A suicidal girl is offered the choice of having her memories wiped and becoming a sex worker. She agrees. Part 3/5
Chapter 3: The river and the boat
Jessie found out that she’s remembering new faces and names quite easily. Makes sense, she thought, considering that this part of her brain has been wiped clean. Maybe it’s easier to learn something when the cup is empty. She remembered Eve, Lana, Irina, and the two gaming girls— Mia and Rose— now, and they started to treat her like a younger sister, and all others. She learned that Lana, the haughty blonde, and Irina, the world-weary Russian, were the oldest residents. This was their house as much as it was Ellie’s, and they behaved like they were co-owners.
A speaker on the wall beeped, and Ellie’s voice said: “Fifteen-minute standby, girls! The client has called, he’s driving here. Get down to the lobby.”
The hall turned into a whirlwind of frantic activity. The girls were slipping off their robes, adjusting their lingerie and makeup; someone was putting on short skirts and heels… Jessie was puzzled. She had nothing to adjust, she was ready. So she simply joined the flow, heading down the stairs to the podium by the wall. Eve, still naked, gave her a quick, encouraging nod. The other girls, Lana, Irina, and two younger ones, Kim and Nikki, lined up as well, their expressions a practiced mixture of seduction and nonchalance, and others were joining, forming a sparse line.
They stood there for a few minutes, the air thick with a strange tension. Then the front door opened, and two men walked in.
They were both in their forties, maybe, in tasteful, expensive suits, and that was the only common thing about them. The one in the lead had the kind of face you saw in financial magazines, sharp and confident, with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes. He looked like a man who owned things, and people, by right of birth. He swept his gaze over the line of girls, his eyes lingering on Lana’s breasts, then on Irina’s long legs. He looked bored, like a king surveying his court, searching for a new diversion.
The other one was a completely different type. He was smaller, plumper, with a bland, forgettable face and glasses. He looked like a mid-level accountant, a man who blended into the background. His gaze, however, was anything but forgettable. It was intense, focused, and full of a nervous energy that seemed to vibrate in the air around him. He looked like a man who was about to do something he wasn’t supposed to, something that both thrilled and terrified him. He scanned the line of girls, his cheeks flushed, his hands clasped and unclasped nervously in front of him. When he saw Jessie, his breath caught, and he nudged the other man with his elbow.
The confident one, who she instinctively knew was the primary client, stared at her intently. She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks. He turned to his companion, and they exchanged nods.
“This one, Ellie,” he said, pointing at Jessie. “We want to try this new one.”
Ellie bowed her head. “Of course, Mr. Collins. An excellent choice.” She took a step forward, her demeanor shifting from a madam to a concierge. “Jessie is our newest addition. A delicate flower, full of surprises. Be careful with her, please.” She looked at the shorter man. “She’s a special, new talent, sir. Perfect for a debutante.”
Jessie’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the suddenly quiet room. A debutante. Was that what she was? A debutante-whore. The thought was so absurd, so far from anything she could have imagined, that she had to fight back a nervous giggle.
Mr. Collins nodded, and swiped his platinum card at the payment terminal. “As usual. We’ll return her tomorrow.”
“In one piece, haha!” added the plumper one.
“I hope so, gentlemen.” Ellie’s tone was perfectly neutral. She turned to Jessie. “Follow them, dear, and do everything as they say.”
Jessie’s head swam. Tomorrow. She would be gone until tomorrow. The reality of it crashed down on her, sudden and immense. She looked at the other girls. They gave her a mixture of supportive and envious glances. Lana gave a slight, theatrical roll of her eyes, as if bored by the whole affair. Irina gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Eve gave her a genuine, warm smile and a thumbs up. A sign of solidarity. A rite of passage. Jessie was being initiated.
She approached the men, looking at them with sincere interest. She’ll be spending a day and a night with them. Who are they? What are their tempers? What will they request from her? Will she like them? Will they like her?
“Hi! I’m Jessie!” She smiled at them and, to her own surprise, took Mr. Collins’ hand. “I’m ready!”
His palm was warm and dry, and he squeezed her hand with a proprietary confidence, not as a greeting but as an appraisal. “A feisty one,” he said to his friend, a smirk playing on his lips. “I like that.”
They led her out of the salon, onto the quiet street. The sun was still bright, the air warm, the normal world bustling around them, oblivious to the transaction that had just taken place. A black sedan, sleek and polished to a mirror shine, was parked at the curb. Mr. Collins opened the back door for her.
“After you, Jessie.”
She slid onto the cool leather seat, the smooth material caressing her bare thighs. The men followed, the plumper one – whom Jessie privately started calling ‘The Accountant’ – sitting beside her, while Mr. Collins took the driver’s seat. The doors closed with a solid, expensive thunk, shutting out the sounds of the street, cocooning them in a world of muted leather and expensive cologne.
“I’d like a breakfast, Charlie,” said ‘The accountant’, taking out a cigar from his top pocket. “Or a coffee at least. How about you?”
“Coffee, too, but with a proper Mediterranean breakfast! You know that bare coffee kills my stomach, Jack!”
He started the engine, and the car moved softly. Jessie looked around, intrigued. It all felt like a plain family morning trip, nothing more.
Charlie drove them through the city streets with a practiced ease, navigating the traffic with a confidence that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing. They were heading out of the city center, into a more affluent neighborhood, the buildings growing grander, the streets wider and greener. Jack enjoyed his cigar. Jessie did her best not to cough.
“So, Jessie,” Charlie began, his eyes fixed on the road. “Ellie tells us you’re… new. How new are we talking?”
“Well… I just arrived yesterday.” Jessie replied, wondering how much she should reveal at once. Then she relaxed. In the worst case, she could fail the chat, but she would still end up fucking, and what does it matter if they don’t pick her again? Someone else would! So she let the words flow. “I ran away from my home, my parents were total assholes! I knew Ellie, just barely, so I ran to her, and she let me stay.”
“A fresh runaway?” Jack chuckled and stroked Jessie’s bare leg above the knee. “How convenient! A runaway with a history, eh? A little bird with a broken wing.” His fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, his touch possessive, yet surprisingly gentle. “You know, I have a soft spot for strays. I’ve… rescued a few in my time.” He leaned closer, the stale smoke of his cigar clinging to his expensive suit. “Let’s see if you’re housebroken.”
They stopped at a small, classy restaurant where Charlie ordered breakfast for them all. Jessie felt severely out of place, just a teenager with tousled hair and dirty bare feet among those people in business outfits, sitting with these two men in suits, but no one even batted an eye at her appearance. Probably she wasn’t the first escort here.
They ordered her a full breakfast, and it was the most delicious thing she’d eaten in her life. Scrambled eggs with bacon, toast, fresh orange juice… and then the conversation started again, and Jessie’s role as the main attraction was reaffirmed.
“So, Jessie,” Charlie began again, once their plates were cleared, “have you thought about what you’ll do? With your… new life? Ellie says you’ve got no past. So you must be thinking about the future.”
He had a deep, steady voice, a voice used to command. He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, his blue eyes piercing, as if he could see right through her, see the blank space where her memories should have been. He was probing, testing her, trying to figure out the limits of her manufactured personality. Jessie felt a flicker of… something. Not fear. Not anger. It was more like a professional curiosity, and— yes, the familiar warmth in her crotch. She was an actress, and this was the audition.
“I— I haven’t thought that far,” she said, trying to match the tone of a broken little girl, but there was a spark of something else in her. A genuine curiosity. “Probably, I won’t rush it. Just to live in the present moment for— for a year, or more, who cares? Let the river of life carry me!” And she bit a cookie. It was delicious.
Charlie smirked. “Let the river carry you. That’s a nice way to put it. Or perhaps, to be a boat for others, hmm? That’s what the river does with boats. It carries them. It takes them where they need to go. To their destination.” He gestured to the waiter for another coffee. “How far are you ready to go, little boat?”
Jessie held his direct gaze and grinned. “Anywhere! Just don’t break me, please! I want to be a nice little boat for a long, long trip!”
Jack, who had been content to observe, now chimed in, a greasy glint in his eyes. “She’s a fast learner, this one. A natural.” He took out his wallet and laid down a few large bills on the table. “Charlie, let’s get this show on the road. My ‘breakfast’ is getting cold.” He patted Jessie’s thigh again, his hand lingering, his thumb stroking her skin in a slow, possessive rhythm.
Charlie’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Patience, my friend. The best meals are those savored. And we’re not ordering from the dollar menu.” He turned back to Jessie, his expression unreadable. “He’s right, though. The destination is calling. Let’s not keep it waiting.”
They got back into the sedan. The cityscape blurred past the windows as Charlie drove them towards a gated community on the city’s outskirts. The houses here were mansions, hidden behind high walls and carefully manicured foliage. Each gate was a statement, a declaration of wealth and power. The car glided through one such gate, into a sprawling estate with a swimming pool that glittered under the late morning sun.
Jessie followed the men. She stepped off the track and savored the feeling of the grass under her feet. The warm blades tickled her soles, a simple, grounding sensation that was a world away from the cold pavement of the city. She looked around, her eyes wide with a genuine sense of wonder. This was a different world. A world of clean lines and impossible space.
The house was a monument to glass and white stone, all sharp angles and vast, empty rooms. Charlie didn’t bother with the tour. He led them through a minimalist living room, past a kitchen so sterile it looked like it had never been used, and up a sweeping staircase. Jack kept a firm grip on her arm, as if afraid she might bolt.
They entered a large bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed with crisp, white linen. And there were also lights and several mounted cameras.
Charlie caught her curious stare. “We like to keep our nice memories. For private viewing.” His tone was casual, as if he were talking about buying a souvenir. Then he turned to Jessie. “Alright, Jessie. Let’s see if you can handle your new job. Leave your dress here. The shower is by that door. Make yourself clean – everywhere! We still have some time before others arrive.”
Others?!.. Jessie’s heart fluttered. But she obediently threw her sundress on the carpet and stepped into the bathroom, wearing only her anklets and bracelets. This was the performance, the stage. And she was the main act. She turned on the water, steam instantly fogging up the glass. She stepped inside the large glass stall, the warm spray a welcome caress against her skin. She found a bottle of expensive-smelling body wash and began to lather herself, the bubbles a fragrant cloak. She washed her hair, her face, her arms, her legs. Then, remembering Charlie’s words, she hesitated. Her fingers traced her anus, a tentative, unsure touch. She squeezed some of the body wash onto her fingers and slowly, carefully, pushed them inside, cleaning herself as instructed. A blush crept up her neck, a mix of shame and a weird, unfamiliar heat.
She felt like a doll, being prepared for her tea party. A doll that was about to be used in ways she hadn’t even dared to imagine. A doll with no past, and a present that was spiraling into a dizzying, terrifying unknown.
She got out and dried herself on one of the plush, white towels, then looked at her reflection in the large mirror. She looked… innocent. The girl with the big eyes and the small, firm breasts, who soon will be—
She heard several more male voices and shuddered, more with excitement than with fear. Should she come to them naked or wrapped in a towel? Let them unwrap their candy, haha! She pushed the door and stepped out to the bedroom.
There was quite a party gathering! Charlie and Jack, plus three more men, all of them in their late thirties to early forties, well dressed and self-confident, and a woman who looked like she owned the place. They made a little circle of couches, and there were drinks on the table. Charlie greeted her with a nod.
“Everyone, this is Jessie. She just started working for us today. She’s fresh as a daisy.” He looked at her with a smirk. “We’ll be her… mentors. For now.”
They looked at her, their gazes a mix of curiosity, appraisal, and raw hunger. The woman, too. Jessie felt a jolt of adrenaline, a primal thrill. She was the prey, the focus of the pack. She stood up straight, her chin lifted, a small, confident smile on her lips. She wasn’t the scared runaway on the bridge anymore. She was Jessie. And this was her stage.
The woman stood up and sauntered towards her. She was tall and slender, with perfectly styled hair and a dress that probably cost more than a car. “I’m Caroline,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “And you, my dear, are a work of art.” She traced a finger down Jessie’s collarbone, her touch cool and deliberate. “But a work of art needs to be… displayed.”
She took Jessie’s hand and led her towards the center of the room, in the open space between the couches and the bed. The cameras whirred softly, red lights glowing like malevolent eyes in the dim light. The woman pulled the towel off her and tossed it aside. The men leaned forward, their drinks forgotten.
“A blank canvas,” Caroline purred, circling Jessie like a shark. “So much potential.” She stopped in front of her, her eyes dark and intense. “Let’s start with the basics. On your knees.”
Jessie hesitated for a fraction of a second, her brain processing the command, the manufactured personality kicking in. She sank to her knees on the plush carpet, the fibers soft against her skin. She looked up at Caroline, her expression a carefully crafted mix of innocence and obedience.
Caroline nodded, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “Good. Now, the men have been working hard. They’ve earned a little… relaxation. You’re going to help them with that.” She gestured to Jack. “Let’s start with him. Take it out.”
Jessie crawled towards Jack, her movements fluid and graceful, her bare ass swaying with a natural rhythm she didn’t know she possessed. She knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs. His breath hitched, a small, gratifying sound. She fumbled with his belt and zipper, her fingers trembling slightly, a mixture of nerves and excitement. The next moment, his cock was in her mouth. She had never done this before; she was sure of it. Yet, her body knew what to do. She took him in, her lips wrapping around his girth, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt of his skin.
“That’s it, baby,” Jack grunted, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her, setting the pace. “Just like that.”
Jack moaned loudly, and then she heard a chuckle. It was Charlie.
“Let’s give our newcomer a little more to work with.” He approached them, and she felt the touch of his cock at her cheek. She let Jack free, turned her head, and took Charlie. Then back to Jack. Her two hands found the cocks of the two younger men and one older who had already come close, a steady rhythm building between them. She was a whirlwind of motion, a blur of limbs and lips, a servant of their pleasure.
Caroline stepped back to observe. Her lips parted in a smile that was both predatory and appreciative. “She’s a natural, Charlie. A true star.” She circled them slowly. “I must have her. I want her for a solo scene, after this. I will get my personal bestseller out of her!” She let her dress slip off her shoulders. She had nothing underneath but expensive jewelry.
“Oh, we can arrange it for you,” Charlie panted, one hand in Jessie’s hair. “Maybe we’ll sell it together! How about your personal brand of star-making? I can finance it!”
“You’ll get your share.”
Jessie was only vaguely aware of their conversation, the words a distant hum beneath the roar of her own blood in her ears, the slick slide of flesh against flesh, the grunts and moans that filled the room. Her world had narrowed to this: the taste and feel of five men in her hands and mouth, the hot ache in her own body, the desperate need for a release that was just out of reach.
She felt the movement behind her back, and Caroline’s slick fingers slid between her legs. Jessie moaned, feeling the hot wave rising in her. Caroline worked skillfully, bringing her to the edge— and leaving her there. Jessie nearly cried out in frustration, her hips bucking against Caroline’s hand. The woman chuckled, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through Jessie’s entire body.
“Not yet, darling,” she whispered, her breath hot against Jessie’s ear. “The show’s just getting started.”
And then the room shifted again. Strong hands lifted her, flipping her over onto her back on the soft bedsheets. Caroline’s slender frame straddled her face, her knees pressing Jessie’s arms on either side of Jessie’s head. The scent of expensive perfume and raw, feminine arousal filled Jessie’s senses. Jessie closed her eyes, then opened them, and dove into the feast.
She was not thinking. Instinct, the primal script etched into her blank-slate mind, took over. Her tongue traced, her lips sucked, her teeth nibbled. She explored the slick heat of Caroline’s body with a focus that was almost meditative. The woman above her shuddered, a deep, guttural moan escaping her lips. “My God, Charlie, she’s a prodigy!”
And then Jessie felt her own legs being spread. And then a cock entered her pussy, sliding into her with a single, deep thrust that stole her breath. She couldn’t see who it was, and she did not care. She felt her thoughts wiped out – not by the clinical mind wipe, but by the flood of sensations and animalistic drives. And she let that flood swipe her.
Her hips rose to meet the thrusts, a rhythmic counterpoint to the woman grinding down on her face. She was merely a conduit, a living circuit connecting the pleasure of those above and below her. The cock moved inside her, a hard, demanding presence that pushed her closer and closer to the edge. The camera lights felt hot on her skin, her body slick with sweat. She could hear the voices of the men, a low murmur of encouragement and crude admiration. She could taste Caroline’s essence, sharp and intoxicating, and the flood of her squirt as the woman gasped and fell on her hands above her.
Then another cock was at her lips. She opened her mouth obediently, and the rhythmic movements continued, a complex choreography of bodies. She felt the climax building inside her, a tight coil of heat in her belly, a pressure that threatened to tear her apart. The cock in her pussy swelled, the man groaning as he emptied himself into her. Another one took his place immediately. And another, and again, this time in her ass. Each thrust was a wave, and now they were all overlapping, one over another, pulling her into an undertow, and then the dam inside her broke.
She was screaming her own orgasms against the shafts changing in her mouth, the entire world dissolving into a firework of pure sensation. She lost track of the order of who was where; she barely noticed when the demanding cocks gave place to Caroline’s rimming and scissoring.
She did not know how long it lasted. She came to with a sharp gasp, lying spread on the sticky sheets, her head on Caroline’s breasts, with the woman’s soft hand caressing her trembling body. The men were chatting around by their wine, cigars, and snacks. Caroline smiled and kissed Jessie’s forehead.
“You are a real jewel, little one. It was a great beginning. Go clean yourself up, eat and drink something, and we’ll continue.”
Only the beginning? Oh… Oh yes… Jessie smiled to herself. She obeyed, and when she returned, clean and full, the show continued with a new fervor, and with new elements introduced—a collection of sex toys, their shapes and sizes a testament to human ingenuity in the pursuit of pleasure, aaand— two more men, one more woman, and a slender girl of Jessie’s age who looked scared.
“Jessie, it’s Fiona. Fiona, it’s Jessie. Sorry for starting without you, but we’ll make sure you catch up!”
With a jolt of interest, Jessie approached the girl who just finished undressing. They were of the same height and build. Jessie put her hands on Fiona’s shoulders.
“I’m an escort, and you?” she whispered.
The girl blinked. “A… a runaway, I’m just… Mr. Collins… he said he’d help me…”
“He will,” Jessie assured with an unexpected warmth, her hands sliding down Fiona’s arms, her touch now gentle. “He’ll help us. Let’s start with your warm-up. Trust me.” She looked at the men watching them with renewed hunger. “They like the show. And you’ll love it!”
And very soon they were moaning and screaming together on the wide bed, two young bodies entwined with each other, then each with their own share of the adult men and women. Fiona, initially hesitant, quickly blossomed under Jessie’s instinctive guidance. And by the end of the night, she, too, was a different person than the scared runaway who had entered the room.
***
Jessie crawled into the backseat, and Fiona followed her. This time it was only Charlie driving them; Jack was left in the house with the other guests resting after the intense night. Jessie and Fiona held hands. Both girls were totally spent. They lost count of the orgasmic sessions separated by short naps, drinks and snacks, not speaking of the men and women coming and leaving throughout the night. And now they looked forward to a long, long sleep.
“This was… intense,” Fiona whispered, her head resting on Jessie’s shoulder. “I never imagined… I didn’t know… everything I’ve ever heard about sex was such a lie. This is a whole different world.”
“I know,” Jessie whispered back, her fingers tracing patterns on Fiona’s arm. “It feels… right. Doesn’t it?” She looked out the window at the blurry city lights, the bright streaks a meaningless smear against the dark glass. She felt a deep sense of peace, a satisfaction that went beyond physical release. It was a feeling of… completeness. A feeling of being exactly where she was supposed to be.
“Right? I don’t know… It feels like I’ve been running my whole life, and for the first time, I’ve stopped. I’ve found a place. With them. With you.” Fiona shifted, her sleepy brown eyes meeting Jessie’s. “We’re the same, aren’t we? We’re the fresh meat for the grinder,” she said with a wry smile, using the phrase she must’ve overheard. “But I think I’ve discovered that being ground into pulp is the best thing in my life!”
The girls laughed.
Charlie stopped by the salon and let them out. Jessie turned at him.
“Thank you… Thank you for everything! It was fantastic! Pick us up again!”
He smiled. “I will. I will.” Then the sleek black sedan drove away, disappearing into the early morning mist. Jessie and Fiona stood there for a moment, two young women a thin sundress and jeans, their bare feet covered in grass and dirt from the lawn, watching the empty street.
“Do you want me to show you where we live?” Jessie offered.
Fiona nodded, and Jessie led her into the building. Inside, the air was still heavy with the lingering scent of perfume and sex. They walked up the creaky stairs to the second floor. The hallway was quieter now, a few girls sleeping on the couches, a solitary figure hunched over a laptop in the corner.
“Ellie?” Jessie approached her, feeling a sudden warmth – not of arousal, but of love. She was home, and she was with her mother. “I’m back. And here’s Fiona. Is there a place for her here, too? She’s my friend.”
Ellie looked up, her eyes scanning Fiona with a quick, practiced glance. She took in the girl’s disheveled hair, the marks on her skin, the exhausted but curious look in her eyes. “Charlie’s call? I thought so. You’ve had a busy night.” Her tone was flat, a simple statement of fact, but Jessie thought she saw a flicker of something else in her eyes. Pride? Amusement? She couldn’t be sure. “Of course. There’s always room for a fresh face, especially one he’s approved. Just take any free bed and get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”
Jessie showed Fiona to the dorms and found a free bunk next to hers. The girl climbed in, curling into a ball like a small animal, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Jessie lay down on her own bed, the familiar scratch of the sheets a welcome sensation. She was exhausted, her muscles aching in a way that was both painful and deeply satisfying. A symphony of bruises bloomed across her skin in shades of violet and blue, a tangible map of the night’s explorations. Her body was a well-loved instrument, and she was still learning its range and the tunes it could play.
***
The days blurred into what felt like a film reel. Jessie didn’t care to count them or track the weeks. She barely noticed the change of season, only becoming aware of it when the air on her shoulders and the pavement under her feet became cooler. She rarely slept in the salon, spending most of the nights with the clients, and oh God, they were really diverse! Some took her home, some rented rooms in good hotels for a day or two. Some were shy, some were rough, some were inventive, and some were just lonely and wanted to talk and cuddle more than to fuck. All were a new story, a new role for her to play. And she loved every single one of them!
Her life wasn’t her own to shape. It was shaped for her. She never once thought about a future beyond the next appointment, beyond the next wave of pleasure. She did not build up a permanent personality. Her life was a perpetual present, a series of snapshots without a binding narrative, each time a new role. That was the promise. She was the boat, not the river. The men were the water, the currents, the storms. She was content to be carried. But she was also starting to discover that a boat has some influence over its own direction.
“I’ll have that,” she said in one of the sessions, pointing to a small, silver stud on the display in a jewelry store. The older woman— she introduced herself as Mrs. Davenport, and didn’t ask Jessie for a name, just called her “kitten” and other sweet words — looked at her, amused.
“A piercing, honey? We can go back to the hotel and do it there. I have a whole kit there.”
“Haha, please! May I, may I?” Jessie acted – no, she was a little girl with Mrs. Davenport, a younger daughter begging for treats. And they both knew and anticipated the main treat awaiting them at the hotel.
“Alright. Your choice. A nice little diamond for my cute little girl,” Mrs. Davenport smiled, pinching Jessie’s cheek.
The sting of the needle was sharp, a tiny, bright spark of pain against the dull, pleasant ache that had become her baseline. It was over in a second. Mrs. Davenport attached the small silver stud to her newly pierced navel.
“Looks lovely, kitten. You’re a work of art.” She looked at her as though she herself had carved a statue. “Now, what about a reward for being so brave?”
Jessie smiled in response, letting her sundress fall down from her shoulders onto the hotel room’s floor.
This was the small part of control she was discovering. Not the control over the overall direction of her life, but over the tiny details. The color of her sundress. The type of sweet she would ask a client to buy for her. The new little tattoo she asked to be branded with. Her hair length— she had cut it shorter once. The small stud in her navel was a new, permanent, but meaningless decoration.
She’d had another small one etched onto her hip a few months ago: a tiny, stylized butterfly, its wings spread in delicate, intricate patterns. The memory of the needle buzzing against her skin was a sharp, pleasant jolt, a punctuation mark in the long, hazy paragraph of her existence. The tattoo artist, a man with tired eyes and stained fingers, had told her to breathe in, breathe out. She had, the pain a fleeting anchor in the sea of her life. And then she felt it on herself the whole night as the gentleman who paid for it penetrated her eagerly, all holes, many times.
The butterfly had a meaning, she supposed. A symbol of transformation. She had learned about symbols from some client, a university professor with a thing for teenage girls and Freudian analysis. He had droned on about archetypes and the collective unconscious while she rode him, her mind a million miles away, drifting on a sea of sensation.
But for her, it wasn’t a symbol. It was just a mark. A small, dark shape on her skin that she could see when she looked down. It was a choice, a decision she had made. Her own. That’s what made it special. It meant nothing, but it was hers like the stud in her navel. And the tiny anklet with a silver bell she’d had Charlie buy for her as the Christmas present when she and Fiona served another big sex party, next to Ellie’s anklet of colorful stones.
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