NOTE: This is the third part of The Ballad of Emily Jeffers, a seemingly naive and clueless woman for whom sex comes naturally, and sexual manipulation by others is her entire life. It's a story, and as such all characters are fictitious. Even so, those fictitious characters are all 18 years old and older.
*
Ms. Jeffers was still sleeping when I woke up, me bein' all confused with where I was. And spying a clock on the dresser next to a Bible, I realized I was gonna be late for work if I didn't hustle. But still I moved slow and quiet so as not to wake her. I looked down at her half covered form -- her naked and soft and round and generous body. I'd been inside her and a lot of my cum still was, 'cept what leaked out of her cunt and crusted up on her legs and on the sheets. I wanted to call in and say I was sick, but knew Old Mister Harper was lookin' for a report and said I should be in his office at 10 a.m. So I hustled. Quietly.
I'd had time for a quick shower, and almost wished I didn't have to wash her smell off me. She was intoxicating in so many ways. Her look, her feel, her smell. Or was I imagining all that? Was she special? Would a man give her up just for some booze money? Would a Reverend really have no qualms about selling use of her body for 'The Lord's Work?' Okay, I understand the banker, Old Mister Harper selling her. He had no conscience. And I knew there was a doctor involved who eased his conscience by pretending he was looking after her health. But I saw his name on the fuck list for Thursday.
I had called ahead to Owens for breakfast and coffee to go, and was able to eat my fried egg on toast sandwiches as I looked over some loan applications and a request from a local charity for more time on their meetin' house mortgage. It had reached the point where the bank could foreclose, and since it was a progressive women's group, I knew we would. Harper had no use for women 'cept the three holes in their bodies.
Then I saw a notation on a notebook page paperclipped to the letter from the chair women asking for more time. It was Harper's writin' and it said somethin' made me believe he was gonna get the chairwoman to do some favors so as the foreclosure wouldn't go ahead. "Doc says Mrs. Eaton well used and willing," Harper had written. "Will double estrogen and progesterone treatments. Says wait one week and make an appointment." And there was her phone number. I was being instructed to call her and lure her into Harper's clutches. So I made the call and set it up for the next day just before closing time as per instructions.
Harper buzzed down a few minutes to 10 a.m. and asked me to drop by his office.
"Bring a notebook, so as you can jot down some plans we'll be makin' for the Jeffers whore," he said. "Church picnic's comin' up and I got some ideas you can help me with."
"Okay Sir," I said. "Be up in a moment."
Old Mister Harper was in his usual spot behind the big wooden desk. I hovered a few feet inside the door, waitin'. His business-suited demeanor and ledger, bottom-line propensity seemed at odds with his mention of a church picnic. I was curious.
I cleared my throat, unsure if he knew I was there.
"Lawton!" he boomed. "Come in, come in! Sit!"
He was in a jovial mood and smiled broadly as he gestured to a big, deep leather armchair. I pictured loan defaulters sitting down in it and never getting out again. But I sat. I felt as the rising star in the rich man's bank.
"Thank you Sir," I said. "You wanted to see me, ah, about a church picnic?"
"Yes indeed, Lawton," he beamed. "We're supporting it this year and I've already talked with Pastor Brown. We've come up with an idea that should bring in a lot of money. The church needs some major repairs to the foundation, and some of the youth group are hoping to go to church camp out of state. It's actually a week-long picnic and carnival fundraiser. "
"How can I help, sir?" I asked. I was flattered that he was calling on me to help with such a community-mined initiative.
"Well, Ms. Jeffers seems to have a certain appeal in the Black community, and Pastor Brown was thinkin' if she was put on offer, in some fun and imaginative way at the fair grounds, it could draw a big crowd from as far away as Haler City, and her services could bring in 20 or 30 dollars a pop easily. Maybe more," the old moneymaker smiled enthusiastically.
I was stunned, but Harper must have wrongly recognized my failure to reply immediately as me being in such awe of his idea as to be speechless.
"I can see you're impressed, Lawton," he said, "and I knew you were the right man for the job. You're coming up with ideas already, aren't you son?"
Still unable to speak, I just nodded.
"Okay, here's what the good minister came up with," he said. "A tent, one of those ones with no floor and the sides can roll up. But 'cause there'll be kids and youngun's around, it needs a little vestibule before guys actually enter. They pay out front for whatever it is they want to use -- mouth, pussy, ass. They go into the vestibule and wait. They have five minutes, no more. So we'll have somebody doing security in case guys stay too long. And if a guy pays for a blowjob, he can't have pussy. But it's fine if they pull out of her pussy or ass and finish in her mouth. Less to clean up."
Then it was on to other things as if he hadn't just consigned a woman's mouth as a trash can.
"Pastor Brown has the tents and tables and everything," Harper assured. "They're gonna use a church altar and put some cushions on it instead of a bed. We need some volunteers to help out, though. It'll be a long day for the volunteers. We need to be sensitive to their needs, so we need two shifts."
Again I was stunned. It would be a long day for Ms. Jeffers, I expected. All that those poor volunteers would be doing would be watchin' a vulnerable woman get repeatedly raped, and most would probably do her themselves any chance they got. I didn't tend to sympathy towards them.
But I managed to stutter out a few words.
"Sir, I mean, can we do this? I mean is this even legal?"
