Effie rose from her desk, smoothed down her skirt, and took a deep breath. "Now or never," she muttered, and opened the dividing door that separated her tiny desk from the inner office.
Predictably, Sam had his chair turned toward the single grimy window, feet propped up on the sill. A cloud of cigarette smoke wreathed his head. He didn't turn, just said, "New business, kid?"
"Yes and no, ' Effie replied. Sam swiveled his desk chair to face her and cracked a wry smirk.
"I'm a detective, darling, not a mind reader. What's up?" he said.
Effie put her hands on her hips, trying to look stern. "Sam, I want a raise,"
|Sam's smirk turned to a grin. "Don't we all?" he replied., stubbing out his smoke.
Effie's pale Irish skin turned a shade of red that almost matched her hair. "Dammit, I'm serious!"
This drew a chuckle from Sam. Waving her toward the guest chair with one hand and opening a lower desk drawer with the other, he set a half empty bottle of cheap rye and a pair of glasses on the desk between them.
Sam said, "Don't bust a gasket, girl. Sit down and have a drink. You'll feel better. Or I will. Either way, it'll calm the waters"
Impatiently, Effie picked up one of the glasses. It was dirty. She pulled a handkerchief out of a skirt pocket and tried to wipe it clean. A look of mild disgust on her face., she asked, "Do you ever WASH these?"
"Haven't you heard?" he replied, tuning the bottle to show her the cheap brand name. "This stuff is guaranteed to kill all bad things, drinker included. Now. What's all this about a raise? Landlord giving you grief?'
Effie sat, took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. "You know I live with my sister, Sam, and when I'm short, she doesn't kick. It's not that. I've been with you since the start. I do everything but wash your socks, but I haven't seen money for so long I'm starting to forget what it looks like."
Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips. The lines of his middle aged face seemed to deepen. He spoke more seriously now. "You know as well as I do, heck, better than i do, what's possible in that direction. If you've got a rich client lined up and want a finder's fee, I'm all too happy to share......otherwise......" He shrugged.
Effie scowled. "Yes, I handle the checkbook, along with everything else around here. Things have been slow, but if you can't bring in more money, you can cut costs." Sam straightened, and drew breath. Before he could speak she cut him off. She held up her hand, palm turned towards him. "Before you jump to tell me I'm free to quit any time, Sam, shut up and listen." He subsided.
She pressed on. "You spend plenty of time at the Gaslighter," she began. Here, Sam did cut in, sounding a bit annoyed. "How am I supposed to keep my ear to the ground if I don't hang around that gin joint?'
Effie cut him off in turn. "I'm not talking about your bar tab.........which you never pay anyway. I'm talking about how you spend your money next door."
Sam scowled. The cathouse next to the Gaslighter was an open secret. It annoyed him, however, to discover that his secretary was aware that he patronized the place.
Effie gave Sam a sour smile. "What? You didn't think I'd pick up a few sleuthing gimmicks hanging around here the past four years?" Her voice turned monotone and she pretended to read off a police notebook. "Victoria Paris, age 25, 5 foot 2, 110 lbs, blonde. Real name Mary Chase, real age 32, real hair color brunette. Prostitute. Specializes in clients who like to visit her via the, shall we say, back door."
Sam's expression showed a hint of anger. Effie continued. "I'm not suggesting you cut Miss Paris out of your budget so I can get a raise. I'm suggesting an......efficiency measure."
"Remember the Oberman case? When you were in jail, and you gave me the keys to your place?"
Sam nodded. Things had gone sticky and he'd been pinched. He'd sent Effie to his place with the combination to the safe, to retrieve emergency bail money.
Effie said, "Sam, I've never seen such a dump! There must have been two years of old newspapers stacked around, and a week's worth of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink!"
Exasperated, Sam said, "Archives, Effie, archives. Saves me going to the city library every time I want to look up an old obit. As for the dishes, who cares? I'm not trying to get my place featured in House Beautiful magazine,"
Effie waved the comment aside. "The point is, Sam, your place is big enough for two, and it cries out for a woman's touch." Now Sam looked puzzled. Effie's voice took on a slightly lecturing tone. "Which costs more, buying a drink at a bar, or picking up a bottle and having a drink at home? " Before Sam could reply, she pressed on. "What if you could get what Miss Paris provides at home, any time you wanted it?" She paused to let that sink in a moment.
Sam's face was incredulous. "Effie, you're not saying....."
"Yes, I am." she cut him off. "We won't actually get married." Here, Effie produced a cheap thin gold ring from her pocket, slid it on her finger. "This was my mother's. I know you still have yours."
Sam scowled at the reminder. His one and only marriage had ended in bitter divorce. Ironically, tracing and discovering his wife's infidelity was what led him to his current profession, so may years ago.
"As far as anyone else knows, I'd be your wife. But, no strings. No divorce court if things go haywire down the line" she said.
"A clean home. Hot cooked meals. Two living for the price of one. And free.......recreation..... whenever you wanted it." Sam was shaking his head emphatically, and Effie's voice sped up.
"I know. I'm not a professional, like Miss Paris, but I'm not a vestal virgin, either, Sam. I've been around the block a time or two. Okay, not exactly he way she does things, but I asked around. I went to the drugstore and got a few things. I've been practicing."
Effie's earlier blush came back with intensity. She looked down at her shoes and her voice turned soft. "I know how to clean myself out back there. I got a jar of petroleum jelly, and practiced with my finger. When that felt alright, I tried the handle of a hairbrush. It hurt. A lot. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming, but I got it all the way inside."
Effie took a deep shuddering breath, looked up and met Sam's eyes. "That won't be a problem, though. I've seen your bed. Old fashioned, heavy iron headboard and footboard. You'll gag me, tie my wrists and ankles to the bed posts. When you go inside me, the neighbors won't hear me scream. I'll thrash around, but I won't be able to pull away. You can pin me down with your weight. You might like the feeling of me struggling, though, as it goes in. I'm a total virgin in the back door, Sam. It will be so tight, and it will be all yours. You can use me any time you want, as much as you want. You won't have to wear a rubber like you would with a professional. All I ask in return is the money you otherwise would have spent at the whorehouse."
Sam paused, staring. Effie said, "You're thinking I'm disgusting, that I'm a whore. I am and I'm not. Unlike Miss Paris, you won't be sharing me with anyone. But like any whore, I aim to please. If you think I deserve it, pull my hair, slap me around, fuck me as rough as you want. I'll tell you that I love it, and and ask for more, and it won't be a lie. Hurt me, and make me beg for it."
Want to read more? Offer some intelligent feedback.
Copyright 2023 by E.M>
Predictably, Sam had his chair turned toward the single grimy window, feet propped up on the sill. A cloud of cigarette smoke wreathed his head. He didn't turn, just said, "New business, kid?"
"Yes and no, ' Effie replied. Sam swiveled his desk chair to face her and cracked a wry smirk.
"I'm a detective, darling, not a mind reader. What's up?" he said.
Effie put her hands on her hips, trying to look stern. "Sam, I want a raise,"
|Sam's smirk turned to a grin. "Don't we all?" he replied., stubbing out his smoke.
Effie's pale Irish skin turned a shade of red that almost matched her hair. "Dammit, I'm serious!"
This drew a chuckle from Sam. Waving her toward the guest chair with one hand and opening a lower desk drawer with the other, he set a half empty bottle of cheap rye and a pair of glasses on the desk between them.
Sam said, "Don't bust a gasket, girl. Sit down and have a drink. You'll feel better. Or I will. Either way, it'll calm the waters"
Impatiently, Effie picked up one of the glasses. It was dirty. She pulled a handkerchief out of a skirt pocket and tried to wipe it clean. A look of mild disgust on her face., she asked, "Do you ever WASH these?"
"Haven't you heard?" he replied, tuning the bottle to show her the cheap brand name. "This stuff is guaranteed to kill all bad things, drinker included. Now. What's all this about a raise? Landlord giving you grief?'
Effie sat, took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. "You know I live with my sister, Sam, and when I'm short, she doesn't kick. It's not that. I've been with you since the start. I do everything but wash your socks, but I haven't seen money for so long I'm starting to forget what it looks like."
Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips. The lines of his middle aged face seemed to deepen. He spoke more seriously now. "You know as well as I do, heck, better than i do, what's possible in that direction. If you've got a rich client lined up and want a finder's fee, I'm all too happy to share......otherwise......" He shrugged.
Effie scowled. "Yes, I handle the checkbook, along with everything else around here. Things have been slow, but if you can't bring in more money, you can cut costs." Sam straightened, and drew breath. Before he could speak she cut him off. She held up her hand, palm turned towards him. "Before you jump to tell me I'm free to quit any time, Sam, shut up and listen." He subsided.
She pressed on. "You spend plenty of time at the Gaslighter," she began. Here, Sam did cut in, sounding a bit annoyed. "How am I supposed to keep my ear to the ground if I don't hang around that gin joint?'
Effie cut him off in turn. "I'm not talking about your bar tab.........which you never pay anyway. I'm talking about how you spend your money next door."
Sam scowled. The cathouse next to the Gaslighter was an open secret. It annoyed him, however, to discover that his secretary was aware that he patronized the place.
Effie gave Sam a sour smile. "What? You didn't think I'd pick up a few sleuthing gimmicks hanging around here the past four years?" Her voice turned monotone and she pretended to read off a police notebook. "Victoria Paris, age 25, 5 foot 2, 110 lbs, blonde. Real name Mary Chase, real age 32, real hair color brunette. Prostitute. Specializes in clients who like to visit her via the, shall we say, back door."
Sam's expression showed a hint of anger. Effie continued. "I'm not suggesting you cut Miss Paris out of your budget so I can get a raise. I'm suggesting an......efficiency measure."
"Remember the Oberman case? When you were in jail, and you gave me the keys to your place?"
Sam nodded. Things had gone sticky and he'd been pinched. He'd sent Effie to his place with the combination to the safe, to retrieve emergency bail money.
Effie said, "Sam, I've never seen such a dump! There must have been two years of old newspapers stacked around, and a week's worth of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink!"
Exasperated, Sam said, "Archives, Effie, archives. Saves me going to the city library every time I want to look up an old obit. As for the dishes, who cares? I'm not trying to get my place featured in House Beautiful magazine,"
Effie waved the comment aside. "The point is, Sam, your place is big enough for two, and it cries out for a woman's touch." Now Sam looked puzzled. Effie's voice took on a slightly lecturing tone. "Which costs more, buying a drink at a bar, or picking up a bottle and having a drink at home? " Before Sam could reply, she pressed on. "What if you could get what Miss Paris provides at home, any time you wanted it?" She paused to let that sink in a moment.
Sam's face was incredulous. "Effie, you're not saying....."
"Yes, I am." she cut him off. "We won't actually get married." Here, Effie produced a cheap thin gold ring from her pocket, slid it on her finger. "This was my mother's. I know you still have yours."
Sam scowled at the reminder. His one and only marriage had ended in bitter divorce. Ironically, tracing and discovering his wife's infidelity was what led him to his current profession, so may years ago.
"As far as anyone else knows, I'd be your wife. But, no strings. No divorce court if things go haywire down the line" she said.
"A clean home. Hot cooked meals. Two living for the price of one. And free.......recreation..... whenever you wanted it." Sam was shaking his head emphatically, and Effie's voice sped up.
"I know. I'm not a professional, like Miss Paris, but I'm not a vestal virgin, either, Sam. I've been around the block a time or two. Okay, not exactly he way she does things, but I asked around. I went to the drugstore and got a few things. I've been practicing."
Effie's earlier blush came back with intensity. She looked down at her shoes and her voice turned soft. "I know how to clean myself out back there. I got a jar of petroleum jelly, and practiced with my finger. When that felt alright, I tried the handle of a hairbrush. It hurt. A lot. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming, but I got it all the way inside."
Effie took a deep shuddering breath, looked up and met Sam's eyes. "That won't be a problem, though. I've seen your bed. Old fashioned, heavy iron headboard and footboard. You'll gag me, tie my wrists and ankles to the bed posts. When you go inside me, the neighbors won't hear me scream. I'll thrash around, but I won't be able to pull away. You can pin me down with your weight. You might like the feeling of me struggling, though, as it goes in. I'm a total virgin in the back door, Sam. It will be so tight, and it will be all yours. You can use me any time you want, as much as you want. You won't have to wear a rubber like you would with a professional. All I ask in return is the money you otherwise would have spent at the whorehouse."
Sam paused, staring. Effie said, "You're thinking I'm disgusting, that I'm a whore. I am and I'm not. Unlike Miss Paris, you won't be sharing me with anyone. But like any whore, I aim to please. If you think I deserve it, pull my hair, slap me around, fuck me as rough as you want. I'll tell you that I love it, and and ask for more, and it won't be a lie. Hurt me, and make me beg for it."
Want to read more? Offer some intelligent feedback.
Copyright 2023 by E.M>
