D'Orr's Ch. 2

-If you haven't read "D'orrs" this part might not make much sense. If you have, I apologize for the delay in getting "Part 2" posted. Hope you enjoy.-

* * * * *

It wasn't until Liz had walked up the stairs of the subway station that she realized just how many butterflies she really did have in her stomach. As she walked toward the restaurant, she wondered if anyone she passed on the sidewalk could tell what she was on her way to do – that she was on her way to her first trick as a part-time, well, there was no better word for it, hooker.

Liz stopped by a newsstand and picked up a copy of the Daily News. It was starting to become a habit with her, something to look at, but not really read, at the end of the day. It gave her something to take her mind off what she was really going to the restaurant for. And Charlotte had asked her to pick one up, so the person she was going to meet would have some means of identifying her. This was New York City, and the description "tall, attractive woman with a briefcase sitting at the bar" was almost a cliché. Not many that fit that description would stoop to read the News, instead trying to impress with Crain's, or the Journal or, at the very least, the Times.

Liz still didn't believe no one could tell what she on her way to do, that no one could see into her mind, that every man on the street wasn't undressing her in his mind because he knew what she was going to be doing, the pleasure she was going to be bringing to someone that night, and the pleasure she was going to take for herself.

Approaching the restaurant, the butterflies in her stomach turned into a large flock of small birds. She was purposely arriving early, hoping a drink or two before he arrived would help to settle the queasiness. Liz stopped at the front of the restaurant and took a deep breath before pulling open the door. She strode purposefully to the bar, the din of many conversations, specials being explained and orders being given surprising her. It awoke her from her self-consciousness, but, still, she needed a very stiff drink.

Liz took a stool near the end of the bar, leaving one open at the end. As she was unfolding the paper the bartender asked for her order. "I'll have a scotch, a double please."

The bartender set her drink down, and Liz took a big sip, the heat from the amber liquid warming her insides, and sending some of the flock in her stomach fluttering off into the rafters of the restaurant. She flipped open a page of the paper and took another gulp. Having the paper in front of her, and something else to concentrate on beside herself, helped to calm her down some more. Flipping through she found the most outrageous play on words in a headline, and started reading that story, never really caring about it – just curious about the relationship between the story and the headline. She finished her drink and was thinking about what to get next, and was perplexed. "A what?" she thought to herself. "Just what is a hooker on her first job supposed to drink while waiting for her trick?"

"I'll have a gin and tonic," she said. "A tall one." The bartender nodded his head and went about mixing the drink. He placed it in front of her and moved down the bar. Liz went back to reading her paper.

"Excuse me, Leez?" Startled, Liz looked up at the man who had just spoken. He looked back at her with the quizzical eyes of complete and unabashed innocence.

"Yes," was all she got out. She thought she recognized him, but couldn't be sure. He was certainly good-looking enough, if maybe a little young. Suddenly unsure of what she had done, she resisted a terrible urge to flee – flee the restaurant, flee the neighborhood, flee the city! Flee all of it! She couldn't believe she'd said she'd do this. Knowing she couldn't back out, but not knowing what to do next, she allowed her business instincts to kick in. She stood and put out her hand, realizing as she extended it she should have wiped it on something first. She could feel the clamminess on her palm, and almost regretted having done this.

He looked back at her and smiled. When he took her hand, she noticed his was cool and dry, and he shook her hand firmly, looking directly into her eyes. Whatever innocence she might have seen earlier completely disappeared. "My name ees Giovanni."

Liz looked back at him, ever more intrigued by his looks. She finally smiled and asked if she could order him a drink. Giovanni placed his hands on the bar and took the seat Liz had been saving for him. She glanced at his hands and smiled to herself, wondering if there was any truth to the old wives' tales linking finger and penis size. She turned and asked the bartender for his drink.

Conversation started a little slow, not uncommon in all two blind dates Liz had ever been on, but after just a few minutes they seemed to find some common ground, other than the real issue at hand. Trained in law, Liz was able to carry on one conversation while thinking about something else, and she found herself unable to think about anything else but the size of his fingers. She squirmed in her seat.

After some time, Giovanni asked, "Shall we leafe?"

"Oh, yes," Liz replied, hoping she didn't sound too eager. They stood, and Giovanni waited for her to gather her things. He watched her walk a few steps, and then quickly caught up to her, placing his hand that held his coat on her shoulder. When they went through the door of the restaurant, a tall, stockily-built black man who was obviously waiting for them, opened the rear door of a limousine and held it open. Liz was a little surprised, and asked Giovanni if this was his car.

"Ah, no," he replied, "eet ees Charlotte's." He paused for a second, and then asked "How long have you been working for her?"

"I've only met people at the hotel," Liz answered truthfully, hoping to mask her "rookie" status. A low hum broke the brief silence that followed, as the driver raised the smoked glass divider. It was only then that Liz noticed that the windows had been blacked out as well. She looked around, and back at Giovanni, and gave him a coquettish smile. She was stereotyping him, presuming that his obviously southern European heritage would be insulted if she made the first, inevitable move. She didn't have to wait long to find out she'd been correct.

Giovanni closed what little distance there was between them, brushed her hair back from her neck and found the tendon that, to Liz, seemed to have a direct nerve connection to her pussy. It was only then that Liz realized that she must have been on edge for some time, for her panties were already well moistened. While Giovanni continued to minister to her neck, she took his hand from the back of the seat and proceeded to place each of his long, thick fingers in her mouth, slowly sucking each and every one of them in turn. When she got to his thumb, she worked that the most, taking all of it in, and working her tongue vigorously against the underside of his thumb as she drew it away from her mouth.

Giovanni turned away from Liz and sat back against the seat, leaving his hand where it was so Liz could continue working on it. Liz reached out for his knee with her other hand and parted his legs, drawing her fingers up the inside of his thigh. When she reached the crotch of his pants, she only found his balls, and looked down. Even though he had on the high-waisted pleated pants so favored by the Europeans, she could see that his cockhead had gone past his belt. "So it might be true," she thought to herself.

Liz deftly undid his belt with one hand, while with the other she squeezed and stroked the fingers of his hand. She pushed his cock to one side so she could undo the button of his pants, and slowly drew down his zipper. Parting his pants, she glanced down to see just what she was going to be dealing with. Liz slid her hand inside the slit of his boxers, and closed her hand, or rather, tried to close her hand, around his hardened shaft.

"Oh!" Liz gasped, even though Giovanni was not even touching her. She couldn't close her fingers around him! She looked up at him, and he just smiled back, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. Liz released his hand and shifted in her seat so she could face him better. She reached down with her other hand and worked his cock out through the, what now seemed woefully inadequate, slit in his boxers. Liz almost could not believe what she was looking at. Her fingers that tried to encircle it missed touching by more than an inch. She was terrible at measuring things, but she knew she'd never had anything this large by a considerable margin. "And she was going to be putting this inside of her?" she asked herself.

* * * *

Liz made the turn at 96th Street and the FDR and started heading back downtown, the act of the turn breaking her reverie. She liked her Sunday morning runs along the East River. Her reminiscence of that first time with Giovanni warmed her from the inside, and she could feel her pussy lips sliding back and forth as she ran with more than just a little lubrication. She waved to the old man on the bench – she always waved to him, and had even stopped to talk with him a couple times. She smiled in the knowledge that he had no idea what she'd been thinking about, nor about the wetness between her legs. Thinking back again to her induction, her "rookie hooker night" as she called it to herself, she recalled picking up her skirt as she went to leave D'orrs that night, almost a year ago, and noticing the dark spot on the back, an almost perfect (). Since then she had always wondered if that was why Giovanni had covered her back with his coat as they left the restaurant.

Giovanni had been large, and it took some work to get him inside of her. But once he was there, he filled her in places she didn't even know she had that craved to be touched, to be stretched, to be fucked. Liz smiled to herself, picking up the pace so she could get back to the apartment faster, so she could strip and get in the shower quicker, so she could take the shower head and….

While Liz had had many repeat customers over the last year, Giovanni was one customer she had occasionally requested of Charlotte. When she wanted, no, needed, to be filled like that, she would page Charlotte, reversing the normal course of contact. Charlotte had been surprised the first time Liz had called her, she told Liz later on. None of her girls were interested in taking on Giovanni a second time. Liz couldn't take him as a steady diet, but when the mood struck, she couldn't get enough of him.

After her shower, in the afterglow of a good run, Liz recalled the gathering at D'orrs that had been scheduled for late this afternoon. It was unusual for Charlotte to call her directly and Liz wondered exactly what was going on. Charlotte had asked her to meet at D'orrs, and had told her that most of the other girls were going to be there as well. It had been just over a year since Liz had started on her part-time occupation, and it had been very fruitful for her and, she presumed, for Charlotte as well. Liz had had the most requests for repeat business of any of the girls over the last year, and Charlotte had rewarded her with a significant cash bonus just over a month ago.

In addition, her law career had gone pretty well over the last year also. Patent law was a little slow moving at times, but it could be financially rewarding, and Liz had seen some very interesting new ideas come her way. Her assistant, Susan, had picked up a considerable amount of the grunt work, freeing up Liz's time to curry favor with several of the firm's clients. She'd been able to use those contacts, as well as some of her grad school friends; to start developing relationships with what she hoped would be new clients of the firm. The small, boutique nature of the firm she worked for lent itself well to entrepreneurship among the few younger associates there were.

Although it was only early fall, the sky had already lightened the way it does when you realize that, no matter what, winter was on its way. Charlotte had said to come dressed as you are, that this was just an informal gathering, so Liz was in her jeans, sneakers and a man's button-down shirt.

Liz walked up the stairs and Michael greeted her at the door with his usual smile. "Everyone's out back in the garden," he said.

"Are you coming out, too?"

"I already know what it's about, and it mostly doesn't involve me, so I'm just going to watch the door."

Liz sidled up to him, and gave him a playfully suggestive smile, "You wouldn't want to tell me what it is now, would you?"

Michael laughed, grabbed her arms, turned her around and pointed her toward the hallway leading to the back. "There are some drinks already out there for everyone."

Liz struggled to free her arms from Michael's grasp. "Spoilsport!" she called back over her shoulder. She walked to the end of the hall and opened the door to the garden. She was surprised to see so many of the girls, her "co-workers" as she occasionally liked to think of them. Charlotte only had about 12 girls working for her, and it looked like most were there. She waved to the Swedish sisters, the "blonde-bombshells" Liz called them to herself. Anika and Erika were twins, but not identical twins. All the women were tall, at least 5'8", and Liz enjoyed being in their company, but it was so seldom that they got together all at once.

Liz walked over to Charlotte and they shook hands. Liz was never comfortable with the whole air-kiss idea, and knew Charlotte didn't like it either. Then she went over to the table with the drinks on it and helped herself. It was late Sunday afternoon, the weather was gorgeous and here was a nice little outdoor party just a block from her apartment. Could life get any better?

After a few minutes Charlotte tapped on her glass, and the girls gathered round, some standing, some sitting in the chairs around the drink table. Wasting no time, Charlotte began. "This is not entirely a social occasion, but I guess you probably already figured that out. I've had an unusual request and I wanted to present it to all of you for your consideration.

"One of my very first clients is having a party in the Hampton's in about a month. He is no longer a client, but that was by his choice, not mine. He married, and he married well. His wife is extremely attractive. They have a large place out there, very, very large, and, like I said, they are having a party. They are looking for models for the party."

The girls looked at each other, their eyes all asking the same question – "So, what?" - but Charlotte continued, not giving them a chance to voice it. "The reason they came to me has to do with the theme of the party, which they're concerned may call attention to them if they were to go to a regular modeling agency. The them of party is 'Isle of Lesbos.'" The girls looked at one another, but waited for Charlotte to continue, while she hesitated to gauge their reaction before going on.

"They, and I mean both of them, are working with a designer of some sort on this party. He is on the up and up, but what they're looking for is fairly specific. From what I understand so far, the designer wants to pair up some girls, live models, and pose them in an area of the house as part of the decoration.

"The reason they didn't feel comfortable going to a regular modeling agency is that some of the poses are going to be pretty graphic. Actually, that's just one of the reasons.

"Another reason I found out on my own. The parties this couple has often have some kind of sexual overtone to them. What usually happens toward the end of the evening is that some guests go home, and some stay. I don't think I have to explain any more.

"The pay for this, for you, is high - $10,000 for the modeling part. I don't know what goes on after that, but I do care. I cannot vouch for these people in any manner. I would strongly prefer it if none of you would get involved in any of the late night activities. It's selfish, yes, but I'm protecting my investment, and it protects you as well. Some of the usual guests at these parties are pretty fast and loose with their bodies, and heaven only knows what they're carrying around with them. I will not tell you 'no', but…," she let her voice trail off and the conversations begin.

The girls looked at one another and started talking amongst themselves. Several winked at each other, and some moved closer to one another. Some were in, without any questions, but Liz hesitated. Not since law school had she been with a woman, and she'd been more that a little drunk when that happened, and that was the only time. She just wasn't sure what was required or even how she'd react. She'd never posed before, let alone naked - there were just too many questions. Unlike her usual work for Charlotte, she wasn't sure if she'd like this or not. Then she remembered the money - $10,000 for several hours posing naked in close quarters with another woman? Not having to do anything afterwards? She'd certainly give it some thought.

"I don't need an answer today, but I do need one by the middle of the week. If you have questions please feel free to call me any time. Oh, and there will be a costume, something like a thong and a short wrap to go over that. The designer is coming up with those. Also, there will be masks, like Lone Ranger's, part of the mystique, and partly to protect your identities. I cannot say who will be there, and I thought it might be best if, should you agree, that there was some anonymity for you. I suggested this in a way that the designer thought it was his idea, and he loved it."

Everyone started talking at once. Liz remained quiet, and a little aloof. Charlotte came over to her and asked if anything was the matter. Liz hesitated, and then told Charlotte of her trepidation. "I've never really been with a girl before. I don't know what to do, or even how I will react."

Charlotte laughed. "It's not a live sex show!" A couple of the girls heard this and turned toward them, looking a little disappointed. "They're just poses, and some will be more suggestive than others. That's all."

"Oh, one more thing. I will be there," she continued, "as one of the models."

Liz thought about it for a couple of days, and, while she was a little nervous about the idea, for the money, she thought she'd be able to get over her trepidation. Tuesday evening she stopped by to tell Charlotte she'd go along.

"That's wonderful, Liz," Charlotte smiled. "I'll let you know when we're meeting to go out there."

* * * * *

The girls from D'orrs arrived in two stretch limos. A total of eight had volunteered, including Charlotte. The designer was looking for 12, so four more had been recruited from somewhere else. He eyed the girls from D'orrs as they entered the bathhouse, making up in his mind who was going to be paired off with whom. The two blondes that looked like twins were definitely going together. When he looked at Liz's classic body, he motioned to one of the other girls to come over. He picked one shorter than Liz, with a fuller body, larger, rounder breasts, full hips and a nicely rounded derriere and blonde hair that looked suspiciously unnatural. Charlotte approached a strikingly beautiful black woman, and it was apparent they knew each other. The designer watched them, and motioned them together. but it was apparent he didn't really have a choice in that matter. After a couple more switches all the girls were paired off. With a wave he led them to the glass-walled walkway that connected to the part of the house where the party was.

Along the walkway, six lounges had been placed on individual platforms, elevating them a foot or so off the floor. The track lighting was situated to spotlight each of the platforms. When he first walked down he just pointed to one pair of girls and told them to go to this dais or that one. At the fourth one, he selected Liz and her partner. They had not spoken as of yet, and silently made their way to the sofa. At the last platform he posed Charlotte and her partner, and made his way back, posing each pair of girls in such a way that merely suggested comfort with one another. When he got to Liz, he made her sit on the sofa, her legs crossed like a perfect lady, and posed her partner kneeling on the sofa, facing Liz, one hand on Liz's neck, the other hand on Liz's breast. The designer stood back a minute, then took the hand on Liz's breast and parted two fingers. The attention sent Liz's nipple darting between the slightly separated fingers. Satisfied, the designer moved on to the next pair.