Hooker

Tuesday finally arrived. Early in the evening, I called Rachel. She seemed reluctant, obviously having had second thoughts about the whole thing, but I finally talked her into going to dinner with me on Friday.

I picked Rachel up at her house Friday evening. I took her to a restaurant downtown that was nice but not intimidating. It was a place where I could get wine by the half bottle. I suspected that Rachel wasn’t much of a drinker, so I wanted a quantity that would help get her talking, but not get her looped.

I wanted to know why she had been arrested, and her reaction in the grocery store told me she was sensitive about the subject. In the meantime, I learned whatever else I could about her. Her divorce had been accompanied by a bankruptcy, so she hadn’t gotten much in the way of a settlement. Gregory Silva was a friend of a friend who needed to maintain a legal residence in the city for business reasons. He had agreed to let Rachel live in the house he maintained for that purpose and use his phone line. That explained the Gregory Silva deal. He didn’t really figure into her life except as absentee landlord. Rachel didn’t have a car and rode the bus to and from work and used her bicycle to get around the neighborhood. She was a librarian and worked downtown at the main library.

Finally, over dessert, I asked her about her arrest.

“It was all a big mistake. My lawyer says we can get it thrown out.”

“So what happened?”

“It was my first day here in this neighborhood and I got off at the wrong stop coming home from work. Once the bus pulled away, I realized I wasn’t at the right spot, but didn’t know how to get to the one I wanted. There was this guy standing there, so I started asking him directions. He told me how to get home, and as I turned away, he asked me ‘how much?’. I asked him ‘how much what?” and he said ‘you know, how much for a blow job?’ I couldn’t believe it. So I told him, ‘it’s normally only a fifty dollars, but for you, it’s a thousand’ and he arrested me for soliciting. Then he put handcuffs on me and called a paddy wagon.”

“Did the cop see you get off the bus?”

“I think so. I don’t see how he could have really thought I was a hooker.”

“Part of the problem was that you asked him for directions. Some of the hookers are pretty brazen, but others are more circumspect. They ask for the time, or a light, or directions or something to break the ice. He probably would have ignored you if you hadn’t approached him. I doubt he really thought you were a hooker, but when you insulted him, he arrested you.”

“When I insulted him! He insulted me first. He asked me for a blow job. He deserved to be insulted.”

“Rachel, the cops don’t look at it that way. Their attitude is something like, ‘Your honor, it all started when the defendant hit me back’. There’s also the possibility that he really wanted a blow job and your refusal pissed him off. Who’s your lawyer?”

“Ed Gallagher. He’s a public defender.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better with your own lawyer?”

“Yes, but I can’t afford one. I had to spend the night in jail as it was and my daughter Gretchen was home alone. I couldn’t come up with bail until morning. The worst part is that the school social worker somehow found out about it and is trying to get me declared as an unfit mother.”

“You could probably be declared unfit for naming your daughter Gretchen.”

“That wasn’t entirely my doing. It was her father’s grandmother’s name.”

“Surely you had veto power.”

“You don’t know my ex.”

“Why does the social worker think you’re unfit?”

“Because I got arrested for prostitution. I told her I’m innocent, but I don’t think she believes me.”

“When’s your court date?”

“In a little over a week.”

“I think you should talk to my lawyer.”

“I don’t think I need to. Ed says he can get me off. Even if I lose, he says it would just be a small fine on a first offense.”

“Hello. Earth to Rachel. You’re going into court against a cop with a ‘he said, she said’ defense and a public defender? I’m making an appointment for you in the morning.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Somebody needs to. Do you realize the consequences if he screws up and you get convicted? If this ever happens again...”

“It won’t ever happen again.”

“It happened this time. Next time you’ll have a prior. Not only that, but a conviction this time will give the social worker all she needs to get your daughter taken away.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Rachel, you seem to think that because you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about. If things worked like that, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. A public defender won’t cut it. This is one of those occasions when you need to use a cannon to kill a mosquito. This mosquito carries malaria.”

I took Rachel home after dinner. The scene on her porch was a bit awkward. She was obviously ambivalent about asking me in. The evening had ended sooner than she had expected, and although she had had a good time and obviously wanted to talk to me some more, she was apprehensive about letting things go too far too soon. I solved her problem for her and begged off as gracefully as possible, returning home after promising to have my lawyer call her.

Monday morning I gave John, my lawyer, a call and explained the situation. He agreed that it shouldn’t be handled by a public defender and told me he would give her a call. I asked him if there would be any problem getting Rachel acquitted. He told me he would have to talk to her and gather some facts, but he was quite confident it could be accomplished easily. I was relieved to hear this. Although I believed Rachel, there were no witnesses and it was only her word against the cop. John assured me it was no problem. I hung up the phone, much relieved. I wanted the next person who locked handcuffs on Rachel to be me.

That evening I heard from Rachel. She thanked me for having John call her and said he’d been most reassuring and that she felt much better about the whole thing. I told her I was glad to hear it. She wanted to know if I would testify since I’d been a witness to her arrest.

“I doubt it,” I told her. “All I saw was you and the cop standing on the street corner as I drove by. About the only thing I could testify to is that you didn’t look like a hooker. I suppose John could call me as a witness, but that’s up to him.”

“So he didn’t discuss it with you?”

“Of course not. Rachel, John doesn’t discuss client’s cases.”

“But I thought since you were paying him...”

“No. You’re the client. That’s all that matters. Your discussions with him are private. If he discussed your case with me, I would have reason to question his ethics and I would need a new lawyer.” I was surprised when Rachel had asked me about testifying, but realized that it was her way of bringing up the subject of how much John would tell me about her case. It was obvious that Rachel was worried about this. At first I thought her concern was naive, almost comical, but the more I thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed from her point of view. She knew very little about either of us.

“Look,” I continued, “I know this is one of those situations where you need the help, but it makes you feel obligated and uncertain to accept it. First of all, you need to know that John is absolutely ethical. The only things I’ll learn about your case are what you tell me. He would be appalled to know we were even having this discussion. Secondly, it’s not likely to cost me anything. My business pays him a monthly retainer and we don’t need him all that often, so I can call in the occasional favor. We’re old friends and some day he’ll call me for a favor and he knows I’ll take care of him.”

“That makes me feel better. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it really does make me uncomfortable.”

“I understand. I’d still like to go out with you, but only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“No, that’s fine. I’d like to.”

“Friday evening?”

“Alright.”

Friday came and I took Rachel to dinner and a movie. She seemed somewhat distracted all evening. I thought it had to do with her court date, which was the next Tuesday. I kept trying to reassure her about it, but to no effect. I finally realized there had to be something else going on. I could understand her getting all worked up the night before she went to court, but she didn’t go until next week. Once I figured this out, I began trying to find out what was really going on. I was worried that it was me. It wasn’t.

“The social worker interviewed Gretchen at school today.”

“Can she do that? I thought the school needed your permission for that sort of thing.”

“She does, but I signed a consent form at the beginning of the year for her to receive counseling. I thought it would be a good idea with the divorce and everything.”

“So what happened?”

“She started asking Gretchen all sorts of questions. She asked it I’d ever hit her, asked if I’d ever had men over all night, if I ever seemed to have extra money, if I did drugs, etc.”

“That sounds rather hamfisted.”

“Gretchen didn’t have any trouble figuring out where she was going with it. She answered every question with ‘go fuck herself’.”

“I must say, I agree with Gretchen, but I doubt that it did your case any good.”

“No, it didn’t. The social worker has the whole administration all up in the air about Gretchen’s hostility.”

“Oh, Jesus. She just lost one parent, so they try to take away her other one, then accuse her of hostility. Who is this social worker? Is she evil, or incompetent?”

“Her name is Gayle Robbins. I think she’s both. Mainly, she’s incompetent, but she’s willing to do evil to hide the fact of her incompetence.”

“I want you to call John Monday morning. You need to withdraw that consent form you signed, and...”

“I can do that on my own. I don’t need John for that, and besides, he’s already doing enough and I don’t want to be a burden on your relationship.”

“Rachel, this is about your daughter. We’ll sort out who owes what to whom later. Right now, you need to put a stick in Miss Gayle Robbins spokes, and John has a bigger stick than you do. One thing that scares the hell out of school administrators and social workers is lawyers. They hate getting sued.”

I took Rachel home and walked her to her door. She looked up at me expectantly and I pulled her to me, intending to kiss her. Her body seemed to melt against mine and I ended up kissing her on the forehead and just holding her. She said nothing and made no sound, but tears streamed down her cheeks. I was once again overcome with a desire to protect her, but also to possess her. I reminded myself to keep my priorities straight. Protection now, possession later. After a bit, I unwrapped my arms from around her and opened her door.

“Thank you. I needed for someone to hold me.”

“Glad I could help.” I walked back to my car.

Rachel called me Monday evening. She had talked to John and he had called the school and put the fear of God (or at least lawsuits) into them. He told them that the consent form was now null and void and that no one was to interview Gretchen without Rachel’s written consent, and that if any attempt was made to do so, his process server would pay each and every one of them a visit the next day.

Later in the day, John had managed to contact Gayle’s supervisor and read her the riot act. Apparently the social worker was employed by a different department and wasn’t under the direct authority of the principal. He learned that the school principal had done the same thing earlier and Gayle had been informed that she would be fired if she approached Gretchen again.

Rachel told me she was relieved to have Gayle out of her hair, but she was still nervous about her court appearance in the morning. John had told her it would be not problem, but she still wanted it over with. She asked me if I would be there.

“Of course not,” I told her.

“Good. I was afraid you might come. I didn’t want you to see me being accused of prostitution.”

I slept fitfully that night. Even though I had complete faith in John, I was concerned about Rachel. I was rather annoyed with myself for getting all worked up over this, but as I thought about it, I realized I’d been letting myself get worked up over Rachel since that first day I saw her on the avenue.

Rachel called me at work about noon. Everything had gone fine. John had forced the cop to admit that it was he who had brought up the blow job. The judge threw it out and gave the cop a lecture, expressing the opinion that the wrong person had been charged. He said it was obvious that Rachel’s reply was a put down rather than a serious solicitation.

There was one odd thing. Gayle had attended the proceedings. When the judge tossed the case out, she had gotten up and stomped out of the courtroom. Rachel was sort of glad she was there to see it. Now she would have to concede Rachel’s innocence.

I suggested we go out that evening and celebrate, but Rachel said she had to work tomorrow and it was a school day for Gretchen, so she couldn’t stay out late. She suggested we wait until Friday. Gretchen was going to spend the weekend at a friend’s house, leaving Rachel free for the weekend. The implications of this were obvious. Rachel didn’t know it yet, but although she wouldn’t be burdened with looking after Gretchen, she wasn’t exactly going to be free.

Friday when I got home from work, I got cleaned up and dressed, then called Rachel and told her I was on my way. I picked her up at her house and we went to a nice restaurant (one that featured full bottles of wine) and discussed the events that had led up to the present moment.

“Sometimes,” Rachel said, “I think this whole thing happened to bring us together. I mean, if I hadn’t gotten arrested, you wouldn’t have noticed me, and we wouldn’t be here now. But then, sometimes I think it was the other way, that when I was arrested, you came along as a means to save me. And then sometimes I think it all just happened.”

“I find the first choice more flattering, but suspect the third one is more accurate.”

“Whichever, I’m glad I’m here.”

“So am I.”

After dinner I helped Rachel into the car. She didn’t need any help, but seemed to enjoy the attention.

“Where to now?”

“My house. I’m taking you home for the weekend.”

“Bob, I’m not sure I should.”

“Don’t play games, Rachel. On Tuesday, you made it clear you were available for the whole weekend. Well, now you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

“No. You’re going to be quite occupied.”

We arrived at my house and I led Rachel inside.

“Bob, this is gorgeous.”

This was true. My wife, Meg, and I had bought it as our dream house several years before her death. It was a turn of the century stone house which was fully restored. Mahogany woodwork, brass and crystal chandeliers, and stained and leaded glass were everywhere.

I made Rachel a drink, gave her a tour, then led her back to the living room. I lit some candles, then turned out the chandelier. I took her drink from her and led her by the hand to the center of the room.

“I was wondering when you’d make your move.”

“This is isn’t going to be like what you’re used to, so just go with it.” Without speaking further, I stepped behind Rachel and positioned her as I wanted her, squaring her shoulders, moving her feet together, and turning her head so she faced forward. I pulled her hands behind her and locked the handcuffs around her wrists.

“Bob, what are you doing?”

“I want to see you as I first saw you.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

I stepped in front of her, took her head in my hands, and looked into her eyes. “Rachel, you have a choice. You can go or you can stay, but if you stay, you will be in my charge.”

“What if I want to go?”

“Then I’ll take you home and you’ll spend the weekend alone, wondering what it would have been like...and so will I.”

“If I stay?”

“If you stay, you will obey.”

Rachel looked a bit dubious at this, so I told her, “You don’t have to decide now. You can leave any time you want. It will be my job to make you want to stay. It will be your job, up to the point at which you decide to leave, to do whatever I ask.”

“Alright.”

I sat down in a chair at the side of the room directly in front of her and watched her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at you.”

“Why?”

“Because I find you beautiful. I like to look at you, and I like it even better now that you’re locked in my handcuffs.”

“You’re just going to look at me?”

“Don’t be so impatient. This isn’t going to be a quickie. We have all night, and the next day and the next. I don’t like for these things to be over with in fifteen or twenty minutes. Now, if you please, be silent.”

I watched Rachel in the flickering candle light. She stood just as she had when I had first seen her--erect, eyes cast down, wrists locked behind her. Every once in a while, she would look up and meet my gaze, become embarrassed, and look down again. There was something about Rachel when she was embarrassed. She embarrassed easily and she was so sexy when she blushed.

After I had studied her sufficiently, I approached her again. I buckled a collar around her throat and locked it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m locking my collar on you.”

“Why?”

“Because it, like that handcuffs, makes you mine. Also, I like how it looks.”

“This is weird.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So how does it make you feel?”

“Embarrassed, but aroused, too.”

“Good. Now please be quiet.”

I began unbuttoning her dress.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m undressing you. That should be obvious.”

“But, I mean...why?”

“Why? Why does any man undress a woman.”

“No, I mean, what are you going to do now?”

“It would certainly spoil the fun if I told you.” I unlocked one handcuff and slipped her dress off her arms, then locked it back around her wrist. “Rachel, I asked you not to speak, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“There are consequences if we don’t do our jobs. If I don’t do mine, you’ll leave. If you don’t do yours, there are consequences as well.”

“Such as...”

“I’m going to gag you.”

“Bob, no.”

“Then you should leave.”

“But, you’re being...I don’t know.”

“Rachel, you’re being dominated, not brutalized. Now you have a choice to make. Submit or leave.”

I held the gag to her lips. “Open your mouth, Rachel,” I said softly. She opened her mouth and I pushed the gag into place, buckling the strap behind her neck.

I stepped behind her again and unhooked her bra. I removed the handcuffs and slipped the bra off, then pulled her hands behind her again and bound her wrists with rope. She tensed as I slid her panties down, but stepped out of them when instructed to do so. Rachel was now naked except for her stockings, heels, collar, and gag. I returned her to her former position and resumed my seat, watching.

Rachel stood as before. After a bit, she looked up and saw me gazing upon her body. She turned red and lowered her eyes again. This cycle repeated several times. I became more aroused with each cycle.

I walked back over to Rachel. “Do you want to leave yet?” She shook her head. “Shall I take you upstairs now?” She nodded. I scooped her up and carried her up the stairs. Once there, I set her on her feet, removed her gag, and kissed her.

“You can talk now,” I told her.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

I tied a blindfold over her eyes.

“Now what?”

“If I wanted you to know that, I wouldn’t have blindfolded you.”

I untied her wrists, then picked her up and laid her on the bed, removing her shoes. I made her spread her arms and legs and tied her to the bed with the ropes I had prepared for her. Then I began a slow exploration of her body with a feather, finding all her ticklish spots and some that made her gasp or moan for other reasons. When I finished with the feather, I began exploring with tongue and ice cube. Rachel thrashed helplessly, sometimes begging me to stop, other times begging me not to.