. "I've told you everything about me. Everything. Even that..." Kaye cringed as her hands balled up into fists and her eyes squeezed tight like she was constipated, "...time I got really drunk and threw up on my ex-girlfriend during sex." She opened her eyes. "And I would kill people to keep that a secret. But I still told you. You know everything about who I am, and yet you lied to me about who you are."

"I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you about all the experiences that got me to be who I am."

"Well I didn't know you thought prostitution was a legitimate career move."

"And if you did, you wouldn't have pursued a relationship with me?"

Kaye opened her mouth, and then closed it without speaking. She sighed. "I'd probably still be with you." Kaye bit her lip and looked away. "And I understand why you didn't tell me in the first couple months. But after that, when you knew how I felt about you...it just hurts knowing that you didn't have enough faith in me. That I could handle it."

There were a few moments of tense silence. Then Kaye went back to the sink and started washing. Not knowing what to say, I went back to drying. We worked in silence for a while, until we got to the last few items. That's when, without looking at Kaye, I said, "I found out about it through an online ad when I was looking for jobs. They said they were looking for gay and lesbian escorts."

She stopped and glared at me for a few moments. Then she looked back at what she was working on. "How long did you do it?"

"About two years."

Kaye nodded, and then she was quiet for a while. Probably figuring out how to ask the next question. "How many?"

I sighed. "About ten, fifteen a week. More if a convention was in town."

Kaye's eyes shifted up and her head tilted to the side. If I read her face right the number wasn't as much as she thought it would be. "How good?" Quickly she added, "I mean the money."

This part was going to be fun. "I'd make anywhere between six to eight thousand a month, not including gifts from good clients."

Her mouth dropped and I tried not to smile. "Yeah. It paid for school, remember?"

When the shock passed Kaye took a breath. "So were there, um...you know," she winced and her mouth twisted. "Did you have to do it with skeevy women?"

With that question the tension eased. She seemed to have a genuine interest in this now. I shrugged. "Not as many as you'd think. I worked for agencies mostly, which kept me with the white-collar crowd. They tend to know about personal hygiene. Most of my clients were corporate women who wanted to have some fun on the side. Some of them dykes and bi's," I smiled, "and a bunch of straights who said that having sex with a woman made them feel like they weren't cheating on their husbands."

Kaye chuckled. "Oh that's really bright."

"Yeah. There were also the rich women who liked having a prostitute every once in a while so they could feel, I don't know, powerful, dirty, naughty, take your pick." I smiled. "Don't get me wrong, there were a bunch of clients I liked. And almost everybody treated me well, so I can't really complain."

Kaye nodded and then was quiet for a moment. I just waited. Finally she looked at me again. "You said agencies, plural. So you worked for a bunch?"

"Yeah. I started out at one, but then you branch out. At the end of it I was on- call with four services. And I had an ad at a website too."

"Website?"

"Organized for escorts. One had a hundred and twenty escorts advertising on it."

"Wow," Kaye said. Then, with a little sarcasm in her voice, "So this was something all the kids were doing."

I felt the tension growing again. "You'd be surprised Kaye. Lots of escorts I got to know were other college students, or wanna-be actors, models, dancers...it's an easy way to make money when you're struggling. Hell, I started to wonder how many people who're famous now were doing escort work when they were starving artists."

Kaye was staring at me, and I started to worry that she was getting angry again. Finally, she licked her lips and said, "When you were...escorting...what was the weirdest thing you ever had to do?"

I laughed out loud, if anything just because the tension broke so quickly. Then I covered my mouth. Kaye wasn't sure how to take it so I moved my hand and smiled at her. "Sorry, it's just...God, there's a lot to choose from. But I think that honor would have to go to the woman who asked me to dress up like a clown."

Kaye's eyes widened. "Okay, that's beyond strange."

I shrugged. "She had this weird fetish with clowns. And she turned into a regular too, so I had to do it a bunch of times."

"A little scary there."

"Went with the territory."

Kaye's eyes narrowed. "So you weren't scared? Ever?"

I shrugged. "I was as careful as I could be, kept my knife in my purse. But there's only so much you can do. It was something you couldn't dwell on, otherwise it would affect your performance."

Kaye looked skeptical. "So nothing ever happened that scared you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, you want a scary story? I got friendly with this one girl, Caroline. She moved here to be an actress, and she was good, even landed some bit parts in TV and stage stuff. But she was still tight on money. Needed new headshots, acting coach...thousands of dollars to keep moving up. Escorting paid for what being a waitress didn't. So she calls me one night, said she had a client who wanted to see some girl/girl action. I reminded her I didn't do men and she said he just wanted to watch. I was ready to say yes, but I had this huge exam to study for, so I turned her down. A few days later someone from the agency calls asking if I'd heard from her."

Kaye's eyes widened. "She disappeared?" I nodded. "Did they ever find out who did it?" Kaye asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, my face with a look of sarcasm. "The cops put a missing hooker right on top of their 'To Do' list." '

Kaye shot back a nasty look. "And you kept escorting after that?"

"Yes, in retrospect not one of my smarter decisions. But it was definitely a factor in leaving when I did." Suddenly I remembered my own murder scheme. I'd become so caught up in the conversation that, unbelievably, I forgot about it. "Listen, I came up with something." When Kaye stiffened and her hand reached out and touched my arm I said, "No, wait, you need to listen to this. It's about Amanda..."

"What about me?"

I turned. Amanda was standing there.

This was one of those moments in life where your brain freezes and a good excuse never seems to come. I opened my mouth and out came, "I know why you're here. And why you keep looking at that Rembrandt print. You're going to steal one, aren't you?" Luckily, this wasn't one of those times.

"Exactly," Amanda said. I was temporarily stunned, and I'm sure Kaye was too. But then Amanda added, "And I came here because there are no Rembrandt works currently in New York."

I felt my shoulders sag. "Well, it sounded good at the time."

"I found this in your closet." Amanda held up my old strap-on. "It was kind of buried, looks like you haven't used it in a while. Why is that?"

I was in front of Kaye, slightly blocking her from Amanda's view. Kaye's hand touched my back, and I felt every nerve in my body tense up. "It's me," I said. "After you left I had a girlfriend that liked doing it au natural, you know, no fake man parts involved. I got into it." I cocked my head towards Kaye. "Got her into it too."

Amanda smiled and took a few steps until she was right in front of me. "Okay, sounds plausible enough." Then she smiled her wicked smile. "At least that's what anyone would think. But I'm not anyone."

Then Amanda stepped around me and stood in front of Kaye. "I think you're the one with the dildo problem." Kaye tried not to react, but a nervous movement of her eyes gave her away. Amanda continued, "I've heard about dykes like you. So hardcore you don't even like having a fake one inside you."

"It's not about being hardcore," Kaye said. "I just like it au natural." Kaye smiled her 'screw you' smile.

Amanda smiled back. "Uh huh." She brought the plastic phallus up until it touched Kaye's chin. "Maybe you just haven't tried it enough."

"Stop it!" I yelled.

Amanda turned to me with a look that literally gave me goose bumps. It was hard to believe someone so beautiful could be so evil. "Looking to take away my fun?"

I stared at her, and with steel resolve in my voice I said, "Fuck your fun."

"You think so?" Amanda smiled. "Both of you, in the living room, now."

She stepped aside and Kaye went out first while I followed. When we got there Amanda said, "Move the coffee table away from the front of the couch."

Kaye and I did as ordered and Amanda lay down on the floor. She tossed me something and I caught it -- a piece from the roll of twine we use to tie up newspapers. "Tie Kaye's hands behind her back."

I had a bad idea where this was going. "No," I said. But Kaye stepped in front of me and turned around, putting one wrist over other. "Just do it," she said.

So I tied Kaye's hands, not too tight.

Amanda tossed the strap-on and it landed at my feet. "Put it on."

I hate it when I'm right. "No. No fucking way."

"Put it on or the best teaching job your girlfriend will ever get is at a women's prison."

"No," I said, shaking my head vigorously.

Amanda was about to say something when Kaye wheeled around to face me. "Maggie."

"Kaye, your career is not worth this. I am not doing this to you!"

"Maggie! Put the fucking thing on! Now!"

The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice took the wind out of my sails. I picked up the strap-on and slid into the harness. Amanda said, "Kaye, on your knees in front of me."

Kaye did as she was told, and Amanda spread her legs and used her fingers to pull apart her lips. "Feast," she said, or ordered.

My girlfriend bent down, causing her ass to stick up in the air, and started licking. Amanda moaned and brought her other hand up to her breasts and began playing with them, squeezing her large globes, running her fingers along the hard nipples, bringing one up to her mouth and sucking on it. It was hard to believe there was a day I thought I loved this woman. I realized that was another decision I'd made badly.

Amanda moaned again. Kaye swirled her tongue around Amanda's folds, occasionally using her lips to kiss and suck on them. Kaye was getting into it, more than I thought she would be. I wasn't sure why, maybe she thought pleasing Amanda would help guarantee we got the tape. Maybe it was to keep what was about to happen off her mind. I looked down at the fake phallus. At least it was narrow. I'd had three fingers inside Kaye the night before Amanda came, and that, along with all the other sex we've had this weekend, would hopefully keep this from hurting her.

Amanda's eyes looked up at me, and there was a gleam in them. "Maggie, get on your knees behind Kaye."

My mouth felt dry. Suddenly I remembered, "This thing is dry. In our nightstand we've got some—"

"No lube."

Amanda's words made me cringe. Kaye stopped what she was doing and looked up. "What?" I said.

"I said no lube. Stick it into her."

I felt bile from my stomach shoot into my throat. Bad enough I was being forced to do something to Kaye that she didn't like, now I was going to hurt her doing it. My voice cracked when I said, "Amanda, please."

Calmly she responded, "Do it now." She looked back at Kaye. "Did I say you could stop?"

Kaye went back to what she was doing as I stepped up behind her. When I knelt down it felt more like my knees buckled from under me. My hands ran over Kaye's ass and I looked at the butterfly tattoo.

Amanda spoke as she enjoyed what Kaye was doing to her. "Don't do anything...to get her started. Just spread...her...uh open and stick it in."

My hands went underneath and I spread Kaye's outer lips a little. They felt dry. My eyes weren't.

"Maggie," Amanda said through gritted teeth. "Do it now."

Using my hands I guided the dildo to Kaye's hole and slowly started to slide it in. The second I met the slightest resistance I stopped. Kaye hadn't reacted so I moved a little further. Amanda was moaning loudly as Kaye kept her going. I was hoping my girlfriend would stop what she was doing if I hurt her. Slowly pushing further until I hit a little resistance again and stopped. Still no reaction from Kaye, and her fingers were pumping in and out of Amanda and she was licking and sucking like nothing else was happening. Very little of the dildo was in, and we had much more to go. But I was going to take it as slow as I could. I pushed a little more and...then it slid in effortlessly. Suddenly it was like a tube of lube was in there. I pulled out quickly and put my finger to Kaye's slit and pushed in slowly, but I didn't need to go slow because there was juice galore. She was soaked.

Amanda saw my shocked expression. Between grunts and groans she said, "Kaye's wet in there isn't she?" All I could do was look at Amanda. "I knew she would be, I knew and you didn't. Maybe you should have done what I did and read her diary. Then you'd know your girlfriend gets off on being forced to do things during sex."

Suddenly Kaye stopped and her head popped up. I couldn't see, but I heard her crying. "You bitch!" she yelled. She jumped up and ran to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Amanda laughed, a deep, jovial laugh. She threw her head back and hugged herself. "I can't fucking believe you two." Her laughter died down slowly, and she started to catch her breath. "Kaye spent the whole dinner Friday night telling me how you two seemed to know everything about each other after the first date. Pretty sad, huh?"

Kill her right now, I thought. Just jump on top of her and do your best to strangle the life out of her. She's done everything to deserve it. But instead I gave Amanda a cold stare. "At least I know Kaye won't ever leave me with her mess."

Amanda's smile dropped. I got up and left her there, walking to the bedroom door where I took off the harness and tossed it to the floor. Then I slowly cracked open the door, slipped in and shut it behind me.

The last time I saw Carla Fuego we were on her estate on Long Island. We had made love and fell asleep afterwards. When I woke up I was alone in the bed. I turned over and saw that she was standing out on the small balcony that looked over the grounds. Carla was wearing a sheer white slip, and her olive skin made such a contrast that it was easy to see her naked body underneath. She turned and noticed that I was awake.

"So this is the last time, yes?" Carla asked. The heavy Spanish accent in her thick voice always made me a little wet.

"Yep." I said as I got up and walked towards her. Carla walked away from the balcony and we met in the middle and stared at each other.

"And this is because you are graduating college? Because you no longer need the money?"

"Uh huh."

"So now you go to get a job and have the life of everyone else?"

I nodded. Carla nodded back, then looked thoughtful.

"What would you say if I offered to take care of you?" She put her hands on my chest and started to slowly rub them in circles. "You could live here. And trust me, you would want for nothing."

Her hands felt good. Carla's touch was always intoxicating because she took such good care of her skin and she knew how to touch someone. I closed my eyes as she slid her hands down my chest, moving them delicately over my nipples until they reached the bottoms of my breasts. That's where she dragged her fingers along the sensitive undersides of my globes. I took in a breath and opened my eyes. "I'd say thank you for the offer, but no."

Her eyebrows rose. "That would lead me to ask why."

I chewed on my lip to delay the moment, until I finally said, "There's someone else."

"Another client?"

"Yes."

"And she can offer you more than I?" Carla smiled and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. The room was large, with a high ceiling painted in rich styles over a hundred years ago. There was artwork and pottery and sculpture. The bed was a four-poster job with a mattress that made you feel like you were lying on a cloud. More than that, we were in a mansion that stood on several acres and included two pools, a horse stable, and it's own private beach.

I swallowed. "What you're offering isn't what I'm looking for."

Carla's smiled dropped slowly until it was half a grin. "Ah. I see. And is she as in love with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I am very jealous. You have something I do not."

Softly, I said, "Hard to believe, with all you have."

She shook her head. "It is the greatest misconception of all time that people with money have it easy. Maybe with some things, but with others we only wear more expensive shackles. A poor man or woman can find love just as easily as a rich one. In that area of life, everyone is on equal ground. Everyone has the same chances no matter who you are or what you have."

I stood there amazed, as I always had been, by Carla's humility. The daughter of a man known as the shipping king of the Mediterranean, she had lots of money and too much time on her hands, but she managed to never let that get to her head. With a good amount of regret in my voice I said, "I'm sorry I can't stay with you."

Her face soured. "Don't be. Don't ever be sorry for love." She sighed and looked around the room. "It is something money cannot buy. Not truly." Her eyes came back to me. "You must hold onto it, protect it, and fight to keep it. Because no matter how much money you have, love is something you cannot buy. Not true love."

She stroked my cheek and led me back to the bed, where we made love one last time. Afterwards I looked over and saw that Carla had fallen asleep. As I dressed quietly I noticed the white envelope on the bedside table where she always left my fee. I looked at Carla sleeping there, blew her a kiss and slipped out without saying goodbye. It would be better this way. And I left the envelope on the table. I wasn't for sale, not anymore.

That memory shot through my brain as I saw the scene in front of me. My true love was on the bed, her face buried in the pillows. Her hands were still tied behind her back, and I could hear her sobbing. No, she was bawling. Seeing and hearing her like that pierced my heart worse than anything I have ever felt. A few minutes ago I was worried about hurting her physically, but this was so much worse. Kaye was humiliated; hurt in a way that broke down the strongest woman I know.

It was that moment when I decided Amanda was going to die by my hand, and that Kaye would have nothing to do with it.

I walked over to the bed and gently untied the rope binding Kaye's wrists. Somehow she didn't notice it, because when I got on the bed and tried to spoon my body behind hers, Kaye's head turned with a surprised look on her face. She scurried over to the other side of the bed. "No!" she said, her face turned away from me. "Please no!" She started bawling again.

I decided to wait her out. I stayed on my side of the bed for a while, lying on my back, trying to figure out the details of killing Amanda and hiding her body. But my mind wasn't working with it because I kept coming back to the same old things -- rent a nuclear reactor suit, kill her with a knife, and hope Kaye doesn't notice the body under the couch.

Kaye's sobbing finally died down. I took a chance and reached over to touch her back. She didn't jump, so I moved closer and hugged her to me. We stayed like that for a while, and I could feel her heartbeat slowing down. Finally she said, "Do you hate me?"

I made a face. "No. Why would I hate you?"

"Because I'm a hypocrite. I yelled at you before about not telling me everything about yourself and I..." Kaye sighed. "I didn't even think..."

I thought about that for a moment, and then I said, "Have you ever had anyone, um, fulfill your fantasy before?"

Kaye sighed. "No."

"Okay, so there is a difference. Between you telling me about some fantasy floating around in your head, and me telling you about some of the more defining moments of my life."

She sniffled. "Thin line there."

I sighed, closed my eyes, swallowed, and barely got out the words, "I have a thing for Aviril Lavinge."

Kaye's head popped up. "What?! You hate that bitch!"

"I hate her music, fucking wannabe punk. But for some reason I have...dirty fantasies about her. I don't know why, dammit, but I do."

"Huh." Kaye's head dropped onto the pillow. "Never would have thought that."

We were quiet for a time. Then I worked up some courage, and said, "This, um, fantasy of yours. Is it like bondage, or S&M?"

In a very small voice, Kaye said, "No."

"Are they, like...rape fantasies?"

Kaye sighed and sat up. "No...not exactly. I just get off on being forced to do things during sex. I know it sounds weird. Hell, it must be weird; I can't even find a group for it on the Internet. But it's just a fantasy, and I'm embarrassed about it, okay, that's why I never brought it up."

I said, "But then you're not happy." Kaye gave me a questioning look and I continued. "If you like doing something, or get turned on by something, then why not bring it up to me? Maybe I'll be into it?"

"Or maybe you'll think I'm a freak and leave me. It's not a chance I'm willing to take."

"If it's who you are, then why not?"

"Because being with you is more important than some fantasy I have."

That stopped me cold. Suddenly I leaned over and kissed her. Kaye kissed me back. It wasn't a sexual kiss, it was romantic and bonding and afterwards we just lay down and held each other. Somewhere in there Kaye fell asleep and I got up and went back to the living room. Amanda was sitting on the couch, a bottle of wine open on the table. Her gaze turned to me and she looked sullen and a little drunk. "Just so you know, I really did love you."

I didn't respond.

"Do you think we would have been happy together?" she asked.

I sighed. Somehow I felt the need to give her one chance to get away. "Amanda, why don't you just leave? Give us the tape and leave."

She stood up and spoke like she didn't even hear me. "I keep thinking about what it would have been like if that little scam worked four years ago. I didn't want to leave you, you know. I wanted to keep you."

"And that right there is the problem," I said, pointing at her. "Your idea of loving me is wanting to own me, and back then I was so desperate to replace my family that I didn't see it for what it was."

Amanda chuckled. "Now you know why I love sleeping with women over men. Men want to control you. From the moment they spot you, their intention is to dominate you. But women, they aren't like that at all. They want to share and be equal. Most women, they don't enter a relationship or a bedroom with the intention of controlling you. And I like that, because it gives me an advantage. I don't have to fight for power when the other side isn't even looking to do battle."

Suddenly I burst out laughing. Amanda looked at me and said, "What's so funny about that?

When the laughter subsided I said, "Oh God, here I was thinking you were probably going to leave and then send the tape out anyway. Just for spite."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "You're never giving us that tape, are you? You're going to leave with it in case you need to use us again."

Amanda smiled. "Smart girl. Not so fast on the uptake, but you get there eventually." She shook her head. "But you're wrong. I plan on leaving the tape for Kaye when we go."

It took an extra second for me to register what was wrong about her statement. "We?"

"As in you and me, are leaving the day after tomorrow. In the morning you're going to go to work tell them it's your last day there. Then on Tuesday, when Kaye leaves for work, you and I will head to the airport."

I was so shocked it took me a moment to shake my head. "Now I know you've lost your shit. You are fucking crazy if you think I'm leaving Kaye for you."

Amanda looked calm, like she'd come to peace with something. She took a few steps towards me. "Oh, you'll leave her, one way or the other. Because if you don't come with me, I'll kill her."

COMING IN PART FOUR: A violent conclusion.

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