Free Dirty Ugly Toy by K Webster Page A

since I appreciated gorgeous architecture or picturesque views.
    “I’m going to get some color on this hair first and then we’ll work on those hands and feet,” he tells me.
    For the next several hours, Cartier returns my hair to a dark, mahogany color that only serves to brighten my green eyes. He softens my hands and feet with paraffin wax treatments and treats me to a foot massage that nearly gives me an orgasm. His slender fingers work expertly to file and buff my nails smooth and paints on a nude color that I find myself in love with. I hadn’t been pleased when he announced he was going to wax me “everywhere” but having the gorgeous man touch my pussy, even in a non-sexual way, was worth the pain of letting him strip me bare of hair there. Once my hair was blown out, he then worked on giving me a wavy style. My makeup was last and he frowned the whole time in concentration as he worked on my face.
    I find myself laughing, truly laughing, for the first time in a long time. Cartier is flamboyant and hilarious. He has stories that’ll make a prostitute blush and I can tell that his heart is as pure as the heaven I still claim he was dropped from.
    “Voila!”
    Pride shines in his eyes as he swivels the chair around to the mirror. A familiar woman, a woman I long tried to forget, peers back at me. She no longer looks hopeful or happy. Her green eyes are harder. Wiser. This woman has seen things. Endured a terrible past. She has no future.
    “You did a great job,” I praise and award him with a smile that doesn’t touch my eyes.
    Thankfully, Cartier doesn’t notice and glides over to one of the sacks he brought in from his shopping excursion. While I took a break for lunch and chatted some more with Christine, he said he stocked the empty closet upstairs with my new clothes. It felt kind of nice to get pampered and spoiled. I sure hope I don’t grow accustomed to this treatment. It won’t last forever.
    He fishes out a pair of sleek, black peep-toed Louboutin’s from a box inside the large sack and places them on the floor. I watch with interest as he places a lacey pair of black panties and matching strapless bra on the chair.
    “Mr. Kennedy will love that,” he tells me with a wicked grin as if we’re girlfriends and this sort of thing is normal.
    I can’t help but smile back because Cartier draws out happy emotions from me despite my situation. “I bet he will,” I groan playfully.
    He pulls out a dress and the old me claps with glee inside my head. I most certainly approve of the stunning dress, and for a moment, I forget who I am now. For one second, I’m the woman from before. The woman who wore things like this dress easily and with pride.
    Being a prostitute, I have no modesty and drop the robe without hesitation. I’ve worn tattered rags for so long that I’m eager to don something exquisite. Cartier helps me dress and when he guides me over to the mirror, I gasp in shock.
    The nude-colored, fitted strapless dress hits me just below the knees and fits like a dream. My dark hair falls in front of my shoulders and the push up bra helps my breasts seem fuller and perkier. I’m another few inches taller in the black shoes and I can’t help but stare at my reflection in awe.
    I’m beautiful.
    Some sick part of me can’t wait to show Braxton. I want him to see that I’m not some ugly toy. But then I remember his promise. That he’d make Cartier transform me—restore me. It sickens me that he was right.
    “The guests will be here soon for dinner,” Cartier says as he gathers up the empty bags. “Mr. Kennedy wants to speak to you about your agreement before they arrive. I’ll take you there.”
    He flashes me a flirtatious grin that would make any girl grow weak in the knees and offers me his elbow. I bat my long lashes at him and return a sexy smile to him.
    “Damn, girl. If I didn’t like plowing the opposite sex and didn’t have a brooding, sexy-ass boyfriend, I’d take you for