"You look sinful," the saccharine sweet stylist smacked her lips and stepped back from her creation. Evelyn panted in the tight pencil skirt, it's high waist cut just below her rib cage. Beneath the transparent chemise blouse, Evelyn saw two stiff peaks of rosy tips. Every minuscule movement she made, those tips rubbed against the polyester blouse. She looked like sin on heels.
"Is everything like this?" she picked at the skirt, wishing it were longer, wishing her blouse wasn't see-through, wishing she could have a moment to herself.
"Not everything, this is pretty tame compared to the other items. He must really like your boobs." The stylist tussled through Evelyn's hair one more time. It fell in loops around her shoulders, barely a distraction from the tight skirt and the pair of tits clearly visible through the blouse. She crossed her arms to try and cover herself. At least she couldn't see them in the mirror anymore.
Not the first in-house whore. The Senator's words bounced around her head all morning after James abruptly pulled out of her and left her wet and naked on the bedroom floor. Wesley at least gave her some decency with a towel and rushed out of the room mumbling something about practice.
"I used to lead a club called the Purity Belles at school," Evelyn reminisced to her friendly complete stranger. Maybe this would be the last chance she got to speak candidly to someone who wasn't forcing her onto her knees.
The stylist chuckled softly, pretending to understand the irony. The woman continued mock styling her hair, trying to decide between half up or voluptuous blowout showing off the top of her pretty head like the fuck-trophy she was. The Senator grabbed her by the hair last time, it had hurt, but it also gave her a tickle remembering how good it made her feel.
"We sang and raised money for the Pure Movement. To spread the message of love and purity to the people who were controlled by addictions and did nasty things to their bodies for it. I thought I was so smart. 'Look at me, I came from a teenage prostitute and I have no impurities.'"
Evelyn gazed at her own reflection and marveling at how different she looked with so much black eyeliner and red lipstick. She never considered her mother to be anything but a prostitute. Someone she needed to distance herself from because otherwise, she might follow the same path. Uncrossing her arms, she took in the full effect. Thick, long hair. Plump, soft lips, and the ghostly image of ripe juicy breasts beneath a transparent layer of fabric. The Senator's word Fuckable came to mind.
"You're really good a this." Evelyn sniffled back a twinge of emotion that wanted to escape. She ran through other topics of conversation she could bring up. Not the first in-house whore, "Have you done this before, I mean have you styled a girl the family kept as a-,"
"No. You're the first mistress I've met. Normally, it's for girls who want to color their hair or the ladies of the house who want new clothes and need to go through thousands of items to buy one." The stylist shook her head emphasizing the novelty of her visit to the Eckert's house, "Until today, I have never been called to a house by the wife of a Senator to dress up his mistress."
*****
Eric rubbed his hand along the banister, feeling the sleek varnished wood under the ridges of his fingers. He felt his body wave with music or alcohol. Did it matter? Keep it here, he told himself. Not a sip more.
"You good?" Joey asked, grabbing his upper arm and giving him a stiff squeeze. Eric nodded. Tonight was his birthday and he wasn't going to end it with his head in the toilet. Joey glanced around, pretending not to notice how exhausted Eric felt.
The party they threw was finally winding down, and Eric couldn't be happier. No more chitchat. Not more pretending to give a shit about where this person went to school or tall tales of how their father became a war hero. Eric felt Joey tugging him along to a bedroom, wading through red plastic cups and stepping over the limp limbs of passed out kids.
"I have a surprise for you." Joey sang and gave him a wicked smile, "Something I thought you'd like all things considering."
Joey meant his dad berating him in front of his entire team. Joey meant when his mother had intervened with the school to make sure that he stayed in the advanced classes and not being put in remedial. Thoughtful, Joey. Always pushing his emasculation a bit further.
"She's some friend of a friend. No real connection to anyone we know. I even bought her a dress for tonight. So perfect." Joey got eye-to-eye with Eric, "You can't fuck this up."
"So no fuck?" Drunk Eric asked, chuckling at his own words because he really felt like an idiot.
"You know the rules," Joey playfully punched him on his arm and guided him into the last bedroom in the corner of the pool house. "Her name is Abby or Ariel. Hey, that would be kind of cute, Ariel and Eric, like in the movie. Good luck."
Holy hell. Joey found a diamond. The girl lay on the arm of the sofa and half on the cushions. Her hot pink lipstick glistened from the table lamp above her brilliant red hair. A redhead. Joey found him a redhead. Awe Joey really must love him after all.
Ariel or Abby slept soundly, she didn't even notice when Eric slipped his hand up her skirt and stroked the bare skin of her inner thighs. He tempted fate again. This time lifting up her skirt so that he could see for himself exactly how smooth and perfect she was under it.
Thump.
Eric jerked his head toward the door to make sure whatever fell out there wasn't headed in here. Nothing. When he turned back to the redhead, he flinched. Her silver eyes flew open wide as she began tugging her skirt back down and scooting away from Eric.
Shit.
"It's ok. I'm Eric. This is my place. Do you want some water?"
"What?" she asked, grasping a lock of her hair and twirling it around her finger.
