Monday
When Katherine came in the house, the Eyesore was kneeling on the floor, naked with her face pressed to the floor, Katherine's martini in front of her. It was something to see the Eyesore's hands clasped behind her back, balancing herself with her face and her knees, awaiting me, Katherine thought. Katherine leaned down and picked up the martini and downed half of it, and then violently kicked the Eyesore in the ribs, and the slave fell over without a murmur.
"Katherine!" Yatesy, the Eyesore's husband and Katherine's wonderful lover came out of the living room, beer in hand. He looked down at the Eyesore and spat a glob onto the floor and snapped his fingers, and the Eyesore rolled over and licked up his phlegm gratefully.
"The Eyesore has been horny for you all day, darling." Yatesy said with a smile. "I tied in her vibrator when you left this morning, and I kept it at a low buzz while she gave me five or six blowjobs...she is just dying to cum."
Yatesy was barefoot, and he leaned against the wall and ran his big toe in and out of the Eyesore's shaved vagina.
"I had Mel and Teddy over today to play a little five-stud, and we gave her a marvelous little time....I don't think Teddy's been laid in a year, but I let the Eyesore lick his balls a bit while Mel and I put the clothespins you bought on Eyesore's boobs, and dragged her closer and closer with them."
Yatesy's toe was pushing the Eyesore's labia apart, and he asked Eyesore whether she'd like it if he pushed his entire foot in. "Later I told Eyesore I was going to give her a fucking, but of course I didn't...I slammed my dick in her a few times, but then I pulled out and came on her privates."
The Eyesore began weeping softly. Katherine smiled at Yatesy and reached down, slapping Eyesore hard on her left breast. "Stop your whining, you little slime" Katherine said in her bitchiest voice. Eyesore began crying harder, and Katherine slapped her left breast again.
Inwardly, Katherine sympathized a bit with the Eyesore ...it must be tough when you're one of the richest models in the world...but you're kept by your husband and his girlfriend, and despite being a classically beautiful honey blonde, having appeared in Vogue, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Elle, Amica, GQ, Seventeen, Cosmo Girl, Elle Girl, Gear, Marie Claire, Harper's Bazaar and having modeled for Giorgio Armani, Givenchy, Versace, Abercrombie & Fitch, Dolce & Gabbana, Christian Lacroix, Bagley Mischka, Gucci, Chanel, Bill Blass, Valentino, Galiano, Yves St Laurent, Clairol, Pantene, Ponds, Matrix, Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue, Holt Renfrew but still you're called the EYESORE all the time!
And "kept" isn't quite the right word, as the Eyesore actually supports us both on her huge salary... Katherine thought...But this is what she wanted, right?
How she tolerates it I don't know, Katherine thought, and she slapped the Eyesore's ass and made her lie on her side. Katherine then put one of her high heels on her left nipple, which was closest to the floor. As Katherine pressed the spike heel, driving the Eyesore's beautiful nipple into the floor, she smiled at Yatesy. "Honey, it sounds like you had quite a day!"
Yatesy snickered. "Well, it's tough looking after the little lady...hard work,but I earn my keep, right?"
As the Eyesore heard this, crouching on the floor, she flushed. She remembered when she'd met her future husband-she and some other models were serving Thanksgiving dinner at the St. Oscar's homeless shelter. It was a publicity stunt thing for charity, and of course she was well known, both for her modeling, and her role in several made-for-TV movies. Most of the bums coming up the line to get the turkey were begging for autographs, or just to touch her hand.
And then there was Yatesy...wearing a stained Army jacket, not good looking at all...but when she said in her breathy model voice, "Happy Thanksgiving" he'd told her she had spinach between her teeth. She was halfway through to the bathroom to check before she remembered there was no spinach served...the bastard.
So why did she take him home from the shelter? And why didn't she toss Yatesy out, when he read aloud from her diary about her desire to be beaten and tortured? "Shut up, you egotistical Eyesore" he'd said, and so she was christened, and he'd whispered it in her ear as he'd beaten her bare buttocks on their wedding night with a razor strop in the hotel room she paid for...
Tuesday
"Yeah, Cato, see dat? Dat's where we went to work ovah old Mist' Davidow. He sho' scream loud." Cato's bellowing laugh scorched Soapy's ears from the back of the van.
Soapy sighed as he parked the Little Shop van in front of the Silberman Court, a huge building on Madison Avenue. Getting out on the street side, Soapy crossed over and opened the van door for Plato and Cato, the huge black men who worked as facilitators for the Little Shop's business trips.
As Plato emerged from the van he waved at an elderly woman in a fox fur who blew him a kiss. "Dat's Mrs. Cohen, she likes bein' in diapers an' a bonnet." Soapy's mouth opened as he heard the woman, standing next to her chauffered black Lexus shout, "Look forward to Friday, Plato darling...hello Cato!"
All three men were dressed in the tuxedos that were the Little Shop's uniform when on a business visit. Soapy's monkey suit was a little too big for him but Plato and Cato's evening wear just barely fit them, as they were both 220 pounds of pure muscle, with shaven heads. Identical twins, the only way to tell them apart was that Plato had teeth.
As they stood on the sidewalk, Plato winked at Cato. "Dis is Mister Soaperstein's fir' bidness trip fo' the Little Shop, Cato. He don't look too relax." Cato not much for words, gave a toothless grin.
Perhaps Soapy was a bit resentful. The pay at the Little Shop was generous for a non-onerous job like Soapy had, considering he was a elementary school dropout on methadone maintenance, with the career skills of a zoo rhinocerous.
But though Soapy made in the thirties, he was aware that Plato and Cato, and their older twin brothers Myron and Byron, made far more money for only a few hours work. "Don't forget the black bag, Mist' Soaperstein." Plato warned and Soapy reached back in the van and got the heavy black leather satchel with "Little Shop" emblazoned on the side.
Plato pointed at the bag "De tools of our trade." He smirked and Cato laughed so hard that snot shot out of his large nose, landing on Soapy's shoes.
The three men entered the building and the elevator and Cato licked his big lips and pressed Button Eleven. "I see you've been here before." Soapy said listlessly.
"The Eyesore." Cato said, startling Soapy, as Cato wasn't much of a talker.
Plato frowned at his brother. "Call her Miz Yates out heah, Cato. Yeah, we like seein' her. She tip real well, and her mouth like a velvet covered vacuum cleaner." Cato giggled, coughing.
Plato elaborated. "It's not like old Mist' Davidow, he so nasty, sixty yeahs old has grey hair growin' in his ears. We like Miz Yates. Right Cato? He squirt in her eyes last time."
Cato thumped his fist on the elevator wall so hard that they all shook as the door opened on the eleventh floor. Soapy got his bearings, and they walked into the Folsom & Yates agency. Soapy had heard of some brilliant supermodel who was getting rich handling other models with her own agency... Jeez this was nice.
To Soapy's revulsion, Cato was flirting with the gorgeous little Asian receptionist, silently making ridiculous faces as she squealed, only containing her hilarity to buzz for Miss Pratt.
Suddenly an attractive redhead walked into the reception area. "Good afternoon, I'm Parker Pratt, Miss Yates' assistant." Parker Pratt was something. She offered Soapy two fingers to shake and embraced the two black men, who she was apparently long acquainted with.
