Authors Note: I struggled for what group to put this in, and decided on Mind Control, even though it’s not the classic model.
The enlarged reflection of the eye in the makeup mirror blinked as the brush approached. Linda steadied her hand, and gently guided the bristles through the lashes, feeling the pull as she stroked them, watching them darken, emphasizing their length and shape, becoming darker, more pronounced. Finished, she examined the eye as a whole, the heavy application of dark and light blue on the lid, the line underneath appearing too heavy in the enlarged image. She blinked, then turned to focus on the other eye, repeating her application of the mascara. Switching back and forth between them, comparing, focusing on her work; able now to absorb her attention in the preparation. Satisfied, she turned from the small round mirror and faced the larger vanity mirror for a full-face view.
Lisa looked back at her. It had been several months now, and she had not just gotten used her being there but welcomed her, grateful, even, at times like this. She was a lifesaver, and she felt her heart flutter inside her chest with appreciation. Lisa knew, and smiled.
“I got this, baby,” she grinned confidently, and blinked her eyes slowly, angling her head just a touch, and raising one manicured brow just a touch. She looked spectacular. “Fabulous job, as usual.” Lisa turned forward again, looking directly at Linda. “Get a good look,” she joked, “it won’t look so nice tomorrow!”
Linda blanched at the off-hand comment, horrified as always by the disregard Lisa took to her activities. She turned and bit her bottom lip as she stood from the vanity and moved to the bed, where the items she had selected were laid out; tiny panties she could never wear herself, a matching half-cup bra, thigh-high stockings. Next to them, the skimpy black dress that Linda remembered buying, embarrassed by her exposure in the private dressing room as she tried it on; so much leg, so…obvious. And next to the dress, the heels that spoke daringly of invitation, and the black choker, the letter “L” in rhinestones. No other jewelry.
Linda slipped the white terrycloth robe from her shoulders and turned to face the full-length mirror. She looked at the body facing her, turning slightly to the left and right, trying to see the flaws she was convinced were there.
“Stop it,” Lisa told her. “You know I look fabulous.” Linda blushed, and admitted it, silently, a little embarrassed to confess that the body she saw was still attractive, even at thirty-five. “You know it’s hot, baby,” Lisa said, languidly sliding her hands up her thighs, over her hips, touching the bone that still protruded slightly, so embarrassing when she was a child. Fingertips grazed lightly over the slim lines of her waist, then in, under her ribs, and circling out under her full breasts, finally to her shoulders, and resting them behind her neck. Her chin jutted up proudly as her dark, full hair fell back, elbows out, chest thrust forward. “I’m fucking hot as hell, baby,” Lisa told her. Then, as if sensing Linda’s discomfort, added. “Don’t worry, honey. I told you; I got this. I’ll take care of everything. You just take care of us, okay?”
Linda nodded silently. That had been their agreement, since meeting finally, months ago. Lisa had known Linda in college, and had reminded Linda of the times their paths had crossed. The realization had been shocking at first, but Linda had quickly come to accept her, and understood the benefits of their relationship. Again her chest thrummed with appreciation for Lisa and everything she did. Lisa eyed her knowingly from the mirror.
“You just make sure everything is ready for the morning,” she told Linda, “and you keep your mind on our little man.” Linda nodded. “He’s all that matters.”
Linda felt her eyes tear at the thought of her son, ten year old Colin, safely ensconced at Connie’s house for the night. Connie was her friend from her old job, the one that had indelicately canned them all last year and moved the office to another state; Connie had landed well elsewhere, and was married. Linda was divorced, and had taken another job, but at much less pay. The checks from her deadbeat ex had stopped long ago, but she had been able to get by before the office closed. Money had soon become tight.
Need had become desperation quickly, and she had searched for the old numbers, finding them in the attic with her old college stuff. With trembling fingers she had made the call after despairing over her decision for nearly a week, so worried she couldn’t sleep. Yes, they remembered her, but no, they couldn’t use her anymore. That was fifteen years ago, they’d said, a little too frankly, as if believing she didn’t know.
She had done some escort work in college, mostly easy stuff, arm candy for older guys; they were more like elaborate dates. Dinner and drinks and dancing; she would smile and laugh with them, feed their egos and libidos. Faking the conversations had been harder than spreading her legs at the end of the night. It had paid well, and helped with the tuition. But that had been years ago, and they had told her now that they didn’t hire older women.
But they knew some folks who did, and gave her numbers to call.
The first ones weren’t interested, but the third talked to her. “Thirty-five,” they’d said. Yes, they could use her, but it wouldn’t be like before. “You’ll have to do more,” they had told her.
“Hey,” Lisa called to her, “dreamgirl,” she prodded, and Linda turned to the reflection. “Before you drift off, let’s go check for the morning stuff, okay?” Abashed, Linda nodded, and looked at the dark-haired beauty before her, her eyes travelling from the sultry dark eyes to the erect nipples, the swell of her older, but still-mostly-firm breasts, to the tiny strip of hair above the hairless meeting of her long legs. “Yeah, get a good look,” Lisa teased, “it won’t look like this in the morning,” she joked. She was so bold, so bawdy, and Linda blushed. Not bothering to replace the robe, she went naked to the bathroom.
Methodicaly, she reviewed the supplies. Douche, enema. Morning-after pills. Antibiotics. Anti-bacterial cream. Hemorrhoid suppositories. Pain relief lotion. Aleve.
“Good girl,” Lisa said over her shoulder, “and thanks. She sighed in Linda’s ear, but not with hesitance or resignation. No, Linda knew, Lisa was better than okay with what she would do tonight. That sigh had been eager. “Freezer?” Lisa reminded her, and she scurried to the kitchen to check on the ice packs. There were four; wrapped in soft towels they would be ideal for reducing the swelling.
“Perfect,” Lisa told her, “let’s get dressed.” Linda stood in the open door of the freezer for a motionless second, feeling the cold air wash in waves down her naked flesh, crinkling her nipples into hard buds, touching bare places that normally never faced the cold. She was staring blankly at the cold packs, remembering her first night with the new firm. “You’ll have to do more.” That phrase had drummed through her head the next morning like a hangover; wincing against the pain she had gone out shopping for the things she needed, hands trembling, body aching and raw skin rubbing in sensitive areas. She had called Connie and said she wasn’t feeling well, would pick Colin up at six that evening. She’d told Connie that she’d found a part-time job overnight in a convenience store, and Connie was more than willing to help her out; she knew she was struggling.
Escorting was for girls in their early twenties; she had taken a job as a Party Girl; it was all they would offer at her age, despite being happy with the photo. They had not expounded on what “more” would entail. But she had found out, the hard way.
“Hey! Dreamgirl!” she heard from over her shoulder, and she startled, closing the freezer door, seeing Lisa in the shining reflection. “C’mon, I’m gonna be late unless we get moving!” she urged. Linda broke her trance and returned to the bedroom.
Standing back in front of the mirror, she reached for the bra and fastened it in front, then spun it around in a practiced motion, and slipped the straps over her shoulders. She checked the mirror as Lisa cupped her breasts, hefting and settling their bulk in the too-small cups. Dark areole peeked over the top, the frail material failing to suppress her erect nipples.
“I love this one,” Lisa told her, “I hope they don’t ruin it.”
“I can get another,” Linda told her, “they’re not that expensive.” She smiled, proud of her frugality. “You’re such a slut,” she joked.
“And you’re so sensible,” Lisa kidded back, “it’s why we get along so well.” She stood with hands on her hips, legs slightly parted, naked but for the tiny bra. “Besides, one of us had to be. Hey! Maybe I’ll just go like this!” she chided.
Linda dismissed her and reached for the panties. A tiny wisp of a thing, they slipped up long smooth legs, stretching around shapely hips, and nearly disappearing as they settled into place. Lisa admired her shaved mound swelling beneath the translucent fabric. “Looking good,” she admired. “I hope you have more of these; they never make it home.”
“I bought a dozen,” Linda told her.
“Always thinking ahead,” Lisa congratulated. The stockings were next, then the dress. The conversation fell silent as Lisa’s exit drew nearer, and Linda found herself remembering, again, that first morning after.
She had showered until the hot water ran out, trying to scrub the effects of the night from her body long after the residue had circled the drain and disappeared. Then came the painful trip to the drugstore, and back to bed, getting up only to replace the cold packs. There was painful swelling and other aches, and she had cried until the Aleve let her fall asleep.
Party Girl. Innocuous term. Falls pretty short of describing what those ten men had done to her. She remembered back to the shock when they had thrown her on the bed, thinking as the first man shoved his hard cock into her mouth that it couldn’t get worse than this. But it had, and it stayed worse, and lasted hours. She had slipped into almost a trance, taking their abuse, more than faintly aware of the painful pounding she received. Over and over they took her, calling her names, fucking her cunt, her mouth, her ass; two, sometimes even three at a time. She had closed her eyes against a rain of semen, and had not opened them again until she was driving home, blinking away the torrent of tears that rinsed the cum from her face.
She had awakened in the mid-afternoon, still pained and sore, but the swelling between her legs was somewhat reduced, and she could stand without crying. She’d gone back to the bathroom and soaked in a hot bath, and when she had returned to the bedroom to tentatively survey the damage in the mirror, Lisa was there.
Startled at first, Lisa had calmed her, helping her examine herself, gingerly touching her swollen pussy, her abused and aching ass, her sore nipples. There was bruising on her hips and breasts, and red marks, from fingers, lips and teeth, covering her pale skin.
“No serious damage,” Lisa finally spoke, “nothing permanent.” The voice was familiar, but not one she recognized. Lisa had seen Linda’s confusion. “You don’t know me,” she said. “But I know you. We worked together; before. In college.”
Linda scanned her memory of the girls she knew from the service. She had never done any doubles, and barely knew the other girls. “Not like that,” Lisa corrected her. “Not with you. Instead of.” Linda’s confusion must have been obvious in her face. “You remember the first time you woke up at home, and couldn’t remember what you did the night before?”
Linda nodded. “Ronald,” she had answered the mirror. “He was…bad.”
“Yeah, he was pretty rough,” Lisa had told her. “You thought you drank too much and blacked out, or that he gave you a roofie or something,” she continued. “I let you believe that; it seemed easier then. But that was me.”
“You gave me a roofie?” she had asked, puzzled.
“No silly,” Lisa smiled. “I stepped in. I subbed. Took over for you.” Linda had stared into the mirror at the reflection as she explained. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself then, but it didn’t feel necessary at the time. Not like now.” Linda raised a hand to her face, felt Lisa softly stroking her cheek. “Most of those dates were easy, and fun; you could handle it.” Linda had remembered the dancing, the easy sex. “I only stepped in when it got difficult.” And Linda had recalled the few times, her last memory seeing the glare in the man’s eyes, feeling the grip of his hand, rough and intolerant. She would wake the next day, unable to recall the events, but for vague images and sensations. “So I covered for you when you needed me.” Lisa had told her. “You need me now. Colin needs me,” added. “He needs us.”
And then she had known.
Colin, her precious little man, was all that was important. Linda had considered giving up, never going back; she would beg in the streets before she suffered that again. But Lisa talked her out of it. “We need the money,” she had explained, as though Linda had forgotten. “I can do it. I can handle it. You can’t,” she had advised. “You get me ready, and you take care of me when I get home,” she had counseled, “you’re good at that. I’ll do the rest.”
Linda had felt bad at first, sending Lisa out to do such awful things. “You just take care of our little man,” she said, and Linda’s heart had swelled. It would be all right, she hoped. Together, we could do it. Lisa smiled at her in the mirror. “Good girl,” she told Linda.
In the months since their meeting, they had worked well together. Linda would shop, and prep, and dress, and they would talk as Lisa got ready. In the mornings, after, Linda would gently bathe and soothe Lisa, stroking her skin with gratitude and affection, expressing her thanks with soft hands, and cleaning inside and out. Sometimes Lisa would tell her of the awful things she did, just to make Linda blush coyly, to tease her. She told how she controlled the night, expressed herself, demanded more. “I never let them take control,” she said once, “I run the show. I let them know that I want more than they can imagine, and I let them think it’s all about them, like you did in college.”
She stepped back now, dressed, and studied the image in the mirror. Linda had to admit that Lisa was looking fine, and told her so.
“Thanks to you,” Lisa told her. “They’ll think I’m their dream come true.” She smiled devilishly.
“But you’re not,” Linda told her, and blew a kiss to the mirror. “Not theirs. Mine,” she smiled lovingly. “You’re my dream come true.” She watched Lisa blow a kiss back to her and smile, feeling the flutter in her chest again as a wave of gratitude nearly made her swoon. They stared at each other for a long, silent second.
“I gotta go,” Lisa told her softly.
“Okay,” she answered. “Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in the morning.” She didn’t move. “You look beautiful,” she added impulsively.
“I hope you still think so in the morning,” Lisa winked at her. “See you then.”
And Linda stepped away from the mirror, and Lisa headed out, for a night of untold debauchery and abuse. Grinning, she thought of the cocks she would have, the hard pounding she would take in her cunt and ass, feeling her muscles stretching around hard shafts. The painful pinching and biting of her nipples. As she reached the car and sat, she felt herself begin to moisten. She would have them all, over and over. And in the morning, stained and wet and sore, Linda would be there for her, to soothe the strain and cleanse the night away, and they would go get Colin from Connie’s, and they would hold him close, and never let him go.