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ankles and settles them on his shoulders. This is standard enough. He pushes my legs forward. Okay, I’m flexible. He keeps shoving until my knees are above my face.
    It’s a position no one’s ever put me in. I’ve seen it done once, on my first night in the glass rooms. I smile to show him I understand, and roll my body in a ball. My knees are on the pillow. The reflection of my upturned ass smiles at me from the mirrored ceiling.
    The hotshot bestrides me. His short legs let him poke his cock at my exposed openings by bending his knees. Which hole will he choose? At this angle, my ass might handle it better.
    He brushes his knob over my ass and drives it in my cunt.
    Ya-ga-ga . I’ve never been fucked from precisely this angle. He’s ringing my bell for real. My body wants to arch and spread, but my balled-up position holds my reactions tightly inside. My orgasm rings down through me hard.
    When my eyes can focus again, I see the hotshot above me, his cock still in my well. He looks amused. I try to muster an inner fuck you, but my cunt is still fluttering its thank you, thank you, thank you.
    The lights flicker off and on. This hour in the glass rooms is ending.
    Denise gets herself back in the act by standing behind our hotshot and playing her delicate touch over the place where we join. My cunt is trying to take flight again when the lights flicker a second time and the gong sounds.
    We disentangle. Denise and I lay arm-in-arm. He drops cash in front of us—a major tip—and leaves. Before he disappears down the passage to the lounge, he looks back at us. The mood is in his eyes, amusement mixed with satisfaction, slices me in half. He had his fun, but through every bit of it he was thinking about something else.

Chapter Six Oh, Please
    Denise and I are relaxing on one of the couches, nibbling fruit, when Toussaint enters the brightly lit break room. Naked whores come wet from the waist-high showers, load plates at the buffet, and sit around us on other couches or in the makeup chairs. The wardrobe ladies freshen our outfits, stitching rips and wiping off stains.
    Amid all this undressed flesh it is the two of us, entirely bare except for our face paint, upon whom Toussaint’s gaze lingers.
    “Ladies,” he says to us, “nice, extremely nice. No one has scored more hits on the pay per view. You set a record.”
    Denise high-fives me. She’ll have all the cash she needs to stock next season’s apparel line at à la Seattle.
    “Staying for the second shift?” Toussaint asks Denise.
    She says, “Why not? We’ll do the same shit.”
    I ask Toussaint, “Who was our hotshot?”
    He says, “You know better than to ask.”
    I say, “He was here night before last.”
    He asks, “And why should this concern you, Raven?”
    I say, “A guy coming around too often can be a problem.”
    Toussaint says, “We’ll see you are not bothered. You do not need to know who he is.”
    But I do. I still feel sliced in half from the parting look he gave me. It’s the first time a guy has gotten in my head since Stephan dumped me.
    I say, “I look out for myself.”
    Toussaint says, “I hardly—”
    Denise says, “If you want us together for the second shift, answer the question.”
    He flashes his smile, showing us the gold and diamond decorations on his teeth. “For information,” he says, “I appreciate favors.”
    Denise pats the couch. Toussaint sits between us. One of his hands goes down the inside of her leg. The other goes down the inside of mine. I take his warm hand and settle it over my cunt, and I press his middle finger inside.
    This is the wildness of Seattle Young. I love it. The license to do anything with your body answers needs most people hide under the edges of their fantasies.
    Toussaint watches his second knuckle disappear. He says, “The gentleman is from Los Angeles. I believe I heard him tell one of the other clients he is the film business.”
    Denise says, “You know more.”
    He circles