The Caribbean sun shimmered brightly upon her oiled bikini-clad body. She lay back upon a beach chair, listening to the waves lapping at the shore just a stone's throw away from her recently pedicured toes. The taste of Pina Colada was on her lips, and only the faint hum of a jet ski could be heard over the waves and cool ocean breeze.
The
ch-ching
sound effect of a cash register emanating from her cell phone, tucked away in the beach bag beneath her chair broke the silence, but it was not an unwelcome sound. She glanced up at the cloudless sky through her sunglasses and noted that it looked just a tad more beautiful than it had a moment before her phone's alert, and she made the slightest of smiles. She took another sip of her Colada before reaching beneath her chair to retrieve the source of both the noise and her happiness.
"You have received a tribute!" the notification read. She already knew it would say that, but the amount and the name of the sender was listed below.
A user named BarryJ sent her $30. She'd been hoping for more; she always hoped for more, even when she got hundred dollar tributes, which the previous night she had. Still, it was $30 she hadn't had seconds earlier, that had simply been given to her, as a gift, from one of her many clients.
She typed out a text to her generous pay piggy, "Your tribute made me smile, Barry. I've got my eye on you. There's a chance you might end up on my Good Boy List. Would you like to find out how?"
She hit send and set her phone to her side. She knew that BarryJ knew exactly how to end up on her Good Boy List, but pretending there was a bit of mystery to it tended to make the spendy boys spendier, she found. She didn't have to wait long for his reply.
"Yes mistress, please tel me howwww!" his message said, and she could feel the whine behind it. She rolled her eyes at the quadruple w and responded,
"Double that tribute if you really want to make me smile. Want to make me WET? Triple it. I'm waiting."
No sooner had she sent the reply that her phone rang. A different client, max45, was calling. She took three seconds to prepare herself, and answered.
"Where have you been, you fool?" she demanded. "I haven't gotten my weekly tithe from you. You owe me $50, plus a $20 late fee!"
"I'm sorry, mistress. I was so busy this weekend and- oh shit, my wife just walked in!"
She heard a click and the call ended. She dropped her phone in the sand beside her, annoyed. One minute calls- annoying for vanilla phone sex workers, but for dommes like her, a toss-up. It depended on what impact she could make on the caller's weak pliable mind that determined whether the call had indeed been worth her while.
As she sucked the last of her Pina Colada through her straw, her phone made the cash register sound effect- twice. She glanced at the screen. BarryJ and max45 had each sent her tributes. She didn't bother looking at the amounts. She tucked the phone back into her beach bag and stared up again at the sky.
It wasn't even noon, and today was shaping up to be a beautiful day.
$ $ $ $ $
Chapter One: The Sort of Man Who Does This Kind of Thing
Martin Hambly's mailbox was empty when he peered inside. Surprised not to have any ads today, he shut the metal box closed and trudged upstairs to his one-bedroom apartment to let himself inside. He dropped his keys with an unceremonious
chunk
upon the kitchen counter and slung his coat across the back of his couch.
Another day, another dollar. Actually, several dollars today. Martin took his paycheck from his pocket and took another look at it. Not a bad haul for two weeks of drudgery at the bank. He dropped his paycheck onto the counter and opened the refrigerator. Ignoring several expired food items lined up on each shelf, Martin grabbed himself a beer and shut the fridge door.
The wedding invitation held to the door by a small doughnut-shaped magnet stared back at him. Only six months before his brother Miles would be married. Martin would be the last of Hamblys to remain single at the age of 38, much to his family's disappointment.
Martin had inherited the worst traits from each of his parents. He had his father's heavy build and receding hairline, and his mother's height and poor eyesight. Put together, he was 5'3, chubby, had a balding head, and coke bottle eyeglasses. He was the shortest, fattest, baldest, and blindest of his brothers, all of which did no favors to his love life.
The invitation requested that Martin RSVP with any possible plus ones, which made him laugh. He'd never been in a long-term relationship and didn't expect one anytime soon. He'd never dated any woman more than twice; sooner or later every woman he courted had some reason or another why the relationship wasn't working and would cut ties with him- with or without an explanation.
By the time Martin was 30, he'd resigned himself to being a bachelor for life. It made things easier, that was for sure. Never having to worry about whether or not he had a chance with the cashier at the grocery store or the babe in apartment 4B was actually a relief when he'd finally accepted that he didn't.
And the money he'd saved from rarely dating built up over the years. He'd amassed quite a bit in his savings and retirement accounts. If nothing else, his financial future was secure. He might not have been the happiest man in the world, but he enjoyed the security and independence that came from living a life free from women.
And yet... the photograph of Miles and his wife-to-be happily smiling taunted him. There was happiness out there; Miles was no looker and he'd found someone.
You could find someone too, Martin. If you gave it half an effort
, the nagging voice in his head told him.
Are you
really
happier with all that money just building up?
Martin took another glance at the paycheck he'd left on his kitchen counter and let out a disdainful, "pffft!"
He took a swig of his beer and made his way to his computer.
His profile on SoulMatch.com was still active. He hadn't logged on in weeks, and he had to jog his memory a bit before even remembering his password, but there it was. As usual, his inbox was empty. The three messages he'd gotten since he'd signed up to the site had since disappeared; the senders having deleted their profiles.
Effort, Martin. Put some effort into it.
He took a moment to update his photo; he knew he wasn't exactly model material but he figured he should at least put up a photo where he didn't look as though he were about to sneeze. An "About Me" section that made him seem at least somewhat interesting would help as well. He removed "Nate and the Nutbusters" from his list of favorite bands since that never seemed to go over well with the ladies. Martin made some quick updates and resumed his search.
