A Doll's Foot Ch. 02-03

Chapter 2

HE CAME OUT OF THE ELEVATOR JUST as she stepped into the hotel. Coincidence? Probably not. He was dressed in a pale blue silk suit that fit him perfectly, bespoke for sure, and brown shoes of woven leather. If the restaurant dress code required jacket and tie he was technically out of compliance, preferring instead a white ribbed knit cotton shirt without a collar. There was a large watch on his wrist, with a Velcro strap like a sports watch, probably one of those fancy super expensive sports watches that could make phone calls and surf the net. One that he could run with and swim with, in the nude even, and keep in touch with his robot masters. Probably the thing that had interrupted his morning orgy on the beach.

"Be-ah." He stopped short. He had been about to use the wrong pronunciation. "Can I just call you Betty?"

"Betty? No one has ever called me Betty." She rolled it around on her tongue. "Call me Bea. As you just did. That is what my friends call me. And what should I call you? Do you have a nickname?"

He hesitated, and then said, "Birdy."

"Birdy?"

"You know, Nestor, Bird's Nest. Some time in grade school, but it stuck. Sometimes as Birdbrain.'

"And now you are the Bald Eagle?" She could not resist.

"That's quite a dress." It consisted of a piece of sheer pink fabric that looped around her neck so the two ends each crossed a breast, not exactly hiding it, then just below that reached a sort of belt up around her midriff. At that point, two long pieces of fabric covered her lower body front and back. Sort of. Her sides were bare from the middle of her back down. A long gold chain looped around her neck secured a tiny beaded purse resting on a bare hip. Her footwear was obscured by the long hems of the split skirt, but whatever it was had brought her eyes up to near level with his. Eyes like two black olives to go with the olive oil hue of her skin.

"Yes. This spring our upper secondary school, what you call..."

"High school."

"High school. Well, we were all getting high. In the classes. Anyway, as part of graduation we had a fancy ball."

"A prom. And you wore that dress?"

"It has another layer to go underneath. But it's hot and itchy. I mean, who is going to care here? We could dine naked on the terrace, if we wanted to. And I thought if I'm going be a for real whore, not just a cam whore, I might as well dress the part."

"Did you have a date? For the prom?"

"Risa." As if that was the stupidest question ever. "She went dressed as my pimp."

"Oh. What's in the bag?"

"The stuff you wanted for tonight." She let him peek in to see a dildo.

"Oh. Well, you can leave it at the coat check. We'll retrieve it after dinner."

"Okay." She was starting to tremble a little. The fact that she had told him she'd just graduated from high school, even if Italian high school did run a year longer, was bothering her. Of course, he knew already, knew she'd been doing cam shows for several years. He put an arm around her, this time she did not resist, and shepherded her over to the coat check. The girl there gave them a questioning look, the more so as she looked at the contents of the bag.

"C'est exactement comme vous le pensez." It's exactly what you think. "Do you have a problem with that?" Beatrice glared at the coat check girl, they were about the same age, and that produced a blush.

"No, of course not. It's none of my business. Oh my." Her eyes widened as she recognized the bracelet on the arm that was offering her a couple euros for safekeeping of the bag. As they walked across the lobby they could see in the mirrored doors of the elevators that she was busy on her phone.

"Where did you get this beautiful suit?" Beatrice was feeling the fabric on his sleeve, also how hard the flesh was underneath it. Old men were not supposed to be hard like that. "I have spent a lot of time in clothing stores..."

"Running around naked making the videos that made you famous."

"Well of course, but we did look around, at least Risa and I did. Rocco would get very impatient, he hated to shop. He was only there to film us, and maybe get a blowjob. But my point is, we would look for clothes for him also, and I never saw a suit anything like this."

"Hong Kong. My last assignment was in Southeast Asia."

"Oh." There was a question she wanted to ask, but refrained. A question about child prostitutes and compensated dating and ladyboys and just who the fuck had he been fucking. "I guess an almost twenty year old must seem ancient to you after that."

"One so experienced." And of course he knew that was not true at all. "So why did you bring along the bag?"

"Why do you think? Look, I had a long talk with Rocco and Risa after you left. They were both encouraging me to do more than just have dinner. In fact, Risa was going through the list saying you need to try this, you need to try that, I always wanted to do that, things like that. And Rocco was hinting maybe the money would come in handy."

She stopped. They had found a table, not much of a challenge in a room that was almost empty, and a waitress had come over to hand them menus.

"Hello, I'm Rachel. I'll be you're server tonight." In English. Apparently she had overheard some of their conversation. Even though it was inside in the evening, the waitress was still dressed for the terrace, nothing but a little lap apron with pouches.

"Hello Rachel. You are very lovely." That from Nestor was uncalled for. Skin tanned to just a very light brown, short blonde hair, pointy chin and nose, little perky breasts. If that's what he liked, what the fuck was he doing with Beatrice? "I love your tattoo." He pointed to a garland of roses along her right thigh, and she pulled up the apron a little to show off more of it.

"We put on fake tattoos for the shows sometimes, but I'm never getting a real one. My mother has tattoos. They were probably really sexy when she got them, but now they just remind you how wrinkled her skin is." Beatrice was staring morosely at her menu. "There are a lot more choices on the French one."

"The seafood here is pretty good. I'd stay away from the steak."

"I'd totally forgotten we were doing a show tonight, but they were both saying don't worry we can handle it on our own. Like they'd be happier not having me there. You know, years ago Risa told me she loved me but she wanted to see what it was like with a guy, and I said why not my brother? And it worked all those years. Well, I guess a couple years. For me it's a long time. I'll have the shrimp cocktail and the filet mignon. Medium." That as the waitress who had been loitering near enough to eavesdrop came back over to their table.

"Shrimp cocktail and the flounder for me."

"Would you care for anything to drink?"

"Iced tea for me."

"And you, mademoiselle?"

"One of those." She pointed to a huge frosted thing on the cocktail menu.

"Maybe you're being over sensitive. At some point maybe they'll want to get married, but she's still very young."

"Anyway, they told me to come over and fuck your brains out and here I am in my whore dress and my bag of toys and I'm scared shitless. The only guy I've ever been with is my brother and only a couple of times."

"What about the Black Mass?"

"It was pitch dark with strobe lights and heavy metal music and bodies everywhere. I have no idea who did what to me. It was all licking though, no fucking."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"What kind of question is that? They have an orgy like that every night in the club here. Have I ever gone to one?" Her drink arrived and she downed it in a couple gulps. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"Only if the bots told me."

"You couldn't ask them?"

"I could, but it might annoy them."

"This place is always an orgy. Look over there." She pointed behind her. When he turned back around, he realized she had her phone out, taking a pic or a short video of the couple on the bench behind him. "Got to send that to Risa." The phone pinged with a reply. "You are so fucking right.'' She got up, walked around the table to pull him up to his feet. "Come on. As long as I'm doing this I'm going to have some fun. Am I allowed to have fun? The little robots won't be angry?"

He didn't answer. She was leading him towards the restrooms. Seemed pretty tame. They'd go into a stall and do something. So be it, if that would please her. But instead she stopped at the mirrored foyer, still in full view of the diners, and opened the fly of those lovely blue silk pants. It was Velcro, a wide strip that pulled down to release all of him at once. He was wearing nothing underneath. Very tan, very hard, just like the rest of him. How had he been hiding all that in those clingy pants? She took him into her mouth anyway, her lipstick almost staining the lovely blue silk, then turned around, shifting the back half of the skirt off to the side, leaning against the mirror. The shoes had raised her enough so that he was at just the right angle to enter her.

< Questo è quello che stavi cercando >. This is what you've been looking for. That's what Marissa had texted her. Someone very rich, very depraved, very sophisticated, very mysterious. She had thought maybe the sheikh, if he ever showed up, but this was so much better. So much better. She was climaxing, clutching him, forcing him to join her. But instead he withdrew. And pushed her head down a little to change the angle.

"No!" It was quite clear what he intended to do. What he was actually succeeding in doing, with very little resistance. "Not ready! Messy." That was all the protest she had time for before he had impaled her.

"Nice, so nice." He shifted a little and somehow slipped even deeper within her, rubbing his hands on her bare back, her bare butt, pulling away strips of cloth to bare her breasts. Barely moving, just enough to remind her that he was inside her, filling her. One hand reached down to find the open space he had abandoned, one finger on the mini erection at the top, the other reaching inside to find the little rough spot. He started to thrust a bit harder then, and she came. How many times had Marissa brought her to climax, or Rocco? But never like this. She had never imagined her body could do this. It was as astonishing as the first time she had ever masturbated. She was used to making little moaning sounds for the web shows, but the sound she was making now was different, a deep, guttural sigh that had grabbed the attention of all the diners, even some from the lobby drifting in to see what was going on.

Then it was over. He pulled away from her, careful not to brush her dress, his fine silk suit. She could smell how messy it was before he turned her around, pressed her knees to the floor. His erection was frosted with secretions, her arousal, her bowels, his semen, all mixed together. She opened her mouth wide so it wouldn't brush her cheeks or mess her hair.

"Good girl" He pushed all the way down her throat - at least she couldn't taste it back that far. She came again, just from that, and maybe he did also.

"Dio mio!" She looked around in a daze to see that a little crowd had gathered around them. That there was a man with his dick out maybe looking for sloppy seconds. Others with their phones out, recording. "Dio mio!" She rushed into the sanctuary of the women's room.

Author's Note: Stay tuned for Chapter 4 - The foot appears

Chapter 3

THE ENTREES WERE JUST ARRIVING when she returned to the table. How long had it all taken? Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen at most. Nestor looked up from his phone and blew her a little kiss. How romantic. Had he wondered if she would return? Did he even care?

"Here you are." The waitress gave them their salads, then the meat dishes. "Bon appétit. I hope you enjoyed the appetizer."

Beatrice was quite sure the little tart was not talking about the shrimp. "An acquired taste."

"Like coffee, or beer. Bitter."

"You were watching us?"

"Somewhat. You, ah, stimulated business. I was busy with a customer."

"Not waiting tables." That was met with a little giggle. "What? You are on the menu? Along with the food?" The waitress picked up the standing card that listed the cocktails and desserts, and pointed to the bottom, to a little sticker that had been added. "Sex with wait staff, ten euros a minute, maximum five minutes. Really? Five minutes?"

"We don't want to interrupt our regular activities forever. That's why we put the in the time limit."

"There's a card like that in the room," Nestor said. "But it's to let you order in for a boy or girl or whatever along with the list of delis and pizza places."

"Really. And you are okay with this arrangement?" That to the waitress

She gave a shrug. "It's part of the job. You don't have to work at this restaurant."

"Ten euros is not much."

"It's usually at least forty. And we don't put out the cards with the stickers for every customer. Actually we don't get many takers. It would be more like you said, a lonely single person, or a couple who want to try a boy or girl. So they order in."

"Doesn't this make you a brothel? I thought they were still illegal in France." Beatrice had been doing some research on the local prostitution laws. As far as she could tell, she had not broken any. Yet.

"I don't think so. From what I understand the guests were always, how do you say it? Poking on the waiters and waitresses."

"Hitting on them," Nestor offered.

"I can't imagine why." Beatrice gave the waitress's bare butt a little slap. A cute little butt, a bit fleshier than Marissa. What would it taste like? Salty, if she'd been running around all day, doing her waitress thing. Sour, if she really had just been fucking. Maybe bitter too.

"Really, why should we be required to wear clothing when everyone else can go naked? Especially outside during the day, when it is very hot. In any case, the guests were, as you call it, hitting on the wait staff, and offering them tips, and it was very awkward. So once the EU had gotten rid of those silly fines that no one ever enforced anyway, we requested that things be standardized. We printed up the stickers on our own and put them on the cards. The only involvement of the hotel was to let us do it. And of course, to let us take a few minutes off of our server duties, although if we don't cover those, we'll lose the privileges."

"And you do it right here, right in the restaurant? With everyone watching?"

"Of course. It's part of the, shall we say, the ambiance. Free entertainment for the other diners. And of course, it may, shall we say, drum up a little more business. Tonight has been very slow, however."

"Really." Beatrice was fumbling through her little purse, too small to lose anything, but it took her a while to find a ten euro bill. "Come here. Turn around."

* * *

"DO YOU THINK WE'RE GOING to get dessert?" Nestor teased. The waitress had put up with the licking for the mandatory minute, then ran off to the safety of the kitchen. After snatching away the ten euro bill.

"Eat your fish while it's still warm. This steak is really good, despite what you said. Look at her now, the little whore, down under the table behind you, making the rounds. See, I did her a favor. No, don't turn around. That would give her too much satisfaction."

"Women," Nestor sighed.

"What about women?"

"Always squabbling."

"What do you mean?"

"I used to manage women. Women I was individually friendly with, but then I couldn't be her friend if I was going to be her friend. Convinced me I never wanted a harem."

She chewed on her steak for a moment, wondering how to reply. The fact that he was so ready to criticize her was depressing. Just another piece of ass to him. "Your wife, was she bitchy?"

"With me? Not at all. She did have a temper, though."

"And she did all these things on your list?"

"Almost all of them. What you were doing to the waitress she would not do. And if I did it to her, it only annoyed her."

"But you did it anyway? Because you enjoyed it?" A shrug. "Typical male." She gave a little smile. She had evened the score, at least in her own reckoning. "What did she look like, this wonderful wife of yours?"

He tapped on his phone and slid it over to her. She had expected a head shot or something of the like, but instead it was a black and white photo of a naked couple.

"One of our friends took this a couple years after we were married. She was a professional photographer, developed the negatives herself in her own little darkroom. You probably don't even know what I'm talking about."

"Vaguely." She was examining the woman in the ancient photo. Short, barely topping her partner's shoulders, not at all fat, but square built. Long straight hair that was probably blond, roundish face with a sharp chin and a little pointy nose. Skin very pale in contrast to her partner. "Nice boobs." Maybe not as big as her own, but very perky.

"Functional too."

"That's you with all that hair?"

"It got worse. I got more and more hairy, it was like a pelt. Until it all fell out."

"And the tiny little prick?"

"I run in the nude a lot. Even when I wear shorts, they're loose with nothing beneath them."

"Isn't that dangerous? Don't you need the support?"

"Not at all. Your body, well not yours, a man's body, adapts, develops the muscles to hold everything in place."

"Oh. And the tiny balls?" She'd had a close up view of his balls and they were quite large now.

"Vasectomy."

"Oh. She doesn't look anything like me."

"Why would she? Actually, Marissa is built a lot like my college girlfriend."

She looked again at that round face - pretty enough, but also very serious, very powerful. Brilliant. Intimidating. A mirror image of the face across the table from her. Yes, they had been well matched, so far out of her league. Fuckmeat, that was all she would ever be to him. She picked up a napkin to wipe away a tear.

"You have children?" He had dropped a couple of hints to that effect - his wife nursing with those lovely breasts, his vasectomy

"Offspring. No longer children."

"And what do they think?"

"About what?"

"About what you're doing."

"They know I'm doing some volunteer work for the UN. They think it's better than sitting around moping."

"And is it? Better?" Would he have been just as content watching a game on the telly? He'd been sneaking peeks at the soccer match on the screen behind her, all through dinner. Maybe in the mirror while they were fucking.

"Definitely." He gave that little smile. "It's like being back in my road warrior days, except now there's no reason to be a good little boy."

"You don't think your wife is looking down from heaven? Keeping an eye on you?"

"We vowed to be faithful until death do us part. And it did."

"How?"

"She died in her sleep. Next to me. I don't think she knew. Aneurysm, so they said."

"That's so sad. So do you think she is waiting for you in heaven?"

"No. I think death is not the end, that we lead, have led, many lives. But the chances of finding her again..."

"So even death would not offer you any solace."

"I had other loves before her, even in this life."

"But now your heart is withered? Unlike, apparently, other parts of you?"

"Perhaps. When I was young I fell in love with girls I was having sex with. With my wife it was the other way around."

"But you had a lot of sex? With your wife?"

"Oh yes. Thousands of time. Tens of thousands."

She was going to ask how she compared, but caught herself in time. "In all those times, did you ever do something like we did tonight?"

"Once, on our honeymoon. Not my idea. She was not nearly as tall as you. It was awkward. We never tried that again."

"So this was new to you?"