Fuck the United Nations

"Therefore I sentence the defendant to work for 72 hours as a hostess at Lagarde's Hotel & Spa. She will not be paid for this work -- instead her salary will be distributed to the other employees as partial compensation for their loss. I leave it to the management to determine the circumstances of her employment, though the terms may not be harsher than those of other employees. Further, I confer upon management the authority to extend her sentence as necessary if she does not comply with the rules set forth."

The Chase

Mervyn may not have realized it, but he effectively sentenced me to another six weeks in jail. For until Lagarde's Hotel reopened I couldn't perform my duty. This was less pleasant than the past couple months -- it's much easier to do time when you don't know what fate awaits you.

One Saturday morning, unannounced at 4am, the matrons woke me up and asked me to get dressed. I put on the only street clothes I had -- a long, ankle-length skirt, with a blouse that buttoned to the collar. Of course I wore underwear -- the old-lady kind you'd expect any feminist to wear. I was then cuffed and led out into the pre-dawn gloom.

They took me to Lagarde's Hotel. I'd spent much time waiting around outside, but had never gone in before. I was met at the employee's entrance by that fag procurer of theirs, a limp-dick named Ronaldo.

"Welcome to Lagarde's Hotel & Spa," he said, smiling disingenuously. "We hope you make a lot of money for us. Unfortunately, we are all still very angry with you. But we will try hard to keep you safe."

He showed me the movie that they show the perverts when they first arrive. [Described in the story Mollie Buys a Brothel -- ed.] Then he explained how the building was laid out. "You can't go into the restaurants without a guest escort. And you can't be on the 8th, 9th, or 10th floors without a guest escort. And you can't come back down here without good reason. Violating the rules will result in additional time added to your sentence. Elizabeth will be the judge."

It all took about an hour. Just before 6am I was pulled through a turnstile and pushed onto an elevator. "Don't come back until Tuesday morning," were Ronaldo's parting words as the doors closed.

Dawn is the time when a brothel sleeps. I had the elevator to myself. The 7th floor was labeled "Nightclub" -- I figured nobody would be up there at this hour of the morning. I could hide out there. As the elevator moved I looked around to see a placard on the wall.

It was a wanted sign, complete with the mugshots (full face & profile) that the police took when I was arrested:

WANTED: MISS MADDIE:

Convicted terrorist wanted for vandalism of Lagarde's Hotel & Spa

Unarmed and not dangerous

Should be fucked on sight (on site)

Rules

**Money earned by Miss Maddie will be paid to the hostess of your choice. Please give your card to your chosen hostess prior to messing with Maddie.

**Miss Maddie is permitted to be naked without an escort.

**Otherwise the rules that apply to all hostesses also apply to Miss Maddie.

Like I was gonna go around naked just to make a bunch of dickheads happy? Hell, I didn't plan on getting naked even if I did have an escort!

And sure enough, the nightclub was empty. I looked for a hiding place, eventually concealing myself in a dressing room behind the stage. And there I sat for over an hour until I really needed to pee. I thought about doing it right there on the spot -- to give you pissers something to lick at -- but then I figured they'd just extend my sentence. So I left the hideout to find the ladies room.

I was not discovered while looking for it, nor did anyone hear me pinkle. But on the way back to the dressing room the elevator opened and some silly whore stepped out. She took one look at me and got right back onto the elevator. I knew she'd rat me out, so I got on another elevator to go someplace else.

That lift, also, had a wanted poster displayed. I figured everybody would be out looking for me soon enough. Where to go? The third floor was the gym -- that likely wouldn't be too busy at 8am.

The masseuse sluts had a little office with a real door, though it didn't lock. It was empty and probably would be for at least a couple of hours.

I wasn't there but fifteen minutes before I heard noises in the hallway.

"Did you check the linen room, Klaus?" said a male voice.

"No. Where is that?" asked Klaus.

"At the end of the hallway," replied a woman.

And a few seconds later, "She's not down here."

"Maybe somebody got her in their room already."

"No way. Gracie's the only one who's seen her. And that was just a few minutes ago."

"She's gotta be around here somewhere."

And then my door opened. Bitch Gracie and I froze, staring at each other.

"She's in here, Mister Joe," Gracie called out to some guy in the other room. She stood in the doorway to prevent my escape. Within a minute Mr. Joe poked his head in the door, followed shortly by Mr. Klaus.

"Cute little bugger, ain't she," opined Joe, with a southern twang, pushing his way past Gracie into the room.

"Ja," answered the German. "It's good when the criminals are sexy." Klaus pulled the wanted poster from his pocket, checking the mugshot against my face.

We all stared at each other for a minute.

I was sitting behind a desk. Joe walked over, grabbed me by the shirt collar and pulled me to my feet. I started to scream, but he muzzled me with his other hand. "It sez we get to fuck you, little lady. Either you cooperate, or we get the authorities involved."

"If you scream," said Gracie, "Elizabeth will lengthen your sentence by a day."

Mr. Joe cautiously removed his paw to see if I'd cooperate. I chose to be quiet.

Mr. Joe, as blonde, tall and ripped as you'd expect a hard-working hayseed to be, lifted me at the waist with one arm and deposited me effortlessly onto the edge of the desktop. It looked rough and it should've hurt, but it was painless. I was surprised at his gentleness. The man knew how to toss a woman around.

He pushed me down so that I was lying on my back, my head on the desk, my butt resting on the edge, and my legs hanging uncomfortably over the end. Grabbing my ankles and inserting himself between my knees, he lifted the skirt up almost covering my face, exposing my underwear. I grabbed my pantie just as he pulled to remove it.

"You can't take off my clothes," I insisted.

"Hell I can't. Sez here I gotta fuck you, and I can't do that with your britches on."

He could've won the tug of war in a fair fight, but the fight wasn't even fair. Mr. Klaus walked over, grabbed my wrists and held them above my head. Immobilizing my ankles with one hand, Joe pulled down my pantie with the other, leaving me exposed.

That was embarrassing and exhilarating.

Joe pulled the skirt back down. Using his left arm to lift my butt off the table, his right expertly unfastened the skirt's hook at the back. That garment followed my pantie to the floor.

Standing again between my knees he intended to unbutton my blouse. I started kicking vigorously, however ineffectually.

"Look little lady, if you can't keep your feets still I'm gonna have to tie you up. I don't care what you do, you're gonna get fucked. We can do that the easy way or the hard way."

I still kicked just on principle, but the struggle had gone out of me. It wouldn't have hurt him even if I had landed a blow.

One handed he unfastened my blouse buttons with the speed of a fashion model between runway walks. A little help from Klaus got the garment removed. I lay there wearing only my bra. But not for long. With now predictable skill he unfastened that and tossed it to the side.

I had been stripped clean in less than three minutes, all without any pain, torn clothes or lost buttons. I couldn't even undress myself that fast! Amazing. I was beginning to like this guy.

I still struggled. He had to hold my thighs in place to keep me down. He confined them in the crook of his elbows as he lowered his shorts. The garment fell around his ankles, revealing an erect, 9" tool ready to fuck.

"You have to wear a condom," said Gracie, handing him one from her bag. Joe looked at her with a irritation, but then took the condom and put it on.

How a rough rapist could be so gentle I'll never understand. He didn't try to enter me right away, instead using his cock to stroke me until I was wet. He pretended to be cruel to my breasts, but really he just found the erogenous zone. He nibbled my earlobes.

I forgot to struggle. I just went with the flow.

When he finally did enter it was with such stealth that I barely noticed it. But then I felt warm, virile comfort inside. I wanted more.

I got more -- all nine inches of it in fact. It took a while -- longer than the striptease. That's OK -- slow cooking makes for better food. When he finally had it all inside I could barely contain myself. I wanted to hump him as fast as I could, but he wouldn't let me. This was sex in molasses, pumping in universal time. The clock just stood still.

Not forever, mind you. The momentum gathered. The inertia became irresistible. Soon it only seemed slow, but we were really going at it. I fought my hands free from Klaus so that I could embrace Joe. My legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

And then I lost control, forgetting where I was, how I got there, or what I was doing. All I knew is that great gobs of pleasure radiated from my cunt and breasts. Joe, no longer graceful, was humping hard, pumping cum out as fast as he could.

I only wished he wasn't wearing a condom.

Joe lay on top of me, exhausted. I stroked him gently. A better fuck I have never had.

"Now it's my turn," demanded Klaus, breaking the mood. Joe neither moved nor answered.

A minute later: "Hey, Joe, I'm really horny!"

Joe reluctantly pulled himself off of me and retrieved his clothes, stepping aside to get dressed. Klaus marched to the gate eyeing me greedily.

"You don't have a hostess," said Gracie. "You can't touch her without having a hostess."

Klaus looked at her angrily. "Hey, Joe. Can I borrow Gracie for a few minutes."

"Hell No," said Joe, totally pissed off. "Go get your own fuckin' hostess."

Klaus stomped out of the room to go look for a hostess. Joe grinned. "Maybe he won't find anybody on this floor at this hour of the morning. Then we can go upstairs to my room before he gets back." He looked out the door to see if Klaus was at the elevator.

No joy. A minute later Klaus returned with Miss Nancy in tow. She'd been working out on the elliptical machine down the hall before Klaus had shanghai'd her into service. And I could see why. Nancy was a chubby little cunt. I took to calling her Miss Piggy. Whatever -- as Klaus grabbed my ankles, now she was my whore-chaperone instead of Gracie. She made sure Klaus had a condom.

I decided to make Klaus work for his pleasure. I started kicking, aiming for the groin. I missed, but it made him mad. He forced his way between my thighs. I threatened to scratch his eyeballs out.

"Careful, Miss Maddie," warned Piggy. "If anybody gets hurt you're going to jail for a long time. I get fucked ten times a day without complaining. No reason why you shouldn't get your due."

Joe had a suggestion. "Maybe it'd be easier for her if you two whores stripped down, too? That way Miss Maddie wouldn't be the only naked lady in the room."

Klaus backed away from me, nodding agreement. We all watched as Gracie and Nancy shed their clothes. Didn't faze them a bit. Gracie was a lithe, athletic little girl. She looked good naked, even if she had been pregnant.

Nancy didn't have the figure. Her breasts sagged and her butt was too big. But she had beautiful, clear skin, and apparently had never borne children.

Now Joe's plan became clear. He took Miss Piggy's dress and used it to tie my left ankle to the desk leg. Then he took Gracie's dress and affixed my right ankle to the other side of the desk. Finally, he grabbed my wrists and held them immobile above my head. "Go for it," he ordered Klaus. "Let's get this over with."

The bonds didn't hurt nor feel all that tight, but as I struggled to free myself I found that I couldn't. Joe knew how to hold a good woman down. I decided to let Klaus have his way with me -- not that I had any choice.

There's nothing more embarrassing than being fucked by an incompetent rapist. The guy was inept, and it took him forever to get his rocks off. I was beginning to feel sorry for him. As soon as he came Joe released my hands and let me push the clown off of me. Nancy and Gracie untied my legs.

Revenge

I went for my clothes, but Joe wouldn't let me.

"You don't need those," he said, pulling them away.

"Whaddaya mean? I can't go round naked."

"Sure you can. Sez right here -- 'can be naked without an escort.' And even then we'll be escorting you."

"No way!" I said, angrily reaching for my duds. "Give those back to me." Joe easily held them out of reach.

Gracie interjected -- "Miss Maddie, we go naked all the time. Who do you think you are -- some kind of princess or something?"

By now the masseuse sluts wanted their office back. Joe passed my clothes off to them, embraced me gently around the waist and escorted me out the door.

First time I ever rode an elevator in my birthday suit. (Wouldn't be the last time.) We three naked girls joined the attired fellows for a ride to the fifth floor lobby.

The lobby was a busy place. A bevy of hostesses waited by the door where new customers entered. Without an escort they were required to be dressed. The girls already with customers were mostly naked, including those sitting in the coffee bar. Piggy, Gracie, and I didn't look out of place. For all that I blushed with embarrassment.

I felt sorry for Piggy, who had good reason to be embarrassed, though she didn't appear to be. Gracie, meanwhile, was enjoying herself -- a born exhibitionist. Joe saw that, too. "I gotta spend some quality time with my sweetie," he said, holding her close. They turned and walked back toward the elevator, as if in love.

I never saw Joe again. I think he must have checked out of the hotel later that day.

Klaus laid claim to me by grabbing my butt. I decided I'd rather take my chances with other guys than be stuck with this loser for much longer. I couldn't actively resist him without getting in trouble, but I gave him the cold shoulder. He got the message -- he and Piggy wandered off somewhere. I saw him dump her (by retrieving his card).

If I thought I'd have time to run, I surely was disappointed. Not even a minute passed before a thin, little man with a pencil mustache desired my services. About 45 years old, even while wearing Lagarde's uniform he still looked impeccably dressed. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his hands manicured, his mustache precisely trimmed.

"My name is Mr. Pierre," he said. "And this is my friend, Miss Ruthie. I understand that you are the escaped criminal?"

I nodded stupidly, while staring at his hostess. Ruthie looked very young -- perhaps she was the underaged sex-slave I'd been seeking out all those months?

"May I ask you to join us for coffee?" he inquired, while taking my arm.

I realized I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning. "Mr. Pierre, please sir, but I am very hungry. I've had nothing to eat today. Could you please take me to a restaurant?" I used French, learned among the native Poverans. This was the first time I'd spoken to a real frog. Good practice.

"Oui, Mademoiselle!" Mr. Pierre seemed to want nothing more than to make me happy.

"But we need to be dressed to go to the restaurants," said Miss Ruthie. So we walked over to the clothes racks (located on every floor). Ruthie put on her underwear and selected a dress from the rack. I had no underwear, but I chose a pair of pants and a blouse -- it looked almost like street clothes. And so with a girl on each arm, Mr. Pierre escorted us in style to the lunch place on the sixth floor.

"How old are you?" I asked Ruthie, while eating.

"I'm nineteen."

"How long have you worked here?"

"This is my fifth shift. But it's the first time I've been able to work in four months, because of the vandalism." She looked at me angrily. [To learn about Ruthie's first day at Lagarde's, read the story Destiny at Mollie's Brothel -- ed]

"Do you like working here?"

"It's very hard, but it's not that bad once you get used to it."

"What do you like about working here?"

"I make lots of money and can help out my family. And guests like Mr. Pierre are very nice." She smiled at him and gave him a squeeze.

"And what makes it so hard?"

"I get fucked all the time," she said, looking at me like I was a complete idiot. "I sometimes get fucked four times a day. It gets old."

Mr. Pierre let us eat leisurely. I got to practice my French, and I learned more about Ruthie's life. But eventually it was time to go. We stepped into the foyer in front of the elevators.

"I like my girls naked."

Ruthie didn't miss a beat. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it off over her head. Then her bra and pantie got put back in her bag. She was as naked as when I first met her.

Somehow I'd gotten it in my head that I was done being naked. "You're joking," I said.

"Je ne fais pas une blague," answered Mr. Pierre, sternly.

Ruthie looked at me like I was the world's worst scoundrel. "I think we need to go talk to Elizabeth," she said.

And so I did strip down, leaving my perfectly good clothes on the bench in front of the elevator. Nude, with Pierre's paw on my ass, we took the elevator back to the lobby.

Ruthie had a long conversation with Elizabeth at the concierge's desk, as Pierre and I stood off to the side. At the end Pierre was brought into the discussion. They parted with the only words I overheard, spoken by Elizabeth: "See you at four thirty, then?" The other two nodded. It was 12:15.

When we got to Pierre's room he wanted to fuck me. Honestly, from start to finish that took about five and a half minutes. It took longer for him to put on the condom than anything else.

We still had four hours to kill. Ruthie went to get some clothes to practice her striptease. We watched her for about an hour. Then he wanted to fuck her -- that took at least 15 minutes. After that we just lay around naked watching television.

Shortly past four Ruthie left again to find some clothes for me. She returned with an evening gown, a floor-length, clingy thing, made of elastic, thin fabric that revealed every curve of my body. Even my nipples showed through. While skin-tight through the butt, the hem flared out allowing me freedom of movement. It definitely beat being naked.

We headed for the fourth floor, known as the Club Floor. It had a game room, a smoking lounge, the Gentleman's Lounge (where women -- dressed or undressed, escorted or not -- were absolutely not allowed, and also the only place for Internet access), and a small bistro.

But we went to the Library, a large room with old-fashioned furniture and big windows. It had books and magazines, easy chairs and loveseats, large tables for work or study, and nooks and crannies where one could make out like teenagers.

There were about forty people present, guests and their escorts, and it immediately struck me that they were all dressed (how odd to find this odd). The women stood to one side and the men on the other. Apart from a large, wooden table, furniture had been cleared from the space between them.

They applauded as we walked in. Ruthie escorted me to the middle of the room, and then she and Pierre stood along the sides with the others. They all joined in singing an obscene, French ditty, that can be roughly translated as She's a jolly good cunt.