Jan 142014
 

Whew, chapter 12 is a long ‘un! It’s also proving more time-consuming to edit than I’d expected, but it’s also fucking hot, so I thought I’d post the first half just to give you a taste. A couple of things to note: Bad People do Bad Things. Please do not extrapolate that I condone in any way some of the acts done by or to the characters.

Others, though, I certainly do. I won’t bother to say which is which.

Also, you may notice the sudden change of one character’s appearance. Yes, that was intentional, and in the final draft of the book, the previous chapters will be edited to reflect it. In the meantime, we press FORWARD into the Duel!

Theo shifted restlessly in his chair. Across the room the blonde woman Elsie had come down from the table and was now totally naked, on her knees surrounded by Incubikers. Their cocks jutted out from their unzipped jeans and they were passing her around like a joint, every man taking a hit of her open mouth for a few strokes before handing her off. Elsie’s eyes were vacant and almost rolled up as she opened her mouth for each new cock, spittle and mucus drizzling down her chin and glistening slick on her breasts. She knelt with legs spread, hands furiously masturbating with a desperate grind of her hips. Even at a distance Theo could hear her grunting as she rode her orgasms one after another while the men fucked her face. Nudging Michael, he nodded towards the camera the IncuBikers in the circle were passing around as well, getting closeups of Elsie as she was passed on from cock to cock.

“That’ll be prime content for the our next bukkake title,” he murmured. “I bet we can get her to take a few of them in her ass, too.”

Michael glanced at the group and sniffed dismissively. “Elsie? She doesn’t do anal, brother – at least, not for the kind of green I’m willing to pay. The little bitch still has that ‘I’m young and beautiful and the next Belladonna’ attitude.” He took a sip of beer. “It’ll take a few months to wear her down, but in the end we’ll get her to take it in the ass for next to nothing.”

Theo grinned and he shook his head in amusement. “You’re lucky I’ve already got a money on a different bet tonight, brother, or I’d take your money proving you wrong.” He leaned in towards Michael, voice low and urgent. “I told you – I found something special in New York. It’s big, and it’s gonna make even your sweet Isabella seem like last year’s whore.” Seeing Michael’s skeptical expression, he said “Fine. I’ll give you a little preview.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over to the blonde. “Yo, Elsie! Listen up!” Continue reading »

Dec 232013
 

Jason was glaring at her before she even opened the glass door to the Hellas Café. In one of the booths Alec was finishing off dinner with Joey, and Jane gave the boy a playful wave of fingers as she walked quickly to the counter. He leaned aggressively towards her, frowning. “Who the fuck was that woman you –” he began, and then stopped as she laid two fingers against his lips. He smelled sandalwood and a kind of clean, oily aroma underneath. It was a familiar smell to him, but he couldn’t remember where…suddenly his eyes widened as he realized she had gun oil on her hands. Jason swallowed, and met her green eyes, focused intently on his.

“No time, boyo. I’m on a very tight schedule. Her name was Nastya. Did my note make sense?”

“Yeah,” he grudgingly allowed. “She’s upstairs sleeping in your room. I gave her some hot cocoa, as you suggested.” His scowl returned. “And I took it off your tab.”

Jane was unfazed. “Good. My kit?”

“Right here.” Lifting a rectangular black hard case from under the table, he looked at her quizzically. “Not to pry, but that looks just like a portable bar kit I once had. Shaker, shot glasses, mixing tools…”

“Right the first time, my sexy barista.” Jane seemed inordinately pleased that he’d recognized it.” She flipped open the case, revealing neatly coiled lengths of rope where the bottles would normally go, and a dizzying array of stainless steel blades, iron clamps, and brass chains neatly arranged under leather straps. “Works remarkably well as a tool kit, as you can see.” She looked over the collection with a critical eye, reaching out and rubbing a smudge off the dark mahogany handle of a butterfly knife. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, and finally seemed to come to a decision. “Hmm…Yes, this’ll work.” She snapped it shut with a satisfied click of the latch, and noticed Jason’s expression, somewhere between confused and worried. “What?” she said, a little defensively “It’s my rope kit!”.

Jason just stared. Jane sighed, setting the case down again. “You haven’t been to many kinky play parties, have you?”

He smiled wryly. “No, I keep my sex where it belongs, between me and my partner and God.”

Jane looked sharply at him, and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. “I would explain, but as the Spaniard said, no, eet ees too mush. Lemme sum up.” She took a breath, and held up a finger as if giving a lecture. “Ego-driven attention whores such as moi who do frequent such parties –  ” she pirouetted, eliciting a round of applause from Joey in the far booth. “- have kits like this full of our tools. These are a few of my favorite things.” She tapped the case. “Nipple clamps. Blades, for sensation or cutting. Needles and sutures and chains, oh my!” Despite his best efforts, Jason was beginning to smile. “A few carabiners, my graspin’ brass ring for suspension, and about two hundred feet of Twisted Monk Nutella Rope.”

At that, Jason’s grin changed into a shocked O. “Twisted…what? Nutella…rope?” he gibbered. Continue reading »

Dec 202013
 

When they returned to the club, the van had already pulled into the garage and Michael was waiting for them. The Russian women were huddled around him, laughing as he smoked a cigar and bantered in Russian. As Theo and Jane walked towards them she saw the men exchange the smug grins of bandits enjoying the sweet plunder taken from their enemy, Tony.
Michael waved his cigar expansively. “Theo, my brother, someday that techie asshole across the street is going to know better. Meanwhile, this is an awfully fine batch of igrushka you’ve brought me.” He whispered something in the ear of the blonde on his arm, and her eyes widened, but she nodded, sinking to her knees in front of him. “Tanye here is especially fond of cigar service, she says. I’m about to test that claim.”
He looked at her expectantly, and she held up her hands, cupped in front of her. His eyes narrowed, and he growled “Nyet, shliukha.”
Her eyes widened a little more, and she shifted on her knees, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. Michael’s expression was icy and expectant, and eventually she settled, dropping her hands to her lap, and closing her eyes. Taking a breath, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth wide, her tongue sticking out slightly, cupped like a tiny pink bowl.
With a satisfied grunt, Michael tapped the ash of his cigar onto her tongue. Her body tensed, but her mouth remained open, her eyes opening and looking to Michael. He held her gaze for a moment, finally nodding, and she closed her mouth and swallowed. “Spasibo, Pakhan!” she said after a moment, voice a little hoarse. She waited there on her knees until he motioned her to rise.
Michael tried to hide his pleasure as he looked over at Jane, but she could see a slight smile. Showoff she thought. “So. You don’t have a problem with all this? Doesn’t offend some feminist sensibilities or some shit like that?”
Jane shrugged. “What, cigars? I’m a big fan, though I prefer Ashton. I also tend to roll my ash on the tongue, because I usually have plans for it later.” She grinned impudently at him, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Oh, you mean the whores in general? Why would I have a problem with that?” She looked at the half-dozen or so women still unloading their belongings from the van. “They know what they’re here for; just because we’re too stupid over here to make sex work legal doesn’t mean it’s any less of a choice.” She motioned at Tanye, who was rather urgently gulping water from a cooler in one corner of the garage. “That kind of thing? Hey, that’s between you two. I’m all about consent, and Goddess knows I’ve consented to a lot more extreme – well, let’s just say the answer to your question is no, whores and porn and camgirls don’t shock my feminist sensibilities.” She held up a finger. “But don’t get any ideas. I don’t affiliate myself with anyone on more than a short term basis. No offense – this girl just likes the feel of the road under her wheels.”
Theo smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “Fair enough. We’ll talk about those other skills later. You’ll find our audition isn’t quite as easy as that fuckwad Tony. Gonna take more than pussy licking and a foot job. ”
She smiled at him mischievously. “I sure hope so. There’s a reason I bailed on them and came over here, after all.” Continue reading »

Dec 172013
 

Theo Doukas was tinkering with his bike as the rest of the men in the security detail finished putting on their leathers. Jane watched as they strapped various implements of destruction to their bikes, spiked baseball bats, chains, even a large pipe wrench with a rock clamped into the jaws. Their jackets were patched with a Satanic-looking stud grinning and grasping the shapely hips of a naked woman face down and ass up. Along with the “Incubiker” and “Detroit” rockers was the not-so-subtle Latin phrase “FUTUIS MUNDO”.

As Theo became aware of Jane’s presence he glanced over his shoulder, smiling at her puzzled glance. “Wanna know what it means?” he growled with the voice of someone confident with command. He dropped his wrench clanking to the ground as he rose and turned towards her. He was a little over six feet tall and moved with the grace of an experienced martial artist or even a dancer. Wiping the grease from his hands with a black bandana, he tucked it in his left back jean pocket as he looked Jane up and down slowly. His gaze was appraising, not invasive. She returned the look, taking him in from his well-worn but neatly polished engineer boots to his slightly tousled black hair.  Theo’s demeanor was masculine without being macho, and Jane’s smile was more authentic than she’d expected.

She liked him.

“I know what it means,” she said, waving at the motto. “Nice sentiment. Just kind of trying to relate it to my own motto, Futuis viam meam ad Deum.” She watched him carefully to see if he caught the Latin.

Theo blinked thoughtfully. “Hmmm. ‘Fuck the World’ or ‘Fucking My Way to God.’ Never had much use for the big G myself. I like what’s here, what I can take. Speaking of which,” he met her eyes. “Before we start this run, you got to know one thing. I’m told that you’re the tough little bitch that put my crew in the clinic.” He paused as she nodded once. “No biggie, I’m sure they had it coming. But don’t try that shit on me. I won’t make the mistake they did.” As her expression turned puzzled, he smiled grimly. “Thinking that tiny isn’t dangerous.” He lifted his hand as if to brush his hair out of his eyes, and gave a quick flick that Jane couldn’t quite follow.

However, she had no problem feeling the edge of the knife Theo now held at her throat. She didn’t move. Softly, he murmured, “Fuck with me, I will end you.” The tone was almost loving, and Jane wasn’t surprised to find herself turned on. He nodded downward, and she risked a look. His other hand had a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol leveled at her midriff. “Blink once if we’re clear.”

She looked back up at him solemnly, then suddenly grinned and widened her eyes comically before exaggerating a slow blink. Nodding, Theo smoothly reholstered the gun and pushed the blade back into a wrist sheath hidden under the his denim sleeve.

“Damn, you guys really are brothers, aren’t you?” she murmured, and he finally grinned at her. “Yeah. He got the brains, so I had to settle for the looks.” He gestured at her leathers, her jacket, chaps and boots all varying shades of brown incongruous in the garage full of black leather, iron, and chrome. “What’s with the Sky Captain getup?”

She shrugged. “Eh, black leather makes me look pasty. Same reason I’d rather have amber than diamond, any day. I like things that used to be alive to look that way.” She fingered her aviator’s cap, and smiled up at him. “Plus, I used to masturbate with a Rocketeer action figure.” She was gratified to see his eyes widen slightly. Gotcha. “So what’s the plan for this? We’re getting some Russian imports?”

He grunted assent. “You might say that. Tony Bumblefuck across the way was kind enough to facilitate their trip here, and now he seems to think that we’re dumb enough to think he actually needs an fuel truck delivery to his fortress of stupitude. Taking down the tanker is not a big deal – my boys can do that in their sleep – but the whores inside need to be moved quickly into the van.” He waved towards the corner of the garage, where an overweight Incubiker lounged back against a black van with no windows, smoking a cigarette.

“Last two times we had Rich to sweet talk the sluts out of the truck, and that worked fine. He even got a little on the side, just because they like hearing ‘suck my cock’ in Russian.” Theo grimaced. “Seeing as he apparently had a violent conversation with your foot, it’s a good thing you’re fluent in Mother Russian, or we might not be so happy to have you around.” He glanced up past her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Beecee?”

Jane refused to turn around, just turning her head slightly to where the big man from the alley slouched towards them. Theo looked amused at the man’s surly expression, eyes glaring at the small woman from under a white bandage covering his stitches. “BeeCee, I don’t know that you’ve been formally introduced. Jane, BeeCee. He’s Michael’s left hand man – me, of course, being the right.” Seeing that neither of them were making any move to greet each other, he sighed, as if the father of unruly children. “Right.” He motioned towards the black helmet the giant held in his oversized hands. “What’s with the hardhat, BeeCee?”

The larger man grunted, nodding towards Jane. “Mr. Doukas says she’s supposed to wear it.” As Jane frowned, Beecee grinned mockingly. “It’s the law, bitch. Deal with it.” He held the helmet out just long enough for her to reach for it and then opened his fingers to let it drop.

Jane gave a slight kick, her boot catching the helmet before it hit the floor. It flipped neatly up into her waiting hands with a hard slapping sound. Beecee’s mouth opened for a moment, speechless, then he frowned with annoyance and stomped sulkily to his bike.

Theo watched him, amused. He swung a leg over his own bike and watched Jane as she gracefully mounted the seat behind him. “What was that, more of your kung fu Barbie shit?”

“Nope,” she said, eyes twinkling as she buttoned the helmet strap under her chin. It fit her like a black shiny salad bowl, making her look like a character from a video game. “Hacky sack with the stoners in high school.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning forward. Theo could feel her breasts pressing into his back through the layers of leather. Jane nuzzled against his jacket, breathing in deeply with satisfaction. “Mmmm…Love me some leather. Yum, yum.” For a moment she seemed lost in reverie, then looked up, seeming surprised to see him watching her. “What, like you don’t sleep with your floggers? Let’s go, stud, Mother Russia has some pussy waiting for us.”

He laughed then, but there was no warmth in it. The garage was filled with the roar of exhaust pipes as the bikes rode out of the garage into the Detroit afternoon.

An hour later, Jane was standing on top of the tanker truck, tapping the helmet absently on the against the side of into the dark circle of the opened hatch. To her left the Incubiker team waited impatiently, alternately glaring up at her or nervously along the street, watching for police. Theo stood at the bottom of the ladder on the side of the truck, his face angry and intent. “They want what?” he said loudly, voice filled with frustration.

Jane looked down at him, her expression regretfully bemused. “They want a Hello Kitty vibrator.” She laughed softly at the ridiculous request. “That’s really what they said, Theo. Hey, on the bright side, they’re only asking for one.”

Theo looked up at her suspiciously. “You’re fucking with us, aren’t you? I told you this needs to happen quickly – The money we gave Detroit’s finest only keeps them away for so long. Plus, Beecee’s getting carried away.” He waved towards the big man who was working over the hapless truckdriver. The poor delivery man’s face was bloody and his body sagged between the two Incubikers who held him up for Beecee’s fists.

Jane sighed. “Boss, I would fuck with Beecee from here to wednesday, but I would not fuck with you. I’m seriously telling you, they are insisting that they were promised a ‘hello kitty’ vibrator – ” Jane stopped suddenly as a thought occurred to her. She called down into the tanker for a moment, and when an answering stream of Russian echoed metallically up to her, she started laughing.

“Something to share with the class, Ms. Jane?” Theo did not look amused as she turned to look down at him, chuckling.

“Sorry, boss. My mistake. It’s not ‘hello kitty.’ It’s Kitty LaRue – as in, the ‘great American pornstar’” She shook her head. “Tony promised them that she would be here to greet them”

Tony didn’t look amused. “Where do you get ‘vibrator’ out of that? Do you even speak Russian?”

Jane chuckled again, unfazed by his suspicious tone. “Better than Tony does. Apparently he charmingly referred to Kitty as his ‘fucktoy’.” She shrugged. “Fucktoy, vibrator, same difference to them.” She grinned impudently down at Theo’s scowl and laughed again. “Hey, man, you gotta love cross-cultural communication.”

“Tell them to get their skank asses out of that truck in the next two minutes or I will toss in a match and close the hatch.” Theo turned angrily from the tanker and walked over to the van, yelling at the driver to unlock the back. Jane shrugged and turned back to the hatch, speaking quickly to the sex workers waiting fearfully inside.

A moment later a thin pale hand reached up and she helped the first woman out. She was painfully thin, elegant cheekbones sharply outlined under a shock of ragged black hair. She wore a metallic black tube dress with silver shoulder straps, small breasts barely tenting the fabric as her nipples crinkled in the chilly air. She clutched a tiny bag in her hand, and Jane could see a small book and some loose photographs inside. In spite of her emaciated state she looked inquisitively at Jane, asking a short question.

Jane’s smile turned sad, and she replied with a few short Russian words, trailing off into English. “I’m nobody you need to know, sweetheart. Just go with them.” She motioned towards the bikers.

The Russian woman looked down the ladder at the men waiting below, then back up at Jane. Her voice was earnest to the point of desperation. “We are good fucking! They not be sorry to buying us!”

Jane sighed. “I’m sure they won’t be sorry, you poor sweet slut. But you might be.” She caught the woman’s eye, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “If that happens, let me know. I’ll see what I can do.”

The woman’s expression changed and she suddenly looked disdainful. “What you mean? We LOVE to fuck! And drugs! We are party girls! You said these men give more than Tony and Kitten. You lie?” Seeing Jane shake her head slowly, the Russian laughed, hard and brittle. “So we go with them. We work in America finally! We will find rich man!” Scornfully, she sniffed dismissively at Jane and turned to make her way down the ladder. “You just can’t find man for you!”

Jane just watched her go down into the waiting arms of the leering Incubikers, a hard look in her eyes. As she heard the next prostitute climbing up out of the hatch, she gave a sigh and reached out to help her.

When they were all out and in the van, she and Theo remounted his bike. He looked at her thoughfully. “You did a good job up there. Worth the $1500, easy – we’ll make that back off those girls in a day.” Firing up his engine, he raised his voice over the growl. “I’m kinda surprised, though. Don’t you feel a little guilty? You are tough, but you don’t seem the type for running whores.”

She looked at him evenly. “You’d be surprised at what type of work I’ve done, Mr. Doukas, sexual and otherwise. ” She nodded towards the van as it drove off. “Those girls chose to come here. They chose this kind of work. They knew what they were getting into, even if they convinced themselves it would lead to something else. I call that risk-aware, and as they say back in Mother Russia, ‘not my circus, not my monkeys.’” Her voiced softened just a bit, but there was no regret in it. “I’m no fucking saint, Theo. I just want my money. Speaking of which…”

Theo nodded, and took a hand off the throttle to fish out his cel phone, pressing a number to speed dial and then saying, curtly, “Brother. It’s done. Bitch delivered as promised.” There was a pause, and Theo nodded again. “Good. Later.” Pocketing his cel, he nodded at Jane. “Your money is deposited. Feel free to check.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “No need, I can tell.” She held up her wrist, where a bracelet made from an intricate skein of copper and brass housed a dark green stone. Theo looked puzzled, but Jane simply smiled, waiting, and nodded towards the jewel. It suddenly flared brightly, the light fading into emerald numbers glowing inside the stone: “$-1-5-0-0-*” Jane ran a finger over the stone, and it dimmed back down into dark smooth jade.

Theo grunted. “Neat trick. LCD under tinted glass, wired with Bluetooth to your cel?” She shrugged noncommittally and got on his bike, and he muttered over his shoulder. “All that fancy shit. Just call the fuckin’ bank, get it over with.” Revving the throttle, he waited as she pressed her body against him.

“Ah, Theo, you’re a Luddite at heart.” At his angry glare over his shoulder, she laughed. “Relax, big boy, it just means you like to keep things simple. It adds to your charm, manly man.” She playfully tapped her helmet against his. They rode back towards St. Antoine Street, leaving the empty truck and the ruined driver on the side of the road behind them.

Dec 092013
 

This episode is dedicated to a particular student struggling through finals, with the hope it is a bit more entertaining than 20th Century philosophy.

She’s what?” Michael Doukas’ gravelly voice boomed through the door, and Jane suppressed a grin. She was leaning agains the wall next to the entrance, looking blandly at the young Incubiker doing his best to look like a guard while obviously scared out of his mind. The tough’s hands kept fidgeting towards the buck knife at his belt, then at the buttons on his leather vest, loosely cut to make room for a shoulder holster. Feeling mischievous, Jane raised a hand suddenly just to watch him jump. She grinned at him as she ran the hand through her tousled blonde hair. He reddened, but didn’t say anything.

The voices inside the office murmured for a bit, then suddenly raised in volume again as some other disagreement came up. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. I’m not having a goddamn’ bodyguard detail against one skank with a singletail! Send her the fuck in!” Jane pushed away from the wall, tipping a finger at the guard in salute and sauntering into Michael Doukas’ office. It was furnished in dark wood and leather, the office of a man  trying to purchase sophistication, having come to wealth late in life.

Michael sat behind the large cherrywood desk, a designer leather chair framing his brushed-back gray hair. His suit was tailored to flatter his broad shoulders, and a silk tie was pinned with a large diamond under a perfect Windsor knot. The whole tableau clashed with the guard standing behind him in denim and leather, gloved hands holding a 12-gauge with ready menace. Doukas ignored him, scowling at Jane through templed fingers. She carefully kept her hands in view, away from her pockets and rucksack, but the guard fingered his shotgun nervously just the same.

“So.” Michael’s voice was low and matter-of-fact. “You look like a bitch, but you must be hiding balls the size of watermelons to show up here after you put four of my guys in the clinic.”

She shrugged. “They dissed my bike. What’s a girl gonna do?” She risked a small grin. “Besides, I improved Beecee’s looks, free of charge.”

Michael still scowled, but grunted in agreement. “Good point. Both of them, actually. Which is why I’m not having my boys dip you in crank case oil and gang rape your ass.” He paused, as if waiting for a reaction from her, but Jane’s expression didn’t change.  “Yet. But what the fuck makes you think my benevolent mood will last long enough for you to walk out that door?”

Jane smiled. “You sure know how to charm a girl, Mr. Doukas.” She walked towards the desk, ignoring the guard’s shifting finger on the trigger, and sat jauntily on the corner. She picked up an expensive-looking pen and considered it thoughtfully. “Thing is, I felt kinda bad about what happened, and so I came over to see if I could make nice with you boys. I heard you might be able to use someone with my – ” she looked up suddenly at Michael with lowered lashes “-sklls.” She held his gaze as she thoughtfully and slowly ran the pen cap across her lips. The implication was unmistakable, and Michael’s expression shifted ever so slightly from anger towards amusement. Abruptly she dropped the pen and walked away from the desk. “My skills as a Russian translator, that is. Would you like my rates? We should be sure you can afford them.”

“Rates? What the fuck? Who told you about the Russians, bitch?” Michael’s tone was angry again, and she turned suddenly, halfway to the door.

Mr. Doukas.” Her voice was strong and cut through his tirade like a stroke of lightning. “I walked into this beautiful office expecting to do business with a gentleman. Or at least a semi-literate businessman. I fucked up your boys because they were assholes. I didn’t think you’d be that stupid.” She matched his glare, and there was a tension filling the office that seemed to hum. The guard shifted restlessly, and the creak of his leathers sounded like a gunshot in the wired silence. He looked embarrassed, then angrily at her.

After a long, measured stare, Michael cleared his throat. “I apologize, Ms. Jane, for my temper. It gets the better of me sometimes.” His tone held no contrition, belying the words. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” she said immediately, and walked back to the desk. Michael motioned to the guard, and growled a little, low in his throat, when the man hesitated a moment. As the door closed behind the bodyguard-cum-errandboy, Michael gestured to a chair. Jane perched on the desk instead, the curve of her brown leather pants complementing the dark cherry wood.

Michael looked at her, shrew appraisal in his face. “Your presentation…Not bad. You’ve got the voice down pat. Pro dom? Or ex-military?”

Jane smiled. “Former marine,” she corrected, and added “I also work pro on occasion. Whatever puts gas in my tank.” She gave him a come-hither look, voice dropping into a Mae West impersonation. “Why do you ask, big boy, your regular girl just not doin’ it for ya?”

Suddenly Michael’s scowl broke and he guffawed. The laugh sounded harsh, but a wide smile covered his weatherbeaten face. “Now that’s a good one. You’re quite amusing, lady.” His grin became more feral. “My girl’s doin’ me just fine.” He looked down and pushed his chair back from the desk slightly. “Aren’t you, girl?”

From under the desk came a soft voice. “I hope so, Sir.” Jane caught a glimpse of tired brown eyes and a bare shoulder before Michael scooted his chair back. He looked smugly up at Jane. “So. While she’s sucking my cock, you get to tell me what it is you think you can do for me. If you convince me before I come, I might not take the clinic bill for my boys out of your fee. But I warn you,” he raised a finger admonishingly as a slurping sound grew louder from under the desk. “She’s quite good at what she does. Better talk fast.”

“Not much to say, Mr. Studly.” The wet sucking noises created a strange ambience for their conversation. Michael seemed oblivious to the fellatio, and Jane was mildly amused by the effort he was putting into looking disengaged. “Basically, I heard that there is a shipment coming tonight. Something  from Mother Russia, for your competitors, that you might want to intercept and acquire.” Jane paused, enjoying the tension she saw in the man’s eyes as he struggled to concentrate on business despite pleasure. “I also heard that my –inadvertent– interaction with your boys deprived you of your usual translator.” She shrugged. “I feel kind of bad about that, and thought I’d offer you my services.”

Michael listened, his mouth open slightly, but his eyes were alert. “You seem remarkably well informed, Ms. Jane – ” he paused to let her fill in the gap, and she sat with cool silence. “Yes. Whatever.” He cleared his throat and shifted suddenly.

Jane grinned. “How’s that little piece comin’ along?” she asked. “And speaking of which, you seem pretty well informed yourself. I don’t recall introducing myself.”

Michael pulled a remote out of his desk and pointed it at a television screen mounted in an ornate wooden frame. Nothing happened, and Jane looked at him with a sarcastic smile. “Need help?” Michael gave an annoyed grunt, looked at the remote a little more closely, and pressed a button again. An image of Jane’s ass filled the screen, moving sinuously and suddenly stopping as Tony’s hand came down. There was no sound to the video and the picture was slightly canted to the left, giving it an abstract feel.

Jane studied the image with interest. “Mmmm. Good, so at least somebody remembered to hit record for that scene. You know, though, that’s a really lousy angle- my ass looks much better from above. The POV shots, you know?” She turned to look at Michael, who seemed disappointed at her reaction. “What?” she laughed. “You think I’m going to be upset about a little video of my naked tushie having fun? Oh, come on, Michael, what are you, five?” She tapped her finger on the desk. “Anyway, yeah, so now you have even more reason to hire me. I don’t work cheap, but I always deliver more than expected. As you know if you watched the whole video.”

Michael suddenly hissed through his teeth, baring them in a feral grimace, eyes bright  and unfocused on Jane’s face, and she sighed, waiting as his shoulders slumped just a little. After a few more wet sounds, the slurping stopped. Jane looked at him expectantly as his eyes became more aware. “Hmmph. You think you’re quite the smart little slut, don’t you? If you’d heard their conversation afterwards, you might not be so cocky. Pun intended.” He looked at her, challenging. Jane just stared back, waiting.

Finally he slapped the  table and laughed again. “By god, Ms. Jane, I think I might like you. Yeah, my boys can be assholes. I’d appreciate it if you’d try not to put any more into the clinic in the near future – they always get a little extra rowdy when Theo’s gone, but he should get back later today. He’ll take you along to catch that delivery. Do what he says, we’ll have no problems.” His grin grew a little wider. “And when you get back, we’ll talk about some of those other skills of yours. I think you’ll find we can be very generous to people with the right attitude and the right talent.”

“Sounds like a great plan, Mike m’boy.” She held out her hand, the tiny silver strip unwinding again in her palm. “I work on retainer, of course, so I’ll need $1500  deposited in this account before we begin.”

“$1500?” he laughed  at her. “How do I even know that you even speak the language?”

A kak zhe znaesh, govniuk, s malen’koi khui?” she said, matter-of-factly, and he laughed again, even louder

“Guess that’ll do, davalka,” and he finally got to see her eyes widen in surprise. He took the strip from her, peering at the web address there, then up at her, enjoying the shocked expression he’d finally been able to elicit. “Yeah, I’m fluent. I just don’t like getting my hands dirty. Don’t worry, though, it’s not the first thing you’ve been wrong about.” Standing, he took his time adjusting himself, zipping up with a slow satisfaction as Jane stared at his flaccid cock. It was enormous.

“Mr. Doukas,” she said, swallowing and licking her lips before she continued. “I will not make the mistake of underestimating you again.”

“I hope not, Ms. Jane,” he replied. “The ones who do don’t tend to be around long.” He pushed his chair in roughly, and tossed the ring to his guard. “See that the bitch gets her money. Fit her out with whatever kit she wants. She rides bitch for Theo.” Seeing Jane’s mouth open in protest, he held up a hand. “Meaning no disrespect to that – ” his lip curled “-fine piece of Japanese engineering you ride, we need to have a bit of a presence with these deliveries. This is not negotiable.” Without waiting for a response, he walked out the door.

Jane watched him go, mouth pursed and thoughtful. She looked down at the chair, pushed in to the desk, then up at the guard. “Damn. Think I could get a moment in that chair too? He is…impressive.” She waited to see if the girl would respond, and gave a disappointed frown as nothing happened. “She stay down there all the time?”

The guard gave a rough smile at her that was not at all friendly. “Heidi? She’s been there a week, ever since she messed up his coffee.” His eyes widened with menace. “ That shit you pulled on my brothers? You’re lucky he didn’t jump all in your shit, too. ”

Jane looked at the door which Michael had left open. “Oh, make no mistake about it, bucko. He did.” She fingered her leather rucksack thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. He did.”

Dec 092013
 

Jason looked up as Jane sat down at his counter. “You take debit cards?” she asked as he poured her a cup of coffee.

“Five dollar minimum,” he said sourly, sniffing. “Pardon me for saying so, Miss-I’m-too-cool-for-a-name, but you smell like a whorehouse.”

Jane smiled good naturedly. “More like one particular whore than the whole house, but no offense taken – these things take time.” She grinned as his scowl deepened. “While we’re on the subject of houses of ill repute, though – I found Tony and Kitten…amusing, but not really roommate material. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra room available?”

Jason nodded suspiciously.” Yeah,” he grudgingly allowed, “but it’s a hundred a week, and I’m not putting that on your tab…”

“No need, my friend.” She rummaged in a pocket of her leather vest and tossed him a strip of plastic. “Run that like a credit card for two weeks rent. It’ll do for starters.” She leaned over the counter, looking left and right. “My rucksack still back there?”

Jason absently opened a cabinet under the register and handed her the leather bag, motioning towards stairs leading upstairs next to the counter. “Take room three. Alex is in two, and it shares a door with one, where his boy stays. There’s an outside entrance, too, door code is 4692.” When she didn’t move, he looked at her. “Something else?”

She was looking at the tied laces on the flap of the rucksack, and then up at Jason, her expression grave. “You didn’t open this.” It wasn’t a question, and as he returned her gaze steadily, she sighed. “Oh, Jason. You’re an honest man, aren’t you? What the hell are you doing in a shithole like this?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed upstairs.

“Whatever I can,” he answered softly, and pulled a cel phone out of his pocket. Pressing a button, he began to talk in low tones, his eyes never leaving the staircase.

The next morning Jason had her pancakes and eggs ready as she came down the stairs, and she saluted his timing with a quick snap of her hand and a brilliant smile. Alex sat at the counter with a small boy of about 4, the two of them sounding out words in a Seuss book. “Sam-I-Am!” the boy said happily, pointing at a sad moustachioed figure in the book. Then he looked up and noticed Jane sipping coffee in the booth. “Who dat, daddy? She pretty!”

Alex hushed is son with a whispered “Don’t bother her, Joey, let her eat alone.”

“Hello, Joey.” Suddenly she was standing next to them her hand offered to the boy. “My name’s Jane. You’re doing a great job on that book – it was one of my favorites.” She looked at the book critically for a moment, then at the boy. “Can I tell you a secret?” The boy nodded warily, and she whispered a few sentences in his ear. His eyes grew wide for a moment, then he looked at his father sitting next to him and started giggling. Smiling, Jane tousled his hair and went back to her breakfast, reading a battered paperback with some sword-wielding barbarian on the cover.

Jason came over and topped off the boy’s orange juice. “What’d she tell you?” he asked casually, glancing over Joey’s head to Jane in the booth.

“It’s a SEEKET!” the boy pronounced happily, then more quietly, “That means I have to whisper it.” Jason nodded gravely, leaning over. Joey whispered intently, and giggled as Jason began chuckling.

“Well, then, I guess it’s lucky for him you’re done! There’s your bus!” Joey squealed with excitement, hugging his puzzled father and giving Jason a high-five before jumping off the stool and rushing out the door.

Alex watched him go, and then turned to Jason, curiosity getting the better of him. “What?” he demanded.

Jason indicated the moustachioed fish in the book. “She told him that her father kind of looked like that fish,” he grinned. “And that if Joey didn’t eat all his food, it might happen to you, too.” Chuckling, Jason cleared away the plate, and in spite of himself, Alex grinned back. Taking his coffee, he turned around and walked over to her booth. She looked up at him and waved him into the seat.

“I ran into your wife earlier this morning,” she said bluntly.

Alex’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, I heard. Thank you for not involving her in your little…demonstration.” He sipped his coffee and Jane thought she saw just a glimpse of the deep pain he felt at the mention of his wife. “I didn’t watch the tapes, but Tony and Kitten were quite impressed.”

“What’s the deal with them, anyway?” Jane asked. “With a sweet set up like they’ve got there, why can’t they make ends meet? Those camgirls and boys I saw in there – man, talk about walking poster children for the Big Burnout.”

At this Alex chuckled, a soft, bitter sound. “Yeah, that’s a good way to describe just about everyone over there. The problem isn’t the infrastructure – it’s that it’s a castle under siege.” He looked up at Jane, then, and she was startled by his eyes, which had looked brown, but now revealed a vivid green ring around his dark irises. “The Incubikers won’t let any new talent in, and if old talent goes out, they don’t come back. That talent you saw? They haven’t been out of that building in three months. Tony and Kitten are able to get supplies in and out, they have that much pull with the teamsters, but people…” He trailed off. “When the Doukas’ catch someone trying to get out, well, if they’re lucky, they disappear. Some they keep… for their own amusement.”

Jane sipped her coffee and speculated out loud. “And in town known as “the Murder City”, I guess it doesn’t take much of a donation to keep the police out of the whole thing.”

Alex laughed again. “Police? You kidding? The Doukas not only have them paid off, they have them procuring. Notice that Juvenile Detention facility down the street? Both Tony and the Doukas brothers used to take advantage of that, scooping up people close to the edge. Doesn’t take much paperwork to get a pretty not-quite- 18 year old released on a ‘work apprenticeship’. By the time his or her birthday comes around they’re strung up on smack or in debt or both, and they just start working the cameras.” He waved out the window in the vague direction of the Incubiker enclave. “Or the clients.”

“So what changed? What put Tony and Kitten are on the defensive?” Jane snorted. “For that matter, why doesn’t Doukas just roll right over him?” Her tone dropped low. “And why do you get to come and go freely?”

Alex looked at her steadily. “I really don’t know the answer to the first two questions. At some point the détente failed, that’s all I know. The Doukas brothers just decided one day to make a move on one of Tony’s stars.” His eyes were expressionless. “That’s part of the answer to your last question, though.”

His voice quickened, as if he wanted to get the telling over with quickly. “Isabella. That’s her name. The one you saw in the alley, the star that the Doukas brothers took from Tony.’ He took a breath, eyes glued to the table in front of him. “Joey’s mother. My wife.”

Jane said nothing, simply waited, and after a long moment Alex got his emotions under control and continued. “She was an indie model, came to work for a month-long exclusive contract with Tony. She’d just finished a great trip to New York, worked with some really high-end photographers, and we thought – that is, I thought – ” his voice cracked, and Jane simply sipped her coffee and waited, silent, for him to regain composure.

“I wanted to stay in the city, keep working the contacts. But she told me she had gotten something really good during her time in New York, something that she wouldn’t show me…I never really understood what it was, or what she thought it would do, but…fuck, I don’t even really care anymore. She just seemed to think it would be our ticket to the dream – for her to stop traveling all the time, for me to stop having to scrambling for freelance gigs, for us to do what we wanted.”

“What is it that you wanted, Alex?” Jane’s voice was soft.

He looked at her bleakly. “Fuck if I know. Never had enough breathing room to actually figure that out.”

Jane nodded, solemnly. “Fair enough. So what happened?”

He sighed. “Again, I don’t really know. I couldn’t meet her when she landed at the airport because of Joey’s school stuff, and from what I heard, Incubikers were waiting there to take her. That was three months ago. Since then, they’ve intercepted every talent Tony and Kitten have tried to hire – and anyone who gets out of Kitten’s building gets disappeared, or worse.” He stirred his coffee and gave a soft chuckle. “The last two times it was a bund from Russia. Tony thought they might be beyond the Doukas brothers’ reach.” Alex gave a bitter laugh.” Didn’t matter where they came from, though,” he pointed out the window again, “that last mile is where they grab them. Didn’t even have to use force; just convinced the girls that working for them would be much more convenient than working for Tony and Kitten.” He chuckled again, sounding tired

Jane tapped a sugar packet thoughtfully. “Why the laugh?”

Alex grimaced. “It’s not really funny. Another bunch of girls are supposed to come in today. Tony is nothing if not persistent. I’m just thinking it might not be so easy for the Incubikers to convince this group to switch sides.”

“Really? Why’s that?” Jane’s tone sounded speculative.

“Because the only guy they have who speaks Russian is in the clinic with his jaw wired shut,” Alex grinned with a bitter triumph and tapped a finger on the table in front of Jane. “Thanks to you.”

Jane stood up from the booth and was gathered her things. Alex looked up, surprised at the sudden exit. “Hey, where are you going?”

Jane gave him a big smile. “That, Alex, was some valuable information. In fact…” she handed him a small card. “Here. PIN is 1469. Take out a hundred, get Joey something nice. And hang onto that card. Anything else you hear about that you think I might be interested in, pass it on, and I’ll authorize more.” She snugged her fingerless leather gloves over her hands, and carefully dogeared her place in her book before tossing it in the rucksack. “Place like this, the right piece of information can be worth a lot to a woman like me.”

Alex looked at the card with a bewildered expression. “I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

She smiled and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. “Going to see Michael Doukas about a job. I hear he might be in need of a Russian translator.”

Alex still looked confused. “And…you speak Russian?”

Jane gave him a wink as she went out the door. “Vot tak!”

Nov 252013
 
2013-11-11 10.18.42
Only slightly posed.

Only slightly posed.

So, a while back, I told some friends of mine “I’m a simple man of peace!”

They laughed.

It bothered me. More than it probably should have, and so I tried it out on other people. Exactly one person – my oldest friend, in fact – didn’t snicker, laugh, chortle, or guffaw when I said I was a simple man of peace. They pointed at the San Francisco GRUE, at Dark Odyssey Surrender, at the upcoming Washington DC GRUE (which conveniently comes right after Thanksgiving). They pointed at my self-employment, my public work, my private relationships, my kinks and hobbies and goals and gadgets.

And you know what? They were right. I was – I am – about as far from a “simple man of peace” as I can be.

And that bothers me.

So I decided to take arms against a sea of brainweasels and do something about it. The lovely Miss Ali had asked me if there was some special way we could spend a weekend together, and as I outlined what I had in mind, she enthusiastically agreed. Thus, SMOPcon was born.

The idea was to find an environment both reclusive and also inspiring. To pare things down to a minimum, to cut down on the noise just to see what kind of signal might actually be coming through.

For my part, the rules I made for myself (the aspiring SMOP) were relatively simple:

  • No technology more complex than paper and pen. That meant no clocks, watches, smartphones, computers, whatever. I was OFF THE GRID.
  • I would sit zazen three times a day, for 1/2 hour per session.
  • I would do yoga twice a day.
  • I would eat simple and healthy (mostly) meals.
  • I would go to bed when tired, get up when rested, fuck when horny.

Miss Ali, for her part, was taking on the role of “Service Muse.” This meant that she was accepting the responsibility of:

  • Locating an appropriate space for the SMOPcon and negotiating its use (AirBNB for the win, btw!)
  • Planning & preparing the menu, usually
    • Fruit, coffee, and toast for breakfast
    • Vegetables and fish or sausage for lunch
    • Salad and (possibly) meat for dinner
    • Fruit, nuts, other snacks as needed
  • Minding the technology:
    • Monitoring my phone for emergency messages
    • Changing the music as I requested
    • Keeping track of time when I sat zazen
  • Leading yoga workouts twice a day
  • Courtesan/bedwarmer/rope bottom services as requested
  • Providing stimulating conversation, a sounding board, or a silent companion as needed.

I could write. I could read my books. I could smoke cigars, drink whiskey, listen to music (though I couldn’t actively use the iPod, see rule 1). I could bounce ideas or thoughts off of Miss Ali, or simply enjoy watching her do the work she’d brought along for herself.

This lasted from Sunday afternoon thru Wednesday noon.

So, Did It Work?

That’s a good question. Am I now a SMOP? Well, no. As the zen saying goes, first mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers, then mountains are not mountains and rivers are not rivers, and then mountains are once again mountains and rivers are once again rivers.

To put it more clearly, did something happen? Yes. Was it enlightenment? Come on, are you serious? Here’s the way it broke down:

  • I had thought that going off the grid would drive me crazy. It didn’t, not at all. I surrendered my phone when we got in the car to go to the location, and never had the slightest temptation to check it, check in, or anything else. That surprised me just as much as anyone.
  • I also thought that sitting for 1/2 hour 3x/day would be hard. It wasn’t – even though that’s six times longer than I sit any other day. In fact, I grew to really look forward to that part of each day.
  • The location was SPECTACULAR:

pirateShackSmall

 

  • …which probably had a lot to do with how easy it was to monotask.
  • I found that my days went pretty much as I’d planned them, with the big chunks of time spent on each making them feel more…nourishing, I suppose. Like eating real food instead of fast food might taste.
  • I found that for the most part I didn’t want to listen to music, but I really treasured the time I spent talking with Miss Ali. We discussed her own work (some career planning) and I would talk to her about where my thoughts were leading. Like a true muse, her comments often led me in directions that led to breakthroughs.

And yeah, while I didn’t achieve enlightenment, I did have an epiphany or two (life-changing, even) and also came out of it with a pretty nice outline for a cigar-themed erotic romance. Also some unforgettable sights, sounds, and memories.

I can’t speak for Ali, except for two things she shared with me: one, she did get a great deal of her own work done, and two, she would have liked to have a third service provider there to “…do the meals. And the yoga!” So maybe her calling was more towards the muse; I only know that she gave me exactly what I asked for and several other things that I needed but wasn’t aware enough to ask.

The hardest part of the weekend was the aftercare – or rather, the lack of it. I mentioned that leaving the grid behind was no problem; coming back to the grid has continued to be difficult. I find myself much less tolerant of noise, of bustle, of busy-ness. I came out of the SMOPcon right into managing and hosting a variety show/street fair night at Dark Odyssey Surrender, and the number of times I wanted to just scream “FUCK RIGHT OFF!” and go find some water to sit by was more than I was comfortable with.

It’s been a couple of weeks now, and that urge only hits once in a while. Meanwhile, I find myself monotasking more – every chance I get, in fact – and guarding jealously my morning rituals of yoga, meditation, and caffeinated journaling.

For me, it was a SMOPcon, but you can easily remove the gender and call it STOPcon – whether that’s Simple Top of Peace or even a non-power-dynamic Simple Time of Peace. But oh, do I ever recommend it. That silence, when all the rest goes away?

Glorious.

Sep 292013
 

Note: This page contains sponsored links

My friend Lochai once told me about his time in some of the Florida sex clubs, where doms would come in rolling large cases – practically cabinets, like the kinds of things you see mechanics keep their tools in. To hear him tell it, it was a kind of pissing contest to see who could have the most tricked-out case: special racks of shiny toys, neatly hanging ropes, maybe an internal lighting system.

I confess, I’m enough of an equipment nerd to see the appeal. Hell, I think I’d throw in a fog machine too, and maybe a large speaker that would blare Carmina Burana as I opened the case. But I’ve found that with age comes…well, I could be charitable and call it “maturity”, but as Heinlein once said, it often resembles “too tired.” That is, I’m tired of lugging a big case of toys, rope, safer sex supplies, snacks, and maybe even a change of outfit or two up the seemingly-prerequisite steep staircase that leads to most dungeons. It’s tiring lugging them up the stairs, and even more tiring lugging them back down – usually having only used a fraction of the toys in the bag, if any.

I suffer from a form of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), though perhaps it’s more FOFIANI: Fear Of Forgetting It And Needing It. So I tend to overpack – several sets of rope, an array of canes, three or four floggers, some specialized toys, a paddle or two, knives, condoms of varying types, clamps, ass hooks…the list goes on. Then I’ll do a scene and use my hands, my teeth, and four pieces of rope. It’s a good scene, usually, but then I look at my fancy-dancy gear bag and wonder: Why?

So I’m moving towards a change. My basic gear: three ropes, a knife, and my leather gloves. The three ropes idea actually goes back to an interview I did with James Mogul for the Ropecast, years ago, when he was saying that he enjoys the creative constraint of deliberately limiting equipment. “I like to show up at the dungeon with just three ropes,” he said, “and see what kind of trouble I can get into.”

Leaves oh-so-nice bruises...

Leaves oh-so-nice bruises…

I love that idea. At the same time, things should, as Einstein supposedly said, be as simple as possible – but no simpler. Occasionally I’m going to need to do a suspension, so on those nights the gear will expand to something like six ropes, with a ring and some carabiners. And occasionally I will acquire a toy that just begs to be used – such as this cocobolo brat bat that I acquired from Maui Kink.

But only one toy. Only the tools necessary, and force the rest of my scene – whatever it may be – to rely on me and my bottom to make it good, not on trying to pick out a toy from a vast selection. This doesn’t mean I’m throwing away my toys, or that I’ll stop practicing, especially with gear like bullwhips that need recent muscle memory to really use safely and effectively. But it’s not because I want to bring that kind of equipment with me. I’m ok with being known for rope, leather gloves, and knives alone. But I do have this silly little fantasy:

There’s a movie with Tom Selleck and Alan Rickman called Quigley Down Under. It’s about a sharpshooter specialist who travels down under and gets into troubles of various kinds. Without giving too much away, my fantasy is similar to the plot of that movie – maybe even with some hot Australian babe just for verisimilitude – where she snubs my rope and my leather and holds out some exotic toy, assuming a “rope guy” would be intimidated by the unfamiliarity.

In my fantasy, I smile softly, take the toy, and rock her world. And as she’s recovering in a quivering orgasmic puddle of beautiful post-scene bliss, she says “Oy. I thought you didn’t know how to use that toy…”

“I never said I didn’t know how to,” I’d reply with a smile, stroking her hair. “I just said I never had much use  for it. Here, let me show you what I can do with this rope…”

Sep 032013
 
NaiiaWords

Please note: this page contains sponsored links.

I have a real problem with this video.

The problem does not lie with the dancers – frankly, from a purely choreographical perspective, they are pretty good (especially if they are actually in shut-off booths – that’s hard!). Nor from the idea of subversive street art: from Banksy to Blue Man Group to that guy busking on the corner singing Nickelback, I’m all for public performances.

Well, maybe not Nickelback.

No, my problem lies with five simple words: “Sadly, they end up here.” The implication being that, after being promised a career as a “dancer” in Western Europe, women who are lured to the Red Light district end up just dancing in a window for the pleasure of the men passing by.

I’ve had some twitversations with people who feel that this is a grand thing, a clever way to use few words to draw attention to the problem of sex trafficking. I disagree; I think that instead, the words imply first that the shop (and by implication, the entire red light district) is filled with women who have been trafficked, and second, that anyone who uses their body sexually to make a living is at best a deluded victim of the patriarchy.

Both of those are very slippery slopes.

It’s Her Body

If you agree with that statement in terms of reproductive rights, it seems imperative to me that you agree with it in terms of ALL reproductive rights – such as “I’m going to cash in on people’s urge to reproduce with me to make a living.” Any evidence I give from a personal point of view – the many friends I have who do that – would be suspect as anecdotal, but let’s look at articles like this one, where New Hanover County Assistant District Attorney Lindsey Roberson asked “Find me a college educated, well adjusted woman who’s had tons of opportunities in her life, who understands what a healthy relationship is and who’s actually experienced one and then chooses to sell her body for sex.” In the first ten comments, ten women did exactly that.

Especially in places like Amsterdam or Australia, where prostitution is at least somewhat legal and regulated, it’s just another job.Models Escort Agency” will provide a pleasant adult companion for your evening, and the odds are you’ll be able to have a conversation as well as physical pleasure from the exchange. But for some reason the idea that there is sexual attraction involved means this is somehow “shameful” – whereas if you paid a lifecoach to pretend to like you for an hour, that’s fine. Or a masseuse to put their hands on your naked body and make you feel good – that’s fine.

But while you’re traveling, tired and weary from the road, if you hire Sydney Select Escorts to help you relax? OMG!! Suddenly you’re part of a worldwide conspiracy of sex traffickers, contributing to the “sad” state of affairs these poor women are trapped in!

I got news for you: it’s not the sex industry that is the “sad state of affairs.” It’s the entire economic structure of the world.

“Yer Gonna Serve Somebody”

Bob Dylan had it right: it doesn’t matter who you are, there’s somebody higher on the totem pole that you’re going to try and please because you need what they have. Riddle me this: if you take “sex” out of the equation, how is a smart young woman stripping at a club worse than a smart young woman sitting at a desk doing data entry? Or a smart young man waiting tables? Or a divorced mother working a register at Wal-Mart. “No girl dreams of becoming a stripper” is a common refrain, but you know what? When I was a National Merit Semi-Finalist getting Rotary Scholarships in high school, I didn’t dream of becoming a short-order cook, working double shifts in a greasy kitchen.

You want demeaning, try cleaning out the drain trap, full of soggy bagel, old scrambled eggs, and cockroaches, just before walking out to the parking lot to pick up people’s cigarette butts. How is that somehow better than spending an hour making someone feel good about their body?

I know a young woman who, when she turned 18, had a choice between working at Starbucks or working at Visions, the local strip club. For her, it was a no-brainer: “I can make more money in one night at Visions than I make in two weeks at Starbucks.” How is being paid less for being on her feet and making lattes supposed to be more fulfilling or dignified than taking money from eager viewers (men and women, let’s remember) unless you feel sex is somehow to blame?

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the next stop is a flash mob at a Hollywood restaurant, where the waitstaff all burn their B.A. diplomas in Film Studies because they were promised acting careers. Or it’ll be a group of bloggers and podcasters at NewMediaExpo, demanding the freedom to write unsponsored posts instead of press releases and content filler.

But no, that’s not as sexy as a bunch of half-naked women dancing in a window. Which is my final problem with this method: they are using the fact that sex sells to protest the selling of sex. They are deliberately using the provocative dancers to draw attention and support for their message. If you tell me that the dancers chose to be there of their own free will, then I guess we finally agree that yes, women can choose to use their bodies in this way for whatever cause they feel is right. And sometimes that’s putting food on their table.

But if you feel that the only trafficking worth fighting has sex at it’s core, then you are, in my opinion, slut shaming. At which point I say: shame on you for taking the easy way out. You have an important message: find a better way to express it.

Addendum: Eithne Crow has a much more eloquent analysis of what is wrong with this video in her piece “Why This Video Needs to Fuck Off.” Better comments, too, so read ‘em!

Aug 272013
 

After the guard had opened the door to a small dormitory-style room, her clothes and belongings neatly stacked on the bed, he’d shut the door behind her with a deliberate click. She didn’t bother to check the knob, hearing the tiny extra click of the lock. She dug into a pocket of her folded denim jeans and pulled out a small box. It was a dark wood with brass fittings and with swirling pearlescent inlays. On one side was a rounded hemisphere of black rubber, about an inch and a half in diameter, which she snapped off and fitted over one ear. A long black cord coiled down from her ear into the side of the box. She pressed her thumbs into a swirl of brass and mother-of-pearl on the face and whispered softly: “Audio mihi.”  The box let out a deep click and the side slid gracefully up on a telescoping brass rod, tilting back and forth like a small radar dish. Inside the base of the receiver were several small rheostat knobs and a dial with a red needle waving irregularly as the rectangular antenna rotated. Jane’s earpiece squawked a hiss of static, and she bit her lip as she slowly turned the dial, patiently adjusting until the red needle settled into a steady state. The little rectangular antenna was steadily pointing towards the wall opposite the bed. A faint aroma of ozone that came from the device, and Jane smiled. She contentedly perched on the bed, legs folded easily under her ass, still pink from Tony’s spanking, and closed her eyes to listen.

 ” – I don’t care how good she was, she’s fucking dangerous, Tony! Can you believe that she topped us both? From the bottom?”

I know, Kitten, I know…” Tony’s voice still sounded confused and tired with the post-orgasm rush of endorphins,and Jane quirked a little smile. “But that’s just why we should use her. Imagine what that tape would have been worth if we put it on the site – what it could do for your career –

Jane winced as a shriek filled her earphones. “That tape of me licking your jizz off her foot! You’d love that, wouldn’t you? I am always a fucking top, asshole!” Kitten’s voice sounded close to tears. “I’m not going out a fucking cumslut, you bastard. I’m Kitten Ma’am, and just because some skank with a hyperactive tongue got me to come a couple of times doesn’t mean she’s worth more than m – ” She cut herself off before she could finish the statement. “Worth anything,” she amended.

She’s worth a fucking fortune to the right clients, Kitten, and you know it!” Tony’s voice was hard and bitter. “Our cam girls are wearing out, and the fucking Incubikers won’t let any new talent through. Site traffic is down twenty-fucking-percent and falling, and we need fresh blood like her, who won’t be scared of those fucking clowns across the street.” There was a sound of shuffling, and Tony’s voice changed, as if he’d moved across the room. “Look at how she took them out! I’ve never seen anyone use a snakewhip like that! Never!

There was a silence, and then Kitten’s voice came softer. “Yes. You’re right, dear, we could make a fortune from her on camera. But she’s still too dangerous. Talent like that is never satisfied with just being talent. You and I both know that.” Something changed in her tone, a note of scheming malice creeping into her words. “But there’s nothing that says that we have to keep her after we get enough content to make up our losses.

Now you’re talking my language, shela…” Tony’s voice took on a low, calculated tone. “We could use her for a while – fucking use her up, in fact, wear down some of those edges, push her hard – and then when her cunt is fucked dry, we show the Doukas boys her early tapes and offer her as a kind of…peace offering.” He giggled, then, with a sound like a flatulent hyena. “We’ll just get her working an ‘exclusive’ contract, make up a production schedule from hell, and when she breaks down trying to keep up, dump the remains on the Doukas fuckers.

Kitten’s voice was almost cheerful. “We’ll give her the works – speed in her water, sand in the lube, pthalates in her toys… Just let them try and pawn her off on a client then. They’ll be lucky to get a two dollar handjob out of her by the time we’re done. Meanwhile, we get the little bitch fucking her brains out for us on camera. Hell, with any luck she’ll fall for the profit share deal and we won’t have to pay her at all.” There was the sound of a click, and then Kitten said “Mickey! Get Jane in here. Be nice to her – tell her we’ve got an offer she’s gonna love…

Moments later Mickey tiptoed to Jane’s door and opened it abruptly, as if he hoped to catch her in some illicit act. He frowned as he looked in the room. Jane was sitting fully dressed on the edge of the bed. She looked up at him unsurprised, and sighed. She held up a hand as he opened his mouth, and stopped the words.

“No, Schmuckballs. No words. It’s hard enough as it is. But I’ve come to realize,” she stood quickly, and he stepped back, threatened by the enigmatic tiny woman. “It’s just not gonna work between us.” She sighed theatrically. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be. ” She tapped him lightly on the chest.as she walked past him into the hall,  “I think we both know this is for the best.”

Walking down the corridors to Tony and Kitten’s bedroom, Jane stood outside the door expectantly, not bothering to knock. A moment later it opened, and Nesmith stood there, looking annoyed. “Ah, Jane, m’love, come in.” Jane didn’t even look at him as she walked in and directly over to the side of the bed. “Kitten and I were just talking about how, um, impressed we were by your audition. And we think that we have a place for you here at Kitten’s Toy Shoppe that will…what the bloody hell are you doing?”

Jane had showed no sign of hearing a single word he said. Instead she was rummaging under the bed, ignoring Kitten reclining on the satin coverlet. The older woman had a strange expression on her face somewhere between anger and confusion. Finally, anger won. “Hey, little fucktrash, my husband’s talking to you! He’s about to offer you a sweet profit sharing deal so you’d better listen up.”

“Aha!” Jane suddenly exclaimed, and her hand came up from under the bed, holding up the ring with the amber stone set in it. “Good thing I found it. I was about to have to look in the only other place I might have lost it.” She looked meaningfully at Kitten’s crotch, and the woman suddenly shifted and crossed her legs. Jane chuckled. “A little late to play demure, babe.” Standing, she sauntered towards the door. “Profit sharing, huh?” Her face looked vaguely amused. “Thanks just the same, I prefer cash directly into my account. And to be honest, I don’t know that I really could do much more business with you. I just get the feeling you might…I don’t know…take advantage of me, somehow?” She delicately extended the middle finger of her left hand, slipping the ring over it, and it glinted anachronistically warm in the cold black and steel décor. “Thank you both, though. It has been educational.” She patted Tony’s chest, and reached up to mime a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the pedicure, big boy. Call me when you’re ready to try the other foot.”

She was almost to the bottom of the stairs before their arguing voices raised enough to reach her. Glancing up, she saw the balcony of the third floor again filled with the faces of the camgirls and boys, all looking down at her with blank, weary resignation occasionally mitigated by curiosity. Jane looked back at them all for a long moment, expression thoughtful – and then she blew them a collective kiss and sauntered out the door.