Miranda stepped out from the station looking around her cautiously. She had been advised against renting digs in this part of the city when she had come to university, but the prices were unbeatable. For a young woman on a tight budget that was not a factor she could ignore, especially as it meant she got a place to her own, no need to share with spotty freshers. Anyway in the two months since she had arrived she had had no trouble. There were always cars passing by in the streets however late it was, and the prostitutes on Broad Street meant there was always someone on the pavement. She had come to feel a respect for them, sure that they would come to her rescue if someone tried to mug her, so she walked the short way to her flat, unafraid.
Miranda stepped into the local convenience store to get some milk. A woman coming into her middle age was talking with the shopkeeper, Mr. Mazari. She wore faded baggy denim jeans and jacket, pretty similar to the clothes Miranda.
“... I never understand it.” The woman said.
“No, no.” The shopkeeper agreed.
“What does she have over the women down here? Elsewhere the pimps use drugs or violence, but on Di’s patch it’s something else, something I haven’t been able to sus out.”
Miranda was curious about what the woman was talking about. She knew it must involve the prostitutes, but who was this Di? She had no idea the area was anyone’s ‘patch’.
“Hello.” The woman said noticing Miranda for the first time. “Not ready for your shift yet?” She said running her eye over her.
“Sorry?”
The woman realised her mistake. “Sorry, I just assumed you were one of Di’s girls.”
“No, I’m Miranda, I’m a student.”
“Hi, I’m Jill.” The woman said stretching out her hand. “Did you take a wrong turning?”
Miranda shook it. “No, I live round here, the converted warehouse next door. Well, you say converted, I got it cheap as they can’t decide yet what it’s going to be.” Mr. Mazari smiled and nodded to confirm Miranda’s story.
“I’ll be they’ll have trouble letting it out round here.”
“The prostitutes you mean? I’m sure they’ll move on once things pick up.”
“Not if Di has her way.”
“Who is this Di? I heard you mention her.”
“You must be new to the area. She’s the one who runs all these girls.”
“The girls? You mean the prostitutes?”
“Certainly do. She’s their pimp.”
“It’s unusual to have a woman in charge.”
“She’s tough. Last year, Gallagher who runs things up on the North side, tried to muscle in on Di’s operation. Last I heard he’s running out of town with his tail between his legs and his trophy wife is working the streets for Di. I have no idea how she does it. Most of the pimps use drugs, violence or both, she does something else.”
“Yes, that’s interesting: a female crime boss.”
“It happens. You’d better be careful, she runs everything round here. Be careful that you don’t upset her.”
“I doubt I’ll come across her.”
“Well don’t prove too interesting to her either.”
“What do you mean?”
Jill fixed her gaze on Miranda. “Well, she considers anyone on her patch to be her property and she might assert her right to that property.”
Miranda laughed nervously. “I doubt she’ll have much time for me, with so much business to take care of.”
“Well, watch out.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I read the local press, I work for the council. I’ve run some outreach centres for pros in this city. We made no headway down here, I moved on to somewhere where I could make a difference. I’d advise that you start looking for somewhere else to live.” Jill said, collecting her shopping.
“Thanks.” Miranda said and watched the woman leave. She paid for her milk and walked out into the street. She usually ignored the clusters of prostitutes in the doorways and they ignored her, their interest was only on the cars passing slowly by, Miranda, not being a potential customer was nothing to them, invisible. This evening she walked more slowly, gazing at the women she passed. Immediately she was struck by a few things one was how confidently they strutted on the sharp heels of their boots which stretched invariably over their knees. As they moved back and forth their bums swayed in tight leather miniskirts or hotpants that looked like they had been sprayed on. Their breasts were thrust up and laid on show by clinging bustieres. Bare midriffs shone with studs and gems, others caught light from their noses and ears. On a cooler night like tonight cropped leather jackets, smooth and sleek, finished their outfits. There were only a couple of others before her flat and with these she concentrated on their faces—the glistening wetlook lipstick, bright eye make-up and blusher. Their eyes looked vacant as if their brains were somewhere else.
Miranda reached her building and went up the short alley which led to the entrance to the flats. As she did she heard a car pull up. For some reason she hesitated. She expected it was another client either picking up or dropping off one of the pros. As she glanced back up the alley to the better lit street, she saw the car had tinted windows. Then the rear door opened and out stepped a woman dressed from head to toe in maroon leather from a fitted jacket and halter top, down past tight trousers to kitten-heeled boots which emerged from beneath them. She was probably in her fifties, but could pass for a decade younger. Her hair was short and blond and long silver chain earrings swept beside her face as she looked around slowly, surveying her domain. This must be Di. Miranda watched in fascination, hardly breathing. Then Di seemed to be looking directly at her. Miranda moved closer to the dark wall hoping the shadows would conceal her, but Di’s gaze seemed to penetrate the gloom and fix Miranda’s eyes. Di’s gloved hand toyed with a silver lariat necklace at her throat. Gently she began swaying it. Miranda stared, wondering what was going to happen next. She let go her breath, it was alright, nothing was going to happen. She stepped out from the wall and stood in the alleyway, just looking at the silver chain picked out by the streetlight, but that was not what she was thinking about. Miranda’s mind began running over the pros she had seen as she had walked there, particularly the tight leather clothes they wore. She realised that she had not thought how sexy it was to dress like that, feeling the tight shiny leather close against one’s body, her body. She felt dull and plain, she should make more of herself, put on some make-up.
There was a warble of a mobile phone and Miranda gasped. She was at the entrance to the alleyway but could not remember walking there. In front of her Di was shouting into her phone. Miranda felt panic and rushed back to the door to the flats. She had it unlocked and open in seconds. She ran inside as if she was being chased. She bounded up the stairs to her own flat and was quickly through its door. She bolted it behind her and slumped on the hall floor breathless. As she did she realised that her snatch was wet. As she stood up and went to the bathroom and began shedding her clothes for a shower, she saw her panties were sodden with sexual juice. Her fingers tentatively reached for her pussy and a memory seemed to be stirred within her. She felt the urge to go back downstairs and out into the street, but she ran out of the bathroom, flicked on the television, the radio, her CD player, filling the flat with noise blocking thought from her mind. She returned to the bathroom and stripped off her remaining clothes and jumped into the shower, washing her hair and body carefully but forcefully, surprised how excited her nipples were, thinking back to what Jill had said and concentrating on boring revision from that day’s classes.
It was night. Miranda was walking along Broad Street, a bit farther on from her flat. Part of her thought this was not a stretch of the road she had been down much, but another part told her this was her patch. She walked casually the length of the office building, uncertain where she was going. She turned and began a slow walk back. She could hear the click of a woman’s high heels on the pavement, a sound she had heard hundreds of times when she passed the prostitutes. She saw a couple of them across the road, but rather than the usual blank expressions they gave her they seemed to nod to her. She nodded back. As she did she felt her earrings knock against her face. They were bigger than the studs she usually wore. Miranda reached the other end of the office building and stopped, part of her said she should continue back to her flat, it was late, but a stronger sensation said she should turn round and walk back the way she had come. She could do with a cigarette. She dug in the small silver bag which hung from her shoulder. She found the packet and pulled out one long cigarette with the end of her long nails, that day painted scarlet with a star pattern across them. She put the cigarette between her gloss-painted lips and lit it with her small silver lighter and drew deeply on it, as her lungs expanded she heard the quiet creak of leather. Miranda started walking again. Cars were passing slowly by, mainly on the other side of the road. She looked up and down, for some reason hoping one would pass by on this side. She glanced over at the two prostitutes again, they were standing against a dark shop window talking. Miranda saw a flash of red in the window next to them. She looked carefully and realised it was a reflection, the dark window was working as an almost perfect mirror. The reflection was of another prostitute, her thigh length red boots stretching almost to her tight red leather miniskirt. The bustiere and jacket she wore were equally as tight, equally leather and just as red. The small silver shoulder bag stood out in contrast. Thoughts began running through Miranda’s mind. She turned square on to the window and took a couple of steps forward. As she saw the reflection, the glow of its cigarette clear between its scarlet nails, do the same, Miranda grew breathless. Part of her wanted to run, to shriek, to get out of there, but something stronger was saying things were alright, she was looking good, didn’t she feel damn sexy? A car came slowly up to the kerb in front of her, she started stepping towards it.
The radio sounded loudly in her ear and Miranda leapt awake as her clock radio came on. She could feel her pulse racing; she was panting. Her duvet was kicked on the floor and her sheets were drenched in a mix of sweat and sexual juice. It was a long time since she had had a dream that had aroused her like that. She gripped for the fragments of the dream as they began falling away. She remembered red, a car, Broad Street, but little else. Somehow it made her feel good and she was irritated that she could not remember any more of it. She went to the bathroom and took another shower. She began to try thinking about her studies that day, but something seemed to be distracting her, only part of it was the desire to go back to bed, other urges like going shopping, in fact to go shopping in some specific shops, to get her hair done, her nails done, to get some new jewellery, some new clothes seemed both exciting and tempting. However, she knew she could not afford to miss lectures and catching sight of the time she hurried out.
“Do you fancy coming?”
“What?” Miranda realised her friend Jenny was speaking to her. “Sorry, I was miles away, I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Well, this’ll tire you out.”
“What will?”
“The Horizon.”
“The what?”
“Are you stuck on one word this morning?” Jenny joked, pushing the glossy flyer under Miranda’s eyes. “It’s the nightclub. It’s only a couple of streets from you, I thought I could crash at your place afterwards. These tickets get you in for free and a free drink, after that we should be able to get some guys to buy the rest. So it’s not going to be expensive.”
“No, I suppose not.” She looked at the flyer it was the standard sort but suggested that the club was decent, with a range of different bars and dance floors.
“It’ll be a good end to the week.”
“Free entrance on a Friday? They can’t be doing well for business.”
“No, it was a special offer, I’m sure it was because I bought those CDs at ‘Tracks’. The tickets only came this morning.”
“Well then, we’ll go and see.”
“Yeah, and if it’s dead we can go back to yours and crack open some wine.”
“Sounds like a deal.” Miranda agreed. The plan seemed to stir her from her lethargy and she began truly to look forward to the evening out.
There was quite a queue leading up to the entrance to The Horizon. Miranda felt a little self-conscious in the short red dress that Jenny had lent her and dug herself deeper into her anorak. She felt half-dressed and below it her legs ran bare down to her strappy high-heeled shoes. Jenny was enjoying it more. She was in a short dark blue dress that barely crossed her thighs and glistened in the light. She was alert, looking at the people around them.
“Shouldn’t be long, we’ll soon be inside.” Jenny said enthusiastically as the queue surged forward as the bouncers let in a few more people. In minutes they were only a few back from the entrance.
“Here we go.” Jenny said as the queue moved again.
“Good.” said Miranda, she was getting cold standing around.
“Not you.” The bouncer said to her as she reached the door. Jenny was already inside.
“But my friend’s got in.” She pointed to Jenny who was hovering on the stairs inside.
“You can join her in a minute, but I can’t let in more than ten at a time.”
“Okay.” Miranda said patiently, she did not want to antagonise the bouncer. She gestured at Jenny to go inside and to get some drinks in, she would soon join her.
It seemed like ages but finally the bouncer let her in. Miranda ran up the stairs, past the cloakroom and out into the main area. She stood on the balcony trying to see Jenny. The place was packed, but she looked carefully checking amongst the faces. There was no sign of Jenny along the bar or on the dance floor. Quickly Miranda checked the toilets but she was not in there either. She grabbed her mobile phone and went into a corner that was a bit quieter. She rang Jenny’s number but there was no reply. She sent a text and went back to look around the club once again. In the dark far corner Miranda was sure she caught sight of Jenny’s blue dress. Through the press of bodies she could make out a couple of women standing around a third chatting. Miranda thought the only option was to check it out. She started making her way down to the dance floor, but the number of people made progress slow. As she looked at the corner again she could see the backs of the three women as they went behind a drape. Miranda kept on pushing through the crowd, sweating heavily beneath her anorak. By the time she reached the corner there was no sign of the three women, and when she lifted the drape it just seemed to cover a wall. Exasperated Miranda went slowly back to the balcony, carefully checking the face of every woman she went passed.
Miranda stayed until closing time, not shifting from her place on the balcony until she was moved out on to the street by the bouncers. Even out there she looked at all the women in the street, but there was no trace of Jenny. She was tempted to head straight to the police station and report Jenny as missing, but she knew what reaction she would get. A woman who goes out to a club and does not come back that evening was hardly missing, even though Miranda knew it was not like her friend.
Miranda spent the weekend in her flat, glancing at her mobile every ten minutes, ringing Jenny’s every hour, but there was no response. Monday morning she felt she had a case and went and reported her as missing. With forty-eight hours having passed and no-one in Jenny’s digs having seen her either the police were ready to listen and having talked to Miranda for an hour had filed a missing persons report.
As Miranda walked back to her flat, too worried to think of university, a fear built up inside her. Increasingly she felt Jenny had been targeted, from the flyers, to the bouncer at the door, to the two strange women, it all seemed to fit together. The fear motivated her to action. Soon she was back inside her flat packing. Within two hours her few belongings were boxed, her clothes were in her suitcase, and she was travelling across town to the university’s accommodation office. By that evening, she was taking the taxi with all her stuff to new digs on the North side of town, a place not a spot on her flat on Broad Street, but it was cheap and two other women and a man shared it. She knew she had to have people around her. If Jenny could disappear so easily, she was a prime target living alone.
It was the middle of the afternoon. Her housemates were either at lectures or playing sport. Miranda was enjoying the quiet of an empty house, taking the opportunity to catch up on reading for her course. The doorbell rang, she put down her book and went to the door, she guessed it would be someone trying to sell something. However, the moment she saw the policewoman’s uniform she guessed it was about Jenny. It had been nearly two months since Miranda had last seen her, she steeled herself for bad news about her friend.
“Miss. Richards?” The policewoman asked. “Miss. Miranda Richards?”
“That’s me.” Miranda said slowly.
“I’m glad I caught you in, you’ve been hard to track down.”
“Is it about Jenny? Have you found her?”
“Yes, it is about Jenny.” The woman smiled softly. “But you don’t have to worry, we have her, she’s doing really well. I was sent to bring you to join her.”
“That’s excellent. I’ll just get my coat and shoes and I’ll be with you.” Miranda almost skipped away, it was as if something heavy had been lifted from her chest, it was as if nothing would trouble her again.
In a few minutes Miranda was in the unmarked police car. “I’m actually on my way home, I’m doing it as a favour for my boss, rather than you having to wait until tomorrow.” The policewoman explained.
“That’s great.” Miranda sat back oblivious to the drive across town.
Soon the car was descending into an underground car park.
“Jenny’s not in the hospital?”
The policewoman shook her head. “For the moment she’s in a safe house up here. Just take that lift up to the eighth floor. They’re expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Miranda said as she got out of the car and walked the short way to the lift. In moments she was riding up to the eighth floor. She stepped out of the lift into a plush corridor which only had a few doors off it. There was no-one around. She walked slowly down the corridor looking at the doors but they were all unmarked.
“Hello.”
Miranda turned round quickly there was a woman standing behind her she had come through the door closest to the lift. Her clothes immediately struck Miranda as unusual. She wore black leather: sharp heeled ankle boots, a tight skirt which stopped just above the knee and a short jacket, buttoned closed. Her long blonde hair was pulled back severely from her face.
“Don’t panic. There’s no escape.”
“Sorry?” Miranda blinked, the whole scene was so dreamlike.
“Well you’ve managed to slip us on two occasions.”
Miranda did not know what to say. She took a couple of faltering steps towards the woman.
“Come inside.” The woman stood to one side and gestured for Miranda to go into the flat. Miranda knew she had little option. She walked slowly through the door.
The flat inside seemed to be one large room, divided by swishing reddy curtains. The floor was covered in a deep matching carpet. Sitting in a large throne-like chair was Di. Again she was dressed in leather, a lilac colour this time, a leather coat which stretched to her ankles over a strapless leather dress and matching knee-length boots. As Miranda caught sight of the silver lariat necklace resting on Di’s cleavage she felt an inexplicable thrill run through her. Di’s fingers toyed with it and Miranda struggled to look away.
As she glanced around, Miranda became aware of some others in the room. There was a large woman with a blue silk kimono pulled off her shoulders to expose a dragon tattooed on her back. Her cropped head was down as she lapped at the pussy of a black woman dressed in a chocolate brown rubber catsuit. Neither seemed to have noticed Miranda.
“Ah, Miranda, it is good to finally meet you.” Di said.
Miranda remained silent, her mind running through all the likely outcomes. “What have you done with Jenny?”
“Nothing much.” Di smiled. “If I didn’t employ such morons it’d be you in her place.”
“What? As one of your tarts?”
“Most certainly. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted?” Di looked at her intently. “I’m good at reading people, reading things in them that even they don’t know.”
Di tapped her fingers on the arm rest of her chair. As she did Miranda saw a curtain billow and a woman stepped from behind it. In seconds she recognised Jenny, but as Di had said, she was clearly now one of Di’s girls. He hair was blonde, longer than Miranda had known it, pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a shiny black corset and a clinging rubber miniskirt that barely covered her bum. She strode in thigh high glossy black boots, her manner as cocky and sexy as any of the pros Miranda had seen.
“A great improvement, I’m sure you’ll agree. At least now she earns her keep rather than sucking off us taxpayers.” Di laughed lightly. “Well, she’ll suck off any taxpayer who’ll pay.”
Miranda looked into Jenny’s eyes expecting there to be a glimmer of recognition. Jenny had the look of any bored bimbo seeing her boss talking to a stranger. Miranda noticed she wore a silver necklace very similar to Di’s, and realised it might as well be a collar.
“You hypnotise them, brainwash them, don’t you? They’re all completely loyal to you, you don’t need to threaten anyone.”
Di clapped slowly. “Well done, yes, I am surprised it took you so long to work out. But I do more than that. These girls of mine don’t just do it for the money, they do it for pleasure. They’re programmed so they’ll come every time, once the customer’s had his fill of course, but once that’s over orgasm takes them, every time, no matter whether they’re jammed in the back of second-hand car or up against a wall. Each time is the best sex they’ve ever had. Now, I think a lot of women would pay to have that kind of ability and I give it to them. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Miranda said nothing, part of her expected to wake from the dream, the nightmare any minute.
“Robert.” Di called.
A muscular black man stepped into the room. He was stripped to the waist and his tight leather trousers did nothing to conceal the size of his cock.
“Well, this is part of my introductory package.” Di explained. “Imagine it, in minutes you could be more sexy than you have ever imagined, clad in the tightest, smoothest leather being repeatedly licked, teased and rogered until you collapse from exhaustion, orgasms guaranteed.”
Miranda had no doubt Di was some kind of witch able to unearth her deepest fantasies. She found it difficult to breathe and found herself staggering towards Robert.
“Karyn.” She spoke to Jenny, but Miranda barely noticed. “Please get Anya here that red leather outfit that’s in the wardrobe will you?”
“Yes, mistress.” Jenny/Karyn responded and left the way she had come.
Miranda felt her head spinning, partly in panic, partly in dawning realisation that Di intended to turn her into one of her prostitutes. Her dream rushed back into her mind, and she could almost feel the leather tight against her body already. She looked around quickly, seeking some way out.
“Ah, Anya, there’s no need to worry.” Di said, her voice now soft and seductive. Miranda settled. She looked at Di’s smile, her eyes. “That’s better.”
Miranda felt pleased that Di was pleased.
“Come over here.” Di said and Miranda felt herself walking forward automatically. “That’s good.” Again Miranda felt pleased.
Di was gently swinging her necklace between her fingers and Miranda could not look away, her gaze was fixed on it as if it was the most important thing in the world.
“Excellent.” Di said. Then she held up her hand and Miranda’s attention switched to the large red ring on it.
“Do you like this ring Anya? Can you see it? Nice and clear red.”
Miranda looked at it. The stone was cloudy and translucent.
“Look closer, can you see it clearing?”
Miranda looked harder and it was as if clouds were swirling in the ring, but they were becoming fainter. “Yes, I can.”
“Good, Anya. My Anya, you’re one of my prostitutes aren’t you? You love making yourself up, you love strutting your sexy body on the street, dressed in the tightest, sexiest clothes, the longest, sharpest heeled boots, selling yourself to any man who stops and asks you. That’s what you are Anya.”
Miranda’s mind was fogged but Di’s words were sinking in deep, wiping away so much of what she knew. Di’s description seemed like the truth and she felt she had to agree.
Suddenly there was a flash of light and a crackling sound. The ring, the necklace were gone. Miranda could feel herself being pulled away. She wanted to see the ring some more so she could see it clear entirely, but she was being bundled away. There were men in dark clothes running around shouting. She saw a woman she remembered as Jill, pulling a dark coat over her blue silk kimono, standing over Di with some sort of stungun. Then she was pounding at Di’s chest. There was a black woman with her, slipping on something that looked like a bullet proof vest. It was all too confusing.
“This way, love.” A woman’s voice said.
Miranda felt herself being guided away out of the room. The hallway was full of people, which as her eyes gained focus, she realised were police.
Miranda looked out her window at the postman returning to his van. She watched as the van bumped back down the track to the main road about a quarter of a mile away. In the eight months since she had been here, post had been rare, usually it was material from the university. She had no telephone and her computer had never been connected to the internet.
Curious, Miranda got out of bed and put on her slippers and shapeless dressing gown over her baggy pyjamas. A small package had been pushed through the letter box and rested on the doormat. Miranda took it into the kitchen and rested it on the table. She opened the range door and stoked up the glowing embers until licks of flame appeared. She went over and picked up some chopped logs from by the back door and shoved them in. Waves of warmth swept over the kitchen. She poured water into the bottom of the old iron kettle and put it on the range ready to warm for her tea.
With the kettle beginning to heat up, Miranda returned to the package. She tore it open quickly. It held what looked like a jewellery box, something you would get from a big store that held a necklace. She wondered who it was from, few people knew she was here, and even fewer her real identity.
Miranda clicked the box open. Inside was a silver lariat necklace. Gently she ran her fingers over it, and she felt a tingle run through them. She did not hesitate to put it on. As she pulled the tail of the necklace through the loop her body shuddered with a wave of sensation, her breath was short and her pussy quivered. Thoughts that she had forgotten welled up from deep inside her, and an uncompleted process seemed to be finishing. She stood up quickly, there were things to do.
She walked up to the taxi line, her steps awkward and hurried. She got into the first taxi.
“Broad Street.” She said. The taxi driver looked at her quizzically for a moment but said nothing and started driving.
As the final stage approached, she was able to calm herself. She pulled out a compact from her small shoulder bag and checked her make-up in the mirror. She pursed her glossy lips. She checked her long hair was straight in her ponytail, then smoothed her skirt, which stretched taut across her shapely thighs. As she passed through the familiar streets she felt more relaxed. This was right, this was good. As her nervousness faded, she decided to discard the disguise and unwrapped the long wool scarf from around her neck and dropped it to the floor. The taxi driver could deal with it later. She then began unbuttoning the long, dull green raincoat which had covered her down to her ankles whilst she had travelled, excited but sitting quietly, ignoring the questioning gazes of her fellow passengers on the train. She shifted awkwardly to free the raincoat from beneath her, and shoved it on the seat beside her. She looked up to see the taxi driver looking at her in the rear view mirror. Let him look, but surprisingly he seemed quickly satisfied.
Seeing they were in Broad Street, she lent forward. “Anywhere along here.”
The taxi driver said nothing, but pulled over. He said a price and she shoved a note through the partition to him. She did not wait for the change, but opened the door and stepped out on the street, abandoning the coat and scarf in the taxi. She no longer had need for clothes like those. She closed the taxi door and in moments it had driven off. Slowly she began to walk, but with every step her movements became more confident. Her bum swayed, clad in its skin-tight red leather as she strutted on her the sharp heels of her boots that reached to her thighs. She reached into her bag, slung over her shoulder coated in a short red leather jacket. In moments she had a long cigarette out and as she drew deeply on it her breasts pressed out against the tight leather bustiere she wore.
Up ahead she saw other prostitutes standing in pairs, eyeing up the cars passing slowly, as she came closer there was no hostility just a couple of nods that she returned. Anya found her patch and began her slow walk.
A few minutes later a car she recognised as Di’s cruised slowly by. It stopped in front of her and the electric window lowered. The woman inside wore a long black leather coat over a teeshirt and jeans all in matching black leather. A silver necklace hung between her breasts, prominent in the teeshirt. Her hair was short and dark but streaked with red. Anya could feel the power coming from her.
“Ah, Anya, it’s good to see you, I’m glad you got my message. You know this is where you belong. This is the only job for you, you know that.”
“Karyn?” Anya said, only a little surprised.
Karyn smiled. “Well Di’s business was too good to let slide. Someone had to take over after that accident the cops caused. I’m just the right woman to do it.”
“Yes, mistress.” Anya replied automatically to her boss, her owner.
“Have good evening.” Karyn said. The tinted window rose up showing Anya her reflection. She looked, pleased at her make-up and the new large earrings she wore.
Karyn’s car pulled away, but in moments another was slowing down. Anya strutted up to it. Its window was down.
“How much for a blow job?”
Pleased, Anya told him her price and in moments was sliding her leather coated body into his car. As they were pulled away, heading for a quiet side road, Anya’s pussy began running wet, excited as she began anticipating her coming orgasm, no matter what this man did. Anya’s new life had now truly begun.
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