Price Tags, Toe Tags

"The Ventriloquist CLOSED"   by Anne Light

Word Count:  5000 (including titles)


"Price Tags, Toe Tags"
Author:  Sugaree




My day started fairly even keel.  Something deep within alerted me that it would not end this way.  As life would have it, the only option to life and its trials and tribulations is death.  Well, since death is not my preferred option, I continue the day.  Of course, I would not have had much control of death had it decided to induct me into its eternal 'ground of fame.' 

Obviously, it didn’t or else I would be sitting here pondering on how to best explain to you this unique situation that led me to the stage front with beaming lights and eyes from an audience solicited by their need arcane entertainment and pay dearly for it.  It’s the show that happened behind the curtains that would make it to the big screen, or the courtroom, or the prison soon though. 

My friend called me this particular day I speak of, explaining that she really wanted to attend a play that would be filled with opening entertainment, drinks, food and socialization with the famed.  She stated that there would be comedians, local vocalists and even a mini-talent show.  The friend she wanted to attend this shebang for is a ventriloquist.  From the sound of her voice, he was more than that to her but I’d pry her carnal life later. 

Her dilemma was that she had purchased this ticket and promised her friend that she’d attend.  Her baby-sitter reneged, plus one of her three children were sick with some type of contagious ailment.  That immediately eliminated my ‘good Samaritan’ offer to keep the sweet little ones. 

She offered me the ticket that included a backstage pass.  The only other obligatory act I would have to fulfill was to go backstage, locate her friend and explain why she couldn’t be present for such an important performance in his life. 

Not such a bad deal so I agreed and accepted. 

I get dressed and head to the show.  Once there, I realize what a huge event this is based on the amount of cars and activities and stars presented on the posters. 

To myself I say, ‘this is going to be nice. I sure hope there’s some cutie looking for a hottie for a night or two…or three. It’s getting tiresome waiting on Carl to make his move. Maybe he thinks I’ll charge him for that too? I will but not if he’s an extremely good lay, not immediately anyway.  I’ll be so good to him, he’ll want to pay anyway. ‘

Ironically, just as my dirty mind released that nasty slutty thought, my eyes meet with none other than my ‘boss?”.  Well, someone that is my primary source of income.  I think I contract with him but he pays as if he is owed my services.  Since he is my primary source of income, I never really rocked that boat by telling his ass that he needs to stop tripping and pay me more or something. 

Lately, since it had been so long since my bed was filled with sparking passion, the ‘or something’ fueled many of the fantasies my lusty mind dreamt up.  He had almost become an obsession as a matter of fact.  Sometimes meeting him the next day for a business meeting felt down right embarrassing.  It seemed as if he knew he was the star in my nasty, sexy, aquatic dreams

‘If only he knew what he did to me last night…oh that shit was so good I think I’m gonna cu--’ 

“Hello there, Carl.  I didn’t know that you were into these types of theatrics,” I say, smiling, wishing he could read my mind, still thinking about his physical absence in my nocturnal naughty play.  I even feel the hot spot twitch a bit as we exchange greetings. 

“Well, I didn’t think that you were either.  I guess we have more in common that either of us have let on,” he smiles back and gently hugs me like only a friend would.  Why couldn’t he have grabbed my ass, rubbed his dick up against me or flicked my tit or something.

‘Does he have too much respect for me?  Damned.  Respect me in the fuckin’ morning. We can blow this joint so that I can blow you and you me…yeah.
I think after what we did last night in my dreams, he should be locking tongues with me saying fuck this play.  Let’s resume our evening.  That would probably be what he’d say if only he knew that he tasted every sweet inch of my longing body.’


Oh well, he doesn’t but it must be fate that we meet today so maybe I should work on making my nasty sloppy wet dreams come true.  I’ve heard it said that nothing ‘good’ comes easy.  But if he’s good, I sure will come easy.

I’ve heard the question posed, ‘What great lengths would you go to get what you want?’ 

My naughty mind is ticking while engaged in general chitchat with the source of my last orgasm before falling into that deep wonderfully blissful slumber last night. 

“Well, I’m fortunate enough to be here this evening because a friend couldn’t make it,” I say but really want to finish with, ‘God knows I wouldn’t be at an event like this waiting on your cheap but sexy ass to pay me.’ 

Another dilemma; how will he really ever know the conflicts he causes me if I never tell him.  Surely, he knows that he does not pay enough.  He wouldn’t be getting away with this shit if he wasn’t such a sexy, cheap asswhole.

However, does he know that while that bothers me, I want to fuck his brain out?  How could he?  I must find a way to express myself before my vagina explodes.  I never really thought of me as shy, nor would any of my friends.  However, when it comes to this one man Carl, call me mute as it pertains to expression other than business and an occasionally chat otherwise. 

“Are you here with someone, Carl?”  I pry, looking around to see the bitch I’m likely going to want to slap or worse. 

“Actually, yes.  Here she comes now.”

“Is that your wife?”  I ask, knowing that this slut-like dressed woman is not.  Thinking, ‘oh, you can afford to pay for an event like this but not me for all of the work I do for you?  That slut is probably getting more than my last paycheck from you.  Oh, this one is gonna cost you, buddy, more than you know.’

He chuckles, smirks, and finally spills words from his lips, “No. That’s not my wife.  Skyla?” he raise his drink, offers me one that I reject and looks into my eyes with that ‘unspoken, this is our secret.’

Without introductions to this slut I hate now because she will get the wet pussy and not me tonight, I bid him a nice evening, inwardly fuming. I attempt to find the entrance to the backstage so that I can deliver my friends’ message and attempt to enjoy the show.

I won’t be able to.  I’ll need to plot something to get rid of that slut.

Now, I do not have to respect this woman.  Do I?  Not the wifey so hell no. 

I turn back to give Carl one more lasting sweet and slightly flirtatious smile.  I glance at his slut-mate with an evil eye and disappear into the crowd.  I feel such a bitch coming out of me.  I wonder who the victim will be.

I reach my backstage destination.  Security is tight but seemed to have thought I was part of the show or maybe a producer?  Not sure but I walked straight through despite the issues others were having to get backstage. 

As I approach the dressing room of Mark Hemlock, I hesitate in an attempt to change from bitch mode to nice friend representative.  Now that shit is hard to do especially when the person that brought the bitch out in you in the first place is still in the vicinity.  Triple the bitch comes out when she has something you need, you want and have got to have.  Someone you think about day and night and at breakfast, lunch and dinner….  That bitch is gonna get it. 

I knock and wait for a response.

“Come in but there better be a good fuckin’ reason you’re interrupting me an hour before my show or get the fuck right back out!”  I hear a voice say. 

Questioning my reason, I enter the dressing room with a smirk and then a full-fledged laugh.

“Who’s the dummy here?  You or me?  What in fuck are you laughing at?” the voice says.

“At the dummy behind your dumb ass, I guess,” I respond. 

“Well, come on in then bitch and state your case.”

“Oh, a rude ass dummy on top of things,” I say, still somewhat laughing but not really sure why I’m being treated like this. 

“Well, this ‘bitch’ has been sent by a bitch that couldn’t make it tonight.  That bitch asked me to represent her and give her regards and congratulations and blah blah,” I say sarcastically. 

“The bitch didn’t send any flowers or candy?  She must’ve sent some good luck head or hot pussy, right?  Show it to me,” the voice says. 

Now, sorta offended, I speak up for myself.

“Look, Tammy is out of a sitter for the evening.  Instead of wasting the ticket, she sent me.  If you have a problem with that, I can leave.”

“No.  I have no problem with that.  I do have a problem with not getting any good luck flowers or head or pussy.  Now which are your bearing?” The voice is strong and serious this time.  It’s still coming from the dummy though. 

I pull the curtain back only to find the sexiest specimen of a man I’d laid eyes on in years.  My eyes liked what they saw.  I needed to make a quick phone call to see if Tammy would mind if I obliged this man’s special requests of me.  Then I remembered the tone in her voice.  She may really like this asshole.  I really only want Carl anyhow. 

“Uhm, I don’t have flowers but let me see if I can work on that other thing you need before hitting the stage.”  We both break out in laughter at my joke or what was supposed to be a joke. 

“Hi. I’m the Fortified Mande.  Your name again?”  He extends his huge manly hand.

“Hi.  I’m interested, I mean Skyla,” I stammer, again followed with a jokingly sorta laugh. 

His voice was quite different than that of his wooden altar ego. 

Awkward silence falls upon us both. 

“You were going to make a call to Tammy, right?”  He reaches for his cell phone and hands it to me. 

I  laugh.  This time nervously.  I wonder if I am serious.  I wonder if he is serious.  By the looks of the bulge in his pants, he’s not joking around as I thought we were at this point.

Does he think I’m a groupie?  Is Tammy?  I wonder what she’s been hiding from me. 

“No, Mark.  That won’t be necessary.  I will not be giving you any ‘good luck flowering’ or anything else.  If you’d prefer, like I said, I can leave,” I state firmly trying not to stare at the bulge now protruding from beneath boxers.  He must be at least a foot long!  How could I miss that?  What has Tammy been up to? Now wonder she’s been walking around singing, “Skip to my lou,” and shit. 

Mark dials Tammy’s number.  Using his ventriloquist’s voice, he asks her, “What’s up with your girl?  Doesn’t she know the routine?”

“Give me the phone,” I demand and approach him.

“Tammy!  You didn’t---“

“No need in wasting time, darling.  You know you want it,” he says and begins tugging at my blouse finally ripping it.  I struggle to free myself realizing that he’s not much taller or bigger than I am.  I can take him.  If that doesn’t work, I do carry a pistol and will use it. 

Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that. 

I manage to free myself, now void of top and bottom.  I grab what’s obviously his costume. 

“If you don’t get your hands off of my costume, bitch, I will break every last one of your fingers, one by one.” 

He charges at me with a vicious look in his eyes.  I see the dummy lying face down, totally ignored.  I attempt to run for the door but he catches me by the hair. 

“Look, bitch, I’m going to tell you one more time.  Take my costume off and---“

His hands were gripping my arms.  The look in his eyes told me that once I took the robe off, ass naked beneath it, he’d resume his cause for stripping me.  I fumble for my purse despite the chaos.  I find it and pull the pistol. 

“If you don’t get you’re freaky and crazy hands off of me right now—“

Before I could finish, he launches.  I shoot.  With all the loud music from the opening acts and backstage chaos, no one rushed to the dressing room to see what happened. 

About five minutes later, I still stand over his bleeding body, in shock.  A frantic knock startles me.  The door flew open.

“You’re on in four minutes, Mark!”  The man closes the door back.  He though I was Mark standing there in this costume.  Good he didn’t see Mark bleeding to death or worse, dead already.  Oh shit! 

Now what?  Who would have ever dreamt of some shit like this happening?

I glanced around the room wondering if he had mask to go with his costume.  Sure enough, I find a wooden mask similar to the face of his dummy.  I put it on, grab the dummy and head for the stage. 

I wait for my queue to go on stage.  I’m on.  All eyes on possibly dead Mark Hemlock and dummy or so they think.  In my quick and desperate thinking, I had to do the show or someone would come looking for him. 

My most important queue is given by the introduction of Mark from the potty mouth commentator.  Since I’ve never seen his show, this is a valuable introduction.

“Now, introducing to you, the longest, hardest dick I’ve ever seen and the most cynical, X-rated show this side of the Mason Dixie line, Mark Hemlock and the Fortified Mande!”

The crowd is clapping and laughing already.  I had not realized that this dummy’s bulge was a huge as Mark’s had been when he attempted to stuff my mouth with it.  I could have brought my dildo for this show.  Then the dummy and I would really have matching costumes. 

I sit in the seat and position my hand in the dummy’s head, fumbling to find the mechanics that move his mouth and facial expressions.  Luckily, for me, I’d done this in a few drama classes a year ago.  Carefully positioning myself in the seat so not to expose my female physique, I began an impromptu show pretending to be Mark Hemlock himself. 

I’d heard someone say that Mark was all about the money, that everything had a price tag on it so his character would not be hard at all.  Hell, I’m the same way now.  Otherwise, simple minded assholes will simply use you up.  You’ll have nothing to show for all that you’ve given to them. 

Masking my voice as a dummy would, strategically pitching my voice high but masculine, I ask the audience, “Let me ask you a question.  If you call me at eight in the morning and ask me to do something for you and by the time I’m done, it’s six in the evening, do you think you should pay me money or say thank you and leave?  Now, repeat this by five times a week for several weeks that turn into months and then years.  Now, I’ve been called a dummy many times in my life but I’m more incline to think that you think I’m just a damned fool.  What do you think?”

The audience agrees aloud, “A damned fool!” 

“That’s what the fuck I am talking about.  Now, I see someone that just may be guilty of that shit in the audience but I aint gonna call no names.  I think you do know who you are, sitting next to that slut.  By the way, does your wife know you’re here with that dumb bitch?  Are you gonna pay her what you should’ve paid me?  I’ll kick that bitch’s ass and rob that ho!”  My dummy is taking on his own life now. 

Audience is in full throttle laugh mode and I continue. 

My time is up and I rush back to the dressing room.  I fumble for the keys but cannot find them.  Oh, shit!  Now what?

Ok, I need to calm down.  I find security. 

Security is still laughing at my jokes and lets me into the dressing room assuming that it’s Mark beneath the mask. 

I enter the room and sure enough, Mark is dead.  Now, it’s time to panic.  I grab the keys and rush out of the room.  I need to find Carl in the midst of all the commotion of intermissions. 

Nearly running out of time before the next act, I spot Carl.  Now, how will I get his attention dressed in this costume? 

Seemingly, Carl had been intimidated by Mark’s remarks and decides to approach me, I mean Mark. 

“Man, who are you?  What the fuck was that shit about, singling me out like you did?  You got some beef with me?” Carl asks.

“Sorry bout that,” I say in my own voice. 

“What the fuck!  Skyla?”  Carl’s voice is shock stricken.

“Look, like I said, Carl, I’m sorry about that but right now, I’ve got some deeper issues.  Sue me later.  I need for you to take this gun and leave.  Better yet, where’s that slut you were with.  Give it to her and tell her that you will meet her in Mark’s dressing room.  I’m sure the slut will do anything for you.  I know I would and have.  Now that it’s all said, you know you owe me big time so please, we can settle this shit now,” I attempt to sound firm without having to go the mile of blackmailing him. 

“What?  What in the fuck have you done?  What’s going on?”

I sense panic in his voice.  I don’t need that right now.

“I don’t have time to explain.  Does your slut want to meet me, I mean Mark?  Let her know that you were pissed about his show tonight or something.”

“I’m sure she does want to meet him.  Who doesn’t?  Look, I’m not trying to get involved with no bullshit, Skyla.” 

“Well, it’s too late. Give her this gun to hold for you and send her back to Mark’s dressing room.  Here’s the pass for her to clear security.  I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes.  Deal?”

“Fuck!  Okay.”

I rush back to room to wait for Miss Slut.  In ten minutes, she arrives.  I still have the mask on.  She is a real slut because she wants to feel the dummy’s dick.  I keep her on the other side of the dressing room away from Mark’s dead body I dumped clothes and shoes over. 

I pass her a drink and the tray of drugs Mark was obviously sipping and sniffing before his current state of dead.  I pick the dummy up to see if its’ wooden dick is detachable so that this bitch can keep busy while I make my moves. 

It’s not so I put my hand inside of the dummy and began to speak.

“Umm, I’ll bet that pussy is good and wet,” I make the dummy say.

The slut giggles and agrees like a dummy, “It sure is.  How’d you know?”

Without speaking, I move the dummy near her crotch.  This slut opens her legs exposing her crotchless panties.  I tickle her clit a bit and she opens up even more.  I don’t have time to fuck this chick with a dummy.  I’ve got to go.

“I’ll be right back.  Make yourself at home…be my guest.  Don’t hurt my partner there,” I say in a masculine tone attempting to mimic Mark. 

I gather my ripped clothes and shove them beneath the costume before leaving.  I find a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stuff that as well.  Just outside of Mark’s private entrance, I ditch off into a dark space behind a curtain.  I put the clothes on and ball the costume up.  I return to the room, this time knocking since I’m out of costume. 

The slut is obviously attempting to hide her coke sniffing face from me.  All the better. 

“Oh, I don’t need to come in.  Mark asked me to put his things inside.  He will be back shortly he says to tell you.  Oh, by the way, a gentleman that says you should be in here says for you to take a cab home or get back the best way you can and then he left,” I lied, still not looking into her face. 

“Fine. Fuck him.  I’m all good,” she says and continues sniffing and sipping with the dummy still positioned between her legs.  I close the door and leave for the crowd.

“Carl!  It’s me.  Come on.  Let’s go!”  I pull Carl’s startled self against the small crowd that had not returned to their seats. 

We walked until we reached the parking structure uneventfully. 

“Where are you parked?” I ask, out of breath mainly from the rush I got from all that had just happened.  The combination of the brisk two-block walk didn’t help. 

“I’m on level three,” Carl responds, still looking half-baked.

“I’m on six.  Drive me to my car and I’ll fill you in on the details,” I lie. 

We get into his Range Rover.  The scent of his former slut lingers.  I don’t say a word since it’s not my place to.  However, jealousy is probably spilling through my pores.  I wonder what he sees in that slut when he could have me as his ‘chic on the side’ if he just has to have someone. 

We approach my car.  “Follow me,” I say.

“You have lost it officially, huh?” Carl’s stare is burning through me now.

“Yes.  I have, Carl.  I have and I need you right now.  I really do so please, whatever you do, just follow me.  Do you have somewhere private we can go to?”  I ask with a fake tear welling in my eye.

“Yeah, follow me but you better tell me what the fuck is going on, Skyla.” He’s so handsome when he’s mad.  I’d probably cum if he slapped me  right now.

Just as we exited the parking lot, police cars and ambulances cut us off.  My heart jumped through my throat.  They kept going on to the theatre instead of apprehending me, as they should have.  I continued to follow Carl. 

We made it to the isolated spot Carl said he had.  It was about forty minutes outside of the city limits and definitely isolated. 

‘Oh, so this is where he takes all of his sluts…’

Carl approached my car and beckoned me to follow.  Once inside of the beautifully designed resort, I relaxed a bit. 

“Carl, I need to take these clothes off and burn them.  Please light the fireplace,” I command instead of asking.

“Look, what the fuck is going on?” Carl’s impatient tone turned me on.

“Ok, look—I just need to get out of these clothes.  Do you have something to drink here?  How bout a blunt for that matter?  I need something to change into too.”

“My robe is hanging on the bathroom door just down the hall to your left.  When you get back, I want answers, Skyla,” he stated firmly again. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

I returned to the start of a fire burning and two drinks situated on the stone coffee table. 

Not really in the mode to attempt to seduce him at this point, I gather the robe tightly and sit next to him and began explaining how Mark tried to make me suck his dick and how I eventually shot his crazy ass. 

Carl sat before me in a daze.  By the time the story came out of my mouth, I was in one too.  We sat quietly, sipping on the drinks for what must have been thirty minutes. 

The quiet time and the drinks must have calmed me considerably.  I began to cry uncontrollably.  Carl moved closer to comfort me.  I accepted his generous and tender touch, the one that I’d longed for for over a year now. 

“Skyla, so that was you speaking for the ventriloquist?”

“Yes,” I said and nodded through blurry teary eyes.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.  What about all the other things I’ve done for you?  Do those things count?”

“Carl, yes they count.  It’s just that I arrange for you to pay companies thousands and sometimes millions.  You do help or pay me but it’s just not enough.  Why wouldn’t you pay me and I’m the one that’s pulling the whole deal together?  You don’t think that I’m not worthy of it.  If you did, you wouldn’t have me handling such delicate and sensitive information within your company, right.  Plus, I have a degree in this field and others related to what I do for you.  You know I deserve more,” I said, now crying more but deeper in his strong arms where I wanted to be and needed to be. 

“You’re right.  Look at me, Skyla.  You are right.  We can talk about that more later.  Right now, according to what you have told me tonight, you may have killed a man,” he said, peeling my face from his chest. 

“Do you have a television or radio here?”

“Yeah, in my room.  Let’s go and see if this has hit the news,” he says and grabs my hand leading me up a semi-spiral staircase. 

Words couldn’t describe the beauty of this masterfully designed bedroom.  I glanced around but was more interested in the television set and didn’t comment.  I sat in a chair near his bed. 

A sit-com was on when the local news channel broke in stating that Mark Hemlock had been found shot to death in his dressing room.  The news newscaster announced that the full story would air on the ten o’clock news and to stay tuned. 

She did not have to worry about that.  Both Carl and I sat impatiently awaiting my fate and even possibly his own as he would be considered and accomplice at this point.  The twenty-two minutes until ten o’clock news felt like ten hours. 

Finally, the news was on and live on the scene of the confirmed murder.

The newscaster broke in: “It appears that the only suspect has been taken to Samaritan Health Center with what appears to be a drug overdose.  The suspect is under arrest due to the fact that the gun that may have killed Mark Hemlock was found in her purse.  The suspect is unconscious and unavailable for comments.  We’ll be right back with more breaking news as the story unfolds here at the Milwaukee Theatre.” 

They broke for a commercial and we sat, still quietly awaiting more news. 

Again, the newscaster captures our attention as we sit on pins and needles:

“More breaking news here, live at the scene.  The only suspect in the murder of Ventriloquist Mark Hemlock has died.  The name of the suspect will not be released until family members are properly notified.  Stay tuned for more breaking news.”

Carl grabbed the remote and turned the set off.

He looked at me as I continued to stare at the blank television.

“Looks like you have been cleared of a murder, Skyla.”

“It looks like you have been cleared as well, Carl.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, had there been a need to investigate, surely the fact that you were out with another woman would have surfaced, right?”

“I had no idea you were such a bitch!”

“Me neither.”

“So, what do we do now?” He asked this with an almost innocent expression. 

“Well, I say, since she took my murder wrap, I take the hot sex she planned on getting tonight,” I said as I dropped the robe baring my nude body. 

I crawled into Carl’s bed wondering if he would join me or curse me to highest hell for involving him in such a situation. 

He joined me.  He made up for all the sex I had ever missed as I awaited my turn to be his lover for a year plus.  He fucked me until I was silly.  For the rest of the evening, I never thought about my desperate stage appearance or the murder I’d committed. 

All I could think about is how deep Carl was inside of me and how long I’d waited for him and how much more I needed him to never stop.