Whatever It Takes Pt. 07 - Wednesday

Pt. 07 – Wednesday Mid-Day

This is another part to the story of a beautiful American businesswoman (Elaine) who comes to Jamaica to relax and eventually ends up working in an island whorehouse to pay off a debt. The story began when her husband, Paul, and she arrived on a weekend to relax and enjoy time together before Paul left on a business trip that will require him to spend several days visiting other Caribbean islands (Pt. 01) While he was gone, Elaine intended to relax and enjoy the sea, sun, and surf at their resort. She had not intended to leave the security of the resort and be exposed to the violent crime and brutal treatment of women for which the island of Jamaica is known.

However, on Monday (Pt. 02) she had been duped into leaving the resort. Then she had been drugged and gang raped, as well as publically and sexually humiliated in front of several prominent native island residents. To make matters infinitely worse, she had been photographed and videoed during the series of rapes and humiliations.

Elaine has learned (Pt. 04) that she has pay in cash and "services" to recover those photographs and videos. There is a time constraint imposed on the payment process since it must be completed prior to her husband returning to Jamaica. Otherwise her secure life as a banker, new-mother, and wife could end abruptly, if and when, the high resolution digital images of the acts she performed were distributed to her husband, family, and employer.

Eventually (Pt. 06) Elaine reconciled to working as a whore and delivering multiple paid client "service sessions" that included the full range of oral, anal, and vaginal sex. The experiences were degrading, but she remains committed to doing whatever it takes to pay of her "debt" and recover the incriminating images of her having sex with multiple partners while under the influence of alcohol and drugs.Her total starting debt amounted to $10,000. At the end of her first working day on Tuesday, she had accumulated credits of approximately $1,000 and still had to work off another $9,000. Most importantly, she learned that fucking and sucking one "client" at a time was labor intensive hard slow work. Going forward she would have to provide more and higher value services to clients in less elapsed time per transaction.

In this episode (Pt. 07), Elaine starts to develop a strategy that could enrich her if she could work a deal to provide services to the criminal organization that has entrapped her, services that might include money laundering, opportunities to invest in legitimate businesses, and providing access to networks of bank clients, contacts, and referrals...all of which she would and could provide if the price was right. Time will tell if she chooses to proceed with this strategy.

To date, the major characters in this story are the following:

1. Elaine Farrell - the gorgeous, busty American business woman who is the central focus of the story (for details on Elaine read Pt. 01); she intends to do whatever it takes to survive and protect herself and her family;;

2. Paul Farrell - Elaine's husband who is a brilliant, well-compensated engineer who is currently on business visiting other islands;

3. Michael - a rapist and recruiter for a premier set of island whorehouses who delighted in humiliating and sexually abusing Elaine;

4. Patrick - Michael's employer and a major local criminal with links to American enterprises, both legal and illegal;he enjoys taunting Elaine while he fucks her;

5. Mack - a bartender at the resort who works for Patrick, assisted to drug Elaine, and participated in her rapes;

6. Heather MacDonald - a friend to Elaine and Paul who appears to be a vapid beach bunny but is in reality a tough ex-marine who is investigating financial irregularities at the resort where Elaine and Paul are staying; currently in Miami reporting to her father who is the principal owner of that resort;

7. Jessie McKinnon - an American prostitute working her trade in Jamaica and assigned by Patrick as Elaine's mentor with the duty to integrate Elaine as fast as possible into the cash generation process of fucking and sucking for money; Jessie despises Elaine, correctly believing that Elaine holds Jessie and her profession in contempt;

8. Randy - the manager of the whorehouse who works for Patrick; negotiates prices with clients, collects money, and tracks the amount of credits that Elaine earns; regards Elaine as an asset and intends to maximize the return on that asset;

9. Jason (nicknamed "Animal")- controls the whores through intimidation and violence when required; also ensures that the johns do not damage the whores whose services the organization sells;

10. Danelle Accardi - also a 'workout girl' trapped into working as a whore at The Dolls' House; Ph.D. on the faculty of the University of Virginia; maybe a friend to watch Elaine's back, and then again maybe not...; and

11. Shelley Hendricks – yet another 'workout girl' forced into sexual bondage to work off a "debt"; in just one or two day due to close out her debt and have it marked paid-in-full; entertains the notion of turning her experiences in a whore house into a documentary film and selling it; suffers from Stockholm Syndrome and believes Patrick is an innocent victim of racial oppression and poverty rather than a willful rapist and criminal.

WHATEVER IT TAKES:

WORKING OUT A DEBT IN JAMAICA -

WEDNESDAY MID-DAY

Seduce Me Tonight

-

Livin' on the edge, flyin' down the hill

To where the good girls don't, but the bad girls will

Do I know your name? You can tell me lies

Show me all the secrets hidden in your thighs, in your thighs

-

Seduce me tonight. Se-se-seduce me tonight

I'll play acts at the stage, dim the lights, and Baby seduce me tonight...

Written by Giorgio Morodo and Keith Forsey; popularized by the rock group

Cycle V with their soundtrack rendition for the movie Flashdance (1983)

WEDNESDAY – The Story Continues...

I headed back to reception. Time was money and I had a long ways to go.

I was not satisfied with my performance to date...too slow and not enough revenue per client transaction. My objective was to get out of this place as soon as possible so when my husband returned on Saturday he would find me relaxing by the resort pool not 'air-tight' lying on a cum-soaked bed with cocks in my mouth, ass, and cunt. In order to accomplish that goal, I had to generate more revenue credits faster than I had done in the last 24 hours. Under the rules of the house, the only way to do that would be to provide more services faster to more men, services that would most likely have to be increasingly perverted and odious. But I had to do what I had to do.

When I saw a blonde sitting by herself with an anxious expression on here face watching the door, waiting for new business. She looked familiar. Then I realized it was the girl from the promo card that Patrick had left in my room that morning. Furthermore, I was sure then that it was the Shelley Hendricks that Danelle had mentioned was the other 'workout girl' imprisoned here. I walked over and introduced myself.

"Hello, I'm Elaine. Are you Shelley?"

She was dressed even more like a slut than I was. She wore a sexy lace top with what looked to be silk pants. The top was an off the shoulder model, the lace trim did not conceal much, if anything it enhanced the effect since her nipples of her C-cup breasts stuck through the lace. The pants had an elastic band, no belt, easy on and off. As Danelle said, she was short, sexy, and really built – sort of the cheerleader type we all knew in high school. You got the feeling men would love to jump on her. She also had a naïve air about her, sort of unsoiled despite being in a whorehouse and fucking strangers.

She smiled, stood up, offered a firm handshake, and asked me to sit down.

"I'm glad to meet you. Danelle told me there was another one of us here. By the way, please do not think I am rude, but I need to watch the door for new business. I get out of here today or tomorrow. I am in a hurry to go home and package this experience into a piece that will sell back in the real world. I am an author, playwright, and videographer back in Phoenix."

I looked at her incredulously since I could not imagine how 'this experience' could be a piece of anything other than a bad porn movie.

"You're a media person?" was my less-than-intelligent question.

"Yes. I address social issues in my plays, articles, and documentaries, all of which get distributed over the Internet and sometime in the print media. My real concerns are human rights and poverty. I hope to make a difference by publicizing the sufferings of the oppressed." To me she sounded both sincere and naïve.

We traded biographical information. She was a graduate of Arizona State who majored in Internet journalism. She ended up getting exposure because her dad was in the media business so she used her Father's contacts (and maybe her tits and ass – I am always suspicious when good looking women just move quickly into their careers unless they are simultaneously putting out of the side). She kept asking for on camera time and getting turned down. Eventually she wore them down and got a shot on morning g television addressing social issues in the Phoenix. After that, her Arizona reputation grew, and Shelly expanded to be a one woman, social issues media person. She was talented, smart, good looking, and aggressive, just the type that Patrick would target for his blackmail scheme...basically women who thought they were in control and could manipulate men as required.

Finally, after five minutes of the who-are-you game, I asked the question that I really wanted to ask, "Shelley, how did you end up here?"

A really strange look came over her face. I thought she might cry. "I did something really dumb. I was down her by myself for an industry conference and decided to stay over for two days – kind of R&R from 16 hour days plus I have a baby girl that is teething, and I just wanted to get away from it all – sort of an escape."

"What happened?"

"Elaine, I am not completely sure. I have thought about it a lot." Then her voice got kind of distant, as though she had told the story many times before. "My hotel was at Montego Bay. I spent the day at the pool, and then went in to get a drink and cool off. I was talking to this bartender named Mack, and this black guy named Michael bought me some drinks. The three of us, Mack, Michael, and I, were having a good time talking about nothing in particular. Then it all gets very confused because I must have been drunk – too much sun and too many island drinks."

She continued, "Then there is a gap of maybe one to two hours. I have disjointed flashbacks of having sex with Michael and two or three other guys whom I did not know. Sort of like a dream. What I do remember is a policeman or hotel security guy bursting in to the room and calling me a "whore." When he arrived, I sort of came to on the bed on my hands and knees with a black guy's penis in my mouth, a white guy having sex with me from behind, and flashbulbs going off. Michael was not there, and I never saw him again. The two guys having sex with me were told to leave, and they did. I was naked on the bed, curled into a fetal position. I remember that the bed and the room smelled of cum and that I could taste cum in my mouth and feel it dripping down the inside of my thighs."

The story was a variation on a theme – fingered by the bartender, seduced by Michael, drugged into anonymous sex with strangers, incriminating photographs, and pressure to work in a whore house as punishment/blackmail. "What happened next?" I asked.

"The guy with the badge told me I was going to jail for 30 days and that my family and employer would be notified by the U.S.Embassy. I begged to be let go. He said that there was a $15,000 cash fine. I could not raise that kind of money so I told him I could get $5,000 as cash on both my Visa and my Mastercard. He told me that he knew where I could get a loan. He went to the phone and called. Ten minutes later Patrick showed up. But you know what happened in those ten minutes? – That cop raped me. He kept looking at my breasts – I was naked and disoriented and he never let me get dressed before he handcuffed my hands behind my back. Then after he called Patrick, he pushed me on to the bed. I fell on my hands that were cuffed behind me, my feet were still on the floor, and my butt was on the edge of the bed. He stepped between my legs, unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick, and began to rub it in my pubic hair. He kept telling me that I was going to jail and that the 'bull dykes' and the 'guard studs' were going to 'fuck my brains out.'

"He kept telling me not to scream. I remember being so scared."

Shelley had begun to fidget about the time she started her story. This fidgeting had become more extreme, and she no longer met my eyes. I knew that Shelley was reliving something that would stay with her the rest of her life. I could not have stopped her, and, I had to admit, a curiosity as to what happened to her. I told myself that it was not prurient interest but a real need to know so that I could estimate what these men were like and how I could survive.

Her eyes were darting about, never still. It was as if she were reading a roster of events or one of those scripts on a newscast – an accident that happened to someone else. However, she was speaking much too fast, and it was this above all that betrayed the tension that she was under.

"Then he put his hand on my throat and told me to open my legs as wide as I could. I did my best to respond. I felt like I was floating on the ceiling, just watching, and that it was not happening to me. Then he got between my legs and tried to put it in, but he couldn't. He kept losing his erection, even though I was wet for the other men" She laughed a mirthless laugh. "Only I could get sexually assaulted by an impotent cop!"

"Shelley, you do not have to tell me anything else. Let's stop here."

She kept going as if I had not spoken. "Next he pushed my knees up to my breasts and tried to put it in my rectum. I had never done that, even with my husband. I was horrified. On top of everything else, I was horrified at what he was trying. And still he was getting soft and not penetrating me. I could see that he was angry, and this made me even more scared. Finally, he pulled me off the bed on to my knees. He wanted to put it in my mouth. He told me that if I wanted to live, 'you had better make me come.' I realized no one could help me. I felt so totally trapped and knew that I had to please this man in order to live so I opened my mouth and began to lick his penis. I sucked him for what seemed forever. I had no saliva; my mouth was completely dry."

Tears had come to her eyes. My own emotions kept bouncing back and forth between anger and sympathy. "Shelley, do you want a drink or a cup of coffee?"

She shook her head no, and kept on with the story. She was caught up in the memory now and wanted to get to the end of it. "He kept me sucking and licking. He told me to lick his asshole. 'Smells bad, doesn't it' was what he said, and he laughed. Then he put his penis in my mouth, and it got good and hard. I thought he might go off in my mouth. If he did I was afraid that I would vomit all over him, and he would kill for it. Then he took his penis out, lifted me up, threw me on the bed, same position as originally, on my back, butt at the edge, feet touching the floor, legs wide, and hands cuffed behind my back. Then he stepped up, pushed hard, and I felt him penetrate me. He put his hands on my breasts, pinched my nipples hard, and told me to get 'fucking.' So I began to lever up my hips to meet his thrusts. He kept it up for the longest time, pinching my nipples all the time so it really hurt. Finally, I could tell he was coming. When he withdrew, he still was ejaculating so some of it got on my stomach and all over my pubic hair. I felt and saw this stranger's cum all over me!"

I realized then that the worst part of being raped was not the physical violation of our bodies. The worst part is the fear. I thought it was over, but Shelley kept on talking.

"Then he pulled me back on to the floor and told me to clean him off. So I ran my tongue up and down his dick and even slurped his balls gently into my mouth. I could smell both him and me on his penis. I functioned on auto-pilot. I was dependent on pleasing him to survive. My licking him made him hard again so he put it in my mouth, grabbed my hair to hold my head in place, and then began sawing in and out of my mouth. I knew he was going to cum again but this time in my mouth so I concentrated on not vomiting. I could feel and taste him. I closed my eyes, but he told me to open them. When I did, he pulled his penis out of my mouth, and I could feel my face getting wet. He dragged his penis all over my face, spurting come all over my eyes and nose and mouth and chin. He said 'You white cunt. Wear some nigger cum. Looks good on you, bitch.' I was so confused that I felt gratitude toward him for not killing me. I was ready to do anything he asked."

"Shelley, Shelley, Shelley, let's stop here. OK?"

"No. I have to tell you. It may help you to survive – and it feels better after I tell my story. Where was I?" she asked rhetorically. "Just as he finished cumming on my face, there was a knock at the door. The cop zipped himself up and answered it. I stood up, still handcuffed, come on my face and thighs, totally afraid and disoriented. That was when Patrick entered the scene. He looked over at me, smiled and told me not to worry.

The cop explained that I was an American whore that was going to jail unless I could pay the $15,000 fine and that I was short $5,000. I kept saying to Patrick, 'please help me.' I remember him coming over, looking into my eyes, and saying 'I will take care of you. Trust me.' Then he put his hand under one of my breasts and lifted it up, like he was testing the weight and texture of meat he was buying at the grocery store. But I still had this feeling of almost affection for him because he said he would help me."

That was when I remembered what Danelle had said about the 'Patty Hearst syndrome' where someone that is abducted actually bonds with their captor. Shelley had been – and probably still was – so traumatized that she felt dependent, even fond of, Patrick – the man who set it all up and brought her to fuck her way out of a whore house. It was like a TV movie where the street prostitute proclaims her love for the pimp that abuses her.

She continued. "I felt so helpless. For the first time since I was a little child, I was convinced that I could not control the situation. It was not the physical pain but the shame. I was mortified, humiliated, and de-humanized." Her tone become less certain. "Patrick was my savior. He got me out of there. Now I am almost finished paying him back for the $5,000 of his own money that he loaned me so that I would not go to jail and have it reported back home. I get out of here tomorrow," she said. "Back to the good old USA, only four days later than scheduled. And no one will ever know." She seemed less and less confident now. "Plus I can use the experience for a great series of stories of prostitution in Phoenix with the angle that 'sex work' is required by a male-dominated society and that prostitutes deserve more consideration."