Working Title: Her Choice

"What...wait...what?" Confused panic filled her voice, I...I don't think, you must be kidding...what do you mean? I can't...won't do that!"

Still soft-spoken, repeating himself once again, telling her exactly what she would have to do to work off her gambling debt.

"Oh Gawd no, I can't...no I won't do that." tears forming in her eyes. "Can't we work something else out," intentionally letting her short skirt ride further up her thigh as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, hinting at the something else she meant.

"Those are the terms if you want to work off what you owe," still calm and even-tempered, "you played, you lost, now it's time to pay, either the five thousand you owe us plus the vig at five hundred a day..."

"But it's not fair," tears rolling down her cheek, her mascara just beginning to streak, "you can't expect me to agree to..."

"We expect you to pay up," hardness firming his voice, "your choice, cash or take the deal, we don't care. The deal stands," explaining one last time "each event credits you one thousand dollars, the vig stays the same, so the faster you participate the quicker this all goes away." Adding for emphasis "today you owe $5500, tomorrow that's $6000 to you, the longer you put it off, the worse it gets. Your choice."

"Her choice? thinking to herself, "it was her stupid choices that brought her here," her memory drifting back to what started this disaster...

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Holding the two dresses in front of her, clad only in her red boy-cut panties and matching push-up bra, she alternated them for her best buddy Clarissa. "So which one for tonight's debauchery?" she asked with a giggle.

She giggled even harder when Clarissa answered, "well honey if you're really looking for debauchery, forget the dresses, that lingerie really does it for me, Jeanne." Smacking her lips before adding "Yum!"

Jeanne laughed out loud, "I can't very well go clubbing dressed like this," shaking her head, her light brown breaking out of the clip she had it in to finish dressing. "After all, without the dress how will the boys undress me with their eyes?"

It was Clarissa's turn to laugh, "true," shaking her blonde mane, "and we do know how you like to tease the poor boys." She pursed her lips, "ok, the cream sheath I think," nodding, "not to short, but that side slit will drive them crazy."

Looking at the final results in the mirror, the two girls were pleased with their appearance, Clarissa's slim, tallish frame contrasted against Jeanne's petit, shorter figure. It made her think of the old song her father used to tease her with, "Five foot two, eyes of blue", him laughing as she blushed at the aptness of his teasing. The description fit well, even with the heels that matched her dress perfectly, she barely came to the taller girl's shoulders. Clarissa's statuesque six-foot, two inches.

"So are we ready to go rip up the town and break some hearts," asked Clarissa, tugging at the dark skirt that ended just above her knees?

Giggling once more, Jeanne adjusted the hem of her skirt, tugging the slit to show her best advantage, "sexiness set on stunning, ready for action Cap'n."

Getting out of the cab at the club, they treated the doormen to a flash of leg as they left the cab, ensuring their entrance to the exclusive space within. Making a beeline for the bar they both ordered virgin versions of their drink of choice, Jeanne's Sex on the Beach, which looked exactly like its alcoholic counterpart. They tipped Mario very well and later when making the boys buy them drinks they'd insist that only Mario could make them properly. For his part Mario would happily supply the virgins all night, all the while collecting for the more expensive alcohol.

"Ready to set up shop?" Jeanne pointed out a row of empty bar stools, it was early yet. She drifted to a stool as Clarissa choose another, close enough to support and protect each other, but far enough away to be attractively alone. As the club quickly filled up the separation between the two girls { }.

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A sucker bet, she couldn't lose. Karen didn't lose the next three bets either, eventually, though, the tide turned. She lost it all and worse the money wasn't hers. It belonged to a charity she was chairing. Desperate, she borrowed money from a bookie. Betting everything on a tip the bookie's shill gave her, good money chased bad, and she lost. Deeper in the hole, she begged the bookie for help, laughingly, he told her, "I sold your debt. You gotta' sob story?" Scribbling a note, "go cry here." As she rushed away, the bookie added, "good luck and never come back here ya' little Bitch."

The address took her to a modern building in the cities midtown. The office was well furnished, the receptionist, a pretty blonde, in a skirt as short as the one Karen had worn in hopes of making a deal with the bookie. Ushered into an inner office, a distinguished older gentleman pointed to a chair in front of his desk.

Tenting his fingers, peering over his glasses, He laid out exactly how Karen Booker could work off her debt.

"What, wait...what?" Confused panic filled her voice, "I...I don't think? Are you kidding? I won't do that!"

Still soft-spoken, repeating himself, telling her again exactly what she had to do.

"Oh please, no I just can't do that." tears forming in her eyes. "Can't we work something else out," intentionally re-crossing her legs, her short skirt riding up her shapely thigh, hinting hopefully at the something else she meant.

"Those are the terms if you want to work off what you owe," still calm and even-tempered, admiring her well-turned legs. "You played, you lost, now you have to pay. Either the five thousand you owe us plus the vig at five hundred a day ..."

"... Not fair," tears rolling down her cheeks, her mascara beginning to streak, "you can't expect me to agree to be ..."

"We expect you to pay up," hardness firming his voice, "your choice, cash or take the deal, we don't care. Explaining one last time "each event credits you one thousand dollars, the vig freezes, the faster you participate the quicker this all goes away." Adding for emphasis "today you owe $5500, tomorrow that's $6000, the longer you put stall, the worse your situation gets. Your choice."

A sob finally escaped from deep within her, "it's not really a choice, either I do ... it," still not able to put words to it, "or the amount I owe keeps going up endlessly."

"True", his voice still hard, "But you do have a choice. Can you borrow the money from a bank or relative?" He felt a little bad for the young redhead, she had been suckered by a con, "if you pay it off then you won't have to ..."

"No," interrupting him, "I'm already maxed out and I couldn't explain this to anyone."

"Well then," spreading his hands, "what will it be?"

Still sniffling, she used the hanky he offered to blot her eyes, "I'll ... I'll have to accept the proposition," looking a bit calmer now that the choice was made, "will it happen here, are you going to ... you know, do it now?"

"Oh no sweetheart," smiling, "not my department. The boss handles these things personally."

"When will it," not liking that yet another person would be involved, "happen"?

"Tonight," very matter of factly, "a car will take you to the boss's place from here."

"To ... tonight," tearing up again. "I can't tonight, it's too soon," she let out another little sob.

"Tonight," he said firmly, brooking no further nonsense. "Bathroom," pointing, "go wash the makeup smears off your face, make yourself presentable, the boss will be waiting."

She felt his eyes follow her to the bathroom, "enjoy yourself, you old lech." She had worn this skirt on purpose, hoping to tempt the bookie into forgiving her debt in trade. It framed her bottom beautifully, accentuating its graceful curves. A big help the skirt turned out to be, first, the bookie rejected her offer, and now the old guy too.

Karen entered the car with trepidation, she had never done anything like this, not even as a little girl. She was scared, it was humiliating to think about. Somehow those feelings of scary humiliation started a familiar glow deep within her. She tried to tamp the heat down, each time she did it came back faster and more intense. She found herself thinking about the "boss". Would he be older than the man who had sent her here? She decided he would be an old, fat, ugly guy, who couldn't get a girl on his own. The kind of guy who took things out on women the way he was going to take this out on her.

The car dropped her in front of a former theater, converted to an office high-rise, with architecture harkening back to a bygone era, proudly preserved. The driver walked her to the door, he had done this before, presenting her like a package delivered. A guard led her to an elevator that he used a key to open, saying only, "get off when the doors open."

The ride up was quick, the light on the elevator panel indicating she had arrived at the Penthouse Suite, the doors opened onto a spacious living room, lit by windows on two walls that lent a breathtaking view of the Cities main park. A well-built man blocked part of that view, his back to her, he was removing his jacket. When he turned to face the chime of the arriving elevator, he smiled at the girl he saw, thinking "Leonard was right, she's beautiful."

He wasn't fat, old, or ugly. And he definitely wouldn't have trouble finding willing girlfriends. "Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all," she thought, her breath catching in her throat.

Still smiling, "so Karen, are you ready for your spanking?"