The Manor (Mr. Quixotic & Malicious Lullaby)

Teaching job? Landed. Apartment? Landed. Money? She had no idea how it all went away so fast.
Harper Collins was an elementary school teacher, fresh out of college and one of the best already to be hired immediately given the only experience she had was from her practicum during her final semester. But her desire was here in Seattle, Washington. It was expensive to live here but the schools were wonderful and she had always wanted to come here. She grew up in a small town and always wanted to leave. There was nothing for her there. So she went to the university in the larger part of the state and then got a job here in her dream place. It was perfect.

What made it even more perfect was that for the first time in her entire life, since she used to be a bit chubbier, since she never had a date and since she lost about seventy-five pounds, she had been asked out on a date. It was the first day she started teaching. During recess, she met eyes with a really handsome P.E. coach for the older kids; it helped that he was fit and so was she. He was sweet and they always conversed. A week later, he asked her out and now they were dating, exclusively. She couldn't believe it, she was exclusive. With a guy. A really cute guy.

Only one problem; she had no money.

Her roommate Stephanie had offered for her to make an easy few grand one night. All she’d have to do was dress up really nice and simply be eye candy for a bunch of men. When she first said that, Harper’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Then Stephanie told her it wasn’t like that and all she would have to do was simply be charming, talkative and make the men want her. Once more, Harper was about to instantly decline and then Stephanie finally said she wouldn’t be sleeping with anyone. Unless she wanted to. Obviously, Harper didn't want to sleep with any other men. It had taken her long enough to actually sleep with her boyfriend and she did but Harper was a one-man kind of woman. Sex held actual meaning for her and she liked him too much to want to do that. And when she realized she was thinking about this too hard, she knew she wouldn't do it at all. But all she could think about was making a few grand in one night and all she had to do was just stand somewhere and look pretty doing nothing. Stephanie promised.

Oh hell, what was she even thinking?

That was about a week ago. Steph told her she had two weeks to give her an answer. It was the second week and she was sitting in their apartment, nursing a cup of tea when Stephanie walked in, settled in and then sat before her.
“Well?”
Harper sighed deeply. “Hi to you too roomie.” She teased.
Stephanie giggled. “You know what I mean.”
”Do I?”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “I need an answer Harper. I have to let my boss know so she can make the arrangements. And don’t worry about costs. I told her I’d take care of you.”
“Steph, I can’t ask that of you.”
“Does that mean you’re saying yes?”
Harper sighed and she looked at her, giving her a small nod. “Splendid! Come on, we have to go shopping!” She paused and put her hands on her hips. "And I promise I won't tell Mr. Delicious P.E. Coach."
That got a rise out of Harper because she actually forgot about him in her entire decision making process.

The entire time they went shopping, Stephanie was reassuring Harper that this would not constitute as cheating and that if she were to sleep with someone, only then would that count as cheating. It was by the end of all the shopping did she finally get a solid commitment for this shindig out of her roommate and a plan was set in motion.

The night came where she was going to abandon her life as a school teacher and the girlfriend of a really delectable P.E. coach for one night and become a woman that every man should want. That was how it worked. That day they both went to every kind of salon possible to get what was needed. Harper stood before her mirror now clad in a beautiful black floor-length ball gown with a lace overlay, strapless and really accentuated her curves. It was corseted at the top and flared out into this sort of form fitting dress to the waist before it flowed out in a gorgeous full skirt with layers of tulle and she’d need at least four inch heels to be able to walk in it. Harper had been plucked, pampered and primped all day long. Her skin looked cleaner than it did in ages, her hair shone in a way she had never seen it and the hazel green color popped out of her eyes in the glow of the light because of the smoky eye make up she was given. She almost didn’t recognize herself after Stephanie helped her into the dress. With her heels on now, cute little black loubatins, she gained four inches and would only slightly have to pick up her skirt to walk.

Harper never dressed like this; she had always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of gal. Growing up, she’d always been chubby and could never pull off something like this. It made her feel self conscious, even now after all these years. This certainly was not the woman that her boyfriend had seen or would think was beautiful. Or if he did, he was a cheeky liar but also only human and a man. She couldn’t blame him. Because even if she did feel a little uncomfortable at how well the dress pushed up her breasts, accentuated her curves and made her look like this irresistible siren who was about to break many hearts that night, she also couldn’t believe this was really her staring back at her in the mirror. Maybe she wasn’t so horrendous after all.

A knock came to her door and it opened and she saw Stephanie in her dark red number. The woman looked impeccable and came carrying two masks. “Masks?”
“It’s a masquerade ball.” She smiled, a suggestive twinkle in her eyes. Harper had to refrain from rolling her eyes as her friend put the mask on her.
"You look like a babe."
"I feel like one of those terrible women who are beautiful on the outside and ugly on the inside."
"Harper..." Stephanie laughed. "Just because you dress up does not mean you have to feel guilty. When have you ever dressed up like this?"
"Prom, but I still felt like an unbearable cow."
"Well you're not a cow." Stephanie moved to stand beside her and slid her hands around Harper's slender waist, slowly sliding down to her curvy hips. "You're gorgeous, you're curvy and you're healthy. Own it. Love it. And don't feel guilty about it one bit." She kissed her cheek. “And if you want to leave early, take the limo, go see your man and let him do wonders to you when he sees you dressed like this.”

When they were both ready, they got into the limo that came for them and set destination to the party. It always felt so weird when Stephanie would do and say things like that. But considering her choice of profession, it wasn't entirely weird. Just different and something she wasn't used to. Harper knew how to be a teacher. She didn't know how to own her sexuality.

“Where are we going again?”
“You’ll see.”
”Come on, tell me.”
”If I tell you, you won’t be surprised.”
“I’m a great actress.” And then she pouted.
Stephanie rolled her eyes before speaking, “The Manor.”

RE: The Manor (Mr. Quixotic&Malicious Lullaby)

Hawthorne Tisch was an enigma. Born and raised in Seattle, Washington, the only child of a newspaper magnate, and socialite ex fashion model, he'd had it all. A privileged upbringing, wealth, access to the best education, and expected to inherit his family's business interests, along with their fortune. However, Hawthorne Ticsch had disappeared at eighteen years of age.

Rumour had it that the teenage boy had been accused of a crime so heinous, and so damaging to the Tisch reputation, that he'd been summarily packed off to College in New York, as far away as from Seattle as you could get whilst remaining in the same country, and subsequently ex-communicated from the family. True or not, and no-one knew for certain, except for those close to him, the crimes he'd supposedly been responsible for had increased in villainy and notoriety with the passage of time.

What was known for a fact, however, was that Hawthorne had not been sighted in his town of birth for over two decades; not for his Mother's funeral five years previously, nor for that of his Father who'd died after of pneumonia the previous Winter. Never spoken of by his parents, he'd been presumed dead by many. That was, until the July of 2014; where after a lengthy legal battle waged in New York, Hawthorne Ticsch had returned to Seattle, Washington to claim a portion of his family's fortune. And the Manor.

Now Forty years of age, Hawthorne had taken after his Father. Six feet one inch tall, a head of slightly curled, brown hair, which showed just the slightest hint of grey at the temples, slim athletic body kept in shape by regular workouts, piercing green eyes, strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and a nose best described as aristocratic, he exuded confidence and charm. At least that's the appearance he projected in newspaper photograph's which accompanied the articles written about his return; the type of man Hawthorne Tisch actually was, was difficult to determine. He'd refused all interview requests, and his whereabouts for the past two decades, and plans for the Manor, remained a mystery.

The Manor. It had been his parents home, well before Hawthorne had entered the world. As his Father's wealth had increased, and with the imminent arrival of their first, and only, child, a country Estate had been purchased on the outskirts of the city, and the family relocated. The Manor, however, which held many good memories, had been retained, and converted into a five-star hotel, catering to the wealthy. Unfortunately, after thirty years of thriving, the Global Financial Crisis had hit, and with his wife dead, and own health ailing, Tisch Senior had allowed the Manor to fall into disrepair, and it subsequently closed for business. It had last been open five years ago.

The assumption when Hawthorne had returned to take up residence was that the Manor would be returned to its former glory, and reopened. At it's peak it had been the place the for wealthy and privileged, and it could be again. On the first count, the analysts had been correct. Within weeks of his arrival, the residence had taken upon a fresh coat of paint, the lawns manicured, gardens tended, half-mile long driveway freshly paved, six-foot high security fence erected around the perimeter, and the interior gutted and rebuilt. However, as time continued to pass, there was no advertising, no marketing, no publicity, or no opening date. Hawthorne had been amused by each article he'd read; as they moved from confidence in their supposed knowledge of his plans, to query, then scepticism, and finally, downright confusion. They'd failed to realise the Manor had already been re-opened, however not as a hotel. It's new purpose was much more lucrative, and entry by invitation only.

***************************

"Hawthorne, the first guest arrived a half-hour ago, you should really have been there to greet them."

Hawthorne finished knotting his bow-tie, smoothed out the creases in his tuxedo, then turned away from the full-length mirror to face his right-hand man, George Carpenter. They'd known each other since College, and their relationship more one of firm friends than that of boss and employee. "Got caught up with some last minute business. Why don't you head back down, and ensure our guests have everything they need." Tische smiled at the smaller man; slim and angular with thinning brown hair, blue eyes hidden by horn-rimmed spectacles, then stepped towards the four-poster bed which dominated the room, and withdrew a gold mask which lay upon the red satin sheets. "Go on, I'll be down in a minute. It's a masquerade ball, so who I am is meant to remain a secret; it's not as if anyone will know it's their host who's the latecomer."

He waited for the man to depart, then slipped the mask over his head, and once again checked himself in the mirror. With it placed on, only his eyes and lips were visible; the latter curled up into a smile as he exited the room. Hawthorne was very much looking forward to the display of firm, young flesh, always in abundance at these events.

The grand-ballroom was already half-filled, with cocktail waitresses; in skirts that barely covered their buttocks, and busts which threatened to pop the buttons of their tight shirts; serving drinks and canapes to men in black-tie who chatted to a variety of expensively and beautifully dressed young women. Everyone wore masks. Of varying shapes and sizes, from the tall to the short, thin to the 'comfortable', Tisch was aware that each of the men was rich in his own right, and attended for one reason only. To take advantage of the gorgeous young women in any way that money could buy.

Although this event was consensual, Hawthorne had discovered most girls had their price, and it was a rare man who departed with desires not satiated. A smile returned to his features as he selected a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress, and surveyed the crowd already in attendance. It appeared as if it would be a lucrative night, and this was just the tip of the iceberg.

RE: The Manor (Mr. Quixotic&Malicious Lullaby)

Upon arriving at the Manor, their limo parked and Stephanie and Harper exited the lush expanse of the car. They walked up the steps of the large estate and Harper felt her nerves start to get the best of her as she wondered what exactly lay behind those grand and opulent doors.
“Name?”
“Serafina.”
“Invitation?”
“What, don’t you think my breasts look just absolutely divine in this dress?” There was a pause and a faltering from the man behind the door, his gaze lowered through the hole in the door to stare at the massive cleavage that Stephanie showed from her dress. Clearing his throat, he spoke,
“Invitation.” More like he enunciated the hell out of that word.
Stephanie rolled her eyes and produced the invitation from her clutch and passed it through to him. No more questions and the doors opened for them both. Stephanie was quite accustomed to the place since she was a regular employee, employed by the Madame in charge of the women who was henceforth employed by the mysterious owner. Harper on the other hand felt like she was having an out of body experience, never had she seen such a beautiful space. Her jaw dropped and when her roommate glanced at her, she felt her jaw being pushed back up.

“No drooling. You’re a lady of the night tonight. You must act like you own every space you walk into with every step you take.”
“Easy for you to say, you do this on a regular basis.”
”True. But so do you just for tonight and they don’t need to know otherwise.”

By the time they had arrived, there was a hall of people, both men and women dressed so magnanimously and their identities hidden behind ornate masks they wore. Duty called for Stephanie and she had to leave Harper. “Don’t give your real name. Tonight, you’re not Harper, so enjoy yourself. It’s just one night and you will be paid handsomely.” Stephanie smiled. “Enjoy.”
“Bye, Serafina.” Harper drawled, a smile playing onto her face.

Stephanie disappeared and Harper was left on her own, although mostly she was trying to figure out what name she should use, what her name should be. She took a flute of champagne off a passing waiter carrying a tray of them and sipped on it like it was water and she was dying of thirst.

Harper could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she was left alone in a party trying to let go of herself for the night and find a way to have fun. The more she drank, the easier she found it to let go, like the champagne was liquid courage. The part was in full swing now. Dance music played from a live band and she saw men and women dancing. There were so many men and so many women, like an equal share to tempt their wages burning in their pockets of riches. She noticed many cast glances her way but she pretended to seem disinterested and it mostly discouraged them from coming near her.

But some didn’t get discouraged and she saw a couple of men in tailored tuxedos make their way to her. She had just started on her third flute of champagne and was watching them intently until they stood directly before her. They were handsome from what she could tell, both dressed immaculately in their black tuxedos. One wore it in a traditional way with a white button down and the other wore all black. They were devilishly handsome even wearing masks and she could tell they were a bit older than her by the slight peppered color to their hair in some angles. They were men of money that kept themselves well in shape because they could. Their eyes bore into her own and she felt her nervousness come back to full swing.

“What is your name?” The one wearing all black asked.
Shit, they wanted to know her name and she remembered what Stephanie said. “U-Um…”
“I don’t think she’s had nearly enough to drink if she can’t remember her name.” The one wearing the white button down spoke but he was being obviously sarcastic in his dry humor. Her cheeks turned red and she blushed softly, hastily taking a very generous gulp of her drink.
“Izabel.” She said softly. “My name is Izabel.”

Full, toothy grins appeared on their faces. Each man took her hand to kiss the back of it and they engaged her in polite conversation. It was clear, even to her that they were interested in a chance with her that night, seeming very capable of being able to tempt her with their riches. She was tempted but she knew herself all too well and she wasn’t the kind of girl to trade sex for money, no matter how destitute she was. It was strange, being desired by other men that were not her boyfriend. It wasn’t something she was used to but oddly enough—and while it was something she would never want to admit out loud—she liked it. She liked that these men wanted her even if she would not give into them.

Their conversation was soon cut short when she learned all that champagne directed quickly to her bladder, giving her this desperate need to use the bathroom. Harper managed to escape and found solace in a bathroom. When she left, after making sure her hair was fine and her dress was fine and that even her mask was still in place on her face, she returned back to the ball. She didn’t go looking for the two men and the night was still young.

Feeling like she needed another drink, something a little bit stronger than champagne, Harper went to the bar and requested a glass of chardonnay. She leaned her frame against it and sipped her drink, watching everyone. It screamed of sex, music and a chance for an escape for the night. Such a tempting thing; being a lady of the night…And she liked it.

No expense had been spared by Hawthorne Tisch in his restoration of the Manor. It had taken almost every last penny of the funds acquired from his Father's Estate, but had been worth it. As Tisch entered the grandiose ball-room; the illumination provided by the ornate chandeliers dim enough to add to the mysterious atmosphere, but bright enough to make out the marble, faux roman columns, mahogany paneled walls, and men and women attired in their finest, being entertained by a string quartet placed upon a stage in the far corner; he knew the cost would be returned a hundred-fold.

Word had already spread, and the gathering this night appeared as if it would exceed all others. At $5,000 a pop, plus whatever they spent on the ladies, the men in their tuxedo's and masks could have acquired whatever it was they desired at a much lower price. However, that wasn't the point; Hawthorne intended these events to be a matter of prestige and status, where those with the wealth and power would eventually be unable to consider not attending. Every luxury was at their disposal, and the ladies the most beautiful that money could buy. Hawthorne reaped a profit of $3.000 on each one.

Anonymous as owner and host, he worked the crowd. A hello there, a brief chat here, a longer one there, Hawthorne Tisch subtlety spoke to each man not otherwise occupied to ensure they were content. He didn't pry; that was the whole point of the exercise; but was well aware each had their own priorities. Some were there simply to talk, and to enjoy the attention and flattery they received; some came explicitly to take advantage of the ladies on offer, and wasted no time in making use of one of the lavishly decorated and themed rooms, sound-proofed for privacy, which lined the exterior hallways. Yet others enjoyed the company of many a lady, dancing, flirting and drinking, before retiring to those very same rooms in the wee hours.

Hawthorne didn't forget the women either; he paused to speak to as many as he could on his journey around the room; a glass of champagne with one, a chat and laugh with another, a flirtatious touch or conversation, and a dance or two. The rules were clear; set by him and the escort agency, and articulated to the men who attended. A girl was free to provide any service she liked, at a price she set, however was not to be co-erced or forced to partake in anything she was not comfortable with. Any man who attempted to do so would be immediately identified, ejected and requested never to return. Hawthorne Tisch had a list of those men and their transgressions stored on his laptop hard-drive, however not for the reasons most would have suspected.

Three glasses of bubbly consumed, and throat dry from talking, Hawthorne required a moment of peace and contemplation. His eyes scanned the room, working from left to right, until the entire space was covered, then drifted back to the bar at one wall, and the woman in a black dress. She was requesting her own drink, and unaccompanied by a man as far as he could see, which was unusual. With her back turned to him, the man's eyes moved down her form to appreciate the curves, and manner in which the garment displayed her body. Although Hawthorne did not usually avail himself of the girl's services; these nights kept him busy, and the Madame was not averse to providing him one at no cost when he required his own needs met, in appreciation of his business; there were exceptions to the rule, and he soon found himself slipping in beside her.

"Scotch on the rocks, please." Hawthorne nodded to the attendant, and waited for the drink to be served, before he turned to face the woman. His gaze briefly found her face, then as he lifted his glass to his lips, he slowly and deliberately appraised her body. The fiery liquid swirled in his mouth as he lingered on her breasts, then moved lower to take in her waist, hips, and legs. Hawthorne Tisch made no absolutely no effort to hide the fact that he was undressing this stranger with his eyes - an action which normally would have earned a slap in the face, or a harsh word, but one almost expected in this environment -, or the smile under the mask as, after a further fifteen seconds of silent appraisal, his attention returned to her face. Or what could be seen of it.

"Lovely, very lovely indeed. May I ask your name?" His green orbs crinkled, and he extended a hand for her to take. "At least the one you're using tonight. You can call me Robert."

The taste of chardonnay on her tongue was most welcomed and the liquid went down her throat easily and warming her insides so well. To her, chardonnay was what hard liquors like scotch and whiskey were to others. It gave her more liquid courage than she could have expected and anticipated but there was also the help of the many flutes of champagne she consumed earlier like it was the most delicious tasting water ever. Harper wasn’t very good at flirting. It took months before her current boyfriend asked her out and even longer before she actually slept with him. When it came to men, she was very ill-equipped. Even if she was under the moniker of Izabel, she couldn’t seem to let Harper drift away.

It never happened in her life where she was dressed like a raunchier Cinderella at a beautiful masquerade ball where there were very handsome men dressed impeccably and even gorgeous women dressed like they belonged on the red carpet; so glamorous, so fine and expensive, it all screamed rich and decadent. Even if a man’s hand silently crept down the frame of a fine woman’s backside, a subtle brush of a finger against the side of her clad breast or even a slight graze of lip against her neck. It was subtle, it was tasteful and it was not full on groping or copulation in public for the world to see. The closest she came to a scene like this was when she took a step into a fraternity part in college. She smelled sex, booze and saw a guy and a girl making out very intensely right by the door before she turned and ran back to her dorm. That was the last time she went to a party. To say she was awkward when it came to the opposite sex was an understatement so the fact she even had a boyfriend is a very impressive feat to be reckoned with.

She finished her glass of wine and requested another, just as a man came up to the bar and requested for his own drink as well. She took her refill and he took his scotch and she had every intention of walking away when she saw him looking at her. Even with his mask on, she saw where his eyes were and they were on her. Were they? Awkwardly, she even looked around to make sure and saw no one else that he could be looking at. All the other women were otherwise engaged and she had a feeling he was not checking out the bartender. Oh god, he was checking out her. A quick gulp of her wine gave her the courage she needed to even endure being stared down by this man. Stephanie told her many times that when a man was appraising a woman, there was always some kind of grin or smolder aligned to his facial expressions. Even though he was wearing a mask, she saw a smolder of a kind appear on his face. Was he undressing her with his eyes? Her? Her, of all the women here?

Harper took another hasty sip of her wine, although smaller and not large gulps like before and seemed to swallow difficultly. She was buzzed for sure now but not at all drunk. No, she still had enough awareness to practically wilt beneath his heady gaze. Beautiful green eyes that shone like emeralds, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. “H—“ She started to say her actual name but stopped herself. Her name was Izabel. Izabel. “Izabel. My name is Izabel. Pleasure to meet you Robert.” She nodded her head to him before chancing a look off into the party.

She could see Stephanie silently walking off with a man in a pinstripe tuxedo and a rather elaborate mask. That was quick. Then again considering it was Stephanie who had no filter and knew how to walk, talk and flaunt it, she shouldn’t really be surprised. Well, if Stephanie was going to be occupied now, it meant that Harper was really on her own now. Maybe if she tried to channel her inner Stephanie she could survive this easily and live to tell the tale—to no one! Only problem, she had no idea what she was supposed to say, do or even suggest now for a line of conversation or action. She was only there to make a little bit of money without having to sell her body, that’s what Stephanie promised her. But looking at this man and the more she drank, she was very quickly forgetting her life outside of Izabel. Harper Collins left the building and all that was left was Izabel, a true lady of the night. And she hoped this man would pick her just to be able to spend a little bit more time with him.

Even if she had no idea what to say, do or how to act.

Glancing down at his hand, her cheeks turned redder. Had he been holding his hand out this entire time? She took his hand and offered a smile and while it looked confident, her eyes said otherwise; she was very nervous. "S-Sorry, this is my first--" She didn't know how to phrase it but perhaps she could pass it off that this was her first time doing this sort of thing. "M-My first night. I'm a little nervous. A part of me is telling me to stay calm, hence the wine and the other part is wondering just what you might be thinking or expecting of me."

Or she could very easily put her Christian Loubatin-clad foot in her mouth.

The bar area was not crowded, but not empty either. Surrounding it were mostly couples, men and women in intimate conversation, drinks in hand, palms on thighs and lips next to ears, but here and there men grouped together. The similarity in dress, and masks they wore, caused one to be barely distinguishable from the next, however some had recognised each other by voice alone, and these men discussed business; the accoutrements on their arms treated as if they didn't exist, there only to look pretty, and speak when spoken to. Until it was time to put them to use. Didn't they realise the young ladies profession had no bearing on their intelligence, or ability to comprehend the conversation? Hawthorne shook his head at the naivety of these rich, powerful men unthinkingly revealing confidential information, and possibly placing themselves in a position which could be taken advantage of. An advantage Hawthorne himself would have no problems utilising if the opportunity arose.

Those thoughts had still been in his mind as the liquor made its way down his throat, and brought a pleasant warmth to his body. Not quite as the pleasant as the sight in front of him, however, and as he extended his hand, Tisch was curious as to why she remained unaccompanied. Her eyes were such a beautiful hazel green. An eyebrow arched as she responded.

It remained arched as he sipped his Scotch, and followed her gaze to the far side of the room. A man and a woman were headed towards the exit, and presumably to one of the private rooms, but he noted nothing which may have drawn her particular attention. What was obvious was Izabel's nervousness, apparent even before stated, and the woman's admission that this was her first time struck a discordant note. The Madame had explicit instructions; only the finest ladies were to be provided, those experienced in the desires of men, not easily shocked or embarrassed, and definitely not shy. In Hawthorne's mind that precluded first-timers, and the confident and forward nature of the women who attended was one of the very reasons he rarely took them up on their offers. Not because they weren't attractive or physically arousing; they were; but apparently unlike the other men, he found their flattery and attentions to be fake, no matter with how much apparent sincerity they were issued. The women were professionals, and only did it for the money.

Whilst they may have satiated his physical needs, he could do that with his own hand, and not be required to part with a few thousand dollars for the pleasure. Only occasionally did his desires grow so strong that he required the services of one of the Madame's employees, and the girls he requested were of a different variety than the ones who frequented these events. Hawthorne Tisch didn't look for love, or an emotionally deep connection, however he did enjoy a challenge. The women in front of him was different, and piqued his curiosity.

His lips pursed, and he placed his now empty scotch glass on the bar when her hand finally clasped his, and gently squeezed her fingers. "Your first night?" He repeated her words, and shifted his body so that his knee brushed her leg. "I'm sure the Madame has advised you the expectations?" Intuition had begun to tell Hawthorne that it was possible this woman didn't work for the Madame at all, and his gaze shifted briefly to where hers had been drawn to a few seconds before, then returned to Izabel. "However, let me reiterate."

He closed the distance further between them, and the hand which had held his glass came to rest on her hip. "You're expected to entertain the men; a casual conversation, flirtation and attention. Laugh at their jokes, even when they're not funny, a touch of the arm, or thigh. A dance or two, and a kiss. Anything else which may be allowed to occur is up for you to decide. Of course, there are certain presumptions for what those decisions should be, and varying consequences depending on the ones you eventually make. Either you'll be extremely generously compensated for your time, and your presence welcomed at future events, or you'll leave with a couple of thousand dollars, and not be extended a return invitation." The man's tone was courteous and friendly; an explanation rather than any attempt at intimidation.

"So now you know Izabel, why don't you tell me, what brought you here, and what are your expectations?" Hawthorne's tone changed, his voice slowly lowered to a whisper, and he inclined his head, until with the last word barely audible, his lips brushed hers with the faintest of touches, and nails lightly scraped skin through fabric. "It's possible, as the night goes on, that we may exceed them."

He held that pose for a few moments, then suddenly pulled away, lifted two fingers to the bar attendant and requested fresh drinks. Hawthorne's eyes glittered with amusement when he shifted his attention back to Izabel, and completed his sentence. "Or we may not."

Harper knew she was slowly losing it. That even though she had so much to drink already, it wasn’t giving her courage. If anything it made her feel more nervous and seemed to loosen her tongue. She was afraid she might spill her entire beans to this really gorgeous and intimidating man and blow her entire cover. Not that it was really a cover but she had a feeling that a kindergarten teacher moonlighting as a lady of the night for a few g’s wouldn’t exactly go down so well. She had to get a grip on herself. She was not Harper right now. She was Izabel and Izabel teased men, taunted them and made them wrap around her finger completely. She made them crazy for her and begging for her attention but at the end of the night, it would be her to decide who got to take her away. And that was when she would beat a hasty retreat and promise to come again and again.

This man didn’t seem to show his displeasure completely about the fact it was her first night, a slip she would do well not to let happen again. Since Stephanie was gone and happily entertaining another man for a lot of money, Harper was really on her own. She needed to hold her own and even though this gorgeous man made her want to wilt and melt into a completely love-struck puddle, she was really thankful for the bar which her hip was perched against to keep her standing upright. She could not feel her legs at the moment, especially when he gently squeezed her fingers. Such a strong but gentle grip that made her feel butterflies roaring deep inside of her alcohol laced belly. Izabel…Izabel…Izabel… It was like a mantra to make her remember her role here. She was not going to be seduced by him. She was going to seduce him.

“Well, perhaps the Madame herself didn’t brief me but Serafina did. She’s the one who—“ She was cut short when he suddenly pulled her close and all sense of rhyme and reason went away. All she could smell was his manly scent and sexy musky scent that had her wanting to lean in and simply bury her nose into the crook of his neck. His jaw was so well defined that she wanted to brush her lips along the smooth skin and get completely lost in him. She was pretty sure that a man like him could show a woman like her one hell of a night. Then her boyfriend flashed into her mind and that was when Harper realized she was emotionally cheating and she hadn’t heard a word he had said.

Stephanie had explained it well to her. The women that were hired for this event by the Madame were women of the night. They were experienced in catering to a man, teasing him, flirting with him and making him feel like he was the most important man of the night. However, they were also experienced in playing with the affections and attentions of the man and that it was always up to the woman on who ended up with a particular man. There were enough women to go around for all the men at every event should any one in particular decide to get cozy and intimate in private but ultimately the woman had the power and the final say and the women were the higher commodities and priorities next to the money. After all, it was the women and the favors they showed a night that made the Manor so popular for these very rich men who needed nights away from their wives, girlfriends, even their mistresses; to simply bed a woman they never had to call again or to simply bed a woman who was so different that they had a reason to go on with their everyday living, just to see a specific woman again.

It wasn’t any different than what this Robert had said but considering she hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying and was actually admiring him like a moth to a flame, all she could do was simply go with it. Wing it. If she understood the way Stephanie did things when they went out, surely Harper could imitate it into something of her own. Honing her inner seductive woman to beguile and wile a man into seduction.

His next string of conversation she definitely caught and as he spoke, she allowed herself to contemplate. Why was she here? What did she expect? It would be easy to simply speak the truth. That she needed money and Serfina was her roommate and told her all she had to do was entertain some men, look pretty and she’d leave with a few thousand dollars simply for being there. Even if she didn’t sleep with any man, a couple thousand would be a lot more than she had and it would always be nice to have a little extra since she was strapped for money. A kindergarten teacher’s salary with the kind of bills she had from a good education was not enough. This would certainly help.

What was she doing here then? So far though, she had learned that this was like nothing else she had experienced. Just being in this man’s presence as opposed to the other two men she had been talking to earlier, she found herself drawn to him and she wanted to get lost in him. It was so immediate. It was never like this with her boyfriend. It was only after a couple of months of dating that she finally agreed to take things to a newer level because she was ready and because she wanted him. She didn’t even know Robert and she wanted him right there, right then, up against the bar. It was insane. But she was enjoying simply letting go. Stephanie always said she was so tightly wound and high strung and never let herself enjoy any of the luxuries that life happened to hand to her. She always turned them away but right now, she just wanted this man to keep talking to her because she actually felt something for once in her life.

Finding an ounce of confidence, a smile slowly appeared on her face. She sipped the last bit of her chardonnay before setting the empty wine glass on the bar top. “If I am being perfectly honest Robert, what I expect is for something different than what I am used to. I am the kind of woman who does not let go of her inhibitions nearly enough to truly enjoy what life has to offer. Tonight is about that. Turning a new leaf, embarking upon a new journey and letting go for the first time in my entire life.” That was so easy to say. It was true, without talking about money. “I know, that seems that I am very tightly wound and highly strung. But that’s why I am here. To prove that I am not that at all.”

When their new round of drinks came their way, she picked up her glass and took a refreshing sip, the tangy-sourness of the wine coating her tongue and easily swimming down her throat. It was oh so refreshing and exactly what she needed to survive this night a lot better than she let on. “It’s intoxicating.” She stepped a little closer as if she wanted to tell a secret. She leaned up to his ear and purred in a soft, sultry undertone. “I was never one of those women who men looked at. I always admired women who got this certain look from men, the kind that said, ‘I want to eat you up.’” Her lips lightly brushed along the outer shell of his ear. “I think I understand now. Especially from the way you’ve been looking at me.” She smiled against his ear. “It’s intoxicating.”

Thus, Izabel was born.

Hawthorne was a little buzzed, three glasses of bubbly, and a scotch on the rocks consumed. That may have been the cause of his flirtatious and teasing behaviour, or it could have just been his nature. The admission from Izabel that it was her first night had piqued his curiosity, not to mention that the dress she wore, and what he envisaged lay underneath, aroused more than just that. However, what else had entered the host's mind, was that, if she were not one of the Madame's girls, Izabel shouldn't have been there. Who was the woman, and what was her intent?

His gestures; the touch of her body, and brush of their lips, had been designed to taunt, and elicit information. That it had been enjoyable at the same time, an additional benefit. How did this stranger worm her way into the manor, apparently without having been required to sign one of the confidentiality agreements he supplied to the Madame. Hawthorne Tisch didn't appreciate surprises that could upset his plans, and the wealth and power contained in the room were of too much importance for the man to take any chances, though he didn't allow his motivations to show in his demeanour. She still intrigued him in other ways, and what was to happen between he and Izabel would be dependent on how the night panned out, and what she revealed. The woman didn't always make the final choice.

Fresh drinks ordered, Hawthorne's lips curled into a smile, and his countenance relaxed. The apparent nerves and sincerity with which she'd responded alleviated most of his concerns about ulterior motives, apart from those of which she spoke, and he found himself attracted to her honesty as much as the flesh underneath the black fabric. She was definitely different.

Then a change appeared to come over her, and the confidence she gained, either in herself, or as a result of alcohol, became almost a physical presence. When she picked up her chardonnay and leaned in to whisper against his ear, he bit back a gasp of surprise. However, Hawthorne quickly recovered, and the suppressed gasp almost became a chuckle. Not that he found her actions funny, quite the opposite; the touch of her lips, breath vibrating against lobe, press of body into his, and sweet scent, caused him to think about throwing her against the bar, hiking up her dress, and taking her right there and then; but because he hadn't suspected her capable of them. Yet, he had.

The attempt to tease, taunt and seduce in an effort to alleviate his wallet of cash was something Hawthorne regularly dealt with at these events. Izabel's purpose may not have been the same as those other women, but her actions were similar, and the man had learned to maintain control, even when his urges attempted to insist otherwise. His hand found her waist, and he moved forward to press her back against the bar, and stepped in front of her. The movement caused her lips to pull away from his ear, and as his green orbs locked on hers, he held her in place with a firm grip.

"Is this different enough for you, Izabel?" His head tilted, and his gaze roamed the room to let her knew what it was to which he referred, then returned to her face. "Just to be here? Or are you going to allow those inhibitions to disappear completely, and select one of these men, these complete strangers, to take you to a room, and ravish you in ways you never could have imagined?" The smile on his lips grew, and his breath floated against her face. "Are you truly going to let go, or are you not ready for that? Is it enough just to be here in this company, and fantasise about what could be, rather than live it?"

His free hand moved up to touch her wrist, and tugged the chardonnay glass from her grasp. His body now trapped hers completely, and the fragrant aroma of her perfume engulfed his senses. As if in slow motion, he placed the vessel on the bar, then his hand moved to cup her chin, and gently pulled her head towards his; voice now a whisper. "It is intoxicating, Izabella, as are you. It's your freshness which attracts me, and it's what would attract the other men, make them want to eat you up, if only they were knew. Don't attempt to be too much like Serafina, or the rest. Be you. The woman you want to be" His thumb ran across her lower lip, and fingers caressed her cheek, then one hooked into her mask and drew it back an inch.

"As much as I'd love to discover what's under the dress, I'd be even more intrigued to see what's under this." His head inclined and his mouth brushed her neck, then as she'd done with him, moved to her ear. "Would I see Izabel, or would she have disappeared?" Hawthorne grazed her lobe with his teeth, then his lips made their way to her throat. His eyes lifted to meet hers. "You know, Serafina should never have invited you, and for that, if the host discovers her deception, she could be punished."

With a little nip to the skin of her throat, Hawthorne pulled back with a smile on his face, dropped his touch from her chin, and offered her his hand. "Then, some women do so enjoy punishment, don't they Izabel? Care to dance?"

He moved quick enough but not hastily. It was like a reaction or maybe just an instinct based on what she said, how she said. Harper knew she felt drunk not just from the alcohol but also from his scent. There was something about this man that she felt drawn to. She only just met him but there was this inane need to be near him, take in more of his scent and practically melt. She felt like this high school girl who was experiencing a very real and deep crush, something more than she felt with her actual boyfriend. That if this guy looked at her a certain way, she’d most likely melt. The entire time she just wanted him to look at her and if he did, she would feel like her entire world would suddenly make sense that the very bane of her existence would suddenly have a purpose.

Perhaps it really was just the alcohol. Or it was ever more the fact that she had never done something like this in her entire life and she wanted to keep going. She didn’t want the night to end, not when she just got some shred of confidence, enough to not be a warbling mess around him that couldn’t even put a coherent strand of a sentence together without sounding like a stuttering hot mess. That and she just wanted his attention on her and on her alone. She liked his company and she liked being near him. Perhaps she had enough confidence in her to make sure she kept his interest. The woman’s decision only went so far and if the guy was not interested, well it’s not like she could force it.

She felt something that she didn’t even feel with her boyfriend; raw danger and even rawer excitement. She was the moth to his flame and she was so close to getting burned most likely but she couldn’t help herself.

Before she knew it, Harper found her back against the edge of the bar and this man was so close to her, all she could drink in was the closeness, the edgy purr to his gravely voice and his musk that she inhaled like it was the most addictive cocaine. Perhaps it really was the alcohol that let her inhibitions go free because she didn’t even recall her boyfriend right now. It was just her and this masked wonder that made her head do some incredible thump-thump-somersaults.

She wasn’t aware of anything. All she was very aware of was his body against hers. His body heat seared into hers and warmed her even more than the alcohol did and her heart was thrumming insanely in her chest; she wondered if he could see it pounding through her rib cage like Jim Carey’s heart did in The Mask.

A soft gasp came from her as he posed a rather remarkable question. Was she going to let go enough to actually drift away with one of these men and let them ravish her? What struck her more was that he did not include himself in that list of a potential warm body and company for her tonight. He was talking of other men, like he was purposely letting it be known that she would not be acquiring him for the night, no matter how cheap of a price. She swallowed hard. Was that rejection without even expecting it? Is this what rejection felt like? Because it was exactly the reason she didn’t particularly try to let herself go. She wasn’t sure how she’d respond to it.

She was left confused, her hand empty of her wine glass which she didn’t even realize he had taken from her. Her lips parted slightly as he cupped her chin and brought their faces so close and that confusion nearly took a toil. He was attracted to her. She attracted him yet he made no discourse or declaration that he’d take her that night. Was she really so upset about that? Izabel didn’t have a boyfriend but Harper did and it mattered because Izabel didn’t really exist, it was all Harper. Yet she was almost obviously upset that she wouldn’t be whisked away by this mysterious man wearing a mask that made his green eyes as alluring as a flame for a moth to find so irresistible. It was like she didn’t have a boyfriend at all and it scared her but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that she wouldn’t have a night of endless passion with this man when she so badly wanted to.

That sting of whatever kind of rejection it was seemed to fade away by his encouragement and she found herself gently smiling. Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth grazed her neck, leaving delicious shivers in its wake and she leaned into him almost, eager for something more. It never felt this hot.

“I-I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure if Izabel would disappear and if he would see through to who she really was without truly knowing. Right now it felt like Izabel was slipping away from her but she didn’t care. She wanted this man to see what was underneath her mask, her dress, her lingerie and see all of her. She wanted his sexy perusal to drink in from head to toe and then have him do unspeakable things to her that she’d never speak of outside of the Manor. A night to remember. She just might be one step closer to achieving just that. Suddenly all her morals of sleeping with a man for money went out the window. She didn’t care about the money. She just wanted him.

Punishment—it was a very intriguing thought and somehow she didn’t think he meant the kind that would terrify her enough to run for the hills. Just the very kind that would arouse her further and make her want to bend to any whim of his. She wasn’t sure if she was to feel insulted that he said she should never have been invited or delighted at the prospect that he might be enjoying her company more than he would have gathered, with someone who was not originally intended to be invited as a lady of the night. Harper felt severe mixed feelings and Izabel was simply anticipating the moment she could steal him away. Although Harper was waiting for that moment as well.

She looked at him when he pulled back, that lingering nip to her neck making her bite her lower lip. So. Good. So. Tantalizing. She took his hand without really thinking and in a delay response said, “Maybe some do. Maybe most just don’t know it yet.” She was speaking of herself when she said that though. She wondered if he’d pick up on it. Surely he would. She was frigid. “I’d love to dance Robert. And hopefully you mean with you because I believe I’ve made my choice.” She turned so she faced him, walking backwards as she led him onto the dance floor. “I just really hope that you may factor me into your choice. If not…well then perhaps I can earn my punishment elsewhere.” She saw the two men she had been talking to earlier and her lips turned up into a mischievous smirk. “Perhaps a double punishment.”

The smooth and slow strings of a divine song began to play and she raised her hand holding his and slid her free hand over his broad shoulder. She turned her gaze up to his and tilted her head a little bit to side. “And do tell Robert, what are your expectations of the night? Are you looking for something different or the same charade over and over again?”

There was a plethora of attractive, young, well-dressed, and sweet-scented woman in the ballroom; all of who would have been willing to accompany Hawthorne to a private suite, and shed their clothes in a heartbeat with the opening of his wallet. If asked, he couldn't have articulated why, out of all of them, he'd been impelled to approach Izabel. It may have been because she stood alone at the bar - an island amongst the sea of couples, and escorts working their charms on the guests -, however not for the fact that it made her an easy mark, but for what Hawthorne had intuited it said about her. She was somehow different.

As with any other male, it couldn't be denied that Hawthorne was attracted to youth and beauty, but unlike the others, that wasn't all he was attracted to. Once you'd slept with so many such women, there remained nothing special about it, and Tisch required more to arouse him. Intellect, conversation, wit; a woman's brain was as erotic to Hawthorne as any cleavage on display, or that which she possessed between her legs; particularly a brain which retained a sense of naivety and innocence. Rightly or wrongly, as he spoke to Izabel, that's the impression he gained. Was she playing him, was he playing her, or were they playing each other.

Her change in demeanour and seductive words had put him temporarily off balance. For a moment she'd become one of the hookers; wishing for nothing more than what the rest had also come for; but then he'd recalled her honesty, and the sincerity in her tone, and his questions were ones of real curiosity. He drank in her perfume, and allowed his hot breath to float over her skin when his hard, lean body pressed against hers, and he nipped her throat. The gasp that escaped her mouth when he asked her intentions was, to Hawthorne, a sign that she was not even certain; regardless of what answer spilled from her mouth.

Azure blue eyes held hers when his hand motioned for her to dance, then a throaty, uninhibited chuckle emanated from his chest, and fell from his lips. Hawthorne's head shook with mirth, and he linked her fingers between his. "Touche, Izabel." His gaze flicked to the two men she'd spoken of, as he allowed her to lead him towards the dance floor, then it returned to her. "You may have made your choice, but I'm not a man who allows others to make his. Rest assured that when my decision is made, you will be the first to know. It is nice to be desired, after all."

The host grinned underneath his mask, and his eyes scanned hers. "However, if not me, I'm certain they would love to punish you, and offer an exorbitant amount for the pleasure. Possibly they'd be willing to so in this very room, so that we could all watch?" Hawthorne's tone was light and teasing as her hands slid to his shoulder, and he placed one of his own on the small of her back, and the other on her waist. "Come here long enough, and you'll meet all types of men, learn things that you never dreamed of. Some enjoy participating, and others remain voyeurs." He didn't expand, leaving Izabel to possibly wonder if he were one of those, as he manoeuvred them between two slow-dancing couples. "Then, such a public display may be too much for one who has not experienced punishment before."

It was a question posed as a statement, and Hawthorne allowed it to hang in the air as the song began, and he pulled her closer so that her body would press against his. In time with the slow music, he moved, and piercing blue orbs shone through the holes in the mask. "What are my expectations? I have not yet decided. A roomful of beautiful, and attractive young women, yet they bore me. They flirt and flaunt, and spread their legs, and moan and scream and pant, but it's all an act, Izabel. They take our money, and pretend to derive pleasure from what we do with them - and surely, some of the ladies, in the moment, do; even love it. However, in the end, it's only a job and what occurs has no meaning. No impact. The escorts return to their husbands or boyfriends, count their earnings, and what has occurred becomes a distant memory."

Hawthorne's head had dipped closer, and his palm slid down to cup Izabel's ass as he turned her in time with the beat, and lightly brushed his lips against hers. "I'm one who likes to make an impact, Izabel. I desire to know that, when a girl departs the Manor, she is never going to forget me, and I've affected her life. For worse, or for better, it doesn't matter, and really, is there such a vast chasm between the two? Is it not only a matter of perspective, and conscience, as to which is which?" Tisch pulled back, so that he could once again eyes with Izabel, his palm returned to her back, and the grip on her waist tightened.

The mans voice remained calm, and demeanour friendly, but his words became more crude. "I could fuck you tonight, if you allowed it, and compensate you for the pleasure, but where would that leave us? Your innocence would be removed in one fell swoop." Hawthorne's gaze intensified as his head shook, as if that just wouldn't do. "No, Izabel. A woman such as you? I'd much prefer she return to her life untouched, and imagined it being me the next time she was ravished by her lover - you do have a lover, don't you? To allow her time to contemplate what could have been, and then to discover if she'd dare return, with no other intent than to deliberately fuck a strange man for money. No alcohol, no spur of the moment decisions, or peer pressure. No excuses. Purely by virtue of her, alone, and in full charge of her faculties, making a conscious choice to do that which she knows she shouldn't."

His speech was slow and sure, and he continued to move his feet in time with the music, partly wishing he could see underneath the mask, and gauge the woman's reaction. "Does that excite you, Izabel? Would you return of your own volition; or in the cold light of day, would the guilt and your morals cause you to flee?" His eyes briefly roamed over her shoulder, to the two men she had indicated. "Because, despite your pretences, I do believe you are an innocent. However, it is also possible that I could have you pegged wrong. If so, my loss, and you may wish to approach my associates with your offer."

He spoke of these women as if he had tasted them all and perhaps, he had if he was an avid customer. Stephanie told her stories here and there but she never gave names. All of them being her experiences, she told Harper of the times men didn’t even have to flaunt their wallets or give a price. She would select a man based on how he charmed her in the bedroom. What he lacked in actual ability in bed, he made up for in price which tended to be the case most of the time. Some nights, she’d come home and elaborate on one or two occasions where she met a man who was fit to be deemed an Adonis and a beautiful sex god because he totally rocked her world. It didn’t happen often but when it did, she went home incredibly satisfied and even richer with the amount of money that burned a hole in her purse. Hell, Stephanie was the sole reason that Harper even had her apartment in the first place. She took care of the rent and Harper took care of cleaning, cooking and keeping actual food in the place.

She understood. Even more, Stephanie understood that Harper wasn’t the kind of woman who could trade her body willingly for money. Harper didn’t judge her for it and Stephanie didn’t mock her for it. They did what they did and worked in a really unique and bizarre harmony for each other. If someone told the high school Harper that after college and landing her dream job, she’d be living with a high end escort and even became really good friends with her, she wouldn’t have believed it for the world. Now it was reality and life and honestly, despite the stress of paying off her loans and having no money for anything, at least she got to teach and that was really the only job she would wake up at the crack of dawn for.

Now in this position, here at this beautiful party with perhaps the most scrumptious man she had ever seen in her entire life, even with a mask hiding most of his face and complexion, Harper was way out of her element. Robert was a very good charmer. Even as he denounced these other women and basically laid out their job in such simplistic terms, that part of her that just wanted to hear that he was going to take her upstairs for a night of unbridled passion of sex that she didn’t know of even with her boyfriend was so present that she was nearly quaking at the anticipation.

He was a true tease. Cupping her fear, feeling her and touching her and all along he had no idea how wet and aroused she was. And if he did, he made no mention or intuitive response to it. He simply charmed her, teased her to no end and actually thought this Izabel persona she wore was worthy enough to keep his attention long enough. She was flattered, very much complimented and she felt like the most beautiful woman in the room.

And then his assessment came and she thought for sure she was for keeps. He was crude. He would fuck her. No, he said could. Wait…could? It felt like the rest of her went on autopilot. Sure, she heard his comment about being punished publicly by the two men she glanced at, that she made sure Robert saw. She wouldn’t do anything like that. Maybe with him…no, she wouldn’t do anything like that. She couldn’t. It took a lot of finger pulling and practically begging on Stephanie’s part to get Harper to agree to attending in the first place. Yet here she was, wanting to throw all of that away just to do anything with Robert. Perhaps that was her innocence that he was referring to. She was moving on autopilot during their dance but her focus amplified on him greatly as he spoke. He wanted something different than she wanted, like he was telling her what she should go home and do but more than anything, he wanted to keep her untouched, pure and innocence. Oh god, did he think she was a virgin? She hadn’t been a virgin since high school and sure she didn’t exactly date around a lot but she had standards. God, she acted virginal didn’t she? “I-I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her Izabel person cracked tremendously, she felt sobered up and she was all and only Harper. He wasn’t even going to fight for her or try and steal her away if she did march up to those two men and made them an offer to refuse. He said it would be his loss and she wasn’t sure what to feel. She felt mixed feelings. From the moment he walked over to talk to her, she felt a mixture of heat, arousal and need rise up and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. The only real thing the alcohol did was give her the confidence to step out of her comfort zone for once in her life. She had gone for a last ditch effort and she never felt more pathetic than she did right now.

Immediately, even as the music of the song still played, her hands fell away from around his neck and she stepped back out of his arms. She felt stripped of whatever she was trying to achieve. She felt like an idiot for even showing up there and because of her innocence or whatever misconceptions this man thought, she was not going to get anything? No, she was going to go home with a couple grand but money felt absolutely unnecessary in comparison to what she really wanted; him. She’d always been picky about men, held very high standards and really, being with her boyfriend was the best and right decision. She just wanted to be bad. Really bad. That’s when it hit her; her boyfriend. Filled with guilt, she stepped away from him and swallowed hard. She didn’t want any of it. And oddly enough, she was still aroused and it wasn’t even her boyfriend who did it for her. “I have to go home now.” It was such a sad tone coming from her, so small, and so defeated.

Even in this beautiful and opulent gown, she just felt naked. Goodness, she felt like she did the night of her prom when her date, a supposedly really nice guy who left her early when his ex-girlfriend flaunted herself around him to get his attention back. It worked too and she ended up leaving her prom early to go home, curl up on the couch with her mom and watch chick flicks while binge eating really fatty ice cream and crying here and there, mostly about the prom and not the romantic or sad moments in the movies. It was a sickening feeling and all she knew was she had to get out of there. How? There was a limo that Stephanie hired that could take her back home. Surely that was the idea since she didn’t gather her roommate would want to come back home with her.

Turning, she picked up the hem of her dress a little bit and she made a mad dash out of the room. Unlike prom, she didn’t feel a surge of emotion rushing to her eyes as she ran out. She did feel frustration as her mask became a huge damper and she ripped it right off of her face and flung it away from her like it was the plague. Outside now, she hurried over to the limo she and Stephanie rode in, recognizing their driver. “Take me home right now, please.” She practically climbed into the back of the limo and sat back. The door shut, the engine started and she didn’t look back once. Robert was right about one thing; she wasn’t going to forget him. The sight of that handsome face beneath that beautiful mask would be forever burned in her retina.

Once home, Harper shed the dress, wiped her face clean of make up and took a shower to just wash away the stupid choice of the night. When all was said and done and she looked like herself again, she came down from the sort of humiliation she felt and just stared at herself in the mirror. She saw herself but what she felt was so much arousal, even after that. I’d much prefer she return to her life untouched, and imagined it being me the next she was ravished by her lover…

Dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a flannel shirt, she walked to her room and grabbed her cell phone. She knew it was late but she hoped he would still be awake. He was. He told her to come over and by the time she got there, the moment the door opened, he wrapped her up in his arms. She didn’t tell him what happened. She just told him she needed to see him and hoped he wouldn’t mind.

Wrapping her arms around his back, she nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder and inhaled deeply his scent. All she could think of was the way Robert smelled. His scent, his musk, the intoxication of his aftershave, all of it half-contributed to her arousal. Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his neck in a soft kiss and her eyes remained close. Her lips trailed up to his ear and she slightly whispered in a half moan, “Fuck me tonight. No making love. I want you to fuck me.”

Hawthorne only partook of the pleasures offered by the many women who attended the Manor when he was in the mood, and found an escort who attracted him not only physically, but intellectually, or who had a certain aura; one that couldn't be easily defined, but Tisch recognised when present. However, he'd never slept with the same woman on more than occasion, or wished to see them a second night. It wasn't because they weren't sexually adventurous enough for his tastes or that they didn't (at least pretend to) appreciate his prowess, and shower him with flatter and praise; they did. But what else was to be expected?

The attendees he fornicated with were Escorts, paid to fuck, and that told its own story. Not that he had any moral compunctions, or thought lesser of them for their profession, but they weren't what he searched for. Izabel was new, she was fresh, and she hadn't been supplied by the Agency. Any naivety and innocence he sensed, if his presumptions were even correct, bore no relationship to intelligence or virginity. It was a state of mind more than anything else, and what Hawthorne believed she possessed. Izabel had yet to be exposed to the ways of the world as those others had, or experienced what they had experienced; had not become immune to the desires and requests of men, no longer easy to shock or surprise.

Where there was no surprise, hesitation, or second-guessing, to Hawthorne, there was no emotion and no feeling. To experience something for the first time, which filled you with either dread or excitement, and caused your nerves to jangle, and body to pump with adrenaline, was one of the reasons for living. The whores had seen it all, done it all - if not in practice, then in theory -, however, not Izabel.

"No, Izabel, I don't believe you are a virgin, however one doesn't need to be a virgin to retain their innocence. And one isn't required to have slept with a multitude of men to have lost her purity. It has nothing to do with your actions, it all has to do with up here." Hawthorne spoke softly, and tapped his head with a finger as Izabel reacted to his speech. That it had impacted her was obvious, but wasn't certain in what manner. Had he shocked her? Offended her? Aroused her? The uncertainty was part of the thrill.

It was why he didn't attempt to stop her as she insisted it time to leave, or react to the defeated tone in her voice. He may have offended her after all, however that wasn't the intent. Possibly when given time to contemplate his exact words, she'd come to realise what he'd actually been attempting to convey. That he wished to sleep with her, and desired Izabel above all others in the room, but only with her fully informed consent. When she was sure, within herself, and with the knowledge it would come at a risk. That of Izabel metamorphosing into someone she may not even know existed.

"Goodbye Izabel. Or should it be Au Revoir?" Hawthorne felt a sadness as he called out, and lifted a hand to wave at her retreating back. Would she return? Had his words encouraged her, or driven her away? Only time would provide the answer. The man departed the dance-floor as she stepped through the exit.

*************************************************

Steve Kirk napped on the living room sofa in his two-bedroom, third floor apartment, with a book lying on his chest, when the phone rang. The novel landed with a thud on the floor as he reacted to the sound, and eyes flew open. It took a few seconds to locate the phone, then he smiled when he saw who it was that called. Harper.

Though they'd only dated a few months, the twenty-eight year old physical education teacher had a good feeling about how their relationship was progressing. The moment he'd laid eyes on her at the beginning of term, he'd found himself attracted. Unlike most of the other women her age, Harper wasn't an outrageous flirt who wore way too much makeup, and dressed like a slut. She appeared to have a good, mature head on her shoulders.

It hadn't mattered that it had taken them quite a while to have sex, and their first time had been only a month before. Not that he didn't enjoy the physical side of a relationship, but there were more important things which led to contentment for Steve, such as love, commitment, and companionship. He could already envision the wedding, then the three kids and a dog who'd fill their split-level house, with the perfect green lawn, surrounded by a white picket-fence. That dream had been good enough for his parents, it would be good enough for him. What more could a man want out of life?

He heard something in her tone that sent a note of discord through him, but didn't question her about it over the phone. Harper had requested he come over and, regardless of the time, that's what he'd do. It was always best to speak face-to-face. Steve threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt which clung to his athletic torso, then after a lick of the comb through short-cropped blonde hair which sat atop a conventionally handsome 'All-American' face, was out the door.

It wasn't far to Harper's apartment. Steve knocked, and she enveloped him her arms before he could even say hello or take a look at her. Automatically, he returned the gesture, "Hey baby," and kissed her on the forehead. The seductive words, issued in a manner he wasn't used to hearing, took a moment to register.

When they did, he pulled back with Harper still in his embrace, and his green eyes widened. Instead of the request arousing him, as it may have most men, Steve's expression was one of confusion and concern. "Everything okay?" His hand began to rub her back, and he nuzzled his neck against her lips when she kissed it, then cupped her chin gently in his palm, and lifted her face so that their eyes met. "Did you and Stephanie have a fight?" It was the only reason he could think of for the urgency he heard in her demands.

”Everything okay?” Her eyes closed and her libido nearly took a nosedive. Of course, he would think that something was wrong because she said something that was so outrageously unlike Harper Collins. If he hadn’t been rubbing her back and heightening her senses of her already very aroused self, she would have told him to turn around and go home because she wasn’t in the mood any longer.

”Did you and Stephanie have a fight?” At that point, he had cupped her chin and made her look at him, she couldn’t really hide any of that. A small sigh came from her and she looked away finally, pulling away from him. Her hands flew to her hips and she shook her head. By the fact she didn’t tell him to go take a hike, it was an implication that she was inviting him in.

Her apartment was rather opulent for a two bedroom wonder. It was the kind of apartment that Stephanie could afford since she was paying the most of it and Harper made up for that in cooking and domestic abilities. It worked out well and both girls were quite happy with the entire place. The front door opened up to this big lavish living space with a TV mounted on the wall and shelves with the DVD player, VCR and even the Direct TV DVR. There was a black faux-suede couch and a matching love seat, parallel from each other with a space in between for the glass coffee table. Underneath all those pieces of furniture, the floor was hardwood but covered with a very large and plush area rug in a deep burgundy color. It was plush, lavish and oozed luxury. Sometimes, Harper fantasized having sex on that rug.

There was a small hall, open of course, that split two ways. One way went to the two bedrooms and the big bathroom they shared and the other way led to the kitchen and the patio that led out onto a beautiful balcony with a hell of a view. That was why the place was as expensive because the view of the entire city skyline, especially at night or sunset was the most beautiful thing next to an ocean view. Her favorite part of the entire apartment though was the kitchen. That was why she said yes immediately before knowing the price of rent; that kitchen was like her dream kitchen. Beautiful oak cabinets, wood floors, gas burners, a big and spacious refrigerator and so much panty storage space; even more than that, the actual space of the entire place was so big, it didn’t feel cramped. She could be in there, Stephanie could be in there—hell, Stephanie’s entire harem of women and men could be in there, it was that spacious!

But the real and true beauty of the place was the amount of windows. There was no darkness in the place unless they pulled the drapes closed. There was so much light, that was the half the enjoyment of waking up early. Morning coffee out on the balcony and letting the light breeze, fresh sun and air of the morning waft over her. It was heaven. Some times, she fantasized about being bent over the railing and taken like there was no tomorrow for the entire world to see.

Harper always had different fantasies. She lived them through some guilty pleasure of erotica but she felt disgusting for liking such things. She should be normal. She should like normal things, making love and…vanilla stuff. It was bad to think this way, hell it was bad to have asked her boyfriend not to make love to her but to just fuck her. Sometimes though, even the most normal girl can have her boyfriend fuck her. He shouldn’t be questioning it. He was a guy. He should have just picked her up and took her into the bedroom and fuck her silly because that’s what a normal, horny horn-dog of a guy would have done. Maybe Steve wasn’t normal?

Perching on the arm rest of the loveseat, she looked at Steve and her hands flopped in her lap. “Is it so wrong that I want my boyfriend?” She stood up and walked over to him. “Is it so wrong that I want my boyfriend to take me with so much passion and roughness that I scream his name?” It was as if what happened that night changed her. She opened up more, she wanted passion, she wanted intimacy and there was none of that. She wanted raw, carnal and lustful passion that in the end, they were both a fit of sweaty hot messes gasping for breath. “Or what? Do you not have it in you? Haven’t you ever just want to let go Steve? Let all your inhibitions go and…” She paused, thinking for the best choice of words and moved closer to him, her hands sliding up his shirt and over his chest. “just take what you want? Just…fuck?”

It was so strange using this kind of language. She never would have been able to say these kinds of words. Maybe she still had the affects of the alcohol but she felt like a new person; like someone had just awoken the true soul of Harper Collins.

Steve's tone was one of concern. The words that had come from Harper were unlike her, and his immediate thought was that the desperation, or need, he sensed in them must have been caused by an unpleasant event. However, with her chin in his hand, and eye's locked, he realised he'd said the wrong thing, and opened his mouth to apologise. Not for the question itself, but for the fact that he could have been more subtle, and just allowed Harper to speak without him making assumptions.

The man's sigh matched that of his girlfriend's when she pulled away, and he followed her in, and his gaze automatically scanned the room. As was usual, he wondered how Harper, on her teacher's wage, managed to afford such a luxurious apartment. His own salary barely covered the rent on a third-floor residence; not nearly as spacious, and definitely without the view. Their relationship was not yet at the stage where they discussed Finances, and Steve had assumed that she must have come to some arrangement with her flat-mate, where Harper's share was less than half of what it must cost. What Stephanie did for a living was all about a bit vague to the man; from the few times he'd brought the subject up, he'd gathered it had something to do with modelling. Though not his type, she was definitely attractive enough. If he'd known she was, in fact, a whore - there was no distinction between high-class escorts, and common street-walker's to Steve Kirk - he would have pleaded for Harper to find alternative accommodation immediately.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of her voice, and realised he stood in the middle of the room, with Harper perched on the sofa. Blue eyes met hers, and he moved forward when she came towards him. "I'm sorry, baby." Steve whispered as his arms slid to her waist to bring her closer, then he licked his lips, and he swallowed hard; his mouth suddenly dry. Harper's actions were affecting him, whether he wanted them to or not. Once again, she'd surprised him. He took a deep breath, then slid his arms from her waist, to take hold of the hands on his chest. "Of course I've thought of letting go, and there's nothing wrong with it at all. I was just concerned; the way you asked me; that something must have happened. You know I want you."

And it was true. Steve did want her, and was more than capable of ripping a woman's clothes off, bending her over the sofa, and pounding her like an animal. He'd had his share of girls in his college days, and wasn't afraid to take what he wanted, and screw them like there was no tomorrow. It had been ingrained in his youthful DNA, and that's what had him tense. The girls back then had meant nothing to him, as he'd meant nothing to them. The sex had been mutual, with no emotional connection, and once over, they'd gone their separate ways. The ones Steve had fucked, as Harper had so eloquently phrased it, were not the type he'd invite home to meet his parents, however the woman in front of him was.

"It's just. I sowed my oats back in my college days, and that's when I let go of my inhibitions." Steve squeezed Harper's hands, and leaned in for a soft kiss. "I'm almost thirty now, no longer a horny teenager with no self control. You took me by surprise, that's all." In the recesses of his mind, he was aware there must be a reason for her change, and thought he detected alcohol on her breath. Maybe that was it, she and Stephanie had consumed a few drinks, and it was the liquor talking? Or hormones? They hadn't been dating that long, and women could be unpredictable. It wasn't the Harper he was acquainted with, but that didn't mean, in his subconscious, her words hadn't aroused him, and reminded him of past days, where he'd sleep with any female who'd been willing to spread her legs. The problem was he'd never retained much respect for them in the morning, and when it came to Harper Collins, Steve Kirk was struck with an affliction akin to the Madonna-whore complex.

"You want me to fuck you?" He kissed her again, and moved forward, in an attempt to shift her back, and towards her bedroom. Sex, to Steve, was something best kept private, and the last thing he wanted was for Stephanie to walk in. "Then that's what I'll do, fuck you like a dirty whore." The words sounded foreign coming from his mouth, even to Steve himself, and he averted his eyes, hoping they wouldn't come back to haunt him when Harper sobered up. "Let's go to your room." It didn't occur to the man that no matter what happened there, how urgently he took her, any names he used, or dominance he displayed, that the moment for raw, unbridled passion, and loss of inhibitions, had already come and gone.

Hawthorne Tisch would have known, and not hesitated. He'd have simply smiled, bent Harper over the edge of the sofa, gripped a handful of hair, ripped her panties and sweatpants over her hips, and pounded her so hard she'd have been unable to walk properly for a week. And if Stephanie returned home unannounced, and caught them in the act? Well, then, he would have slammed Harper with even more vigour, and put on a show.

"Okay, baby?

It seemed that she might have gotten through to him. She searched his eyes and his face for any sign of emotion toward what she posed but she didn’t see it. His hands slid around her waist and drew her closer. He took her hands and held them to her chest. He said he wanted her. He mentioned his college days, how he had let go then and all that was in the past. Then he said he’d fuck her, fuck her the way she wanted him to like the dirty whore she was and just hearing those words should have sparked some negative reaction. It didn’t. Then again, since she wanted it, wanted him, just wanted raw sex, those words should have turned her on. It didn’t even do that. Her libido took a nosedive the moment he assumed that something must have been wrong. She didn’t even want it. The moment was gone and if he even tried to stimulate her, he’d learn that she felt as dry as sandpaper down between her legs right now.

It was a half-assed attempt to kiss him back but also the even more half-assed attempt to push his arms from around her and send him back home. That’s what she wanted to do. Send him home so she could lie in her bed alone and not think about the fact that her boyfriend was…boring. He didn’t know how to just get into what he wanted. Take what he wanted. No, even now as he conceded, it wasn’t because he wanted it. Sure, he wanted her but it’s not like he wanted to give her what she really wanted. Hell, Harper didn’t even know what she truly wanted, all she knew was she didn’t want vanilla. She didn’t want to be taken in her bedroom tonight. Because if he really wanted to let go the way she wished he would, he would have pinned her to the couch or bent her over the arm rest of it and pound her until she didn’t know her own name. He didn’t. He steered her in the direction of her room and she felt any want for him to touch her at all disappear. She was actually dreading him lying her on her back on the bed and taking her in such a ass-numbingly dull way that before they were even fully immersed in the hall, she pushed him away. So much for her plan of getting any kind of fix tonight because she didn’t even want him.

Harper looked up at him and shook her head. “No. No ‘okay, baby.’” She sighed and slid her hands through her hair. “Just…look the moment’s gone the minute you questioned it and even though you gave in…it’s not how I want it.” Yes, she knew they were only together for some short months but sex couldn’t be choreographed and she shouldn’t have to try and pry it out of him or nag it out of him like stubborn teeth that didn’t want to give in. Her hands slid over her hips and she looked at him. “I think you should just go home Steve. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Maybe. She wasn’t even sure. Right now, the mere sight of him turned her off. “I’ll sleep it off. I’m probably too intoxicated anyways. I mean something has to be up with me, right? I can’t just want to have unbridled, raw and passionate sex with my boyfriend without something affecting me, right? Well newsflash for you, and you’d know this since you’ve been having sex probably since college, sex between a boyfriend and a girlfriend can be as naughty as they want it to be without something being wrong. But what would I know? Before you, I was just an innocent virgin. Now I’m not. And you don’t like it. Tough.”

Walking right past him, Harper went to her door and she opened it. Looking back at him, she waved her hand in a motion for him to leave. She went from unimaginably turned on to disappointed to incredibly angry very quickly. It was one thing to maybe persuade someone into the mood but it was a completely different thing thinking she wasn’t normal and having someone like her boyfriend insinuate that she really wasn’t. That was twice tonight she had been rejected. She was starting to think there was something seriously wrong with her that no one she wanted or selected wanted to have her. She practically threw herself at some random stranger at a party she had been basically bribed in going to. He kindly turned her down and basically demanded she go home, seduce her love and think of him the entire time. While that was solely her entire intention while Steve fucked her, she didn’t think he’d turn her down. He was a guy after all; a typical, average guy who would probably want to have sex any time she said ‘Let’s have sex.’ She was wrong. Apparently in his mind there was a huge difference between ‘having sex’ and ‘fucking.’ She didn’t want to just have sex and make out for the most of it while her moans never really reached a new level of loud. She wanted fucking where their bodies caked in this thin sheen of sweat and where she screamed, clawed at his back and felt the most world-shattering orgasm, she could either nearly pass out from it or lose all sense of coherency.

There had to be something wrong with her. A girl couldn’t be rejected twice in one night. Realizing that she had been, she wanted to grab a pint of the really good and fatty ice cream in the freezer, a spool and her favorite movies to curl up with when she felt down and stay in solitude in her room and feel even worse about herself. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t easy and it seemed having a boyfriend didn’t cure her loneliness since they hardly ever had sleepovers. She still felt alone and now she was alone and hating on herself, questioning everything that was wrong with her. True like many women who didn’t know what they did wrong when it came to men, she was analyzing everything like it was the most difficult piece of literature to find a correct answer. What was wrong with her? She should want the lovey-dovey vanilla romance of making love and only that. Not raw and passionate sex, especially with a stranger.

“It’s not you. It’s me.” She finally said and looked at him like she was guilty of something that wasn’t even immoral or wrong. That or he could be like any other sexist man and say she had to stop PMSing and get over herself and hormones.

Oh shit! Steve immediately knew he was in trouble, but his brain couldn't process exactly what for. They'd had their tiffs, as all couples did, but he'd never seen Harper truly angry, and wasn't certain if she were the type to yell and scream, kick and scratch, break down and cry, or give him the silent treatment; however he couldn't miss that look in her eyes. The one every women possessed, and which sent shivers down every male's spine. That, along with the half-hearted return of his kiss told him that his girlfriend was pissed. Really, really, really pissed.

As any half-intelligent man would, Steve kept his mouth shut when she pulled away, and allowed her to speak. Less chance of turning a disaster into a full on catastrophe. Any thoughts of fucking her, had gone out the window. All that Steve cared about now was getting out of there alive; hopefully with scrotum still attached, and relationship intact.

She was the sarcastic angry type, Steve Kirk decided, as he swallowed, dropped his arms to his side, lifted his gaze to the doorway to ensure the escape route wasn't blocked, then returned it to Harper, who stood with hands on hips. The direction to go home came almost as a relief. Not that Steve was frightened to stand up for himself, or to give back as good as he got, but he was experienced enough to know that in the heat of battle, nasty things could be said, which couldn't later be taken back. He'd hear Harper out, then call when the effects of the alcohol, or whatever else it was she'd taken, had worn off. If it was actually PMS, that could be a few days.

As much as he instructed himself to remain calm, her words cut him to the core, and his eyes flared with anger. Steve's head shook, and he took a step forward, intending to place a hand on her arm to silence Harper, and allow him to respond. However by the time he acted, she'd already walked right past him, and opened her door. Steve wasn't about to chase his girlfriend around the apartment. His countenance tensed further, and fingers clenched into fists at his side as he forced himself to stop, and leaned against the wall. She just didn't understand.

Finally, she ceased. He should have turned and walked out the door, rather than stoked the already burning fire. That would have been the smart move; but she was wrong. Just because he didn't want to disrespect his girlfriend, treat her like a slut and abuse and degrade her, he was meant to feel guilty? Steve couldn't help but think of the High School boys he taught, and they way they spoke to the girls in their class. Not to mention the girls themselves; who were always whining, bitching and complaining about how 'all men were pigs', 'treated them like shit', and 'only cared about getting their dick's wet'. How was a man supposed to win?

Steve pushed himself off the wall, and his narrowed pupils bore into Harper. "You phone in the middle of the damn night; ask I come over, which I do, then demand to be fucked? No reason, no explanation for your behaviour, which is totally unlike you, or any way you've acted before." Steve's voice rose with each word. "And I get into trouble for being concerned, and asking if you're okay? For caring?"

The man realised he shouted, and took a moment to breathe in and calm down. When he spoke again, his tone was one of exasperation, and something else. Harper wasn't the only one capable of sarcasm."But fine, baby. If that's what you want. Some guy to fuck you, and treat you like a slut, I'm sure you won't have any trouble at all finding them. Just as I'm certain they'll stay for breakfast and respect you in the morning. Excuse me for not thinking of my girlfriend as piece of meat."

His mouth closed, and he stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then shrugged, "You can't have everything, Harper, life is a compromise," and turned to the door, "We'll discuss this when we're both calmer."

The sound of the door slamming behind him was even louder than that of the voice with which he'd earlier screamed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Why couldn't you have it all?

Hawthorne Tische farewelled the last of his guests, then retired to his room. The night had been lucrative, over fifty thousand dollars cash. As he finally removed the masquerade mask in front of the mirror, and looked into his own piercing green eyes, Izabel re-entered his mind. In fact, she'd never really left it.

What had become of the rest of her evening? Had the woman stopped by to visit a boyfriend, or lover, and, if so, had she thought of Hawthorne as he'd taken her? Or had the man been skilled enough to cause her to forget about their earlier arousing encounter. Would they meet again?

He could have had her, that was a fact. She could be in his bed this very minute. However, where would the challenge, the pleasure, the adrenaline rush and anticipation be in that?

Hawthorne had no idea of who she was, or of her appearance under the mask; no way to locate her. The excitement was in seeing if Izabel, or whatever her real name may be, would dare return to the Manor of own volition.

A soft smile remained on the man's features as he discarded the last of his clothing, slipped between cool satin sheets, and drifted off to sleep.

She didn’t expect him to come back with such a powerful tone and stance to his words. Even more, she definitely didn’t expect him to yell and hearing him do just that, Harper recoiled and stepped back from the door. She never saw him so angry. Then again, she had never been so angry either. It came from practice and training as a kindergarten teacher to not lose all control that she would yell. Even when she first started teaching the five and six year olds, she never once yelled. She waited until she got home and self medicated until she didn’t feel frustration. Sometimes she wondered why she wanted to teach such young children but on the good days which was so much more than the bad, she always remembered why she wanted to teach them; they were young minds that held so much innocence and wonder, so much curiosity and at a young age, a lot of habits and beliefs were molded then and not so much as they got older. She could be apart of that and it was so rewarding. So she never yelled. She wouldn’t even yell at an adult.

Steve yelled and then he had the clout to say that he wouldn’t treat his woman like a slut. Wasn’t there a difference between a man treating a woman like a slut when she wasn’t one and treating her like one because it was consensual? And when did it become treating her like a slut to have unbridled and raw passionate sex that didn’t consist of just lying on her back while her man pounded at nothing until nothing? It was like a slap in the face. Because what she liked was categorized as being a slut and being treated like one. She worried about that and Steve said that exactly. Was she a slut?

The sound of the door slamming shut rattled her and she swallowed hard. There was a big lump in her throat and she blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes and rapidly as well. Even after he left, Harper stayed standing in the small living area of her apartment for a long while, just staring at the door. She worried that it might have been too slutty to want to be so naughty with her boyfriend. She thought that since he was her boyfriend, it would go along the territory of them getting to know each other more and better and there would be no judgment. She wasn’t sure if she judged him for being too safe and vanilla or if he judged her for being too naughty and by extension, acting like a trollop who wanted her boyfriend to ‘disrespect’ her. She didn’t think it was disrespecting her if she wanted it and felt safe enough with him to open up that kind of chapter in their relationship. Perhaps it was too soon. Apparently it was since it didn’t end well at all. He left her feeling no longer turned on, no longer disappointed and definitely no longer angry. She simply felt ashamed to have such thoughts to begin with. She was wrong in feeling this way, wanting her boyfriend to do naughty and unspeakable things with her. It was wrong. It didn’t matter how Robert made her feel and how she wanted Steve to take her. It was all wrong. It was all wrong on so many levels and Steve made that painfully clear. The fuck was wrong with her?!

A few hours later, Harper found herself still awake. She felt numb and was just glad tomorrow was a weekend day. She was sitting in the living room having cleaned a pint of Rocky Road ice cream like it never once was contained in the container. The lock to the door unlocked and it swung open to reveal a beautiful Stephanie. If she had a wild night with her client, it didn’t show. She looked as impeccable as she did when they first got there.

Immediately, her eyes landed on Harper and confusion hit. She didn’t know when her roommate left the party and based on the fact she had cleaned an entire pint of ice cream and looked…miserable, something must have happened.
“Hey.” There was concern in her voice as she put her keys down and shut the door.
Harper just raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement and paused the movie. She was watching ‘Never Been Kissed’ that starred Drew Barrymore. It was one of her favorite movies, with so much romance. Yet apparently she didn’t seem to have a romantic bone in her body if she wanted something so naughty with her boyfriend.
“When did you leave?”
“Probably around midnight.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed softly. “Did you have fun with your client?”
“I always do.” But Stephanie still looked weary and suspicious about Harper’s behavior. “Are you okay?”

Was she okay? Let’s see: she had been promptly seduced by some stranger at a ball she only went to for money, she left to go home and try and get her boyfriend to fuck her as opposed to making sweet vanilla love to her and it ended with a huge fight and she still felt rattled that he yelled at her. She was not okay. “Mm…no.” She shook her head and her eyes watered again. She covered her face and just sort of broke down. Stephanie was at her side in an instant, taking her roommate in her arms.

Once she calmed down, she told her everything. From the seduction of some guy named Robert at the ball to the entire debacle with Steve and it ended with Stephanie’s intense words. “Do not—under any circumstances—ever let someone tell you that there might be something wrong with you or make you think such a thing just because you wanted something different.” She stroked the back of Harper’s hair soothingly. “Just because you wanted something different, maybe something naughtier than what he is accustomed to, does not mean there is something wrong with you.” She said softly. “There is definitely nothing wrong with that. Especially if it is between boyfriend and girlfriend because a relationship is about trust and feeling safe and you shouldn’t feel worried or self-conscious.”

Harper told her about the word said between her and Steve but Stephanie didn’t take back what she said. “Neither of you should make the other feel like what they want is something wrong. It can be against what you might want or you don’t feel comfortable in it but at the end of the day, you shouldn’t feel like what you want or like is something morally wrong and if he made you feel that way, then…” She shook her head. She had met Steve. She thought he was a really nice and good guy and the fact he either intentionally or unintentionally made someone feel ashamed of something they liked which was totally sound, especially in a relationship, she had new thoughts toward him and lost a little bit of respect for him.

They talked a little bit more and Harper felt a little bit better but at the same time, as she managed to quiet her mind, she felt deeply exhausted. She retired to sleep and Stephanie did the same. Stephanie made sure to not be needed for work and spent the remaining weekend with Harper. If anything, she wanted to lift her spirits up a bit so she wasn’t taking her personal life into work. Those poor kids didn’t need the ire of a woman jilted, ashamed and confused.

Monday came quick and for the most part, Harper felt a lot better but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Steve. She didn’t call him and she didn’t hear from him over the weekend. They worked at the same school so it wouldn’t be impossible for them to run into each other. She did her best to kind of avoid him and she was thankful that the kindergarten playground was separate from the older kids and that the kindergarteners didn’t have P.E. with Mr. Steve Kirk.

Although as the week progressed, she couldn’t avoid him forever. It was probably Tuesday when she came face to face with him. She didn’t talk about the fight but neither did she insinuate anything else. As far as she was concerned, with how standoffish she was being, it displayed her want to no longer continue their relationship since it wasn’t going to be a good math if she was to be judged by her boyfriend and if she didn’t desire him the way she probably should. She still liked him a lot but it would be a bad idea. No exact words to define where their relationship stood was voiced. She was just making assumptions but as far as she was concerned and she was sure Steve could tell too, their relationship was as good as dead.

It was Friday that she finished with her duties at school. She saw Steve and he looked like he wanted to talk to her but she quickly ducked away and left the school altogether before he could have. She should have just gone home but all this time, she couldn’t take her mind away from the Manor or ‘Robert.’ She wanted to find him but figured that would be too cliché or obvious. He would probably be expecting her if he was a regular at the establishment. So she went under the pretense of collecting the thousands of dollars she was promised for her attendance that night. Since she didn’t sleep with anyone, she was expecting at the most, a couple grand. But in all honesty, the money was not on her mind at all. She just wanted to an excuse to see him again.

Pulling through the iron gates of the Manor, she parked her car in one of the guest spaces and got out. She locked it and walked into the beautiful establishment. Since she was a woman, it was just sort of assumed that she was a ‘worker’ and she didn’t need to define or justify her purpose of being there. Which was good because she had no idea what she would say to justify her presence there.

As she walked into the grand foyer, she looked up at the large marble staircase. The detail of this place was exquisite and looked just the same as it did the night of the ball; beautiful, refined with so much elegance no one would ever associate this place as a sort of gentlemen’s club slash brothel. An attendee came into the foyer and looked at her. “And who might you be, Miss?”
Harper turned and she looked at the man, dressed in a sort of butler get up. “U-Um…my name is Harper Collins. I attended a ball here last weekend and I was promised…ahem, a check?” She bit her lower lip hard sounding frighteningly awkward about asking for money. It sounded so…peasant.

The man nodded his head, his expression neutral and no judgment. Well he must deal with a lot of the women that were employed here. “The Madame is currently out but I will convey your arrival to the esteemed owner. Please wait in the parlor. If you wish something to eat or drink, by all means, simply relay it to the barkeep.” He spoke so eloquently and without any accent but she felt like she sort of time warped back into the 1800s or something.

”Thank you.” Nodding her head, she turned started for the parlor when he addressed her.
“Miss Collins, what was your name during the party? As real names are not used, it is crucial I know to tell our owner so he knows which check to give you.”
“Izabel.” She said softly. Some sort of recognition seemed to flare in his eyes but it was only for an instant.
“Of course.”

He turned and went to speak with Mr. Tisch. Harper walked into the parlor and found it to be relatively empty except for some gentlemen but they were engrossed in the newspaper, the newscast or sports televised on the TV or something else; really anything but her. She was dressed nowhere to the nines like she had been and looked nothing like the women that worked her; she wore a pair of ripped skinny jeans with a soft cotton white blouse that had polka dots on them of various colors. It was colored and she wore a soft orange cardigan with it. Her long hair was tied back into a messy ponytail and because she didn’t get new contacts yet, her hazel eyes were shielded behind sensible glasses so she wouldn’t be blind as a bat. In other words, she looked like someone incapable of having ever been in attendance to this ball but appearances could be misleading. They said to never judge a book solely by its cover.

Walking to the barkeep, she sat down and he looked her over. He smiled a true and friendly smile and leaned against the bar.
“You are certainly not from around here are you?”
“What gave it away? The glasses?”
“No, the cardigan.” He teased. “I’m Gustav. What’s your name?”
”Do you want my real name or my fake one?”
He chuckled. “Considering I don’t peg you as an often lady of the night and since it is day time, I would like to know your real name.”
”Harper.”
“Well Harper, what can I get for you? On me.”
”Well…I would be fine with some water.”
”Water?” He asked. “You look far too nervous for water.”
”Am I so obvious?”
“You read easily like a book my dear. No matter, I’ll serve you something special. Loosen those nerves instantly.”
”O-Oh, no alcohol please.” She said softly.
He looked at her, unsure if he heard her correctly. “Why not?”
“Well last time I was here and I had alcohol, I think I made some bad choices. So as much as it does help the nerves, I’d like not to make the same bad choices that have otherwise, probably hindered some relationships at the same time. So anything else…”
He chuckled. She spoke fast. It was charming. “Water it is.”
He gave her a glass of ice cold water with a lemon wedge and she sipped thoughtfully through the straw but also drank like she hadn’t had water in days. Her voice was so dry, she was so nervous.

A little while later, the same butler-man who had greeted her came into the parlor room. “Miss Collins?” She had two glasses of water and felt refreshed and not so nervous. Standing, she looked at the man. “Mr. Tisch will see you now. This way please.”

It was the first time he'd ever yelled at her, and as the door slammed behind him, Steve immediately felt guilty. As he reached his car, he paused to glance up to Harper's apartment, hoping to get a view of her through the window. It wasn't so much the words he'd spoken - although they could have been much better framed - that he regretted, but the manner in which they'd been issued. That Steve was a man who possessed the ability to deal with situations as they arose, without anger, or losing calm and composure, was something he prided himself on. It was why he thought he'd make such a great Father.

His throat was dry as he resisted the temptation to walk back up the stairs and apologise. After all, it wasn't all his fault, and given time to contemplate what he'd actually said, Harper might realise it was only because it cared about her, and her feelings. Steve desired a life partner; an equal who'd be with him every step of the way, and share in all major decisions; not one who thought her ability to spread her legs, and allow herself to be treated as a whore, was more important to him than her mind and companionship. That it may be what Harper actually desired, in the bedroom, and that the two were not mutually exclusive was a concept Steve Kirk was incapable of comprehending.

Any hope that she may have forgotten about the incident, or that her anger had lessened, was quickly put to rest on the Monday morning. Of course they ran into each other during working hours, but they didn't really speak. Once or twice, he considered an approach, to ask they if they could talk, however on each occasion, he resisted. Just give her some time and space, that was for the best. The school days were always long and stressful, so he'd leave it to Saturday or Sunday. There was a carnival coming to town the following week, and he'd give her a call, see if she'd like to go. Women always enjoyed watching their man win a prize didn't they? After, he could cook for Harper at his apartment, display his culinary skills, and discuss the future direction of their relationship, calmly, over a bottle of wine.

Yes, that's what he'd do. He missed her terribly, but he didn't want to appear like some obsessed stalker. That showing how keen he was, or taking action which demonstrated that Steve Kirk was a man who knew what he wanted; and that was Harper; could be seen as a positive attribute wasn't even thought of, and the demeanour she'd displayed the previous weekend was pushed to back of his mind. To Steve Kirk, that was a one-off, the result of hormones, or alcohol, and she was only angry because he had yelled. Friday came and went, and the Physical Education teacher retired to his apartment. Alone.

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Hawthorne Tische had been occupied during the week overseeing his many different investments, investigating further business opportunities, and meeting with potential clients. The monthly balls provided a lucrative income stream, but Hawthorne intended for that to be only the cream on top. The man desired more. Businessman who'd pay thousands of dollars for an evening with a Lady of the Night, would surely pay an exorbitant fee for other, more exclusive, services, wouldn't they? Hawthorne Tische was certain they would, and it was why he'd kept notes on the peccadilloes of the men who'd been escorted from the premises for requesting acts not normally provided by those women from the Escort Agency.

Izabel was placed to the back of his mind, never quite leaving it completely, but pushed aside. She'd either return, or she wouldn't, and it'd be her choice. Tische wasn't one to concern himself with matters out of his control, however, the excitement which coursed through his body as George Carpenter stepped into the office, in which sat Hawthorne behind a solid oak desk, cooking his books for the IRS, and mentioned her name, couldn't be denied.

"Sorry to disturb you Hawthorne, but there's a woman outside, here to collect a cheque for attending the ball." George paused, as Tische impatiently stared up at him, wondering what the hell the man was talking about - he made payment directly to the Madame, who then forwarded it to the girls - and raised an eyebrow. There was a glint in the other man's eyes; he and Hawthorne had spoken about the party, and the intriguing lady Tishce had spent the evening with. Not that Carpenter had laid eyes on her; he'd been too busy taking advantage of the 'perks' provided by his employer. "She attended under the name Izabel. Very attractive too, I must say." The mischevious smile turned into a grin. "Would you prefer I ask her to leave?"

Tische's eyes had clouded over, and his mind lost focus, as he whispered her name under his breath."Izabel".

Then Carpenter's words brought him back to reality, and his gaze locked on his friend. "Would you like to keep your job, George?"

The man laughed, and shot his employer a wink. "Yes Sir."

Hawthorne took the opportunity, as George departed to collect her, to regain composure. He ran fingers through dark hair, smoothed wrinkles from khaki slacks and white cotton shirt, and took a deep breath. When she appeared in the doorway, he was as calm as calm could be.

"Izabel, I believe?" His breath almost left him as he appraised her; the body already seen, but this the first opportunity to gaze upon her face, unmasked. Her gorgeous green eyes were matched by the rest of her features. Hawthorne motioned to a red leather chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Why don't you take a seat." A brow raised, then he then reached out to collect a piece of paper, and pulled it towards him, before he glanced back up at the woman. Tisch was curious to see if she'd recognise him, and, as on the first occasion, wasn't averse to teasing.

His gaze flicked to the paper a second time, then his lips pursed, and he leaned back in his seat. A finger lifted to tap against teeth in a pose of contemplation. After a moment or two, his hand left his chin, and he focused back on Izabel, green eyes sparkling, and lips curled into a smile. "I'm somewhat confused; I don't see your name on the guest list supplied by the Madame, and if you had attended, I'm certain I'd remember. A woman such as you would be difficult to forget." Tische ran his gaze over her body as he spoke, leaving no doubt as to what he was referring to, a mock-curious expression on his face when his eyes lifted back to hers.

"May I be so bold as to inquire which man received the honour of your services. Or did you neglect to gather his name?"

Saying her thanks to Gustav for the water and the friendly chat, she rose from the bar. She looked at him and then at her purse and he caught wind of what she was going to do and stopped her. “Not at all necessary Harper. Your company was more than enough of a tip for me.” He winked and then took her glasses away, walking away as a sign that she really should not leave any money. Figuring it would just be an insult to him if she did, Harper walked away from the bar and the nerves she felt earlier resurfaced. It had been an intense and long week it felt like and she wanted to unwind. This was far from unwinding but she had a strange feeling.

She followed the butler-man as he led her down a brightly lit hallway. It was all natural light because of all the windows and it was beautiful. There was a garden on the outside behind the window’s glass and it looked like it was tended to magnanimously. The entire place was beautiful and screamed high end, money and class. It was one of the most carnal places of debauchery which made no sense one bit but perhaps that might have been the point or that just explained the amount of class and money that went into this place, the kind of people it catered to.

He led her to a door and opened it for her. She silently thanked him with a nod of her head as she clutched the straps of her purse to her and walked inside. The door was shut behind her and she looked up to meet green eyes staring back at her. She swallowed and immediately thought back to where she saw those eyes. Last week…at the ball…Robert. She knew those eyes and there he was, staring at her and assessing her. He looked refined, so handsome and without the mask, she could see all of him. He was the owner? She had been talking to the owner this entire time and was seduced, teased and rejected by him?

It occurred to Harper that she should just apologize and bolt. She never thought that she’d be back in this place facing the man who had ended up humbly rejecting her in the first place and now a huge wave of embarrassment washed over her. She was really wishing that she had taken up Gustav on some cocktail he wanted to serve her. It would have helped and given her some courage to face a man like this.
What threw her off was how he addressed her. She wanted to correct him and ask him to call her by her name, her actual name but then he would know her actual name and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know that yet. She wasn’t sure it would be safe at all. Did he not think she’d recognize him by his eyes? And even when he spoke, it was a dead give away. This was the man who called himself Robert at the ball. Now he was Mr. Tische? The owner?

Swallowing a little uncomfortably, Harper walked forward and slid down into the plush red chair before him and rest her purse in her lap. She looked at him and then seemed to finally respond to his question. “Yes. That was the name I chose to go by as.” She cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up her nose. “My name is Harper Collins.” It was a risk to give him her full name but what was he going to do? Find another reason to reject her? Fine. She could take it. Rejection would make her stronger, not wilt. So long as her freezer was filled with several pints and gallons Rocky Road ice cream.

There seemed to be a stipulation about her service and attendance at the ball. She wondered if Stephanie was going to get into a lot of trouble. It seemed that Harper really wasn’t supposed to have been there and he was once more reiterating that as he had said at the ball itself. Swallowing hard, she looked down as her shaking and fumbling hands and then at him. “I was brought along by one of the other ladies. She was told by Madame that I’d be like an extra hand really than anything else. It was just to be able to make some extra money.” Somehow, she had a feeling she wouldn’t see that money ever. And by the way he was seeming, teasing but rather intimidating, determined to put her in her place of some sort or just reminding her that she didn’t belong, it was clear she was not going to get the money.

She decided on a slightly different tactic. Tilting her head, she adjusted in her seat and crossed one leg over the other. She was not going to let him turn her down again. Once was enough by him and Steve. Not again. No matter how easy it would be to wilt, strengthen from it and eat copious amounts of Rocky Road ice cream, the only thing she’d gain from it really was weight. “You could be bold, or you could be just as honest as I am being and come clean. I know it was you. And I know your name is not really Robert. Doesn’t seem to suit a man of your high and esteemed quality. So pray tell, Mr. Tische what is your full name? Or are you worried that since I was the woman who had been so eager to spread my legs for you, I might become a little crazy and come to your door too often than you’d like? Or rather…wouldn’t you like to know exactly what I did when I got home from the ball? After all, it was you who insinuated I should go home to my lover and have him take me so I could think of you, was it not?”

Someone told her that confidence was very sexy in a woman. It made her beautiful, vibrant and radiant. She needed to refine that some more. Her voice had been calm when she spoke to him. She didn’t get defensive, neither was she trying to be alluring. She was trying to not let him intimidate her or tease her into submission. That would not do. He did that once and it didn’t work. Harper was going to call the shots. Not him.

Hawthorne poured himself and Izabel a glass of water from a crystal decanter, and pushed one across to her, then relaxed in his leather chair. His gaze rested on her face to gauge her reaction, and to see if she'd realise it was 'Robert' who sat behind the desk. Tisch had made no attempt to change the timbre of his voice or to avert his eyes, which she'd had plenty of opportunity to see on the night of the Ball. As it was said, the eyes were the windows to the soul, and he'd have recognised Izabel by hers, even if she'd stepped into his office with a masquerade mask once again covering her features, and attired in a potato sack. Only a nod of the head accompanied her words of recognition, and he twirled the crystal glass in his hand before taking a sip. No other reaction was displayed; no emotion to indicate the excitement he felt being in her presence again.

The shyness and hesitation which had first told him that Izabel was different from the Escorts who'd attended the Ball was again evident when she spoke, and it was understandable. Surely the woman must be nervous; the grandeur of the residence and ostentatious display of wealth, and of course, Hawthorne, could do that to a person who wasn't accustomed to them. Though he didn't consider himself to be an intimidating man, Tisch realised that others did view him in that light, however he believed there was a vast difference between deliberate intimidation, and displaying the confidence to know what it was you desired, and being unwilling to accept anything less. The teasing of Harper was part of the 'courtship', if you like; what the man desired above all was a woman, who whilst containing a certain degree of innocence and naivety, also possessed the intelligence and will to challenge and test him.

That those qualities may reside within 'Izabel' struck with even more force as, with face revealed, and emotions less able to be disguised, her tone and demeanour turned to ones of confidence and sureness, with such force that it almost formed a physical presence. Harper Collins; the name rolled off Hawthorne's tongue; was a woman who could give as good as she could got. However, was the confident and assured young lady now in front of him the real Harper, or had the Manor, and Hawthorne Tische, brought out of her simply a glimpse of the one she wished to be?

Countenance relaxed, fingers tapped against the wood of the desk, and his lips pursed in contemplation of how best to respond. "My name is Hawthorne Leonard Tisch......Junior." He shot her a smile, "Full enough for you?", then the taunting tone ceased. "And, no I wasn't concerned that you'd begin to stalk me. In fact, Harper, if you'd spread your legs, I'm certain I would have very much looked forward to it happening again. However, would you have allowed it? I'm not much of a man to conform to the rules of society, but you? If you'd sold your body, how would you have awoken the next morning? Full of regret and remorse, possibly shame? This isn't about my values, Harper, I'm asking of yours." Tisch paused to scan her face, and let the rhetorical questions hang in the air as he sipped his water.

When the glass left his lips, a finger lifted lifted to tap his temple. "The mind is a curious thing. In the cold light of day, sober, would the voice of conscience, driven by the silly expectation that women remain virtuous, and keep their desires hidden, have made you regret your acts, attribute them to alcohol and the intoxicating atmosphere, and forced you to keep your distance? If I had paid for the pleasure of what would undoubtedly have been physically arousing, but ultimately still meaningless and emotionless sex, would you have returned? Because is that not why you're here today; to seek out 'Robert'. For more than just a good fuck?"

A querulous brow raised, and he paused momentarily, then averted his gaze and twisted in his chair; only speaking again when he'd began to write in the cheque book he'd fished out of the top drawer of his desk. "I didn't accept your offer, not because I didn't wish to see you again Harper, but because I did. However, I could have you pegged wrong, and as you've stated, the sole reason for your presence is to simply collect your payment?" Tisch's focus returned to her as, with a flourish, he tore out the cheque; made out in the name of Harper Collins, for the sum of $5,000; and held it up between two fingers, then allowed it to drift down onto the desk in front of her. "If so, feel free to take it and depart, with no hard feelings."

"However." Hawthorne's curled lips contained the hint of tease as he leaned forward, with elbows resting on the desk, and locked green eyes on green eyes. "Please, first, do satiate my curiosity, and inform me of exactly what occurred when you left the ball, and met with your lover. Did you imagine it was I as he entered you, or did the man take you with such force and urgency that it caused you to forget, in those moments, that anything else mattered, that anything else in the entire Universe existed, apart from his desperate need for you? And yours for him?

"Has any man ever taken you such as that, Harper Collins?"

Leaning forward, Harper plucked the crystal glass by the generous bowl and brought it to her lips, taking a much needed quench to her thirst. It didn’t dawn on her that her throat became very dry from the talking. As much as she was posing herself as a confident woman who would not be intimidated by this man and the opulent surrounding, she still was. Her insides quaked despite the steadiness to her voice. Her hands still shook despite the way she held her glass and she felt like the resolve was slipping further and further away, especially as he began to speak, answering every point she had touched upon. The mask of a confident woman was exactly the kind of woman she wanted to be. It was a façade. It was neither Harper Collins or Izabel but simply the woman she always strived to be but shyness, insecurity and not knowing her true self held her back.

She wanted to know herself more. She thought she knew herself. They said one had to know who they were as a person before doing anything, before getting into relationships and committing and whatnot. She thought she knew. That party changed everything and she didn’t think it would. She was opened to a whole new world and it wasn’t just about sex, it was just about living life without so many restraints and constrictions. It felt like she had a boa constrictor tightly wrapping around her body for so many years and she wanted to let go, she wanted to be free of that. She learned just how free she wanted to be since the party. How could she be confident about who she was when she believed what she liked and what she wanted wasn’t correct?

Glancing at him, she took in the full weight of his questions and although rhetorical, she still wanted to respond. She held off though and let him finish speaking. He made several good points. She could have easily not taken well at all to being so mercilessly fucked as he would have done to her only to have a cold and lonely bed after. Or be sent home after a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. She knew that. She probably would have felt like a whore who was just used for her body and nothing more. Considering she didn’t resort to spreading her legs for an actual profession, mentally and emotionally Harper may not have been able to handle it. She just knew her body yearned for more than some boring, vanilla sex with someone she was dating. She wanted to be panting with exertion and having nothing done to her but it simply being the anticipation of the heat between her and the man who was seducing her. The excitement. The tingles that she got from being so close to Robert. The feeling of shivers that raced up her spine when his hand touched her side, or her backside or any part of her. His breath against her ear. Hardly any touching and yet she had left the party so wet and so turned on. That was something else, wasn’t it? It was something unlike anything she had ever known and with the way things had been going that night, how she just wanted night of unbridled passion to let go of all the restraint, she probably wouldn’t have cared if she ever saw him again. To her, then at least she would have lived. For once.

Harper didn’t come there for anything else but to collect her money. Not for a fuck, not for a chance of it. She just wanted the money she had been promised, after all it was the only reason she had attended the party. But even as he let the check float in front of her, signed and with a designated amount written to her, she didn’t look at it. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his and she found herself once more pulled in. She didn’t let herself fall in though. She couldn’t. She should just take the check and leave, after all it was what she came here for. Isn’t that what she kept telling herself? But she couldn’t even do that.

Resting the glass of water back on the table, she lowered her chin and then glanced downward, her fingers clasping together in her lap. “Well I hate to disappoint you Mr. Tisch but what we both had anticipated for did not come true. It’s probably a good idea it hadn’t because the next morning, I am pretty sure I would have had a boyfriend ashamed for calling me his girlfriend and I wouldn’t have felt nearly as satisfied as I could have been if you just whisked me away to one of your rooms and taken me so savagely that it would only be you in my mind.” She looked up to meet his gaze and smiled a little bit. “No man has ever taken me the way I want. Men only make me feel ashamed for feeling and wanting what I want. Except for one. I met him at a ball and he awakened something inside of me that I knew existed but wouldn’t actually identify with it. Until he humbly declined my offer to ravish me and suggested I go home to have my lover take me so I might think of him while in bed with another man.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The only thing I learned that night is I don’t see eye to eye with my boyfriend and I have dreams wondering what it would have been like.”

Harper pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and she didn’t take her gaze off of his. Intent, she was but she wasn’t about to be desperate either. “Something tells me though Mr, Tisch, that you require more than a willing women. Frankly, you could have your share of any woman you wanted. You have a look that makes panties either combust or just fall right down. Perhaps even the ability to make a woman’s bra pop right open with said look.” She grinned a little bit. “But…that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? It all would have been too easy and it would be even easier to wish it would be so easy but then there would be any fun to be had, isn’t that right?”

Standing now, Harper picked up her bag and she slid it up her arm. She leaned over the desk slightly and pressed two fingers down onto the check and slid it back to him. “I appreciate your integrity and honesty Mr. Tisch. I cannot accept it. I learned too much that night as it is to ever put a price on it.” She lifted her gaze to his beautifully enticing and seducing green eyes and she smiled gently. “I will take my leave now. It’s been a pleasure meeting you officially.” She stepped back from his desk and turned to the door. She stopped and looked back at him. “I think…I don’t know how I would have responded or reacted if you said yes.” She said softly. “All I know is that I might have been too lost in the heat of the moment to care. You’re a nice man Mr. Tisch. A little boring even, but nice.” Something twinkled in her eyes and she stepped out of his office and let herself out of the manor.

Once she was in the fresh air, she let out a deep exhale of breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding and walked to her car. It felt like closure but at the same time, she was ever more excited and curious about what lay deep inside of the Manor. The rooms, the benefits, the excitement. After all, Hawthorne Tisch was anything but boring.

Hawthorne had no intent to cause offence, or presume to know Harper, with the questions he asked. It was purely his own opinion, based on experience. Some women were independent spirits, who knew what they desired, and were happy to live by their own rules, caring little for the opinions of others; whilst the vast majority remained chained to wheels of convention and unquestioningly followed the expectations of society. Tisch had a greater respect for the former, which included the Escorts who attended his events, than the latter, however there was a third type who excited him above all else.

That was the independent spirit who remained trapped within the confines of conformity; those who'd yet to receive the opportunity, or found the confidence to allow their true inner-selves to roam free. It's what he sensed in 'Izabel' that first night, however even now as he listened to Harper Collin's speak, and watched carefully her reaction to his words, Tisch still couldn't be certain if he'd gauged correctly, or if it were just wishful thinking on his behalf. The only way to discover the answer was to spend more time in her company.

Not exactly an onerous task, Tisch contemplated as he almost became lost in her dazzling green eyes, and blinked rapidly to bring himself back to reality. A quizzical eyebrow raised with the comments about her boyfriend, and the fingers of his free hand tapped the desk, but he didn't interrupt. Only when she'd finished, did he reach across to slide the returned cheque into his top draw, and open his mouth to respond.

The first thing which slipped from it was a chuckle; if nothing else Harper Collin's definitely had a sense of humour and quick wit. "Believe me, if I were that talented, your bra would already be popped, and panties laying on the floor, but unfortunately those are skills not even I possess. Certainly would have come in handy through High School." The man shot her a wink, then his demeanour turned to one of disappointment, and seriousness. As she bid farewell, he stood and inclined his head, his tone soft and containing a hint of sadness, which matched the look in his eyes. "I guess this is goodbye then. It's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms Collins."

When she reached the door, and stopped to speak, Hawthorne was perched on the edge of his desk, and his gaze met hers. "You're correct, in that I don't like things too easy. Easy come, easy go, as they say. What I don't understand, Harper, is why would your boyfriend be ashamed of you? We all have needs, and wants. I don't know what you asked of him, but I can only presumed it's what you mentioned to me. That you desired him to take you, savagely, as you wished of that man at the ball?" Tische paused, and an expression of amusement was the last thing to pass across his features before she exited the room. "Even if you did consider him boring."

Not the type of man to pathetically chase after a woman, and plead for her to stay, Hawthorne remained seated on his desk when she exited, and called out through the open door; the natural projection of his voice carrying to her through the large rooms, even as the distance between them increased. "That man still dreams of ravishing you, however first he'd require you to be totally honest with yourself, and decide what it is you search for. Not just in the moment, or for a week, a month, or a year, but for the remainder of your life. Who you want to be; Izabel or Harper?"

The final words were uttered as she departed the Manor, and as she disappeared from sight, Hawthorne placed his head in his hands, closed his eyes, and sighed. Harper was certainly a challenge, but then wasn't that what he'd been searching for?

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Steve Kirk spent the Friday night alone, and pottered around the apartment on the Saturday morning. Even though she'd not stayed the entire night many times, ever since the incident with Harper it had felt cold and lonely. At least, when they hadn't been together, he'd been able to pick up the phone to share a joke, a laugh, and conversation, and in the past week he'd missed that.

Finally swallowing his pride on the Saturday afternoon and thinking that they'd both had enough time to stew over their argument, and hopefully forget about it, Steve Kirk picked up his cell. As much as he'd missed the sound of her voice, the Physical Education teacher decided that on this occasion it may be easier for both if he texted, rather than called.

"Hey baby, I've missed you. Thinking we could meet for lunch on Sunday. Let me know if you're free."

Sent button hit, Steve attempted to focus on the old black-and-white movie which had just started on cable. His kind of film.

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Hawthorne's eyes opened slowly, and he stared at the wooden door, beyond which lay the world outside of the Manor. Less than a minute it had taken him to gather his thoughts. "GEORGE."

The assistant's expression was one of curiosity when he stepped through the entrance, and noted the empty seat which had recently been occupied by Harper. George was intelligent enough not to question where she was now. "Yes, Hawthorne?"

Tisch raised his gaze to his friend. "Harper Collins. It shouldn't be too difficult to locate her address. Please, forward a dozen red roses, and on the card, state that I will have a limousine collect her at midday on Sunday, for a tour of the Manor. Unfortunately, I didn't receive the opportunity to extend her that courtesy today. You could also mention that, following the tour, I'd be honoured if she could stay on and provide her thoughts on possible themes for my next event. Harper Collin's strikes me as a creative woman."

"Is that all, Sir?

"Not quite. Ensure my private number is included, in case Ms Collin's wishes to decline the invitation. I wouldn't like to be seen as pushy."

George's smile matched that of Hawthorne's as the man took his leave.

Izabel was the persona she aspired to be, but mostly in the confidence sense. She didn’t want to be some constant vixen who knew how to seduce on a whim just by saying a certain word; or by the sway of her hips, a single glance and or a small touch. No, her goal in life was never to just constantly seduce and do anything in the hopes of hooking a man and keeping him hooked, line and sinker. No, she didn’t live her life to please men and she didn’t have a purpose just to be surrounded by a man all the time. She just wanted that confidence that she imagined Izabel to have. It would be a hell of a goal but she knew who she was at least as a person and as far as her persona went. Izabel was desirable, yes, but Harper was Harper and she would always be this awkward and sort of shy person with a dark closet of true kinks and needs just wanting to be freed. It would take time. She didn’t need a man to make that happen. She just needed…sex—really good, hard, delicious, mind-boggling and Earth-shattering sex that would leave her incoherent for hours and sore and tender for days.

Even after she left, she couldn’t stop thinking about that. Harper kept walking away from that more and more it seemed, the opportunity to have exactly what she wanted but the circumstances seemed so incorrect. She could have easily been fucked hard by Steve the way she wanted but he would be ashamed of her in the end and it would go badly. Considering the current status of their non-existent relationship, it probably really didn’t matter right now but she knew that in the morning, she wouldn’t have felt like someone who was safe in the arms of her boyfriend who let go into a night of wild and passionate abandon. No, she would have woken up alone and probably dumped for making him have to do that to her when clearly he was so against it. If he had really wanted to, Steve would have taken her without hesitation like that. But no, he didn’t. It wasn’t immediate. She had to practically coax it out of him. Things were the way they were and they went the way they did. Yet she still felt nowhere near satisfied the way she wanted to. The funny thing was since the way things had gone with Steve, her libido had been so shot, she had felt humiliated, hurt, ashamed and just down right dejected.

Meeting Hawthorne and learning who Robert truly was, that fire ignited deep inside of her belly and it took all she had not to pity-call Steve, tell him all was right and have some pretty moderately vanilla make-up sex. Ugh, just the thought of it seemed like she went as dry as sand paper all over again. Goodness, perhaps they really weren’t a good fit anymore. Well…she wasn’t quite privy to anyone who would make her feel ashamed for something she wanted just because they were beyond that phase. Yeah well she hardly ever had that phase; she was too much of an invisible loner freak in high school. And while she was still that loner freak, she wasn’t invisible anymore and she actually wanted companionship now. It was just difficult to find someone with like tastes. Until Hawthorne Tisch happened. Oh, she could fantasize about him tonight and not feel guilty one bit.

The man was more than she had expected; he was handsome and in all honesty, he didn’t look like his age. He looked to be in his thirties but she was guessing he was a bit older because of the wisps of silver hair in his beautiful dark hair. He had chiseled features and from what she had been able to see from him sitting behind his desk, he was very well fit and lean. But his most defining feature that made her feel that indescribable and irresistible pull was his emerald green eyes. They were so enticing and she was so susceptible to falling into their deep emerald abyss that it was really dangerous. She could say yes to anything he wanted and be in big danger for the repercussions and consequences. Maybe it was pride. Perhaps, even more, it was wanting to make it as good for him as he could make it for her. For her, the end result would be the most redeeming part that would make it so worth it. For him and so many others, the actual chase was probably the worthwhile part of the entire game.

Upon returning home, Harper found Stephanie home as well and the two enjoyed some ice cream and a couple of movies before Harper succumbed to tiredness. Stephanie left for a late night ‘call’ and Harper slept well into Saturday. She spent the day doing some cleaning, grocery shopping and cooking so that there was food for the week and food prepped to be cooked during the week. It was early afternoon when she heard her phone go off and she wiped her hands on her apron as she approached it. It was a message from Steve.

Hey baby, I’ve missed you. Thinking we could meet for lunch on Sunday. Let me know if you’re free.

A heavy sigh came from her and she actually felt herself dreading having to answer. It’s not like she had anything else planned and it would be the mature thing to set Steve straight on the future of their relationship. It was dead. He needed to accept that. Harper sure did. Now if she could figure out a way to put that in a nicer way. She wasn’t born to be rude and she didn’t have a mean bone in her body but a part of her was a little bitter in regards to Steve. She didn’t take well to someone when they yelled at her and she hadn’t appreciated it when he raised his voice at her. She wasn’t a child and she didn’t need to be talked to like one.

Just as she was about to write a text in response, a knock sounded at her door. After opening it, she saw roses in the hand of a messenger.
“A dozen roses for Miss Harper Collins.”
“I’m Harper.”
“For you.” He handed them to her and then nodded his head. “Good day, Miss.” He bowed his head and then left. Shutting the door, Harper was actually worried that these were from Steve. He would be smart enough but upon opening the card, she knew immediately it wasn’t Steve before even reading it. She smiled and her cheeks colored as she read the invitation from Hawthorne Tisch. It shocked her that he would want her input for ideas and themes for his next event but if this was bait to see him again and go to the Manor, she would be quick to go. Besides, he wasn’t asking. He was stating that there would be a limousine to pick her up and she better be ready.

Now how to break the news to Steve?

After smelling the roses which were so fresh and lovely, also putting them in a vase with water and its flower food, she picked her phone up again and shot a quick text out to Steve.

Hey. If we can make it perhaps a brunch as opposed to a lunch that would be better. 11. I’ll meet you at Dash’s.
After getting a text back from him confirming the ‘date,’ she went back to cooking and preparing food. That night, when Stephanie came home, she bombarded Harper about the roses. Harper decided not to tell her they were from Hawthorne Tisch, the enigmatic owner of the Manor and its racy dealings. She just said they were from the guy she met at the ball and Stephanie gave her a suggestive eye brow wag. Harper brushed her off and she went to bed eager for tomorrow with Hawthorne, less eager about her brunch with Steve.

At 9 AM on Sunday morning, Harper woke and she showered. She dressed in a white blouse with different colors polka dots and a crème mini skirt that was pleated. It came a few inches above her knees and she put on sandals. She fixed her hair into a low side ponytail and since she still didn’t get new contacts yet, she wore her glasses. She drove to Dash’s to meet Steve there. It was a sweet little diner that had a rather dashing twist on diner food. It was a bit more upscale in preparation and ingredients but it was still very affordable and delicious. They had a phenomenal brunch and her favorite item was the Eggs Benedict. It was a on a fresh baked croissant instead of an English muffin and it was like an edible orgasm. That and their rocky road ice cream was the best thing she ever had there and she was still in the works of enticing the chef to sell it to her by the gallon.

Ordering a glass of peach iced tea, Harper sipped it thoughtfully. It was nectar. Goodness, she loved this place so much. She looked toward the door keeping an eye out for Steve. For some reason, she was nervous. She didn’t want to get back together but she knew…all it took was a moment of weakness.

Steve Kirk glanced at his phone every ten minutes or so, to ensure that it was still switched on, and he hadn't missed a message from Harper. He assumed that she'd be carrying her cell, and that the longer it took to receive a response, the more likely that it'd be bad news. Unable to concentrate on the movie, the teacher fidgeted, and paced the apartment, stopping at his computer to check lessons planned for the week, and tidying up. Possibly in anticipation of bringing Harper back if she agreed to meet him for lunch?

All the while he mulled over what to say, and replayed her words in his mind. It was possible he'd over-reacted, especially with the yelling. However, that was the first time, and it wasn't though he'd physically threatened her. And didn't he have a right to be upset, considering it was she who'd called him in the middle of the night, demanded her come over, then acted in a manner totally out of character for the Harper he knew. What was wrong with wanting to ensure your girlfriend was okay?

Still, he shouldn't have made her feel ashamed of anything, no matter how her words affected him. Steve was aware that many women enjoyed a man who took control, called them names, and fucked them as if they owned them. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with it, and it wasn't as if Steve wasn't capable; ask a few of the girls back in College; or that the concept didn't arouse him; anyone with access to his internet browsing history could attest to that; but Harper hadn't struck him as 'that type of girl'. A phrase he immediately recognised as one he shouldn't dare use within her earshot, if and when they spoke again.

Steve's ingrained prejudices in regards to how a potential wife and mother should behave, and an overactive imagination had twisted a few little words, and something which most people would see as normal, into an issue bigger than Ben Hur. However, he enjoyed Harper's company, and relationships were all about compromise. If it's what she really, truly desired, and wouldn't think any less of him; which just as much of a concern to Steve Kirk as was what he thought of her; then it could be resolved. It was only roleplaying, and his girlfriend wasn't really a slut or a whore; he'd just need to learn separate the every day Harper from the other. For an apparently normal man, Steve Kirk was a psychiatrist's wet-dream.

When the phone buzzed, he jumped. She couldn't make lunch, but brunch was fine. Maybe the change in time was just her way of showing that she was still a little mad? Either way, he shot back that it was okay, and went to bed that night more content than he'd been since the incident.

Dressed in Levi's, and a white open-necked shirt, hair neatly combed, the Physcial Education teacher walked into Dash's, and spotted his girlfriend already seated at a table. "Hey baby." Steve leaned to kiss Harper on the cheek, then fell into the seat opposite. "How have you been, how was your week?"

The formalities over, and before she could even respond, he took a deep breath, then sighed. Steve would man up, and take the initiative. "Look, I'm sorry for the other night. I was totally in the wrong, and shouldn't have yelled. I've missed you, and was hoping we could make up, and move on. After all, one argument shouldn't ruin our relationship, and we're good together, aren't we?"

He'd decided it best not to broach the reasons behind the harsh words, still holding out the vain hope that it was only his raised voice, and lack of an apology or show of contrition, which had caused Harper to keep her distance.
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In a way, Steve Kirk and Hawthorne shared longed for the same in a woman. An equal, who'd be good company, and an intelligent companion.

However, where the difference lay was that Hawthorne Tische had no qualms in exerting control, and taking a woman as she'd wished to be taken. He enjoyed it, he craved it. To have a woman cuffed to his desk, legs spread as he rammed his manhood into her again and again with all the force he could muster; to watch her drop to her knees, dripping from just his words alone, and beg for his cock; to bend her over and paddle her ass until it was bright red, and she panted and moaned with need; to call her names, and force her to repeat his words and admit they were true, with each thrust inside her, one hand curled in her hair, and teeth leaving marks on her neck. To hear her desperate pleas for punishment, and give to her that which she also craved. Fucking a woman like a man should.

When Hawthorne had asked of her who she wished to be for the remainder of her life, it wasn't about sex - or not only -, but mindset, and the willingness to take action to achieve what it is that you desired, no matter what that may be. The question was also intended to serve as a warning. To become involved with Hawthorne Tische could lead the young woman down paths she'd not imagined. Would she find such a prospect frightening or enticing?

Hawthorne Tische pondered the matter as he watched the clock tick over to mid-day, and awaited the return of his limousine. With or without Harper Collin's; he remained unsure of which it would be.

Her gaze lifted from the beads of condensation that dripped from her very chilled glass of peach iced tea to see Steve walking towards her. Even if he was all vanilla and probably wouldn’t give her what she wanted in the bedroom, even if he could give her everything else she had always longed for a partner, he was a mighty fine man and the sight of him alone was enough to make her loins burn for him. That or she was so erotically charged for Hawthorne that any man would if she couldn’t have the enigmatic one himself. No, even Harper wasn’t that cruel. She was still very much attracted to Steve but the incident left so many questions in her mind. Could they get past it? Would he be willing to compromise to what she wanted? Would she be able to compromise to what he wanted? So many more questions and she wasn’t sure at all of the answers.

His kiss to her cheek left a searing heat that radiated through her body, tingles racing up her spine and the invisible hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Okay, he could still affect her and it wasn’t just because she was craving something so dirty. She was legitimately attracted to him but her attraction to him was very different in comparison to her attraction toward Hawthorne Tisch. With Steve, she could see a future. With Hawthorne, she saw herself sowing every wild oat she wanted to before settling down with someone like Steve. It was all bad timing.

A small smile came over her face and she opened her mouth to answer his general formality question but before she could, he got right to the point. Her mouth snapped shut and she bit down on her lower lip. Harper scanned his face, reading for any kind of forced emotion or lack of genuine warmth lacing his words. There was none. He wasn’t forcing himself to apologize from what she could gather and he did feel remorse for everything. It made whatever resolve or defense she had put up crumble and she let out a small sigh. “I’m sorry too, Steve. I was…I was way out of line, flipping out on you like that. I didn’t like that you yelled and I didn’t like being made to feel ashamed for something that I am so confused about. I’m still learning things of what I like and what I don’t like, things I want to experience and understand and it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. We’re still learning things about each other and it just takes time to find some common ground or safe ground among each other.”

She found herself reaching out for his hand and when he accepted, she laced her fingers with his. Still such a sweet warmth and she felt herself privy to it and him. There were all the makings of something serious with Steve. Hawthorne Tisch would be an experience, a dalliance and something that could never be more than perhaps completely life-changing. With Steve, there was a chance for something more, everything she had ever wanted in a life partner and husband. But she’d hurt him if she agreed to get back together instantly and still go to Hawthorne’s tonight. Regardless of whether she and Stever made up and resumed their relationship or not, Harper was still going to the Manor tonight and nothing would change that.

“We are good together. I just don’t know if that’s in stereotypical image of what we both should want from a relationship or if it’s actually true.” She lifted her gaze from their hands to his eyes and the look on her face said she was being sincere and honest about it, but there was also a niggling of hope. “But, I do think there are still things we can find out about each other that can mend ‘us.’” She said softly. “Jumping back into a relationship would be a foolish idea. We can’t just pick things back up so easily and you know that too. But I do want to explore this, with you and me. One step at a time.” She couldn’t believe she wasn’t ending things. She had come here today to make sure things were ended so she would be free to explore something entirely different with Hawthorne but even she knew it wouldn’t be permanent. She wanted something permanent in the end of everything and with Steve, she would have that. It wasn’t just because she wanted stability. She genuinely cared for him and in time, she could fall in love with him. But she wouldn’t be able to do that if she didn’t explore and become experienced in things she had always closed herself off to.

“If you don’t mind starting again, taking things slow, I think we can really go somewhere with each other. I can see you in my future and I’d like to fix our present to secure that future. But I don’t want to rush into anything and have a repeat of last time because we don’t know each other more. If you’re willing and if you can stay open minded about things, I will do the same and surely we can reach some common ground about things.” That way there would be no surprises and nothing she did or say from now on would shock him so much. She just hoped it wouldn’t send him off running into the hills.

Then she could also have her cake and eat it too. Out of the palm of Hawthorne's magnificent hands...