Fancy Girl: Taken

This is the first of the tales of Juliet, a runaway-turned-waitress who reluctantly tries the world's oldest profession with a kindly older man who is not what he seems. Actual non-consensual sex means a date with Cletus Throatripper, yadda yadda, rape should be kept as a fantasy, only try this at home with someone you really trust.

Juliet held her face in the sink full of cold water until she could no longer hold her breath. Her arms trembled on the cold metal edge of the sink as she stared into the hazy mirror above it. The rounded, girl next door's features that had been happy once were now drawn from exhaustion. Working a shift and a half six nights a week would do that. The strawberry blonde hair that was more gold than rose that framed her face had lost much of its former bounce. Although that stupid cowlick in the middle jutted up like it always did. Green eyes stared out into the world with a haunted expression. Drying her face with a paper towel, Juliet took a make-up kit out of her apron in an attempt to fix some of the damage. She never had been much good with the stuff; the results were more cheap whore out on the corner than anything else.

Well.

Truth in advertising, wasn't it?

Juliet washed it off. Just a little bit of lipstick and some shadow around the eye to hide the bags. On went her golden wire-rimmed glasses. She plastered her fakest "trying to keep the entitled customer from getting me fired" smile. It would have to do. Anyway, it was her body that he would be interested in. She smoothed down the white blouse that she had shrunk in a dryer in the laundromat around the corner last night. It clung tightly to her curvy body. What had once been a chubster's figure had tightened up into an hourglass after a year of cheap and constant work. The only bits that had not shrunk were up front and out back. Even though she was a tall girl, the size of her bust had always made her uncomfortable. God, she still remembered being called "Grand Tetons when she had sprouted in 6th grade. The swell that filled out her shortened black pleated skirt in back got lots of "more cushion for the pushin'" comments. No wonder she used to wear oversized jeans and hoodies.

Trembling fingers stripped off pantyhose and the chunky sneakers that she usually worked in. On went some three inch strappy heels that she had picked up from a thrift shop across the street from the laundromat. They would be absolute murder to work in for the rest of the shift. Of course, if this went south then she would be on the street anyway. Juliet took a few experimental steps around the tiny janitor's closet. She wobbled a bit before the rhythm came back. Don had made her walk in them for hours when-- She gritted her teeth. Don't think about him. The heels did do great things for her legs. They had been toned by countless hours of walking to work and waitress duty.

Showtime. Juliet ignored the ice in her belly as she walked the short distance into the diner. It was a typical type of its breed: counter with stools, banquettes along the windows across from them, a hatch where waitresses could pass orders to the trolls in the kitchen. That old hag Madge was chatting with the head-cook owner. She was too busy jawing to actually serve the customers. Not that there were very many in the place at this hour. There was one homeless guy nursing a coffee in a corner booth. There was an old woman dozing with head on folded arms with a half-eaten burger and fries shoved to one side. Then there was him.

Juliet took a quarter-full pot from the machine. Of course, Madge was too lazy to actually change it out for a fresh pot. It would have to do. Heels clicked on worn linoleum as she walked over to the booth where Mr. Carabus always sat. She discreetly opened up her blouse several buttons to show off her breasts once her back was to Madge. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel while ringing started in her ears. It was all she could to stay focused on him. The short man with dark skin was intent on the miniature chess board before him. She had once heard him claim that playing on a virtual board was not the same. The buzzing fluorescent lights above him shone on his bald head bordered by a tonsure of salt and pepper hair. Emphasis on the salt. His three-piece suit was a cut well above the usual customers. He said he came here because he was a night owl who had a taste for terrible food.

He did not look up when she refilled his cup. He glanced at the smartphone to one side of the board before moving a knight on the opposing side with a sigh.

Juliet shifted from foot to foot.

He reached out to a rook.

"Mate in three, sir," Juliet said.

"I know. I am off my game of late." Mr. Carabus sipped from his cup. He winced. "The barista is spectacularly awful tonight. Of a piece with the special, which was not."

"Then why do you even eat here, sir?" Juliet asked. "I work here. And I don't use my discount."

"Because of my insomnia, my twisted need to punish myself--" Mr. Carabus pushed one more piece before toppling over his king and texting his defeat. "--the fact that owning this building means the owner lets me linger as long as I want, and of course the--"

He finally looked up.

Dark eyes behind moon-spectacles widened at both her altered attire and the expanse of bare breast on display.

"--lovely and intelligent wait-staff." Mr. Carabus leaned back. "New uniform policy?"

"Just one for you, sir." Juliet tried The Smile. "You're so kind and you tip well and you seem lonely. And."

Juliet hung her head.

"I--I was wondering if you needed. Um. Companionship." Juliet's knees buckled. "T-tonight."

Somehow, she ended up sitting across from him.

"Juliet, what's wrong?" Mr. Carabus asked, his hands leaving her shoulders.

"I'm getting kicked out of my room," Juliet said, tears dripping onto the cheap wood veneer of the tabletop between them. "It's just some shithole. But it's all I have. And no matter how much I work, it keeps going up and up."

"I see," Mr. Carabus said. He steepled his fingers before him. "I am not one to question your choice to engage in the oldest profession. But I believe there are websites and agencies."

"I'm scared of trying this with a stranger." Juliet shredded a napkin into thin strips. "You've always been nice to me. Good tips. And uh...well, I see how you look at me sometimes when you think I won't notice."

"Yes. I have been off my game." Mr. Carabus coughed once. His gaze lingered on the opened blouse. "May I ask how old you are?"

"I'm legal," Juliet said. "Eighteen, last week."

"And what services are on offer?" Mr. Carabus asked.

"What I need to do," Juliet said. "Nothing with, ah, fluids or feet or that sort of thing. But you can f-fu--"

"That's enough." Mr. Carabus took out his wallet. He tore a one hundred dollar bill in half before handing her one piece. "You receive the other half when I am satisfied."

"Yes, sir." Juliet slipped the bill into the breast pocket of her blouse. "Thank you, sir."

"You finish in an hour, as I recall," Mr. Carabus said. "Leave as you usually would, then circle around to the apartment entrance to the side. Go down to the basement apartment."

He gestured at her half-open blouse.

"Do button up, though," Mr. Carabus said. "Wouldn't want to catch a chill."

Juliet flushed with shame as she buttoned up her blouse to the collar. She looked about wildly to see if anyone had noticed. Madge was jawing away with the short order cook now. The homeless guy was gone. The sleeping woman was snoring away. On shaking legs, Juliet fled into the janitor's closet. She sank down amid the mops and brooms while rocking with hands clamped tight over her lips. Oh, god. She was actually doing this. She had tried so hard never to resort to this ever since she had run away after he had dropped her off at school. For nearly two years, she had worked every shitty legal job an underage girl could get with no documents or references. This waitress job was the best after a long line. It simply was not enough.

The end of her shift was a blur. Soon, she was outside the diner in the rain. Buttoning up her cheap trench coat, Juliet hunched under an umbrella as she headed east towards the elevated tracks that would take her home. She walked three blocks before turning right into a side street. She glanced nervously about her at the mouths of the alleys she passed by. The diner was not in the best of neighborhoods. On the main street it was somewhat safe. Off it? Juliet's heart rose into her throat at the idea of a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm about her body. She might be dragged into the dark, unlighted alleys to become some homeless man's cumrag before she ended up unmoving in a dumpster. It might be the man from the diner who had left before she did.

Those damned heels that she had not changed out of click-clacked on the cracked sidewalks. Juliet almost turned an ankle when a heel caught in one. Limping, she stumbled through the blocks of tenements like the final girl in some slasher movie. Her heart was hammering between her breasts when she rounded the corner onto the block where the diner was. Juliet hugged herself as she slowly approached the slim brick building at the corner. The diner occupied the ground floor with apartments above. At the base of the wall below the diner's front window were small windows half-covered with trash that were the only evidence of a basement apartment. She hadn't even realized one was there.

She ducked into the door just to the side of the diner entrance. Inside was a claustrophobic lobby with mailboxes and buzzers for the apartments on one wall. She was trying to figure out which button to press for the basement when she found the inner door propped open. Dim lighting from wall sconces provided little light in the narrow stairwell leading up to the apartments. There were also stairs leading down. Juliet shivered. It had to be her imagination. Still, "basement" conjured up ominous images in her mind. She still started down the stairs. The lure of the other half of that hundred dollar bill was too strong.

There were two doors at the bottom of the stairs. One had "utilities" on a plaque above it. The other faced the street side of the building. Juliet absently noted the steel door and frame when she opened the unlocked door. This was a rough neighborhood, after all. Within was a tiny space with hooks on the wall above a shoe bench. Hanging up her coat, she turned to face the door in the wall opposite the bench. This was it. Time to earn her money. Her palm was slick with sweat as she tried to turn the knob. It gave a little despite the slippery grip.

She couldn't.

Miserable, Juliet dropped the half of the hundred dollar bill onto the floor just before the inner door. She grabbed her trench coat and umbrella before reaching for the knob on the inside of the entry door. Her fingers passed through empty air. What? Juliet looked down. There was no doorknob. Instead, there was a blank metal plate where it should be. The hair rose on the nape of her neck. Panicking, she knelt down in an attempt to find some way to open the door. She almost missed the sound of the other door swinging open. She looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Carabus step out with something whirling in his right hand.

The white silk cord in his hand whipped out. At the free end was a large monkey's tail knot wrapped about some sort of weight. It passed once about her throat before he caught the free end. Juliet uttered a choked scream when he dragged her backwards. Her hands clawed at the silk garotte. It tightened when Mr. Carabus shortened the length of the cord by wrapping it about his wrists. Soon he was pressed up against her. She felt a hardness press against her skirt in back even as her vision began to tunnel due to lack of air. Her lips mouthed silent entreaties for mercy while the life was choked out of her. Her green eyes widened in horror when his lips kissed her cheek before a command was whispered into one ear. No. Please. She was sorry. Not that. Not like this.

The garrotte tightened in warning. Weeping, Juliet hurriedly reached down to jerk the thong panties she had worn for the evening down to her knees. The silken strangle cord loosened just a touch when she wriggled them off down her calves. Shifting his grip, Mr. Carabus kept the pressure on the garrotte with one hand while stripping off her panties from her ankles with another. Precious air whistled down her throat as Juliet gasped for life. She almost clasped her thighs together before a twist to the cord forced her to widen them almost to the point of agony. From behind, Mr. Carabus cupped her mound. There was a pleased grunt when he discovered that she had shaved herself bare for tonight.

He only allowed her enough air to survive. She could do nothing more than whimper as he explored her between her legs. Her fists balled in frustration as his fingers roamed over her folds. To her horror, she felt her lower lips swell in response to his touch. She couldn't help it. She had always been sensitive down there. Her stepfather had always enjoyed that. Donald had liked it when he had her in his lap with rough hands down her panties. It was much worse with Mr. Carabus. He was gentle with her. His touch was almost a lover's. That made it so much worse because she didn't want this. She didn't. It was so degrading. The lack of air made everything so much more intense.

Then he forced aside the hood shielding her clit.

Oh, god, no--

Her hips bucked of their own accord when his fingertip teased her. That single touch sent her over the edge. It was too much. The cord dug deep into the flesh of her neck as her body spasmed out of control. Purple stars flashed in her fashion. Musky juices spattered onto Mr. Carabus' palm. Green eyes rolled back as a brain torn apart by oxygen deprivation and unwanted pleasure finally succumbed. The cord went slack as she slumped over in a faint. Eyes stared dully into some private vision of horror before fluttering shut. Faintly, she felt a hand press to the side of her neck. Then hands gripped her shoulders. One arm jerked up in an unconscious attempt to find a doorknob that did not exist. It fell to the floor with a thump.

Juliet sank into unconsciousness while Mr. Carabus dragged her back into the dark.

+++++

clink

Juliet groaned.

clink

What a horrible dream.

clink

She had had this terrible nightmare about Mr. Carabus.

clink

That sound. It reminded her of--

clink

--chains.

Juliet shuddered in horror. Trembling fingers touched steel about her wrists. More encircled her ankles. About her throat was a loop of chain. She lurched to her feet with a scream fit to wake the dead. At least, she tried to. The chain about her neck jerked her short before she could rise from her knees. She grasped the steel links that ran from a loop padlocked at her neck to a stout ring cemented into the concrete floor she lay on. Hinged handcuffs pinned her wrists in front of her. Another set of handcuffs linked together by a short chain hobbled her ankles.

She looked about wildly. Above her was a harsh light in a metal shade. The ceiling above it seemed to be arched. Beneath her was rough concrete with a barred drain grill just behind the ring in the floor. Little was visible outside the circle of light; she had the impression of brick or cinder block walls. Her trembling increased in intensity as she imagined what might be in the shadows. This was not a basement apartment. This was a dungeon. The only comfort was that she still dressed save for her heels. She also did not feel...sore. He had left her alone when she was out cold.

There was the scuff of a shoe on concrete out in the darkness. There was the swish of a rope being twirled through the air. Mr. Carabus stepped into the light before her. Juliet backed away to the limit of her leash. He followed her with the strangling cord lazily describing a circle in one hand. The other gripped her hair. Juliet sobbed as her scalp ached when he forced her back over the grate. The welt where the garrotte had dug in throbbed as the cord sped up. Mr. Carabus barked a command. Swiftly, Juliet got onto her hands and knees with her head bowed. Her strawberry blonde mane formed a curtain around her face.

The hem of her skirt was lifted up. Juliet braced herself for another assault on her still-sensitive mound. Instead, she heard the metallic sound of scissors. Her skirt was cut from hem to waistband in one smooth motion. Her blouse was sliced open up the back from hem to collar. It was done very quickly. He must have done this before. With deft snips, each sleeve of her blouse was cut through. Juliet shivered in the cold air of the cellar. All she had on was her bra. She winced when that was cut off. It had taken her a lot of fitting to find ones that supported her comfortably. Juliet stayed where she was when his hands caressed her body. Don had done that all the time. She could endure it. Though it was disturbing how Mr. Carabus touched her: kneading her flesh, smacking her bottom, cupping her breasts as if weighing them. It was as if he were judging her like she was livestock. Then his thumbs teased her nipples erect. Juliet bucked it if he had hit her with a cattle prod.

The cord whipped around her neck.

Juliet gasped for air when her head was wrenched back.

"Did I give you permission to move, slave?" Mr. Carabus's expression was mild, as if she had snuck a cookie from the jar without asking.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry!" Juliet whispered. "I didn't mean to cocktease, it's not because I couldn't stand fucking you, I mean it was, but not about you--"

"Slave, I'm not angry that you reneged on our 'date'." Mr Carabus loosened the cord slightly. "Honestly, I've considered taking you for over a month. You simply delivered yourself on a plate for me. I am actually flattered you trusted me to be your first customer."

"You still could be." Juliet smiled weakly. "This is just, uh, kind of more extreme than I bargained for. All in good fun. I don't need a hundred. I'll take fifty. I'll even take twenty. No, I'll pay you a hundred--"

"Oh, you silly girl." Mr. Carabus shook his head. "Whores sell their bodies. Slaves are owned."

"I can do that," Juliet pleaded. "I can be your sweet slave. You don't have to tie me up."

"They all bargain," Mr. Carabus said. "There's no bargaining, slave. You're mine now."

"Oh, god." Juliet trembled. "How many? Are they buried under the floor? Is it going to hurt at the end?"

"I'm not that sort, barring a few accidents early on," Mr. Carabus said. The garrotte jerked lightly around her neck. "No, I find it much less messy to contact certain entirely legitimate businessmen--Mexican and Asian--to take the girls that I have tired of off my hands."

The most terrifying thing was that Mr. Carabus had the same genial expression as he always had when he leaned close to Juliet's face.

"And if you think what this is terrible, slave," Mr. Carabus continued. "Imagine what it must be like if a pretty white American girl like yourself ended up in some brothel in South America or Asia. You would be very popular for your short but eventful life. But you are going to make very sure you never bore me, yes?"

Juliet nodded very hard and very fast.

"Good. You're my fancy girl, now," Mr. Carabus said. "Are you familiar with the term?"

"No." Juliet licked her lips. "Is it because I am pretty?"

"It's a term used in the Old South for a certain sort of slave," Mr. Carabus said. "Light-skinned black women who were specifically sold as concubines. In this case, I like to think of it as a bit of 'bottom rail on top'. Now, what are you?"

"I--I'm your fancy girl." Juliet swallowed nervously. "Master. I am your fancy girl, master."