Vixens - Pastels

Part I

Even for this business, the whole thing started out creepy.

But to Eileen, it's part of the routine, ya know, so she asks the usual questions. Well, they're more statements than questions.

"Naturally all you girls swallow, don't you?"

Everybody hesitates, well, nearly everybody, promptin' a frown. But then everybody nods and Eileen's face brightens.

"And I take for granted you're open to anal?" A couple of girls shift a little in their seats after hearin' that one, but otherwise the room's pretty mum and I think to myself, open to anal; please! Like any of us could be in this business if she's not "open to anal"! Catchin' Eileen's attention, I nod agreeably.

I've worked two different agencies up to now and unlike these other...ladies, I definitely fall into the experienced category. Anyway it's not as if she doesn't know me. Like any efficient madam, Eileen tracks the New York girls cuz we all end up at her door eventually. Everybody wants to work for Vixens.

So I been hired - by a woman - and I look at her wonderin' how's it gonna be? If nothin' else, it should make for a less hostile work environment, right?

She already knows I got fired from my last job, the one at Ambrosia. Those guys are all sexist! And they don't pay on time. Shit, when a girl needs her money, she needs her money. And they let me go just cuz I didn't tell `em when I took off with that couple for a week in Montego Bay!

That's the main reason for my call to Eileen. She's always lookin' for fresh faces and guess what? I get an interview! Holy shit!

So now, here I am, all ears, listenen' to her, "Do this & don't you dare do that" speech, which I hate!

Anyhow, there's a few other girls present too, mostly soccer moms from Long Island whose husbands are laid off from Wall Street. Ya gotta' make the mortgage payment somehow, right? Oh, and throw in a few college kids - and suddenly my mind wanders back to the day I started. I was no brainiac, but these new girls are too far out for mere words. I can tell none of `em, not one, ever sucked cock for cash.

You can see it by how they act, noddin' and smilin' like a bunch a dumbbells at some PTA meetin'. I feel like sayin', "Come on. Get real! This ain't Madison Avenue!"

But I keep quiet, cuz overall - somethin' I won't admit of course -- the prospect of workin' Vixens is classy. And Eileen? I think she's okay because havin' been a workin' girl herself, she understands what the life does to ya. And unlike men, who use girls to death, especially us classy broads - of which, in my humble opinion, I am one - she should be more understandin'.

So, after makin' clear her position on the crucial issues of the day, Eileen dismisses the group, casually looks over at me and says, "I have a date ready for you, Etta -- we'll start you tonight."

"Really?" I purr a little, cuz I'm impressed. "You move fast, Eileen. I didn't think you'd get to me till the weekend; figured you'd check out my references or somethin'."

So guess what? She looks right back at me and goes, "We already know all about you, Etta. You're one of the best but have a reputation as a big mouth"!

"Oh really?" I'm thinkin', "Well fuck you, bitch!" But I'm polite so I say, "Okay Eileen, I'll try 'n better myself," which she smiles back at me for in that sly way of hers."So," I continue, "talk ta me `bout this guy?"

Well surprise, surprise, she doesn't offer very much, leavin' me wonderin'. I mean, on day one, I shouldn't be wonderin' if ya get my drift. But I do find out she's got some Arab guy lined up at the Bryant Park on 40^th. He's an envoy or emissary or somethin' diplomatic like that.

Now, I got nothin' against Arabs mind ya, as long as ya do 'em when they're alone. In group situations, like the time last year over at the Gramercy Park? Things can get...slightly unusual.

Anyway, Eileen reveals she sent a girl over to do this same guy last year, but this time he wants, you know a doll with bush. And since I been unemployed lately, I'm not about shavin' - or waxin', God forbid - so I'm more "ready for things".

Anyway, she talks about this Mid-East honcho who insists on natural bush cuz their women don't shave and supposedly because I'm already lush in that exclusive area, I get the assignment. Plus, supposedly, all the other girls are busy. And supposedly, he's a big tipper.Well supposedly shit!

Here's the thing: every girl's into big tippers cuz that's where the money is; it's just, what do I have to do to get it, right? And I'm wonderin', if he tips so special, why's the new girl gettin' him?

There's somethin' bonkers here but I'm on the spot and can't just say, "Fuck it, I think I'll pass up the assignment."

Instead, I show interest by askin', "What's his thing?" Ya know, like what am I walkin' into here?

So she goes, "He expects a redhead, but otherwise..." Then there's this pause and she looks at me kinda sideways, tryin' to get a better view of my new cut. "That's a nice style, Etta." Bein' modest, but still offerin' a little profile, I curl the hair over my right ear and look slightly, ya know, away from her.

Half expectin' her to ask who does my hair, which as everybody knows ya can only get at Tricia's, she instead opens her drawer and pulls out a pastel emblazoned silk hijab!

"You'll need to cover your hair, so wear this tonight," she says, like it's an order or somethin'. And before I can object to that little stipulation, she goes, "And about that other girl, the one we sent last time? I can't remember her name but, well, you should know something: she never got to the having sex with him stage."

No sex? Makes no sense, right? There's somethin' strange about this whole thing, but I act normal and nod like a good girl.

"Oh..."

I'll find out soon enough because they, meanin' the other girls, will talk eventually. But because the Arab's scheduled for tonight, I'll never get my answer before I'm on my back, alone with some fanatical believer in Sharia Law!

So I'm thinkin' the worst. I mean what the fuck? Are we talkin' gang bang? I hate them things and went through one just last summer at that bondage scene where I had to - well anyway, I'm thinkin', not this girl hon! No way I'm doin' that a third time.

Bottom line? She's holdin' all the cards. So I'm forced to be nice and I grab the hijab and walk out of her office, right past that newbie -- the blonde. Boy is she in for it!

She practically screams, "sweet little college girl". Yeah, she's pretty, but she'll faint the first time some guy creams her face. I've seen a lot of 'em the last couple a years; girls who do namby-pamby classes all day like queen shit, get bored with the spic n' span campus scene and start doin' nights in the city; girls who think they can get by on their perky tits which, on campus, keeps the boys from the island kissin' their asses in exchange for a little head. And those braces! Is she kiddin'?

Are they really gonna throw this kid to the wolves? Slut won't last a week. I stomp past her without sayin' hello.

Part II

10:00 p.m. - Bryant Park Hotel, Manhattan

No outfit has a ton of work for redheads, so for once I follow directions and dress like a real lady; demure skirt, Stu Weitzman pumps, the works! And because the hijab gives me an Arab look, like Miss Jordanian IBM, I march past hotel security like nothin'. Actually, I don't look too bad -- overall, I mean - and the hijab thing's sorta sweet.

So get this, I exit the elevator at the 7^th floor, glance up and down the hallway, just to be sure 'bout things and guess what? There's these mean-lookin' guys standin' outside a door!

I step outta the elevator and all at once, they reach into their jackets, except for the guy with the AK-47, who just points it straight at me! The other guys just stare like they're gonna' shoot me.

I'm scared shitless and think, fuck! This Arab has body guards up the ying yang and I'm gonna end up searched or killed or -- or worse!

So I start prayin', "Please Jesus, don't make that be his room, please! I'll do anythin'." Which of course, it ends up bein'.

And these guards lock their eyes on me as I walk up the hall actin' like I'm Miss Casual Slut and they're lookin' at me with blank stares and real black mustaches. I mean it; these guys don't seem friendly in the way American girls are accustomed to.

But I'm a pro, so I take a deep breath, walk right up to the door and low and behold, they fuckin' bow! I'm petrified and they bow! Then one says - in perfect English - "The Sheik awaits your arrival with anticipation, Miss Etta."

They know my name! Wow! So then the other one goes, "You can enter after we search you." I look down my nose at him and do my lazy eye routine, you know, the one tiltin' my head slightly.

"Oh really?" I say it in a certain way, ya know, gettin' a little snooty. Then I point at the door, sayin,' "Remember somethin' bud, the guy in that room is the one who called me!"

"I am sorry miss, but we have our orders," he says back in a very military way which is sorta hot, actually.

I glance at my watch like I don't have time for this, which I really don't. See, it's already past ten and I'm supposed ta be in there already, so - like, whatever happened to a woman's right to make her own decisions?

Droppin' my briefcase, I roll my eyes ceilingwards, raise my arms as if to say, "All right you sick fuck, search me," and I let them pat me down. And just like you'd expect from soldiers - Marines are my favorite - these two enjoy doin' it more than they should; you know, professionally I mean.

In fact, they're all smiles and talk back and forth in some language I don't understand a word of, and then fuck, the ultimate worst thing happens: one guard points at my briefcase!

"OH NOOOOO," I warn, grabbin' it up from the floor and holdin' it tight to my boobs for protection.

Then one of `em looks at me and in a tone of voice that's overly demandin', says, "The briefcase must be inspected, Miss, or you can't go in."

So I'm thinkin' in a more-than-slightly--taken-aback way, "I won't be allowed in? Then your highfalutin' fuckin boss won't be allowed 'in' neither!"

By then my mind is racin' fast, and I know this ain't gonna be pretty but seriously, what else can I do? If I leave, it's over at Vixens, so shit. Plus, I'm the one on the clock, which is tickin' at high-speed, so naturally the girl's the one, like usual, who has to give in, just like a girl always hasta' give in and I hate that!

"All right, open it," I sigh, addin' an iota of resignation.

Projectin' some attitude, I lean with my shoulder against the wall as he pops the clips. Meanwhile the other guy eyes me like he's Mr. Hard-On and I roll my eyes and look away disinterested, even though he's a little cute. But this isn't exactly the time or place!

Crouchin' down, Guard Dog #1 opens my case, which is my private property, and I think, what is this, China? Of course, everythin' falls out - nipple clamps, two dildos, which aren't even that big, slippery stuff, cock rings, rubbers; the works. I mean fuck, I don't know what sheiks are into, so I show up with a little bit of everything and some stuff a girl just needs on hand, right?

Satisfied there's no H-bombs, he closes the case and hands it back while his partner opens the door for me. Meanwhile, I give him one of my killer dirty looks.

The suite is gorgeous. One glance and I take in at least six rooms. Big money. And standin' just inside is a little man, maybe 5'4", wearin' a black terry cloth robe, handsome in an Arab sorta way.

Takin' my hand in his, he shakes it energetically, the way foreign people do, and I suddenly feel like I'm the First Lady, which I don't mind since some of these guys are assholes in the way they treat a lady, especially when it comes to Brooklyn girls which is like, totally discrimination, but it goes on even in the city and don't let anyone tell ya different!

"I only speak English," I exhale, lookin' down into the blackest eyes I ever seen.

"Yes, Etta, I also do speak English too. I am Jabir and how do you do?"

Well, I'm completely impressed. "I'm fine...I think," I say, glarin' over at the two guards, now cautiously backin' out the door like they're innocent of violatin' my Constitutional Rights and all the while sayin' somethin' in Arabic or Algerian, while quietly closin' the door behind `em.

One nice thing, their big-ass smiles disappear when they have to face this Jabir or whatever his name is.

Anyway, I'm finally in and here's this little guy who's comin' across kinda nice, really.

"So Jabir," I say, ya know, tryin' to make conversation. "What brings ya to New York?"

Walkin' past him, I glance around the lavish suite, while removin' my jacket so he can get a sense of my big boobs, of which I get numerous compliments. I wander over to the window to take in the view all the while knowin' he's watchin' the view as I move here and there, you know, gettin a sense of things.

"Want me to give you a bath?" I ask brightly.

Smilin' broadly, he responds with an energetic, "Yes, yes, a bath by you would be a very nice thing."

"I meant with me, Jabir," which gets him even more animated and he shakes his head up and down, "yes."

"Good," I say sweetly, and unbuttonin' my blouse, I head for the bathroom. "Just give me a minute, you handsome thing." It's a good idea to get tricks into a bath; you never know how clean they are and since I'm used to doin' more than one guy a night, it obviously isn't a bad idea for me neither.

It's a good start, especially with the particulars of this whole gig still bein' some huge secret. And I keep thinkin `bout what Eileen said when I left this mornin'. He didn't fuck that last girl. What's that about?

One thing's for sure, it likely means the guy didn't like somethin', so she doesn't get sent back, see? But not likin' a girl usually means a guy won't call the service neither, which he does anyway, so here I am, which is peculiar in a plus size!

But there's always the thought that he just likes new pussy or...who the fuck knows what else. Anyway, I have to find out and maybe soakin' in the tub will loosen things up, which brings a question to my mind: do I take a bath with or without the hijab? Fuck! I decide to leave it on.

After dumpin' a packet of bubble bath into the steamy water I return to the livin' room where he carefully watches my approach.

By now, I've taken off my blouse and bra, givin' him a chance to get a close-up of my boobies, which I apply added bounce to. With one eye on the time, I suggest, "Jabir, why don't you get rid of that robe, honey?"

He's a reserved character, and it's like I haveta prod him every inch of the way. Otherwise, so far, he's satisfied to watch me prance topless - which is all right, if in the end all I have to do is prance topless, which doesn't seem likely given the price of all this, but then there's still the question of that other Vixens girl, the one from before, the one who never did it with him.

Since he can see all the knockers he wants at the local tittie bar, I'm presumin' there's more to this - the question is what? Noddin' in a courteous manner, he unties his belt and the robe slips to the floor.

He's well-built, with lots of body hair. His uncut dick - which I like - looks average and is standin' at half-staff; like he's afraid to show his full intentions. And a girl has to watch size; somethin' I do since after that butt thing in L.A., meanin' I couldn't sit for a whole week! That one, it turns out, was a deep freak - which I admit is somethin' I'm into.

Anyway, I'll take care of firmin' things up with Jabir when the time comes but my point bein' if he wants tush, size ain't an issue. For now, I just need him clean so employin' my classiest bashful smile I go, "I'm gonna get all undressed for you, hon, is that okay?"

"Yes, this is very okay...may I watch, S'il vous plaît?" I like how he asks permission. And he speaks Italian! I'm so impressed! "However...Etta, you will also wear your hijab, non?"

So now I'm all bubbles and perks and feelin' a little Arab, so I go, "Of course I will, sweetie. And of course you can watch. I want you to." Rotatin' slowly, I thrust my ass out a smidge, let my skirt drop and wink at him. Bein' a girl from Vixens and bein' it's a new suit, I fold it neatly and lay it over the couch. Nice touch, right? I'm big time gettin' into this refined stuff.

Then I walk over to him while thinkin', god, he's so short, but his fingers show experience as he runs 'em from my shoulders, down to my waist, leavin' some electric currents along my spine and I kick off my heels, bringin' me down a notch. Shit, I'm still taller than him. Shit!

He takes hold of my boobs, which feels good, and his fingers pinch my big nipples, and guess what? They perk up for him.

So I'm basically naked except for my hijab of course, and reach down to cup his balls. They're nice; hefty even. I roll one gently, and starin' straight at him, I grab the other. His eyes seize up and I think, can we please get on with this? What exactly do you want from me?

Anyways, my point bein', it's just good business to get at balls early and brainless wives forget they're there, which is a big fuckin' mistake. Besides, once you have 'em you can get things flowin' and establish a certain, you know, trust, cuz if a man allows a girl he's never met to handle 'em; he's surrenderin' some power. It's just the way it works and it has since, shit, since a hundred years ago!

One thing I'll say, the guy knows how to touch a lady. Nobody's gonna tell me Arab men don't care how their women feel, not after today. I mean look, I'm a call girl so if Jabir wants, he can twist his finger up my ass like a cork screw and I'm gonna swoon and say "more," right?

But he's not that way. Instead, he lowers my sexy hijab and carefully rubs my scalp, which is to die for, and he takes his time doin' it, which not so many American boys ever do and let's face it, girls love to have their heads massaged, even by Arabs, so I'm lovin' it!

He runs his fingers like a comb through my long curls, slowly floatin' down to my ears, to the back of my neck, to my shoulders. It feels real good!"You're so beautiful, Etta, and I delight in your red hair," he repeats over and over.

Well, I'm glada' that, I repeat to myself over and over."Etta knows you do sweetie, that's why she's here."

Takin' his hands in mine, I get romantic and start kissin' his fingers, suckin' `em into my mouth, like miniature pacifiers, eventually addin', "And what else does Jabir want Etta to do?"

I'm pushin' things, see, cuz I haveta find out what he's into. I know Eileen is a stickler for time which is gonna be my biggest bitch about workin' Vixens, so I gotta get him goin' or I'm like literally screwed!

So steppin' back, he looks me in the eye, and leans away as if he's tryin' to see my crotch. Now I haveta be careful with this cuz my ruby hair is completely soaked, half because of the way he's been touchin' me; well maybe not half, but mostly because I'm not a nice girl and have a little secret. See, earlier this evenin', I did sort of a sub-call, you know, on the quiet.

Everyone knows girls take a little work on the side for extra money. We all do some freelancin' and it's not like there's some rule against it!

Here's how it went down: On my way to visit this very nice diplomatic type, I make a "quick stop" a couple blocks from here, where I meet up with the famous artist, Alan Wagner, a sexy item I done it with before, a few times actually.

He likes me a lot and always wants the same thing, and frankly, in this business a little consistency is a sought-after commodity!

Anyway, whenever I go there, we sit and gaze at each other - without smilin'. That's it. We just stare, until, at just the right moment, I stand up and lean over his pool table.