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Sunday, July 3, 2016

More Janique Turner - Chapter 1 of Penultimate Hustle: Japan

Chapter 1 – Mommy Dearest


Janique Turner was the best cocksucker in the business. And she was late. For daycare.

“I don’t care if she has a flight in six hours, Rai, tell her her pussy isn’t made of gold,” she said into her phone

Her assistant repeated the line back in Japanese so Janique could fully assess the impact it would have on her recalcitrant co-star, but Janique had already regretted her utterance.

“I’m sorry, Rai. Please tell Sushi-San that a set of unfortunate, changing circumstances dictate that I ask to delay shooting for another hour. Tell her she will receive an additional day’s pay and per diem, as well as dinner and accommodations if she deigns to grace this country with her presence for another day. If not, she can start walking to the airport.”

Rai said nothing, but emitted a soft sigh.

“Okay, strike the last sentence.”

Janique hung up abruptly, as was her practice. She had no time for goodbyes.
“Hey, little man,” she called out to the figure sleeping in the car seat beside her. “We’re almost at school.”

Much like his mother, young Johnny Turner was not a morning person. Janique felt mornings were for having sex and going back to sleep. Johnny preferred to skip them entirely, sleeping ‘till noon whenever he could. He was quite a handful at four years old. Instead of waking him, she passed her hand over his brow with motherly affection, never taking her eyes off the road. Behind her, San Fernando Valley commuters laid on their horns as they passed by. She maintained a steady fifty-five miles an hour when her son was in the car.

Regis Academy was the most expensive and pretentious preschool in Beverly Hills. That was not to say it was the best in the area, but neither Chris nor Janique felt a child barely older than a toddler should be forced to do schoolwork. She had enrolled him there because she liked tweaking the noses of the parents and staff. Janique had more money than the rest of them put together, and she never let them forget where it came from: their husbands and boyfriends.

She pulled into her private parking spot next to the headmaster’s. Janique would have had his space except he had tendered his resignation when informed that he would have to take the second best slot. Eventually, she relented and let him keep his position. It still made her grin to think that she owned the school and no one knew it.

She walked around and opened the passenger side door, clutching her precious cargo to her not inconsiderable chest. At the entrance, the staff greeted her in whispers as they opened the door and whisked him away to a classroom where he could sleep until he felt like waking. Janique made it a point to talk to his teacher whenever she could, but there was no way today. Ultimate Hustle had a burn rate of ten thousand dollars an hour, year-round. You didn’t stay on top in this business by slacking and socializing.

“Headmaster. How to Suck Seed in Business,” she said into her voice recorder.


Chris Turner was getting ready to crash, having spent the previous night working, writing and doing preproduction with a few frazzled members of the video production side of the business.
Natalia was tall, slinky and Italian, practically a stereotypical fashion designer, clad in a jet black cat suit and beret, with a cigarette holder clenched in her teeth. In her time off, she chain-smoked. But, as a rule, Ultimate Hustle did not employ smokers. Natalia was the sole exception. Even Janique the employee, didn’t smoke.

As the owner, she answered to no one, however. Not even Chris, on this particular matter. There was a time when he said smoking cigarettes could be a deal breaker. That didn’t last long. Still Janique managed to keep her dirty little secret a secret. Meanwhile, Natalia was desperately trying to get away for the night, so she could light her first Marlboro in twelve hours. But Chris had been up two days to their one, and still had energy to spare. He discussed their upcoming shoots with her all the way to her car. As she sped out of sight, smoke billowing, he consulted a few voicemail messages.

Then he dialed Yuki, Japan’s premiere adult film star, whom Janique had now kept waiting for twelve hours, entirely disrupting her normal sleep cycle, a contractual item that cost an additional thousand dollars an hour. Luckily, they had a good working relationship with her, sleep clause issues aside, and so Chris spoke a few soothing words to her in Japanese, to which her only breathless reply had been “’Gato.”

Then he dialed Janique. Ordinarily they took an hour between shifts for what they called a quickie. Since she worked days and he worked nights, they had to make occasional concessions to both work and play. Sometimes they skipped work, but not today. They had to forego seeing each other that morning.

“Johnny,” he said, “I love you.” She beamed at him through the phone. He could feel it, and said nothing for a while, but only smiled in return. “Listen, love, where are you?”

She smiled brightly.

“Oh, I’m coming Chris.”

Her pants were off. Her thumb pressed down on her clit as her fingers assaulted her separately and in unison as if possessed of a mind of their own. Her diction, cadence, and breathing gave no indication of this, but Chris was no dummy.

“I don’t see why you insist on trucking him clear over to Beverly Hill to a school where you know he does little more that eat, sleep and play,” he scolded her. “Why can’t we use the babysitters?”

“Chris, you use the babysitters.”

“Janique, some of them have PhDs. We have registered nurses, educators.”

“They’re sluts, Chris. And I’m pretty sure he’ll figure that out eventually.”

He wanted to say something to the effect that he was still far too young to have those sort of thoughts and feelings, but they both knew full well of Chris’s first encounter with a Playboy at the age of four. He had pressed his erect penis against the pages of the magazine. Still, they both knew there was nothing wrong with sluts.

He felt his son deserved everything in life. Nevertheless, he knew when and where to draw the line, and how to pick his battles with Janique. Their only son was not something he was ever going to argue over.

“I agree,” he said, finally.


Babysitters, Inc. was a franchise they had started early on in their ventures. They employed professionals who occasionally “babysat” in their off hours. The money was great, but Janique had started the business on the premise that many wouldn’t be doing it merely for the money. The ruse was legally sound, and encapsulated the core of the American dream.

On paper, it was an extremely high-end nanny and babysitter agency. Each of the sitters listed had very impressive resumes. All were CPR-certified, at a minimum. Each had teaching credentials and had to undergo extensive background checks. Every one of them had a picture. They were dressed demurely and conservatively, but each one was gorgeous. They babysat for five hundred dollars an hour. Chris and Janique retained one hundred and fifty an hour for themselves.

It was quite lucrative, and the illusion was so effective that many times the girls complained about showing up and actually having to babysit for hours on end. Chris’s solution was to increase the hourly rate. They had started out only charging three hundred dollars an hour. People were still willing to pay that for a babysitter.

That’s when Janique implemented the policy of having the girls arrive in braces and pigtails, dressed so provocatively as to remove all doubt. After that, no one would leave their children with them, and so they would collect their one-hour minimum fee and leave.

Having test marketed the concept in Los Angeles, Janique was preparing to open twenty-three franchises around the country, each to be managed by her original core crew of L.A. girls. Many didn’t want to relocate and leave the enclave they had carved for themselves out of the harsh San Fernando Valley. Janique made them offers they couldn’t refuse. They weren’t leaving Ultimate Hustle, she told them, just taking it to new places.


Chris continued to egg Janique on.

“Furthermore, Yuri what’s-her-name…”

“Yuki,” Janique corrected him

“Whatever. Anyway, the gist of it was along the lines of she was out of your league, and for her to have to wait for the likes of you was an affront to the grand creator. Something like that.”
Janique knew Chris’s Japanese vocabulary wasn’t that broad, but it sounded like something that bitch would say.

The line went dead and she got on the freeway. She took the DeLorean up to a hundred and five before she had to back off slightly due to clogs of traffic. Right on cue, just her luck, she saw the red and blue lights of a motorcycle cop in her rearview mirror.

Janique tried in vain to both pull over and put on her pants, but instead only managed to put her panties, a thong, on backwards. She parked behind a convenient row of columns in an underpass, opened her door and turned to face him, feet dangling over the asphalt.

“Can I see your license and registration please, ma’am?”

“Can I see your cock?”