Hugh Kissasse - A Little Night Nookie

"So, you are to be our new employees, hmm?" he said, coming into the room. He ran his eyes over Dottie and then studied me. "Ali hah. Very young, I see. That is good, yes. You will enjoy working here."

"Hey, wait a minute," I said. "Working where? What's going on?"

"Dear, dear," he said, and went to a table, where he opened a box and extracted a long cigarette. He lit it, still studying us. "So typical of my dear friend's high-handed methods… she did not trouble to tell you anything, eh? Still, now that you're here…

He clapped, his hands, and a man appeared in the doorway, another sinister looking type. I had the feeling I'd gotten into an Alfred Hitchcock movie somehow.

"I am sure you would care for some refreshment before we go to matters of business," the first man said. "Ah, yes, you may call me Mr. Smith. You are Honey, no doubt, and you are Dorothy. Now, here we have a little something to eat… and a good champagne, yes?" The sinister-type was placing plates on a low table, and a bottle popped. We were pretty hungry, and this was real luxury; so I kept my questions to myself while we got filled up properly.

Mr. Smith helped himself to a glass of champagne and sat down, relaxed and elegant, as we finished up.

"And of course, there will be a proper wardrobe…" he said, eyeing us. "Unless you really prefer blankets, my dears."

"Nobody's explained anything," Dottie said, worriedly.

"How distressing," Mr. Smith said. "Now… how shall l put it? I am in the… ah, pleasure business. Here, we have a number of girls who supply various entertainments to my clients… but only the very best class of customer, I assure you. At the prices we charge, we can afford to be choosy. And, of course, you will be well-paid…"

"It's a h-house of ill repute!" Dottie gasped.

"Ill-repute? Hardly!" Mr. Smith looked slightly offended. "Our repute is of the very highest. Really, my dear… such an idea."

"You mean we get paid to BALL?" I asked. I'm the practical type, as you may have noticed.

Mr. Smith put the tips of his fingers together, and looked soulful.

"To dispense the highest joys, to pursue ever the highest of artistic goals… unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged, or the sacred state of Unplinprodu-Ooosh, as we say in my country…"

"Unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged?" I said. "Gee, I doubt we can manage anything like that…"

"Ah, but that is merely our ineffable goal, girls," Mr. Smith said. "A divine condition known only to the most advanced yogis… we mere humans must merely strive, doing our best to merely approach the Utter Orgasm… you understand me."

I didn't, but, oh well. I poured some more champagne all around, and Mr. Smith continued.

"I have sought for total perfection, step by step… until now I am, as you see, in charge of this temple of delights, still striving ever upward for the artistic total triumph.., an expensive matter, of course, so my efforts require financing. Which is why we charge so much here, but considering how much we have to offer, the fee is actually nothing."

Golly.

"Gee, Honey, I don't know," Dottie said. "I mean, do you think we ought to do anything like that? I mean, I'm not sure we can…"

"Nonsense, ducks, you'll enjoy your work," Mr. Smith said briskly, rubbing his hands. "I've been told that you have a little experience, in a non-professional sense. Why not try a night or two and see how you like it?"

"You mean trying to get to inscrutable pleasure or whatever?" I asked.

"Oh, just fuck them to a frazzle, and don't fret about the rest," Mr. Smith said cheerfully.

Well, that made a little better sense.

"Why don't we try it, Dottie?" I said.

"Well… all right then, if you say so," she said, from where she still stood opposite me. Mr. Smith smirked happily, and stood up.

"Delightful children," he said, approvingly. "Yes, indeed, I'm sure you'll be great favorites. Now, if you don't mind…" He approached Dottie, who backed up nervously. However, she had no way of avoiding him; he reached out and took away her blanket, tossing it to one side. He stood studying her thoughtfully, tapping the side of his nose with a finger and uttering small hm sounds.

"I do hope you don't mind…" he said, poking her here and there with an extended finger. "As an artist, I appreciate… and as a businessman, I think I should know the… ah, product. Yes… you know, you do have a delicious figure, m'duck, but you may have a little weight problem there when you're a bit older. Never too soon to think about such things." He put a hand under one of Dottie's breasts, and jiggled it thoughtfully, smiling. "Though it's pretty well placed now, all this delightful pink meat. Yummy, I must say." He stepped back, and cocked his head, peering up and down. "Fine firm legs, nice flat tum, and my, my, what an absolutely perfect ass. Many of our clients are ass men, you know. I myself… well, we all have our tastes. Now… the bush. I wonder…" He studied Dot-tie's curly dark triangle thoughtfully for a moment.

I wonder if it would look suitably… nice, shaved," he said, and Dottie looked indignant.

"Shaved?' she said, pinking up. "Why?"

"It's something of a fad with a few of our clients," Mr. Smith said "Pink, luscious, pretty mounds of Venus, and so on. Though I do think it's more of a bother than it's worth. One or two of the girls do it, just for the kicks. But leave it as it is if you prefer; personally, I like the fuzzy little darlings, myself." He extended a long finger, and tickled it, and Dottie jumped back, squeaking.

"Now, you, my dear." he said, turning my way. I stood up, and removed my blanket, glad to get rid of the itchy thing, to tell the truth. The champagne made me feel a bit brazen and Marlene Dietrich-y, and;I put my hands on my hips, and tilted my turn around, showing off.

Mr. Smith looked quite pleased, as he turned to look a batted my eyes at him, and he chuckled.

"Don't you go sticking any cold fingers in me, chum," I said, warningly, as he stepped closer. "I only like that kind of thing when it's meant in the right way, if you dig me."

He chuckled again, looking me over. "My, my, a regular little spitfire. And as pretty as your friend, too. No, we needn't do anything about the little blonde beaver down there. It's proof that you're a genuine blonde, after all.

Now, about a beginning… ah, there you are."

The sinister man had come back into the room, soundlessly; he was carrying an armload of clothing, which he laid carefully out across the back of a chair. Dottie has always been something of a clothes nut, and she was at the pile at once, picking it over like an old lady at a bargain sale, oohing and ahing. I was a little surprised myself; the clothes were all really wild things, expensive-looking too. And they looked like the right sizes, too.

"Oh, we have a great many good clothes here, for the girls to select from -as they wish," Mr. Smith said, rubbing his hands again with a salesmanish air. "And of course, you may have a drawing account against some of our better local stores. We like our girls to have a certain air, so to speak"

I had picked out a wild frock in black, something that set off my blonde hair nicely, and I was trying to make up my mind if I really wanted to bother about undies; there were all sorts of lacy objects that looked great.

"I just can't figure out one thing," I said, doubtfully; I slipped on the frock, and turned around once or twice, admiring myself as I spoke.

"And what is that, Honey?"

"I don't really know anything about this sort of place," I told him. "But gee… I had the idea the girls.just lolled around in their underwear, or maybe nothing at all, and it was all… well, sorta sordid."

"Good heavens, not here," Mr. Smith said, in a shocked tone. "This is a class joint, darling. Most of our clients prefer to unwrap the girls themselves, and to do that, they must be dressed. And many of our clients like to indulge in little fantasies… amateur theater, as one might say. They do not wish to think about the… ah, commercial aspect. The girls must resemble their… ah ideal, you see."