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The Cellar City Chronicles

By Oru Manna All Rights Reserved ©

Scifi / Other

Chapter 18: Giselle

Giselle slept through her morning alone, which was only partially unusual. She had left Martin in his Sector 1 penthouse after a teasing farewell at his gates, reveling in the idea that he would dream about her all night.

Her apartment wasn’t anything spectacular, but that was intentional. Giselle didn’t take anyone here; this place was just for her. It was in Sector 6, near the old wharf district. It was hard to get to, and bred a lot of crime, but her little niche was untouchable. She had been sure to make plenty of examples of suckers who tried to break in.

The law didn’t venture too far into Sector 6.

She had a living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. The fifth room was her personal closet, complete with shelves, dressers, and a whole wall of hanging space. In her particular line of work, she was forced to don a lot of different facades, each one as completely fabricated as her own unique personality.

When she awoke, she uncurled herself from the silk confines of her sheets. She watched the fabric slide off of her pale skin and bunch onto the floor. Giselle could imagine dozens of men who would pay money just for that little show. The thought made her smile.

Today was Saturday. Giselle would be visiting some of her ‘friends’ who worked in the medical profession. She strode, entirely nude, to the enveloping warmth of her closet and stood at the center, calculating her personality for the day.

Yesterday she had been the horny tramp that Martin liked so much. That evening she had switched roles to black widow to make him feel secure. Today was a much lower key day, she felt.

Perhaps no leather.

Her eyes flitted over several suits and came to rest on one of her favorites. A wicked smile twisted her perfect lips as she pulled the pants off of the hanger and draped them over a chair positioned strategically at the center of the room. They were black with a dark blue satin piping down the sides. They had been tailored especially for her with a high waist that had matching blue satin buttons down the left side.

They spoke of sophistication, roguish class and good taste. A socialite with an edge; someone who knew the world enough to use it to her advantage. Perfect.

Crossing her arms she turned to survey the blouses that she had collected on the other side of the room. Just like the suits and dresses and pants and skirts, she had one of everything, it seemed. Something for every scenario, every character she had to play.

Button up shirt? Too professional. Tank top with lace hem? Too trashy for today. White? Too pristine. Black? Too negative.

Halfway through those thoughts she already decided that it would have to be dark blue, if only to match the buttons. But depending on the style it could mean so much more then matchy-matchy.

“Oh yes, you will do…” Giselle purred, pulling a hanger off of the rack and draping it on top of the pants.

The blouse was dark blue and satin. Extra fabric formed a loose scarf around the neck that would hang down to the waist on the pants in the back, and just far enough down in the front to reveal the alluring curve of her breasts.

Giselle left her closet then and commenced the routine of bathing and cleaning. As she scrubbed the chilled sweat from her limbs she thought about the man who had put it there.

Martin Jones.

The King.

Giselle made it her job to pick apart the desires of men. Give her five minutes and she could become any man’s wet dream. It didn’t begin and end with men, either. Giselle had molded herself into something incredibly versatile, playing the dream to men and women alike in order to get what she wanted.

Usually, if she couldn’t get it that way – well, more severe methods were also a practice of hers.

The King of this miserable city was a mid-dweller banished to the shadows. He was an entrepreneur whose trade had been unappreciated by the upper echelons in their little ‘pious movement.’

While he had been bartering in flesh and desires, they had been playing ‘pity the mud-dwellers’ up in their elevated penthouses where they could see the clouds. And when they caught wind of him making more money than they thought he could, they labeled him as a monster and sadist.

They sent him into the mud as fast as they could blink in the hopes he would disappear. The truth was they didn’t care about the Cellar City residents – as long as none of it climbed its way up to their level.

Martin Jones had been bringing it up in bucket loads; and then reveling in the profits.

Giselle had been slowly but surely wriggling her way into his little kingdom. At first it had been in the basic context – easy screw for some of his friends, a good time for important guests. Next, she’d done some select ‘party’ entertainment, making sure more and more people saw her.

But that hadn’t been enough for Giselle, oh no. The next step had been a gamble. She’d overheard Martin talking with some colleagues about a fly in their ointment. Some rabble rouser in the local gangs who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Their only problem was that they couldn’t get close enough to take care of him.

Something about Sector politics, Giselle didn’t care about that bit.

Without anyone’s permission, she had picked her first role – anxious young hussy. She had found her way to this problem’s H.Q. and convinced him to have sex with her (rather easily, even then.) And while he was in the throes of his passion, she had pulled the sharpened boning from her corset and drove it through his chest. Giselle had twisted it for good measure, and then waited there on top of him until she was sure he was dead.

Anyone who would overhear them would think he came to a most stunning climax. This of course gave her at least an hour to slip out through the fire escape and make it back to Martin’s territory.

Upon making her particular skill set available, Martin began to approach her about more potential ‘problems’ and would she ‘take care of them’.

She was more than glad to be of service.

It was maybe two years after that when Giselle had been seduced by Martin in a most unseemly fashion. Giselle had actually propositioned him, and she knew he had been more then ready to accept – but he had said no. She had been ready to tear his clothes off with her teeth, and he had said no.

Not twenty minutes later he was was the one tearing her clothes off and kicking the steel boning as far away as possible.

She found him exhilarating. It was nice to be dominated every once and awhile – and it was equally fun to dominate Martin.

Giselle’s shower took a few minutes longer after thoughts of that first night started making her weak in the knees. After she fulfilled her own little desires, she stepped from the heat feeling rejuvenated and fresh. She dressed quickly and wrapped her hair up on top of her head in a mahogany twist.

She dressed up the outfit with black gem dangles in her ears, a few silver rings on her hands and a black chain that looped twice around her neck and dangled down her bare back. The finishing touch was a pair of black suede shoes, four inch heels ending in a silver-capped spike that clicked officially as she walked.

Before leaving for the day, Giselle faced herself in the mirror, the small framed sunglasses balanced on the tip of her nose. “Good morning Mr. Roedecker… about the results from that blood-work…?”

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