Free Use 4

Off the street, across a big empty truck parking lot, and down the concrete steps, I walked to the big gray steel door. Everything had been dilapidated until here: grass cracking through the concrete, discarded sensory stimulator units, and tire rubber marks from burnouts. However, that gray steel door was immaculate - not a single scratch, the light reflecting perfectly even over the whole surface, and the gap between the door and the frame perfectly smooth. The echo of my heels still sounded in my ear, like a familiar soundtrack of my life that made me feel untouchable.

I steeled my nerves while I held the steel handle for a moment. I zipped up all my emotions, tensed my body, and focused on the goal: The door at the end of the long hallway. I would have to hold myself together for sixty seconds of small talk. Then everything would be taken care off. My persona: The long legs, the snug, supple leather on my body, and the cool wrap-around sunglasses would take care of everything. I simply had to be the fantasy that they believed in for a few seconds, not long enough to see the real person and to see into my soul. They were looking for a product. I was that product.

Snap. The door swung open. Janet was at the reception desk: black hair with a single red strand, running like fire down the length of her side face. If you looked closely, the holographic effect made you see the flames. Her face was perfectly white. The lips were so most radiant red. The makeup around her eyes and lips made her look like an eternally happy girl. She didn't even have to try to smile. She looked perpetually surprised and delighted. With big struts, I swung past her desk, the black-suited security guards not even twitching an eye.

Next was the long aisle down the center of the cubicle farm. Slate-gray steel walls enclosed the small working spaces. An opening, not a door, allowed small glimpses inside. A tall woman with a lace thong running over her hip exposed her butt, which had swelled to round and ripe proportions from her kneeling the pink-stained sheep fur with her knees spread wide. She allowed her head and hair to drop back while her shiny red nails ran down her chest. The wall-sized screen faced her with the ABC Entertainers logo - a pink halo that wobbled like plasma. She was performing for an audience unknown, running fantasies through her head of exotic locations and rich, handsome customers whom she was entertaining.

Swoosh, it had only been a brief glimpse, she strutted down the hallway like a storm, only registering the cube openings in the corner of her eyes. A stubby, short woman with her head caught in a wood block, the ass high and red from a wooden panel whacking down on it. The second half of the hallway was lined with shiny steel reinforced doors that had number pads on the door. The symbols were alien-language-looking dashes and dots. These were the private rooms for clients to take performers inside. They were soundproof. The steel walls were so sturdy that they were low-level military spec grade.

A Japanese man in a business suit stumbled outside. He was so badly drunken that he had to lean against the doorframe. His white shirt was ripped open wide with a button hanging from a two-inch long thread. Lipstick was liberally smeared over his waxed chest. His eyes were wide open like he had no care in the world and was living in the moment. The green eye inserts made him look even wilder. His arms dangled in the air, never stopping moving like he was in some kind of trance from incredible sex. In the depth of the cubicle was the back silhouette for a skinny woman hurriedly putting her blouse back on. She seemed completely sober and clear-minded. The man watched her as she walked past. His eyes were leary, ready to get salacious, but his mind was in too deep of a stupor to take any action. She swooshed past him.

At the far end of the hallway was the office. The right security guard reached forward to open the door for her. He never spoke. His movements were limited to opening the door and standing motionless in his black pin-striped suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He had his earpiece. The head was shaved, little black dots showing. He was pure muscle, obedient like a machine. Her heart rate spiked. This was her moment. She had to keep herself together for sixty seconds.

Her eyes darted for the chair in the room. It was more like a cradle. It let her recline back into it. A headrest was contoured to the back of her head. A long draping armrest supported her arms. Her lacks were slanted forward. She was half reclining. Her reflective glasses made her look cool. She kept her chin high like she was better. Kagan swiveled around in his office chair, away from the monitors. There was a video conference call on mute. She could come in any time. She was the priority. He wore expensive clothes. The fabrics were highly refined with how they reflected the light and how the texture intrigued the eyes. Yet he was also dressed very ready to work. Unlike the owners, he was in a place of power but had to keep the place running.

"Are you ready, Amber?" he asked her, warm, candid, and respectful of the knowledge that she simply wanted to get things going.

"Always, Kagan. Fire up the bitch!" she replied with cold certainty of a pro.

He rolled forward on his office chair until he was at her side. He raised his left arm with the purple ring towards the back of her head.

"Good!" she thought. "I won't even have to last sixty seconds. This will be done in thirty."

He touched the back of her head with the ring.

She opened her eyes again to scan the room. He was sitting, working on the keyboard. Her arm wouldn't move well. It was like it had fallen asleep. He had a sixth sense and turned around to look at her. When he saw her open eyes, he quickly opened a drawer to get an envelope out. Then, he swiveled close to her. She was still slowly moving her limbs to get them back into working order. She felt like a fresh butterfly coming out of a cocoon. The blood was pumping into its wings to inflate them.

"What day is it?" she asked him.

"It's Tuesday, 3:48 PM. You were out for 36 hours," he replied calmly like a doctor, which he wasn't.

"Good," she said as she started leaning forward. She was getting ready to pull herself onto her wobbly feet.

"We have a small matter to discuss. There was damage this time. Nothing bad. You will be well compensated for it," he explained to her. She could feel from the luxurious tone that she would indeed be well taken care of. She could relax. Perhaps, she would be so well taken care off that it would actually be a plus.

He pulled a photo out of the envelope. It was a photo of her inner thigh close to the crotch. There was a black bruise the size of a golf ball. She could suddenly correlate the dull pain at the exact spot on her body to the swirling sensations of her settling back into her body. It didn't seem that bad. Of course, she would be blemished for the next two weeks.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You know that you signed a contract that you can't know what happens when you are with clients," he reminded her.

He pulled a sparkling chip out of the white enveloped and pressed it into her hand. He paused for a moment. He was a man who oversaw many attractive women. It would have been easy for him to take liberty with her to feel the softness of her touch, to get lost in her eyes, that perfectly European aristocratic face. Yet, he was an expert at his craft. He appraised her. He managed her. He gave her just the right kind of professional care to keep her coming back to work for him. He knew market values of women. He knew how to turn them into a higher-value version. He seemed satisfied that she could handle the first incident of their work together.

She got up. She staggered on her high heels. The stagger was worth than she had expected. The need to get out of her to get into privacy was overwhelming. She staggered forward, her heels bending away left and right under her feet as she simply tried to keep her head level - more falling forward than a controlled walk.

"Amber?" the security guard asked her. She kept pushing forward. His hands tried to grasp her elbow for support. She flailed against him like a bitch. Headache was shooting behind her head. The intensity of feeling her body grew. Just when she struggled onto the parking lot into the sunlight, her stomach contracted. For a second, she felt all her suffering relieved as the contents shot up her esophagus and splattered out onto the concrete. Tequila mixed with vodka! That explained her feeling of hangover. She clutched the chip in her hand. She was rich. She could get herself cleaned up.

As she walked down the street, she could feel the soreness in her pussy. It felt like rug burn. Her body felt like it had been used heavily. Cum started leaking down her asshole as she got to the corner grocery store. She ordered a pill of Hello Kittie through the bulletproof takeout window. The cops didn't come to this part of town Cray Hall. She liked it down here. There was more freedom. Illicit businesses like her employer could run down here. Society's veneer was pulled back to let you do whatever you wanted to do. You didn't have to worry about a schedule or reaching goals. Yet the grocery store was worried about being robbed regularly. Hello Kittie was a great painkiller. Guys would slip it to women on dates because it turned them into cheery, docile girls like Hello Kittie. That's how she wanted to feel.

She swallowed it without water. Her vision turned slightly more pink. She felt a fun and happy mood spreading over her. "Hey, look that's so cute! You've got green vomit on the front of her dress," shot through her head. It was all fine and dandy. The artificial bird symphony from a city beautification project came to her attention. She got lost in the chirping as she walked home. There were barely any cars in the street. Anyone coming here had a destination that was hidden well out of sight. It left the air and space wide open for her to breathe and to feel home again.

She walked up the stairs to climb the hill where the shell of a meteor dust crushing factory loomed. Many of the windows and doors completely gone to only leave a skeleton of a building with giant holes. However, her space was on the top floor. There was an atrium for the big whig managers with a fountain in the center. She had filled the empty fountain well with pillows and blankets. She curled her body into it. Five floors above her were the spires of a glass roof. She watched the clouds. She let herself drift. Her body was tired, worn out. The pillows were soft and cozy. She fell into a dreamy haze. She'd stay here for a few days doing nothing but sleep and rest.

How had this all started? She was like many dreamy-eyed young people who spilled out of the people mover craft onto the moon around Saturn. It was like a new dawn full of promise to have arrived here. She tried a few jobs like office assistant and waitress for an executive kitchen. She had gone out to a few clubs. Guys had bought her fancy pink martinis. The credits in her off-world account slowly drained down to pay for her highrise studio. A common theme was for young women like her to end up in call centers for escorts to service off-plant customers. She started going to more high-end bars, daring a rich playboy to pick her up and make her his. It was more like a dare, a vague hope that the solution to all her problems would come from a rich man.

She had to spend more money on fancier clothes to fit in. Her off-world account drained faster as she got another red velvet cocktail dress that wrapped around her chest in a flowy way like a flower head. And it came tight around her butt. Her legs were waxed smooth - such slender, delicate things with the perfect shapes to remind one of femininity. A guy bought her a drink, more middle-aged, more sure and calm, than wild party boy. There was none of that needy horniness in his eyes that the other men exuded.

He calmly talked to her about her life, how many friends and family she had on the planet. He gave her tips on how to find a better personal trainer. He suggested to her that her face had a cold beauty to it. The friendliness in her clothing choice was smothering how she could be a knock out. He showed her some photos of fashion shoots on his phone that intimidated her at first. However, she wondered whom this guy saw in her. She was very intrigued.

"You don't know who I am," he exclaimed after an hour of conversation that had become increasingly deeper and more transactional about advice in how she could style herself with fashion and as persona. There was a bit of a standoff in his voice, like a question if he should proceed. She could feel that he had tried to keep his identity a secret initially. However, at some point, he had been sure that she had figured him out. He made her feel like they were in some kind of conspiracy. Her face drew a blank while she tried to figure out what it was and how she needed to position herself.

"In the old world, they would have called me a pimp. I prefer to think of myself as a talent manager," he explained. There was a cold, dismissive almost disgusted look in his face. It was as if he was steeling himself to be rejected by her. She could feel him getting ready to leave like he had wasted his time. She didn't want him to leave. He had been the first person to take a deep interest and to see something in her since the five months that she had arrived here.

"Are you trying to recruit me to be a video girl?" she asked him.

"No, we don't come to Club Victor for that level of employee. I have a much different opportunity for you at hand," he seemed to calm down. He seemed to feel the opportunity that she might say yes.

"What is it?" she asked curious.

"Not here!" he said. She could sense his shiver that was a worry about police, being overheard by someone. There was a silent cry for privacy and hidden doors. She felt like she was standing at the entrance of a portal. The drink that had made her tipsy made her curious and excited about adventure.

"Follow me!" he said.

She walked after the man in the blue suit. In the corner of her eyes, she could see two suited men, who were evidently jacked under their suits peeling away from conversation to follow behind her. Her pulse quickened. He walked her to an elevator and down another hallway. They ended up at a double door at the end of a long hotel hallway with two security guards that were wearing thick gold watches and gold glasses. They seemed from another solar system. Their customs and swagger were strange.

Inside was a giant room with a fluffy art installation cloud. It was hard to describe. It was kind of like a white coach with lots of giant pillows, but you could also climb up on it. There was a guy with a white robe and white turban. He seemed immensely rich. There were pretty women in lingerie. They were positioning themselves to pose and look like they were lounging. They weren't relaxed but they were showing off.

He kicked his shoes off in front of her, help her out of her heels, and helped her step onto the cloud. It was soft and wobbly. She just had to let herself go and fall onto a pillow. It was like a dreamlike state. She could sense that the man at the top of the cloud was very rich. She was in some kind of elite environment that regular people weren't even aware of.

The man sat down in front of her very business-like in Indian style. He seemed to be able to push away all the glitz and be unimpressed. She looked at the olive skin of the woman nearest her. She was gorgeous. Her eyes had thick mascara to make them dark. She let her arms slowly glide her beauty like she was in some kind of lush trance of sensuality, completely taken in by the ambiance. However, she was acting. She was acting, very, very well.

"We have complete privacy here. Harim is very kind of me to let me use his space for business," he explained.

"I have a very lucrative opportunity for you. I'll pay you 3,000 credits per hour. You get paid with an untraceable chip. That way, you don't have to pay taxes. You can see that we are very reputable," he offered.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Well, you won't know. We own you for that hour. We'll implant a chip in you. It'll keep you acting like yourself. However, it'll block memories from forming. You'll come out of work not remembering anything. You might be a bit sore afterwards, but that's pretty much it," he explained. He just laid it out there. He had learned that it's a waste of time to coax people into it. It was more efficient to lay it out and move on to the next person.

"That's illegal," she blurted out.

"So is making 3,000 credits per hour. It's above maximum wage laws," he retorted.

"We'll simply get a few hours of your life. It won't feel like work. It'll feel like nothing. You'll simply blink your eyes open and hold a sparkling, new chip in your hand," he pitched her.

"Will your customers have sex with me?" she asked worriedly.

"Customers will be able to do anything they want with you. You'll be in a completely obedient state. The limit is that they won't leave any permanent marks. You'll never know what they did," he explained.

That's how it had started. She was lying in the fountain, recalling the images from that room, sitting in that cloud. Now she was looking up at the ceiling, watching the clouds chase by. The clouds changed shape so slowly. She could see faces in the cloud. The Hello Kittie was slowly wearing off. It wasn't true that the chip blocked out everything. In the rest days after, she could feel her mind trying to recall what happened and something blocking it. She could feel faint imprints on her breasts, like teeth marks. She found dried cum crust on her feet. She had emotions roar up in herself of excitement and disgust. They were really intense emotions, but they were headless because they didn't come with a memory or explanation. She'd suddenly shiver like she had been very cold. Her muscles felt sore like she had been running a marathon. All these subliminal impressions had been left on her. And something was blocking them.

She wondered what the men did to her. From how sore her pussy was, she had been fucked a lot and for a long time. Her lips felt stretched at times. She was being used like a ragdoll. There was something about voluntarily giving her body over to be used. There was a kind of thrill to it as well. She wondered what they were doing to her. What would men do to her if they could do anything?

One time, she had taken a driver to work. She got out of the shuttle. She was dressed ready to work in a black leather suit and stilettos. A hooded figure was standing right outside the parking lot. She had thought it was another vagabond who had run out of credits and was hiding in Cray Hall. However, the figured lifted her hood. It was a young woman like her, blond hair, pig tails. Her cheeks were rosy and sexy. She could make good money.

"Wait! Let me show you something!" the woman had called out to her, waving her hand awkwardly. The fingers were elegant. Expensive rings with ritual symbols were on them.

The woman got out a phone. There was a commercial playing. The logo of an escort company flashed proudly on it. Various men in suits were going for dinners, spas, and gardens with super attractive women who were dressed provocatively. They women smiled and caressed the men. The women were clearly super into the men, way more than a real person would be. Yet the women acted very convincingly. It dawned on her that this was a commercial for an escort service. It could be her service. She had never seen how the company marketed to the clients. This all looked very expensive and very high class. There was luxury all over.