Chapter 20

"I quit!"

The words did not come out as strong as Marsha would have liked, but at least they were out.

Crying in both self pity and revulsion of what she had become, Marsha had at last decided she must stop the downward spiral which seemed to have her trapped in its vortex.

Ginger hardly looked up from the papers on her desk.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I ... I can't do this anymore. I can't do this to myself or my son."

"So he knows the nature of your job?"

"He figured it out for himself last night. I came dragging in at three am. looking like a whore."

"You ARE a whore, Marsha. Haven't you figured that out yet? You and every woman who allows herself to be used like I use you is a whore. Even Sandra, although she thinks she's above it now, is no better than a common streetwalker. You and she both think that the good money and the prospect of a good position justifies what you allow to be done to you. Well, I have news for you. You may occupy an office here and your clothes may be designer, but at heart you're nothing but a common whore. You'll let anyone do anything to you for money."

"Not anymore!"

"Oh, so now we've suddenly developed some backbone have we?"

"I've suddenly realized that I have no self respect and the only way to get it back is to quit!"

"And just what do you propose to do for a living? With your paltry education and experience you'll be lucky to find a job that pays you ten percent of what you're making here."

"That may be true, but at least..."

"Go ahead! Quit! Women like you are a dime a dozen: pretty face and pleasing body but nothing else. Actually you'll be doing me a favor. I "auditioned" a woman yesterday for your position. She's younger than you with twice the education and experience. Oh, yes and she's prettier and a much better fuck as well. I was going to try to find a place for you entertaining clients, but the truth is, at your age, they would grow tired of you soon anyway. So go ahead, do me a favor, quit! But a month or two from now when the rent is due and you can't even afford to put any groceries on the table, don't come crawling back to me. You had it made here, Marsha. You might have been passed around a bit, but the money would have been good. Now you've thrown it all away. You see, you waited too long. You've already become a whore and nothing's going to change that. You can clean all the tables you want, we both know you're a whore at heart. So get out on the street corner where you belong. It's all you know how to do and all you'll ever know how to do. Go on! GET OUT AND DON'T COME BACK!"

Marsha felt the words cut through her like daggers. She had thought she was full of resolve when she had walked through the door to Ginger's office. Yet, the executive had cut her to ribbons within seconds. What hurt most of all was that Ginger was right. She had prostituted herself for nothing more than money. Wasn't that what whores did? Tears blinded her as she tried to say something, anything to have the last word, but nothing would come. She turned and fled from the office to the derisive laugh from Ginger and the sneer from Sandra which said I told you so.

Marsha interviewed that afternoon for two positions which she had found advertised in the paper, but, alas, Ginger was right. Her lack of education and experience garnered nothing more than a sympathetic smile and the way to the door.

Now more depressed than ever, she stopped in a corner bar. Her first taste of hard liquor cured her of the idea of drowning her sorrows and she arrived home stone cold sober, her heart aching, her mind dazed and confused as to what her and Chris' future might be. A hot bath provided no relief and as she was pulling something comfortable from the closet to wear around the house, a card fluttered to the floor from the outfit she had worn last night.

It was the card that Tamita had given her last night. The sensuous black woman's scent wafted from the card and Marsha realized that of the three women she provided pleasure for last night, it was Tamita whose aura of sensuality had actually excited her. Orgasm had been impossible in the middle of such an orgy, but had she and Tamita been able to spend time alone, it might have been a different matter.

Staring at the card Marsha envisioned Tamita's high cheek bones and coal black hair and eyes -- mysterious and perhaps even dangerous.

She shook her head as if to clear her mind. What was she doing? Tamita's proposition was no more noble than Ginger's. Whether she was looking for a sometime lesbian tryst or a toy to pass around to friends as Ginger had, it still confirmed what Ginger had said. She was a whore. Tears dripped onto the card as Marsha's depression deepened. What was she to do? Any jobs she could get paid virtually nothing. Out of desperation she had considered a part-time waitressing job at a diner at minimum wage. But when she had actually figured their bare-boned monthly expenses and compared it to her take home, the paycheck fell miserably short.

Two hours of crying did nothing to improve the situation. What was a mother to do? She had to provide for her son. She would gladly go without food or other essentials, but she would not place that onus on her son. And there was his college coming up within a year or so. At last she reasoned that her life no longer mattered. All that was important was giving Chris a decent start in life even if it meant forfeiting her own future. He was her son. She would do anything for him.

"Tamita, this is Marsha. I've thought over what you offered last night and -- well, I'd like to talk with you about it."

"Yes, Marsha, I'd like that. Why don't we have lunch tomorrow. My treat and I'll tell you what I have in mind. Are you familiar with Tremon's?"

"Yes. I've never eaten there but I know where it is."

"Good, say about twelve-thirty?"

"Uh, yes. Twelve-thirty."

After she heard the click on the other end Marsha stood holding the phone unbelieving that she had just called a woman about becoming her sexual plaything.

Well, she thought, guilt and shame sweeping through her, it won't hurt to hear what she has to say.

"I'm glad you called," said Tamita reaching across the table to place her hand seductively on Marsha's.

"I ... I'm not really sure why I'm here," began Marsha, haltingly. "If anyone but you had given me their phone number..."

"You flatter me," said the sensuous black, "but I suspect you're intrigued at the prospect of money and sex."

"We'll, I will admit..."

"Let me explain," said Tamita lowering her voice even though there were no other diners within ear shot. I am one of a select group of people -- very wealthy people I might add, who call ourselves " The Masters."

"Then Jean and Brad and your husband..."

"Oh no, my dear. They are casual friends and we do share beds and friends from time to time, but the people of whom I speak are elite. Their wealth enables them to travel around the world whenever they like and indulge themselves in luxuries of which you can only imagine."

"And you're one of them, but not your husband?"

Tamita nodded.

"But why do you call yourselves Masters?"

"Because that's who we are. Many of the rich collect. Cars, jewelry, even villas around the world. We collect beautiful women for our amusement."

"You what?" whispered Marsha.

"We collect beautiful women," repeated Tamita. "We find a select number of beautiful women with sensuous bodies who know how to bring pleasure to others. We collect them -- at least for a while. If they meet our standards, that is, if the council of Masters approves, we offer them a one-year contract. During that time you will live at a villa in Italy where we have a recent vacancy. All your needs will be seen to during your stay. At the end of a year you will be paid the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, tax free and you will then be free to return to wherever you wish and resume the life you left."

"One hundred thousand dollars?" breathed Marsha.

Again, Tamita nodded in affirmation.

"And ... and what do I have to do?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," said Tamita with a sly grin.

"I would be your group's -- whore."

"That word has such negative connotations."

"Yes, but by whatever word you want to use, I would be there to provide sex for you and your other "Masters, whenever you want."

"In a nutshell, yes. You will be there to meet any and all of our needs."

"But if all of you are so rich, why not just hire a different call girl or group of call girls each week?"

"Because we want you to belong to us -- for that year. We want to know you will be there to meet us when we fly onto the island, that you want nothing more than to please us and give of yourself for us. Our tastes are discriminating, Marsha. We don't just want a call girl. We want a woman who will tend to our every need, emotionally and physically while we are there."

"You want a slave."

"A possession which belongs to us, yes. But you shall never be mistreated other than some sexual B&D and S&M. However, you shall never be injured in any lasting manner. Your one job will be to pleasure us and while that responsibility comes first, you are certainly free to enjoy the experience as well. There may be a few instances in which your own orgasm is forbidden, but those will be rare. For the most part I think you will find the experience stimulating and exciting -- as well as quite profitable."

"But, why me? Surely there must be..."

"As I said, we are discriminating. We want only the best. Wherever you may have learned them, your skills are accomplished in affording pleasure to both men and women. Yes, there are women younger than you, but when it comes to pleasure, experience is just as important, if not more important than youth."

Marsha thought back to her "education" at the hands of Trent and Ginger.

"Will there be other women like me?"

"Oh my, yes! Worldwide our collection numbers over a hundred women at any given time. At the villa in Italy where you will serve, there are four other women in our collection. When there are no Masters at the villa, you and the others will live a life of pampered privilege.

"How often... ?"

"We live a life of luxury, Marsha. We keep no schedule. I may sleep with you one night and one of the other women the next or by the next day I may be on my way to the next mansion, perhaps in Singapore. But on average you will personally be entertaining one or more Masters perhaps twice to three times a week."

"How many... ?"

"Masters are there? We prefer to keep that information private, but the number is not large."

"You spoke of a council."

"Women like yourself are nominated. The council, three Masters chosen by the others, "auditions" the nominees. If you meet the approval of the council you are offered a contract."

Marsha had to admit the offer was tempting. She knew that accepting the offer would confirm what Ginger and Trent had called her -- nothing more than a whore. But, it would also provide for Chris and herself and for Chris' upcoming college education. There was just one more thing...

"What about Chris?"

"Chris? Oh, your son. Well, you would have to make arrangements. No one else is allowed at the villa, and that includes family. Most of the women we make offers to are single or can easily become detached from relationships. Perhaps a relative could..."

"No, there's no one," replied Marsha. She felt sure that Dan would take the boy for the necessary year, but that would be so disruptive for Chris, relocating to another city, having to make new friends going into his senior year and quite frankly she and Chris had grown so close lately that she couldn't bear the idea of their being away from each other for so long.

"Then I'm sorry," said Tamita. "I was hoping..."

"Isn't there any way he could..."

"I'm sorry, but while you're at the villa you are ours and ours alone. Family or others would be a distraction."

Marsha frantically searched for a compromise.

"Wait! Chris will be entering college next year. What if I agreed to go while he's in college?"

"Look," said Tamita with sympathy, "I understand your dilemma. The problem is that in a year I don't know what our needs will be. We try to keep a representative balance of race and age. Who knows what kind of woman we'll be looking for." Marsha's face fell in disappointment. "But, I tell you what. Keep the card. When Chris leaves for college, give me a call. Normally I wouldn't make such an offer, but you are delectable and quite frankly, no woman I've ever encountered has a tongue as talented as yours. Understand I can promise nothing."

"I ... I understand."

Marsha's depression only deepened as she returned home and began preparing dinner for Chris and herself.

"Hey, Mom, what's for dinner? Wow, you look great in that!" smiled Chris giving Marsha an appreciative once over as he walked through the door.

Marsha had spent the rest of the day thinking of what she could do to assure a positive future for her son. She realized the chances of becoming a courtesan at the villa a year from now were extremely remote. She would have to get whatever job she could and then a second job as well. It would be tough making ends meet, but she was hopeful Chris would understand. In the meantime she would save what little she could toward his college education and when the time came, apply for college loans and hope he could qualify for a scholarship. It wasn't the best of plans, but at least it was a plan.

The second problem she had faced wasn't any less important but certainly more immediately imperative. Chris was either sexually active or close to it. His comments and even actions over the last several weeks had led her to believe he definitely was interested in the opposite sex.