Harold Mitchell
Women who perform with animals
CHAPTER ONE
Strange things sometimes happen in the subway mouths… City subway mouths gaping as though ready to eat the next erstwhile commuter. This was a fact that gnawed at the uneasy mind of Lenny Morgan as she waited in the shadows for Boss Carl.
It was a peculiar meeting place.
She had answered his advertisement with some trepidation, for he had wanted an exotic dancer. Lenny Morgan was just about the most exotic dancer in New York. She mixed her more artistic activities with occasional high-class prostitution, of course. It would seem that she was well-enough fixed, in her leather maxi-coat and expensive shoes, well enough established not to seek any other employment. Seems is not always enough… she had all the money and leisure she needed, but she had caught the disease of the grasping city.
Lenny Morgan was a woman who wanted more.
She wanted to conquer… she wanted to be a star. That was why she had answered Boss Carl's ad. Everyone knew Boss Carl. He had all the bread, all the connections. If he chose, he could make his cleaning lady into a sex symbol.
"Well," Lenny Morgan mused, "I ain't no damned cleaning lady…"
She was interrupted in her apostrophe to herself by a shadow that fell across the pavement before her lovely booted feet. It was a shadow of great bulk; the shadow of a hulking figure in a trench coat with the collar turned up…
Her eyes rose hesitantly, timidly. She had never seen Boss Carl before… it seemed to be a somehow apocalyptic experience, as if she would never again be the same… as if the sight of him would tear some virginal membrane from her consciousness forever.
His face was shockingly pale, with a stubble of dark beard that had apparently escaped the cleansing stroke of a razor for more than a week. He scowled at her and allowed a merciless laugh to spill from his thick lips.
"I… I… I am Lenny Morgan?" she spoke as though asking permission to exist. It seemed that Boss Carl could have denied her identity at that moment and she would slowly disappear, dissolving into the grime and murk of the Metropolitan Transit System.
An evil smile split his face, showing yellowed teeth. He reached up with his hairy and muscular hands, taking the raincoat by the lapels and spreading it wide.
Underneath, he was entirely naked.
His cock was rather large and stout.
"I," he grumbled with Satanic pride, "am Boss Carl!"
Unable to take all these sensations in at once, and almost visibly trembling with dread, Lenny Morgan coldly eyed the body that Boss Carl had so suddenly and strangely exhibited. It was muscular, but not so much an athletic musculature as an animal brutish build. His chest was huge and thick, covered with curling black hairs. His stomach was hard but somewhat swollen, reminding her of nothing more than an overstuffed satyr.
"What's the matter, baby?" Boss Carl snorted, "Ya got nothing to say, huh?"
"Well… I… I don't know what to say. It's all so sudden and everything."
But Boss Carl was not really listening to her, instead he walked circles about her. His eyes flicked restlessly over her voluptuous body, he poked and probed at her breasts with his hairy paws.
"Not bad…" he said conditionally, "not precisely swell… but not bad either…"
Lenny smirked at his cagey estimation of her pulchritude; she knew that he wouldn't be likely to find anybody any better in the entire city.
"Look," she began with renewed courage, "I know that you think of yourself as a pretty big man in your field… but I happen to come with pretty exceptional qualifications myself. Do we talk business, or do I catch the next train home?"
"We talk business." He ripped open her blouse and took a breast in his palm. "What kind of merchandise have you got for me?"
Instinctively, she slapped him across the face.
"Hey!" he yelled painfully, "what the hell did you do that for?"
"In my line of business," she snapped, "we do our best to keep the 'merchandise' in as good shape as possible… it's my stock in trade and I don't cater to people who just screw around with it. I know you're the biggest man in your field, but I don't put out with anything until I get an advance."
He eyed her with a bit more respect, then hastily pulled his trenchcoat closed again. "We better go someplace and talk terms, baby."
"That," she sniffed, "is the first good suggestion you've made."
"I guess we better snap over to my pad… I take all the staff chicks there for interviews." Then a kinder light came into his eyes. "You grunted yet?"
"What?"
"Grunted – eaten, baby… have you eaten yet?"
"No… as a matter of fact, I'm starved."
He took her by the arm and led her to the trains. As they climbed into a village-bound subway, Lenny Morgan began to wonder what kind of weird place he would be taking her for "grunts" as he called them. Probably, she mused, some creepy deli or something.
Much to Lenny's surprise, it was the farthest thing in the world from a creepy deli… it was Boss Carl's own plush "Phylogem Club", one of the most luxurious and elite nightspots in the city.
A waiter greeted them with a superfluity of bows and compliments. The obsequious little man even complimented Boss Carl on the cut of his trenchcoat.
"Wait'll ya see what I got on underneath," Carl quipped.
They were both ushered to a corner table, where Boss Carl ordered them both martinis.
The menu was fabulously expensive, Lenny – deciding to take advantage of the situation – ordered steak and lobster-tails.
"That's groovy, chick." Boss Carl took her hand with what might almost be called tenderness. "Kind of nice to see a chick what eats good old-fashioned grunts instead of that fancy moolash…"
"I like to keep up my strength."
"Yeah," Carl's eyes floated down over her shapely figure, "yeah, that ain't a bad idea, chickie…"
From the gleam in his eye, Lenny presumed that she was going to need all the strength that she had to prove herself worthy of the work he had in mind.
Then she felt a cold shiver run down her spine… until now she hadn't really thought too much about what he might have in mind for her… she had an uneasy premonition that it was not going to be anything ordinary.
She was right.
CHAPTER TWO
Boss Carl's back room was the most lush and luxurious that Lenny had ever seen. It combined the attributes of a bedroom and office, containing a large double bed and a huge walnut desk.
On the desk, Lenny was surprised to see a complicated set of telephones… including a red phone marked, "hot-line".
But that was not the object of her visit… her purpose was to obtain an interview for the position he had advertised. The ad had not specified precisely what he had in mind, so she asked him that question first of all.
"What, precisely, would be my duties?"
A low, threatening laugh escaped from Boss Carl's lips. He sat heavily into the swivel chair behind his desk and held a pencil in his large, hairy hands. For several seconds, his eyes seemed to be transfixed by the tiny pencil. Then he broke it violently in two.
"Time," he said.
"Time?"
"There will be time for those questions later… the first order of business, my little princess, is to derive your own suitability for the job."
Something about his voice, its basso timbre making the very walls shake, made Lenny excessively nervous. Why, she thought to herself, couldn't he tell her what her duties might be?
He stood suddenly and walked to a corner of his desk. His overcoat had somehow become unbuttoned during their conversation and now flopped open, revealing his burly prick where it hung between his massive, hairy thighs. His face was cracked by a meaningful leer.
"Before we begin to discuss terms," he rumbled, "we must see how you perform."