Inescapable Pt. 01 of 02

I'd only been here a few minutes, and I could tell their reputation was entirely deserved.

It's not like I was a stranger to strip clubs. And, here in Nevada, legal brothels. You follow cheating spouses around for a living, you're going to clock in the hours there. "Gerry's Place" had more variety than most, and I hadn't seen a dud yet. All the women were top-notch beauties. I mean, even the waitress who brought me to my table and took my drink order might have been a little prettier than the dancer up on stage. She'd have been a headliner anywhere else, whether or not she could dance.

What really struck me was how they all seemed... enthusiastic. In my experience, the world is not oversupplied with girls who actually get off being ogled by men night after night. No, strippers and hookers are in it for the money. Usually the best you can hope for is that they don't mind it much. A blank face, an insincere smile that didn't touch the eyes - that's what I'd come to expect. A lot of 'em didn't even bother to pretend to want to be there.

But take Melissa here, bringing my drink. A bubbly honey blonde with an angel face and a heavenly figure. She watched me glance at her tits, her waist; the lingerie she wore insisted on such inspection. Her smile - already pretty damn chipper - got bigger and more welcoming. She winked as she turned and waggled her ass at me before heading to the next table. I was half-convinced I could smell her musk. If she wasn't getting off on my attention, she was an incredible actress wasting her talents.

I made sure to identify the security. Only two guys for the main room - that seemed low, but on the other hand they were pretty scary guys. Most people wouldn't realize just how scary they were. I knew what those callouses and postures and flat intent stares meant. They even ignored the girls, somehow.

"Diana" - a tall, statuesque brunette with a sense of rhythm far above average for strippers - left the stage, and the DJ announced "Clarissa". My eyes swept the crowd as she got set up and the music began. There were plenty of ”Gerry's Girls" circulating. I did a double-take at the redhead leading a stunned young man towards the back rooms. I'd heard of "Jessie", even seen pictures, but actually encountering her in person... in the literal, startling flesh...

She wasn't quite as exaggeratedly voluptuous as Jessica Rabbit - she was a human being, not an animated character - but I was convinced surgery had been needed to get her waist that small, compared to the hips and breasts. And I wasn't convinced the breasts and hips themselves were real. How she balanced on those multi-inch spike heels was beyond me.

The next dancer was getting into the swing of things. Another 'exotic dancer' who took the dancing part as seriously as the exotic part. I glanced back... then sat up straight and did another double-take... then squinted carefully for a few seconds. I leaned back in my seat after that, shaking my head slightly.

It had been almost three years. A couple had hired me to try to find their runaway daughter. I eventually tracked her to Reno, where she'd gotten hooked on meth and fallen in with a pimp. But she had disappeared shortly before I caught up with her there; the pimp was actually miffed about it. I didn't tell the family what I suspected - that Claire'd been abducted, killed, and dumped somewhere.

I have a good memory, especially for faces. The girl on stage looked uncannily like the photos they had given me, from before the meth. Only better - a lot better, almost idealized. Cosmetic surgery might explain the nose and chin. Contacts could account for the tawny eyes instead of green. But those spectacular breasts couldn't be implants - no surgeon was that good - and this dancer was about three inches taller than Claire anyway. Though Claire had done ballet and the color guard, I recalled...

A coincidence, I was forced to conclude. Even the names being so close.

A different waitress strutted by, interrupting my thoughts - dark black hair in a shortish asymmetrical cut, pale skin, dark eyeshadow and ruby-red lips. Legs up to here and then some. Quite fetching indeed. Not as rounded as Diana or Melissa, and nothing like Jessie. But personally, I preferred my women on the athletic side. Every girl I'd encountered here would be worth my time - and money, especially because my clients were paying - but she fit my tastes particularly.

Still marveling, I turned my head back to my table - and found myself face-to-breasts with Melissa. Another distracting experience. I looked up at her face and realized she'd arranged it deliberately. She winked at me, and nodded toward the woman I'd just been scoping. "You like Collette, huh? She's cute."

"Not as cute as you, honey," I drawled. I had good people skills - I needed them - so I could see she knew I was feeding her a line. That surprised me a little; I'm also a good liar by necessity. What took me back more was that she didn't seem to mind. Most girls, especially pretty ones, get a little defensive when they know a guy prefers someone else.

Yet Melissa took it in stride. She took my empty glass, too, and promised to return with a fresh one.

While I waited, I kept taking mental notes. The main room was big, and clean - and packed. Scores of worked-up men appreciating the available pulchritude in manners both couth and uncouth. I watched a man grab the ass of a passing waitress - a platinum blonde with heavy, blunt bangs, wearing only an (unbuttoned) white leather jacket and micro-skirt. She squealed - to all indications happily - and winked at him. After she set down her tray and dispensed the orders on it into a corner booth, she ambled back to the ass-slapper.

She leaned in close, they murmured back and forth for a few moments, and she gave a wave to the hostess. They made their way arm-in-arm toward the bedrooms and the hostess had a quick conversation with another girl; apparently having her take over the blonde's outstanding tables. The redhead - in a bikini pretty much entirely made of string - got moving.

That was how it worked here. All the girls were available, all the time. The waitresses and dancers and singers and hostesses weren't dressed the way they were just to set the atmosphere. They were advertising. They had a whole system that allowed them to swap roles as needed. Impressive, really.

You didn't even need to book a room. I saw a girl with blue hair and multiple tattoos get on her knees - there was a small pad to keep her stockings from getting too messed up - and crawl past the tablecloth. Shortly after, the man at the table took a deep breath. The famous Gerry's "Under The Table" - a blowjob as you ate and watched the show. There were outstanding questions about its legality, but the argument was it wasn't a public performance due to the tablecloth. And it was taking place in an establishment with strict age checking, so they'd gotten away with it so far.

They'd gotten away with a lot, in fact. Gerry's had launched quietly enough, two and a half years back. A very well-planned launch; judicious lobbying managed, with surprising speed, to update a few laws in Nye county. Gerry's was run entirely differently from the rest of the brothels. The girls were employees, not "independent contractors", and they were allowed to serve food and alcohol. Gambling was still forbidden, though - politics.

It had grown steadily and inexorably since opening day. By now it was practically a destination; quite a few people were willing to drive the hour and a half from Las Vegas for the kind of experience Gerry's Place could provide. Wealthier clients could charter a helicopter shuttle.

These days they were eating into the competition's business to an uncomfortable degree. Even the illegal competition in Las Vegas itself. I'd been hired by that competition to go digging; find out anything useful about Gerry, the establishment, the girls - whatever. If possible, something that would let them shut him down. Failing that, leverage to cut themselves in on his business.

Almost a routine job. Except for one wrinkle: I was the second guy they had hired for the task. The first one had disappeared.

So, I'd been cautious. I'd spent a couple months, exhausted all other means before actually coming here. Researching Gerry hadn't turned up a lot. A branch manager for a bank up until four years ago. Smart and meticulous, by all reports, but nobody special. It had surprised a lot of people when he'd suddenly sold his home, pulled his savings, moved out to Nevada, and opened up a strip club/brothel. Nobody expected it to amount to much at the time.

More mysterious were "Gerry's Girls". He hadn't poached any local talent, nor did he take applications. As I said, they came in a wide variety - Asian, European, South American, even a striking Ethiopian. He added about one new girl a month, somehow. Tax records and such were sparse, and showed signs of being faked. Not many signs - if Gerry was buying identities he was spending good money - but enough to raise my eyebrows.

What raised my hackles was how my predecessor, Sam Loft, had gone missing. My probing hadn't turned up any serious red flags so far. Anyone in the sex trade had some seedy contacts, but Gerry was unusually clean. There was no indication of anyone backing him; the money trail was solid. Of course, with girls like this, he had a license to print money.

Thing is, Loft was good. Else he wouldn't have been hired. Not as good as me, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't make obvious mistakes - yet he'd been caught anyway. By someone able to make him vanish. Hence my caution.

But I'd learned all I could from a distance, and it wasn't enough. Hence my visit tonight.

A pretty, manicured hand set a drink in front of me. "Thanks, Mel-" I began, until I realized it wasn't Melissa. I was looking up at the brunette.

"Bonjour," she said, with a confident smile. "I'm Collette. How may I serve you?" She had a slight French accent.

"You just did, I think," I said, tilting the drink.

She smiled slightly. "But I am happy to do so much more..."

Collette leaned forward, hands resting on the table, arms straight, cocking her hips at a rakish angle. She wore a black bustier that her breasts were just on the edge of spilling out of. A silver necklace consisting of square panels matched the silver belt. Her skirt was skintight and came down only maybe an inch below her crotch. Knee-high black boots, laced all the way up the front, set her legs off well.

It was an impressive display. "You did not come here simply to look, bien sur," she said with poised assurance. "The food is not that good."

Despite myself, I chuckled. She really was spectacular. It had been a while since I'd been this affected by a woman. "Maybe I'm just tired of Applebee's".

She scoffed and swirled around the table to sit in my lap. My drink was jostled, spilling some, but it was hard to care with her hip pressed up against my erection. She nuzzled my nose, and whispered, "Games are fun... but I know better ones."

I wanted to get close enough to ask questions anyway. Might as well have fun doing it...

Her smile brightened; she knew she had me without my saying a word. We stood, and she led me away. She brought me into her room - number 310, I noted. Details matter. Just down the hall was what had to be a service elevator. It'd be interesting to get a look back there.

I realized this wasn't just a room for entertaining. It was an apartment. A small kitchenette off the main room, a hallway that I supposed led to a bedroom and bathroom. The decor was restrained, with clean lines. It felt European. Or, maybe, an American idea of "European" - I thought I detected a bit of performance going on. A print hung on one wall - from the 80's, one of Nagel's iconic women; black and white with just a touch of color. Collette had some of the same look.

There was a futon against a wall, facing a rounded table with a TV. She let go of my arm and quickly flattened out the futon. I didn't think it was a coincidence that along the way I got some good sight lines up her skirt and down her top.

Her body was plenty, but I was enjoying her attitude as well. Not arrogance, though some might mistake it for that. Nor was she hurried. She was simply... confident. And unashamed. 'We both know what we're here for, and we both want this,' her eyes were saying, 'so why wait?'

The surface prepared, she beckoned me closer. She guided me around her and bade me sit.

Once I'd done so, she straddled my lap, put her arms around my neck and shoulders, leaned her face in close. Deliberately, looking into my eyes, she kissed me - at first just the lips, then a flicker of tongue.

Again, her attitude. 'Just because we start quickly is no reason not to do this right.' She got up off me, and undid my tie, pulling it out of my collar. She set it aside, then put her hands behind her neck - elbows high, incidentally lifting her breasts, causing her nipples to peek out for a moment. The necklace joined my tie, and the nipples hid away again, for a brief while.

She disrobed us that way, by turns. My jacket for her bustier. My pants for her skirt. My shoes for her boots, one at a time. My briefs for her panties...

Naturally, by now my member stood at full attention. She knelt before me, spreading my legs. She started slow. Not teasing; just taking her time, maximizing the pleasure. Nuzzles and kisses before licking, before she wrapped her lips about me.

Although I enjoyed it all, in the back of my mind I was puzzled. I was receiving a high-dollar, high-class-escort level experience, but Gerry's only charged about twice the going rate for this kind of thing. How could they afford such talent?

Not that you couldn't drop a lot of money at Gerry's Place if you were so inclined, and arranged in advance. Everything from a bachelor party special up to the Emperor's Room. The stories about that were definitely exaggerated, but as Collette expertly tackled my wedding tackle, I wondered.

She got me right on the borderline of ejaculation, all the while looking me in the eyes. Those eyes asked a question, and picked up the answer. She backed off and settled me down enough.

She rose to her feet and sank into my lap. Again we were intimately close, as when she'd undressed us... but this time I was inside her.

I'm not sure exactly how long that went on, but I enjoyed it a great deal. Again I hovered on the edge of release... but again she moderated things down to merely 'very excited'. By now, what little attention I could spare from her was astonished. For the price I was paying... it was like finding a bar of solid gold as a prize in your breakfast cereal.

In a trice, she was on the futon on hands and knees, and I was taking her from behind. Urgently.

She was finally abandoning control, shedding her reserve. She moaned with unrepressed passion now, and pushed her hips back and arched them up with my every thrust, eager and avid. Everything was slippery and well-lubed, further confirmation of her excitement.

I'm human, I admit. It's a major turn-on when a woman is really enjoying your efforts. You feel proud, powerful. I'm as jaded as they come, but she got past my defenses, got me really involved, invested. I wasn't even subconsciously looking for signs she was putting on an act anymore.

Came the point I could no longer hold on. I came hard, grunting and groaning in a way I seldom did. As I did she cried out and quivered, almost spasming.

We both shivered in reaction, after. I pulled out and sat on my haunches, breathing heavily. A touch unsteady, she turned around, still on hands and knees. She took me in her mouth again, cleaning and draining me as I sagged.

Once I was well and truly cleaned, she lay down, head in my lap, looking up at me with a smug crinkle of her eyes. "Where did you learn to do that?" I asked, marveling. "You should be world-famous."

Her smirk was positively mischievous. "To some, it is natural."

I shook my head. "Still, how did you come here? There's got to be a story there."

She stood, just as alluring nude as she'd been clothed. I didn't feel quite as much urgency about that now that I'd just come, but I could appreciate the show. She glided to the counter by the kitchen. "There is little to tell." She made a highly Gallic shrug, almost existentialist. "Gerry found me, and placed me here."

As she began mixing a drink - two glasses, I noted - I kept digging. "How does he find a woman like you?" I made sure there was envy in my tone, outweighing the curiosity. She would perceive it as a casual question, not a probe.

Her smile was calm and untroubled while she filled the tumblers from the mixer. "He is... unusually resourceful, that is all." She turned back to me, a drink in each hand, and slinked toward me in a definitely seductive way.

Most whores were practiced at easing Johns out the door once their business was concluded. Yet Collette wasn't in any hurry to part with me, it seemed.

Nor did she worry about personal space. She sat very close to me on the bed and handed me my glass. "But what about you? How did you find your way to Gerry's Place?"

I waited until she took a big sip from her tumbler before I had mine. Poured from the same mixer, she couldn't slip me a Mickey Finn without dosing herself too. "A buddy of mine came here a few months back, and then he just would not shut up about it." I told a true story - at least what the man had said. Although he hadn't been a 'buddy' so much as a guy who was happy to talk for as long as I was buying the drinks.

"Sound like someone you've seen?" I wrapped up. One more try to get her talking.

She shook her head, still amused. "Before my time. I am, as you say, a rookie."

I cracked a grin. "What's the signing bonus like?"

"C'est suffisant," she said, taking another small sip.

I wasn't going to get any information out of her, that was clear. "Thanks for the drink," I said, putting the tumbler on a nightstand. "And everything else." I looked for my clothes.

Collette put a hand on my shoulder, and leaned even closer in a clear invitation. "It does not cost anything more for a second go..." she slurred.

Oh, shit. She slurred. I stood bolt upright... and wobbled.

Collette sagged onto the bed, catching herself with one arm. Then that arm deflated and she flopped onto the mattress.

I was trying to get to the bathroom to throw up when I stumbled, cursing her, and myself. Most hookers won't risk making themselves vulnerable near a John. But she was prepared to knock herself out to get to me.

The floor tilted up to meet my face.

-----

I woke up sitting. Once I remembered how I'd fallen asleep, my head jerked up. I had time to be surprised at the lack of a headache. Knockout drugs aren't known for being gentle.

I was on a couch in an office. Fully dressed. One man behind the desk. Nobody else visible. A window, dark - still nighttime. The door was closed; enough sound leaked through to indicate we were still at Gerry's Place. "Good evening, Mr. Bordreaux," said the man. Gerry Worth himself. His office, no doubt. Not terribly ostentatious, for all that he was 'new money'.

The ID in my wallet didn't have my real name on it, though. This was not good. How had I been made so fast?

I rapidly evaluated my options. Even if the scary guys weren't in the room, they couldn't be further than the other side of the door. Running was a no-go. A bluff about my identity was clearly useless, but I wasn't dead, so... "Good evening yourself. You couldn't have just invited me down?"