The Collar 9 part one

Brian sighed, then pulled his car up beside the prettiest girl on the street. She leaned her head in the open window and smiled at him. He was shopping for some company; not necessarily a hooker, but he wasn’t that picky or judgmental, he just wanted some attractive for company.

“Hello, sir, are you looking for a date?” she asked. She looked rather young to be in this line of work, truthfully, and he felt a little guilty as he opened the door a little and nodded. She bit her lip and looked more than a little nervous as she got in, but it all disappeared quickly as she smiled at him. “It’s three hundred for the first hour, and we can negotiate for more time if you want it.”

He handed her five one hundred dollar bills and asked her how much the whole week-end would cost. She glanced at the money before putting it in her purse, a dainty little sequined clutch that matched her blouse.

“The week-end, sir? You know it’s Wednesday, right?” she asked nervously.

“Yes.” he said. “I think I might want you for a lot longer than just part of one week, though. I think I might just keep you around for the rest of your life.”

She blinked. This was all brand new to her; in fact, he was her very first customer. She had only lost her virginity last night.

“Sir?” she asked, more than a little confused. Marcus, her boyfriend (She wasn’t really sure if that de***********ion of him was entirely accurate. He was the one who had taken her virginity and sent her out here) hadn’t prepared her for anything like this.

“I’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with me. Deal?” he asked, holding out his hand for a shake. She took it and looked into his eyes, trying to detect a lie. She didn’t see one, so she decided to trust him. Somewhat. “I like you. I don’t think you’ve had much experience with any of this, and I’m going to give you a chance at a better life.”

“Sir?” she asked, then took a deep breath and took a chance. “You’re right; I don’t have much experience. In fact, you’re my very first customer! I’m not even sure how much to charge besides the three hundred for the first hour, and you gave me five, so I know that gets extra time, but I’m not sure how much.”

The car turned onto a residential street, and shortly, he pulled into a garage.

She panicked a little. “Sir? I’m supposed to do it in the car; I was warned not to go into a house!”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “Exactly who was it that warned you?”

“My friend Marcus.” she told him. “We made love last night, and he sent me out to make us some money. I’m supposed to meet him at Bill’s Diner tomorrow morning to give him the money I made tonight. He told me if I didn’t give him at least $600 he’d be REALLY mad, and he already hit me once, when I told him I didn’t want to prostitute myself. He punched me in the stomach because he said he didn’t want to mess up my face, but if I don’t bring him enough money, he won’t care if I have bruises or scars, because I won’t be worth shit anyway.”

“Really.” Brian said dryly. He handed her another five hundred, and she put that in her purse, too, smiling and feeling very relieved. “Will you come into my house now? I’ll drive you over to the diner in the morning.”

“Thank you!” she said, smiling brightly, happy that she was safe from getting beat up.

“Just wait there.” he said. “I’ll get the door for you.” He opened his door, then walked around the front of the car and opened hers, taking her hand as he helped her out.

“Thank you, sir.” she said respectfully, smiling. “I feel like a lady and not just a whore.”

“Are you a whore?” he asked. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re just a pretty girl who fell in with the wrong guy.”

She followed him into his house and looked around at his kitchen. It had an island in the middle, complete with a wooden cutting board. Pots and pans were hung up on hooks and knives were on a magnetic strip on the wall beside the stove. It was decorated in a bright yellow theme, but he led her right through into his living room and sat her down in the middle of his couch.

“Should I take my clothes off?” she asked him, looking around at the room. Her eyes landed on a painting of a woman standing in a grassy meadow with her back turned. She was looking off into the distance at a group of horses who were running parallel to the artist.

“Do you want to take your clothes off?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Not really.” she said. “But if you’re going to fuck me I don’t want them to get messed up.”

“How about if you just take off your top? I’d really to see your nipples. If they are small areola with perky pink nipples; well, those are my favorite kind, and I’d gladly put my cock between them so you can suck on the tip of it. I can already tell that you’re a small “B” cup, which is my favorite size, but if your nipples match… Well, you’ll be a keeper for sure!” he said.

She blushed. “They are pink, and I hope my areola aren’t too big for you.” she said, embarrassed. “I’ve never sucked one before, though. You’re going to have to teach me how, okay?”

“Sucking on mine will be easy for you, my dear. You only have to go down as far as you are comfortable with. I REALLY don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?”

She smiled at him, more than a little grateful for his friendliness. Marcus had been more than a little rude. Insulting, technically, but she was indebted to him and owed a lot more than she was able to pay back. She had crashed her car into his by accident, and agreed to do whatever he wanted to keep the police from being involved.

She unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, then looked at the painting once more to avoid looking at him. She was embarrassed by her partial nudity, and could only hope that her nipples were up to his standards.

“Just so you know, they are perfect.” he said, and she smiled at him, glancing at his face to see if he was telling her the truth. He was; she could detect no lie in him at all. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Candy.” she told him, telling the name Marcus had told her to use.

“I don’t want to call you Candy.” he said. “What did your mother call you when you were little?”

She blushed. “My mother died in childbirth so I was raised by my father. He called me Jenny.”

“Your name is Jennifer?” he asked. She nodded, looking at the floor. “Is that what you want me to call you, Jenny?”

She shook her head. “You can call me Candy.” she said softly. “It will help me remember what I’m supposed to do.”

“What are you supposed to do?” he asked gently.

“I’m supposed to let you f-fuck me.” she said, her voice choking with tears. “You gave me extra, so I’m supposed to let you fuck me in the ass, too.”

“Is that something YOU want?” he asked. She shook her head. “Tell me what YOU want, Jenny.”

She looked up at him. Biting her lip nervously, she shook her head again and looked at the floor once more. He put a finger under her chin and captured her gaze. “Tell me.”

She took a breath and saw the friendliness he was giving her, and decided to take a chance. “I want to be that woman in that painting, dreaming to be as free as those horses.”

He glanced at the painting and smiled sadly. “My wife painted that, many years ago, when we we both in college.”

“You’re married?” she asked, surprised.

“I was.” he said. “She died a year ago yesterday, and that’s why I was cruising the strip.