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HARDMAN HILL 

"Webster", she said, standing on tiptoe so that she could speak into the
intercom set high and to the right of the door. "Tina Webster. I'm
supposed to start today".

"Of course you are. Come up". The voice was young, light, cheerful. Tina
felt the tension in her stomach lift a little.

"I can't get in", she told the disembodied voice. "There's no door
handle".

"I know that", came the sing song reply. "Wait for the buzzer, you
fool".

Fine, she thought. No problemo. I'll wait for the buzzer.

*****

The buzzer sounded. Tina pushed. And the door opened.

She found herself in a rather tatty entrance hallway, with new maroon
flock wallpaper, but peeling paint and worn carpeting.

"Dump", she muttered to herself, and headed for the stairway immediately
ahead of her. She'd just started to climb it when a girl no older than
she appeared at the top.

Tina stopped to study her. The frank gaze was returned. Both girls
grinned, a little embarrassed. "I don't know your name", Tina mentioned.
"So I can't say hello."

"Vicki", the other said. "Come on up."

"Hi, Vicki", Tina said.

"Hi, Tina", Vicki replied, and giggled. Then disappeared to the left.

Tina continued her ascent. She was a little taken aback by Vicki, who
was gorgeous, a lissom girl with an explosion of ash blonde hair and
sizeable breasts. She'd expected that the girls in this job would be
presentable enough to earn a living, as she believed that she was, but
not babes (which she believed that she wasn't).

So. One thing was clear. If she was going to be working with Vicki,
she'd have to be grateful for busy days.

At the top of the stairs was another corridor, which led into a small
lounge. To the right, another staircase, which presumably led to the
bedrooms. To the left, a small kitchen section with a cooker, a kettle
and a table, separated from the rest of the room by a low partition.
Directly ahead, two black imitation leather sofas, placed around a
coffee table and in front of a television set. The furniture all looked
a little the worse for wear.

Vicki was standing between the sofas, still smiling. Behind her was an
older woman, clearly less happy with life. Tina guessed that this would
be Irene, the lady who, according to Mr. Giannopoulos, looked after "his
girls."

Now that she could see Vicki properly, Tina realised that she hadn't
underestimated her. Vicki was a vision, with hourglass figure, big pink
sensuous lips, big friendly blue eyes and a tan which just had to be
real. She looked for all the world like a younger version of Meg Ryan.
Meg Ryan in a nurse's uniform, rather too tight at the top and cut so
high that the crotch of her frilly black panties could be seen.

Tina saw the comparison in Irene's eyes as the older woman weighed her
new charge up. She wished she'd put makeup on. Wished she'd not chosen
to wear jeans, which always accentuated her broad hips. Wished her
breasts didn't push to the side quite so much under her white T-shirt.
Wished her blonde hair was real, that the brown roots weren't showing so
clearly today. A flicker of resentment creased her forehead, and she
found herself unwisely challenging her employer's representative. "Will
I pass?"

Irene merely shrugged. "That's not for me to say", she replied coolly.
"Mr. Giannopoulos clearly thinks you will, and that's all I need to
know. You have another judgement to pass, of course. That of our
customers".

Vicki wasn't prepared to allow such a dismissive response. "Of course
you'll pass", she gushed. "You're a doll".

Tina coloured slightly. "Thanks", she managed, meaning it. Her
confidence was at an all time low.

Irene coughed, to draw the girls' attention, and when she had it, she
scowled. She seemed, in fact, to have a face which was a permanent
scowl.

Tina studied her new boss. Reedy, taut, with iron grey hair and almost
no figure. Dressed down in thick pullover and tweed skirt, as though
trying to divert attention away from herself. Perhaps, Tina thought
mischievously, Mr. Giannopoulos had advised that should any customer be
desperate enough to prefer Irene's company to that of "his girls", then
she would be under obligation to provide it. Irene was therefore doing
her best to make certain that such a situation never arose.

But it was more likely, Tina thought, that the woman was simply dowdy.

*****

"Can we set the mutual admiration society aside for a minute", Irene
suggested icily, "and get down to business." She instructed the girls to
sit down.

Tina obeyed, perching on the edge of one of the sofas. Irene and Vicki
sat on the other.

"Mr. Giannopoulos will have explained your duties", the woman began
briskly. "You won't be under any misconceptions?"

Tina shook her head. "I'm clear", she confirmed. "I know what I'm going
to be doing."

Irene nodded. "Then", she said, "we'll get down to the details."

*****

Tina had answered the question about misconceptions with swift, easy
honesty. It was fair to say that the owner of Hardman Hill had left her
with no illusions. She was here to do a job of work, and it would be
occasionally unpleasant, as all jobs were from time to time.

*****

She'd been busy behind the bar in Rileys on Torch Street when she'd seen
Giannopoulos for the first time. She'd noticed him approaching, a brick
outhouse of a man with huge shoulders, with big hands heavy with gold
jewellery, with a wild brown bushy beard. He had smiled at her as he'd
ordered his drink, and she'd been amazed at his white, even teeth, an
unusual presentation for a man who clearly didn't look after himself in
other ways.

Even before she'd known who he was, she'd sensed wealth. And for Tina,
there was no stronger aphrodisiac. She wasn't ashamed about that,
because it was simply true. It was part of who she was. Money had always
been hard to come by for her.

She'd asked her friend anf fellow bar girl Tara about the man. Tara had
been delighted to confide, "He runs Hardman Hill. You know, the
brothel."

Tina knew little about Hardman Hill. She was aware of its status as one
of three massage parlours in town, and she'd picked up from
conversations that it had a reputation for quality. Well, maybe not
quality. But certainly high prices.

Well, hello, Mr. Gangster, she thought, and she'd watched him, when she
could, as she served his whisky and dry ginger. His eyes seemed normal.
His posture wasn't threatening. But there had to be something. Just had
to be.

She'd been conscious that he was watching her just as keenly.

*****

The notion had come to her fully formed, and it took the form of, "Well,
why the hell not?" After all, she was earning a pittance at Rileys and
she ended up getting fucked by someone she'd only just met two nights
out of five anyway. Getting fucked, and paid nothing for it.

So the next time that Giannopoulos came to the bar, she'd been direct
with him. "You're Hardman Hill, aren't you?", she'd asked without
preamble.

The big man had grinned wolfishly. "In some circles", he had confirmed,
"I am known as Panos Giannopoulos. Close friends call me Pano. Hardman
Hill, that is not a name by which I have been addressed. But if you are
referring to Hardman Hill, the establishment, then yes, I have a
connection with it."

Unfazed, Louise had pressed bluntly, "Any jobs?". She'd known that he'd
find her cheek unusual, perhaps even breathtaking, but it was a case of
carpe diem. Sieze the day.

The Greek had weighed her up. More blatantly than before. He had
actually stood back to do so.
And then, after a moment or two, he'd nodded. "It is a possibility",
he'd allowed carefully.

She'd grinned back. Bacardi courage. "Make it more", she'd demanded.
"Make it a certainty. You wouldn't regret it. I could bring you
testimonials."

Those teeth again. Grin like a shark. "You want to work for me without
knowing the terms?", he'd queried. "Isn't that a little reckless?"

"I've heard that Hardman Hill isn't cheap", she'd replied. "I'm guessing
the girls don't go away empty handed".

"The girls get fifty per cent of all they earn", the Greek had informed
her. "Which can, as you imply, be a substantial amount."

Louise had folded her arms in a "well now, that's settled, my friend"
posture. "Sounds good to me", she'd blustered. "I get more money, and
you get me. You get the better deal, by the way."

Giannopoulos had chuckled. "I can understand your interest", he'd
conceded. "But by "knowing the terms", I wasn't necessarily referring to
the financial rewards. I was talking rather about what you need to do to
obtain them".

Tina had nodded. "I'm not na ve, Mr. Giannopulos", she'd assured. "I
know exactly what I have to do. I lost any innocence I had left when I
started working in clubs. And let me tell you, there wasn't all that
much left to lose."

The Greek had leaned in towards her, invading way too much of her space.
She had felt his hot, whisky breath on her cheek. But she'd held her
ground.

"There is a difference", he had confided, "between being good at sex,
for yourself perhaps, or for another in a loving relationship, and
simply pleasing a man. A man you've never met, and may not meet again.
My girls are specialists. I only employ specialists. So, before I could
consider employing you...". He had paused then, extended a hand,
indicated that he was waiting for her name.

"Tina", she had obliged.

"A lovely name", he'd complimented. Shit, he'd been smooth. Then, after
a pause during which he was apparently giving further thought to the
loveliness of the name, he'd continued, "Well, before I could consider
employing you, Tina, I'd need to know that you were capable of such...
selfless detachment".

*****

When she'd first approached Giannopoulos, Tina hadn't been entirely
commited. The thought of working at Hardman Hill didn't revolt her, and
she'd guessed, correctly it seemed, that the rewards were high. But if
her friends found out, she'd never live it down. And then there was the
thought of the really unpleasant customers - men old enough to be her
father, or men who hadn't had a bath in weeks.

The Greek's doubts, though, had fired a burning pride in her. Of course
she was good enough. How dare he?

"I've told you", she'd insisted. "Just try me. How can you lose? If I'm
not up to scratch, don't pay me".

He'd rocked his head from side to side, as though considering a question
which would have vexed Solomon. "It's a risk I can't take", he'd advised
finally. "I need my customers to be satisfied every time. A lost
customer is potentially lost revenue for a year. For ten years. You have
to make me sure, Tina".

She'd been at a loss. "Then what...?"

The lupine grin had returned then, as the Greek had sprung his trap.

"You have suggested that I try you", he'd reminded. "Was this empty
talk?"

Okay, Tina had thought. It had all been leading up to this. She'd led
herself into the lion's den. Why should she be surprised if the lion
growled?

She'd reacted with venom, burning her boats. "I said I wasn't na ve",
she'd spat at him. "But I suppose I must be. Look, get lost. Just forget
it".

Giannopoulos had shrugged. "I try all my girls", he'd responded calmly.
"It's a business thing, for reasons I have just explained. Look, you are
suggesting to me that I might employ you to have sex for money. With
whoever happens to turn up at Hardman Hill, during your shift. Whether
you fancy them or not. So how can it be unreasonable that I propose a
test which mirrors those circumstances? Have sex with me. A man you have
just met. And in return, I will pay you two hundred pounds".

*****

Shock and greed. Tina had picked a careful path between the two states
of mind, keeping instinctively closer to  greed. Yes, this would be a
big step. Practically, she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't just fuck
her, give her the  200 (or worse, not give her the  200) and tell her to
sod off. But what, she rationalised, if he did? Only dignity was lost if
he didn't pay, and a lot of money was gained if he did, more money in
fact than she'd normally earn in a fortnight.

She had only two ways forward. She'd risk her new idea, or she wouldn't.
Safety or change.

She'd chosen change. But she'd also chosen not to make things too
controllable for him. He needed to understand that she had spirit.

"Two hundred and fifty pounds and it's a deal", she'd pronounced, only
vaguely understanding what she was letting herself in for.

Giannopoulos had agreed, delivering that agreement after a good humoured
chuckle. "I like my girls to negotiate", he'd congratulated her. "Two
hundred and fifty pounds it is. There's an alleyway off Hall Street. Two
minutes away. Do you know it?"

She'd been unhappy about that. "I'm not doing anything in an alley".

"For two hundred fifty pounds", he'd insisted, "you will do what I want
you to do, where I want you to do it. In twenty minutes time. Do we have
a deal or not?"

She'd looked for, and found without too much difficulty, another
objection. "I don't get off for an hour".

"Make an excuse", he'd recommended. "A headache. Anything. If you are,
as you claim, good enough to work for me, then you will not need this
job in the future."

"No", she'd agreed, surrendering again. "I suppose I won't".

*****

She'd made the excuse. A headache, just as he'd suggested. And she'd
spent the next twenty minutes in a state of confused euphoria. Never
before had she simultaneously dreaded and anticipated sex. Never before
had the thought of sex, before the event, drowned her in such raw
emotion. She didn't exactly know why she felt that way, but the
detachment had something to do with it, as did the proposed location and
the fact that she was about to undergo a very intimate kind of  test.

By the time she'd entered the alley, she'd still been nowhere near
ready. But Giannopoulos had given her no time to adjust, in that he was
already there. Leaning against the gateway to a house some ten feet
away, only his shadow had been visible.

He'd beckoned her to come to him and, with only momentary hesitation,
she'd obeyed.

In one respect, though, she had been prepared. Her panties had been
stuffed into her handbag. She'd even considered moistening herself in
the ladies, but had discovered, not particularly surprisingly, that it
hadn't been necessary.

He'd taken her arm, quite firmly, and had led her deeper into the
darkness. For the first time it had occurred to her that she was
potentially placing herself in danger. The man was not after all a model
citizen. But it had been too late to back out by then. Far too late.

As things turned out, there had been no danger. Giannopoulos' intentions
had been exactly as he had previously stated them to be. Finding a
suitable piece of wall, he had led her to it and had positioned her with
her back against the bricks. Then he'd placed a big hand on either side
of her head.

"I'm not wearing a condom", he'd told her. "I hate them, and so do some
of the men who come to Hardman Hill. That's the main reason they pay so
much. So. Have you a problem with that, Tina?"

This confirmed something she'd heard in passing, and she was far from
convinced that she couldn't persuade those "some" to be a little more
careful, particularly if she developed some treats. But persuading
Giannopoulos was a completely different matter. Yes, there was a risk.
And yes, she would take it. If truth be told, it was one she took almost
every weekend. "Fine", she'd agreed. "But no kissing".

"Nobody usually objects to that", the Greek had allowed. Then he'd
waited. For at least ten seconds nothing had been said. In the darkness,
his eyes were unclear, but she'd sensed that they'd been locked on her
own, and that their owner's night vision was far superior to hers.
Finally, almost impatiently, he'd suggested, "Well then, Tina. Show me
what you've got".

She had understood then that she was expected to make all the running.
Well, fine. Her bragging had indicated to him that she could handle it.
And, she'd resolved, she could. And would.

Placing her hands on the big Greek's shirt, fingernails digging slightly
into the skin beneath the nipples, she'd lowered herself to her knees.
The cobbles had been damp, but smooth.

With practised ease, she'd slid first the right hand down, to unhook the
stretched waistline of his pants, then the left hand, with which she had
reached into his underwear.

Her eyes were still not adjusting to the darkness of the alley, and
she'd been unable to see the erection that she hooked out. Fortunately,
all that she needed to know she had been able to feel. The guy's cock
had been stiff as a poker, and the vibration in it showed that
importantly, his cool had been as much of an act as hers.

She hadn't been overly impressed. The beast was quite thick, but it was
only six inches long at best. As it throbbed between her thumb and
forefinger, she had realised with a selfish little smile that this
business wasn't really going to take very long.

She'd bobbed forward and had taken him into her mouth, tasting the salty
flesh as it had swelled into her tongue, gagging as it had reared
against the back of her throat. Then she'd started to fellate him,
trailing the tip of her tongue around the glans to tease him a little
but in general urging him on, pushing all the time, giving him no
respite. Her lips had slid up and down his shaft, taking him in to the
balls, letting him almost free, taking him back in again. Up and down.
In and out. Giannopoulos had started to grind forward, and his knees
were vibrating.

"Stand up", he'd suddenly cried, as though panicking before some life
threatening event. "Stand up, baby".

Obediently, she'd stood, but not before delivering him one last, prick
length lick which had made him moan in forced restraint. Once she was
facing him again, he'd moved his hands from the wall for the first time
since he'd led her to it, but only so that he could push her back. Then,
those hands had sought out her ample buttocks, and he'd lifted her, so
comprehensively that her feet had no longer touched the floor.
Maneouvring roughly, he'd found what he wanted and, with a single rough
thrust, he'd penetrated her, careless enough that he'd hurt her, but
only a little.

Immediately, she'd dug her heels into his spine in an effort to ease the
discomfort. But it hadn't really been necessary, because after just a
few strong, deep thrusts, before she could even get used to the
sensation of his being inside her, his back had gone rigid, he'd let out
an enormous howl and hot semen had sprayed into her uterus, all the more
palpable because she hadn't been further roused herself.

Quickly, he'd lowered her, her weight suddenly seeming to be a factor,
and had leaned forward again, hands against the wall, panting.

A minute had passed. Then a few seconds more. Finally, unable to wait
the verdict any longer, she'd prompted, "Well?"

Hoisting in the breath to speak, he'd placed a hand to her cheek, a
proprietory gesture if ever there was one. "Zeus, you're tight", he'd
praised her.

"I know that", she'd purred. "I've been told".

"You're going to be very popular at Hardman Hill", he had promised.

"I know that too", she'd replied airily.

*****

She watched the birdlike Irene run through the details of employment,
setting out schedules, laying down house rules, and was happy to note
that her confidence was flooding back. Remembering Giannopoulos, rich,
powerful and ultimately baited and controllable Giannopoulos, it was
becoming clear that she had little or nothing to fear. She had the
confidence necessary to make a success of the job. The up-front,
in-your-face confidence to attract enough clients, whether her
competition was Vicki or Madonna. And the deeper, more personal
confidence to make those clients behave as she wanted them to, rather
than the other way around. Because men, she was already starting to
learn, were...

...Well, they came to places like Hardman Hill for exactly what they
needed. Love. And a surrogate dummy to suck on.

She tuned back into the conversation.

"...per week towards the toilet paper", Irene was saying.

Tina nodded sagely. "No shit", she replied.

Irene glared as Vicki stifled a giggle.