Wonderful Life! Ch. 04

All through September I kept reminding myself that I did, in fact, have a girlfriend. It calmed me down in the moments when things got too hard. When my thoughts wandered off to places I couldn't let them go.

At times it sounded like an excuse, or looked like a gym membership I had never once used.

Elsa disappeared at the end of August. We didn't break up and we didn't fight; she just stopped answering. A couple of days later, photos showed up in her stories from a pool on the roof of some enormous skyscraper. The views weren't hard to place, so I soon learned that my girlfriend was in Dubai. Forty thousand of her followers learned it right along with me, so I didn't feel special in the slightest. Quite the opposite: I felt really, really hurt.

In a month I texted her four times. I asked how she was doing, when she'd be back. I sent cat memes and then regretted it, because she obviously had no time right now for garbage like cat memes. Several times, in the dead of night, I wrote that I missed her. Sometimes I'd write something and then realize: so many of my messages had gone unanswered that I was starting to look like an idiot being ignored by a beautiful girl.

Once I got a heart in reply. Under a message with a fucking meme with a fucking cat.

I kept following her social media. I saw the pools, and the camel rides. Then plates decorated with gold. Her legs on a white lounge chair and some man's hand at the edge of the frame--wearing a watch so expensive I was afraid even to think what it might cost. I studied that hand a lot longer than I did her legs.

Not that I was jealous. We have an open relationship, after all. She's free, and I don't particularly need perks like that myself, but I'm understanding about it.

And then, finally, something budged.

The message came on Friday, during my last class. My phone twitched in my pocket and I pulled it out under the desk, sure it was another batch of pics of juicy asses from Gosha, ones he'd come across online. Sometimes he'd add something like looks like yours or but not as good as yours. It was a little weird, but I preferred to ignore these surges of tenderness of his.

babe im back!!! what are you doing tonight

Surprise washed over me, so hard that my hands started shaking with joy. A month of silence, and she'd written me a message as if we'd said goodbye outside my house yesterday.

I needed to wait a while. I wasn't going to let this girl treat me like that. I'm not some toy you can leave unanswered for a whole month. I'd wait an hour, or better yet until evening. Or even better, until tomorrow, so she'd understand that I have a life too. And my life doesn't revolve around her. I am a busy man, goddamn it, and anyway you can't treat people the way she does.

Nothing, I replied four seconds later, having typed the message so fast my phone barely had time to process it all.

awesome. seven, ill send the address. dont be late

Me, don't be late. How could she even say that to me after vanishing for a month?

A couple of minutes later a message came with the address. Some coffee shop downtown. I opened the photos and saw an interior that looked as if the place were expecting the arrival of someone from the British monarchy. The pictures they drew in the coffee foam were so beautiful they could have been hung in the Louvre next to the Mona Lisa. And, naturally, no prices listed anywhere. Mom used to say that if they don't list the prices, then I definitely have no business being there. And I was inclined to agree with her on that point.

"Who texted?" Gosha asked, trying to peek at my phone.

"Elsa." I was smiling way too radiantly.

"So she's resurfaced."

At home I made the strategic decision to count up my finances. Fifty-eight dollars, mind you. I could have gone out right then and bought myself enough men's clothes to last me through the end of the year, easy.

Stingily, I set aside twenty dollars for my date with Elsa. I thought a bit, remembered the photos of the coffee shop, and set aside thirty more. The remaining eight looked kind of sad, so I took those too. What if they charged for the fucking swan picture in the foam as well.

I dressed the way I usually did, with one small exception. Gray hoodie, women's skinny jeans, black socks. And the red lace thong. The thing is, the blue ones had stopped looking presentable.

And so it turned out that I was going on a date with my girlfriend in a slutty red thong. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to look manly. Squared my shoulders, shoved my hands in my pockets, frowned.

A strange, angry college girl looked back at me from the mirror.

I slammed the closet shut.

Sasha was lying on the couch in the living room with her feet up on the coffee table, eating cereal straight from the box. Mom wasn't back from work yet, so my sister was the one in charge around here.

"Where to?" she asked, without turning her head in my direction.

"Gosha's."

Sasha's T-shirt had ridden up, but she paid no attention to it. She had on the most ordinary seamless panties, nude-colored. At first I actually thought she wasn't wearing any. I figure she wore them when she wasn't planning on showing anyone what was under her clothes.

"Video games again? Second time in two weeks." She crunched on her cereal. "Did your ass at least get a chance to rest?"

"Get lost."

"Hold on." She sniffed the air like a bloodhound. "You put on my deodorant. You didn't do that last time."

Sasha was watching me out of the corner of her eye. I didn't answer, put on my shoes, and slammed the door--though not as hard as I wanted to, so Mom wouldn't give me hell later.

Unfortunately for me, the coffee shop turned out to be even nicer in real life than in the photos. White walls, dry branches in vases, oddly shaped chairs made of real wood. At the neighboring tables sat girls who looked like Elsa and men far richer than me. Next to them I didn't just look out of place, like a black dot on a white background--it was worse than that. Like a bum among the high aristocracy.

They brought me a menu. Heavy paper, pretty lettering. You could tell the designer had put in some work.

A cappuccino cost ten dollars. For that kind of money they'd better sprinkle it with gold!

I found water on the menu. Six dollars.

"Have you decided?" asked a cute waitress in a short skirt and a white blouse. Too pretty to be a waitress.

"I'm waiting for my girlfriend."

"Of course."

The clock said five to seven. I wasn't late, just as Elsa had asked.

At seven twenty the waitress came by again.

"Still waiting?"

"Yes."

"Some water in the meantime, maybe?"

"No, thank you. I don't want any."

I was thirsty, all right. Just not six dollars' worth.

She nodded. And it seemed to me the police or security would be coming for me soon.

At seven thirty I decided I'd leave in exactly five minutes. I'd just stand up, pretend I was going to the restroom, then walk out onto the street and run.

At seven forty Elsa walked into the coffee shop.

My breath caught. How do I explain what Elsa really is. You can't just call her beautiful, because that doesn't explain a damn thing. There are lots of beautiful girls. Charlotte from college is beautiful.

But Elsa... When she walks into a room, it instantly gets a little cramped for everybody. A blond ponytail all the way down to the small of her back, swinging as she walks like a hypnotist's pendulum. Bright blue eyes. A waist you want to lick, because it turns you on, and to touch, because it's hard to believe all of that is real. Small breasts. An A-cup, no more. But that's no flaw at all. And an ass that made me flunk several practice tests in the prep course, because I sat behind Elsa.

Today she had on a short black dress with two thin straps, black pantyhose, and very high heels. Her tan was so even and so seductively golden that it seemed the clothes were only there to show it off.

A lot of heads turned her way. Elsa crossed the room with the haughty face of a bitch, not noticing anyone around her.

"Babe!"

She leaned down and pecked me on the cheek. She smelled so sweet and so expensive. I'd spent the whole month trying to remember that smell, and at last I was breathing it in again.

At that moment every man in the coffee shop hated me. I was sure all of them wanted to be in my place. They'd have given up their own girlfriends without a second thought if somebody had offered to let them trade with me.

My resentment toward Elsa evaporated in a couple of seconds.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"Just got here," I lied.

"Awesome. I'm so tired, babe. I was flying for a whole day. Well, like six hours. But it literally felt like a whole day."

If her Instagram was to be believed, she'd gotten back about two weeks ago, but I didn't press the point.

Elsa sat down across from me and crossed her legs. She set a crazy-expensive black purse on the table, along with an equally black iPhone--top of the line, naturally.

The waitress was at our table in an instant.

"I'll have the lavender one. No, a large. And this." Elsa jabbed a fingernail at the menu. She had a stunning pink manicure. "And this one with the raspberry. And an Americano with no sugar for him, he doesn't like sweet things."

I looked at her, but I didn't make much of the fact that she'd ordered everything for me. What amazed me more was that she still remembered: I don't like sweet things. She hadn't answered for a month, as if she'd forgotten about me completely, and yet she remembered a little detail like that. I even felt ashamed for having been angry at such an amazing, thoughtful girl.

"Why are you so pale?" she asked.

"I'm always like this."

"Oh, I get it. It's just that I'm tan. Look."

She pulled the thin strap of her dress aside and showed me a white stripe on her shoulder. Under the strap her skin was roughly the same color as mine. I smiled a little.

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes."

"Me too!"

Our order arrived. I added up in my head every item they set on the table. Her lavender coffee--twelve dollars. The Americano--eight. The raspberry pastry--nine. Something round and green--eleven. Forty already.

Elsa photographed the pastry first from above, then from the side. She moved my cup away so it wouldn't creep into the shot and photographed it again. Then she ordered a fresh-squeezed orange juice, because the green thing needed a little orange next to it.

Fifty.

She didn't eat the pastries. They were needed so she could take photos for her forty thousand followers.

"So, tell me," she said at last. "How have you been here without me?"

"Fine. School started. There's this one philosophy professor--"

"Oh, wait till you hear what I've got to tell you!" she cut in, as if she couldn't care less about my stories.

She talked so easily and didn't stop to think about anything. Not even about whether I was listening or not. The first two weeks she'd been working. Then a certain person told her the room was paid for through the end of the month and she could stay. She's not dumb enough to turn down a room where everything's included, so she stayed.

"He's, like, an older guy, but decent," she explained, stirring her lavender latte with a straw. "Kept his hands to himself. Well, mostly. But look."

She tucked a strand of hair that hadn't made it into the ponytail behind her ear and showed me the ear. In it hung an earring with a stone that looked like a diamond.

"They're pretty," I said. I knew nothing about that stuff, but it seemed expensive.

"They're real, can you believe it? I checked."

I gave a small nod.

Elsa had been telling me about her work since the very beginning of our relationship. She didn't brag and didn't make excuses, just mentioned it in passing. You know, like she was talking about people from work.

She did escort work, at dinners and on trips. Sometimes there was more to it than dinner. I nodded and tried to seem like a man with broad views. Gosha thought I had no pride if I'd agreed to something like that, but he still tried not to push his point of view on me. And I, for my part, figured that I had Elsa, while Gosha would probably never in his life get a girl as beautiful.

"And how much does it pay here?" I asked, accidentally joining the conversation as if I were actually invested in it.

"Here? Well, five hundred on average."

"A month?"

She laughed so loudly that people at the next table looked over. Elsa didn't think I was an idiot. She thought I just had a great sense of humor.

"Babe. For a couple of hours."

Five hundred dollars for a couple of hours.

My mother gave me twenty-five every Saturday. I would need twenty Saturdays. In almost five months of my life I could save up as much as Elsa made in part of an evening on any given day. I tried to imagine what you'd have to do during those two hours to get paid that much, but I soon realized I was better off not poking around in those thoughts.

"That's without the trips," she went on. "In Dubai the numbers are on a whole other level. I'm not even going to tell you, you'll get upset."

"I won't get upset."

"You already are! Your face is so sad."

"My face is always like this."

"That's true." She smiled and suddenly reached across the table. Tucked my hair behind my ear. "Longer looks good on you, by the way. Don't cut it."

It was after moments like that that I couldn't get away from her. One movement of her fingers, and I was ready to forgive her everything.

She leaned back in her chair and took a small sip of coffee. I drank some too. It was hot and no different from what the vending machine at college pours for a dollar.

"Does it really not bother you?" I asked.

"What?"

"You know, that kind of life."

She looked at me with sincere bewilderment and a condescending smile.

"Babe, what bothers me is having nothing to pay the rent with. Making big money doesn't bother me one bit."

Her phone shuddered and crawled an inch or so across the table. Elsa paid it no attention, and I couldn't see who was calling, because it was lying facedown.

"Listen, I wanted to ask you something. You and I--"

"Oh, hang on." She shoved her hand under my nose. "Look at this. Is that a chip? Right here, on the index finger."

I looked at her manicure. A tiny piece really was missing from the very edge of one long pink nail. But it looked so insignificant that it was hardly worth interrupting me for.

"Yes."

"I'm going to kill her. I just got them done yesterday." She took her hand away. "So what were you saying?"

The moment was gone, but that was actually better, because I wasn't as nervous anymore as I'd been the first time.

"What am I to you, anyway?"

"What do you mean? You're my babe."

"That doesn't sound like an answer."

"It's the best answer there is," she said, surprised. "Nobody else is my babe!"

"Well, what about the ones who--"

"Those are work. And you're my babe. What, are you jealous, sweetie?"

"No."

"See. You're the only one I've got who doesn't get jealous. That's what I keep you for."

She said it like I was some kind of hamster in a cage.

"And you never rush me," she added, covering my hand with hers. "That's honestly the most important thing to me. You remember your promise, right?"

"Of course I remember."

I'd made it back at the very beginning of our relationship. That was when I was making my first attempts to get into her panties. She said she wasn't ready yet. That for her it was a very serious step. I promised I wouldn't rush her, and felt like a real, mature man. Six months had gone by since then, and I still hadn't gotten anywhere near her panties--unlike dozens of other men.

"I'm still not ready, babe." She looked at me with very honest blue eyes. "I need a little time. With you I want everything to be real, you know?"

"Of course."

"You're the best."

It's not that I'm an idiot. I understood perfectly well that my girlfriend slept with men for money and wasn't ready to sleep with me for free. Every time I tried to figure out why, and every time I arrived at having no clue.

We asked for the check, and the waitress soon brought it in a little leather folder, then set it down exactly in the middle of the table. Fifty dollars. At that moment Elsa took out a compact and started putting on lipstick. Very intently. She didn't so much as reach for her purse.

I could have suggested splitting the check, but I always wanted to impress her. To be someone I had never been.

I took out my money, sighed, and simply laid down everything I had. Now I didn't even need to count my savings anymore. In their place--one enormous zero.

"Thanks, babe." Elsa snapped the compact shut. "You're such a gentleman."

A satisfied smile spread across my face, and not for a second did I think about why I'd paid for a person who makes five hundred dollars in a couple of hours. I just didn't want to look pathetic in her eyes. That's all.

"Let's go to my place," she said, standing up. "I'll show you what I brought back."

She called a cab. And she was the one who paid, too. From her phone, without even glancing at the amount.

Elsa lived in a new building near the waterfront. Glass, a concierge, a gold elevator with mirrors. I'd been here about ten times, and every time I felt like a delivery guy who'd brought a pizza for some rich gentleman, was counting on a good tip, and then for some reason stuck around. Her apartment was on the ninth floor, done up all in glossy white. A huge full-length mirror by the entrance. In the far corner, a ring light on a tripod, for shooting Reels. In the storage closet, an open garment rack holding more clothes than there were in my entire house. The vanity was buried in makeup right up to its edges.

An open suitcase lay in the middle of the room. Things had crawled out of it onto the floor and spread in all directions. And yet, by my count, she'd gotten back two weeks ago.

Well, at least we had something in common. Even if that something was a messy room.

"Don't sit there, that's the clean stuff," Elsa said, kicking off her heels. "And don't sit there either. Honestly, just sit on the floor. It's warm."

I nodded. She turned her back to me and lifted her ponytail with one hand.

"Unzip me."

I undid the zipper on her dress. Out from under it came a tanned back with white stripes from a tiny bikini. My hands were shaking a little. I'd gotten unused to her over a whole month, after all. And it all felt so strange right now, as if we were seeing each other at her place for the very first time.

"Okay, I've got it from here."

I sat down on the floor by the couch.

The dress fell to her feet. Elsa was left in nothing but pantyhose. And that was it. The thin black nylon hugged her from her waist to the tips of her toes, and you could see everything through it. Even the white bikini triangle on her ass.

Turns out she'd gone the whole evening without underwear.

"What are you staring at?" she asked suddenly, without any real interest. "Underwear looks ugly with this dress."

She walked around the room and went on telling me things that flew right out of my head. About Dubai, about the heat, about some Camilla who'd stolen a client from her, and about how women are all bitches anyway. She was pulling things out of the suitcase, showing them to me, and tossing them on the couch.

"This was a gift. This too. This one I bought myself. Well, with what I earned."

I barely looked at the things.

In six months we'd covered a few bases, so her naked body was nothing new to me. She'd blown me maybe five times. It only happened when she was in a good mood or when I'd helped her with something that seemed hard to her. Once I got a blowjob for helping her transfer her data to a new phone.

A few times she let me go down on her, but it always seemed to me that, in her opinion, this was an enormous gift to me. I'd seen her naked, I'd touched everything on the outside. But penetration was off-limits. Every time I heard the same thing: "Babe, you promised not to rush."

"Hand me that box over there," Elsa asked.

I got up and reached for the box on the windowsill. As I did, my hoodie rode up.

"Wait."

I froze with the box in my hands.

"Wait-wait. Put it down. Turn around."

"What? What happened?"

"Turn your back to me, I said!"

I turned around. The room went very quiet. Elsa took hold of the edge of my hoodie and lifted it up to my shoulder blades. Her eyes caught on the brand of my jeans.

"No way," said Elsa.

"What?"

"Take off that sack."

"Maybe we shouldn't?"

"Take it off, I said."

I pulled the hoodie off over my head and was left completely naked from the waist up. Elsa walked a circle around me, as if inspecting a car in a showroom. Her perfect lips had even parted a little in surprise.

"I was only gone a month," she said. "What happened to you?"

"My mother threw out all my clothes. And bought this instead."

"This brand doesn't have a men's line. These are women's jeans, Niko."

"I'm aware."

A rather unpleasant silence hung between us. I was bracing for us to break up right then and there: she wouldn't want to call me her boyfriend if I wore women's clothes.

"Your mother's a genius! I had no idea my future mother-in-law was so smart!" She gushed praise for my mother, and then laid her palm on my ass with such a proprietary air that for a moment it even seemed to me that the only girl in this room was me. "Babe, it turns out you've got such a pretty ass. Fantastic. How did you manage to hide it for six months?"

I frowned, because I didn't want to hear anything good said about my mother. And on top of that, Elsa was making me out to be a fool.

"I wasn't hiding anything. I had normal jeans, not these..."

"You had awful jeans. I figured there was nothing interesting under them at all." She squeezed my ass cheek, then moved her hand to my waist and added the other palm. "And look at that waist. I slave away at the gym four times a week for one like that. It's kind of unfair."

I didn't know what to say to her. She was praising her man for having a great ass and waist. Awesome.

Then things got even worse, when she noticed something.

Apparently the jeans had slipped down a little from her shenanigans with my ass, so a red strip had appeared above the waistband in back. That very same thong triangle, right above my ass.

Elsa hooked it with a fingernail and pulled it out a little. Then let go. The elastic gave me a light snap on the small of my back.

"And what's this?"

"No-thing."

"No, hold still." She pulled back the waistband of my jeans and peeked inside. "Hold still. Babe. Babe!"

"I've got nothing else to wear! She threw everything out, I told you."

"Hush. Don't ruin the moment."

She was looking at me with such delight. She had never looked at me like that in all six months. It was as if, for the first time, I'd become truly interesting to her.

"Red," she said with respect. "A thong. Babe, I love red thongs too!"

Funny, considering Sasha claimed this was underwear for sluts.

Elsa was quiet for a little while.

It was so unexpected that I actually turned around to check whether everything was okay. She let go of my waistband, stepped back, and tilted her head to one side. It looked like she was trying to visualize some shot for a photograph. Her gaze slid over me from top to bottom. And back again.

Some kind of idea had come together in her head. I could see the thought processes on her face, but I didn't understand a thing.

"Okay," she said finally. "Come over here."

She grabbed an armful of things off the couch and dragged me to the mirror. Stood me in front of it and took up a position behind me. She held some black top with thin straps up to my chest. Looked in the mirror and abruptly flung it away somewhere in the direction of the couch. Held up a white one.

Then she draped a short plaid skirt around my hips, over the jeans.

"Look," she whispered.

I looked at her face in the mirror.

"No. Not at me. Look at yourself."

In the mirror I saw a tanned blonde in nothing but black pantyhose, and in front of her someone pale and skinny, with dark chin-length hair. He had on a white top that hugged his flat chest and a plaid skirt over bare legs. I'd added a little imagination to what I saw in the mirror. Elsa handed the things over to me, while she peeked out from behind my shoulder. She gathered my hair at the back of my head, baring my neck, but it kept trying to slip out of her hand.

She ran her tongue along my neck and kissed it. Pleasure showed on my face, and I let out a faint moan.

"That's it. That face," she whispered, as if she'd spotted the perfect shot in the mirror.

I just looked at myself and marveled.

"There's this one girl in our group chat," Elsa said in my ear. It sounded so intimate. "She charges more than anybody. More than me, can you imagine? Can you guess why?"

I wanted to suggest that she was prettier than Elsa, but the truth is I couldn't picture a girl prettier than her.

"I don't know."

"She's a boy."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, she's a boy. Looks like a girl. Wears makeup, women's clothes, all of that. And in her panties there's a little surprise." She shrugged. "There's a whole waiting list for girls like that, babe. Double the rate. Men are just weird, babe."

"You never mentioned her before."

"Why would I?" Elsa was genuinely surprised. "It's not like I suspected anything."

She let go of my hair, and it fell back over my cheeks.

"Listen, I'm serious. If we put makeup on you, you might even be worth more than me."

Her words sounded as if she admired the idea.

"What?"

"A girl with a surprise," she whispered, spellbound. "A thousand for a couple of hours, babe."

I exhaled and got angry.

"I'm not some kind of girl, got it?" I said.

"Well, not yet."

She said it and reached for a hairbrush, as if she were already thinking about how to fix that "yet." And her cheeks had flushed--that's how much the idea turned her on.

"What's wrong?" She looked at me. "Are you offended?"

"No."

"So you're offended. Babe, I paid you a compliment! I never say that kind of thing to anybody, ever. I hate it when I meet people who are valued higher than me."

"Hell of a compliment. Thanks."

I dropped the skirt and the top on the floor.

"And your surprise is just the right kind, too." She suddenly grabbed my crotch, but through the tight women's jeans she didn't manage to feel much of anything. "Small, neat. Clients aren't scared of ones like that."

It hurt like hell to hear that from my Elsa. My beloved Elsa had told me I had a small dick. Just a wonderful evening.

But why... why was my dick getting hard from that? I don't understand anything.

"I'm going," I said.

"Where?"

"Home."

"Don't pout." She rose on her tiptoes and kissed me on the nose. "You're cute when you pout, sure, but better not."

"Elsa, I'm serious."

"So am I. I haven't seen you in a month."

She walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge. Crossed her legs. The black nylon stretched over her knee and gleamed in the light. She slowly ran her palm from ankle to thigh, as if smoothing out a wrinkle, and looked up at me.

I picked my hoodie up off the floor and stopped. The door was only about seven steps away.

"Come here," Elsa said, pointing a finger at the floor in front of her, the way you would for a dog.

I clenched my teeth and got furious with myself. Why couldn't I show her who the man really was around here... Or at least walk out and slam the door.

I dropped the hoodie and went over.

"Lower."

I got down on my knees. A warm floor, a white shag rug, and no pain in my knees at all. Her legs ended up right in front of my face. She swung the leg that was on top, and a toe in black nylon brushed across my lips.

"Hands behind your back."

"What for?"

"You do better without hands."

I put my hands behind my back and locked them together.

"You may pleasure my legs." She smiled as she laid out the rules. "Only up to the knee for now. After that we'll see how you behave."

She burst out laughing and leaned back against the couch. She set her foot on my chest and slid it higher, to my collarbone and chin. With her big toe she tipped my face up.

"Well? Don't you love me anymore?"

I kissed her foot.

Her feet smelled like a basket of berries that somebody had also spritzed with sweet perfume. And we'd only just come from the coffee shop. I kissed again, lower, near the toes. The pantyhose were thicker and darker there, and I ran my lips along the seam. Through the nylon I could see red toenails.

Maybe I was offended, but that didn't get in my way.

"Careful," Elsa said from above. "These pantyhose are from Dubai. Snag them and you'll be out hunting for a new pair just like them."

I almost laughed. They're just pantyhose. Disposable.

She picked up her phone. I could hear her nails tapping on the screen. Probably scrolling her Instagram feed, the way she always did when I was trying to make her feel good. And I went on kissing her legs. Her ankle, then the little bone on the side. Then a bit higher, along her shin. Now and then she switched legs, allowing me to kiss the other one.

I was so hard that my dick had long since escaped the confines of the red thong, and the jeans had pulled so tight around it that you could see its shape.

I raised my eyes to Elsa's face and started watching her while I kissed her shin.

She suddenly stopped tapping at the screen and looked at me over the top of her phone. Then she slowly laid it on her chest.

"Wow," she said quietly. "What a look..."

I wasn't trying to follow my sister's advice, but maybe any look from that position came across as a little slutty.

"You're trembling," Elsa observed. "Cold?"

"No."

"Ah." She glanced lower and understood everything. Laughed softly. "Babe, you're something else. They're just pantyhose."

I tried going above the knee. Just a tiny bit, to where the thigh began. She pushed me away with her other foot against my shoulder. But the whole thing came off as concise, maybe even instructive. As if I hadn't really needed to go higher, and she'd simply corrected my mistake.

"Up to the knee," she reminded me. "Say 'thank you.'"

"For what?"

"What do you mean, for what? I let you kiss my legs."

"Thank you."

"There. See how good you've got it in this position."

The phone buzzed on her chest.

Elsa looked at the screen, then at me, then at the screen again. And put a finger to her lips.

"Quiet," she whispered, as if she were already on the call. "It's work. I can't not answer."

She picked up. And for the first time I got to hear what she was like at work.

"Yes... Hello."

Her voice changed at once. It got lower, slower, and just a touch more grown-up. Pauses appeared between the words, as though that was how it was supposed to be.

"No, I'm not busy. For you I'm always free."

I started getting up off my knees, feeling like a third wheel. And I had no desire to eavesdrop anyway. Especially not on conversations like this.

She looked at me and shook her head, as if she hadn't given me permission to get up. Then she mouthed, "Don't stop." And with her foot she gently kept me from standing.

I went along with it.

"Yes, alone," she said into the phone. "Lying down. Missing you... Right now? I can't get there that fast, Daddy. Help you over the phone? I don't usually do that."

So nice to hear my girlfriend call somebody "Daddy."

"What I've got on? Pantyhose? Black ones. Just pantyhose, nothing under them."

She lay back more comfortably and stared at the ceiling. She pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder, raised her free hand above her, and began examining the chipped nail.

"Mmm. Yes. I'm touching myself. Right through them, the way you like."

She picked at the chip with another nail and winced.

"Speaker?" she repeated. "Why? Oh, so my hands are free. You're so smart, Daddy."

She tapped something on the phone and set it on her stomach, just above her belly button.

"Can you hear me like this?" she asked.

"I can hear you."

I flinched. The guy's voice turned out to be calm, confident, and distinguished. I instantly pictured the lead in an action movie.

Elsa looked at me and put her finger to her lips once more. But this time it looked sterner.

"Take off the pantyhose," came from the phone.

"Just a second," Elsa answered.

She lifted her hips and with one hand pulled the pantyhose off her ass, down to mid-thigh. Then she looked at me and gave the slightest tilt of her head. I thought I understood what she meant, so I pulled the pantyhose the rest of the way off her.

"They're off," she answered, somewhere in the direction of the ceiling.

"That took a while."

"I was trying to look pretty while I did it."

I laid the pantyhose on the rug beside me.

"Spread your legs."

Elsa spread them. Every time I found myself in this situation, it felt as though I had wandered somewhere I wasn't allowed and, at the same time, was looking at the most beautiful pussy in the whole world.

It was exactly like everything else about Elsa. Too neat to be considered real. Smooth, without a single hair, not one red razor bump. This spot combined a pleasant paleness with a sexy pink.

The lips were small, plump, and tightly closed, as if she had to look flawless even here. A straight little crease with nothing peeking out of it. When she spread her legs wider, the crease parted slightly.

Her clit hid under a little hood, and the whole picture looked superb.

A little lower down it was as dry as a desert. Even though I'd been kissing her legs, and some guy on the phone was trying to hold a jerk-off session with her.

I was afraid to think about how many people had been inside her, but I knew for sure that I dreamed of being one of them. And the most astonishing thing: her whole crotch looked so untouched that it gave me cognitive dissonance.

"Now your fingers. Slowly. I'll tell you when to speed up."

"Yes, Daddy."

She raised her hand. I figured she was about to masturbate a foot and a half from my face, and that this would make it a great evening for me. But with that hand she took me by the chin and pulled me toward her. Pointed a finger at my mouth. Then at her clit.

I'm a good boy today... Fuck, I act like a dumb dog around her.

I was so happy, and I crawled a little closer. And then I did what the guy on the phone said.

She was so warm and tender. I ran my tongue from bottom to top and back, while Elsa lay there picking at her nail. Now and then she remembered that she ought to be moaning a little, and did so. Very prettily. Just like in her Instagram stories, where she talks about eating pastries she never touched.

"Don't rush," said the voice.

I wasn't rushing.

I understood he wasn't saying it to me. But really, it all looked as if some guy with an action hero's voice was jerking himself off and giving me orders, and I was obeying him. Elsa was merely seasoning a conversation between two men with her moans.

"Faster now."

I obeyed.

"That's it. Well done."

I loved being told "well done." Even though, technically, it wasn't me being told at all.

It seemed I'd managed to find the right rhythm to bring Elsa out of her state of indifference. Her hand settled on the back of my head and pressed down. Her stomach twitched, and she started getting wet. And along with that, so did my chin.

Her moans changed, too. Became real, somehow.

I raised my eyes and looked at her face. Elsa lay with her eyes closed, biting her lip, and she was long past caring about this whole performance.

"Don't you dare," the voice ordered. "Not until I say."

"I can't..."

"You can."

I didn't know what had hit her so hard. Whether I was that good, or the situation just happened to be very arousing. I wanted to think it was all my tongue. But with me she usually scrolled her Instagram feed.

She held on, trembling and scratching the back of my head, because she hadn't yet been given permission to come. I had never seen her in this state. She was a very impatient person in general and preferred that others wait for her. But him she obeyed. And so, it turned out, did I.

"Now," said the voice.

Elsa arched, and her thighs clamped around my head. The phone slid off her stomach. She cried out and pushed me away.

I pulled back about three feet.

"Well done," the guy said. "Good girl."

Elsa lay there with her eyes closed, smiling.

The whole situation almost made me come right in my jeans. I could feel my prostate about to give in, but I mustered every bit of strength I had to withstand the surge.

"I'll call tomorrow," the guy said, and hung up without saying goodbye.

Elsa lay there another five minutes or so. Then she sat up, blew the hair off her forehead, and looked at me. She was smiling as if the two of us had just pulled off a little prank together.

"Did you hear that?" She laughed. "He didn't catch on at all. He thought it was me doing it myself. Babe, your tongue is just awesome."

"Who was that, anyway?"

"One of my regular local clients. They value confidentiality, so it's better if you don't know anything about him." She reached for her phone, glanced at the screen, and suddenly lit up with joy. "Oh. Look, he already sent it."

She turned the screen toward me. I looked and instantly regretted finding out what the amount was.

"That's for ten minutes?"

"That's for answering when he wanted me to." She shrugged. "He doesn't like it when people don't pick up. And they all think I'm single, that I don't have a boyfriend. It's part of the service."

She looked around and found a pack of wet wipes. Wiped my chin, as if I were a kid who hadn't been able to manage his ice cream.

Then she glanced down and noticed an impressive precum stain on my thigh.

"Aw, poor thing," said Elsa.

I nodded, though I was a little embarrassed by how the stain looked on my jeans.

"All right." She laughed again and crooked a finger at me. "Come here. You've earned it today. You played your part very well."

So that's how it is. Not "I want you," but "you've earned it."

I stood up. My legs had gone a little numb from kneeling for so long. Elsa scooted to the edge of the couch, took me by the waistband of my jeans, and pulled me toward her so that I ended up between her knees. She undid the button and tugged the jeans down, and, as usual, they got stuck somewhere around mid-thigh.

"God, how do you even get into these?"

"With difficulty."

She yanked them down to my knees. I had on the red lace thong, which had not only gotten soaked through but had also failed to hold my dick in. It had long since slipped out from under the lace and was sticking out the side.

Elsa raised an eyebrow. Understandably--it wasn't every day she saw something like this in front of her.

"Leave it on," she decided. "It looks kind of cute."

She nudged the lace a bit farther aside with two fingers, freeing my balls. I waited for her to laugh again, but it didn't happen.

"Yours is so convenient," she said tenderly. "After the trip I'd already forgotten dicks this cute even exist. I barely even have to open my mouth."

She didn't even seem to realize that this hurt my feelings. And I felt guilty that it could get to me at all.

"Just make it quick, okay," she asked, tossing her hair behind her back. "Although with you it's always quick."

And she took my dick into her mouth.

I used to think I simply had a very talented girlfriend, but apparently sluts--among whom I counted my own sister--all liked to work off the same list of rules.

She didn't rush. For the first few seconds she hardly moved at all, just held my cock in her mouth and played with the head with her tongue.

I glanced down at Elsa and saw that she was looking me in the eye. God, it was the best thing you could ever see in your life. She looked at me in a way that gave me a feeling of superiority. As if there were nobody better than me in the whole world.

There was so much spit that it ran down her chin and dripped onto her bare knees.

She had no need to keep a hand at the base of my cock, because she could easily take me into her mouth whole, her nose pressing into the red lace. She didn't even wince.

Elsa was doing everything my sister had tried to teach me in the entryway before my trip to Gosha's.

I tried to put my hand on her head, but she irritably swatted it away. Then she grabbed my balls, and at first it hurt. She squeezed them a little and tugged down.

I came so hard my vision went white. I doubled over her and whimpered quietly, because a proper moan wouldn't come out. She didn't pull away. She kept my entire cock in her mouth while the cum poured out of it straight down her throat. She swallowed all of it and didn't even notice, didn't choke. As if she'd had a drink of water and that was that.

The whole thing took a minute. Maybe a minute and a half, if I embellish a little.

Elsa let my cock slip from her mouth and leaned back. She wasn't even out of breath.

"That's it already?" she asked, with a light note of sarcasm. "Seriously?"

"Sorry."

"Babe, I didn't even have time to warm up." She wiped the corner of her lips with her pinkie. "Okay. I'm the one who asked for quick."

She straightened the thong on me, as if it weren't soaked through, while I tried to understand what I was feeling.

I should have felt good, after all. I'd just been sucked off by the most beautiful girl in this town, and maybe in the whole world. I don't know.

But I didn't feel anything of the kind.

"Elsa," I said. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Hm?"

"For the night. Just once."

She looked at me in surprise. It seemed the idea had never once crossed her mind, and she'd have liked to keep it that way. Her surprise gave way to mild reproach.

"Babe, you promised not to rush me."

"I'm not rushing you. I just wanted to spend a little more time with you."

"That's what they all say." She stroked my cheek. "I'm not ready yet. Be patient just a little longer, okay? You're so patient with me. Thank you."

On the couch, her phone buzzed.

Elsa glanced at the screen and sighed. She wasn't upset. It's how people sigh when they've got a lot of work. On the one hand, that means a lot of money, and on the other, a lot of work is a lot of work.

"What is it with today," she said to me. "Everybody's missed me."

She put her finger to her lips again, then stood up and walked around the room naked, with the phone at her ear. I could hear only her half of the conversation.

"Yeah, hi," she said. "Of course I remember. A cock that big is hard to forget... Tonight? What time?"

She went up to the mirror, turned sideways, and sucked in her stomach. She was pleased with this act of self-admiration.

"In two hours? Well, maybe I can make it. No, I can definitely make it. Come over."

So this client was coming here. That's why I couldn't stay.

"Like last time?" Elsa listened, winding the tip of her ponytail around her finger. "You mean the anal? Sorry, that was like a month and a half ago, I think."

A pause. She laughed.

"You liked it that much?"

I stood in the middle of the room, trying very hard to come up with excuses for my beloved Elsa. Naturally, I was doing a great job of it.

"You remember it costs more back there? A thousand... Yeah, everything's awesome."

I exhaled. Every time, the numbers she named sounded like they came from another world.

"Okay. I'll have time to get ready. No, I've got everything. I've got lube too, don't worry. Yes. I'll be waiting. Kisses," she said, and ended the call.

Then her expression changed abruptly.

"Whew. Babe, you bring good luck. Two whole clients in one evening, and both of them called on their own."

"He's coming here?"

"Well, yeah. He doesn't like hotels."

"And he's going to--"

"Anal, yeah." She said it so matter-of-factly that I was a little taken aback.

Yeah. For six months I haven't been rushing her, demonstrating incredible restraint, and some guy is about to come over here and fuck my girlfriend in the ass. And not for the first time, by the way.

Just fucking unbelievable.

"Okay, babe, I need to shower. Two hours is actually not a lot of time!"

She headed toward the bathroom but stopped halfway. Looked at the rug. Her black pantyhose lay there, the ones I'd taken off her.

Elsa picked them up and smiled.

"Okay," she said sternly. "Stay put, don't leave yet."

She crouched by the suitcase and started rummaging in it with both hands. Bikinis flew onto the floor, some papers, little jars of women's cosmetics. Then she got down to some flat cardboard packages and started pulling them out one after another. One, two, three. Each had a pair of very long legs pictured on it and something written in gold letters.

"I grabbed like twenty of these over there," she explained. "I really liked them. You can't get them here. Take them."

And she shoved three pairs at me.

"What's this for?"

"To wear."

"For who?"

"For you, babe." She looked at me. "Two pairs of black, twenty denier. Those are the sheer ones. And one nude. With the nude ones you can't see anything at all, your legs just kind of look prettier."

Apparently she wasn't joking.

"I'm not going to wear pantyhose."

"Come on, babe." She hooked a finger under the elastic of my thong. "You're already in a thong anyway."

"That's different! I've got nothing else to wear."

"Well, there you go. Now you will."

"Elsa, no."

I held the packages back out to her. She didn't take them.

"Winter's coming," she explained. "Nobody'll see them under your jeans, and you'll be warm. I always wear them that way myself."

"You're a girl."

"So?"

"And I'm not. I'm a guy. Your boyfriend, by the way. Guys don't wear pantyhose."

"Guys don't wear women's lace thongs either, babe."

I clenched my hand into a fist.

"Wear them for me," Elsa said, laying her palm on my chest and looking into my eyes with such an innocent gaze. "I'll be sitting at some dinner with a boring old guy, thinking about how my babe is in class right now in my pantyhose. I'd like that."

"Well, I wouldn't like it one damn bit."

"How do you know? You haven't even tried."

"I haven't tried eating shit either!"

She laughed. Loudly and sincerely.

"You love me, don't you?"

"I do. But I'm not putting on pantyhose."

I was so proud of myself. In our whole relationship I had never said no to her as many times as I had just now. Maybe I even felt like a man at that moment. Then I set the packages of pantyhose down on the couch, backing up my words.

Elsa looked at the packages. She definitely didn't like it, but she didn't take offense.

"Fine," she said. "Then let's trade."

"What?"

"You send me pics, I send you pics." She picked up her phone from the couch and shook it in front of me. "You put on the pantyhose and send me pics. I want to know you're wearing them in public places. And I'll send you some from work."

"Some what from work?"

"Well, everything." She smiled. "What I put on. Where I'm going. How they do me there... Well, you get it. Pics, videos. I film it anyway--some of them ask for it themselves, but mostly it's for safety. It all just sits there on my phone."

I said nothing.

"You're always texting me those questions. Where am I, who am I with, when am I coming back." She ticked them off on her fingers, as if the items irritated her a little. "I read everything. This way you'll know everything. Nobody in the world has privileges like that, by the way. Only you will. Because you're my babe. You understand me, you don't rush me, and you don't get jealous."

It sounded disgusting, and yet so thrilling. Fuck. I wanted all of it. I wanted to get photos and videos of my Elsa being fucked for money.

For her this trade was so simple, but I was torn between what I wanted to see and what I would rather not know.

"Will tonight's be in there too?" I asked.

Elsa smirked.

"The one who's coming over soon?" She tilted her head to the side. "Babe, you're so interesting."

"I was just asking."

"If you want, then tonight's guy too. I'll put my phone on that tripod. His face won't be in it. Just me and his cock in my ass." She nodded at the ring light in the corner. "But you go first. One pic of yours, one of mine. One video of yours, one of mine. It's all going to be fair, or not at all."

"Okay." I answered so fast that I felt embarrassed.

"Be specific."

"I'll wear the pantyhose."

"For me?"

"For you."

"That's my good boy."

Elsa picked the packages of pantyhose up off the couch and handed them to me. I took them. Then she pressed a fourth pair into my hand. The very ones that had been lying on the floor and had been on her today.

"Take the ones I wore today, too. That's so you won't miss me when I'm gone. Just shoot them properly, babe--in the mirror, full-length. So I can see your ass. And shave your legs, they rip on hair, and anyway, hair on legs is ew!"

"And you?"

"And me, as soon as the client leaves, I'll send you my part." She rose on her tiptoes and gave me a peck on the lips. "You're the best."

I looked at the pantyhose in my hands, and Elsa gave me a paper bag from some Dubai store.

"Want me to give you money for a cab?" she asked, on her way to the bathroom.

In that department I was completely cleaned out.

"No need. I'll walk."

"Such a gentleman. I'll be waiting for the pics."

The water started running.

I pulled my jeans up and tugged on the hoodie. In two hours some guy would be fucking my Elsa in the ass, and I, fuck, couldn't wait to see it on the screen of my phone.

The concierge followed me with his eyes on the ground floor. He probably still couldn't figure out what a vagrant like me had been doing in this building.

It took me almost an hour to walk home. The bag from the Dubai store looked so strange next to me that I felt uneasy every time somebody walked past.

At home the only light on was in the living room. Sasha was lying on the same couch, and her pose hadn't exactly evolved much either. Looked like she'd spent the whole day watching TV shows.

"Oh," she said. "Little brother's home. How were the video games?"

"Fine."

"And what's that?" She'd noticed the bag. "Gosha shops at boutiques now?"

I said nothing and walked past her.

Once I'd changed into my around-the-house clothes, I went to the bathroom and latched the door.

Sasha's razor lay on the edge of the tub. Pink, with five blades and soothing strips. Sasha was very particular about her things, so I'd better pull this off without her noticing.

I sat down on the edge of the tub and took off my shorts. The first leg took about twenty minutes, and I cut myself a couple of times while I was mastering the technique. The second went considerably better and faster. I washed the razor and covered my tracks.

Then I took the pantyhose out of my pocket.

I didn't know how to put them on, but I assumed it was about the same as with stockings. I gathered the nylon up accordion-style and pulled it on an inch at a time. Up to the knee, up to the thigh. Then the other leg. Up over my ass, and pull them all the way to my belly button.

I had no panties on.

The nylon felt amazing against shaved skin--so much so that I actually got goose bumps down my back when it sank in.

I stood in front of the mirror. Somehow managed to frame a shot with all of me in it, head to toe. Turned sideways and snapped a picture so you could see my ass.

In pantyhose it looked even better.

I took four photos in different poses and sent them.

Elsa's reply came a minute later.

BAAABE

you look so expensive. im serious

wait for the video

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Did you drown in there?" Sasha asked. "I want to take a shower!"

"Just a second!" I said.

I quickly changed back into my around-the-house shorts and hid the pantyhose in my pocket.

"Niko, I'm counting to three!"

Meanwhile I was looking around to make sure: you really couldn't tell from the bathroom that I'd shaved my legs.

"One!"