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by Donna Lynn White
Category: Erotica/Fetish Erotica
Description: Rita Crenshaw is a former nun who became a dominatrix because she loved to catch men naked and spank their bare bottoms. Peddling timeshares door to door, Vicky Bingham, 26-year-old college dropout and mother of one, encounters Rita. In need of a female assistant with a bit of acting ability, Rita offers Vicky the job on incredibly generous terms. Vicky, although wary of such extreme generosity, needs the money desperately and accepts. Immediately Vicky is plunged into the world of female dominants and discovers she, too, enjoys making men crawl and administering punishment to them. But all too quickly Vicky's misgivings are also born out. In the convent, Rita was known as Sister Flimflam, and in addition, to dominating men, she likes to con the wealthy ones out of a portion of their cash. Soon Vicky finds herself helping Mistress Flimflam run a con on an extremely rich man. What Vicky doesn't realize is that, in running the con, she's committing a felony, which puts her, too, at the mercy of Rita. As she dominates the males she meets, Vicky can't help wondering how to extricate herself from her predicament.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: June 2009
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [355 KB]
Reading time: 206-288 min.
About three o'clock, my luck changed.
I'd begun to think even though Seven Willows women had money, they didn't spend it. Not on time shares, anyway. By early afternoon my first day, I'd trudged from one house to the next, most with long curving driveways which added to the distance I had to walk. And not a nibble. Some bitches weren't even polite. A couple slammed the door in my face.
Then I rang the bell of a big, two-story French provincial, and what do you know? A guy answers. A real hottie. The kind of sexy hunk I groove on. Probably early thirties, about six one, maybe 190 well-developed pounds of muscle, with a beautiful tan and lovely wavy blond hair. And all he had on was a pair of those G H Bass walking shorts and Birkenstocks. Mentally, I licked my lips. Oh, yes! yummy, real yummy!
Holding one of those Lhasa Apso dogs by the collar, he stared me up and down. "So, honey, what can I do for you?"
I smiled. "Ask not what you can do for me, ask what I can do for you." I always got off on using that JFK line.
He smiled back. "Okay, what can you do for me?"
I was about to go into my spiel, when the dog began to bark. I read somewhere Lhasas are great guard dogs, and this particular specimen seemed determined to uphold the breed's reputation. But Mr. Yummy hauled it back. With a jerk of his head, invited me in.
I hesitated. Would it wise to be alone in the house with this guy, hunk or no hunk? But, business is business. I sidled in. After trudging around in the heat all day, the air conditioning in the place was a blessing. Actually, once inside, the dog proved to be a little sweetheart and immediately settled down.
The hunk led me into a kind of combo office-den and nodded toward a red leather wing chair. I sank into it, but before I could get started, Mr. Yummy sticks out his hand. Like any good sales rep, I instantly jumped to my feet and shook his hand.
He smiled. "Hi. Nick Lafferty. And this," nodding at the dog, "is Cutler. I think he likes you. But hey! Pretty hot out there, isn't it?"
Nodding, I wiped a few beads of sweat off my upper lip with the sleeve of my cotton paisley blouse, then sank back down into the cool, restful leather chair.
"Get you something to drink? Cold beer, maybe?"
I was thirsty but didn't think a cold beer appropriate to the occasion. I smilingly declined the brew. "No thanks, but a glass of ice water would hit the spot. And my name's Vicky, Vicky Bingham."
He held up his hand. "Say no more, Vicky. Back in a jiffy."
He disappeared, leaving me with Cutler, who promptly curled up on my feet and started licking my bare ankle. On a sweltering day, business or no business, I wasn't wearing pantyhose. As promised, Mr. Yummy returned in a jiffy. He handed me a tall, frosty glass of water. Gratefully I chug-a-lugged, the whole 12 ounces. During the entire time, my prospect studied me closely, as though I were performing some fantastic trick.
He took the empty glass. "How about it? Like another?"
I shook my head. "No, thanks. That hit the spot, but no more."
"Need to use the toilet?"
Startled, I blushed. What a question to ask a woman he'd just met. The trouble was, I did need to go potty. Badly. Mr. Yummy was the first hot prospect I'd come across, but the way my bladder was pressuring me, I didn't think I could get through my spiel, not even with my legs crossed. Much as I hated to, I admitted I needed to go.
He led me to a door down the hall just off the foyer. Gratefully I hurried in and turned to lock the door. But the lock didn't work. And the door didn't latch too well, either. But, what the hell. Too late to worry. I hoisted my skirt, and slid my panties down to my ankles. Leaning back, letting go a blissful sigh, I settled on the throne. That's when I looked up and realized the dog had bumped the door open and followed me in.
Now Lhasa Apsos, I've read, are famed for being inquisitive, and Cutler was no exception. He stuck his nose between my knees and started nuzzling his way up toward my crotch. Tinkling as I was, I couldn't get off the toilet but tried frantically to defend my honor from this canine masher. Closing my thighs, I tried to shove him away. But that lustful hound was persistent.
I must've let out a screech, because next thing I know, the hunk's peeking around the door, watching me trying to fend off the dog. Still drizzling, skirt up around my waist, I watched in utter horror as the hunk charged into the bathroom and grabbed Cutler by the collar.
"Cutler, you're very naughty," trying to drag the dog's nose out of my crotch. But I guess the breed's pretty strong, because despite his muscles, the hunk was having trouble hauling Cutler off me.
"Oh, for God's sake," I wailed, "this is so embarrassing. Just get out of here. Please."
"Sorry," apologized Mr. Yummy, finally prying the sex-crazed hound off me and backing out the door.
Five minutes later, ensconced in the red leather wing chair, dignity restored, I gave my spiel, secretly congratulating myself. I mean, the hunk seemed such an attentive listener I began to think maybe I might be better at this sales game than I'd given myself credit for. Anyway, as my rhapsody on the glories of Hawaii wound down, he nodded and clapped. "Very interesting. What's it cost?"
I smiled my winning-or so I hoped-smile. "Only $7,500."
He pursed his lips. Scratching the nape of his neck, he said, "Nice sales pitch, Vicky, but a little pricey. We better consult Rita."
"The lady of the house. Should be home by 6:00. Could you come back then?"
I'd hoped to be soaking my feet by then, but recalling Fat Jake Campbell's admonition-he's my sales manager-that business is business and desperately needing the 15% commission, I smiled again. "I'll look forward to it."
Like hell, I thought, all the while keeping the smile pasted on my face as I assured the hunk I'd return later. I didn't really have any other options. When he'd hired me, Fat Jake, ever-present soggy cigar jutting out of his mouth, had said, "Vicky, remember, you gotta get out there and," he patted my backside, "hustle your buns. The company isn't into giving anything away for nothing, you know. It's tough, but business is business. You gotta move the product."
Ignoring the pat on the butt, I'd nodded. "Yes, sir."
"I don't care what you hafta do, just," he winked, "do whatever you gotta do. And remember, the customer's always right. Or think they are, so don't argue with them."
"Whatever you say, sir."
"That's the spirit, kiddo." Pausing, he'd peered at me. "You know why I hired you? Even without previous sales experience?"
I decided to humor him. "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"
"Your looks, baby, your looks. You got a pretty face, a really sweet face. Plus a great complexion. I especially like your nice, long brown hair. That ponytail's sexy."
Which didn't surprise me. Tommy used to say much the same thing. In high school, he was the man, the jock all the girls wanted, the guy voted most likely to succeed. And, even as a teenager, he was an exciting lover and initiated me into the joys of sex. At the time, I thought it was love, but looking back, it was merely sex, great sex, exciting sex, but nonetheless, just sex that caused me to get married. Later, I began to wonder. If Tommy really had been going steady with me all throughout high school as he claimed, where'd he learn to be such a satisfying lover? Anyway, despite Ma's objections, Tommy Bingham and I were married right after high school graduation. Seven months later, along came Tiffany.
Tommy's trouble? Lazy. Football and baseball came easy to him. He didn't need to exert himself much to be the stand-out star athlete. After we married, it dawned on me he expected success would woo him, so he wasn't much inclined to work at it. As a result, he didn't hold down any job very long and spent a lot of time watching sports on ESPN.
But, hey! Besides being an exciting lover, Tommy had some other good qualities, but they often had their downside, too. For example, when he did make a little money, he was apt to give it away to charities for the blind. His sister's had impaired vision, and I guess that made a big impression on him. And, what he didn't give to charities for the blind, he'd send to animal shelters all over the world. Admirable, but it irked me. He squandered his money. Our money really. It meant I ended up the family breadwinner. I struggled to put anything away for college while supporting the two of us.
After graduating from high school-magna cum laude, I'll have you know-I worked dead-end jobs for a year but figured being reasonably bright and with what I'd accumulated, I'd be able to work part time at college and earn a degree in history. Although I'm not sure what I thought I'd do with a history degree. Teach maybe?
Back home, though, folks'd all thought I was pretty darned good when I played the lead in my senior high school play, then later the lead in our community theater production of Our Town. Those two triumphs convinced me I had acting talent and led, in freshman year, to my getting involved with the college drama club. And what do you know? I got a leading role in one of their film productions. So even though my original intention was merely to have some fun, that film role and the rave reviews by the others in the drama club went to my head. In sophomore year, thinking I'd found my destiny, convinced my future lay in Hollywood, I transferred to the drama department. History would have to take a backseat, be merely a hobby.
My first year at college, Tommy came with me but still wasn't inclined to work much, and even when he did, being the good-hearted guy he was, he still made his donations to the blind and animals. True, he continued to provide me an exhilarating sex life, then one day, I discovered he was exhilarating a couple of sorority girls, too.
We were divorced, while I was still in my freshman year.
Anyhow, growing impatient to sample fame and fortune, I didn't think I was being too foolish when, 26-years-old and halfway through senior year, thinking who needs it, I dropped out of college. Leaving Tiffany with Ma-the kid was only five, and once I'd started college she'd pretty much been with Ma anyway-I set off to make my mark in films.
But it wasn't long before it dawned on me that becoming a movie star wasn't going to be easy. I worked off and on as a waitress while scratching to get a toehold as a movie actress, but when a smart-ass customer made some snotty wisecrack about my weight, I blew my cool. My boss, a female, fired me. Can believe it. Anyway, I ended up on the street. My relatives were all back in a little Okie Bible Belt town a few miles outside Tulsa and too poor, anyhow, to be any help.
In time, I ran out of what little money I'd put aside to finance my movie career. So I took Jake up on his job offer, peddling door to door time shares in an expensive resort. Since I wasn't a virgin, Jake Campbell's patting my butt and alluding to sex, didn't really upset me. And I was wearing a kind of short, tight skirt. Plus I needed the job, so mindful of what had happened to my waitress career, I merely smiled. "Well, uh ... thank you, sir."
"And, Vicky, you're kinda tall, ya know. With gorgeous long legs." He squinted. "How tall are you, by the way?"
"Last time I checked, five eight."
"Good. That'll help with your weight problem."
So I've got a little weight problem. Well, okay, not so little. When Jake made that crack, I weighed 165, maybe 170, although when I first came out to Hollywood, I'd only weighed about 150. But, with the stress and disappointment of trying to get a toehold in the movies, plus my divorce and feeling horny, I guess maybe I did overeat. Then, too, sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, for some agent to call, some legit agent, not a casting couch freak, I suppose I didn't get much exercise.
But, hey, I've got a big frame and didn't think I looked too bad. Anyway, I figured one nice thing about a door-to-door job would be the walking. Might help me lose some of that flab I'd put on. I still got pretty irked, though, when somebody cracked wise about it. However, when Jake made that crack about my weight, I managed to avoid going like totally ballistic but couldn't help muttering, "Who says I got a weight problem?"
Jake chuckled. "Hey, don't be touchy. It'll work to your advantage. I'll assign you a neighborhood where there's plenty of money. During the day, you'll deal mostly with housewives. With your weight, they won't figure you're any threat to their marriage. They'll feel safe inviting you back to make your pitch to them and their hubbies. And with all the money floating around Seven Willows, you're sure to score. Can't miss."
Anyway, I assured Mr. Yummy I'd be back promptly at six to meet Rita. Silently groaning, briefcase in hand, I set out once again to endure the slings and arrows of the hoity-toity women of Seven Willows.