Nat and Sandy Pay the Rent Ch. 01

Natasha was washing up after Tuesday evening's dinner, when Sandy made her announcement. 'I'm going to do it,' she stated simply and firmly.

'Do what?' Natasha turned to look at her.

'Alan's party,' she said, a tremor in her voice. 'I know you'd do it on your own if he'd let you, so I'm going to do it with you.'

Natasha's face seemed to drain a little. 'Sandy, you know there's no way I'd ever ask you to do this. That's not why I brought it up.'

'I know that,' Sandy replied quickly. 'But I've thought it over and it's the only way for us to keep this place - and - and sort out all our other problems as well. It's - It's like you said - One night out of our lives and everything's fixed.' Her words came in a rush. 'And before you say anything, I'm an adult as well and I can make my own decisions. And this one's made. I know you say I'm naive - well maybe I am - but you've done the parties before, so you can tell me what to do. You can help me prepare. Well?'

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Natasha should have argued. Talked Sandy out of it. Told her exactly what she could expect at an Alan Travers sex party. She knew the degree of excitement Sandy would inspire in him and his buddies. The games they would play with her, the erotic assault course over which she would be made to run. But Natasha had known what she was doing from the moment she passed on Alan's message; she knew how bare-facedly she had just lied to her friend. It had been obvious how Sandy would ultimately respond, motivated by a shrewdly-instilled sense of guilt. And now the girl was committed, without Natasha ever having prompted her.

Sandy was upstairs listening to music, when Natasha made the call. 'Hello?' Alan's voice on the other end of the line made her flinch, but she went ahead.

'She'll do it.'

'Natasha.' There was smug delight in Alan's voice. 'I knew you wouldn't let me down.'

'But I stay with her at all times and you keep away from her ass.' Conscience dictated she make the token effort to establish certain terms.

'Now Natasha,' said Alan smoothly, 'you know for this money you can't make the rules. Sandy will come to no physical harm, as such. Other than that I promise nothing. Get her to my apartment Friday week, perfumed and pretty, and my friends and I will take it from there. Now can I count on you?'

'Bastard,' muttered Natasha, her teeth gritted.

'Can I count on you?'

Natasha closed her eyes, despising herself. 'Yes, you can count on me.' She clicked off her mobile, swallowed down the self-loathing that rose from her stomach, and went to tell Sandy the news.

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Alan switched off his phone and allowed himself a satisfied grin. The conversation boded well for his forthcoming entertainment. After a moment's sweet, Sandy-related contemplation, he moved to his work table and briskly set about preparing the event. He sent a circulaire email to the main group of guests:

Game on - Fri. 25th, 8.00pm, my place. Natasha & Sandy both expected.

Then he phoned his friend Max, owner of a local, up-market escort agency, to ensure that back-up was on hand should the plan fall through. He very much hoped it would not. Finally he referred to a list of names he wanted for the party's closing phase. Yes, they'd provide a fitting conclusion - a final surprise for young Sandy, he thought, picking up the receiver.

It all dated from five years previously and involved a group of old university friends and their associates. Most had richly succeeded in their chosen professions and as their pay checks swelled, poorer members of the circle had dropped away, unable to cope with the upmarket restaurants and exclusive lap dancing clubs the group had come to frequent. Fuck those losers. Left remaining was a core of well-heeled hedonists, who combined resources to seek out and take their pleasures with unfettered amorality. It had begun with the twice-yearly hiring of some upmarket escort duo, paid to service all the guys at a private party. Yes, this remained an option, but it had proved better sport to seek out non-professionals to act as hostesses. A series of girlfriends, fuck-buddies and employees had been cajoled, bribed or blackmailed into running the gauntlet of the friends' functions.

Natasha had been the most memorable to date; she may have been compelled by financial necessity to hostess on those two evenings, but she had obviously deemed it most practicable to enter into the spirit of the occasions and had taken everything meted out to her with foul-mouthed sexual fervour. Her friend Sandy, however - now there was a different proposition entirely.

Alan had brought Sandy to his friends' attention several weeks previously. He had not mentioned his landlord/tenant relationship with the girl, simply inviting them for a drink at Morrison's one evening, when the twenty-year-old was singing with her covers band, Partnerz in Crime. All the usual suspects had been there. Gavin, senior executive at a thriving computer software company, who seduced junior female members of staff with promises of professional advancement, before corn-holing them unmercifully in his office after hours. Brothers Darren and Steve, who in fifteen years had scarcely had a girlfriend they didn't share. Kyle, Steve's Australian friend; successful owner of a chain of cafes and successful boner of most of the young women he employed to waitress there. And Ben - who with his wife now ran a lucrative swingers and singles club, which had served to supply a number of willing girls for Alan's functions. This group of six sexually voracious and moneyed guys had sat quietly round a corner table, watching Sandy cavort her way through Jamelia and Shania Twain numbers, delectable in jeans, bosom-hugging, black T-shirt and corduroy jacket.

It was inevitable that someone make the comment, and as it happened, it was Kyle. 'She would make one hell of a party girl.'

Sweet, young Sandy - innocently sexy, as clueless as she was lusciously fuckable. It was the challenge Alan had relished. 'Well mate,' he had responded, the thrill of the hunt sparking within him, 'I may just be able to deliver her.' It had been his mission ever since.

Now, it appeared, the bird was snared. All that was needed was to plan a perfect evening. 'Hello?' a male voice answered his call.

'Ben? The party I mentioned for Saturday week, it's a goer. I've got Sandy.'

'Holy shit - good job,' his old College pal enthused. 'Got a photo?'

'Took it myself a couple of days ago - I'll email it to you now and you can forward it to your guys.'

'Oh yes.' Ben was obviously grinning on the other end. 'My specialists. Trust me Alan, when they see young Sandy, they'll be booking their places.'

'Glad to hear it,' said Alan with a smile. 'Tell them to start saving. I don't mean cash...'

'Oh they'll be well-supplied,' Ben assured him. 'I've seen these guys in action. It'll be quite something...'

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Sandy got on with her day job, sang her regular gig at Morrison's and tried not to dwell on the imminent party booking. When she found herself thinking about it, she quickly diverted her thoughts to the day after, when she would be fifteen hundred pounds better off - her debts paid, with money to spare. It was only at night that her vague imaginings took over, causing her to wake with a thumping heart, her cotton night-shirt glued sweatily to her curves and a tingling sensation between her legs.

Natasha left the subject alone, quietly brooding on what she was letting Sandy walk into. A deer into a lions' den, she thought, with yet another guilty pang. But she needed that money, they both did; so how could she paint a true picture of what her friend could expect, without having her back out?

Sandy finally brought the subject up as they sat watching television, three nights before the party. 'So you going to prepare me for Friday night?' By the brittle tone of her voice it seemed she was steeling herself for what Natasha might have to say on the subject.

Much as she dreaded mention of the forthcoming boys' night, Natasha knew she owed Sandy what sisterly solidarity she could provide. 'Okay,' she said, switching off the television. 'For starters we can make a visit to Ann Summers tomorrow - use it as an excuse to pamper ourselves with a few sexy bits and pieces. Think of yourself as a lingerie model.'

Sandy gave a visible gulp, as the evening's likely details began to crowd in on her. 'So...how do we...start things off?' There was an audible tremor in her voice.

'We arrive at eight dressed to impress - then we chat to the guys for a while, let them get to know you - us - and then...'

'Yes?'

'Well you've done a sexy striptease for boyfriends in the past, haven't you?'

'Yes, for Tommy, he used to really like that.' Sandy grew pale. 'But in front of all those guys...'

'It's not an evening where modesty has much place,' said Natasha archly. 'Don't worry - a little Dutch courage'll set the evening in motion. And after the striptease, trust me - things will take care of themselves.' Sandy looked like a scared rabbit. 'You're sure you're still up for this?' she asked it with the merest hint of condescension.

Her young friend bridled a little and found her courage again. 'I said I'd do it and I'm going to.'

Natasha's fresh treachery burned within her, but she smiled at her friend warmly and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. 'Then we're in this together, aren't we? Two Musketeers. And don't forget, my room's been next to yours all these years. I know what you're capable of when you're all fired up with a boy. You're not the angel everyone thinks...' Sandy giggled a little in response. 'Don't worry, you'll be fine.' She embraced the younger girl reassuringly.

Christ, she thought, Alan and his mates will have her for a late breakfast...

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Friday 25th, 7.55pm. Alan's friends were gathered in the living space of his immaculately prepared apartment. The regulars were there, along with a selection of carefully selected guests. And Ben's 'specialists' were primed to arrive late in the evening, to provide that entertaining finale. There was a heightened sense of anticipation in the room; everyone was waiting for Sandy, the bubbly, beautiful pub singer, so delightfully different from the usual party hostesses. Alan himself was outwardly calm, but felt a deep-seated thrill of expectation. Natasha had called an hour earlier to confirm that they were on their way. Over the next few hours Alan would realise every Sandy-fantasy he had nurtured, since the day she and Natasha had signed the tenancy agreement, in finely tuned detail. Whatever the girl was imagining, she could have no idea what sexual roller coaster she was about to board. Alan idly stroked the stiff cock beneath his trousers and waited for the knock on the door.

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Natasha's crisis of conscience came as she and Sandy made their way through the maze of corridors in Alan's apartment block, counting the numbers up to twenty-seven. They made a striking contrast. Natasha was all femme fatale in her contour-clinging, black cocktail dress, hold-up stockings and high heels, the effect made complete with aggressive eye-liner and mascara. Sandy's natural prettiness was enhanced by just a few touches of make-up, a gauzy, red blouse and matching skirt, that brushed her bare thighs, and red, strappy sandals. Both girls were fuelled by several vodkas and tonic and Sandy had adopted a quietly fierce determination, as if willing herself inside the apartment before she could think about the possibilities enough to chicken out. It was just as they were rounding the final corner that Natasha grabbed her friend's shoulder and pulled her back.

'Look Sandy, we don't have to do this. We can always find some other way.'

Sandy looked discomfited by this sudden turn-around. 'But you know we need the money. Why are you saying this now?'

'Because once we're inside, that's it. Alan and his friends will do whatever they want with us and we'll have no say in the matter. We don't get out until they're finished. You get me? You ready for that?'

Sandy's eyes registered brief terror and with a surge of relief Natasha thought she was going to turn away. Then her girlish features hardened again. 'No, Nat... A promise is a promise. You've already done this to keep us going and now it's my turn. One night and we'll never be in debt again. Two Musketeers, right?' And before Natasha could respond, the younger woman rounded the corner, strode up to the door of the apartment and knocked loudly.

Sandy's heart thudded in her chest, as she asked herself just what she had done. Natasha, she realised, had remained disconcertingly vague about her own experience of the parties. What precisely lay in store the other side of that door? All the erotic images that had crowded her mind a week ago, when she considered the nature of such an occasion, had been replaced by a numbed blankness.

The door opened and Alan stood there in a casual cream jacket and matching polo shirt, smiling in broad welcome. 'Sandy, Natasha - so glad you could both make it. Do come in.' He ushered them inside with polite enthusiasm. This time Sandy could not meet his eye.

Two years before she and her then boyfriend, a DJ called Phil, had locked themselves away for a weekend. They had licked whipped cream off each other, taken turns being strapped to the bed and teased, and had then laughed their way through a array of Karma Sutra-inspired acrobatics. She had even agreed, after persuasion, to swallow, when he came in her mouth. That evening was the wildest of her young life to date and had established an outer reference point for all her subsequent sexual experiences.

She walked into Alan's apartment and right off the map.

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Alan's open-plan living area was brightly lit and sparsely furnished, offering no relief from the gang of males, who studied Natasha and Sandy with little disguise as to their intent. They sat round the chrome and glass dining table, lounged on the plush, black leather suite or sat on the polished wood floor, all swigging on bottled lagers. Sandy could count at least twelve men, in their twenties or thirties; they were undeniably better-looking, overall, than she had imagined. She was still aware of her racing heart, when Alan swept her and Natasha up in introductions, guiding the more experienced girl to the younger group round the table, while setting Sandy unnervingly down on the sofa, in the midst of his thirty-something friends.

For once in her unassuming life she was pointedly aware of herself as the focus of male sexual attention. Not that Alan's buddies were openly crude; they engaged her in good-humoured conversation, that in any other circumstance would have put her totally at ease. The glass of white wine provided by Alan combined with her earlier drinks to calm her, so that she could smalltalk convincingly, and gradually she found herself relaxing into flirtatious chat with a number of the group. There were Darren and Steve, two stockily muscular, dark-haired brothers, whose verbal sparring made her giggle in spite of herself. Then there was Kyle, a tall, rugged Australian with fair hair, whose cheery, laid-back manner almost caused her to forget her reason for being there. Two other men completed the group. Ben was trimly built with close-cropped, receding hair; he sat back with an amused and confident air for the most part, chipping into the conversation only occasionally. But it was Gavin alone who truly unnerved her. Slightly older-looking than the others, his dark hair flecked with grey, he had nonetheless a swarthy, powerfully built appearance and a quality of brooding danger. He spoke scarcely a word, just sat back and eyed Sandy with controlled, predatory interest.

She was distracted from Gavin's disturbing attention by Alan, who broke into the group to make a further introduction. 'This is Ryan, my nephew,' he said of the rather diffident-looking young man accompanying him. As Sandy rose to shake hands with the newcomer, she felt a mortified flush across her whole body. Tall, blond, stubbled and leanly muscular, yet with a shy manner that undercut his good looks, she wished to God she was meeting him in some other circumstance. 'It was his birthday just last week,' Alan explained cheerfully, 'so I thought you and Natasha could pay him some special attention this evening. But look, I'll let you two get acquainted.'

Left standing alone with Ryan, Sandy shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, aware of Alan's friends' proximity. Aware of her discomfort the young man drew her away from the group, searching for an opening line as he did so. 'So you and your friend are here to...'

'Entertain,' replied Sandy, unable to meet his eye as she supplied the word.

But he seemed almost as embarrassed as she did. 'You - do this sort of thing a lot?'

'Oh no, no!' she said, startled. 'This is just a one-off. I'm a singer, normally. This is just a sort of - favour...' She cringed inwardly at how pathetic it sounded.

'It's okay,' said Ryan quickly. 'I feel a bit out of my depth as well.' She met his eyes and there seemed to be a spark of understanding between them. 'So what sort of stuff do you sing?'

For some minutes it seemed like a regular meeting at a regular party. They chatted about music and films and work, and Ryan went so far as to suggest they meet for a drink the following week under more normal conditions. Sandy flushed. 'I don't know. I don't know what you'll think of me by then...'

She was interrupted by Natasha at her shoulder. 'Hi there babes, it's time.' It suddenly struck Sandy that the lights in the room had been subtly dimmed, and that seductive R 'n' B music was playing over the stereo system. She felt her heart jolt once more. 'And Alan says the birthday boy has to come with us.' Natasha had adopted a playful tone; she took Ryan by the hand, then she prompted Sandy to accompany them to the centre of the room, where a single chair had been placed. There she guided Ryan into the seat and drew Sandy close, whispering, 'Okay sweetheart, let's do what we planned. Give the boys what they're here for.' She planted a brief, sisterly kiss on the girl's cheek and eased her into a close-up slow dance.

Alan and his guests watched with predictable fascination, as the two girls' bodies undulated slowly together, hands on each others' hips, pelvises grinding in unison. Ryan, seated before them, was looking on with a dazed expression. His cock erected obviously and rapidly within his trousers, as he watched Natasha writhe her body sinuously up and down Sandy's, squashing their breasts together as she did so. The girls' tongues wrapped tantalisingly for a moment, then Natasha took her friend by the hand and led her towards Ryan, so that they were both swaying rhythmically either side of him. The cheering from the gathered males had already begun.

Natasha began to strip first, sliding the straps of her cocktail dress smoothly down her shoulders, then crossing her arms and drawing the top teasingly downwards, exposing her pale, beautiful, C-cup breasts. There were further whoops of appreciation from her audience. She brushed her hard, raspberry nipples fleetingly in Ryan's face, then turned about, reached down and drew the dress's skirt up over her gently curved ass, gathering the material round her trim waist. With a flourish she pulled the dress up over her head, shook her hair free and flung the garment across to the group with whom she had been socialising round the table, producing further ribald cheers. She continued to move to the music, clad only in heels, lacy, black stockings that gripped the curves of her long, graceful legs and a tiny, black thong.