A Conspiracy Of Sluts Ch 04

Author's note: This is the fourth part of a five part novella. Each chapter is devoted to a different category of erotica: i.e. lesbian, group, interracial, BDSM, exhibitionism/voyeur (in that order). Although the five parts constitute a complete story I have tried to write each chapter so it could be enjoyed stand-alone as well (although I prefer you read the whole thing of course). I will post each chapter about a week apart. Enjoy!

*

Paige was agitated. She paced her tiny apartment with quick strides that covered the round trip from the front door to the bedroom window in a few seconds per lap. She mumbled to herself, cursing "Officer" Luke Burr, Douglas Parker, mysteriously disappearing Tony What's-His-Name and his stupid friend Neil. She cursed Marie for tempting her into a fevered night of lesbian sex then not calling her back. She cursed herself for becoming a stupid horny slut at this stage of her life. She cursed her sister for having had the good sense to be a stupid horny slut when she was young while Paige had stayed at home studying, doing homework and eating whole boxes of pop-tarts at a sitting. She cursed stupid God for giving her a stupid fucking vagina.

She tried to nap but couldn't sleep. She mixed up some cranberry juice and vodka and drank it while she watched the last half of one of the old Thin Man movies on TCM: the one where Jimmy Stewart turns out to be the murderer. The physical, mental and moral exhaustion of the day finally caught up with her just before the film reached its denouement and she fell asleep in her chair. When she woke up it was almost three in the afternoon.

She checked her phone for messages. There was one from her supervisor, hoping she was OK and encouraging her to take it easy. Still nothing from Marie. She put the phone down and fidgeted around the apartment for a few minutes, trying to talk herself out of calling Marie again. She didn't want to be an obsessive one night stand; calling and calling and calling and not getting the hint. But - damn it - wasn't there anyone who was willing to have sex with her more than once?

She picked up the phone and selected Marie's number.

"Heeeey, girl!" sang Marie into the phone after the first ring. "What's up?"

Paige had expected to get Marie's voice mail again. She had a calm, friendly message all lined up in her head. However, getting Marie in person threw her off her plan. "Where have you been? I've been freaking out!"

Marie laughed. "I heard you met Luke."

"So you know Luke?"

"Luke's an old friend. I asked him to keep Doug off your back but I told him to keep it on the down low. Sounds like he got a little carried away. Luke isn't too good with subtleties." Marie laughed again.

"So he told you he fucked me?"

"Did you mind?"

"He had people behind a mirror watching us..."

"He told me you thought that. He says it's not true."

"I know it

is

true."

"Listen, Honey, I don't want to get in the middle of this. I've told him to leave you alone from now on. That's the best I can do. If some of those other security guys were watching... well, they've certainly been undressing you with their eyes every time you walked through the lobby anyway. At least now they won't have to stare as hard."

"Oh Jesus," groaned Paige.

"So, what else is new with you?"

"I slept with two guys on Saturday... at the same time, I mean."

"Woo! You

go

girl!"

"Yeah... it was pretty awesome," she admitted. "But I went down to his apartment the next day and it was empty... I'm starting to think something weird is going on."

"Maybe he just wasn't home?"

"No. It was

empty

. No furniture, it was being repainted, the heat was fixed. And speaking of the heat thing, that was

really

weird because they'd told me..."

Marie interrupted. "You're just freaking out because you're feeling guilty for letting yourself have a little fun for once. So what if the apartment was empty? It's New York. People come, people go."

"But..."

"Listen baby-pop, tonight I'm going over a friend's place to hang out. Why don't you come along? It sounds like you could stand getting out of that tiny apartment of yours and I think you'd like my friends. Wha'd'ya say?"

A smile split Paige's face. She felt suddenly giddy, light as a feather, all cares and confusion washed away. "Well,

yeah

... That'd be great."

"Excellent!" said Marie. "I'll be over at about seven to pick you up." And she hung up.

The panic began almost immediately, kicked up by a sudden dread of meeting Marie's friends, who Paige assumed would all be impossibly classy, cool and sexy. Paige methodically emptied her closet looking for something to wear. She wanted something sleek and spicy or, failing that, at least something non-frumpy. But soon she was confronted by a pile of unacceptable garments stacked atop her bed and a closet empty of everything but bare hangers and old fat-Paige clothes. It was time for plan B. She needed to go shopping.

As she descended in the elevator she did a quick mental re-budgeting. Of course she really couldn't afford to replace her whole wardrobe; the debt from her medical expenses was staggering. But she was working again with regular paydays on the horizon. Surely two or three cute outfits - no, scratch that,

hot

,

alluring

outfits, not "cute" - wouldn't break her budget... Well, maybe it would in the short term... but, damn it, she didn't want to feel like a Laura Ingalls at Caligula's court if Marie was taking her to an orgy or something.

Orgy?

Paige paused on the sidewalk in mid step.

Orgy

, she thought, again. Is that what she was rushing towards? Knowing Marie -- if she could even be said to actually

know

Marie -- probably, yeah.

"What the hell am I doing...?" she said aloud as she stood stalled on the sidewalk. This time of day it was only moderately busy with foot traffic. She moved to the side to get out of the current of humanity as she wrestled with her moral panic. She'd been smashing through long-held taboos so quickly lately that her moral qualms had begun to blur. It was like some force had been compelling her forward into greater and greater feats of depravity until some atavistic part of her had sparked into action and now she was rushing headlong towards she-knew-not-what under her own power. The suspicion that something weird was going on -- curtailed for a time when Marie had answered her phone and invited her on some new adventure -- reasserted itself. Her heart raced. Her palms were damp.

That's when she noticed she was outside the vegan restaurant where'd she met with Marie last week: "The Gentle Gourmet" it was called. Curious and eager for a distraction, she peeked in through the front window. Inside, she saw Marie's flakey restaurateur friend Heather speak to a waitress briefly then turn and disappear into the kitchen.

Paige went in.

"You can sit anywhere you'd like," said the waitress, a cute girl with bobbed red hair and the beginnings of what would probably be a sleeve of colorful tattoos someday.

"I want to speak to Heather."

"Let me see if she's busy."

As she turned toward the kitchen Heather stepped out. She seemed surprised, maybe even a little alarmed, to see Paige standing there.

"Hello," she said with a polite smile. "You're Marie's friend."

"Yes, that's right. I'd... I'd like to talk to you... can we go somewhere private?"

Heather looked around the restaurant. It was nearly empty but it didn't seem to satisfy. "My office?"

"Sure."

The office was in the back of the kitchen. It was more of a large closet really, with a small desk, a filing cabinet and a safe. There was barely room for two people to sit. Their knees nearly touched as they sat facing each other. Heather closed the door and waited for Paige to speak.

"Um...look, you know Marie; she's very, um, nice. But... but I get the feeling something is going on... I feel like I'm being set up for these...

weird

situations..."

"

Situations

?"

"

Sexual

situations."

Heather seemed nonplussed. "Well, Marie is a bit of a free spirit..."

"I think there's some kind of... I hate to use this word...

conspiracy

to lure me into these sexual situations..."

"A

conspiracy

?"

"It sounds crazy saying it out loud, but there've been so many strange things..."

"You seem a little agitated... let me get you some tea."

"I don't..."

"No. I insist. It will calm your nerves. Then you can tell me what you think is happening."

Paige breathed a sigh of relief. Heather wasn't laughing in her face. That was much better response than she expected. "OK. I'll have some tea."

Heather disappeared for a while and returned with some oddly colored hot water in sturdy porcelain cups. It tasted a little harsh but she drank it eagerly as her throat grew dry telling Heather the story of her recent descent into sluthood. Heather listened politely, saying little as she watched Paige drink the tea and speak.

Finally she finished her story. "Well? You know Marie better than me... What do you think?"

Heather seemed vaguely distressed to be asked her opinion. "I... I don't mean to... Well, it sounds kind of... well,

incredible

..."

"So you think I'm making this up?"

"You have to admit it sounds odd. You

did

admit it."

"I..."

The door to the office opened and a man stepped in. "Hey Heather, I'm..." he began to say. Paige looked up and saw Neil, the meathead blond she'd had the three-way with at Tony's apartment on Saturday.

"YOU!" said Paige.

"Aw

shit

," said Neil.

"Look, Paige..." said Heather in a hurry. She suddenly seemed very panicky.

"

You're in on it

!" spat Paige as she stood quickly and jabbed an accusatory finger at Heater.

Then the world did a wild lurching spin as Paige's knees gave out and her vision went all grainy and washed out. She crumpled into Neil's meaty arms.

"What the fuck is

she

doing here?!" cried Neil.

Heather shushed him as she clamped her hand across Paige's mouth. She needn't have bothered. Paige discovered her tongue was working about as well as her legs.

"Just hold on to her," she said. "The drugs are finally kicking in."

***

Pale fingers of rosy light woke her as the waning radiance of dusk crept across her face and stabbed rudely through her eyelids. As she shook herself from a dream both disturbing and enticing she became aware of a painful dryness in her mouth and a sharp ache that throbbed between her temples. She rolled away from the light but the headache followed. She half opened an eye and saw a room that was unfamiliar. She tried to think but her mind was slow and foggy. The dry flesh of her tongue and lips remained stubbornly stuck together as if painted with thick paste.

She sat up and slick satin sheets slipped off her bare breasts to pool around her hips. She covered her nipples with her fingers as she looked around the room. One wall was a huge window slatted by floor to ceiling vertical blinds; the other walls were painted a muted pink. She crawled to the side of the bed furthest from the window and lay there rubbing her temples with her palms pressed to her eyes.

She swung her legs off the bed and felt them buckle beneath her. Sitting in the shadow of the mattress she held onto the plush rug as the world swirled around her. Unsteadily, she crawled on her hands and knees toward the window, found the drawstring and yanked the blinds closed. She lay panting in the dim light for several minutes, looking at everything, focusing on nothing.

She pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from the window. Gradually she began to inspect her surroundings. There was the bed, an oil painting on the wall, a long cherry-wood credenza, and a matching end table on which rested a glass pitcher of water and a tumbler. She lifted the pitcher to her lips and drank, tipping it too fast so excess water coursed down her naked body. The coolness jolted her further into cognizance.

She drank too fast. A cramp in her abdomen made her stop. She stood up and leaned against the credenza, looking up at the big painting looming over her: a formless mishmash of colors barely blended and glopped thickly on the canvas. Testing her legs, Paige pushed away from the credenza and walked around the bed. From across the room the kaleidoscope of colors resolved themselves into artfully blended shades of pinks, reds, grays and blacks. Only then did she realize the painting was a close-up of an aroused and very wet vulva, a pearly seep of white oozing down a channel of distended, ruddy-tinged labia. Paige turned away, blushing.

It was only then that she remembered.

Marie's friend Heather had drugged her

! But why? Sex slavery? Blackmail? Forced surrogacy? She had no idea but every option seemed terrifying.

She searched the room again. She wondered if there were cameras in here, watching her. She pulled the red satin sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders like a robe. She went to the window, pulled the blinds aside and squinted into the golden light of the waning evening. She was in a tall building, high up. The view looked out over Central Park.

Panic blooming within her, Paige went to the door. She expected it to be locked but was surprised when the knob turned easily and the latch opened with a soft click. She gave it a gentle pull and it swung wide, revealing a hallway painted warm grey and hung with a series of small paintings even more pornographic than the five foot semen-soaked vulva in the room behind her. She peeked down the hallway and saw that it emptied into a large room aglow with the fading light of the spent day. In that room, framed in the angles of the mouth of the corridor, a young man sat at a glass table, hunched over something engrossing. He wore leather shorts and nothing else.

The young man's elbow was on the table and his head was cradled in his palm. She couldn't see his face. He was well muscled and very trim; even leaning forward in the chair didn't produce a roll in his belly. Paige watched as he scribbled hesitantly while occasionally consulting a large book or tapping impatiently at a calculator. Paige grinned despite herself when she recognized the body language. The guy seemed to be struggling with some kind of math homework.

Paige carefully snuck down the hallway. On the far side of the big room beyond the end of her corridor was another corridor that led to what looked like an elevator door. She considered trying to sneak past the distracted math student but she paused. It was too easy. It must be a trap. She remembered some war movie she had once watched with her father where the evil enemy soldiers had allowed the hero to escape just so they could catch him, punish him and crush his will. Of course the hero wasn't so easily crushed but Paige was no hero. Nervously, she reversed her course.

She began creeping carefully backward, not making any noise, not moving too fast. But when she was still a couple of yards from the door the math student sighed heavily and sat up in his chair. Paige froze. He suddenly turned his head and looked right at her. He was a beautiful young man, a boy really, late teens or maybe early twenties, tanned and unblemished, but in his mouth was an ugly black ball gag perforated with breathing holes; the strap ran around to the back of his head and disappeared into his shoulder length, wavy black hair. His eyes registered surprise, Paige's terror. She jumped back into the room and slammed the door.

She knew he was going to come for her but she had no place to hide, no place to run. She crawled up on the bed and pulled her sheet tighter around her. She watched the knob with dread, knowing that when it turned she would certainly be raped, tortured or worse.

Instead there was a knock: quiet and polite.

"Go away!" cried Paige.

But the knob turned nonetheless. The door swung open and the slender but muscular young math student hesitantly walked in.

He was carrying a stack of what looked like index cards. He held them with both hands. His eyes were kind and apologetic. He approached the bed carefully and held out a card. Paige timidly reached out and took it. It was handwritten in elegant calligraphic copperplate, saying: "Please do not be alarmed. We mean you no harm. My Mistress would like to speak to you."

"What's with the gag?" asked Paige. Her voice quivered with barely restrained panic.

The young man sorted through the stack of cards and pulled one out. He handed it over to Paige. It said: "My Mistress does not want me to reveal details she would prefer to reveal herself. This gag, in conjunction with these pre-written cards, ensures that I can only communicate what I am allowed to communicate."

"You're fucking kidding me."

The kid held out another card. It read: "No, I am not kidding you."

Paige smiled a wry one.

Real cute

. She looked up from the card at the boy. He smiled kindly at her through his eyes. Paige was stuck by how attractive he was. Almost too attractive; feminine; a little... well...

faggy

. But still, he was fine, very fine.

"So, who's this 'mistress' of yours?" she asked.

He looked at his cards and back at her. He shook his head. No card for that question.

"Who are you then?"

He had a card for that one. It read: "My name is Malcolm. I work for The Mistress in various private capacities."

"Private capacities? So, you're her concubine?"

Malcolm thought about it for a couple of seconds, shrugged and nodded.

"Like in exchange for tuition money?"

Malcolm nodded eagerly; he seemed to be impressed by her deductive powers. He gave her the thumbs up sign. Paige smiled reluctantly.

"So what does she want with me?"

Malcolm looked at his stack of cards, shrugged and shook his head. No card for that either.

So the situation was weird but, apparently, not deadly. Paige relaxed and sat back on the mattress. And that's when it hit her, all of the various clues that had been swimming around in her head coming together at once and breaking into her consciousness as a cohesive whole. She knew where she was. And she knew who this "Mistress" was too!

It all began several months before Paige started working at Oreskos Corp. The Great Old Man, founder of the company, Ari Oreskos had been dead for nearly a decade but his daughter -- a wild and irresponsible young woman, according to rumor -- had managed to force her way into the corporate decision making. No one knew how she managed the coup and no one was pleased with her choices. Her biggest boondoggle was the purchase of the doomed project on Fifth Avenue across from the park. Young Miss Oreskos had acquired it for more than it was worth from a large development firm driven to the brink of bankruptcy by the self-same property. The costs to finish it had been astronomical and many long-time employees had fled in the belief that Miss Oreskos was driving the company right into the ground. In fact, Paige owed her job to a vacancy left by a panicked father of three who couldn't afford to follow the company into financial ruin. Paige was just out of graduate school so she didn't mind. The fiscal chaos of the situation had kind of intrigued her, actually.

Of course, during her long, life-threatening illness Paige didn't think of the Chastanet Tower Project -- as it was known around Oreskos Corp -- at all. But in the few weeks since Paige had returned to work but she had already noticed that the property was still bleeding serious money. Occupancy was good but costs were bizarrely high. At the time she'd wondered if that had anything to do with the current occupant of the property's penthouse, a certain Miss A. Oreskos.

And now she knew... that's where she was: the penthouse of the Chastanet Tower, the guest of the young "Mistress" Oreskos, her boss. It all fit together so fucking neatly.