Cheating Life

"Should I put them in your purse?"

"No.. you can keep them. For the rest of your life."

She meant it as a joke, but I didn't feel like a chuckle. I leaned against the door and watched the road streak by out the dark window as we sped onto the highway. The song on the radio ended, and the new tune was blaringly inappropriate, but neither of us changed the channel. The air was thick, and the car, big as it was, felt cramped.

"It would turn me on if you tasted them."

I raised a brow at her, and she laughed away the heaviness between us. "Don't be so shy! It's cute, but at only at first."

I settled back into the seat, glanced over to look at her, then looked down at the panties in my hand.

"We'll have to cure you of that shyness, and soon. It's worth getting past, you know. Even if it is just for a short time. You'll never be comfortable with yourself as long as you see yourself from the outside in. You'll never know what you really want. I, on the other hand, know just what I want - I want you to suck on my panties." She grinned at me. "Go on."

I folded the stirrup into a ball and stuck it in my mouth. They were still cool, damp, and salty, but they also had the bitter-flat tang of sex.

Her head turned toward me, but her eyes flicked between my mouth and the road. Her lips parted as she watched me, and her tongue rubbed beneath her teeth. "You got me juicy back in town, when you were telling me about your classes at the University. I was never good at classes. I was a daydreamer. But it turned me on to see you so passionate about something. Even remembering it turns me on. See?" She grabbed my hand and placed it beneath her skirt, clinching my wrist with her thighs. I didn't think I was that passionate about school, but I also didn't think it was the time to argue. We weren't really much of strangers any more, so I cupped her, and my middle finger slipped inside easily. "Good." She squirmed in her seat to give me an easier angle, and opened her legs to me.

I had always been good with my hands, I thought, and she was moaning and cooing within a few moments. "You know," she managed, between biting her lip and squeezing her legs shut again, trapping me comfortably inside. "You know, I'm psychic."

"What do you mean ... you can see the future? Or you can tell what I'm thinking." My words came out unevenly. I was concentrating on other things after all.

"Both... I can tell what you're going to be thinking." She flicked the turn signal and drifted toward an off ramp several miles outside of town. "You're going to be thinking about how wet I am, and how much you want to taste me - not just my panties. You're going to be thinking about what a schoolgirl like me might do to a smart boy like you for help with her homework. You're going to be thinking about me stopping my car and dropping your seat back, climbing up on your face until I'm moaning, and just maybe turning around and giving you the best blowjob you've ever had while I grind your head into the headrest. Especially once you know that I scouted out this little dark turnoff up ahead, and that one of the best features of this car is how comfortable that seat is when it's laid back flat." She watched me from the corner of her eyes and bit her lip to hide a grin. She knew she was right.

vi

When we got back on the freeway, the sun had set and the line of dark was moving west, chasing the oranges and purples toward the horizon. Jane had fished a moist towelette out of her purse and I had wiped down my face. Though the road was empty, she slid over to the fast lane and turned on the cruise control.

She rested her hand at the bottom of the wheel and began putting her makeup back in her purse. She was a professional now, not a schoolgirl, and she'd already remade her face before we got up to speed. "You're awfully quiet."

I was watching the lane lines flash by, running my thumb around the rim of the empty malt cup. It had been crushed by her boot during a scene of passionate re-leveraging.

"I would have thought you'd be grins and giggles after that." She shifted in her seat. "I enjoyed it, anyway."

I glanced over to see her smirk, and watched her for a moment.

"What is it?" she asked, quirking a brow. "Go ahead and ask."

"Do you always..." I furrowed my brows and retacked. "Was that just your job?" I winced. That came out even worse. I shouldn't have said anything.

She chuckled. "Don't worry. I know what you mean." She pushed her purse back behind the seat and squeezed my knee. "And relax, please!" She took her hand back and rested it in her lap, between her thighs. "To answer your question: Yes, but not 'just'. It's a job I love; that's why I do it. I don't do anything I don't want to." The road was straight, so she stared at me for a long moment. I couldn't meet her gaze, so I made a study of the geography of creases in the cup. "But that's not what you meant, is it? It's normal to have feelings for me - I'd be hurt if you didn't. But don't forget why you're here, where you're going with me. I want you to enjoy yourself, but don't go forming attachments."

I made an effort to relax, and the next thing I knew she was nudging me awake. We were deep into the city, in the old downtown. We were off the freeway and gliding along the twisting downtown streets. The ghostly blue of the streetlights flashed over the car like a slow-motion strobe. This wasn't a classic neighborhood so there wasn't any neon, and I could easily see the illuminated shapes of the skyline. Jane was pointing to a pre-war tiered sandstone-block building nestled between several glass towers. It looked out of place there; a piece of the past that refused to move on with the rest of the neighborhood. "That's us," she said. "It used to be the Old Continental. We bought it a few years back and renovated. Wait until you see the inside."

Minutes later we were following the ramp down into the garage beneath the old hotel. The lights here were orangish, and flickered oddly now and again. We passed rows and rows of vehicles, all immaculately clean, and all in a price range around that of my education. Jane pulled us smoothly into a numbered spot between a convertible Jag and some oversized SUV. As a classic, her car was fairly wide as well, but the lines were painted far enough apart that I could push the long car door all the way open. By the time I was standing and shutting the door, Jane was already bending over behind the popped trunk and slinging the strap of my bag over her shoulder. "Hey..." I began to protest, and I reached for the bag.

She smiled and slammed the trunk closed. The sound echoed through the garage. "From here on, you're my guest. You get to take it easy, and I get to run the show. Now come with me." I joined in beside her and she led me through the garage, toward the golden light oozing out of the doors in a far corner. Her heels clopped along the way, and the tops of her boots still chirped when she walked. The night air in the city was chill - I could feel the hairs on my arm standing up. Jane draped her free arm over my shoulder as we reached the edge of the garage, then let it slip down my back. She grabbed my ass just before the wide brass doors slid open for us.

A rush of warm air pushed past us as we stepped inside and into a long hallway. Like the doors, the accents in the hallway were brass; the rest, except for the checkered marble floor, was painted an antiqued white. Alternating standing desks and heavy picture frames reflected the length of the hall from the black floor tiles. The hall itself was very long, as least a couple hundred feet, and without any doors along the way. The pictures grabbed my attention as we began to pass them. They were paintings actually - though they were nearly photo-realistic - of women in various states of undress. They reminded me of Olivia's cheesecake. Some of the costumes, too, ran toward the fantastic or the fetishistic. "Do you see anyone you like?" Jane asked in my ear.

Then I saw we were passing a painting of her reclining on a leather armchair, nude beneath a speckled fur coat thrown wide open. She held a cigar in one gloved hand, and a glass of red wine in the other. Her expression was clearly an invitation. "They're all beautiful, but one catches my eye." I earned a chuckle.

We continued to the end of the hallway, where an elevator was open and waiting for us. The ceiling of the elevator was mirrored, and the lettering on the "Stop" button was nearly worn away. Beneath it was a placard reading, "Please be considerate."

The ride to the lobby was brief, punctuated with a kiss and an explanation. "There's just a little more paperwork," she said, "then it's up to my room."

I started as the door opened - I was shocked out of a stupor. Right up to her room, and then that's it?

She led me out through the doors and into the lobby. It was distractingly enormous. It must have taken up most of the first and second floors of the whole building. The same black and white checkered marble expanded out across the floor, broken by islands of sandstone planters and columns that rose into a rosicruse vaulted ceiling. Elevator doors like the one we'd just exited appeared in nooks and corners around the room, but none of them were marked. Grand marble stair conveyors loomed against the far wall, curving out into the lobby, and the old hotel's front desk sat between them. That's where Jane was leading me. Behind the counter, a pair of older gentlemen in black suits calmly tabbed through hidden keypads. The sounds of a string quartet playing a muzak'd pop classic filtered between the titters and whispers of a dozen elegant women scattered around the room in singles and pairs, leading conversations with clusters of civilians and women each jockeying to impress their hosts for the pleasure of a laugh or caress or perhaps just a glance of cleavage.

Despite the evening gowns and tuxedos around us, neither Jane's attire nor my own poverty-casual fashion statement attracted any attention. That was fine with me; I turned my eyes back to Jane before I drew a glance, and let my view wander down to her ass. After the car I didn't think I had to worry about my impolite leer, and the skirt did roll nicely over her cheeks as she walked.

One of the clerks looked up before we reached him. "Good Evening, Jane." They exchanged pleasantries while I took in more details from the lobby, and she gave him my name. Then he was asking for my attention. He was gesturing to a copper plaque he had slid up onto the countertop. "Sir, you will find that the agreement printed here is much like the one forwarded to you last week. You need only press both thumbs into the circle at the bottom to ratify it. If, at any time before the contract is completed, you wish to cancel the agreement, you may do so by returning here and placing both thumbs in the revoke circle, there. Any cancellation of the contract will be subject to fees in accordance with the scale you signed to last week. Is this clear? Please say 'Yes' or 'No'."

I said yes, and he advised me to read the agreement carefully before thumbprinting, but I was already picking through it. Old habits only die with you, they say.

The first four clauses were fairly standard for a check-out hotel, and the last indicated that I'd waived the fee schedule and agreed to leave all of my non-sanctified holdings to the company. I pressed both thumbs to the circle, and the ionizing wave tingled as it trapped a few skin cells against the surface.

The man flashed a gracious smile as he pressed a sterile pad to the thumbcircle and slid the contract off the desk. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Sir. Jane, there are messages for you. Will you take them now, or shall I send them up?"

"I'll call for them later," she said over her shoulder as she was leading me to the stair conveyor. In silence we ascended to the grand balcony and the bank of elevators there. From this height I could see the whole lobby. One of the groups was breaking up - the hostess had selected a suit and a skirt from the other three and was leading them to a dark corner. The remainders casually attempted to insinuate themselves into nearby groups without appearing rejected. Behind me, an elevator chimed, but we let it go so as not to share it with a group of businessmen. I appreciated the privacy.

Once they were gone I leaned toward Jane. "Is tonight it?" I asked in a low voice. "I mean, is it up to your room, and then it's over with?"

"Are you anxious?" she asked back, looking at me uncertainly for the first time. "I could arrange it, if that's what you want, but I'll need to call back to the desk."

"No, no... That's not what I meant. I just didn't know what was typical." I continued after a moment. "I don't think I'm ready quite yet... I don't think I'm in the mood, if that makes sense."

She smiled, and another elevator chimed. A buxom Latina walked out with a rather pale but broadly smiling older woman. They didn't mind us as we filled the car behind them, closing the doors so no one else would try to catch the ride. "Two to three days is probably normal, but it's your party. Escrow usually takes two days to clear, but if you'd like to hurry, we can convert you to fee. But that's just business. You strike me as someone who needs some attention, and I'm the kind of girl who enjoys a little anticipation and expectation. I'm guessing three nights, at least, for you. If you don't have a strong preference, maybe I'll just surprise you. I think you've already had to do enough planning and worrying." She looked me square in the eye. "If you will just give yourself over to me entirely, if you let me be your fate, you can trust me."

I nodded. Her confidence was infectious. For the first time in a long time, I think I really relaxed.

She took my bag and I up to her room - her schedule was free through the night, she said, and my room wasn't ready. It was a long ride in the elevator. I wasn't sure how many floors we ascended, since only the door controls were labeled and the level indicator was dark. When the elevator finally glided to a stop and the doors slid noiselessly apart behind us, a wide but short hallway appeared. There were only three sets of double doors leading from it; we crossed to the middle set.

I held my bag while she confirmed her ID at the doorpad and walked into the dark room beyond. I heard her set her purse down. Beyond her, far beyond her into the room, stretched a swath of city lights. The windows on that wall – the windows practically were the wall – extended at least two score feet. Jane turned a knob by the door, and the overhead lights slowly rose. The room was huge. It was divided by bench-walls, furniture, and a sunken area, and each section had its own style. The main stretch of the room was clothed in white marble, and simple, modern furniture provided places for sitting, eating, and webbing. To the right, a tall hearth loomed out of a brick wall; two rich wood and fur-patterned chairs suitable for recounting safari stories sat in front of it. Beyond, dark wooden doors discretely hinted at another room. On the far side of the room, fitted into a curve of the window wall, three steps led down into a wide, sunken circle. A dark frame draped with crimson and satin hung above. In the center, dominating the reverse dais, was a huge four-posted bed. It was also swathed in heavy, sensuous materials. It was clearly a "fucking bed".

She came back and took my duffel from me, then deposited it just inside the door. Taking me by the hand she led me into the room, and the door slid shut behind us. She took me toward the left wall, toward a disguised white marble door that opened with a gentle press and a click. A hidden room appeared, revealing a large glass shower in the center of an unusual bathroom. The room was focused on the round shower like an eye on its pupil. The shower itself was large enough for two, or three at the most. The sink was an afterthought on the wall, and the small door on the other side probably led to a toilet. A pair of wooden benches sat to either side of the door; towels and toiletries were stacked beneath them. To one side, the side with the best viewing angle, lounged a comfortable-looking white leather chair. Jane chatted as she turned knobs on the wall outside the shower, and showerheads a dozen feet above began pouring a steady, pattering stream. Once steam began to rise in the shower, she sank down into the leather chair and crossed her legs. "Go ahead."

I hesitated.

"There's no room for shyness in there, and you need to clean up. Unless you want to get dirty again, schoolboy." She uncrossed her legs and spread her knees. Her brows arched suggestively. I was reminded that her panties were in my pocket.

I stepped toward her, but she lifted a boot and crossed her legs again, smoothing her short skirt over her upper thigh with a smirking chortle. "I'm such a tease. Now go ahead and take off your clothes. Shirt first, please. And don't rush it."

I was still uncertain, but I pushed myself to pull my shirt off over my head. There was no reason to hold on to modesty now, but, like I said, old habits don't die by themselves. I leaned against the glass wall of the shower to pull off my shoes and socks, and watched her closely beneath my brows. She was watching me, too, but not my eyes - her gaze was roving over my body. It wasn't ogling. It was measuring. I imagined she was counting my imperfections. She stretched out beckoning hands once my shoes were on the bench, and I crossed back to her so she could slide out my belt, then slip off my jeans and shorts with an unsubtle grope. She waved me back, and said with a wink, "Put your shoulders back and turn for me. I'd like to know what I'm having for dinner."

I was no spectacle of manhood, I knew. I was average, with a small post-college belly and thinning hair. But I performed a slow turn before her, and she squeezed my ass and my inner thigh as I came around, like she was a grocer checking for freshness. As I came back to face her, she nodded appreciatively.

"I thought so. The jerks are always musclebound, or try to flex so I'll think they are. They have something to prove - even to me. But you're just right. Not a jock. A spectacle of manhood."

I blinked, and gave her a funny look.

She gave it right back.

She chatted with me while I showered - telling me how and where and when to wash while sharing short anecdotes that didn't really give away anything too personal but painted a picture of a carefree, adventuresome, mysterious life. She was an active girl who had often worked several jobs a night when she first started. She was more discriminating now, and she only picked up enders – check-out types like myself – every so often, when one caught her attention. She liked to give them her attention, her full attention. She would, after all, be the only one to know their whole life story. Though she spoke with conviction and confidence, I could tell she'd said the same thing dozens of times before. It was a speech designed to make me feel special, to relax me, to lower my guard. It worked, too.

She told me that there was a plan, a technique that most of the girls would use with an ender, especially if they didn't want to be tied up long after escrow cleared. The night the ender arrived, he'd be lavished with attention - public attention, if he would take it. He'd be taken downtown, shown off in a couple of name-brand clubs, have his neck nibbled on at the bar by the girl and a couple of her friends, maybe even fucked on the table in the back corner where they would be seen by just the right people. This was advertising, and the girl would make sure everyone saw what a good time their ender was having. They'd get drunk, but definitely not high, and they'd stay up late, all night. A few hours past midnight, the girl would start withdrawing, just a little bit at a time, leaving the ender alone while she just had to talk to (or kiss, or eat) someone else, and she might forget to come back for half an hour. Or two. The ender, if played properly, would become uncomfortable, but not demanding - he'd beg for attention like a dog, and feel somehow at fault as it was increasingly denied to him. In his drunken solitude, he'd remember all of the reasons that drove him to his decision. Later, after his girl disappeared altogether, probably to an hourly job, one of the hotel's cars would come by to pick him, and he'd be taken back to his cell of a room for a gourmet but stale breakfast delivered by another girl, but eaten alone. His own girl would come by to look in on him, and if he wasn't asleep, she might give him a quickie before promising to meet him right after lunch. Whatever kept him on the hook. But she'd leave him in his room or an upstairs hotel lobby until evening, when he was despairing, and then, in grand gesture of benevolence, she'd call him to her suite and swoop down to finish him off, ending his misery for good.