Elena and the Contract Ch. 01

In the dream she was a living sculpture owned by a Hollywood producer, wearing a negligee made of diamonds. A party raging around her, she was being carried around, standing on a platter, by musclebound half-naked manservants. She twisted and turned her torso with a wide happy smile as she jerked and shook her ass, posing for the partygoers and holding her body like she had never done in real life, the sparkling material clinging to her body obscenely as she beamed, genuinely joyful. The band on stage had a large horn section, and they were blaring this one note over and over --

With a start she woke to realize the buzzing noise was the summons she was warned about. Leaping out of bed she glanced at the mirror over the desk then halted, hating the mess her hair had become. Grabbing a twistie she yanked it over her mussed-up light brown hair into a ponytail. Then she straightened her T-shirt and looked herself in the eye. "You got this," she told the girl in the mirror, who looked a hell of a lot more confident than Elena felt. Then she tried to stride into the living room with as much confidence as she could muster. She let her brain ignore the hanging leather items by the exit of her room.

Mr. Mixon was sitting on the couch leaning forward over the low coffee table, tapping a cigar or a large joint or something into an ashtray. He glanced up at her for a moment, then returned to getting his smoke properly lit. Elena went to sit in the chair opposite, again intimidated by the gigantic windows separating the two of them from the city beyond.

"No, stand," he intoned without looking up, a low rumbly baritone. Elena frowned and went to protest but decided against it and studied him instead.

His thick grey sideburns helped to disguise his weight a little, but not enough. His face was lined with many small wrinkles; not gross exactly, but old, at least fifty, maybe a lot more. The frames of his glasses were thick, as if he wanted you to be constantly aware of them. Thinning hair, though not as grey as his sideburns, was transitioning from salt-and-pepper to full-on stripes. But the dark button-down shirt and jeans fit him well, simple and basic. Elena sighed and glanced at the rest of the table's contents. A silver flask caught her eye, and she wondered how much of it he'd sampled recently.

To his left beside his mobile phone was an inch-high stack of printed pages: the contract. She remembered the creepy-ass lawyer saying there was no pressure, she had as much time as she needed. Yet all the while he was doing these subtle little tricky things to pressure her into getting done as fast as possible. And his bullshit had worked, as she'd merely skimmed through large sections written in legalese she couldn't really follow. Surely that's not gonna bite me in the ass, her brain muttered sarcastically.

Next to the contract was a single sheet with a few printed lines on it, on top of a plain folder. And next to that, a pair of handcuffs.

Elena's body went stiff as her eyes went wide, but if he noticed her expression he said nothing. He leaned back and lit the large joint, blowing the smoke at Elena with a half-grin on his face. They stared at each other as he took long drags and exhaled smoke at her.

Elena hadn't cared much for marijuana the time she'd tried it, since it didn't make her crazy horny the way Rick hoped it would. Instead she became annoyed with him and suspicious of his affections, feelings that never really dissipated.

But this was different. Floatier. Unlike the cigarettes her mom lit one after the other, this scent was earthy, novel, not unpleasant. But her legs were protesting. "Can I sit down now?" she said finally, shifting her weight.

He just grinned at her for a few more moments, taking another drag, and holding it. "No," he coughed, smoke billowing into her face making her blink. "Any tattoos, or piercings?"

"No!" she blurted quickly, confused by the subject change.

He nodded. "That's good, that's good. I like that you're unmarked, truly. Tattoos, brands, anything permanent, those I can't do, per --" and he tapped the contract. His voice was light and conversational, as if they were discussing sports.

"Piercings, though: not permanent. And I like those, both in looks and functionality." He took a long drag and blew the smoke towards her face again, eliciting an annoyed blink. "So definitely your nips, maybe your tongue, almost certainly your clit hood --"

"Fuck that," she blurted. "I'm not piercing my nipples for you. And my clit? Jesus Christ, no fucking way."

He leaned forward, intent. "Really? You're out this early? I'm surprised." The tone of his voice was all over the place, and Elena felt lightheaded, unsure if he was being mean, funny, serious, or all three.

"Out this early? I don't understand..." She instinctively brought a nail to her mouth to chew on it.

"Don't do that," he growled. She froze and dropped her hand.

He stared at her again, then leaned back and put his bare feet on the table towards her as his face relaxed. He didn't move for a while, looking her up and down. Elena was progressing beyond annoyed into... something that wasn't quite anger, but getting there.

Eventually he spoke. "Refusing orders is breach of contract, and breach of contract means you lose out on, where was it?" He flipped open the folder, sending the printed sheet floating off onto the floor, but he ignored it. Tracing his finger down he found what he was looking for and continued. "Columbia, that's right." Closing the dossier he leaned back into the chair again, inhaled another long drag, and cocked his head. "Why's a Burton Indiana girl dreaming of Columbia, anyway? Where the fuck did that come from?"

Elena's mouth flopped open. Who had she talked about Columbia to? She wasn't sure, but it couldn't have been too many. Certainly not that skeeze Talloran. And she had zero desire to tell this stranger about Mr. Howell, how he would wax rhapsodic about his alma mater. Stories about Manhattan and its neighborhoods, reading great works and discussing them with brilliant people, all of New York as their canvas: these things filled her daydreams and took her away from the endless flat farms, with their uninteresting farmhands, complimenting her tits...

She blinked and realized he was waiting for an answer. No, this stranger didn't deserve Mr. Howell, not really. The way that sweet old man held her hand in the hospital at the end, begging her to see the world... No, this guy wasn't getting dick.

"...A teacher," she said finally. "Went there, talked about it a lot. Sounded fun."

He snorted, smoke exploding from his nostrils. "'Sounds fun,' huh." Dropping his feet to the floor he stubbed out the roach and pulled the table's drawer open, extracting another joint. Then he thought better of it, and set it back down on the table, and picked up his flask as he leaned back to look at her again for a long time. In that goddamn irritating way of his. He wasn't ugly exactly, Elena decided, just... blah.

"Look, let's say for the next, oh, hour," he gestured a lot as he spoke, "that you can speak freely. Obviously, you and I have different ideas about what this is," he gestured lazily toward the contract on the table. "And it's equally obvious," he waved at the folder, "that you're not content to stay on the farm." He took a long draw from the flask, before dropping it in his lap.

"So let's hear from you what you think this situation is. Twenty words or less, Miss Elena Dupree, tell me what you think is going on here."

"Uh..." She twisted her fingers at her waist, as if they could ward off this feeling of being, what's the best word? She landed on 'dissected'. She gulped.

"I have sex with you. Like, whenever you want. Which is fine, I guess. For a year. Then you pay for my college." She thought for a moment, counting in her head, before adding, There, twenty words, ish."

His eyes narrowed, then he dropped his head and giggled slightly. Christ, he was irritating. Picking up the joint and a lighter, he put his feet on the table once more, slowly and carefully lit the joint, and blew a long cloud of smoke towards Elena's face. She fake-coughed and glared back at him.

The grin was back. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything that brought you here, honey." He was sizing her up like a sheep at auction, she thought.

"Can I sit?"

Another long drag, another puff of smoke at her. "No. You can take your hair down, though."

"And I can speak freely, right?" After hesitating a second, she grabbed the ponytail and yanked out the hair tie, dropping it.

"Yeah, I said that."

"Okay. You're an asshole."

A loud barking laugh. "Fair." But he gestured for her to get on with it. She ran her fingers through her hair a couple times, then shrugged and began.

Squeezing her hands into fists she then flexed and willed them to stop their fidgeting. "Uhm, I never knew my dad, Mom said he didn't want to --"

"Stop, stop," he shook his finger. "I know all that," he tapped the folder on the table. "Dad went M-I-A, Mom works at Wal-Mart and turns tricks, you got valedictorian --"

"My mom does what?" she heard herself yell.

He stared at her blankly. "What the fuck did you just say?" she asked in a lower, angrier tone.

He raised his head, his eyes wide. His face fell, his confidence faded. "You didn't know," he said softly. "Jesus, kid, I'm sorry."

Elena gaped at him as the truth hit her in a rush. All her mom's 'boyfriends,' all the required sleepovers at Julia's, all the bills covered on the shitty hours from a part-time job at Wal-Mart... She mentally kicked herself for not realizing.

Still, fuck this guy.

He sighed. "Yeah, that was shitty. I'm a prick. Sorry." In contrition, he held at the joint in her direction. But already feeling lightheaded -- and, fuck this guy -- she shook her head quickly. He waved the smoking joint in a circle again, this time speaking with a gentler voice. "Start about... Two months ago." He leaned back and propped his feet again, inhaling deeply but gazing at her.

"Two months ago, uhm, I'll start when --"

"And take your shirt off."

Elena went stock still; her eyes locked on his. He leaned his head forward a bit, not breaking eye contact. For a fleeting moment there was a scary, frightening look on his face; but before her mind could really register, it was gone and the half-smile was back. Refuse, I dare you, his look said.

Her eyes went to the huge windows, now displaying the night lights of New York and its millions of residents. She felt on display to all of them. Her jaw trembled.

No, fuck this guy. I'm doing this. I'm going to Columbia.

She lifted the shirt slowly, pulling it over her head. The bra underneath was white once, now more a dingy gray; new underwear was a luxury she hadn't indulged in for some time, increasing her shame. As she dropped the shirt beside her, the warmth in her cheeks and head, combined with what she assumed was the high from his joint, mutated together into a tangible thing she could feel burning at her face as his eyes bore into her chest.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, sounding more a prayer than a curse. He stared, quiet a while. Then he demanded, "Why do you stand like that? Hunched over?"

Elena's face burned hotter. She debated what to say for a second, then the anger spilled over. "Because assholes bother girls with tits," she spat.

His smile wavered as he conceded her point. "Fair enough," he nodded. "Stand straight, if not for me then for your back. You'll have problems later if you don't, for real." She sneered a bit, but stretched upwards, pulling her shoulders back.

"Better, much better. You're skinny, too. But then, on Wal-Mart salary..." He clucked his tongue, then pointed at her tits. "What size are those monsters?" he inquired, as if asking about the price of eggs, before taking another long drag. Was he... clenching his hands in fists? Imagining squeezing her boobs? Gross.

"I dunno. This bra is an 'M'. Once they get this big it's hard to find consistent sizes, or a decent fit."

"Especially if you're trying to hide them," he countered. "And double-especially in Bumfuck Indiana." He picked up his phone and after a few keystrokes he said, "Bring me a rum and coke. Wait, do you want one? Two, two rum and cokes," he said, not waiting for her answer.

He dropped the phone on the table with a thunk, then nodded at her. "You're a pretty girl, Elena, and yeah, guys -- assholes -- like big tits. I know I do. It's part of why I was willing to spend big." Inhaling deeply from the joint, he smiled at her again, this time focusing on her eyes and not her chest.

He meant it as a compliment, she knew, if a twisted and perverted one. She shifted her weight again, her legs now openly protesting. Asking to sit hadn't done her any good thus far though, so she went about relating her story, trying to hold her shoulders back and straight.

"I had gone to see my guidance counselor, because I'd gotten this scholarship, see? To Bradford, this school in Arkansas, they're small, but a really good program for creative writing..." He shifted a bit on the couch, and Elena realized she was having an effect on him. Making him hard. Part of her mind liked that. Wait, where did that come from? Fuck it, keep talking. "But it was a partial, not a full." She had to stop herself from adding, 'like your partial erection right now,' and bit her lip before continuing.

"I was gonna hafta come up with thousands of dollars for tuition, never mind enough to live and eat. Mom was real sorry she'd never saved anything but... She had no idea how I could do more school. She had a hard enough time keeping our heads above water just paying our bills."

Elena closed her eyes for a moment, pushing down the fresh knowledge of exactly how their bills had been paid, before she continued.

"Anyway, he asked if I ever wanted to go live in a big city, like LA or New York or even Paris or Moscow. He said he almost never did this, but he was recommending me for a special program and gave me a card. For a lawyer."

"Take your bra off."

Elena shuddered. She'd known this was coming, but the reality of it was jarring. Closing her eyes she reached back with both hands, unclasped the hooks, then slid the straps off her shoulders. Opening her eyes again, she found him staring at her face, not her chest, and her heart softened, just a little.

Slowly she let the cups slip off, feeling how solid her nipples had become as the material brushed them, making her shudder again. Her hands returned to her sides, dropping the bra at her feet.

"Lift them with your hands."

Before she was conscious of doing so her hands were under her heavy breasts, lifting a bit, pushing them together. His eyes narrowed, but his half-smile grew. She... liked that he was enjoying staring at her. What the hell? But she found herself returning his smile as she playfully pinched her nipples, then returned her hands to her sides.

"I didn't say release," he growled. She bit her lip and returned to hefting her tits for him.

Ru walked in holding two glasses. "Ah!" she yelped, moving her hands to cover her nipples and turning away; but he merely set the glasses on the table and left as quietly as he'd come, ignoring them both.

"He'll never bother you," Mixon said conversationally to the half-naked girl on tired legs in front of him. "He's ace. Lawyer, card, continue."

Ace? As in, asexual? That's... huh. Elena gingerly turned back toward him, and went to drop her boobs, but he subtly shook his head and frowned. Groaning and shifting her weight for the umpteenth time, she squeezed her boobs and continued.

"So I called the lawyer -- uh, Jack Talloran, his name was? -- and he asked me a ton of questions, then said he'd be in touch in two weeks. And he was. He asked me to come to Indianapolis for an interview. Said he'd have a bus ticket waiting at the station for me the next day. I cut school."

Elena still remembered the dingy office in the bad neighborhood Talloran had met her in, matched by the general scuzziness radiated by the man himself. "He... He was real concerned that I was recording him. Made me give him my phone turned off, waved this electric wand over me. And he said he'd deny every word he said, but that he'd change my life." She remembered how cheesy it sounded, but that he'd been totally serious.

"He asked a few questions about my sex life, but it was, like, clinical? He wasn't asking to get off or anything. Was I a virgin, how many guys."

"What was your answer?"

She glowered at him. "Isn't it in that folder there?"

He leaned forward and planted his feet on the ground, something close to a leer on his face. "Tell me anyway."

Rolling her eyes, she answered. "Just my boyfriend, Rick. Like, four times." She stuck her tongue out at him, as if to say, fine are you happy now? "Then he asked if I liked it."

"Uh huh," he murmured, rocking a little. Involuntarily her fingers squeezed, and she let two fingers slip around her left nipple. It felt delicious, and she did it again. His eyes darted to her fingers for a second then back to her face. "And you said..."

She considered. "I said it was okay," she shrugged, feeling her breasts move in her hands pleasantly, and she jiggled them again. He bit his lip in return. It was nice.

"I mean, Rick came like, really quick, even in the rubber. Plus for whatever reason, he thought that touching me down there to make me wet, was gay."

Mixon sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. "That... Literally is the opposite of gay."

"I know!" she shouted. "I fucking told him so! I can't believe I thought I loved that fucking idiot," she seethed.

"High school boys," he shook his head. "I fear for our future." He sat back on the couch, dropping the long-ago burnt-out roach in the ashtray, and gawked at Elena. "I love your tits, baby," he drawled.

"...Thank you?" she replied. This was so weird.

"So no orgasm, ever? You don't touch yourself? Rub one out?"

"N-no! I've... I've never wanted to do that. I don't know how." Her hands stopped their involuntary clenching on her tits.

"Never?" he asked incredulously, his intoxication more obvious now.

"Well..."

"I knew it!" he yelled in triumph. "C'mon, truth."

"I did try one time. After, y'know, the first time me and Rick did it. But..." In her mind Elena heard her mother's voice, insisting men wanted what's between her legs, but to never give in or face ruination. The bitterness of abandonment, Elena now thought.

He picked up his drink and sloshed half of it back, then waved towards Elena's. She took the chance to move, and stepped closer to the table, dropping her breasts and picking up the cocktail with both hands. It was ice cold and smooth, a lot tastier than the cheap rum Rick had scored that time. She closed her eyes and swirled the drink in her mouth, relishing the feel and sensation.

"So he explained the deal, or at least what you told me before? The bit about, I think you said, sex whenever I want?"

"Well... He said the contract reads like I'm a housekeeper. For, y'know, legal purposes." She blinked at Mixon, a realization hitting her. "So this, what we're doing, is like, trafficking. Human trafficking."

He winced. "Well... It's a grey area. You're getting a pretty astounding benefit at the end of a year. You can go to college for as long as you want, if you give me a year, and do what I tell you." He waved toward the chair opposite. "You can sit."

Fucking finally, she muttered inwardly, thankfully plodding the few steps toward the chair. There she collapsed, quite conscious of her naked torso and her jeans. Her tight, warm, constricting jeans... She shook her head at that thought.

"Is it ethical? Ehh... I don't know. I can do it, I want to do it, so until you tell me I can't, I will." He paused and flipped open the contract until he found a specific page, then pointed at it. "Whether you leave or stay, you're accumulating money in a bank account, right now. It's minimum wage for New York, eighty hours per week, so overtime is included. That isn't nothing and you're gonna get it the day you quit, or at the end of the year. But it's zilch compared to what you'll get upon completing your term."