Of course, as was
so frequently the case, Rachel's painful feelings kept her awake, or
at least half awake, just when she most wanted to go to sleep to
escape them, made even more difficult by erratic bits and scraps of
“Serious Tabloid Gossip Hour” that kept leaking out of Alice's
sub par headphones. Right now the presenter was conducting an
interview with the CEO of Genoa Appliance about his new house pet.
Apparently, said house pet was from a four-star brothel whose name
Rachel had been unable to catch, not that she wanted to. While Genoa
Appliance was not among the very richest companies in the city, it
was prestigious enough that a four-star house pet, especially for the
CEO, was a bit shocking. Based on the bite-sized snippets she could
not avoid hearing, the interviewer was grilling the CEO about this
fact and he was trying to defend himself by claiming it was a “good
investment” as the brothel in question had such high standards,
they were sure to be five-star any day now. Rachel wanted scream at
the added intrusion but restrained herself, remembering Alice had
also been in distress and probably needed the program to herself
relax, though Rachel failed to comprehend how such inane drivel could
possibly be relaxing.
She wished she
had taken a Super Doze but lacked the will to get out of bed and get
one, even if doing so wouldn't carry the risk of the other women
seeing her swallow a pill and getting ideas. She certainly didn't
trust them to be intelligent enough to make the distinction that this
was just a practical pill. So she remained trapped in that
semi-conscious state where memories of the past blurred and blended
with wishes and fears about the future in the most horrifying and
hurtful combinations possible. In particular, she was haunted by
Susan's reminder of how abnormal her reaction was...and for her too.
There was a time when the cavalier attitude towards sex demanded by
social pressure and professional necessity had not phased her in the
slightest.
She remembered
her first Holidays after her Sacrifice, her first as an adult and
full working member of Luther's.
Although, even then, unlike Alice, she was not so stupid as to think
the rituals and gifts had any true feeling behind them, she was still
in love with the show and the ceremony. Four months on from the
Sacrifice, she was still the center of attention almost constantly
and got a crazy thrill from “regretfully” declining the many
parties she was not able to fit into her schedule… because they
were not prestigious enough compared to the many other offers she had
received, and she had acquired enough regular clients to give and
receive gifts, though, with her busy schedule, regular was a relative
term. She did not actually pick out any of the gifts herself. Susan
would usually slip the ready wrapped package into her hand just
before exiting the transport as they arrived at a party. Frequently
she did not even know what was inside until the recipient unwrapped
it. It was usually something inane, like a pen or a business card
holder, sometimes carefully curated gourmet foods, or some small
jewelry item, like a pendent or cuff-links for those with the most
longstanding relationship to Luther's.
But despite all
this, the eagerness on the men's faces as they unwrapped and opened
the boxes, made her feel powerful, like she held the whole world
cupped in the palm of her hand and could clench her fist and crush it
on a whim. She knew the men didn't want monogrammed pens, or jars of
jalapeno and whiskey mustard. They wanted her and that
wanting was pleasing to her because it gave her control...both over
the men themselves and against the other women in the brothel. At
the time, she did not dream their wanting or her power could ever
fail. And the gifts they gave to her were even more of a testament
to this. Rachel remembered the night of the biggest party of all,
going home after with Adam CRO Genoa Appliance, though virtually
every party had ended with her in the bed of a high ranking
executive. In the transport he had fumbled awkwardly presenting his
gift package to her, perfectly professionally wrapped in shinny
blue-silver paperite, every edge carefully pressed, and tied up with
a glossy bow in deep blue velveet. The youthful Rachel had barely
spared a glance for this exacting and expensive presentation, seeing
it as no more than the expected due of her desirability. In a matter
of seconds, she had ripped through the careful wrapping and discarded
it in a crumpled ball on the floor of the transport. But she had
stopped and caught her breath when she saw the gold embossed wheel of
Clandestine Catherine on the lid of the box.
“I hope it fits
right,” said the executive not looking at her. Unlike the
wrapping, Rachel removed the lid of the box with care. Even the
boxes from Clandestine Catherine were a valuable status symbol, a
proof of authenticity she could flaunt in front of the other women.
The white tissue paperite liner printed with tiny silver snowflakes
showed she had received such a valuable item as a Holidays gift.
Also it was useful to protect the precious garment inside, so she
unfolded it carefully, giving a little gasp of delight at the inky
black pool beyond. It may have only been a coincidence and not
because Adam CRO had any kind of magical insight into her
personality, but she was so pleased that the most expensive lingerie
she owned, and would probably own for some time, was in her favorite
color of black and not in some stupid color like pink or yellow or
even a pastel like lavender or powder blue. According to the style
tips in Corpro, Rachel wore far too much black, especially for
someone of her body type and coloration and softer colors were
supposed to be more flattering on her, as well as reducing the risk
of her being seen as “overly aggressive and, therefore,
unapproachable and undesirable.”
Fortunately, she
had managed to get her hands on last months issue before anyone else,
at least anyone who cared or had the authority to dictate what she
wore, got a chance to see it and had promptly ripped out the
offending pages and flushed them down the toilet. Sure, someone
might still see them in the online version but given the limited
number of computers available, this was far less likely. In any
case, no one would try to stop her from wearing such a prestigious
item and she gleefully reached out to grasp the first piece, running
her fingers over the softness of the expensive velveet and feeling
the stiffness of the tiny black seed pearlasts with which it was
encrusted. Holding it up, she let it unfold and saw it was bustier
made of translucent black mesh covered with swirling strategic
patterns of the velveet. The straps and attached garters were also
thickly covered with the pearlasts and there was matching underwear
and stockings.
“Do you like
it?” the man asked tentatively. She had forgotten he was even
there.
“Oh yes.”
Rachel squealed with delight, holding the garment up against her
cheek. The enthusiasm was genuine, even if the form of expression
was colored by her training and not what she would have done on her
own. But, even if it had been ugly beyond belief, like if it had
been pale pink or printed with flowers, or covered with silly bows
and ruffles, she would still have been able to provide a convincing
illusion of pleasure to keep the client happy. Still, she could not
help feeling apprehensive. What if his fears came true and it did
not fit? It would be far too rude to ask him to exchange it for a
smaller size. If it simply did not fit at all, she would just have
lost out but if she could manage to get it on but it pinched horribly
or made her look fat or anything like that, it would be far, far
worse as she would be expected to wear it anyway and pretend she
loved it. Worst of all would be if it did not fit her perfectly but
it did fit one of the other women at Luther's because then she
would be expected to surrender this fabulous gift to them and have to
perpetually endure the humiliation of seeing them receive all the
admiration that should have been meant for her.
Thankfully, he
was as invested in answering this question as she and did not force
her to endure the cocktail and banter that frequently occurred when
arriving at someone's house. Instead, she was able to take off to
the bathroom at once to change and, to her incredible delight,
everything fit perfectly, the velveet and mesh had just enough
stretch to hug onto her everywhere like a second skin but not too
much so they also gave her an absolutely lovely feeling of
compression. Even better, they perfectly matched the cover robe she
had brought in her overnight bag, again displaying her “non-optimal”
preference for black. Young Rachel had taken several minutes to
enjoy herself posing in front of the mirror, imagining ever more
honors and profit being heaped onto her, even earning herself a
meretrix title. This was before the unfortunate incident with Gloria
had made her wary of such things. She certainly thought she looked
like one with one foot perched on the edge of the toilet, hips canted
back and to the other side. Unfortunately, she did not feel at
leisure to admire her own excellence for as long as she felt it
warranted, having to cut her mirror gazing short so she could get
back to the needy executive before he was overcome with paranoid
impatience. As it was, she found him sitting awkwardly on the edge
of the bed, twiddling his fingers in a futile effort to pass the
time, looking up with embarrassingly transparent relief when she
entered the room, in properly fitting lingerie no less. And then
they had sex, Rachel almost entirely on auto-pilot, as much of her
attention as possible remaining firmly on what she was wearing. But
Mr. Executive plainly failed to notice.
The next morning
he had provide mimosas and a gourmet breakfast, probably had arranged
to have it delivered from some fancy restaurant ahead of time, and
there was a small wrapped box on the tray next to her plate. “That's
your other present,” he said when Rachel looked up questioningly.
Eagerly she opened it to find a tiny cut crystal and gold bottle with
blue flower accents. She recognized it at once, the new fragrance
from Eau de You, the really disgustingly expensive one made with
fresh grass and patchouli accords. She would have to lock this up
tight to make sure none of the other women “borrowed” it by
“accident.” It took all her effort not to smirk over how
desperate and pathetic this man was. Both the cost and the intimate
nature of perfume being worn on the skin, made this, unquestionably,
an inappropriate gift for a casual client. This was the sort of gift
to give one's house pet or, at the very least, someone who had been
one's associate with benefits for many years. But she was just so
irresistible that he just couldn't stop himself from acting like an
idiot to try and impress her.
Young Rachel had
given a sweet response, lounging back on the bed to show herself off
in her new designer lingerie one last time, before covering herself
to prepare for the return trip to Luther's,
and she thought she saw the man flinch slightly as she did so. She
was well trained enough not to let him see the fierce triumph that
surged up inside her at his reaction. She was not supposed to know
but had overheard some of the leading ladies of the brothel talking
in the lounge when they did not know she was outside. Apparently, he
had made tentative inquiries about having her for a house pet, which
had made Rachel feel very conflicted as it was rare for someone to
get an offer that quickly after their Sacrifice but, at the time, she
had found the prospect unendurable stuffy and confining, having far
too much fun being the center of attention at every one of the
constant parties she attended. To her great relief, the women had
quickly revealed they were all in agreement that this must not be
allowed to happen as he was not rich or prestigious enough for
someone of Rachel's caliber, as she had just been saying Genoa
Appliance was a solid company but not that prestigious, which,
despite her fear of discovery, made her do a little dance right there
in the hallway. The purpose of the meeting was only to decide the
best way to guide the negotiations down a dead end without appearing
to do so, to prevent him from getting offended.
Remembering the
event, young Rachel had added an extra layer of seductive tilt to her
walk as she climbed into the transport, glancing back to just catch
the stricken look on his face. She loved how desperate he was, how
her very nature could drive him to do socially risky things like
giving her such personal and extravagant gifts, even though this
would change nothing because he wasn't good enough for her and they
both knew it. Rachel could clearly recall the exaltation she had
felt, the triumph and power that had surged through her. She knew
the feelings were hers, had been hers, and yet, now they felt utterly
alien. That she should have, not just not been disgusted by sex but
actually reveled in it as a tool of manipulation seemed so
unthinkable. Surely it must be because, at that point, she had not
known any alternative, had no idea what it was like when she
was completely emotionally invested and remembering vividly how
superior that was, and how it was now beyond her, she broke
down weeping again.
©Amanda RR Hamlin 2025
