Chapter One

 

Dillon brushed a long, stray lock of hair back from her face and stood up with a grunt of effort. Her legs were getting tired, and her back was sore. She was sweaty and smelly. She looked down the long length of empty hall, most of it lost in darkness now as the shadows grew along the walls. She glanced at her watch and made a face. It was getting on towards Five, which meant she really had to start thinking about eating and then getting ready for work.

She stepped back from the wooden frame of two by fours she'd been putting together with the aid of a nail gun and a book on do-it-yourself basement renovations.

She wasn't in a basement, of course. She was on the third floor of a run-down, century old red brick, four story building. The place had been largely gutted after years of neglect. The plaster had been hammered, smashed, and dumped. The fixtures, plumbing and cabinets had been torn out. All of it by her, personally. She'd certainly put her destructive tendencies to good use here, and swinging a sledge hammer had pretty much eliminated her need to go to the gym.

What had been left, after her orgy of destruction, was a two hundred and fifty foot long space separated by bare, cinder block walls into what would be ten mid-priced apartments. She'd already installed much of the main plumbing lines, and was now putting up the last of the backing for the drywall which was to come.

Three years living with a contractor, and a very inquisitive mind had taught her a lot of the basics. And she didn't kid herself that what she was doing was terribly complicated. The more complicated stuff, like the wiring, for example, would have to be done by someone with more expertise than her. But she could do grunt work, and did.

She walked out of the "apartment" she'd been working on, her steel-toed boots kicking aside an empty container as she moved out into what would be the main hall. Aside from the boots she was wearing a pair of very short shorts and a small bikini top. This was a construction site, but she was the only worker, so dressed for the heat which blew in from the open windows.

She walked down its length to the stairs - grimy and dirty, and also much in need of renos, and started up.

The ground floor, which would become small shops, was largely done. The finishings would depend on the type of shops she wound up renting out to. The second floor was also just about finished, with only some paint and the floor refinishing needing to be done before the fixtures and cabinets were put in place.

And after she got the third floor done, there was the fourth floor, and then what would ultimately become her loft apartment, and was presently the attic - which was where she was headed.

She examined the elevator opening as she came out onto the fourth floor landing. She'd spent tens of thousands so far having the damned thing rebuilt, and it still didn't work properly.

She glanced down the hall. It was spooky quiet, dusty and dirty, the doors torn off the various apartments, some laying along the dusty floor, some propped against the walls. Most of the lights were gone, with only a few bare bulbs hanging loose from the ceiling. She made a face and turned, climbing against, and coming out in the attic.

The attic was as long and wide as the rest of the building, but with the roof sharply canted inwards on both sides. She had big plans for it, including large windows and extra insulation. At the moment, her living quarters were at one end, where her bedroom would wind up. There were no walls in the attic. The previous winter, she'd covered off her space with plastic to keep in the heat. Now it just lay open to the rest of the attic.

Which was weird, but she'd gotten used to it.

She'd carpeted over the ugly unfinished wooden floors, put in a bed, used armoires and dressers to separate that space as 'the bedroom'. The living room was a leather couch facing a plasma screen on the bare brick wall. She'd tiled off a space a good thirty feet square for the bathroom. One corner of it was the shower enclosure - which at the moment wasn't enclosed, but never mind. The tub was an old-fashioned iron clawed model for now. It was all a little rough, but the plumbing worked.

There was nothing in the rest of the attic but building supplies she'd gotten at a bankruptcy sale and parked here for safekeeping. Row on row of two-by fours, cinder bricks, pipes and, in the very back, a huge pile of very nice kitchen cabinets someone had had custom made for a new housing project, then failed to pay for. She'd had a whole section of the wall pulled out so the supplies could be lifted up by a crane - and hadn't that been expensive!

But now she only had to take them down, not up, and if the elevator ever got fixed that would be a lot easier than her makeshift block and tackle which swung them out the opening in the wall and down to the floor which needed them.

She unlaced the boots and pulled them off, then tugged off the gray sweat socks beneath and tossed them into the open hamper next to her dresser. She undid the bikini top and tossed it in after, then hooked her thumbs into the short shorts and slid them down and off. She had nothing on beneath, and padded naked past the dressers and across what would eventually be a hall into the bathroom area.

She was tall and lithe, with full, nearly perfect breasts so firm the small pink nipples actually pointed slightly upward. She freed her long red hair and it dropped halfway down her back.

She stepped into the corner and turned on the shower. Water sprayed from three showerheads in front of and above her, and another to her side. A deluge of cold water made her gasp and shiver, clutching her arms across her breasts. Her areolas puffed out at once, and her nipples hardened as she danced from foot to foot.

The cold froze her, but she endured it, gasping and turning, letting the icy water soak her for a full minute before turning it off. Gasping, she shook her head, wrung the water out of her hair, and then began to soap up.

It always gave her a little sense of exhibitionistic thrill to be naked with two hundred and fifty feet of dark emptiness behind her. But she was fairly confident the main floor entrances were secure. And anyway, exhibitionism was nothing new to Dillon. She'd been an exhibitionist since she was ten.

The surroundings might have been rough, but the soap was very expensive, softly scented, and gentle to her fair skin as she soaped up from head to toe.

Her fingers lingered over the smoothness of her bare mons. Her sex was a tight, neat slit, the apex of two long, perfectly sculpted legs without a hair to be found on either. She'd had all the hair below her head lasered off years earlier, and her skin was unblemished, and smooth as a baby's bottom.

This was no time to play, however. She rinsed off, this time with tepid water, then soaped up a second time. She left the soap on as she shampooed her long hair, again with a very expensive, softly scented shampoo. Then the water jetted down, much warmer now as she turned in place and let herself be rinsed clean.

She was an expert with the hair dryer and curling iron, and her silky hair was as cooperative as ever. She knew a lot of girls whose hair was rough from years of bleaching, dying and treatments. She'd never had anything done to her hair, no dye had ever touched it, and she'd never had a perm. Her hair was rich and thick and so soft she'd known men to get as much tactile pleasure running their fingers through it as they had touching her in more traditional areas.

The phone rang as she was about to leave.

Frowning, she examined the number in the phone's window, sighed, and picked it up. It was her best friend, Jamie.

"Hi Jamie," she said.

"Hi Dillon. Doing anything?"

"I have work tonight," she said.

"Oh. Shit."

"Why?"

"Corrine can't make it and we have a volleyball game this evening."

"Sorry, honey."

"What time do you work?"

"Ten, but I can't play volleyball beforehand. I'll be tired and sweaty."

"You can shower at the club."

"I'll still be all tired. Can't do it. Anyway, you just want to see me naked."

"No, I just need another girl for the team. Seeing you naked is just a side benefit."

Dillon laughed lightly. Jamie was a lesbian, though an oddly conservative one, and every lesbian who saw Dillon wanted her - badly. It was something to do with the strong face and piercing eyes combined with that incredibly lithe, athletic body. Dillon was slut enough to enjoy dabbling with women from time to time, but had a preference for men, big men, muscular men, hard bodied men.

"Why don't you call in and say you'll be late?"

"I can't be showing up all sweaty and out of breath."

"I would have thought the men would like that," Jamie sniffed cattily.

She and Jamie had gone to college together. She didn't approve of Dillon being a stripper, and it irritated the hell out of her to think of men being able to pay to ogle and paw the body she herself had to work so very hard to only occasionally get her hands on. But her own life as a lawyer involved plenty of sucking up to sexist men, concealing her sexual preferences, and dressing like a schoolmarm, not to mention many 12 hour days.

"That's just the way it is, honey. You'll have to find another girl."

Jamie sighed. "Okay. But if you change your mind you have my cell."

"Yup, but I won't."

With her hair done she had a quick bite to eat, then dressed in leather boots, white linen trousers and blue silk blouse. As she grabbed her car keys from the dresser she looked at the masters degree she'd left propped against the mirror, reminding herself again to either hang it up or put it away. She pulled a short, nine millimeter automatic from the dresser and stuck it into her pocket and headed for the stairs, leaving the framed certificate behind just as she'd left her potential career as a chemical engineer behind before she'd even really started work.

She stepped into the elevator and pulled the doors closed by hand. It was an old-fashioned cage elevator, though with new controls. She worked the lever, and it started down. It was reliable going down at least, if not going up.

She put her hand into her pocket and flipped the safety off the pistol, then unlocked and unbolted the door. She opened it slowly, warily, and waited, listening. She could see nothing. An eight-foot high chain link fence topped by barbed wire surrounded the small back yard. The only lighting was directed at her Mazda where it sat parked against the fence.

She took the pistol out and closed the door behind her, then carefully double and triple locked it before moving over to her car. She turned it on before she got to it, turned off the alarm, and, head swiveling carefully, climbed in.

It wasn't that she lived in a bad neighborhood, so much as that the neighborhood next to hers was bad, very bad.

But not nearly as bad as it had been last year, which was a great improvement over the year before. The area had been on the edge of a slum, but developers had been moving in to the east and west and prices had been rising. That had shifted the poor - and the criminals - further and further away.

When one of her clients had told her a couple of years ago that real estate prices in this area were certain to double every year she'd had her doubts, even though he had certainly been in a position to know. But she'd gone for it and purchased this run down building, already abandoned and populated mainly by rats, roaches and crack-heads. It had only cost her a quarter million, which was chicken feed in terms of what most places would cost in a decent neighborhood. She could probably get close to a million for it now, if she sold.

She hit the remote to slide the gates open and drove out into the small side street which fronted her building. Her building took up most of the block, and there was a small, run-down city park on the other side. She had no doubts that as the area improved, and voters moved in, that park would be cleaned up. Probably just in time for her to start renting out to the thirty odd tenants she was preparing the place for.

She headed uptown, of course. Traffic was light, given the hour and day, and she was soon turning off and pulling up in the section of the parking lot behind an anonymous rear of a one story building set aside for employees.

She took out the gun and slipped it under the seat, then swung her long legs out and was already walking as the car door closed and the locks and alarm beeped. She used a swipe card to let herself in, and five minutes later was changing into her uniform.

She used only a trace of lipstick, just a dash of rouge. She did her hair, and slipped into the uniform like it was an old friend. She'd worn it for five years now, off and on.

"You cut it closer every night," Alexandra said, coming into the room.

Dillon turned and grinned. "But I always make it."

"You got like ten minutes."

"Plenty."

She guided Alex into the toilet and one of the small stalls there, then watched as the hungry blonde sat on the toilet facing her. Dillon lifted her short skirt and the blonde pulled aside her thong, then began to lick excitedly at her pussy.

Dillon watched, not terribly aroused at first, but as the woman's long, pink tongue squirmed inside her and stroked across her clit she felt her insides beginning to buzz, her pussy beginning to throb. She felt the heat slowly rising, a flush coming to her face and chest as the woman eased two fingers slowly up inside her.

Her breathing came faster, her pulse picking up, and she shifted her feet wider on the floor as Alex licked harder and faster.

"E-Enough," she gasped, gripping the woman's hair.

Alex kept licking. It was always like pulling a dog off a bone to pry her away from her pussy, but Dillon had a will of steel and forced herself back with a gasp, tugging her thong back into place and dropping her skirt.

"You taste so damned nice," Alex said, licking her lips.

Dillon winked at her then stepped out of the stall and did a final check on her hair, turned from the mirror and headed out the door. She turned to her right, the sound beating at her as she drew closer to where lights flashed, and then she was up the stairs and behind the curtain as Mary Ann hurried past. The announcer was already calling her name and promising excitement beyond the crowd's wildest dreams as Dillon flounced out - not easy in five-inch heels.

The stage was typical; round, with a narrow wing extending towards the curtains she had come out of. Dillon flounced across it to the centre of the stage, caught her left arm around the bar and half swung around, eyes wide, looking surprised and uncertain, a long finger going to her lower lip as she pulled it lightly down in a pouty frown of uncertainty.

She let her momentum swing her further around the bar and let a long leg swing out so her foot was placed on the low railing along the edge of the stage. Then her look of pouty confusion was replaced by coy teasing, and she let a hand slide slowly up her bare leg to her short pleated skirt, sliding the skirt up higher and higher until her white thong was visible - but only for a moment.

Then as the beat of the music came faster she began to move with it, swinging and swaying, rolling her hips, prancing across the stage in the black stilettos, the white blouse very tight across her chest, the schoolgirl blazer spreading open as she moved, the little skirt bouncing around her thighs.

She turned and threw back her arms, arching her back, and the blazer swept back off her shoulders and down her arm to fall behind her. A smooth backward kick sent it sliding out of the way as she pranced forward, hands on hips, tongue sliding teasingly along her lips.

She caught at the bar, sliding slowly up against it, tonguing it, then curled around and pranced. The buttons down the front of the blouse were snaps, and pulled apart easily so she wore the shirt open, a frilly, lacy little half bra beneath. Another turn, another grinding, rolling dance, and the skirt shimmied down her legs to puddle around her ankles. She stepped neatly out and sent it sliding over to her jacket.

The blouse was longer than it should have been, long enough to hang open around her hips as she teased the audience, opening and closing it, turning and twisting, and finally letting it drop off her arms as she had the blazer.

Her pulse was beating faster now, as it always did at this stage. She was prancing around in a thong and little half-bra. About twenty men sat in pervert's row along the edge of the stage, staring up at her. A few chatted on occasion, but none took their eyes off her for long. Her heat was rising as she felt the wave of lust sweeping over her from the audience, and when her bra parted and she showed off her breasts she felt a hot rush of liquid heat between her legs.

She moved slowly across the stage, tongue sliding across her lower lip, making eye contact with every pervert at the edge of the stage, giving them a smoldering look of heat and seduction. Then the thong was gone, as well, and the rush was filling her, the pressure of excitement making it hard to breath as she danced naked before two hundred men, the lights strobing, the spotlights swinging to follow her. She swung around and around the bar, grinding herself against it, an unfeigned look of raw carnal excitement gripping her as she squeezed it between her breasts and slid up and down.

Naked.

Naked, on a stage, brightly lit, with two hundred men watching, staring, wanting her, wanting to fuck her, to ride her, to use her, to rape her, to ram their cocks into every orifice.

It was exhilarating!