(MF rom, slow) - Part 2 - Bittersweet Gifts

PART 2 - Bittersweet Gifts:

Oh Lord, I fucked her. No Lord, that's not true. She fucked 
me, because I was uncertain and hesitant and took no 
initiative. She undressed me and lay me down backwards on 
her huge and hard bed. Passively I watched the widow Jane 
in black stockings and black bra as she bent over me, 
cooing and hissing, pressing and sliding the heels of her 
hands down and across my body. She sprang on to the bed 
and the stockings whirred and purred to each other as she 
eased herself to me and straddled me. She grasped my 
erection in a fist. "Got you," she said, and looked 
straight into my eyes. She was triumphantly gleeful, and so 
wicked with it that I was shocked to the soles of my feet.

I did nothing but contribute a stiff dick. In the small 
pool of light cast by a bedside reading lamp I yielded like 
a vampire's victim and watched her above me, concentrating, 
working, applying herself and murmuring at me but without 
sense or coherence and it was eerie the way her face was in 
darkness, out of the light. I searched for what I knew best 
about her, and that was her eyes. But I saw only deep 
shadows beyond the horizon of her black bra.

She gurgled with soft laughter as I shook and spasmed and 
spurted into her and quickly she rolled aside and flung 
herself face down beside me. "Got you," she said, though 
quietly this time and muffled by the sheets.

"Jane," I said gently, beginning.

"Not now," she said, face down. "No talk." She reached out 
blindly and clicked off the bed lamp. "I'm desperately 
tired. But you have to stay, Blue. Stay and sleep with me."

Oh Lord, your gifts of chance and circumstance are 
bittersweet. I loved her more than this. A sticky coupling, 
with the evidence of satisfaction drying and going cold on 
my genitals. But unfulfilling. Devoid. Disembodied. Even 
unworthy. I sighed and flipped the bedcover over her, 
because she already seemed asleep. I burrowed into the bed 
and, because thinking would not solve anything, sooner or 
later fell asleep myself.

I woke in early daylight and found her in the bed, cuddled 
and hunched against my back. I could feel the warm length 
of her, lithe and smooth. No stockings, no bra. Just Jane. 
She was not normally an early riser but I was, and I 
started to slide out of her bed. There were things to do. I 
assumed she was asleep but she wasn't. She snaked out an 
arm and held me back. "No," she murmured. "Stay."

"Jane," I said quietly, beginning.

"No talk," she said. "Just stay". I pushed out of bed 
anyway. The tasks of the day required it. "Fuck you too," 
she muttered grumpily, rolling over. Fine with me because 
it meant I didn't have to look at her and I didn't want to 
because it was too hard.

Much later in the day she strolled into my office looking 
fresh and rested but dressed casually for going nowhere. 
"So," she said, dumping herself into a chair, "do you still 
love me?"

"Of course."

She smiled. "Then you're an idiot," she said, but without 
rancour. And abruptly she hauled herself to her feet and 
left the room.

I didn't see her again until she knocked on the door of my 
quarters that night. "I can't remember ever being in here," 
she said, looking around. "Usually I just ring. Small but 
tasteful." Then she saw the single bed. "Blue," she said, 
"you sleep in that? My God, you must be a monk. You expect 
me to sleep in it? Oh well, why not. It might be cosy." I 
watched, wordless, as she shed her clothes and climbed into 
the bed.  

A different night and a different Jane. Ardently 
affectionate, fervently willing. The sharp edge of spite of 
the previous night was gone. It was still, I could tell, 
something of a performance as she applied herself to the 
task of primarily pleasing me and secondarily pleasing 
herself. I did not doubt her affection for me. But she was 
still the senior partner and I the junior and there was no 
doubt about that at all. I loved her hopelessly and without 
prospect. I was getting from her that night all she could 
give me, and I knew it in every cell of my being.

I woke when she stirred at the earliest light, too 
attentive to her moods not to know. She eased herself 
quietly from me and I let her go. She picked up her clothes 
carefully and left me. I cried slow tears because I was 
alone again. And because she did not love me and she never 
would.

I rose later than I normally would and started work much 
later than I normally would. On the desk was an envelope 
addressed simply, Blue. It was a letter I did not want to 
read, though of course I did. She didn't waste words. It 
said:

`I have gone. I may not be back. I do not know what to do 
about all I leave behind. You must stay on and look after 
it until I do. I don't know where I will be. I will contact 
you occasionally by letter or email with any instructions. 
Do not try to find me because I don't want to be found. Do 
this because you love me. - Jane.'

And that was that. I had no option but to obey her wishes. 
The obligation was unavoidable; any other choice 
inconceivable. It's what I was there to do.

The duty of work filled that day and the days following. 
There was much to do. As executor I could employ the 
formidable resources of an old, respected and powerful 
family, and I did. The affairs of the country estate were 
pruned prudently to allow that considerable property to 
maintain itself, but no more. I laid off all the staff of 
the city house but for one housekeeper and hired myself a 
dogsbody assistant. I preserved regular payments to Jane's 
three favourite charities on condition she was not pursued 
beyond that. The matters of Richard I left to the family's 
legal firm. I had no obligation to Richard.

I obeyed her faithfully according to her instructions 
except on one issue. I retained a discreet company of 
investigators to track her movements at a distance and to 
keep me advised. For a while I feared she had vanished 
completely. Then, after nine weeks, she was located.

I looked first at the half dozen photographs, grainy and 
snapped through a telephoto lens. No doubt it was Jane. 
Dressed down like a backpacker, but still Jane. In two she 
was with a man, a big and strong fellow with an arm across 
her shoulders. I turned to the accompanying documentation. 
She was in the English city of Plymouth. It was the height 
of the sailing season and she had some association with it. 
Certainly she was living aboard a vessel moored at 
Plymouth. She'd accessed funds via ATM only three times in 
nine weeks, and then only modest amounts. I knew everything 
there was to know about Jane, or at least I once thought I 
did. I knew nothing about Jane knowing anything about 
sailing.

Once located she was easily tracked. In the following two 
months she criss-crossed through Europe in summer, always 
travelling low-budget and on her own. The occasional 
photographs often showed her with men as easy company. 
Then, as the grey skies of autumn settled in she started to 
move south, apparently following the sun. Greece, Turkey, 
Egypt and then Nairobi, from where she sent me an email, 
which I knew because my spies told me where she was. She 
knew I knew it. That's what the email was about.

`I'm being watched,' she wrote, `and I know you must be 
behind it. Do not betray my trust. Stop from this point. If 
you do not leave me alone I will kill myself. I promise. - 
Jane.'

I called off the tracker dogs. It was possible she would do 
as she threatened. But I could still follow her remotely 
and without risk, now that the agency had established a 
covert relationship with a bribed officer at her bank. I 
could trace her through ATM transactions.

Durban, Madagascar, the Seychelles, Perth and Sydney. Then 
Jakarta, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Hong Kong. Where she 
disappeared. No more withdrawals. No emails. After three 
months I set the dogs loose again, but with instructions 
for extreme discretion. Nothing. No knowledge. She was 
backtracked to a certain day in Hong Kong in November. Then 
nothing.

After another three months I was very seriously concerned. 
I feared she was dead, one way or another, and apart from 
any personal consideration I needed to know for legal and 
financial reasons. I let go the reins on the investigators. 
Find her, I directed. Spare no effort and no expense.

It took another five agonising months. My spirits soared as 
I flicked through the photos. She'd changed her appearance 
but she looked wonderful. The short hair was now shoulder-
length, still black, but falling straight like a heavy 
curtain around her face. She was dressed elegantly to suit 
her slim figure and made up starkly. She looked 
dramatically beautiful and alluringly sexy. I read the 
report and discovered the reason. Jane was a hooker in San 
Francisco. Not a street scout, thank God. She worked for an 
elite escort service and she was expensive. She called 
herself Janey.

I was chilled to the bone. Her destructive will had taken 
her to this. No wonder she needed no funds. She was earning 
her own way and, according to the report, doing so 
handsomely. But she was a call girl, no matter how 
purportedly high class, and it was as dangerous an 
occupation for her as could be devised.

I considered the situation and the options shrank quickly 
to one only. I booked a flight to San Francisco.

Ensconced in a suite at a first-class hotel, I slept away 
the dregs of the flight and prepared myself. Then I rang 
and hired her. Janey. I was specific. She'd been 
recommended, I said. Mr Edward in room 1501 at 7.30 
precisely. The service rang back to confirm.

She rapped on the door at precisely 7.30 and indeed it was 
Jane. Her face betrayed not a flicker of emotion. "This 
cannot be coincidence," she said. 

"Will you come in?" I asked politely.

"You're paying," she said, and swept past me as I stood 
aside. 

She stood with her back to me, looking out the window at 
the city lights. It was close to a year and five months 
since she'd slept the night with me in my room. She'd 
improved on herself. The straight black hair suited her 
well, sweeping away from memory the boyish look she once 
sported.

"You're angry, of course," I said.

"What if I am?" She remained with her back to me.

"You're my employer. You could sack me."

Unexpectedly she laughed. "You're right," she said. "I'm 
your employer. Which means I'm currently paying me for my 
services." She turned to look at me. "And by the hour, too. 
Do you know how expensive I am? Only somebody like me could 
afford me." She laughed again.

"It is my duty," I said, "to look after your interests. I'm 
here because I'm concerned your interest is at risk."

Her eyes searched my face. "You mean me and what I'm doing, 
I suppose," she said. "It's not something else?"

"No. But I could catch you up on affairs at home if you 
wish."

She waved a hand. "Please don't." Abruptly she turned aside 
and dropped herself down on the sofa. "For God's sake, 
Blue," she said. "Get me a drink." 

I'm not who I am for nothing. I mixed her favourite drink, 
having already made certain the ingredients had been 
delivered to the suite. "Superb," she said, sipping at it 
almost reverently. "Suddenly I remember why I like you."

"Jane, you look very well."

"You think so?" She seemed oddly pleased.

"Yes, considering the life you've been leading."

"How much do you know, Blue?"

"Very little. I backed off according to your request. But 
when you disappeared off the face of the earth I had to 
know whether you were alive or dead."

"And now you're here."

"Yes. I had to know."

"So how much do you know now?"

"Very little."

"Then let me tell you, seeing you've gone to so much 
trouble. I'm a prostitute, Blue. I'm paying my own way for 
the first time in my life, and I like it. I like making the 
money, I like the independence from you and all that I left 
behind, and I even like the job. After all, it only 
formalises what I've been doing for free all these years."

"But, Jane, you wouldn't describe it as a long-term 
career."

She shrugged. "I don't see anything as long term. Face it, 
Blue, I'm a slut. Been one since I was 13. Now I've turned 
professional."

"You are not a slut," I said firmly. "You are Jane."

She smiled sadly at me. "I remember telling you about me. I 
remember showing you. But you learned little, obviously. 
Tell me, do you still love me?"

"Yes."

"Then it's time to be brutal about this. Look, it's okay to 
be friends. It's okay to be loyal. But it's not okay to 
love me. Because I'm a slut, and you should never love a 
slut. I don't love you. I don't love anybody. I like you, 
Blue. I'm deeply fond of you. I trust you. I need you to be 
back there looking after things, not here looking at me 
with your doting doggy eyes."

"I cannot allow you to destroy yourself."

"You cannot stop me." She sat upright and attentive on the 
couch with her knees pressed together. Her face was set and 
determined. "If that's what I wish," she added softly, as 
an afterthought.

"Jane, what do you wish? What do you want?"

"I don't know. But I'm happier doing what I'm doing now 
than I have been for years. That's the simple truth."

"I can't talk you out of it?"

"No."

"But it's all so completely dangerous."

She smiled at me. "Compared to where I've been and what 
I've been doing, it's as safe as my bank in Geneva."

I let that one go. Her bank was not nearly as safe as she 
thought it was. "Where have you been?" I asked. "What have 
you done?"

"Lots of places. Bad things."

"Such as?"

"Why do you want to know?

I sighed, exasperated. "Because I cannot believe you can be 
in a more dangerous situation than you are now."

"At least I don't get raped any more," she said, looking at 
me stonily.

"You were raped?"

"Three times. I mean, on three separate occasions."

"Jane, that's awful. Were you hurt?"

"Not a lot. And I learned a valuable lesson, though all too 
slowly. I was too much accustomed to doing what I liked 
when I liked, and I found out the hard way that life's not 
like that when you're out there on your own."

"And now? What's changed?"

She reached into her handbag and drew out a small 
signalling device. "I'm not alone any more."

"How did you get into this business?"

"Through a friend," she said. "A woman friend. We share an 
apartment."

"And you share an occupation?"

"Yes."

"Anything else you share?"

She tilted her head at me, amused. "Actually, yes. Your 
suspicions are correct. I told you I like sex, Blue, and it 
comes in many forms."

It was becoming increasingly apparent that I was not going 
to make a breakthrough. I looked at her despairingly. 
"Jane, are you ever coming back?" 

"Maybe not," she said.

"But maybe?"

"I don't think so, Blue. I don't want to go back to that."

"But why this?"

She shrugged. "Because I like it."

I couldn't fathom it. "But it's so sordid. Nameless sleazy 
and seedy clients."

She smiled. "You're not nameless. Or sleazy. Or seedy."

"I'm not a client."

"In fact you are. You booked me. The meter is running."

"I didn't book you for that."

"Nevertheless."

"Jane, can you stay the night?"

"I have nothing else on. But I'll have to ring in."

"Do it."

"It'll cost you, Blue."

"Do it."

She smiled again. "Are you going to fuck me, Blue?"

"I'm going to talk to you, Jane."

"Boring," she said, stretching an arm above her head. "And 
pointless. I'm not coming back."

"Is there nothing I can do?"

"To persuade me? Nothing. But the least you can do is fuck 
me. That's what you're paying me for and I take pride in my 
work."

"Jane, that's distasteful."

"Is it? You didn't think so once."

"That was different."

"Maybe not so different, Blue. Then I was an amateur and 
now I'm a pro. You were easy then and you'd still be easy 
now."

"Jane, that's cruel."

"Is it? That's good, because maybe I'm starting to get 
through to you at last."

"Don't you know how cruel you are?"

"Yes, Blue, I do know. I've always known." She stood up 
from the couch. "Now wipe away those tears and come and 
fuck me."

Every word she said was a dagger. She stood there in front 
of me, sharply and coldly beautiful. As beautiful as ever. 
Even more so.

"Blue," she said. "Look."

Carefully and deliberately, watching me intently, she 
raised the hem of her black skirt. Above her knees. Above 
the tops of her stockings. Above her groin. She was not 
wearing pants, of course. She was Jane. But her pubic hair 
was gone. She was smooth and pale-white and shockingly 
naked.

She smiled her wicked smile and I remembered it 
immediately. "Got you," she said.