Authors Note: I struggled for what group to put this in, and decided on Mind Control, even though it's not the classic model.
*
The enlarged reflection of the eye in the makeup mirror blinked as the brush approached. Linda steadied her hand, and gently guided the bristles through the lashes, feeling the pull as she stroked them, watching them darken, emphasizing their length and shape, becoming darker, more pronounced. Finished, she examined the eye as a whole, the heavy application of dark and light blue on the lid, the line underneath appearing too heavy in the enlarged image. She blinked, then turned to focus on the other eye, repeating her application of the mascara. Switching back and forth between them, comparing, focusing on her work; able now to absorb her attention in the preparation. Satisfied, she turned from the small round mirror and faced the larger vanity mirror for a full-face view.
Lisa looked back at her. It had been several months now, and she had not just gotten used her being there but welcomed her, grateful, even, at times like this. She was a lifesaver, and she felt her heart flutter inside her chest with appreciation. Lisa knew, and smiled.
"I got this, baby," she grinned confidently, and blinked her eyes slowly, angling her head just a touch, and raising one manicured brow just a touch. She looked spectacular. "Fabulous job, as usual." Lisa turned forward again, looking directly at Linda. "Get a good look," she joked, "it won't look so nice tomorrow!"
Linda blanched at the off-hand comment, horrified as always by the disregard Lisa took to her activities. She turned and bit her bottom lip as she stood from the vanity and moved to the bed, where the items she had selected were laid out; tiny panties she could never wear herself, a matching half-cup bra, thigh-high stockings. Next to them, the skimpy black dress that Linda remembered buying, embarrassed by her exposure in the private dressing room as she tried it on; so much leg, so...obvious. And next to the dress, the heels that spoke daringly of invitation, and the black choker, the letter "L" in rhinestones. No other jewelry.
Linda slipped the white terrycloth robe from her shoulders and turned to face the full-length mirror. She looked at the body facing her, turning slightly to the left and right, trying to see the flaws she was convinced were there.
"Stop it," Lisa told her. "You know I look fabulous." Linda blushed, and admitted it, silently, a little embarrassed to confess that the body she saw was still attractive, even at thirty-five. "You know it's hot, baby," Lisa said, languidly sliding her hands up her thighs, over her hips, touching the bone that still protruded slightly, so embarrassing when she was a child. Fingertips grazed lightly over the slim lines of her waist, then in, under her ribs, and circling out under her full breasts, finally to her shoulders, and resting them behind her neck. Her chin jutted up proudly as her dark, full hair fell back, elbows out, chest thrust forward. "I'm fucking hot as hell, baby," Lisa told her. Then, as if sensing Linda's discomfort, added. "Don't worry, honey. I told you; I got this. I'll take care of everything. You just take care of us, okay?"
Linda nodded silently. That had been their agreement, since meeting finally, months ago. Lisa had known Linda in college, and had reminded Linda of the times their paths had crossed. The realization had been shocking at first, but Linda had quickly come to accept her, and understood the benefits of their relationship. Again her chest thrummed with appreciation for Lisa and everything she did. Lisa eyed her knowingly from the mirror.
"You just make sure everything is ready for the morning," she told Linda, "and you keep your mind on our little man." Linda nodded. "He's all that matters."
Linda felt her eyes tear at the thought of her son, ten year old Colin, safely ensconced at Connie's house for the night. Connie was her friend from her old job, the one that had indelicately canned them all last year and moved the office to another state; Connie had landed well elsewhere, and was married. Linda was divorced, and had taken another job, but at much less pay. The checks from her deadbeat ex had stopped long ago, but she had been able to get by before the office closed. Money had soon become tight.
Need had become desperation quickly, and she had searched for the old numbers, finding them in the attic with her old college stuff. With trembling fingers she had made the call after despairing over her decision for nearly a week, so worried she couldn't sleep. Yes, they remembered her, but no, they couldn't use her anymore. That was fifteen years ago, they'd said, a little too frankly, as if believing she didn't know.
She had done some escort work in college, mostly easy stuff, arm candy for older guys; they were more like elaborate dates. Dinner and drinks and dancing; she would smile and laugh with them, feed their egos and libidos. Faking the conversations had been harder than spreading her legs at the end of the night. It had paid well, and helped with the tuition. But that had been years ago, and they had told her now that they didn't hire older women.
But they knew some folks who did, and gave her numbers to call.
The first ones weren't interested, but the third talked to her. "Thirty-five," they'd said. Yes, they could use her, but it wouldn't be like before. "You'll have to do more," they had told her.
"Hey," Lisa called to her, "dreamgirl," she prodded, and Linda turned to the reflection. "Before you drift off, let's go check for the morning stuff, okay?" Abashed, Linda nodded, and looked at the dark-haired beauty before her, her eyes travelling from the sultry dark eyes to the erect nipples, the swell of her older, but still-mostly-firm breasts, to the tiny strip of hair above the hairless meeting of her long legs. "Yeah, get a good look," Lisa teased, "it won't look like this in the morning," she joked. She was so bold, so bawdy, and Linda blushed. Not bothering to replace the robe, she went naked to the bathroom.
