Chapter 3: Friend or Pimp

“Is this dress going to be suitable for tonight?” I ask. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Pete didn’t say, but we usually go to a local club or a bar. You should be fine in that dress. Have you worn latex clothing before?”

“No,” I reply. “This is all new to me.”

“Normally you would need to spread talc or lube on your body and on the inside of the dress before you put it on. But this dress has been chlorinated, so it will be easier to slip on and off. But you still need to be careful that you don’t rip it. Try it on for size while I find you a suitable belt and accessories. Do you prefer boots or shoes?”

“Shoes, I think. What are you going to be wearing?”

“Pete should be home in an hour. He will have collected whatever I’m to wear tonight from Greg.”

“That sounds a bit weird,” I laugh. “You have a fine collection of clothes here, even if they are all a bit ... um ... kinky and erotic. Why don’t you wear one of these outfits?”

“Greg likes to choose the clothes I wear when Pete and I go out,” replies Jenny. “Greg has a large collection for the girls who work for him. I think Greg gets a kick out of showing me off to his mates.”

“Oh, so there will be more than the four of us, then?”

“No. Pete will take us to whatever club or bar Greg and his mates will be drinking at tonight. They’ll just be admiring us from afar.”

“That’s too weird for my taste,” I snap, finally drawing a line in the sand. Sarah-Anne has been pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone all afternoon, and I’ve finally reached my limit. “I’m not going anywhere just to be drooled over by a bunch of drunken guys. Particularly when I’m dressed in a sexy black latex dress. What are you thinking of to allow Pete and his brother to do that. You’re not some prostitute who must parade herself in front of prospective clients.”

There’s a deathly silence for a moment and Sarah-Anne starts fidgeting nervously. “But I am,” she mumbles at last. “Or at least I was until recently.”

“You are what?” I say, not certain that I heard her correctly.

“Until a few weeks ago, I worked as a prostitute. Pete was my pimp.”

“I think you had better explain. And quickly, before Pete returns. And make it a good explanation because I’m going to kill Pete if I don’t like what I hear.”

Sarah-Anne continues to fidget and looks close to tears. She’s already sniffling. My anger is battling my need to comfort the girl who was once my best friend. At the moment my anger is winning.

“Stop fidgeting and snivelling, Sarah-Anne,” I growl. “Pull yourself together and tell me what has been going on and how this has come about.”

My strong words seem to jolt her back to her senses. I sit on a chair while Sarah-Anne gathers her composure. She finally kneels before me and launches into her story.

“Do you remember my grandmother who was my guardian after my parents died in a car crash?” begins Sarah-Anne, looking into my eyes for once.

I nod in response. I remember her grandmother as a slightly eccentric old lady who was a bit absent-minded in her later years.

“And you know that when my parents died that their estate was left in a trust for me until I turn twenty-five. This house and furniture plus about seventy thousand in the bank ... most of it from my father’s life policies and company pension scheme.”

“I knew that you had a trust fund left by your parents, but not the details,” I reply.

“About two years before Gran died she got it into her head that banks weren’t safe any more. She and Grandpa lost a lot of money in the 2008 financial crisis. I didn’t know it at the time, but she withdrew all my trust money out of the bank and kept it in cash. She was the sole surviving trustee of the trust, so there was nobody to stop her. Gran hid the money somewhere but she didn’t tell anybody where. My mother had taken out a life policy which gave me a small monthly income after her death until I reached eighteen. With Gran’s pension, the income from mum’s life policy was enough to help pay for my upkeep and the household bills, so Gran didn’t need to touch the trust money. But after a while Gran started to forget things, and all of a sudden she realised that she couldn’t remember where she’d hidden the cash. It’s only then that she told me about what she had done. We searched and searched, but there was no sign of the money. By the time she died, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, we were getting into serious financial trouble. Mum’s life policy expired when I was eighteen and I had no other income.

“I remembered that Pete had once mentioned that he had an older brother, Greg, who, quote, ‘helped girls in financial difficulty’. I was getting desperate enough to ask Pete for his brother’s help. I suppose I knew all along what sort of conditions were going to be attached to any help Greg provided, and Pete tried to persuade me to look at other options. But I needed money quickly to pay the overdue bills. Pete didn’t want me to get involved with Greg, and instead Pete provided the help Greg would have provided had I gone to him. A loan to pay my pressing bills, a license, and access to clients.”

“A license?” I ask, interrupting Sarah-Anne’s story.

“When the government legalised prostitution, they required prostitutes to be registered and licensed. Name, date of birth, place of business; that sort of thing, as well as an annual medical examination for STDs. Pete helped me get the license. Once I was all set up, I started work in the sex trade. I had to drop out of college, of course. My hours of work didn’t fit with studying for exams. Pete and Greg found and vetted clients for me, and I filled in my spare time by designing kinky clothing. About three months ago, one of my clients showed an interest in my clothing designs, so I decided to start producing a few to sell. My grandfather ran a tailors shop before he retired, and there were some of his sewing machines and other equipment dumped at the back of the garage. Pete and Greg used their contacts to find buyers for my clothes, and I soon branched out into the bespoke design and manufacture service I showed you earlier.”

“You said that you were no longer engaged in prostitution. Is that true?” I ask. I don’t want to get involved in prostitution, even indirectly, and Sarah-Anne’s answer is very important to me.

“Yes. I gave it up five weeks ago,” replies Sarah-Anne. “When I was moving one of Grandpa’s old machines I discovered the missing cash from my trust fund. I paid off what I still owed Pete, and stopped taking clients for sex. But I’ve kept up the clothing design and production for now. Pete suggested that I try and renew my friendship with you, but I’ve been too scared about how you would react when you heard about what happened to me.”

“Why are you letting Greg use you in the way he does?” I ask.

“Greg knows about my submissive side, and he has been teaching Pete how to be my dom. I was okay with that since I knew Pete isn’t really comfortable in that role. That’s when Greg started wanting me to wear the clothes he provides when I go out with either of them. But Greg has a darker side. He tries to control me by hinting that he’ll send a copy of my prostitute’s license to everyone living in the street. I don’t know whether his threat is serious, or if he’s just playing mind games. But I can’t take the risk. The license lists this address as my place of business, and I know the snobs around here won’t tolerate this house being seen as a brothel. I fear that they’ll drive me out of my home. I can’t sell up and leave because I won’t own this house until I’m twenty-five.”

“So Greg is blackmailing you?”

“Um ... I wouldn’t call it that ... exactly,” replies Sarah-Anne evasively.

“Then what would you call it, Sarah-Anne?” I demand in a much firmer tone. “Tell me the whole story.”

“Yes, Mistress,” replies Sarah-Anne, sensing my darkening mood. “Greg wants me to sign a contract to be his personal assistant. He’s being very persistent and his offer is very attractive. A comfortable apartment in the city and a well paid job. I feel I must give it some serious thought.”