Babydoll
"You’ll no longer need this uniform, Dev.” Ballarina pushed it to the side, “you’ll be wearing things like this now.”
I shuddered when she pulled the flimsy underwear of lace and silk from the Mary Poppins bag she carried religiously. The Louis Vuitton satchel was always stretched across her shoulder or held by her husband, Carter. The girls and I had long ago drawn bets on what could possibly be inside. With a wrinkled nose and an annoyed look, I had partially found out.
Taking the blue babydoll out of her hands, I fingered the material as fear shot through my heart. The realization of my decision had finally set it. I was no longer going to be a Gloss for Mad Pleasures & Debauchery, LLC. There would be no more skirts, button-up red shirts and starched black vests to protect me from the greedy gazes and hands of the partygoers.
I’d be fresh meat.
Sickened, I folded the material in my hands and tried to bring a smile to my face for my boss. It watered to an awkward stretch across my face and quickly disappeared. An oddly sympathetic look crossed her face and she motioned for me to sit down on the bed. I obliged her, crossing my left leg underneath me, still clutching the lingerie in a white knuckled grip.
Ballarina Overt was every man’s wet dream. With slanted jewel green eyes, blemish free tan skin and hair so dark it flashed blue in the sun, she could bring all her clients to heel with a simple smile. Her and her husband, Carter Mize, had created MPD eight years ago. What started as a simple service to have “hot” girls serving drinks had become an underworld pleasure center for those rich enough to afford its luxuries.
She stared at me now. Her eyes far older than the 36 years I knew her to be and far more weathered than I had ever seen them. Lips, painted a deep red, opened and close a few times before she seemed to shake herself. The facade was back, and the vulnerability I didn’t know she possessed was back behind the wall of beauty once again.
“You’ll get use to it, Dev.” She promised, an empty smile on her face. “Just remember that the clients are only allowed to do so much. If it gets out of hand, call out to security and the client will be dealt with. Severely, if the need arises.”
I could still remember Jack Young striking TouchNode: Molly Pitch. Apparently he wasn’t receiving the octave of voice he desired. Losing his cool, he’d struck her across the face. Molly didn’t work for two weeks after that and Mr. Young... well, he still walks with a slight limp.
“What if I can’t do this?” I whispered, “what if I changed my mind?”
“Do you still want to get out of here?” Ballarina demanded. The business woman was back in play, a sharp gleam in her eye. I shivered. “This is the fastest way to pay back the debt.” She raised an eyebrow, “Unless you’d rather be a Spectacle or Gale?”
“No.” Hurriedly, I stumbled to stand. I tripped, knocking Ballarina’s Louis purse to the floor. The contents immediately spilled out and with an apology, I dove to stuff it back inside.
“Stop!” She shouted. My body froze as I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat. “Those things are for you.”
Ballarina picked up the satchel and dumped the contents onto the bed. More lingerie spread itself across my neatly made queen sized bed. Then, makeup, a few pairs of shoes, hygiene products (some, that I didn’t even know existed), more razors and hair products. I collapsed next to them, tears gathering at the bottom of my eyelids.
“Dev,” she grabbed my arm, “you are no longer a Gloss. No more carrying drinks and taking orders. You will no longer be able to avoid the hands and toys that are used by my clients. You will wear these items and be dressed to perfection from the start of the party to the end.
You are not a Spectacle, so no stripping, and you are not a Gale, so absolutely no fucking. This will earn money faster and maybe, with some luck, earn you a few orgasms. Madame Valentina will help you the first few times as she does all the girls.”
My brain had began to check out. She shook me, bringing me back the present. A place I didn’t want to be at the moment. There was no way I would have guessed I would be in this position a few years ago. My life had not been the best, but it was mine. And now, I had someone controlling almost every waking moment of it.
“Dev,” she shook me again, “look at me. Under no circumstances are you to attempt to escape. Do you understand me? Carter is not a forgiving man."
Then, she was gone.
I had sat on the end of that bed for hours, staring dejectedly into nothing. How was I supposed to do this again? Where in the universe, and who, decided it was okay for woman to do this sort of thing? The blue babydoll was still in my hands, roughly clutched between my manicured nails with enough force to tear.
**
I hadn’t thought about that day for the last two years. It seemed a better plan at the time to forget everything I used to be and focus on who I am now. Working as a TouchNode had shaved roughly three years off my debt sentence, and now, I only had two months left.
Where had the time gone? I readied myself in the mirror, applying a last touch of mascara to my eyelashes, and stepped out into the hall of the mansion. The only other girls allowed in this hall were TouchNodes. The Glosses would already be downstairs getting everything set up with the Teases (bartenders, assistants, etc.) assisting as needed.
I found myself wildly jealous of them now. Their short skirts, long sleeved shirts and vests were bordering on armor. While I, and the other 12 women in this hall, where nearly nude. Some, actually were nude. Arabella Scream preferred it that way. She claimed that the silks, velvets, and lace got in the way. On more than one occasion I’d seen her twisted into a pretzel waiting for a group of clients to amuse themselves with her.
“TouchNodes,” Ricky, the head of our security team called, “this way.”
One-by-one we followed behind him. The sounds of our heels clicked in time on the marble floors. The mega-mansion belonging to Lucas Beckham was nothing short of spectacular. Imposing at four floors, the massive house stretched to least fifty thousand square feet. I had counted fourteen bedrooms on this floor, each with private bathroom, not to mention the gold leaf trimming, stone floors and the double sets of winding staircases.
We marched down to the bottom floor, still led to the main living room where most of the festivities were beginning and lined up for inspection. My skin crawled when Carter Mize’s face came into view. He was handsome, square jaw, pouty lips, blue eyes and finely combed dark brown hair with sculpted muscles packed into a tailored suit. It made it nearly, nearly, believable that Ballarina had married him.
Yet, many didn’t see the dark side of him. He was a serial philanderer that couldn’t keep his hands off the Gales of the MPD Sex House. I was happy to have never made it there. The women, though beautiful, had withered away to near nothingness as the prospect of eventual freedom had long ago been extinguished. Molly Pitch was moved there, and she got to keep her name, after she attempted to escape.
Carter Mize does not give mercy. Carter Mize does not forgive. And Molly Pitch, she’d never see the light of freedom again. I could still remember Carter joking with Ricky that the only light Molly Pitch would ever see would be the hall light between clients. Silently I had thanked Ballarina for the advice she’d give me two years ago.
Not once had I tried to escape. I gave zero backtalk and was more than happy do to whatever was asked of me. Which, being a TouchNode, wasn’t much. The rules that are attached to those in my position are fixated by a will of iron. Carter does not allow the rules to be broken, no matter the client or the situation.
“Chin up, Dev.” Carter pressed his index finger to my chin. Instantly I tensed, waiting for his hands to wander beyond my chin, but they didn’t. He whistled low in his throat when he glanced downwards at the white teddy I wore with matching garter and thigh-highs. I hadn’t bothered to cover my nipples, they would be the first things touched when a man noticed me for the first time. “Two years and we still don’t have a nickname for you. I think this will be your lucky night, Devani.”
Resisting the frown that threatened to pull at my mouth, I sent him a tightlipped smile and shrugged my shoulders. A nickname was earned when a man brought you to a climax. Your behavior equals the new nickname bestowed to you. Arabella Scream had shattered glasses, Molly Pitch had belted out a perfect “c”, Eva Please asked for more, Helena Suck smacks her lips at the end of the wave, and Tawny Tongue dwarfs the sound with a sopping kiss.
I hadn’t been brought to the end at all. The same suitors had come to the parties, all with the same mission: make me cum. And when they failed, the next party would be roaring along with me at the center while they tested out their new techniques. Unimpressed, I stood still as a greek statue while they fumbled in my panties.
“You don’t believe me, girly?” Carter blasted me with his reeking breath. “I’ve got a surprise coming for you.” He leaned closer to me, pressing his wet lips to my ear, “and then we’ll see what name you earn, Dev. I wonder what it’ll be? Dev Screams? Devani Squirts? Devy Begs?”
I didn’t answer him, letting his body turning to inspect Theresa Tears. Theresa was the newest member of the group and as the newest member, earned the right to have Carter “test the goods” before the show started. Her name was earned when she cried as she finished.
With his words in the back of my mind, I vowed, again, to never orgasm for a client. There would be no nickname for me. Not while I worked for MPD. I could earn a nickname for something else, but it certainly wouldn’t be used by that deadhead creep.
