Jane's New Life

CHAPTER 1

Jane stared at the rays of light shining through her bedroom curtain, as if in a trance, watching the patterns change as her curtains shifted around from the breeze of her ceiling fan. Suddenly, she caught herself and snapped out of her daydream. This was nothing more than escapism; she really should be trying desperately to make herself get out of bed.

Depression hung over her like a thick blanket, smothering what little hope she might have left.

Here she was, 32 years old, with no job, no money, no family, and her boyfriend Hank in jail. How could she have been so stupid to not realize he was selling dope? And to school kids, no less! She had even opened up a joint bank account with him, never imagining the DEA would confiscate every penny she had when he got caught.

Everything was gone. Everything. The Feds even took her car.

Come on, Girl! You've got to find a job before the landlord kicks you out on the street.

She reluctantly climbed out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Seeing herself in the mirror brought mixed emotions.

"Shit, I'm rapidly approaching middle age..., but at least I still look half decent. I'm not as thin as I used to be, but I've got some nice curves. Maybe I can wait tables at one of those 'breastaurants' like Hooters or Twin Peaks. Yeah, right... they'd probably say I was too fucking old."

Jane had always been proud of her breasts. They were still firm and round, just big enough to show plenty of cleavage in a tank top or halter, but not so big that they looked fake. Guys were always sneaking glimpses of her boobs, and, while she pretended not to notice, she secretly loved it.

She sometimes couldn't tell if her girlfriends were jealous of her tits or disgusted by how she showed them off. Probably a little of both.

Of course, that was when she still had girlfriends—all of whom had abandoned her once her boyfriend was arrested. Nobody believed she didn't know how he made his money.

Jane started looking for jobs on her laptop, beginning with the usual websites everyone uses. Her problem was that she had no idea what she wanted to be. She had always managed to have fairly well-off boyfriends, so she had never needed a real job. Oh, she had worked part-time at a few offices for something to do, but a job like that was never going to pay her bills. She had no schooling or training in anything that was going to pay more than minimum wage.

Then a flashing advertisement on one of the sites got her attention. "Broke? Desperate? Alone? We might have the perfect job for you!"

"Broke, desperate, alone. Well, that certainly describes me to a T," she murmured under her breath while she clicked on the ad.

The link took her to a formal-looking website that asked her to fill out an online questionnaire to see if she might qualify for the position, which sounded pretty lucrative. The website promised whoever got the job would work for a few years and end up "debt free with money in the bank."

She went through the usual registration process (username, password, email address, etc.) and then started answering questions. At first the questions were pretty generic; name address, phone number, education level, etc. Then they became a little more personal, far more personal than a normal job application.

Height? Weight? Why the hell do they need that? Birth date? Isn't that illegal?

Still, she finished filling out the application out of pure curiosity. "Debt free with money in the bank" sounded pretty darn good compared to her present situation.

She submitted the application and waited for the response that was promised within 30 minutes. An email from someone identifying himself as "an attorney representing a very special client" emailed her a little more than 20 minutes later, saying that she appeared to be a potential prospect and asking her to move on to the next step in the process, a secondary application. Again, the employer (whoever that might be) promised that the right applicant would have a life virtually care-free for a few years and then find themselves set up for a new life with a substantial bank account after the employment period was over.

Jane filled out the second application, even though she was surprised to find that it was even more personal than the first one. It asked her a lot about her financial status, such as how much money she owed (a lot), what was her income (nothing) and bank balance (again, nothing), etc. It even asked how many close relatives she remained in contact with (none, she was an only child and both of her parents had passed away).

She submitted the 2nd application and shortly after received a request to complete a 3rd application. This last set of questions went much deeper, asking her some very intimate details about her sex life. The most shocking questions were about her fertility status (she'd had a hysterectomy due to endometriosis five years before) and whether or not she had ever consented to a fairly comprehensive list of sexual practices.

Intrigued by this mysterious job (and excited, in a scary sort of way), Jane swallowed her pride and, after a deep breath, answered all of the sexual questions.

"Yes," she performed fellatio. "Yes," the males sometimes came in her mouth. "No," she did not swallow (yuck!). "8", she responded when asked to rate her fellatio skills on a scale of 1 to 10 (the guys always seemed to have enjoyed themselves). "Yes," she had tried anal sex once but it turned out badly and she no longer engaged in it. "No," she had never had a lesbian encounter. And on and on..."

The last thing it asked for was a facial photograph. Jane took a quick selfie with her laptop's webcam, edited it a bit to highlight her "good features," clicked the SUBMIT button with a sigh of relief and went back to bed.

Within half an hour she heard an email notification go off on her phone.

It was the attorney again, who identified himself as a Mr. Carhill, requesting her to come for an interview at his office the next afternoon.

"Hmmm, there's still no company name listed, but I suppose that's due to the attorney's privilege of confidentiality or something like that."

She wondered about all of the sexual questions. It was obvious that the job had something to do about sex, but why would an attorney be involved if they were just looking for a hooker?

"I'm no whore, but that can't be what they're looking for...right??? Hookers don't fill out job applications. Maybe it's something to do with medical research. Yeah, that's probably it."

Jane clicked "ACCEPT" and decided to spend what little money she had left on a new dress in the morning.

CHAPTER 2

Fortunately, Mr. Carhill's office was located downtown so she could take a bus that dropped her off just a block away from it. She was impressed and a little intimidated by the building—it was an older stone structure, surrounded by skyscrapers, with two marble lions guarding the entrance. The attorney's office seemed to take up the entire building.

She was even more intimidated when she stepped inside. The floors were the same marble from which the lions were made, and expensive-looking artwork was displayed on every wall. At the end of the first hallway was a life-size portrait of a stern, white-haired gentleman.

"That must be him. I hope he's nicer than he looks in that picture."

The mid-to-late 40-ish lady sitting at the reception desk was strikingly beautiful, so much that Jane had to stop herself from staring at her. She had never been attracted to a woman before, but somehow it was hard to take her eyes off of this lady. Jane turned her eyes away, but slowly found them moving back to the mysterious creature in front of her. Her dress was low-cut and showed more cleavage than even Jane had ever felt comfortable showing.

"Wow, isn't that a little unprofessional for an attorney's office?"

The woman seemed to completely ignore Jane's ogling of her breasts, as if she completely expected it.

"My God, I think she'd be pissed if I wasn't staring at her boobs."

Surprisingly, she found herself fending off a little jealousy. "This gal's probably 15 years older than me, and I'll never look that good."

"Hello, you must be Jane," the woman said as she approached, flashing a broad smile that showed off her absolutely perfect teeth and full, red lips. "Mr. Carhill is waiting for you. Please follow me."

Jane was shocked again as she followed the lady down the hallway. Her dress was completely split up the side to her panty line, leaving little to the imagination with each step that she took. Her legs were long and, as far as Jane could tell, absolutely perfect.

Instead of going into an office, Jane was seated in the boardroom at one end of a horseshoe-shaped table. Just opposite her was a large, impressive chair, a huge computer screen, and a video camera.

"Mr. Carhill will be here in just a minute, Jane. In the meantime, I'll call up Ms. Gascon," the receptionist said as she pulled up a video-talk program. Soon after, Jane found herself staring at another striking woman on the computer screen. This lady was well into her 50s, and, although not a knockout like the receptionist, she was still a very attractive lady who seemed to emit an aura of elegant grace and strength.

"Hello, Jane," the lady smiled. "I am Ms. Gascon, the head of training at our organization. Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice."

"You're very welcome, Ma'am. Thank you for getting me an interview so quickly."

"No problem, Jane. We tend to not waste much time in this organization, so I'll get right to the point. You appear to be in a rather difficult situation right now, correct?"

Jane sighed under her breath, realizing that they probably knew all about her boyfriend's arrest. "This interview sure went to shit quickly," she thought.

She took a deep breath and put on her bravest face. "Yes, ma'am," she said, "but I want you to understand that I didn't know anything about my boyfriend's drug business. Really, I'm an innocent woman."

Jane startled as the door suddenly opened and Mr. Carhill made his appearance. "Well, you may be a woman, but I wouldn't call you innocent by any means," he proclaimed.

Jane felt shocked and completely naked, as though he was staring right through her. "Wait, please wait, sir. You don't understand!"

"No, Jane, it's you who doesn't understand. Allow me to spell it out for you. My contacts at the DEA tell me that your 'boyfriend' Hank is cutting a deal by testifying that you knew all about his drug business. He's making a good case that you had to be involved. My guess is that you'll probably be in jail by this time tomorrow morning."

The room was suddenly so still that Jane could hear nothing but her own shallow breaths. She felt a bead of cold sweat slowly running down the side of her dress. Jane struggled to think of something to say, but Mr. Carhill spoke with such authority and confidence that she felt herself slipping into a panic, her breaths becoming quicker and shallower with each passing second.

It was Ms. Gascon who finally broke the silence. "As I said, Jane, it seems as though you're in a very difficult situation. I apologize for our demeanor being so harsh, but I did mention that we don't waste much time in this organization."

"Wh...whi...which organization is that, exactly?" Jane managed to croak out.

"Never mind that right now, honey," Ms. Gascon said. "The important thing is that we have a plan in mind to help you."

"A plan? Why on earth would you want to help me? You don't even know me."

"Oh, Jane, we know quite a bit about you," Mr. Carhill broke in. "We know, for example, that you have no family, no job, no money, no car, and that you're quite the little whore."

Jane stood up, insulted by his accusation. "What are you implying, sir? I'm no whore! I've never been a whore!

"Oh, come now, Jane. Sit down, I'm not implying anything. I'm just stating that you have a history of dating guys with money, then mooching off of them as long as you can until they kick you out of their house. Or, in this most recent case, get arrested. You haven't had a real job in your entire life. You owe your very existence to the fact that you have provided sex to these men in exchange for food, shelter, and money. That certainly sounds like a whore to me."

Jane just sat there in utter silence and disbelief. How had this "job interview" gone so bad so quickly?

A little thought crept into the back of her consciousness, a small, nagging thought: "It's true, isn't it? Admit it, Jane. You've never done anything but whore yourself out to men!"

"No, no," she thought. "It's not true. All of those men loved me!"

"Loved you, eh? Well, where are they now, Jane? You're all alone..."

That last thought cut her deep. She had never felt so isolated and unloved in all of her life. Tears began rolling down her cheeks, despite her desire to salvage what little dignity she might have left.

"What's your plan, then, Ms. Gascon? How can you help me?"

"It's simple, dear. We have a history of helping people in distress. Why, I myself was once in a position almost as bad as yours. So was Sylvia, that lovely lady at the reception desk. Our organization can get you safely out of the country, provide you with a comfortable lifestyle for a period of time, and then set you up wherever you want with a new identity and money in the bank."

"Why would you do that for me? What could I give you in return?"

"That's simple, Jane," Mr. Carhill said. "You will do what you do best; be a whore. (Oh, how she hated that word!) You will provide sexual entertainment for our executives and their guests for a period of seven years, after a short training period. In return, we will give you safe harbor, a comfortable lifestyle, and a new life after your time has been served. You'll be able to start all over again!"

"Or," he continued, "You can go back home and place your full trust in the criminal justice system. I doubt, though, that their offer will be as good as ours."

Jane tried to clear her head, control her breathing, and make sense out of the last five minutes. "I don't understand, why would you want me? I'm 32 years old; I'll almost be 40 when my 7 years are up!"

"Oh, Sweetie, there's no doubt you'll be at least 40 years old when your time is up; perhaps, even 41. Remember, there's a training program you have to complete before the 7 year clock starts ticking," explained Ms. Gascon.

"Yes, but that shouldn't be a problem," Mr. Carhill continued. "My client enjoys actual women, not little girls. We've found that 20-somethings just don't have enough life experience to be 'interesting' over a long period of time. A more mature woman, such as yourself, is at the prime of her life right now. You've easily got another 7-8 years of good service to give."

"God, he's talking about me as if I was a horse," she thought.

"Not a horse," whispered her inner voice. "A whore."

Jane shuddered again at the sound of that word. Could she actually live with herself, knowing she's agreed to be a prostitute?

"You've managed to live with yourself all this time. What's the big deal now?" Arrgh, how she hated that voice!

Mr. Carhill interrupted her thoughts. "Jane, I see that you're having some trouble making a decision. That's perfectly understandable; you're under a great deal of stress, and this is a lot of information to process in a short amount of time. Allow me to take some of the pressure off; you don't have to make a decision right now. In fact, your decision would be premature, as we haven't even made you a formal offer. This is, in fact, a job interview, and you have not yet demonstrated the necessary skills and talents for this position."

"Skills? Talents? What do you mean?"

"I know that you probably bought that lovely dress just for this occasion, but we need you to take it off now," cooed Ms. Gascon in a warm and soft voice, like a mother singing her baby to sleep. "You need to be naked for the rest of the interview. It's okay; don't be afraid. I had to do it at my interview, and it was the best move I ever made."

Mr. Carhill called the front desk over the intercom. "Sylvia, please come here to help with Jane's clothing."

Oh shit, now I even have to let her see me naked! It was bad enough thinking about being naked with just the two of them.

Sylvia entered the room with a knowing smile on her face. "Please stand up, Jane, and I'll help you with that zipper."

"Bitch! She's actually enjoying me being humiliated," Jane realized.

Somehow, Jane found herself standing up, feeling hopelessly caught up in the tide of events. Sylvia unzipped her dress for her and let it fall to the ground. "Go ahead and step out of it, honey. We don't want it to get wrinkled, now, do we?"

Jane stepped out of her dress, suddenly noticing how cold the room was. She instinctively tried to cover her bra with her arms while Sylvia picked up her dress and draped it over a chair.

"Jane, I admit that you look cute there trying to cover yourself up like a little girl, but I'm afraid I don't have time for this. Lose the bra and panties now!" ordered Mr. Carhill.

Jane hesitated for a second and found herself looking towards Ms. Gascon, hoping that she might help her. "Jane," she said, "come now. Let us help you. Off with the panties and bra. It's no big deal, you've done it before."

"Yeah, when you were acting like a whore," said her inner voice. "Oh, I wish that voice would shut up!" she thought.

Jane felt Sylvia's fingers undoing her bra, and before she realized it, her straps had been pulled down off her shoulders. Jane let her arms down and the bra fell to the floor, releasing her breasts. Suddenly, her confidence in her breasts turned into insecurity.

Oh, I hope they're as nice as I think they are. What if Mr. Carhill thinks they're saggy? Maybe they'll kick me out and find somebody else.

"Oh, it sounds as though you've already accepted the job. Haven't you, Jane? You admit that you're a whore," whispered the voice inside her.

She was brought back to reality by feeling Sylvia tugging at her panties. "Thank you, Sylvia, but I can do this myself," she said, trying to smile and act as if it was no big deal. She stepped out of her panties and stood there in front of Mr. Carhill, anxious to see his reaction. "Oh, no," she realized. "I wished I'd have shaved. I never realized how bushy my pubic hair was!"

Sylvia gathered Jane's bra and panties off the floor while Mr. Carhill looked her over from head to toe. "Very nice, don't you think, Ms. Gascon?"

"Yes, quite nice. Strawberry blond hair, lovely green eyes, milky pale skin...Jane, you're a very attractive lady, in a "girl next door" kind of way. Turn around slowly for us, dear. We need to see your backside."

Jane took a deep breath and slowly spun around, hoping that she wasn't showing how embarrassed she was. "And what the hell did she mean about 'girl next door?' Oh, never mind. Let's just get this over with as quick as possible. Just relax and be confident."

She stood there for at least half a minute, knowing that they were scrutinizing her butt the entire time. "I hope I don't have cellulite showing," she thought. "Please don't let me have cellulite showing!"

Jane turned her head around, trying to get a clue as to what her inspectors were thinking. "Thank you, Jane," Mr. Carhill offered, seeing her questioning look. "Please clasp your hands behind your head and we'll move on to the next step."

Jane slowly obeyed, wondering what the "next step" might be. She found out right away, as Mr. Carhill grabbed her butt cheeks and started squeezing them. "Her ass is nice and firm, Ms. Gascon. It's a little small, but shapely and firm."

He next moved on to her breasts, reaching around for them from behind her. He first played with her nipples, ending with a pinch that startled her. "Now, dear, that was just a little squeeze to get them hard, nothing to worry about. Just relax, I'm almost done," he whispered in her ear. He gave each breast a thorough feel, finally cupping each one in his hands as if he were testing them for weight.