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21: Sapphire Doubled

"Nina? Try 53rd and Commerce."
Valerie left the bar. Fifty-third and Commerce was just a few blocks away.

At 54th, Valerie began looking ahead for a cardboard box. Nina's game was always the shill for three card monte. Though Valerie wondered who would run a game of monte in this neighborhood... especially after dark...

No box, but there was a girl on the corner. The girl looked up the street in Valerie's direction; it was Nina all right. Valerie's heart beat a little faster.

Nina was the kind of girl who looked trashy no matter what she wore; when she actually dressed trashy she blazed like neon.

Tonight she was Las Vegas.

The cheap part.

Pageboy haircut, bleached platinum blonde. Heavy makeup. Purple demicup lace bra under a cropped black leather jacket. Glittery purple lame' miniskirt. Garter straps visible below the hem holding up black fishnet stockings. Classic black patent hooker pumps.

Fishnet stockings. Nina had never liked fishnet in any measure and used to razz Valerie about the bits found in her wardrobe. "Only 80s hair metal, 90s faux-goth, vegas showgirls, and hookers wear fishnet," Nina had chided, "which kind of loser are you?" Valerie never bought fishnet again.

Valerie remembered back when she'd first found herself on the street, taken in on a particularly cold night by an old streetwalker who explained the fishnet phenomenon among "professional girls."

Bare legs were just too hard to keep clean and smooth: the harshness of headlights always amplified the tiniest blemish, smudge, or bruise. Professionals liked fishnets because they didn't run so easily, and they still camouflaged imperfections well enough to hook a john that was afraid of dirty girls.

At least Nina wasn't one of the dirty girls -- whores so low they didn't even bother to clean up anymore. Though standing on this corner Nina was only a few steps removed.

Nina had an intricate web of rules about who she would fuck for what. Valerie was pretty sure this broke a couple of them. For herself, Valerie tried to keep things simple: if it wasn't just to get off, it wasn't good.

And with that in mind, Valerie slowed her approach. Nina might not be anxious to see Val, especially on these terms. Better to meet her on more neutral ground.

A car slowed and veered toward the curb where Nina stood. Val watched the transaction, studied Nina's body language. Negotiations complete, Nina swung the door open and slithered into the passenger seat.

Valerie watched the car drive off down the boulevard. She was surprised when after just two blocks it turned left. Of course, an old motel. Probably specializing in hourly and weekly rates. Valerie loped up the street as quickly as she could in her high-heeled sandals. She could follow Nina home, wait a while, and then "stop by." It was the respectful thing to do.

Harry Shavers had seen the blonde one before, but she was too over-the-top. He'd gone around the block hoping against the odds that something better would come along. Something a little sweeter.

And yowza! There she was.

A tall brunette made taller by high-heeled sandals that gave her walk that innocent teasie bounce, wrapped in a powder-blue minidress that looked like it was a gentle breeze away from sliding right off her. Harry turned in for the kill.

As Valerie crossed a side street a car turned in front of her. Shit, I've gotta pay more attention to my surroundings, Val cursed herself. The window rolled down. "Hey, I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find a good time."

Val resented the implication, even if she should know better given what she was wearing on this hot August night. "Fuck off, I'm no whore!" She kicked at the car, momentarily forgetting that she was not wearing her usual steel-toed combat boots; the gems in her belt sparked briefly at the contact, bearing the brunt of the blow and denting the car door.

"Hey! Watch it! This car costs a lot of money, missy!" The driver got out and started to walk around, meeting Valerie at the front of the car. "You better not have scratched my car!" He used his body to block her passing, trying to steer her back to the passenger side.

"You better get outta my way, or I'll follow you home and tell your wife how we met."

The man withered and she moved on.

Across from the motel was a 24-hour donut shop. "Gimme an OJ," Val said, pulling the $20 she'd lifted off Andrew. Fucking ATMs, she cursed. Nobody carries any cash anymore. It's almost not worth picking somebody's pocket.

Nina lived only two blocks away from the motel. Nice commute, Val smirked. It was a seedy apartment building, with central covered hallways that acted like wind tunnels. Nina'd had three customers before calling it a night; it was almost 4am. Valerie was starting to feel the chill as the heat of the previous day finally petered out, but still she hesitated. Truth was this would be awkward no matter how she phrased it. She hadn't left Nina on the best terms. "Call me if you ever figure it out," were her last words. Not exactly the most caring and supportive thing to say to a girl who landed in Oak Valley after her supposedly-progressive upper-middle-class liberal father had caught her with another girl and disowned her.

And now Nina had gone from club-hopping and teasing cash out of horny young men to turning tricks. Maybe she wouldn't have fallen so far if Val were still around. Val couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Well maybe now they could help each other out.

After stewing for almost ten minutes, Val finally screwed up enough courage to cross the street and make her way to Nina's apartment. On the street the air was still, but in the building corridor the combined output of a dozen A/C units running full-blast all night created an artificial breeze that tossed Val's lightweight dress around over her body.

She paused at the door of Nina's apartment. Good, the lights were still on. She heard yelling. At first she thought it was coming from one of the other units, but then she heard a crash, like someone had thrown and broken something large. It was definitely coming from Nina's place...

She put her ear to the door.

"Nobody works this neighborhood unless they workin' fer me, you dig?" a man's stout voice bellowed.

Another crash. Nina was in trouble. Val tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. She opened the door quietly, hoping to size up the situation. Her hand nervously went to the locked-on choker to make sure her sapphires were still present; they bolstered her courage.

Only one man, and Nina. But the man was a massive mountain of flesh, made bigger by the confines of the apartment and the bright green leather suit he wore. And he was yelling, a continuous verbal barrage, beating Nina down with the power of his voice. Valerie's concentration tuned it out.

There was no question the pimp had seen her working the street earlier that night; if it was about competition he could have chased her off then. Instead he let her work, only to barge in now and stake his claim as if she were one of his girls. According to him, she owed him for not smacking her off his corner in the first place.

It reminded Valerie of what Officer Rubio had done to her five years ago. The way he'd set her up and used her.

The broad-shouldered pimp towered over the girl. Just as the crimelord had done back then.

Nina cowered in the corner, shaking, mortal fear in her eyes. Just as Valerie had done back then.

Rage boiled up inside Valerie. This was not going to happen.
Not again.
Not to Nina.

Nina was hers.

"Get off her, you Fat FUCK!"

The big man spun around, various parts of his body accelerating and decelerating at different rates. He quickly sized Valerie up. Just another whore to be put in her place.

"One at a time, bitch," he spat. His meaty hand reached out and gave her a shove in the chest, knocking her back on her ass. The move was so slow and deliberate it failed to trigger a reflex response. It took the wind out of Val's sails for a moment as she tried to comprehend how such a gentle movement could feel so violent.

The meat mountain dismissed Val, turning its attention back to Nina. "Now where were we..." a zipper opened. A sweaty hand fished out a meat popsicle. "I think you were about to try out for a position on my team."

Valerie wasn't used to getting the brush-off. With two quick steps she was airborne.

And then Valerie found herself sitting on the fattie's shoulders, ankles hooked, heels pressing his solar plexus, fists drumming syncopation against head, face, shoulders, back.

He found himself off-balance, careeing aound the room, the pair of them outdoing the proverbial bull in a china shop. Coffee table collapsed in splinters. Chair knocked over. Picture frames angled for the floor. End table sent flying, answering machine coughing up its tape on impact with the wall.

The fat bastard was moving about plenty quick now, his arms flailing furiously trying to smack off his attacker. Valerie hung on, fingernails of one hand digging into the man's chin, the other hand alternately grabbing at green coat sleeve and flying about overhead like a rodeo bullrider. The beast bellowed angrily, his animal fury mostly drowning out the crashing sounds of furniture obstacles and knickknack missiles.

When he realized he couldn't shake or pull her off, he staggered backwards toward the wall. Val prepared for the impact.

Smash! Valerie felt a tingle all over her backside; the sapphires around her neck pulsed brightly. All the remaining picture frames dislodged and crashed to the floor. Shards of broken glass cut into the backside of her thin dress and rained down to the carpet. Her legs relaxed a bit, but she was unshaken.

Still on him? Harder... He staggered forward three steps, his huge fleshy chest heaving with effort. Valerie flexed, squeezing his melon head in her thigh vice. The pimp made a surprised gurgling sound before resuming his beastly yelling. The pair held still in the center of the room for an instant, like a chopped tree balancing its last moment before falling. Valerie's stomach felt like it dropped right out of her when gravity began to hold sway over the contentious couple.

The pimp's trunklike legs began backpedaling, the huge body gaining backwards momentum and belaying a fall to the floor. Valerie felt the man's dough-flesh quiver with each pounding step. The tempo increased with each foot-plant, 1. . . 2. . 3... 4.. 5.Wham!

Fatman remained leaned into the wall. Valerie went limp for but an instant. Sheetrock dust wafted down over her. Her thighs squeezed again, so tight she thought the bulbous shaved skull between her legs could pop like a giant pimple. The big lug staggered forward, then thrust hard back into the wall again. The unfocused gems around Valerie's neck pulsed under the strain of the human wrecking ball's weight, pinning the slender girl against the shattered remains of sheetrock held up by leathery old wallpaper. Valerie felt her hip crush against the wall stud; she winced at the momentary discomfort before she felt and heard it give way. The sapphire forcefield struggled to keep the pimp from crushing her, fast bleeding energy and feeding more and more back through the tired girl's body.

Meathook hands pawed at her knees. Valerie heard glass cracking and wood splintering beneath her; he was going to slam her again. She could take it! Through the fatigue of the long night she felt energized by adrenaline, motivated by her sapphires. Ignorant of the gems' limitations and far-from-recharged state, their unbalanced and unfocused energy coursed through her, setting her nervous system aflutter and short-circuiting her pleasure centers. Val mistook the feeling as a sign of strength. She felt supercharged -- she could go at this all night!

She felt his feet tangle themselves up in broken picture frames underneath them. Sausage-fingers relaxed their grip on her calves. She felt herself tipping forward. Her ankles unlocked as the green-suited sequoia twisted and fell, her feet pointed forward to land squarely, momentum carrying her forward with a 180-degree twist to collapse/sit on the ratty old couch. The thunder of the pimp's impact subsided. Valerie looked down at the floor in the direction from which she'd come. The pimp remained motionless at her feet, stretched out like some moss-covered log, head tilted forty-five degrees off his neck to rest an ear in the greasy shag carpet. His chest heaved. His flesh quivered. His rod twitched.

Valerie looked at Nina huddling in the corner. "Are you all right?" She stood up, feet straddling the big man's prone form. She took but one step when she felt something grip her ankle, holding it fast as if it were cast in cement. Valerie's body spilled forward, falling right on top of the green-swaddled mound of man, her chin at his feet.

The pimp looked down lecherously as his paws yanked up on both ankles -- this bitch wasn't wearing any panties.

Valerie felt the still-in-it pimp yank both ankles back to drive her prone, then shove her forward, her pelvis sliding down off his belly and over his erect prick. She pushed herself up to sit on him, desperately trying to free her legs from his grasp. He let go one ankle to grab at the back of her dress, wrenching her backwards. She was kneeled on him, torso stretched in a backwards lean. The pimp squirmed left a bit to pin her leg between his squishy hip and the base of the couch. His other hand wouldn't let go of her ankle, even as she tried to wiggle it free. Her attempts to escape his grasp only ground her pelvis against his package, sending a too-pleasant electric charge shooting straight from her clit to her brain. She fought off the feeling, raining blows down on his legs -- but between the thick leather suit and the layer of fat they had little impact.

"Wrap yourself around this, bitch." Valerie felt his big hands slide up her thighs under her dress; with one hand on each hip he lifted and pointed her effortlessly -- she felt like a doll in his meaty grip -- then settled her down onto his fat cock. The surprise penetration made Valerie gasp; her muscles involuntarily relaxed for a moment, the sapphires throbbing light in time with their useless discharge. Her moment of weakness helped him plant more deeply. Val's rage was whitewashed with pleasure. It had only been hours since she had a good fucking but somehow she needed it now all the more. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the thrill of physical confrontation, the fight for her ex-lover's virtue. The flickering fading gemstones urged her to make love not war...

"That's right... missy... this is... the only way you... can be fucking with me... in my... neighborhood... " the pimp said between frantic gasps for air. He thrusted violently skyward, bouncing Valerie up and down on his shaft.

Valerie failed to notice the shortening quickening breaths her stud took, or the pained expression overtaking his face. Her eyes were closed, her back to her impaler, bucking and jostling furiously, intent on just one thing...

The pimp stiffened. His right hand let go of Val's ankle to clutch his chest. He wheezed desperately for air, his eyeballs bulged. His pelvis stopped thrusting.

Val felt him soften inside her, then his whole body relaxed. Fuck, she was so close! Why couldn't a man last long enough?!? Val gyrated a few more seconds, angry that he quit early, frustrated at her unsatisfied fever. Finally she stopped, sliding down his thighs, his shrunken member shlopping out of her.

The display was unlike anything Nina had ever seen; she was frozen in fear and confusion.

"Oh shit. Valerie, he's not breathing."

Valerie rolled off and looked back at her used-up stud. Sure enough, his chest was still. Oh, fuck!

Valerie squealed in horror as she scrambled up away from him, straightening out her clothes in a sudden fit of horror-induced modesty.

"You killed him."
"He died of a heart attack," Val defended. "Look at him, he must weigh three-fifty."

Okay, Val, get a grip. Slow, deep breaths.

Instinctively, she checked his pockets. Left pocket: car keys, switchblade, blister pack of pills. Right pocket: fat bundle of cash. Mostly twenties, with several hundreds in the middle. Felt like about two grand. Val peeled off most of the twenties and one of the hundreds and held them out to Nina. Nina's eyes stared past the offering, a distant look giving way to a dull haze. Her body curled up more tightly.

Valerie kneeled next to Nina. "Oh, my little Nina, I'm so sorry this happened." She broke Nina's fetal curl by pulling her into a soothing embrace. Nina relaxed and began to sob quietly. Valerie caressed the poor girl's arm, a soft touch meant to relax the tortured girl.

But Valerie's sapphire-charged libido would not be denied.
The feel of her former lover's skin was more than she could stand; her hand trembled with excitement. Her stroking of Nina's arm became more urgent. She'd been so close when the pimp gave out; she needed to come. She needed her Nina to help her.

Nina, her prize.
Her conquest.

Consumed with erotic emotion, Val's hand cupped Nina's and slid it up Val's thigh. Nina stiffened, but Valerie's focus would not be deterred. Nina's middle finger was forced between Val's lips and plunged into her sopping-wet pussy. Nina pulled away in horror, but Val gripped more tightly, pressing Nina's palm down hard and thrusting her pelvis up to meet it, grinding her clit against the base of Nina's fingers. Still overrevved from the incomplete drilling she'd just received, this one touch pushed the depleted sapphire girl over the edge. Her body shuddered and shook, pent-up sexual energy finally unleashed. As Val's grip faded, Nina scrambled away, her mind screaming at the cumulative horror of the events just climaxed.

Valerie's eyes lolled lazily, her climax subsiding into gentle quivering, her orgasm-addled mind just beginning to come back into focus. Shame quickly cooled the fire within. At the moment when her Nina needed her the most, all Valerie could do was indulge her own hormone-driven fantasy and use the girl as a handy sex toy.

Nina was in shock. "I... I think you'd better go."
"Nina..." Valerie reached out a gentle hand in apology. Nina recoiled in fear and revulsion.
"You'd better go *now*." Nina picked up the phone.

Her dress little more than a filmy network of split rags barely clinging to her slim frame, Valerie staggered out of the apartment as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her.

Eight AM. The impossibly-bright blue-white light of an arc-welder caught Valerie's eye. "Custom Metal Sculptures" read the ornate sign over the door. A bona-fide artist's loft.

A meaty hand, peppered with sweaty grit, put the clear blue orb down on the table. "Why don't you take it to a jeweler?"
"Because then my daddy will find out," Valerie said, taking a moment to twirl a lock of hair around her finger. She let the welder build his own story around that. "So will you do it?"

The artist's eyes looked her up and down again; Valerie felt a little self-conscious standing there in a black cocktail minidress she'd swiped from a clothesline. She tugged at the hem; her locket-belt rustled and jingled with her movement.

The artist finally responded. "I don't know what kinda clasp I can work up. It'd be easier if I could take a piece outta your belt."

"I don't want a clasp. I want you to put it on me permanent."