Curiousity Ch. 05-09

"What do you want from me?" her voice trembled tenuously. The mystery voice silent, she swore she could hear a smile form in the black abyss of the quiet. Her eyes raced around the room, to the windows...was he watching her now? Was he standing nearby finding some secret vantage point, most certainly enjoying his "high ground." She imagined him, dark and tall, menacing over her, hands down his pants, grasping, stroking his erect and terrible member, leering at her as she clutched her cellphone, so out of power, so lost, so needing answers she'd never get.

"Ah, now that's a question, but one for you and not me," the gravely sardonic voice rose, as if from some deep buried grave – tearing through the soil and the rocks until at last the cool evening night embraced it's horrid form. "I propose we find out exactly what you want," he continued, "because it's obviously not what you have. I think I should take that away and replace it with something you truly desire." Desire? What did he know about desire, what could he understand about what she felt inside, how sick and depraved was he to assume he knew her better than she knew herself.

"God, what is this?" she screamed, "What kind of sick fucked up asshole are you?" The words came off her tongue before her brain had a chance to stop them. Clearly she was provoking someone who had every advantage over her, and she was deliberately antagonizing him. "Well, that's one way to go," the sarcastic bitch in her thought...she waited anxiously for his retort...

"I think you need a lesson in what you want," his enunciated every syllable, every peak and valley of the words, he'd chosen them carefully.

"I don't have time for-" he didn't leave time for him to elaborate as he cut her off abruptly.

"Ah, a clever girl...you're right, time is not on your side the way it is on mine." The lower and now harder gravely voice began. "For instance, in the time it takes you to dial the phone number, I'll have already sent your husband our little skin flick," he continued. "And don't you think for a minute I'll let him miss yesterday's trio of performances." His words flat against her beating heart.

"What...?" she started, but had the good sense to stop min-thought. He had her, all of her, all of the tapes of what she had done, flirting with the cop, jerking off on her bed....God knows what else. Had he recorded her in the bedroom, bath, using and studying the sex panties, sucking off her husband, fucking him? Holy God, what would that look like with a little judicious editing?

"The answer to all those questions is yes?" The voice chimed in sharply. Had she read her mind, was in her house and her skull? Jesus, who the fuck was this?

"On to the lesson then, I trust we agree that you need one?" She bit her lip sharply, she didn't know what to do – but she understood that he couldn't be the one to control how and where and what her husband found out about all of this madness. She was on her feet, when had that happened? She was pacing, hand dragging back through her hair nervously, each stroke rubbing her palms against her feverish feeling earlobes. "Well, you got yourself into this..." the dirty voice came unexpectedly, not from the other end of the phone...but inside her mind, the one that hated her husband, the one that wanted more.

"Fine...where do I meet you?" she snapped. Words were exchanged and she clicked the end-button hard, throwing her phone across the room. She stood there naked by her bed, arms folded tightly against her chest. Her curiosity about him continuing to watch her didn't matter anymore – he'd seen all he could see, the damage was done – what was another peek or two. Maybe that's all he wanted? Was it so bad to let some voyeur watch her, maybe jerk off in a dark corner of a room while she stripped-surely it couldn't be more than that. Certainly it couldn't be worse than some of the frat boy antics she encountered in college, or worse, the consequence of her husband finding out about any of it.

Her internal struggle over, she searched for clothes, then keys and then locked the door shut tight behind her as she started toward town.

Part 8: Abstract Distraction

The ride in to town felt like it took forever. She paid little attention to the road, even making that horrid vibration sound with her tires as they veered over the white line. The sun was up and in her eyes, the air was warming, but had that cold wet bite to it and her near panting-like breathing kept fogging up the windows.

"Not my day," she kept saying every time something didn't go as planned, whether it had been the botched message she'd left for her husband (explaining why she wouldn't be home until late – the first of "rules" her tormentor had given her), spilling her coffee across the seat while reaching for a cigarette, or not finding anything befitting her frantic, frazzled state."It's just not my day," seemed the most fitting description for how she felt at the moment. The truth was, despite all of the angst, all of the disgust and fear that this was going to end up being some perv park ranger with a video camera and too much free time, she was more anxious to meet the man at the other end of the phone, more anxious than afraid anyway.

"Keep it cool bitch," she announced to the dashboard. She wasn't, necessarily, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she found herself thinking back to each and every erotic, cum soaked moment from the previous day, and had begun to romanticize that this man, this pervert, was somehow only interested in her best interest.

"Yeah, he's like the Santa Claus of orgasms, and I'm on the nice girl list?" She chuckled to herself. Even in all of her distraction, the logical side of her kept her grounded. After all, it was likely that he'd end up being some forty year old janitor techno-phile with a receding hairline and some dumb cunt wife who refused to blow him. He was probably just bored, and she was his little side project, his distraction. Still, there was something very personal in his "gifts," in the way he'd talked to her earlier. For every written off hope that this fiend would end up being some dark prince charming, there was also a spoonful of genuine interest in his interest in her. What was it that he was doing? Why? Why her? Did they know each other? Had they met?

She crossed into town at just past one in the afternoon. Despite the early hour, the streets were empty. It had been well past the lunch hour, and all those good boys and girls who didn't take sex toys and homemade porn videos from complete strangers were certainly back to work or school or cleaning carpets. She'd scribbled his directions down on a half ripped U-Haul bill, the only writable surface she could find near the nightstand.

"Out off Route 4, take the 9 out of town, head left on Mills Creek and then right on RR4 – 10 miles on the left." She'd almost managed to ask what it was she was looking for when the receiver went dead. She remembered feeling silly half waiting to hear a dial-tone after the click..-something anyone over 20 would understand-but it had been a cellphone, and there was no such definitive end to the call, just a click, and silence. She was left standing there naked as a jaybird, holding a phone and her instructions, all alone, right back where she'd started. She'd found the signs all too easily, first through town, then on to Highway 9, a particularly nice stretch of road that went out through the deep woods, one of the drives that had sold her on moving out here to God's country. The 9 ended, and Mills Creek was back to civilization – first through a little no name town, you know, the ones that grow up around a Quick Stop and a car wash. Then into what looked like the outskirts of a bigger city. All of the trappings of suburban sprawl were on this road: a Target, two Mexican restaurants, signs for a Denny's some miles down the road. It was funny, she didn't know that the house was this close to all of this "culture," and had she found it on her own, she'd have treated it like some secret treasure trove of urbantopia-majora. She'd remembered to click on her trip odometer when she turned on to RR4. The miles creeped by one tenth of a mile at a time, traffic lights and cars slowing the pace to an almost unreasonable wait. Near the end, around seven and three tenths of a mile, she'd actually started honking her horn and shouting an an elderly fellow in an old beat up pickup truck who believed that turn signals were to be used at least a thousand yards before one intended to turn.

"Good job, go ahead, call lots of attention to yourself, that's what you want...someone pulling you over out here on your way to meet a man whose all but told you he's going to rape you." she concluded as she took pressure off the horn. "Calm down, you're going to meet him, and see him for what he is, throw a drink in his face and walk away, nothing else," she thought in a more sane grounded moment, the odometer reading a precious one and one tenth's mile from her destination. The buildings changed out here. Gone were the new facades, the bright colored signs of commerce and good things to eat. Instead, shabby facades , and shabbier signs of businesses long since bankrupt or moved away littered the side streets and she pressed the last mile. Almost as if on queue to torture her, the road took a long hard left, the skeletal remains of businesses disappeared as she rounded the final portion of the turn, and there it was, the one building he could mean. A shabby neon sign read "Happy Time Massage," The "a" and one of the "S's" in massage were flicking. She pulled past the building at first scanning for cars, of which there were two – a rusted out old Honda Civic, and a newer Honda Del Sol – both parked at the front of near the door. There was a window, but heavy curtains obscured all but the dim glow of fluorescent lights within the building. Not so much as as a profile moved by in shadow.

She drove past, nearly a mile before deciding that she had to turn around and go back. Mercifully, the sign at the door read "Customer parking in rear of building," with a shabby red arrow, drawn in what looked to be crayon or magic marker, pointing her around to the side of the building. She parked in the back, where there were three or four other cars, all vacant; was one of these his? She sat idle in the parking spot for five minutes, engine running, transmission in reverse – waiting for the boogeyman man to jump out from the darkened windows. There was a rear entrance, and she wanted to see what came out. At the five minute marker, she put her car in park and cut the engine. A thirty something, half dressed business man wandered out, tenuously at first, peering from right to left – undoubtedly scanning for signs of his boring chore of a wife. He held a little brown paper bag, and fidgeted with it nervously as he fumbled for his keys. He was nervous; it took him nearly a minute to get the door open, and another two to get the car started and pull away. After 10 minutes, no one else had exited the building and she thought that it was her best opportunity to sneak in unnoticed.

She got out of her car quickly and quietly; she was impressed that she'd managed to close and lock the car with so minimal a noise. She walked straight to the door, and noticed that there had been a second, screen door blocking the otherwise open orifice into the dark building. She reached out, hands shaking, and pulled the screen door open. It creaked, and she could feel her teeth gnash. It took all she could to step inside, but she had convinced herself that it was the only way to deal with all of this. The inside of the building was very different from the outside. The window up front must have been some closed off office or false window; there wasn't a fluorescent light to be found. Instead dimly lit halogens lined the empty hall. There were a series of closed doors with a beautiful, ornate, free-standing dressing screen at the end. To her left and right were big overstuffed chairs, and she fancied that she'd walked straight into the waiting room. There were plants too, exotic big leafed wonders beside each door and in the corners, and the room smelled of ginger and eucalyptus. After a moment of standing there motionless, she sat; there had been nothing else to do, and the last thing she was in the mood for was exploring the closed doors to find out what was behind them. A woman appeared from behind the screen down the hall, there must have been a door behind it. She was a pretty Asian woman at first glance, long hair, sharp features, wearing a silken red robe tied at the waist with some other type of dressing gown underneath. The woman stared at her blankly from down the hall for just a moment, then said something to whomever was behind the screen in an indiscernible language, nodded, and then made her way towards the newly terrified occupant of the waiting room.

Her phone buzzed and she was relieved instantly. Could it be some last minute "gotcha...you're on candid camera," moment, her husband, swinging into the rescue? "Sure," she thought, "I can hear it now....honey, I know you've been masturbating like a teenage boy and that led to a man video taping you, then getting you all riled up with some sexy vibrating panties and that lead to my most amazing sexual encounter with a woman ever...all of that makes perfect sense to me, thanks for the great fuck and trying to protect my feelings..." it'd sound like in this idyllic fantasy.

"Wife of the year," she thought finally as the Asian woman neared. She stood up, nearly instinctively – there was no need, after all, to be rude to number one sucky here. She glanced down at her phone to see a text message. Upon further inspection, it was just two words next to the title "Unknown Number..."

"Do it..."

The Asian woman spoke first. "I Jade, you the new lady big man send over for job." Was this a joke? Jade, upon a closer look, wasn't all that attractive after all; she was skinny, but almost in an undernourished sort of way. Her lower jaw protruded nearly a half inch further than than her nose, and while she certainly had pretty dark eyes, there was far too much makeup. Her hair was the best part of her; it was long and black, it was certainly Jade's best feature and it looked like she knew it, having it carefully brushed and conditioned. It was nearly reflecting the pale yellow light. She had it parted down the middle, both halves falling over her thin shoulders, an obvious trick to get men to follow it down across her chest and stare at her tits. She was staring at her tits, it was working. They were nice tits, certainly fake even through the dressing gown and outer robe, her hard little man made nipple were sticking out straight...and in slightly different directions...god may let them droop, but he at least believes in symmetry. She woke from her study session, she realized she'd been staring down at Jade's chest for longer, probably, than most of the men that came in here.

"Big man? - Whose that?" she responded, looking back up at Jade's face. How clever, in his zeal to get her here in this place, how could he be so careless as to tell Jade she was coming – certainly she'd have to know who he was.

"I don't know...man from service...I call...he tell me he send new girl...you her?" Jade responded flatly. There was an ease in Jade's demeanor, it only then had occurred to her that Jade must have been nervous about a woman walking in here apropos of nothing.

"You do men and women?" Jade asked matter of factually.

"Or she wasn't nervous at all," she thought...clearly Jade was used to clientele of both genders.

"Do it," the words burned in her mind, she tried to interpret the tone, she hadn't considered it before. Normally it's the sort of dull jibe that extreme athlete types shout at each other as they jump out of planes or off buildings...but coming from her stage director...it was different. It had a tone all it's own...it might have well ended with "Or Else!

"I'm your girl," she told jade timidly. What would this be, what did he want her to do...was this some elaborate ploy to get a free hand job at the local jack-shack? Certainly a man of such careful plans and execute executions could muster a twenty five dollar hand job, if that's what he was after. She got the sudden and chilling feeling that she was closer to the beginning of something than the end.

"Come with me, I show you ropes and take you through routine once." Jade said turning and hastily walking back toward the screen. She had to jump and then double time to catch up, the little woman darted down the hall with a purpose.

"It 45% split to the house, we cover appointment service – we give you phone number but you have to buy own cards." Jade said walking behind the screen. By the time she caught up to Jade, she found herself in what looked like any ordinary stock room that the screen had been obscuring. There were racks with stacks of towels, a long hanger rod that ran the length of the room, filled with dry cleaner sleeves with clean robes underneath." The other wall was filled with hanging shelves, all mounted to the unpainted cement wall behind – the racks were filled with jars of various size and type, each having a label, all read in some foreign language she couldn't understand.

"You get one clean robe per day, so take it off if you don't want to walk around covered in jizz all day," Jade continued. The words stopped her heart, she'd assumed it was a "happy ending" affair, but it was only with Jade's confirmation that she was forced to realize that it absolutely was what it seemed, but that she'd have to massage some stranger's cock if she was going to keep playing this game.

"Eighty dollar for t'irty minute massage, even two hundred for happy ending." Jade finished.

"And what-five hundred if they want to fuck me in the ass?" she said snidely, catching the attention of Jade clearly gathering items for her new employee. Jade's back had been turned away, but she swung around sharply, finger pointed up – the fake shitty red nails curling over her gnarled fingertips. "Listen princess – you not want to fuck, that's your b'idness...I don't care, whatever, you pay 45% to house at the end of day. We have camera in rooms, we know if you suck, fuck – whatever you charge above our rate...they pay, you pay." Jade was clearly annoyed, but this was a rehearsed speech, as terribly broken as her English was...Jade knew what she'd said to her, and was standing there waiting for answer."

"Oh, we can set our prices? I was just kidding, most places have a menu....45% works great," she said. Jade nodded, looked her up and down once. "You do fine, you make lots of money for you and me...we good." She responded, the easy tone washing back into her voice quickly. Jade knew what she was doing, and this was clearly not her first new girl.

"Here," Jade said, throwing a red robe fresh out of a dry cleaning bag over the shoulder to her. "You got locker number four here..." she said, standing back, opening a locker which she'd previously been covering with her body. Jade stood there motionless, finally eyes widening...clearly, she expected her to change into her robe right there and then. "Can't look like a prude," she thought – pulling her shirt off, then unbuttoning her pants, and pulling down her pants. She hadn't worn panties, and her bra snapped off with one front clasp...there she was, standing naked in front of Jade, exposed. Jade took step toward her, looking over her body in the most clinical sort of way. Jade was studying her, looking for blemishes, looking for tan lines and sun-spots, she'd run her hands down her shoulders and lifted her arms...inspecting even her armpits and then focusing on her tits. She was uncomfortable, but not necessarily ashamed. It felt as if though Jade were some doctor, her mother helping her look for some boo boo that hurt her in places unseen. Jade reached up with both hands and pinched her nipples, it took her aback at first, she hadn't expected it given the sterility of the exam thus far.