Stories of Strange Queens

'Sir,' she said, the questioning in her voice evident now. Quickly, she lifted one leg and placed it flat-footed on the desk, her thin skirt hitching high on her thighs with the movement. The man's eyes flicked down her body, and she knew he was looking right at it.

'Are you in need of sexual services... Sir?' she asked tentatively, her hand now well and truly played. The look she got from him made her heart flutter, and she hoped desperately that, if he was having any disapproving thoughts, perhaps his penis could take over for a moment and handle a few other things first.

The man's eyes went back up to her own, and stayed there. She felt time stretch out so that a few seconds felt like a few years. Eventually, he stepped easily past the threshold between waiting area and receptionist's desk and then he was before her, his enormous presence bearing down on the young blonde as she watched him round on her, backing her up against her desk. His gaze dropped once more to her crotch, now revealed fully thanks to her hitching her skirt completely up as she turned to face his approach. She could feel the hard corner of the desk pressing sharply across her backside, but it barely caused her any pain past the intense desire that was filling her up.

There, buried into the skin between her legs, completely obscuring her vagina was a thin, sleek blue-and-grey trapdoor device, flat and wide and shaped in a way that allowed it to completely cover her love cave but not to interfere with walking, sitting, or to protrude out too far from her body. It stood barely any distance above her skin, and in its centre, two tiny blue indicator lights blinked briefly, telling all but her what the status of her ultra-high-tech crotch was at that moment.

It only took a moment, but for the blonde, it was a lifetime. Just like that, he was holding her, his thick hand wrapped around her back, his splayed fingers pressed into the small of her spine, pulling her body into his, her breasts pressing against his firm chest. She could feel her own hips pushed against his as he used the desk behind her to pin her in place, ever so slightly lifting her off the floor so that she was completely helpless to resist him, her legs splayed on either side of his. His lips met hers, and she immediately melted into them, the roughness of his face soothing her more than anything she could imagine, her own lips pushing wide to provide him with as much stimulation as her body could provide.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed deeply through her nose, her pounding heart kicking up several notches. As if at the perfect moment, she felt a tiny, sudden pressure at the top of her crotch, a pressure created by a tiny spring motor embedded in the top of her bodily augmentation, the sensation of the trap door swinging open. As if her body had just been unlocked like a door, the receptionist's bottled lust, bubbling at the edges was finally unleashed. Spontaneously, without any other physical stimulation, she came on the spot, her insides pulsating, her pussy quivering beneath her as he held her close, frozen in place, helpless to resist and melting in pleasure with every micro-second that passed.

And then it was over, sooner than it had begun, and Mr. Crete was stepping away from her, and she was falling back to her feet, and her hands were reaching for her skirt and tugging it back down over her thighs, the trapdoor machine that was the gatekeeper of her sex, her arousal once again swinging shut between her legs, her orgasm barely subsiding before the tiny self-cleaning brushes extended from the inside of the lid and began to pry her open and sweep about her insides, cleaning away every trace of her secretions for her. He stepped back around the counter and gazed at her, watching as she desperately brushed at her shirt, doing her best to contain her panting breaths as she patted and pulled at the fabric covering her voluptuous bosom, trying to get it back in the perfect place it had been in before.

'Never disobey your priorities, girl.' The man said, his bassy voice seemingly carrying another layer of power and presence inside it. 'Your services will be utilised in due course. Have faith in that.'

And then he was gone, and the receptionist was left standing at her desk, alone, panting, her body barely finished orgasming, her uniform ever so slightly less perfect than it had been before, the tiny, sticky brushes inside her vaginal protector cleaning her automatically, the miniscule bristles swirling about her insides like the rush of lusty thoughts whirling about the edges of her mind. After a few minutes, she would sit back down in her chair, making to resume her work -- only to find a small, plain white business card sitting beside her keyboard.
All that was on it were the letters "P.C." and a phone number. And, seeing it, she smiled, slipping the small paper object deep inside her bra, tucking it in beside a firm, warm nipple.

* * * * *

A girl named Gloria

* * * * *

'Why don't you go fuck yourself, you dirty motherfucker?' The woman was viciously rude, and her dark, glinting eyes shone with a ferocity that sparked a tiny little flame of anger in him. After all -- she was the one he was paying to fuck, not the other way around. She had no right to talk back to him like this!

'Bite my cock, slut,' he bit back from the safety of two feet away, his eyes flicking down towards the woman's naked chest, two round breasts sitting proud atop a cup-less bustier and adorned at their peaks with dark, sharp nipples as hard as screws in the chill night air.

The gleam in those black eyes thickened, and for a moment, his conviction faltered as he wondered if he really was the dominant one in this two-minute-long business relationship. That worry would shortly be proven well grounded.

One second he was standing before the semi-naked woman with her perky little titties out and her thickly-makeup-caked eyes glittering at him, the next he was on the ground wheezing, his balled fists clutched desperately to his groin, a furious pain blossoming directly out of his left testicle. She'd moved with incredible speed, faster than he'd expected, grabbing his jacket, pulling him close and then planting her shin in his nether-regions before shoving him away again. He moaned at her plaintively, and a wad of warm fluid splatted against his bald head moments after the sound escaped his lips, accompanied by the throaty sound of a woman gathering, aiming and releasing a wad of spit. It was the only fluid from her body he'd get anywhere near him.

'Fuck off before I turn the other one into stew as well.' She said, her chin jerking at him. He took one look at her, his face contorted with pain -- saw her soft black and gold lingerie, the outline of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, the exposed breasts with their deep brown nipples and those black eyes embedded at the centre of a tanned white face thick with makeup and hotly flushing cheeks -- and staggered to his feet, waddling away from Gloria as quickly as his shaky legs would take him. She laughed at him, and her laughter was accompanied a few moments later by that of several other women who'd seen the interaction. Gloria smiled coldly at them, acknowledging the slight comradery generated by their good humour.

Life on the street was hard. Life in a brothel was harder. Life in a downtown, shit-kicking, back-stabbing shit heap of a whore-house was worse than that. Somehow, Gloria had managed to find herself somewhere with a pay check that was even less reliable than begging, and almost more humiliating.

26, 5'11" and weighing in at just over 86 kg, Gloria Jean Calrusso was muscular, olive-skinned, and feisty, a woman of part Caucasian, part Mexican looks. She had a short-cropped shock of jet-black straight hair that hung longer on one side than the other and her arms bore the slight colouration of her dark hair, the sign of a woman who doesn't shave what she doesn't have to. Two thick black eyebrows were hidden in the midst of a lot of bold black makeup, and her eyes were jet black, pitiless, and as round as coins. She had a modest yet sensual form, curved hips and bouncy breasts that clung to the elasticity of her teenage years, capped in two thin, hard nipples centred within deep brown areolas that looked almost as black as her eyes in the uneven light of night. Though her waist was thin and muscular, her hips were round and high, and accentuated by heels as they were, everything from her butt down had distinct curves and shapes all of their own.

It was about 2 AM, which meant the busy period was slowing down, and the homeless, helpless, agamic stragglers were starting to filter through. It was cool but not cold, which was good for the customers and bad for the girls. By the time they got half-way through the night, the chill would have set in just enough to make their muscles ache but not enough for them to feel it. Many of them would be starting to get used to it, and their nipples would be beginning to soften and their skin stop prickling, and in a crowd like this anything that made you look less attractive was a business-killer.

The street light above Gloria's head flickered and she cursed at it under her breath, casting her gaze for the umpteenth time up and down the cracked asphalt to see if anyone wanted to pay her.

About fifty yards down the street to her right and inside a small house, inlaid in a tiny terrace yard was her employer, a fat and very clearly closet homosexual man by the name of Nick Brog, a man whose life consisted of working a pissant paperwork-slut office job by day, and working a pissant office job brothel owner by night, occasionally peppered with spontaneous fights with his loveless wife (who Gloria and all the other working women could tell as clear as daylight was having an affair) and under-the-desk, shut-up-until-you're-done blowjobs from the girls while he took a dirty bill across his desk from another man being controlled by his own dick. Gloria hated him, but then, none of the others didn't hate him -- but that didn't magically stop him from being the only one in this part of town paying for this sort of work, and women in Gloria's situation were usually, for the most part, generally quite desperate.

A rat scrambled by across the street, disappearing into the shadows somewhere behind the heel of a red stiletto attached to a slut, also known as one of Gloria's esteemed colleagues. Gloria momentarily considered giving it the satisfaction of intercourse -- or biting off its tail, whichever offered her more entertainment value at the time. She shrugged at it and left it with the distant hope that it might change its mind and scramble instead up the drainpipe of a woman standing next to its chosen hiding place. Talk about entertaining.

Time passed. So did one of the girls. Gas, that is.

After what felt like years, a car rolled around the corner, and before it had all four wheels in the street 26 eyeballs had glued themselves directly to its windshield. Gloria eyed it hungrily, preparing herself to out-sell the other colourfully clothed women in the street. She brought her hands to her breasts and squeezed each nipple tight between palm and fingertips, roughly rolling them about across her palm and pulling outwards sharply, forcing them to stiffen. At least four other women did the same, ensuring their breasts formed the most appealing first impression they could manage. When sex sells, you need your most eloquent selling points out front and centre.

Gloria watched the car roll slowly down the road, all four black-tinted windows all the way up. She frowned -- even the windscreen was blacked out, and with the darkness of night it meant she couldn't make out anything about who was inside. It could have been one driver or a car full of people, and they could be looking for one girl, multiple girls, or even for something gay -- which not all of Gloria's workmates would be interested in doing. Gloria didn't care as long as she got paid -- she'd touched enough pussy in her time to know how to work it just as well as she could a cock -- but she knew of a few who couldn't stand another woman. Ironic, she thought to herself, that they chose to stand in a street full of other half-naked women all night long, but hey -- needs must.

The car slowly rolled past woman after woman, the black windows remaining steadfastly up, until eventually it came to Gloria. She bent down so that her boobs swung free right in front of whoever might be in the seat behind the glass, gave them her best slut-face, and blew a kiss. She hated the charade, but it was a necessity if she ever expected to coax enough money out of silly little boys like the one who was undoubtedly driving this car.

The car stopped and Gloria knew she was a winner. Quickly, she winked at the mysterious individual in the car and fingered her fare -- a balled fist with a cylindrical opening through the middle, twisted and moved back and forth equated to one finger. A point at the front, then back of her hips equalled two fingers. The rest was up for negotiation.

The window clunked, and with a gentle mechanical whirr, rolled down slowly, revealing the white face of a blonde woman sitting inside. Frowning as she came into view, Gloria saw that the woman wasn't looking at her at all, and in fact didn't seem to be in any way interested by her presence outside the car. Bending down a little lower, Gloria peered over to the driver's seat and found a man looking over at her. He beckoned for her to join him, pointing at the back seat, and Gloria got in faster than she'd be removing her panties as soon as his wallet came out.

'Get in, my girl, get in. Excellent. Yes, just push that aside, good good. Get comfortable. Seatbelt too please.' He said, watching her from the front seat. She paused for a moment, sat on the back seat of the car, before reaching over her shoulder and pulling the black strap across her bare bosom, shrugging.

'It's your cash, pal.'

'Yes, yes, very good. I know! I know!' He said, chuckling as if he were Gloria's dad, having just told an excellent, classically-poor dad joke. He turned the wheel and pulled off from the curb, and Gloria felt the all-black machine under her accelerate powerfully away. Clearly, she was all he wanted tonight, which was fine by her. The less she had to share, the better for her once Brog took his over-sized cut out of her pathetic earnings.

'So what do you want, oral, anal or boring?' She asked matter-of-factly. 'I'll give you a hand job or suck you off for a hundred, anything else is two. If you're paying for it, I'll do it, but no shit stuff, that's just fucking rank.' Gloria said, but the man made no immediate response. The woman on the passenger seat made no indication that she'd heard her either. They turned a corner, and Gloria's curiosity at where they were going turned into mild frustration. She didn't mind house calls, but the further away from her street they went, the longer it'd take her to get back, which meant the more Brog would shaft her for -- one way or another -- later.

'Yes, yes. Ah, the money is of no matter my girl. Just enjoy the ride for now and all will become crystal clear to you soon.'

'Hey, you know it's extra for home service, right?' Gloria said, slightly perturbed by his nonchalant response.

'Whatever you want, my dear! Whatever you want.' He said, again chuckling as if he found something in what Gloria had said mildly amusing. Unsatisfied but unable to do much but wait for her job to start, Gloria settled a little deeper into the soft leather of the surprisingly spacious back seat of the car, and waited to take his cock for a ride.

* * * * *

Within about fifteen minutes of quiet travel in the car, Gloria's nipples once again softened in the heat of the car's interior, Gloria and her new temporary employer had left the city and were travelling along quietly housed streets, picking up the pace as they went. Gloria shifted in her seat occasionally, knowing that every inch they went was another dollar off her meagre takings at the end of the night, no matter what this man paid her to do, but for the most part accepted things as they were. She was well used to strange customers with hyper-active nervousness or weird fetishes they weren't comfortable with unleashing anywhere near other people, and even though this man was driving her far further away than she thought was necessary, his car was nice and his seat was soft and apparently heated. It felt gentle and relaxing under her tightly-packaged ass and on her back, and she'd learned quickly to take these small comforts where she could. She could often go weeks or even months in this loveless job without so much as a hot coffee or piece of fruit, and a comfortable car was something that'd become an immense luxury suspended far above her social status long ago.

'We're almost there, my girl, almost there.' The man spoke again, quickly siphoning Gloria from her thoughts and back to the car. Her skin prickled as she remembered why she was here and what she was here to get from him, and the coldness of her job seeped back into her chest slowly, sterilising any sense of comfort or warmth. She nodded at the rear view mirror, distantly appreciating the bass that accompanied the male's words, as if he were a tenor vocalist placed perfectly in an expertly-built song hall so that his voice rang out clean and loud all through the room despite the multitude of other singers beside him.

In the seat next to him, and in front of Chelsea, the blonde woman sighed and turned her head towards him. Gloria couldn't see her face, but she thought she recognised the emotions she was displaying. The sigh seemed deep, almost sensual, like the sighs Gloria and her counterparts faked in order to make their clients feel like their efforts were deeply pleasuring them. The turn of the head was slow and relaxed, almost cathartic, as though the girl was used to making the same motion while lying in bed beside someone. A few seconds later, one of her hands lazily lifted from her lap and bridged the gap between the two, her palm resting easily on the man's thigh, her fingers loosely splayed placidly. He smiled at her but said nothing, nor did he touch her back. Gloria knew immediately that the woman was deeply comfortable with the man on a physical level, and guessed that she must be his wife, girlfriend, or perhaps lover. She mentally put half her chips on this being a threesome, and then slid a few more over into their pile on second thought.

A few more minutes passed in relative silence before the car turned off the roadway and began to rumble down a dirt path. Gloria couldn't see much through the blackness of night and there were no lights outside, but she guessed it had to be the driveway of some posh country house -- or, more likely, a rental or a holiday home - the perfect place to host an illicit love affair while the wife was out of town.

The car came to a stop, and the lights went out. Gloria's black eyes flicked to her employer and he turned to face her in the car, grinning.

'Yes, yes. Perfect. Perfect!' he said, smiling at her, his eyes deep in the shadows of his face. Despite them, Gloria still felt like she could see them boring right through her chest to her heart. 'Come, my girls. Come.' He straightened up and swung out of the car, the engine fading as he went. Beside him, the blonde also stepped out, and after a few moments Gloria joined them, her naked breast still bared for all to see. The bite of the cold air nipped at her skin again, and no longer accustomed to it, she began to shiver slightly. The man strode away towards a small, modest cottage building a little way up ahead of the car, followed closely by the blonde, and Gloria quickly moved to keep up, the car locking behind them with two flashes of its indicators.