Moondust Hollow Ch 05 Model

[continued]

Elsie fell into bed clutching to her chest the money Kevin had paid her. She'd counted it twice already, just to reassure herself it was all there: one hundred in soft, worn bills. He hadn't tried to stiff her. She was lucky, she knew; didn't lots of men try to avoid paying for sex work after they were finished? But Kevin had dealt honestly with her. Respectfully, even. Maybe it was different when your sex worker lived in the house closest to yours, a short ten minute walk from the village. Or maybe he was just a decent guy.

She'd been lucky, too, that Jessie hadn't minded. The woman had, in fact, been grateful to Elsie for taking care of her husband. Her gratitude had taken Elsie aback in the moment, but the woman's reaction could have gone so much worse. If Jessie had been mad and threatened to tell others, or had taken more active, immediate revenge... Elsie shivered in the cool night air that filtered through the holes in her rickety farm house. No, tonight had gone just about as well as she could have hoped, all things considered.

The only thing that bothered her was how un-bothered she felt in the wake of the event. She'd had sex for money. Well, not quite sex; she'd kept her clothes on and just let her mouth be used. And if technicalities mattered, this wasn't her first time; not if one counted the previous nights when she'd had sex as payment against the debt she owed the town. But this was her first time to have sex for cash in hand, and she'd expected to be more upset with herself. Wasn't that the ultimate insult when she was younger and popular girls in school wanted to ruin someone's reputation? 'Slut' was bad, but 'whore' was worse.

Now Elsie was a whore-how gleeful the schoolgirls in her past would be to learn it!-yet that part didn't bother her one bit. Her fingers caressed the wad of bills as she lay in the dark, her mind busy planning the seeds she would buy in the morning with this new influx of cash. She'd been so nervous for days, fretting that her first crop might fail and leave her penniless, that the relief she felt now was heady. Whatever else happened, she would stave off ruination a little longer. Moreover, if Kevin's offer of future sex work with him was real, she had a safety net now. Not a big one, but enough to bring her peace of mind.

No, the thing that made her burn with shame wasn't the money. What tormented her in the darkness was the awareness that she'd enjoyed Kevin's use of her. She had been able to explain away the feeling before, when she was with the couples; after all, how could she not enjoy Robin's mouth or Caroline's silicone dildo? But now there was no mouth to blame for her pleasure, nothing phallic between her legs to take credit for her arousal. Kevin had pinned her hands under his legs and taken control of her mouth, moving her head up and down his cock like she were nothing more than a masturbation sleeve-and she'd loved it.

Elsie found herself at peace with having performed sex work, could even see herself doing more in the future if she needed the money. Work was work, and at the end of it all she'd been surprised to look back and realize the hour she'd spent working for a hundred was no more or less a blow to her dignity than all the years she'd spent in a cubicle working for far less. But she didn't know how to live with the fact that she enjoyed being hurt, used, and degraded. What were her limits? Did she even have any? Questions without answers bit as hard as the night wind until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

--

Paul's smile was bright and easy when she went to the shop the next morning to buy seeds. She'd feared he would be unprofessional after the night she'd spent with him and his wife-gross or leering or just overly familiar-but he was the soul of courtesy. He wrapped up her purchases without question, not asking where her windfall had come from. Elsie bit back her tongue from volunteering a false story in which her father had mailed her the money, recognizing that giving answers unprompted would only look suspicious. She ran home clutching her bounty as though the squirrels would steal her seeds if she lingered on the road.

The seeds slid into the land she'd cleared the day before like seals slipping into the sea. Elsie watered the little jewels, whispered a prayer into the soil, and headed back inside to shower and nap away the lingering exhaustion. She set an alarm so she'd have time to wake and dress before going to work the evening shift with... Elsie squinted at the schedule left in her mailbox. Chase, the blacksmith on the far side of the village. He lived alone and wasn't married-this would be the first single-person 'family' she was sent to serve.

Elsie fell into bed, too tired for misgivings, and just hoped he needed normal blacksmithing help around the house. Maybe she could wash his clothes or something.

--

"You're early. Hi. I wasn't expecting... No, but that's good. Come in."

The village blacksmith was in his mid-thirties, but his awkward stammer made him seem younger. He wiped the palms on his apron and offered a hand for her to shake. "Don't mind the heat. I turned off the furnace an hour ago because I knew you were coming, but I forget how long it takes to cool down. You wouldn't think I could forget since I live here, but you get used to the heat and stop noticing it. What size are you?"

Elsie blinked at him, discombobulated by the sudden inappropriate question. "Pardon?"

She couldn't keep the shock from her voice and he backpedaled. "I mean, you're smaller than I'd expected!" The 'praise' was so clearly what he thought he was supposed to say that it swung back around to be insulting; debt or not, she didn't need his opinions on her body one way or the other. She shot a cautionary glare in his direction, but he seemed unfazed by her scowl. "It's just, I'm not sure it'll fit."

Confusion caused her frown to shift slightly. "Not sure what will fit?"

"The dress?" Now it was his turn to look confused. "You're here to model, right? You can't wear diamonds in overalls. Well, I guess you can," he mused, turning thoughtful, "but I don't think it would work in an advertisement. Unless the contrast was the point. But tonight we're going classic. Debutante ball. Cinderella story. Rags to riches, but without the rags. Am I making any kind of sense or is it all just a babble?"

Visions of famous serial killers swum in her head and Elsie swallowed, fighting the urge to flee. "Um. Chase? I don't know that I want to wear your, uh, dresses and jewelry. I'm here to help with chores? If you don't have any chores, I can just get out of your hair and go."

He had already turned away and was fiddling with what looked like an expensive camera; he glanced up, frowning again. "Yes, that's what we're doing," he explained, still looking puzzled. "The dress is hanging on the privacy screen in the bedroom. Come back out when it's on and we'll do makeup and lighting. Damn, I wish I'd thought to get a wig; I don't think rubies will go with your hair color. But the emeralds will, and I've been trying to move those for forever. Hang on, I need to get them out from under the counter."

Elsie blinked as he moved to fuss under a glass counter, then her eyes widened as she took in the jewelry pieces she'd not seen at first with the shop lighting turned off for the evening. Delicate diamond necklaces, glittering ruby earrings, bracelets set with cluster chips of emeralds: the pieces were beautiful and intricate even in the low lighting. They weren't huge or gaudy, and there was a rustic air about them as though the maker weren't working with the most expensive tools, but the jewelry had a breathtaking authenticity lacking from the chain stores she'd visited in the city. Elsie gasped and brushed her fingers over the glass.

"Oh, you like them?" Chase looked up, a shy smile in the corner of his mouth. "I make them myself. I mean, obviously, stupid thing to say. Let me know if the dress doesn't fit, but worst case we can use clips. I'm not photographing you from behind, so it doesn't have to be perfect as long as it looks good from the front."

He gestured at a door in the back of the shop which apparently led to his bedroom. Elsie headed back with only lingering misgiving, closing the door and moving around behind the standing privacy screen for extra peace of mind. The white dress that awaited her on the other side was strapless and sleeveless with accompanying elbow-length opera gloves set to the side. She studied the outfit with a dubious expression; it wasn't a wedding dress, but there was an unsettling feeling of forced purity to the outfit all the same.

Shedding her clothes quickly, she pulled the gown on. The fit was not splendid, but she did what she could with the places up top which were too loose and the places below which stuck out at stubborn curvy angles. The mirror standing in the far corner of the room received a warning look and a reminder that it could keep its opinions to itself; if Chase wanted a slender supermodel to wear his art, he could hire a proper one.

However, when she walked back out in the main shop, stepping lightly on her bare feet and feeling a bit like a kid wearing her mother's grown-up clothes, Chase just smiled benignly at her, not seeming to notice any imperfections in the fit. "Oh, good! I wasn't sure if it would. I thought you were the same size as Holly, but I mean. Who can tell by looking?" He shrugged and turned back to his camera. "Sit down and wait. Thanks."

A lounging couch had been placed nearby with a dark drop cloth cover, presumably chosen to offset her white gown. She sat and waited while he fussed with his camera, then with lights, then with holding several jewelry pieces to her skin and humming to himself as he made decisions he didn't bother to share with her. Elsie grew increasingly bored as the minutes ticked into a full hour gone by with nothing done, and her boredom was not alleviated when he brought out a makeup kit and walked her through the look he wanted.

"The model isn't the focus, you see. I don't want people looking at you. I want them looking at my work. So, lips, yes. Absolutely. And powder here-", his finger swiped the air over her low neckline, "-so the lights don't glare off your skin. But your eyes won't ever be in the shot, so you don't have to worry about those. I want to get three necklaces, four bracelets, and two sets of earrings. I think that's a good night's work."

He watched her while she applied makeup, reaching in to add more powder where he felt it was needed, and generally being more of a nuisance than if he'd just done it all himself to start. Still, at the end, his beaming smile of pleasure at her made it almost worth the trouble: he looked absolutely delighted. "Perfect. You're perfect, you know that? What shall we call you? What's a good southern belle name?"

Elsie couldn't help but grin in her confusion. "What's wrong with Elsie? I like being Elsie. It's a good name."

Chase shook his head. "No, no, you can't be yourself!" he protested with a laugh. "You don't wear jewels while farming, do you? No, I didn't think so. Hmm. Violet. That's a good name. Tonight you're Violet. Now hold still, Violet, I want to do the full diamond set first. Hands in your lap, crossed just so. Perfect."

He turned serious as he staged her, becoming silent again. Elsie found an odd eroticism in the impersonality of the work: he touched her skin when he draped jewelry on her, but he wasn't touching her; he stood close and zoomed his camera even closer, but he wasn't taking pictures of her. She didn't exist for him. Her body did, a little, but mostly she was just a stand for his art. A living mannequin for him to manipulate.

Then, too, there was appeal in the way his shyness evaporated as he worked. He put her hands in her lap, arranging them just so as he sought the perfect picture for his bracelets. He draped her hair over her shoulder, then back, then behind her ear, then forward again. He leaned in and touched up her lipstick, determined to get the shine exactly right as her lips hovered at the top of the frame for a necklace shot.

"I'll bet," he murmured, his voice quiet and musing as he worked; he'd done the diamond set and was moving onto individual pieces of emerald, "you wouldn't even talk to me if you met me on the street."

Elsie blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Rich girl like you," he continued, studying her ears as he clipped a single drop earring on the side he wanted to photograph. "Miss Violet. Hoity-fucking-toity heiress from the city. Surprised you even stepped foot in my shop. What, didn't trust an errand girl to come down and pick up your custom order?"

She stared at him and cleared her throat. "Chase?"

He made a sarcastic show of reeling back in surprise, pausing to take another picture before settling into place and turning her chin for a new angle. "My god, she knows my name and can use it," he observed in an angry deadpan. "My cup runneth over with gratitude, your ladyship. This peon humbly thanks you for your grasp of basic manners. That's how you expect me to react, isn't it? Over-fucking-joyed?

Elsie froze in place. This was some kind of game, obviously, but one she had no idea how to play-and no desire to learn. She swallowed, hoping her lack of response would cause him to lose interest and go back to the silence he'd employed before.

Instead, his hand flashed out and struck her on the cheek. Not hard, but enough to make her jump; no one had struck her face since she was a small child. "I'm talking to you, Violet. I'm well aware you think you're better than me, but you don't pay me enough to play along. Answer me when I speak to you."

Her breath shaky, Elsie turned her eyes to look at him, remaining motionless for the camera that still clicked over her skin. "I'm sorry?" The tiny uptick questioned whether this was enough, whether her answer was right. "I wasn't sure what to say, Chase." She racked her brain, wondering what excuse 'Violet' would give. "No one's ever spoken to me like that before." That much was true for Elsie as well.

Chase snorted, but at least no further strikes rained down on her. "You'd be better off if more people did, Violet. You've been spoiled since the day you were born and now you're a selfish overgrown child. People would spit on you if they didn't want a piece of your daddy's money. Lift your chin."

She did so, lip quivering, and he snapped another picture. "Please," Elsie whispered, trying to catch his eye.

He didn't look at her, his attention taken by his work. "Please what?"

Please don't hurt me, she wanted to say. Please let me go home. Please don't make me play this game. Please go back to being the nice guy you were before all this began. Elsie swallowed again, trying to play along and not anger him, but hoping he would hear the genuine fear in her voice. "Please, I don't want you to dislike me. I'm not a selfish child, I'm not... I'm not the Violet you think I am."

That finally drew his eyes to hers, but his expression was flat. Skeptical. He set his camera aside with care, making sure it wouldn't fall from where he placed it, and turned back to her. "Really."

"Really," she insisted, nodding her head. "I'm... I'm rich, yes, but I'm not... I like you. Your work is lovely and you seem like a nice person worth being friends with. Will you be my friend?"

Chase snorted again, dry amusement in his face. "Like you know how to have friends, Violet," he scoffed, but he tilted his head and seemed to come to a decision. "All right. Show me how you treat a 'friend'." He took her wrist in his hand, fingers hard on the white opera glove, and placed her hand in his lap with the same easy ownership as when he was staging her hands in her own lap. His cock was hard in his trousers, hard enough to feel through the layers of cloth between them, and her hand trembled. Slowly, Elsie began to caress him, all the while calculating the distance to the door. Maybe if she bolted from her seat...

He scooted his stool closer to the couch and gathered up the folds of her long dress in a single quick movement. Before she could react, his hand was between her legs, forcing itself between her thighs. Elsie gasped and tried to squirm away, only to receive another quick slap to the cheek. "Violet," he ordered in a stern voice, and she froze again. "Are we friends or aren't we?"

"Chase..." She whimpered, blinking back tears. His free hand, the one that had struck her, rested on her left breast without a hint of hesitation. Through the fabric, he found the pebble of her nipple and pinched. Elsie gasped at the sudden shooting pain in her chest. To her utter horror and humiliation she felt her pussy twitch in needy response.

"Are. We. Friends." Each word was punctuated with another brutal pinch and she nodded.

"Yes! Yes, Chase, we're friends. I like you a lot. I do." She choked back a sob as his hand slid higher between her clenched thighs. "I just don't think-"

"Violet." The word was commanding on his tongue but there was a softer tone in his voice, an offer of gentle treatment extended to a recalcitrant child-if it will just obey. "You aren't here to think. It's not your strong point. Anyone who says otherwise is flattering you. Now be a good girl and open your fucking legs."

The command ended in a quiet snarl and she snapped her knees apart in fear, too terrified to deny him any longer. His hand surged forward, two fingers sliding into the wetness of her without a moment's hesitation. His thumb remained on her clit, grinding against the sensitive nub while his fingers beat a quick rhythm against her. Free from prelude, he towered over her where he sat, fingering her as fast as he could move; his arm jerked back and forth like a diabolical piston on a machine built to torture her.

Elsie gasped and curled forward, pressing her head into his shoulder so he couldn't see her face; it was safer to let his imagination fill in whatever expression she was supposed to be feeling. His movements were too rough to pleasure her properly, sending waves of pain through her body. She couldn't orgasm like this; she could barely keep herself from sobbing into his shoulder. This was misery, unlike anything she had felt with the others she'd so far 'worked' for.

Yet, unconnected from the movement of his fingers, she felt a building arousal that set a boil in her blood. The pain was present, real, and agonizing, but the pain itself was an aphrodisiac. No, she decided as she gasped for air and bit his shoulder to steady herself; it wasn't the pain, precisely. What aroused her was her own helplessness and his total unflinching willingness to exploit it. He didn't care what she wanted, or how she felt; he was fingering her, yes, but the pleasure he demanded from her was all for him, another way for him to exert control over her.

He might even, she realized with a twist to her stomach that was like a kick, realize he was hurting her as he fingered her. Maybe he was getting off on making her pretend she was enjoying this, just as he was clearly aroused by the other layers of pretense. How deep did this game go, and where was the bottom?

Her insides twitched and clutched at him as she bit down harder on his shoulder. He chuckled in her ear, his voice low and warm. "Slut," he whispered, sounding pleased with himself. "Do you always come so easily for your 'friends'? At least you'll be useful to whatever business partner your daddy marries you off to." Elsie's cheeks burned against his shirt, but the words only made her insides curl harder. Having her rising need mistaken for an orgasm-or his choice to pretend it was-only fed the cycle of fiery humiliation.

"Thank you," she whispered. It seemed the safe response.

His forefinger and thumb pinched her nipple through the dress again and this time didn't let go; pain built as she bit her lower lip and held back a yelp. "I think you can thank me better than that, Violet. Agreed?"