Working Hard For the Money - Part Two
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder struggles to support herself




Part Two


Once I'd signed the contract with Pfizer, he began promoting me 
in a big way.  He told me that my size and appearance were 
guaranteed draws.  He had special flyers prepared, and mailed 
them out to all of his regular customers.  The brochure said 
that I was available for private posing sessions, wrestling, and 
body worship services.  When I got a copy of the brochure, I was 
amused to see that Pfizer had changed my name.

While employed with him, I was to be known as Randi Red.  Except 
for the faintly sexual connotation, it didn't matter to me.  I 
was happy to hide my identity behind a false name.  My pictures 
were a true likeness of me, and anyone who knew me would 
recognize me instantly, but I could always deny it was me.  It 
gave me a false sense of security.

It didn't take long for my first call to come in.  Within days 
of the flyer's distribution, I had a message on my answering 
machine telling me that a potential client wanted to engage in 
body worship with me.  I was given a choice of three dates.

Pfizer left much of the day-to-day operation to his sister, 
Connie.  She was a brash, older woman who always said what was 
on her mind.  She mothered the girls who worked for Pfizer, and 
handled routine problems at the warehouse.  It was her idea to 
employ full-time bodyguards in case any of the customers got 
funny ideas, and tried to take advantage of any of the girls.  
Pfizer and Connie didn't mind if the girls enticed the clients 
into a little extra service, so long as it was mutually 
agreeable.  The problem arose when a client demanded more than 
he was entitled.

I called the office, and made arrangements for the following 
day.  Connie confirmed the date and time, and said she'd have 
everything prepared by the time I arrived.  I thanked her, 
replaced the receiver, and erased the message.  Then I 
undressed, and went in to take a shower.

The whole of that day, and half of the next, I was a nervous 
wreck.  Under my sister, Mary Ellen's tutelage, I'd seen and 
done things that other people only imagine.  Yet, the prospect 
of being in a room with a perfect stranger while he fondled my 
body made me tense and jittery.  Still, the money was good.  The 
client was paying two hundred dollars for the hour he wanted to 
spend with me, half of which I'd get.

I arrived at the office an hour before my scheduled appointment.  
Connie had assigned me to the larger of the two studios.  This 
one, unlike the other, had a private bath.

"We'll monitor you," she said, pointing out the hidden camera.  
"It's for your protection.  Most of the regulars are okay, but 
every now and then, we get someone new, and you never know what 
kind of sleaze ball they may be.  There's a button here."  She 
raised a flap near the door, exposing a small white button.  
"Press it if you get into any kind of trouble.  The boys will be 
in here in less than ten seconds."

"Is this necessary?" I asked.

Connie shook her head.  "Almost never," she said.  "But it's 
better to be safe than sorry.  You nervous?"

"No."

"Liar.  Don't worry.  It's perfectly natural.  I'll give you a 
heads up before we send the client in.  Why don't you get 
changed?"

When she left, I went into the bathroom, and changed from my 
street clothes to a string bikini. It was a new model, designed 
to display the maximum amount of skin.  If I'd worn this on the 
beach, I couldn't have been arrested for public nudity, but the 
line would have been a fine one.  The bra cups were tiny, barely 
covering my breasts.  My nipples stood out clearly against the 
flimsy material.  

The suit bottom was just as skimpy.  The triangle of material 
covering my pussy was smaller than the size of my palm.  In 
addition, it had no bottom whatsoever.  My butt was covered only 
by a small strip of material that ran uncomfortably up the crack 
of my ass.  Connie said the client wanted me to wear high heels, 
so I put on a pair of very high heels.  They were black, and 
pointy, and had four-inch heels.  I freshened my makeup, and 
sprayed myself with perfume.  By the time I'd finished 
dressing, Connie returned to tell me the client had arrived.  I 
took a deep breath and told her to send him in.

He was short and pudgy with thinning hair and bad skin.  His 
suit was a cheap, off-the-rack outfit that hung badly on his 
body.  Scuffed and worn shoes covered his feet.  He didn't seem 
the least embarrassed or anxious.  He shook hands, and 
introduced himself as Fred.  I murmured something in return, 
although I don't remember what.

Fred took off his suit jacket, and hung it on the clothes tree 
in the corner.  "Well," he said, rubbing his hands together 
briskly.  "Let's get started."

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise.  "Body worship," he said.  "Didn't 
they tell you?"

He took one of the folding chairs from its place by the wall, 
and positioned it in the middle of the room.  Sitting, he 
motioned me to walk over to him.  As I did, he held up a hand.
"Can't you walk a little more sexy?" he complained.  "Christ, 
I'm paying good money for this."

His tone annoyed me, but I said nothing.  I walked toward him 
with an exaggerated hip roll that made my breasts sway from side 
to side.  I was unsteady in the shoes I wore, and that made my 
tits swing even more.  Fred liked it though.  He licked his lips 
as I came toward him.

"Jesus Christ on the cross," he said admiringly.  "What a body."
I stopped in front of him.  He looked up at me.  Then, slowly, 
his hands reached up, and touched my stomach.  The tips of his 
fingers poked and prodded at the muscles of my belly, tracing 
the edges of the muscles.

"How many hours a week do you work out?" he asked.

"About twenty-five to thirty hours a week," I said.  "Why do you 
ask?"

"Do you take steroids?"

I frowned.  "That's none of your business."

"Don't get offended," Fred said.  "I was just wondering.  Some 
of the women in here, they take steroids.  They look good, but 
the side effects are something else.  Christine, you know her? 
she takes so many steroids, she's got to tape her clitoris down, 
the damn thing sticks out like a little dick.  That's why she 
never wears pants."

While he talked, his hands roved over my body.  He was 
especially fascinated with my legs.  He kept running his hands 
up and down, squeezing my thighs and calves between his hands.  
His breathing grew ragged as he grew more excited.  He kept 
talking, muttering under his breath, and uttering little cries 
of delight and astonishment as he fondled my legs.  He stood up, 
and moved around behind me where he ran his palms over the 
ridged muscles of my back.  When he tried to touch my ass, I 
hissed at him, and slapped his hands away.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"No touching there," I said.

"Why not?"  There was a wheedling tone to his voice.

"Because I said so," I answered.  "It's not part of the 
contract."

"How about if I pay you a little extra?" he whispered.  
"Something just between the two of us?"

I moved away, and turned to look at him.  His face was flushed, 
and there was a line of perspiration at his receding hairline, 
and on his upper lip.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Let me feel your ass and your tits," he said.  "An extra fifty.  
Just for you."

His hand dived into his trouser pocket, and withdrew a crisp 
fifty dollar bill.  He held it out to me.

"I'm not going to take my top off."

"You don't have to," he said.  He smiled unctuously.  "All I 
want to do is feel you up."

I didn't want to let him touch me, but I needed the money.  I 
had less than three dollars in my checking account, and it was 
only two weeks until the rent was due.  I snatched the bill from 
his fingers.  He was surprised by the speed at which the money 
disappeared.  "You've got fast hands," he commented, and then he 
was standing close to me again, his hands covering my tits, his 
fingers squeezing and kneading my boobs through the thin 
material of the posing suit.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his dry, flaking scalp and 
dirty hair.  He fiddled with my breasts, his fingers twisting my 
nipples as though they were radio dials, and he was trying to 
tune in a distant station.  One hand slipped around behind me, 
and he grabbed my ass.  He squeezed and pinched my buttocks, and 
tried to get his hands into the cleft separating my buttocks.  I 
hissed at him again, and he withdrew.

He was close enough so that I could feel the heat rising from 
him, and could feel the faint touch of his erect penis through 
his trousers.  He tried to rub himself against me, but I kept 
moving away, and eventually, he gave up in despair.  One hand 
left my body.  I opened my eyes to see why, and found that he 
was rubbing himself through the material of his pants.  The 
other hand continued to squeeze and caress my breast.  His 
breathing was as loud as a bellows.  It didn't take long for him 
to climax.  He stiffened and leaned into me, clinging with 
surprising strength.  I was repulsed by the feel of his soft, 
shapeless body, and pushed him away.  He moved away with no 
resistance.  Now that he'd spent his load, he was finished with 
me.

"Going to the bathroom," he said.

I wanted to get out of the room, but Fred still had a half 
hour's worth of time coming to him. When he emerged from the 
bathroom, though, he went and put on his suit jacket.

"You were great, sweetheart," he said.  He chucked me under the 
chin.  "Maybe next time, you'll take off your top, and I can get 
a good look at those melons of yours.  See you around."

With that, he left.  I went into the bathroom, and changed back 
into my street clothing.  

Connie met me in the foyer as I was getting ready to leave.  She 
pulled me aside, out of earshot of the client waiting in the 
lobby.

"How was it?" she asked.  "Your first time?"

"Sleazy," I said.  "I feel dirty."

"You'll get over that.  After a while, you won't feel anything.  
Did he offer you extra?"

"Fifty bucks," I said.  "He wanted to touch my tits.  I needed 
the money, so I took it."

"Yeah.  It's a bitch of a way to make a living."  She put a hand 
on my arm.  "I got a phone call while you were tied up with 
Fred.  One of our regulars called, and wants to wrestle you.  
Collegiate style.  Says he'll pay double the going price.  You 
game?"

I shrugged.  "What the hell.  See if you can arrange something 
for day after tomorrow."

"That's my girl," Connie said.  "See you then."


End of Part Two