Scheherazade Nights Ch. 03

Debbie was one of the last ones to arrive at Girls Night the next Wednesday. As she walked in, several eyes immediately turned to her.

"You told them a story and didn't tell us?" Maggie demanded.

"What?" Debbie was a bit flustered.

"Last week you get us all excited about this game you play with John but completely stiff us on the good parts," Maggie continued. "Now, we find out you actually told one of the stories when we weren't there. I think I hate you...and, sweetie, having your hair stylist hate you is a very dangerous thing!" Maggie gave a hugely exaggerated scowl to show just how grave Debbie's danger was.

"Well, it just kind of..." Debbie's voice trailed off weakly. She turned and looked at her closest friends. "Who blabbed?"

Anne meekly raised her hand, "Umm, me? Sorry."

"Anne! That wasn't supposed to be gossip!" Debbie's exasperation wasn't faked.

"I'm so sorry, Debbie. I was just...well, the whole thing really excited me; I've been thinking about it for the last four days. When Claire and Mary got here, I just kind of blurted out something not thinking that Heather and Maggie were already here. Then Vi showed up and we were already talking..." Now it was her voice that trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"There's no harm," said Maggie, "you can just tell us now."

"Nah, I don't think so, guys..."

Laura walked in at that point, saw the faces. "What did I miss?"

"Anne told us that Debbie told her, Claire and Mary one of her fantasies over the weekend," Vi said.

"And now Debbie doesn't want to tell us," Maggie added helpfully.

Laura's eyes lit up. "Oooooh, I'm glad I showed up this week."

"Come on, Debbie!"

Debbie shook her head. "Let's do something else."

"This is just so not fair!" Heather said.

"I don't want to do something else," said Maggie. "I'd much rather hear about someone getting as much oral sex as they could handle!"

Debbie looked over at Anne, "You didn't spare the details, did you?" Anne flushed. "Well, since you girls already know what happened, I don't need to go over it, do I?"

"But, we didn't get the details," protested Heather, at the same time as Laura said, "But I don't know what happened."

"Come one, Deb," Anne urged, "I'm sorry I said something I shouldn't have, but they know now and you've already told some of us. We're all friends. Please?"

Debbie looked around, sighed, "All right."

Claire spoke up for the first time, "One thing. Given what happened tonight, I think we need to agree one something.

"What happens here, stays here. We're friends, like Anne says, and friends don't tell each other's secrets. Debbie's telling us private stuff. Nothing that gets said leaves this group." There were nods around the circle.

"That includes husbands. Bill knows about The Game, but I didn't tell him Debbie's story. Mary, did you tell Keith about what Debbie said Saturday night?" Mary shook her head. "Okay, then. Not even husbands...Maggie, Heather? You don't tell Peter and Frank. No one! Is everyone agreed on this?" She looked at each woman in the room, waiting until they agreed.

"Tracy and Jackie were here last week."

"They're not a big deal," Claire said. "I was the one who invited them, but it was just for the party. If you run into them, obviously they know about The Game, but nothing else gets said to them, not even that there IS something else.

"In fact, I think the rule needs to be that, if someone's not here, they don't get the story from someone else. Only the person whose story it is can tell it."

Everyone nodded. "Okay, then."

So Debbie told her story again, this time to the wider audience. It was easier the second time.

When she was done, the newcomers reacted much as her old friends had done on Saturday--they were excited, cheeks a bit flushed as their imaginations pictured what had happened in that bed that evening.

"Tell us what he did to you after you finished dinner," Heather said.

"You mean, like details?"

"Yeah. What...exactly...did you have him do? I mean, for instance, did you have him come in and just start fucking you or did you have him ease into it slowly? What did you want?"

Debbie's face got slightly red, but she realized she didn't mind answering as much as she thought she would. "Oh, I don't know."

Anne spoke up. "Deb, you've got us totally hooked. No one's going to be critiquing you or John; we're the perverts playing voyeur here. I know maybe it's awkward to talk about sex, but you're making us hot and bothered and we'd like you to do it some more. Pretty please? Give us a good porn story?"

Everyone laughed.

"Well," Debbie sighed a bit, "the problem is that I can't. I don't really remember the details. It was last year and I had had a bit to drink. It's just sort of a blur of good sex, if you understand. I mean...I know it went on for a while.

"I had him start kind of easy, you know: slow, taking his time, building me up. And...well...then I came that way and got on top for one time because I wanted to set the pace and control how I rubbed against him. I remember I kind of collapsed on him at the end and had to take a break.

"At some point, I put him back on top with my legs wrapped up around him and had him go as hard as he could. That was, like, the most mind-blowing orgasm of the day and I was almost ready to stop. He needed a break then. He said it was so he didn't come, but I think he was getting really tired. So we did it one more time, really slowly, with him from behind while we were spooning.

"But, I can't really fill in the details. I don't remember them." Debbie said.

She could see the disappointment in Heather's face and a couple of the others sighed. "Sorry, I'd try to tell you; I really would. But that day is one of the blurriest because it was just sort of orgasms all day long."

"I hate it when that happens," Anne said, getting a laugh from everyone and lightening the mood.

"So, tell us a different one, then, Debbie," said Claire quietly. "You talked to John about telling us the fantasy, right?"

"Of course I did!"

"Did he say you could only tell us that one story?"

"Well, there were two I mentioned to him and he didn't forbid them. So I guess he tacitly agreed to those two."

"Tell us the second one, then."

...

"Have any of you ever fantasized about being a prostitute?"

A couple of embarrassed glances.

"I have...not to actually be one...just to think about," said Maggie.

"Yeah, me too," added Mary, not seeing the surprised look from her closest friends.

"Really?" said Laura, "that seems totally 'ewww' to me."

"Not really doing it...that WOULD be totally 'ewww'...having sex with some disgusting slob who has bad breath and probably half a dozen STDs," agreed Debbie. "No, I'm not talking about anything remotely like reality.

"I'm talking about the romanticized version where you make every guy want you--and it's just a night of sex, probably wild sex, with no strings attached, with some handsome guy who wants you so much he'll pay for it--and you enjoy it even though it's your job. Sort of 'Pretty Woman' on steroids."

"I guess," said Laura doubtfully. "Not my thing, but I guess I can see that being a fantasy."

"Well, it was mine."

- - - - -

"John, I know my fantasy day isn't for couple of weeks, but I wanted to talk to you about it because it might not be the kind of thing that can happen on the spur of the moment."

He looked at me expectantly, with that slightly nervous look we both got when the other was describing what we'd have to do.

"It's a role play fantasy."

"Ooh, are you the innocent schoolgirl and I'm the stern teacher?" he laughed.

"No, smartass, that's your fantasy. You spend one of your days if you want that one."

"Oh, right, I forgot," he grinned.

"In this one, I'm the expensive lady of the night who gets paid to keep a traveling businessman happy one evening."

I had surprised him, I could tell.

"Here's the address of the Fremont Hotel near the convention center out toward Providence. I'll be in the bar there at 8:00 on that Saturday--in character," I said, staring at him.

"And, I'm supposed to..."

I cut him off, "Obviously, a woman in this line of work doesn't know exactly how her evening is going to go."

"I see," he said smiling.

"You make whatever plans you think necessary, John. I'm just letting you know I'm going to let some man pay me for sex that night."

- - - - -

"Honestly, Debbie, I got shivers just from you saying that," said Maggie. "It's so...like...bad! I mean I know you're not really going to turn tricks but just the words...whew!"

"You wanted him to set up the entire evening?" asked Mary.

"Yeah. If I had to script the entire thing, it wouldn't have been as much fun."

Mary looked a little doubtful, but decided to wait to see what was coming.

Maggie wanted to know, "Why out by Providence? That's a fair drive."

"Because I didn't want to be arrested by some undercover cop not realizing I was playing a game," laughed Debbie. "Prostitution isn't illegal in Rhode Island right now."

"What?" half the women were completely surprised.

"Yeah, some weird loophole in a law from 1980. Streetwalking is illegal; running a whorehouse is illegal; using a car for indecent purposes is illegal; et cetera--but having sex for money is not. The legislature is trying hard to change this but, for right now, that's the way it is."

"That is so weird!" Maggie said.

"So, you did it?" Mary asked. "You went and had guys proposition you for sex?"

"Yes," Debbie replied, "Five of them, in fact." Breaths were drawn around the room. "And, not only propositioning, I ending up doing a guy at the end of the evening, well, two of them, depending on how you look at it."

"Holy shit!"

- - - - -

That Saturday arrived. I don't know if you remember, Claire, but I said our water was turned off for a repair and I wanted to borrow your shower while you were out? The truth was, I wanted to get dressed in private.

So, I got myself all fancied up, looking the way I wanted, and drove out to Providence.

- - - - -

"Wait, wait, wait a minute," Claire demanded. "You promised us details. That includes everything. You have to tell us all about what you were wearing, how you looked. We want to know what you were thinking when everything happens. We want to know what gets said at every moment. And--trust me--if there's any sex at the end of this, you're not going to get away with something like 'and then I had sex with him,' understand?

"If you can advertise sex for sale," she laughed, "you can certainly talk dirty to us. Deb, give us a really raunchy story, please!"

Debbie looked at her, thinking about that. "You want dirty?" She had told them sexual stories twice and the ice was broken. And now she was thinking about a story where being slutty was part of the thrill. Somehow, the thought of kicking it up didn't dismay her as much. "How about I let Deborah tell this story instead of Debbie?" she said, with a wicked grin.

- - - - -

I was over at Claire's house. I knew she wouldn't be home for hours, so I had plenty of time.

I laid out my clothes and tried to figure out what to wear. I had bought several things. I'm embarrassed to say that the first set I had bought was street hooker: bustier, micro mini, the works. Once I got them home, I knew that, no matter how slutty my fantasy, there was no way I was going out in public in them. I needed to go classy working girl--so the original things went back to the store.

But I still had gotten myself a selection of things that were possibles. Was I going to wear the really padded push-up bra to make the girls super stand out, or go with the see-through lace? That type of thing.

I guess you want to know exactly what I chose? Well, I first I put on a pair of tiny lace panties...they left nothing to the imagination, high cut on the side, plunging in the front, see-through lace all around. Then a black lace demi-bra that barely came up over my nipples, giving just a bit of pushup. Finally, I put on seamed stockings with a garter belt.

The dress was this little black number. Cut low enough in the front that the guys would look, but not so low I'd have to worry. It was short, several inches above the knee, but not so short I had to worry about everything showing when I sat on a bar stool. I guess you'd just say, sexy black dress. Some black stiletto sandals and a small black clutch.

Wedding rings carefully off, diamond hoops in the ears, that gold bracelet John gave me for Christmas, and a diamond and pearl drop necklace that was just the right length to make the guys look you-know-where.

I felt sexy as hell, if you want to know, and Claire's mirror agreed.

I was nervous for the whole drive out...excited, but nervous.

As I walked into the place, a few minutes before 8:00, I noticed a couple eyes on me, checking me out a bit. It was amazing how much difference circumstances and attitude can make. Normally, a bunch of guys staring can be kind of annoying, you know? Now, it just made me feel good, confirming the image I had of myself. I wanted to have guys looking; that was the whole point.

I sat down at the empty end of the bar. It was a bit early...looking back, I think really early for the real girls...so there was a lot of empty space. The bartender came over and I ordered a seltzer with lime.

"Sure. You waiting for someone?" he asked.

"No. Just having a drink," I answered, smiling at him.

"Enjoy then," he said and strolled away. I caught him glance at me a couple times.

Maybe ten minutes had passed when I felt someone walk up beside me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. He had been sitting at the other end of the bar when I came in. Tall, average looking, but fit. Short, brown hair, gray eyes that looked interested. The steel-rimmed glasses and suit didn't look American...European, maybe? His accent had sounded American, though.

"Paul," he introduced himself. "Single malt for me and another of whatever she's having," this to the bartender who had come over.

"Deborah," I said, offering him my hand. He shook it gravely, a small smile on his face.

"Where are you from, Paul?" I asked.

"London," he replied. I looked around the room, didn't see John, then turned back to Paul.

"Let me guess. Are you an attorney?"

He laughed, a nice laugh, "Lord, no! Architect. Why did you think attorney?

"Oh, no reason. So, what brings you to the United States, Paul the Architect?" I gave him my best smile as I said this, distracting him.

"Well, a double purpose really. I'm from here originally, as I guess you can tell, and my sister is getting married next weekend. Since I don't get back here that often, I decided to come over early and attend a lecture."

"Sounds like a pleasant trip." I looked down for a second, taking a drink. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his eyes dip, slide over the upper swell of my breasts exposed by the neckline, the pendant nestling just at the top of my cleavage drawing the eye there, his vantage point of standing close and higher allowing him a glimpse of the curves disappearing into my dress. Under the guise of adjusting on the stool, I straightened my back just a little, pulling my shoulders back a small amount, not flaunting, but definitely accentuating.

He finished his Scotch, ordered another one. We made small talk for maybe ten for fifteen minutes, chatting about architecture and the changes in America since he had left, his interest in me frank and unabashed. We talked about London, the sights to see, the places to avoid. Then he set down his drink and asked me, "Would you have dinner with me tonight, Deborah?"

I looked at him for a moment. This was the decision point. If this was really just a nice guy trying to pick me up while here on a visit, then saying yes was going to spoil my evening. I might have a perfectly fun time...Paul was very pleasant to talk to...but my purpose tonight wasn't to have dinner with some stranger. And besides, John would have a right to be rather annoyed if I started dating someone.

On the other hand, if this was someone John had sent, then I might be ruining his design by not going along with it. After a couple of seconds, I realized that I just had to play my part. And doing that meant I needed to make a definite indication about what I was...well, what I was pretending to be.

All of a sudden, at the moment I had to go on stage, the nerves hit. It was one thing to sit there and be admired by men, even allowing them to speculate what I was. But to actually come out and say something--I sure wished that glass in front of me had alcohol in it at that moment!

I took a sip to give myself a moment, then I smiled at Paul. "Paul, I would enjoy dinner with you but, just to make sure everyone is on the same page, dinner is on the clock." I was suddenly embarrassed yet, at the same time, a little excited: I had just told this man I was available for money.

I could see him processing what I said, realization spreading through him. The realization changed to disappointment. Was there also a hint of disdain? I couldn't tell. "Ah, I didn't realize. My mistake."

"No, then?" I said.

"No, beautiful as you are, I'm afraid that's not really my style. I'm sorry I took up so much of your time, then. Just chalk it up to my being a silly bugger."

"Oh, don't be silly, Paul. I had a lovely time talking to you. Thank you."

I watched him walk down to the other end of the bar and I still didn't know.

- - - - -

"How did that feel, Deb?" Claire wanted to know.

"Naughty!" she laughed. "At the most basic level, I knew that nothing was ever really going to have happened. The most would have been a moment of extreme embarrassment if he had been genuinely interested, had accepted my offer and then I had to back out. But still, it was exciting."

"So, was he sent from John?" Heather asked.

Debbie looked at her, "Well, you girls wanted to be part of the mood, so why don't I just continue the story..."

- - - - -

I sat there, trying to calm down my nerves. I felt the way I do on a roller coaster: part of me knowing that nothing is actually going to go wrong, but the body reacting nonetheless, pumping adrenaline to cause butterflies in my stomach, hands shaking very slightly.

I looked around again and finally saw John sitting deep in a corner, drink in hand, comfortable. I glanced at the clock, 8:20. Now I didn't know what to think.

If he had been here when I walked in, I would have known that he intended to oversee the evening himself, making sure all went the way he intended. That was what I expected on my way over.

If he were still missing, and hadn't called to warn me of a problem, I would have been confident that he was going to stay out of the evening until the end. He would have had someone in the room, acting as the stage manager to make sure this fantasy played out as intended, while John made his entrance to find me later. At Paul's approach, I realized...or thought I realized...that this was the plan.

Yet, he was here now, his half-empty drink showing he had been here for a bit...but NOT at 8:00...not even five or ten minutes later. Had he just been a few minutes late, delayed by traffic? I felt a frisson run through me--there was a chance that Paul was exactly what he had said he was: a genuine pick-up attempt that accidentally slid in before John could get his script working. I might have just truly solicited someone!