Mega-Bitch

Yes, I am a manipulative bitch. I've used my sexuality most of my adult life to get what I want. However, you shouldn't blame me completely. Guys just make it so fucking easy. To say that the average male thinks with his dick instead of his brain is probably the understatement of the millennia. Scientific studies have proven that when a man is around a woman that he finds attractive his is more prone to take risks (not just in card games, but in life), to discount the future when making economic decisions, and to spend on conspicuous luxury items. I just use those qualities to my advantage. I didn't make men that way – no more than did I give myself a flawless complexion, perky tits, sculptured thighs, a round ass, or a tight pussy.

If someone is born a genius, does anyone begrudge him or her the right to become a top notch famous scientist? If someone is born with business acumen does anyone criticize them for making lots of money? If someone is born with great athleticism does anyone disparage them for playing a professional sport? The answer to all of these is "Of course not." So don't give me shit for using the talents that I was born with, and developed, to live the life that I want to.

While I've used my sexuality most of my adult life, it didn't start out that way. From the time that I was eighteen until about my 20th birthday I was used and abused by guys. I was treated like a sex object, never respected, and asked to do more and more degrading things. I had an epiphany – with help – shortly after my 20th birthday.

I was in a bar with a dirtbag who passed for my boyfriend at the time and who wasn't treating me well when something he said to me – I don't even remember exactly what it was – caused this older guy nearby to go off. He confronted my "boyfriend" and told him what he thought of him. The "boyfriend" looked to me for salvation because the older guy was six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than he was, but instead a lightbulb went off inside my head.

"Why do you always have to treat me like shit? This guy is absolutely right; I deserve to be treated like a lady, not a piece of meat."

"Boyfriend" made the mistake of slapping me when I said that. I swear that I saw a few of his teeth fly out of his mouth and the big older guy hit him with his sledgehammer-like right fist.

"Thanks," I said with a big smile holding out my hand to the big older guy. "I'm Amy; no one has ever stood up for me before."

"I'm Jack," the big older guy said taking my small hand in his large one. "Someone as beautiful as you are doesn't need to associate with shit like him. Get a different life."

"Easier said than done," I replied. "I don't have a security blanket to fall back on, and only a High School education."

Without releasing my hand he stared into my eyes for the longest time – I just stared back. Finally he released my hand and reached into his interior sport jacket pocket and handed me a card. "You'll make a great before and after case," he chuckled as I looked at the card. It read "Madame Bovary's Charm School," with the name and phone number of "Madame Estelle Bovary's" phone number on it. With a disgusted look on my face I asked "Is this a cat house or something – I'm not that low yet."

"I assure you that it's not," he said with a very stern face. "You call that number sometime tomorrow and ask for her – if your interview goes well you'll get a job out of it, and a future. Now, do you have your own place to stay or do you need one for the night?"

"Here goes," I thought to myself, "although nicer than normal just another guy who wants to get his rocks off."

Apparently Jack saw and correctly interpreted the look on my face. "Not in my apartment, Amy, not all guys are pigs, just most of them." With that he pulled two $100 bills out of his wallet and handed them to me. "Get a cab, get your stuff, go stay in a hotel, and call Estelle tomorrow. This is opportunity knocking – answer the door!"

I started to well up with emotion. I instinctively flipped my long auburn hair off my left shoulder, got a tear in my eye, and bit my lip. "Holy shit, you're a natural," Jack chuckled. "Now get the hell out of here before this asshole," he said pointing to my ex lying on the ground moaning and still not cognizant, "wakes up and I have to punch him out again."

I jumped off my stool, gave Jack a big smooch on the lips which obviously embarrassed him, said "Thanks again," put the $200 in my small purse, and lit out of the bar with most of the eyes there following me.

I had the cab wait for me as I took my only worthwhile possessions – two suitcases worth – out of my ex's apartment, and then to a motel that with the $200 Jack gave me, and another $276 of my own, that I could afford for at least a week or two but that was in a reasonably safe neighborhood.

When I was in the motel's old and worn but functional shower stall the next morning I started thinking about the "Madame Bovary" card. I still thought that it was likely a high end whorehouse; at the time I wasn't aware of the renowned novel by Gustave Flaubert but even if I had been the story of Madame Bovary in literature would not have led me to another conclusion. But then what Jack said made me think – "Is opportunity knocking and can I afford not to answer?"

I still had a couple of hours left on my prepaid cell phone so I called Madame Estelle Bovary at the number on the card. A woman with a French accent, which I won't attempt to imitate, answered: "Madame Bovary's Charm School, Estelle speaking."

"Uh, hi...my name's Amy Baxter and a guy by the name of Jack..." I hesitantly started out.

"Ah yes; Mr. O'Brien said that you might be calling. When can you come in for an interview?"

"Uh,...well...is sometime today OK?"

"Excellent; I'll see you at 2:00 p. m. sharp then. You have our address," Estelle replied in a happy yet firm voice.

"Yeah – it's on the card; OK, well catch your act at two, then," I responded.

I heard Estelle chuckling just as she hung up.

I took a cab to the address of the charm school and got there just a couple of minutes before two. The charm school was in an old Victorian mansion that had been converted, with oversized front windows, a solid three inch thick oak front door, and fresh landscaping. Although the building could have used a little work it was nicer than anyplace that I had ever lived or worked in.

A young woman receptionist led me into Estelle's office exactly at two. She rose to greet me, her French accent even more pronounced in person than on the phone. Estelle was a tall classy slender woman with high cheek bones, and a regal yet somehow warm air. I assumed that she was in her early forties but was very impressed when I found out later that she was in her late fifties. She was impeccably dressed, not a hair or bit of makeup out of place, and had a genuine and comforting smile on her face. "You must be Amy," she said extending her hand while she looked me over without being too obvious about it.

"Uh...yeah, Amy Baxter," I said as I shook her hand. "You must be Estelle Bovary."

"No," she replied with a smile after giving me a firm handshake and releasing her grip. "Jack just talked me into using that name because it has 'panache' and people who are well read will conjure up Monsieur Flaubert's famous novel although no one except a literature major will remember its depressing details and tragic ending. My real name is Mademoiselle Estelle Dubuc, although if we work together I will want you to call me 'Madame Bovary.'"

"Cool," I replied, getting me a grin from Estelle.

Estelle proceeded to interview me. I just acted normally. After we talked for about fifteen minutes she asked me to stand, walk, and then viewed me in a number of different types of light, both natural and man-made, in several of the mansion's rooms. Finally after about a half an hour she got right to the point.

"I'm a very straightforward person, Amy. My charm school is just starting out and Jack O'Brien is both a friend and business advisor. He insists that I need a 'before' and 'after' success story that can be written up in local newspapers and magazines and also made into a video and other promotional advertising. I'm in good shape financially and am not out to make scads of money for this endeavor, but by the same token do want it to succeed, and I respect Jack's business sense enough to think that he is right. You're the right person for the job."

"What job is that anyways? I asked undoubtedly with a perplexed look on my face.

"I want to turn you, as uncouth as you presently are, into a lady with impeccable manners and grace. With your natural beauty and inherent sexuality I can turn you into a femme fatale of the first order. You will then become the focus of our advertising campaign."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or honored Estelle, but one thing's for sure. I can't afford to pay you," I replied with an edge to my voice as I chewed a piece of gum.

"I'm not asking for payment – quite the contrary. You can live in a room on the upper floor, with its own bath, rent free, you will work doing mailings, phone solicitation, and other duties for which you will be paid double minimum wage, and your schooling will be free."

I thought for a second. "That's a better offer than any others I presently have. How long will the schooling take?"

"That depends a lot upon you – if you're willing to take instruction. I'd guess about four months. But if you are a willing and talented pupil when you are done you will be able to accomplish whatever you want in life. I'm not keen to tell you about my entire background or the reason for my guarantee at this time – but I assure you that I know what I'm talking about. Is it, as you might say now but won't in the future, 'a deal?'"

"Deal!" I said, holding out my hand.

"Wonderful," Estelle replied as she shook my right hand. Then holding out a tissue with her left hand she said "We'll start by you spitting your gum into this, and then I'll show you to your room on the third floor. You can bring your possessions over later today then get to work and schooling starting tomorrow morning, right after your initial video interview for the 'before' look."

****************

And so began my relationship with Estelle Dubuc, aka Madame Bovary. Things were not easy. She had to break down my old "uncouth" (God I learned to hate that word) habits before she could teach me cultured new ones. She worked me hard doing jobs for her too, harder than I had ever worked before in my life. Also, I was going without cock because dating the types of guys I had associated with before was strictly "interdit" (forbidden), and I was not yet ready to meet the "right type" of guy, so it's lucky that I had a vibrator.

There were many times that I was just about ready to quit; one time in particular I was on the verge. I was coaxed back off the precipice when Estelle started telling me the story of her life as I was angrily throwing my belongings into my suitcases and getting ready to bolt. When she started out "It's time that I told you the whole story; I was a high end call girl for four years. I learned every trick that there is on how to manipulate men – and while I won't groom you for that same profession because I don't recommend it, I will teach you everything that you need to know to make any man do your bidding."

I immediately unpacked and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll be right back," Estelle said. She came back a few minutes later with a smooth French red wine and two glasses, and as we drank she told me her life story for the next two hours. When she was done I had a type of vigor for my schooling that I never had before. In fact, not only did I learn everything that Estelle wanted to teach me about manners, interactions with people, culture, fashion, and diction but I even got her to teach me rudimentary French. She was surprised that my pronunciation was actually decent. "At least a Parisian wouldn't ask you if you were talking Russian," she laughed after we had a five minute conversation pretending that I was ordering a meal in a fancy French restaurant.

It was five months, one week, and two days from the date of my interview before Estelle was willing to turn me out on the world. Both Estelle and Jack were very pleased with the video that had before, during, and after snippets and interviews. The coup de grace was a party at the French Embassy in Washington, D. C. where I wore a rented dress, new hairdo, and a genuine smile, that highlighted all of my assets, and where I fit right in. Actually, I more than fit in; based upon the reactions of the men there, I was the star of the evening.

**************

After the Embassy success, Estelle and Jack got me a job with an event planning organization that Jack was an investor in. That was the best place to meet men while putting my newly-learned poise into play. I found that I was a lot smarter than I had given myself credit for during High School, and quickly caught on to event planning. It helped greatly that all the males that I came into contact with were anxious to please me; most were Exhibit A to the Scientific Study of male foolishness that I mentioned in the first paragraph of my story.

The only problem I had was that I was not getting laid. I don't know whether my temporary exile from cock had increased my libido or if I was just horny from my abstinence, but I was pre-occupied with getting a stiff cock up my pussy. The vibrator had lost its ability to satisfy me. That led me to my first of many, many perverse, manipulative experiences.

A young (just two years older than I was) rich bitch socialite with the pretentious name "Leighton" had employed our event planning firm to help plan her wedding. I was the person with the primary responsibility. Although I continued to act in a cultured and dignified way while helping the little twat out, I was growing more and more incensed by her haughty and condescending attitude. Despite everything that Madame Bovary had taught me I was almost at my breaking point when the little twat made the mistake of bringing her fiancé Austen to one of the consultations.

It was clear that Austen was embarrassed by her manner during the meeting.

It was clearer that Austen was impressed by the calm and cultured way that I handled her manner.

It was most clear that Austen was attracted to me. In addition to my naturally flawless skin and sexuality I used every subtle trick that Estelle had taught me – that went beyond charm school to how to manipulate men. These tricks included the perfect hair swoosh, leg cross and uncross, lean forward, eye contact combined with smile, gesture mimicking, moving to and sitting or standing on his left, pursing of my red-lipstick covered lips, non-obvious giggling at pithy comments that he made, raising the lilt and pitch of my voice when speaking to him as opposed to the bitch, strut when I went to and from the room to acquire items that we needed to discuss, and wayward gentle touch of his hand when reaching for various items or documents. After fifty minutes his neck was bulging so far that his collar was tight, his forehead was sweating, his lips were dry, and he was suggesting adding various luxury elements that I had recommended to the festivities.

Austen was a good looking guy and seemed to be sporting some significant meat when he and Leighton said their goodbyes, she dismissively, he cordially. I decided to fuck him. I called him the next day and asked if we could meet for lunch – at a four star local hotel's restaurant. He didn't really have a chance. Forty five minutes into our luncheon conversation he was hurriedly paying the check, and ten minutes after that I was naked, spread eagle on one of the beds upstairs from the restaurant.

Austen attacked my pussy with his mouth like a starving man going after a steak. I was so horny that my first orgasm hit about two minutes after his tongue first touched my clit, and a violent one it was. This gave Austen confidence, making him believe that he was a master at lovemaking – I filed that away in the back of my brain for future use.

After my second orgasm, this one from him abusing my G-spot, I pulled his boxers down. He did have a nice meaty cock. I sucked it just long enough to get him super-charged – as if he wasn't already – then assumed a doggy position on the bed. He pounded me like it was going to be his last fuck on earth, and I pounded back equally passionately since I hadn't had cock for so long. Although when he ejaculated into me my orgasm was mammoth, I played it up even more securing in his mind the belief that even Don Juan had nothing on him.

He really liked it when I sucked his cock after we fucked. "Leighton has never done that," he mused. He also liked it when we fucked again in the shower while cleaning up. "Leighton has never done that," became his refrain when over the next six weeks I fucked him blind three times a week. I got him to amp up my company's fees for the wedding planning by adding totally ridiculous expensive items and services, greatly increasing my commission.

Two weeks before the wedding Austen wanted to jettison Leighton for me but I told him that it wasn't happening. While he was some good cock, and while his family had money, I wasn't interested. I was interested in bigger fish. My tearful response to his idea of switching me for Leighton of "I can't steal another woman's man; I wouldn't be able to live with myself. We just met at the wrong time – and I wish you a happy life," worked like a charm.

Austen must have been confused when a week after he got back from his honeymoon I fucked him again just to prove my dominance over the rich bitch, but then would never take his calls or meet with him again.

****************

After I had been working as an event planner for about six months I established a pattern. Again using my natural sexuality combined with all of the tricks that Estelle had taught me, and further pooled with the charming way that I carried myself, I was able to fuck any guy that I wanted to. Any good-looking or seemingly well-endowed guy that I came into contact with, married, single, divorced, or supposedly celibate, was fair game. I fucked one guy the morning of his second wedding, another in his house while his wife was downstairs, one entire wedding party (that is the three groomsmen, the married best man, and the groom) the night before the wedding, and my favorite conquest, a Catholic priest who performed the ceremony at one wedding that I planned. The latter realized that he wasn't right for the priesthood and resigned after I fucked him a second time, but I never took his calls after he resigned – he wasn't that much fun, and way too inexperienced for me.

I hit the mother lode when Jonathan Jenkins met with me and his daughter to plan his wedding. Jonathan was divorced and had an acrimonious relationship with his ex-wife, Maven, his daughter Merilee's mother. He had a closer association with Merilee than did Maven both because he was a lot nicer than she was, and because by his standards Maven was a poor relation. Jonathan was in his early fifties when I met him; I was twenty two. He was nice looking, though certainly no super-stud, and one of the one hundred wealthiest men in the U. S.

It was so easy that I almost – the operative word is "almost"—felt bad about doing it. In addition to pulling out every possible rabbit out of a hat, including wearing something red every time that I saw him, I also befriended Merilee, who was a year older than I was. I didn't just act friendly with her when we were discussing wedding plans, but also went with her to various charity events, ball games, and other outings. I was very careful around her fiancé not to act friendly. Her father developed an interest in attending events with us, and with him I put on the best subtle rush possible.