"You may look, you may memorize her sweet young face and naked body, but you may not and will not attempt to touch her. Furthermore, you may not speak to her. Violate either rule and the game is over." The woman indicated the girl seated comfortably on a damask sofa in the corner of the large boudoir.

The girl sat in shadow, her hands folded passively in her lap. Despite the gloom, Bratten could see that she was very young, very lithe and languid.

The woman who spoke to him was herself lovely, a fit thirtyish brunette. Her breasts were long symmetrical teardrops, large and pendulous against a body that was other wise slender and athletic. The woman's hair hung in long ringlets over her shoulders.

"She looks exactly as I did at her age," the woman continued, moving now to seat herself on the lavish bed where Bratten lay. He was naked, his nerves beginning to blaze with the sensations that were filling his groin. The woman next to him wore a corset of peach satin, its color complimenting her cocoa-colored skin. The corset was adorned with white garters; these held suspended a pair of white thigh- high stockings. She wore no shoes, and her elegantly-curved, petite feet were showcased by the filmy silk. "Are you comfortable?"

Bratten could only nod, his eyes darting between the lovely brown vision next to him and the silhouette across the room.

The woman chuckled, "Relax, baby. You'll see Tonisha in due time.

I want you to get your money's worth, you being a rich white dude and all..."

She had known from their first contact that Bratten wanted this fantasy. He was cultured, Southern, moneyed. Maybe his great-grandfather had owned, and used her great-grandmother in a similar way. Slavery was never very far from the minds of blacks, nor from the minds of the Southern "gentlemen" she met in her line of work. For the thousandth time since she started this business, the lyrics of "Brown Sugar" by the Stones intermingled with the chorus from "Lady Marmalade" played through her head. Black courtesan, rich white boy. Brown sugar, how cum you taste so good?

He was alright for white, neither athletic nor soggy, with a large cock and a decent face. He was clean, the barest whiff of expensive cologne blending with the scent of his skin. His nails were elegantly manicured. He treated her with affection, and a respect (it seemed to her) bordering on awe. This was her fourteenth meeting with Bratten in as many weeks. He was now a generous regular. Pola looked forward to their evenings together. Tonight she knew, would be something else again.

The room was sumptuously decorated and furnished in antebellum style. This could have been the master suite in a plantation manse, or the "royal suite" in a turn- of-the-century bordello in a New Orleans of a hundred years ago. The bed, a huge four-poster filled nearly half the bedchamber. Soft lamplight from a half-dozen oil lamps washed over the rose and granite wallpaper and the teakwood floor. She suddenly, and clearly knew what Bratten had in mind.

"Mister Bratten, I knows dat this is yo' birthday," she smiled, affecting a deep Old South slave accent and demeanor. "Ah'm jest a po' ol' whore, and Ah ain't got nuthin' to gives you, 'cept what's over in da corner." Bratten grinned in spite of himself. Pola was the best, he mused, gazing into her sultry brown eyes.

"Master Bratten, I begs you one thing. She only fo'teen, just a baby-girl. Please be gentle."

Bratten looked again to the corner. "Let me see her," he commanded. Pola took two of the small oil lamps and positioned them to softly illuminate the woman-child in the corner.

Bratten gasped. She was Pola, perhaps sixteen years younger. The mother's ringlets were those worn by the daughter, the young girl's breasts a more compact version of her mother's teardrop-shaped tits. Like Pola, Tonisha had long, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever; the daughter more coltish and slender than those of Pola.

She sat passively, her eyes downcast toward the floor, her arms criss-crossed over her tummy. She looked shyly at the man on the bed, reading his eyes for a moment before finally smiling at her mother. "He's beautiful, Momma! Just like you promised!" "Honey," she smiled at the girl. "You gone have to show Mr. Bratten that you ready to be his little ho' tonight, that you like sex, you know..."She smiled at Bratten and immediately went down on her hands and knees, taking his thick cock between her full, dark lips.

Immediately the young Tonisha spread her legs and, timidly at first began to stroke her flowering womanhood. Even in the dim light of the oil lamps, Bratten could see that her little cunny was clean of hair, a narrow black strip indicating the path to paradise. The girl's left hand rose to her lips, and she began to mimic her mother's motions on Bratten's penis. She gazed fascinated as her mother licked and suckled this white man's cock, maintaining eye contact with her young daughter, smiling encouragement as the daughter imitated her fellatio.

Bratten gazed in wonder at the girl in the chair. Okay, this is fantasy. She's not really Pola's daughter, not really a hot fourteen year-old virgin. This is all a very expensive trick, nothing more. Still, the girl's resemblance to the older prostitute was uncanny

She paused for a moment to instruct both her client and the girl. "Baby, watch how I suck dis cock. You lick that finger like it's Master Bratten's big cock." The girl nodded, but then spoke, "Mama, my finger ain't nothin' like Master Bratten's big cock. Ain't we got nothin' look more like a cock?" Pola laughed, and left the bed, reaching for the black gym-bag that held her equipment. The Adidas logo was incongruous in the antebellum atmosphere of the suite, and Bratten nearly complained. He would have, until Pola pulled a thick dildo from the bag.

The toy was very realistic, and it matched the colors and contours of Bratten's cock almost perfectly. Pola handed the rubber dong to Tonisha and returned to the bed.

Pola enjoyed the taste of Bratten's dick in her mouth. She savored the rigidity, the thickness, the heat. It was far too big for her daughter's little pussy, which is one reason she had stipulated that Bratten look, not touch. She never required Bratten to wear a condom for blowjobs; he was a trusted regular and besides, she hated the taste of latex. She began to softly lick the tip of Bratten's cock, the young girl following suit.

Bratten moaned aloud as he felt Pola's mouth working its magic on him, more aroused as the daughter mimicked the mother with the sex toy. Pola hummed and moaned against his cock, the daughter began to sing in key with her. Bratten again looked at the girl across the room. Damn! It had to be a fake, a set-up for his benefit. Pola was if nothing else, an accomplished courtesan and a fair actress. Still...

His thoughts were interrupted as pola bit gently on the soft underside of his shaft. Immediately, the young girl imitated the older woman, and Bratten saw with amazement that the younger girl had the same small gap between her front teeth as did Pola. My god, Bratten thought, they are really mother and daughter. He couldn't stop the rush of his orgasm.

Pola cried, "Squeeze them balls, baby!" and Tonisha did as she was told, showering her young face with the white, creamy lotion filling the dildo, as Bratten exploded into Pola's sweet African face. Bratten cried aloud, rushing through orgasm, the sight of semen covering both mother and daughter's faces almost too sweet to bear. Pola used the tip of his throbbing manhood to smear the cream around her face, and Tonisha did the same, grinning at Bratten and smearing lotion over chin, cheeks and forehead.

Pola laughed. "Dat sho' nuff was a wonderful start, Master Bratten. I think we gone have some fun tonight!"

The naked teen rose from her perch on the sofa, pausing only long enough to wipe the lotion from her face, smiling wide-eyed at the older woman and her monied client. "Mama, did I suck that dick good? Mr. Bratten, sir... did I do it like Mama?" Bratten laughed. The girl's voice was quite similar to that of the older woman. "You did fahn, honey-chile," Pola crooned.

Remembering her rules, Bratten only nodded. "You know, baby-girl, a man can suck dat pussy as good as you can suck cock. Lie down on dis bed here and spread your pretty legs." The young teen bounced happily onto the bed, spreading her long, lithe legs. Again Bratten gasped. Her little pussy was pink and pouting, moist with youthful arousal. He began to lower his face into the young girl's lap when Pola restrained him with a hand.

He remembered her first rule and reluctantly withdrew from the teen. Pola laughed and lay next to her daughter, opening her stocking-clad legs. Bratten needed no prompting. Keeping his eyes on the young girl's crotch, bratten began to tongue Pola's sopping sex.

Pola arched her back and gave a lusty moan, as Bratten went to work. She was delicious to him, strong and musky, salty and hot. As he worked tongue and lips over her sex, he watched fascinated as the young girl began to again stroke her budding clitoris.

Pola too was feeling the intense arousal, made more intense by the knowledge that all three were feeling it. She glanced over and watched the young teen, her eyes closed in concentration as she strummed her throbbing clitty.

Bratten licked and sucked hungrily at the pussy of the black prostitute, while at the same time marveling at the arousal of Tonisha. He wanted so badly to taste her, but Pola had clearly stated the rules of the game. He could not touch her. For a moment the young teenager met his gaze, then opened her mouth to moan her climax. Pola was overcome by a rush of sexual thrill, hearing the younger woman's moans. Bratten himself nearly exploded, so sweet were the mingled cries and whispers of mother and daughter.

Was Tonisha really Pola's daughter? Was this a special, carefully-prepared fantasy for Pola's best client? The similarities were numerous, but Bratten couldn't be sure.

In fact, the only thing of which Bratten was certain was that he didn't want to be sure. If Tonisha was in truth Pola's 14 year-old daughter, the legal ramifications could be dramatic. If he learned for certain that Tonisha was simply a young-looking, willing accomplice, then his fantasy would be shattered.

Pola again moaned loudly, as another orgasm overtook her.

She turned to the younger woman and began to kiss her mouth passionately. Her chocolate-cr'me complexion was suffused with a deep rosy blush as Tonisha returned the kiss hungrily. Through her kisses, Tonisha moaned "Mama-a-," and the two women erupted in simultaneous climax.

Pola lay in soft exhaustion, her left arm twining around the naked body of the younger woman, both bathed in a sheen of sweet perspiration. Tonisha pressed her face to the top of Pola's left breast, murmuring softly, gasping.

Bratten was suddenly aware that his mouth was very dry. He rose from the immense Victorian bed, his gaze fixed on the two black women. He wandered to the bar and opened a bottle of D'Vroges champagne, filling two crystal flutes. He looked at Pola questioningly. "For the girl?" Pola shook her head. "Uh-uh. No way my fo'teen year ol' baby is gonna drink anything stronger than Coca-Cola."

Bratten grinned, pausing to take a frosty bottle of cola from the minibar. He carried the drinks to the big bed, handing both to Pola. He would not inadvertently end the game by accidentally touching Tonisha. Pola took the beverages, handing the soda to the teen. "Thank you, Mr. Bratten," Tonisha shyly whispered.

Bratten caught himself, refraining from the semi- automatic "you're welcome" that nearly rose to his lips. Pola and Tonisha both grinned at him wickedly, the shared gap between teeth separating even, white teeth. Bratten grinned as he walked to the bar and retrieved his own glass.

"What's next, Mama?" Tonisha looked from Pola to Bratten. "Ah think you need to show Master Bratten what a nice little backside you have." Tonisha promptly handed her drink to Pola and got to her hands and knees, her lithe young ass to Bratten.

"Open yo' legs a little mo', baby. Let Mastah Bratten see yo' little honey-dripper." Tonisha giggled and opened her knees wider on the satin bedspread. Bratten could now see her little brown rosebud of an asshole and the open labia of her teenage cunny. Bratten stroked his swollen cock, staring into the teen's back entryways. Tonisha wiggled her bottom in the air, thrusting it toward Bratten lasciviously.

"Mama, I want Mastah Bratten to fuck me!" Tonisha moaned. Pola quietly set the drinks on the night-table and swiftly smacked the teen across her buttocks. "You don't talk trashy around my best customer, you hear?" Another blow, Tonisha's cry of pain, the imprint of red raspberry palm on chocolate skin.

"Mastah Bratten been the only thing kep' me alive since the Emancipation, all they carpetbaggers wit' they fitty cents blowjobs don' make me half of what Mastah Bratten do me. Shit chile, I'm his girl. You talk polite aroun' him!" Another smack, tonisha wailing.

"Mama! I'm sorry Mama!" Please, no mo'! I'm sorry Mama!" Tonisha fell forward on the bed, her buttocks and thighs reddened by Pola's punishments. She quietly wept into the pillow. "I thought you said you was gonna let Mastah Bratten be the first fo' me, Mama," she sobbed. "I was just tryin' to show him that I was horny and hot, like you said. I'm sorry Mama, but he's so beautiful. I want him.

Pola looked for a long moment at Bratten, her mouth set in concentration, but with a glint of humor in her eyes. Or was it avarice that Bratten saw?

Pola climbed from the bed and walked to where Bratten had seated himself to watch the spanking. She noted with amusement that her wealthy client was rock-hard and flushed. "Time out from the fantasy, Mr. Bratten. We need to sip a little champagne and talk a little business. "She Whispered, smiling as she gripped his shaft in an elegant brown hand and seating herself next to him on the sofa.

"You want to taste my little girl, don't you Mr. Bratten? No doubt she wants you to. She's been giggling and fantasizing about tonight for days. She and I masturbated together and talked about it. Now, she ain't got her cherry; she was raped by a 12 year-old neighborhood bully three years ago. But she's never had a gentleman, never been pleasured. You'll be the first man to make her cum. Would you like to eat her little pussy, maybe even fuck my little girl's little brown ass?"

Bratten was speechless.

"Oh, and don't think this is strictly a birthday present. I expect that you'll pay me my regular fee, which you will also match for Toni. Plus, you pay another ten. Call it Toni's college fund." Bratten needed no consideration. This beautiful, mature woman was offering herself at a younger age, offering herself in an innocent, sweet package. Her own flesh and blood, sold to bratten as her own flesh and blood had always been.

Bratten Croaked, "Whatever you want. Your five, her five, hell...another fifty!" Pola rewarded him with a throaty laugh. "Twenty will do. Besides, I think you'll be a repeat customer." She chuckled, "But Toni and I have some fun and games for you first. Ready for the Mother-Daughter Banquet?" Tonisha had rolled onto her back, her lithe teenage legs spread wide, now inserting a finger deeply into her moist sex. She smiled lazily at Bratten, momentarily pouting her lips into a kiss.

Bratten lay beside her on the bed. "Rules still apply until I say!" warned Pola. "No talkie, no touchy until I give the go-ahead. Clear?" Bratten replied affirmatively as Tonisha rose from the bed and joined Pola.

The older woman reached into the anachronistic Adidas gym bag and found four leather cuffs with long leashes attached. Each leash was then securely tied to the four posts of the bed. "Lay down, Mister Bratten," she commanded quietly, her voice devoid of its former deep Southern accent, the diction crisp and precise.

Bratten lay on the bed, almost grateful for the coming restraint. He could not cause the game to end, as any touch would not be his fault. Soon the wealthy white businessman was spread-eagle on the big bed, his arms and legs held taut by the four leads. Pola turned to Tonisha. "Wash his face, baby." Tonisha giggled and moved to the bed. "Now, you keep your tongue in your mouth, Mr. Bratten. If Toni tells me that you licked or nibbled her, that's an intentional touch. Game over. Dig?"

Bratten held his lips tightly closed as the young teen straddled his face, facing Pola. His nose pressed against her tight little rectum, her labia were firmly planted against his lips and chin. With long, deliberate strokes Tonisha began to move her ass and pussy up and down the bound man's face.

"Let him smell your sweetness real good, honey-chile," Pola cooed, again adopting the plantation slave accent. The fantasy had begun again. Again, Bratten was in a Reconstruction-era bordello in the deep South, about to buy a nigger-woman's fourteen year-old daughter. "Yeah, let him sniff you out real good. Leave a little somethin' fo' Mr. Bratten to taste on his lips. Give him a little honey."

Tonisha moved rhythmically against Brattens tightly- closed mouth and nose, rising to allow him breath, then returning to move against him anew. Tonisha played with her young sex as she rose away from him, causing her little pussy to gush its sweet nectar onto his lips. Bratten wanted to tongue her, to taste and savor her youthful heat. But he wouldn't let this night end.

The twenty grand was almost inconsequential; he wanted this young woman badly, wanted both mother and daughter. Again he wondered. Was Tonisha the fourteen year-old daughter of the older escort? He wanted to believe it, somehow needed to believe. Pola went to the bed and lowered herself onto Bratten's thick member, facing the younger woman and embracing her. "Don't you open your mouth, Mr. Bratten. She ain't ready fo' nothin' too much quite yet."

Bratten understood. Even with Pola's deliciously- trained cunt muscles milking him, even with a young teen's pussy and butt rubbing his face, he dared not cry out. He wanted to scream his pleasure, needed to do so, but he fought every impulse as both women rode him. He imagined that Pola was passionately kissing the younger woman; once, when Tonisha rose from his face, he could have sworn that Pola was suckling the younger woman's breasts. He was close to climax, and he knew it. Pola seemed to sense it, and both women quickly rose from Bratten and moved off the bed.

"Mama, he's so hard!" Tonisha exclaimed, running a long fingernail up the back of Bratten's member. He allowed his mouth to open again, a long moan escaping his lips. He became aware of the young girl's scent then, licking his lips, tasting her second-hand. Tonisha grinned at Pola, "Mama, I think he likes my taste." Pola agreed with her daughter. "Sho' 'nuff, baby. White men always be crazy for the taste of young black pussy. He an addict now."

The older woman turned to face the younger. "Let's suck this man's big dick. You like that, honey?" Tonisha wasted no time replying, but knelt at the foot of the bed between Bratten's splayed legs. She was soon joined by Pola, who smiled saying, "Baby, you just watch your Mama. I been sucking dick since I was yo' age. You learn real good."

Pola again moved her mouth to engulf the head of Bratten's cock. She pointed to the white man's scrotum, and Tonisha moved in to tongue it. Bratten nearly screamed with the intense delight. Both women were working now on his cock and balls, the mother expert and almost mechanical, the daughter tentative but enthusiastic. "Do this feel good, Mistah Bratten?" the young girl asked, again running her tongue around Bratten's ball-sack. "Oh yes baby," he replied without thinking, then realized his mistake. Pola grinned "Oops. Looks like we done for tonight." "No!" exclaimed Bratten. "Please, Pola...no..."

Tonisha looked disappointed. "Aw Mama, it was my fault. Maybe we should give Mistah bratten another little chance?" Pola seemed to consider a moment before replying. "Well, I guess it's okay. Mr. Bratten is my best customer. We gone let that one slide."

Bratten was relieved. In his bound condition, he felt more slave than master. These two black goddesses had turned the tables on him, but he was enjoying it. The two women returned to sucking and fondling Bratten's equipment. This time it was the fourteen year-old suckling his cock. Her little mouth barely fit around its girth, her eyes gazed into Bratten's and she worked feverishly on his shaft and head.

Pola positioned herself to lick and kiss Bratten's asshole, her tongue making tiny forays into the opening. Bratten moaned again, electricity coursing through his entire body. "Yeah, Mistah Bratten, you jest go 'haid and enjoy this. Tonisha, honey...take it slow. We don' want Mistah bratten to cum jest yet..."

With that Pola worked a slippery finger into Bratten's ass, her daughter settling into a slow, steady rhythm. Bratten couldn't contain his climax, and shouted a warning a scant moment before erupting all over the teenager's pretty young face! "Aaaaar-gh-h!" Bratten cried, jet after jet of hot white cream covering Tonisha's pretty black face. Pola laughed, "Well baby- girl, looks like we gone need clean Mistah Bratten up a bit." With that, mother and daughter started licking Bratten clean.

She poised above Bratten's face, waiting for her mother's permission. "Can he lick me, Mama?" Polla seemed to consider the request for a moment, then said, "Sho' honey, you can let Master Bratten taste you now."

The young girl smiled and sighed, lowering herself just over Bratten's waiting mouth. "lick my baby-girl's pussy!" Polla commanded. He needed no second invitation.

Bratten gently ran the tip of his tongue along the young woman's seam, savoring her scent and the sweet, slightly-salty flavors of her virgin cunny. She fairly gushed with liquid enthusiasm, and Bratten soon found himself drinking the juices of the young black girl, as he tenderly took her budding clitoris between his lips.

Tonisha squealed, locking her lithe thighs tightly around Bratten's cheeks. She cried aloud as the first onrush of climax overtook her. "Oh, mama...dis man got me so hot!" Polla watched fascinated as her best customer tenderly gave her fourteen year-old daughter her first experience receiving oral sex from a man.

Tonisha rocked back and forth on Bratten, pinching and stroking her tender brown nipples, until she came with a violent shudder, crying out Bratten's name as she fell forward, her face coming to rest on his groin. Her mouth, agape with climax quickly found his hardening meat, and she began to suck him for everything she was worth.

Bratten became aware that his hands and feet were still securely tied to the four posts of the big antique bed. He wanted so desperately to run his hands all over her body, but he could do nothing more than feverishly work his tongue around the young girl's pussy. With small, economical thrusts, he insinuated his tongue into her tender recesses, probing and pumping for her G-spot, which he thought he could reach.

She was so small, so light and feminine on his face, grinding her young snatch into him as she swallowed him whole. When Bratten came close to orgasm, Polla quickly stepped to the side of the bed and grasped Bratten's cock. Placing a tight thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock-head, Polla warned, "Don't rush this baby. Slow down, enjoy the ride."

With that the older woman discreetly rolled a fresh condom onto Bratten's turgid pole, making sure to squeeze excess air from its receptacle tip.

As if on cue, the young girl moved herself over his cock and began to gently lower herself onto him. "Mama tol' me to do it this way, so's Ah can control how deep you gone go," she panted, easing the tip of his cock between her youthful labia.

Polla moved next to the young teenager and began again to passionately kiss her mouth, as Tonisha pushed her virgin sex harder against Bratten's manhood. He could have sworn that he felt her hymen give way, her passion distracting her from the momentary pain. She gave a small cry of pain and surprise as Bratten's cock EASED ITS WAY INTO HER TIGHT WOMANHOOD AND THEN audibly sighed, as the staff found its path into her.

Bratten moaned as he felt his cock sliding into the tight, hot space. The sensation was fantastic! He allowed the young girl to establish a soft, steady rhythm and then began to move his hips in concert with hers. He had a small measure of freedom to move, despite the fact that he was bound to the bed. "Feel good, baby?" Polla inquired of the younger girl. "Oh yeah, Mama," Tonisha panted, "real good..." Now it was Bratten's turn to speak. "Polla, untie me. I want to touch her, hold her. Please."

Polla laughed as she freed Bratten's hands and feet. Quickly, he gently enfolded the girl in his arms, drawing her to him for a kiss. Tonisha smiled as she leaned toward him, then closed her eyes, joining her mouth with his in a torrid kiss. She moaned softly and began to pump her hips harder against his, her climax overtaking her in a few brief minutes.

As Bratten had already ejaculated twice during the session, he was able to maintain control over his own orgasm. When Tonisha had stopped shuddering and gasping her way through her climax, Bratten rolled her off him and commanded her to get into the doggie-style position. Tonisha laughed happily and assumed the position.

Bratten entered her very gently, not wanting to injure the girl's inexperienced pussy. Tonisha was more enthusiastic than he expected however, and soon she was slamming her hips against his, animal noises coming from her mouth.

Again and again Bratten pounded into her, his hands grasping her young hips. Tonisha was in another world, babbling, moaning, laughing and crying her joy, cumming repeatedly, violently as Bratten kept up a steady rhythm.

Polla climbed onto the bed and watched the pair, now inserting the dildo that Tonisha had earlier fellated into her sopping sex. She matched the rhythm and depth of Bratten's stroking, and soon she was cumming in tandem and synchronization with Tonisha.

"mama!" screamed Tonisha, "I want dis man's cock in my ass, right now!" Polla panted her consent, urging Bratten to be gentle. Bratten withdrew his cock from the young girl's hot, gripping pussy. It was covered with lubrication, and he comfortably eased the head of his member against her pouting anus. "Shove it in, you white bastard!" screamed Tonisha, and pushed herself violently against him. With the sensation of a soft popping, Bratten was inside her fourteen year-old ass! Tonisha screamed, "That's it, Mastah Bratten! That's it!!" and began to buck violently against him.

Polla watched fascinated as this rich, big white man took the younger woman's virginity a second time. Her own orgasm began to overtake her, and again she sought the younger woman's mouth, probing tongue-to-tongue. Tonisha again moaned, climaxing again.

Bratten was close to cumming, his balls and cock aflame with the sensations of his lust. Suddenly, he felt Polla's tongue licking and probing at his own asshole, and he began a long, protracted orgasm, crying both women's names. Tonisha herself began to cum at the same moment, "Fuck! Fuck! Oh-h-h shit! You honky muthafuckah, I'm cummin'!" Polla herself began to climax, screaming against Bratten's ass.

The three of them showered in the master bath, taking care to thoroughly and gently cleanse each other. They lingered under the soft, hot spray from the twin shower heads, laughing softly, caressing, kissing.

Tonisha glowed with her experience and the hot water as she wrapped herself in a luxurious bath sheet and followed Polla and Bratten back into the boudoir. "That was wonderful!" she giggled, taking her mother's hand and squeezing it gently. The older woman smiled, handing Tonisha a glass of champagne. "You've earned it," she smiled. Tonisha again giggled, Sipping the superb vintage.

Bratten, now dressed in a black silk bathrobe, walked over to the in-room safe, keyed the combination and produced a large wad of hundred-dollar bills. He carefully but rapidly peeled two hundred of the notes, recounted it, and then handed the money to Polla. The elder prostitute kissed him firmly on the mouth, reaching beneath his robe to grasp his well-used cock. Bratten grinned, "and worth every penny." "Yeah, and you get a bonus, Mr. Bratten," Polla grinned mischievously, placing the cash in her Adidas bag and wandering over to a darkened corner of the room. "Bet the video is gonna be killer," she laughed. Resuming the plantation slave accent, she continued, "Now, you gots ta take care of this real good, Mastah Bratten. Ain't nobody need see you cavorting with a fourteen year-old baby-girl." She handed the tape to Bratten.

The trio continued to sip champagne and make small-talk for another hour, intertwined on the big four-poster. Before he realized what was happening, both women had risen from the bed and dressed in street clothes. "Just one question," Bratten asked as Polla reached for the ornate brass doorknob. "Is she really your fourteen year-old daughter?" Polla said nothing, but smiled as she and the younger woman left the room.


A week later, Bratten paced the floor of his opulent Atlanta office, the snifter of Remy-Martin forgotten on his desk. Guilt, fear, wonder, the sweet longing all filled Bratten, and made it impossible for him to concentrate.

The video tape was safely secreted in Bratten's safe, the location of which was known only to Bratten and his secretary of twenty years, Miss Dawes. She had never bothered to ask Bratten for the combination, and Bratten knew that the tape would be reasonably secure.

Still, if Bratten was caught on video anally fucking a fourteen year-old, he could look forward to a very long sentence served in a very short, violent time. Child molesters were not well regarded in prison, Bratten knew. Alright, he decided, one viewing of the tape for old time's sake, and then it's into the compactor for this piece of evidence.

Bratten locked the door to his executive suite after sending Miss Dawes home. It was after six o'clock, and the office was empty; the third-shift cleaning crew would not arrive for another five hours. Plenty of time.

Bratten pushed the videotape into the VCR and settled in his leather chair, the remote control in one hand, the snifter of fine brandy in the other. He turned the television on in time for the local news, and decided to watch awhile before viewing the tape.

The news quickly shifted from tragedies in the Middle East to local crime news, and soon it was time for the fluff news. Every local station did this, bratten knew. He hated the "un-newsworthy" fluff; he was about to switch over to the video when two familiar female faces gazed from the television.

"In Lawrenceville this afternoon," beamed the perky blonde anchorwoman, "two women were arrested on charges of fraud, prostitution, child prostitution and extortion after Georgia BCA officers pulled a sting operation.

The two women, Polla Johnson, age 32 and Tonisha Lefevre, age 18 tried to convince a police decoy that they were mother and daughter. Johnson, the older of the pair, allegedly offered to sell her minor child for prostitution. A complaint filed with the Cobb County Sheriff's office yesterday..."

Bratten turned off the television and leaned back in his chair, smiling. It had been a fantasy, and a good one at that. He sipped his brandy, walked over to the VCR and removed the tape.

Safely stored again in the safe, the tape wouldn't be used for awhile. Maybe never. He'd hang onto it though, because you just never could tell when you'd want to watch a memory made by consenting adults.

Bratten grinned again, locked his office and headed toward the freeway, his doorway, and a peaceful night's sleep.



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