Inescapable Pt. 01 of 02

The music stopped. "Sorry, Marci, you're gonna need at least a month before you can be up on stage. Maybe two."

"But... but..." Damn it, was I disappointed?

Ms. Ep was sympathetic, but firm. "Have you danced before?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Look, you come here every morning for practice and you might make backup dancer before then."

My mouth opened and closed. I didn't know what to say. Melissa stepped in at that point. "We gotta get going, Marci."

I looked around for my sweats, unsuccessfully. "I ditched 'em. I got you something better," she said. I hadn't even noticed her sneaking away as I danced. She supplied me some excessively lacy and narrow white panties, and then an abbreviated white dress that was more like a corset with a fringe attached at the waistline. They were about as far from masculine as clothing could get, and I only put them on because the alternative - running around naked - was worse. Probably.

I did not, at the time, know enough to wonder how she'd judged my size so well.

To her obvious disappointment, I carried the heels in one hand and went barefoot. But she soldiered on. "C'mon, I'm done looking at that hair." She pulled me toward the salon.

We had to step aside for a glorious Japanese woman walking out. She looked, unsurprisingly, like she'd just stepped out of the salon - perfect makeup, hair done just so. She was wearing something like a latex kimono, so tight it might have been shrink-wrapped on. "Hey, Mel!" she said.

"Lookin' good, Reika!" she called back, and led me in.

The hairstylists had very mixed reactions to me. A combination of happy artistic contemplation of having such a canvas to work with - along with irritation, even contempt, at how I'd treated it.

Soon I was sitting in chair, while one woman tortured my scalp with a hairbrush as another tackled my hands. Melissa left to take care of some other business, promising to come back for me.

To distract myself, and at least gesture in the direction of gathering intel, I struck up a conversation with the girl in the next chair. I recognized her ethnicity from the many Thai 'massage' joints I had tailed men to, looking for a 'happy ending'.

I opened with, "What's your name?"

After a pause, she said, "Me name Anong." A very thick accent. "Mean, 'beautiful woman'".

"Ah, that's really pretty. It suits you." And it did. Like all the rest, she was exceedingly sexy; in her case, taut and flexible and exotic. "I'm Marci." I paused myself, debating whether to protest about the paints being applied to my nails. I decided it wasn't the hill I wanted to die on. "How did Gerry find you? He get out to Thailand much?"

In a perfectly American accent, she said, "Nope." She giggled at my face. "I'm from Idaho, can you believe it?"

I goggled for a moment; I deduced she probably wasn't of anything resembling Thai descent. "You sure got me! I had no idea."

"You should see how some guys get off when I babble in Thai while they're fucking me. I've been listening to tapes and watching Thai soap operas just to make sure I get the accent right."

I could see that happening. All too well, I wriggled in my chair. I got a rebuke from the hairdresser, who'd made a dispiriting amount of progress on combing out what I still thought of as "the hair".

Anong was speaking. "I heard there was a new girl. Love the hair, that's gonna be sick. Where are you from?"

"Las Vegas. But, um..." I hesitated - I didn't want to reveal what Gerry had done to me - but it wouldn't be a secret for long. "...I didn't expect to be here."

She squinted at me, puzzled.

"I had the same job as Collette," I told her. That got through.

"Holy shit! You were..." She stopped herself, shifting her eyes toward the attendants.

"A private investigator," I finished, with a half-hearted grin. The stylist started applying various substances to the hair. I felt like nothing so much as a Formula 1 racer in a pit-stop, getting maintained.

She got quiet for a time, processing my news. As the beauticians switched to my feet, though, Anong began to describe what was, for the sex industry, a shockingly fair profit-sharing arrangement. Gerry was planning to build wealth long-term, it seemed, not a get-rich-quick scheme. Then again - bank manager.

Anong stuck around even after she was done. And when the hairdresser grasped how little I knew about hair care, Anong stepped in and promised to explain things to me. Melissa hadn't returned, so she took me aside so we could talk about restricted subjects.

She worked up to it, though. "My family is Scots-Irish. Gerry made me like this. I used to be two hundred eighty pounds, and covered in splotchy freckles."

She was less than a buck ten now, and Scots-Irish was the very last guess I would make for her ancestry. I blinked. "Hey, is Reika really Japanese?"

"Oh, sure. But she was almost sixty years old with a club foot before Gerry."

Body deformity was a really major issue in Japanese culture. I was beginning to see how Gerry could find willing takers.

"I've seen what that ring can do, but -" Anong shook her head "- you were a guy?!"

"And you were a whale," I snapped. Immediately I knew I'd made a mistake.

"Well fuck you very much, bitch!" she said, turning away. The salon girls gave us a look.

"Wait, I'm sorry..." I said, penitent. "This is kinda fucking up my world. But I'm pissed at Gerry, not you. I'm sorry."

She kept looking at the wall for a second, then glanced my way. After a couple more seconds, she said - still frosty, but not completely hostile - "What happened?"

I told her the story. I started to talk about Collette and me... but we both found that derailing to our train of thought, so I jumped to the drugging. She fought not to laugh, and nearly succeeded. Then the confrontation in the office, and...

She looked amazed. That Gerry could be ruthless? "So you didn't get to pick anything?"

I shrugged. "I just woke up like this."

"Wow," she blinked. "Well, even if you're stuck for a bit, you really are super-sexy. And it's a pretty sweet deal here."

"Free abortions and penicillin, right?" I quipped darkly.

"Nah, we don't get pregnant, and we can't catch anything. Gerry's smart, he took care of it." She smiled. "I ain't been sick once, not even a cold, since I joined."

Nothing to scare me away from men. Lovely. Though not getting pregnant was hard to be sad about. Except there was a detested new part of me that speculated about guys with a pregnancy kink...

-----

Melissa dropped me off in my room. The girls worked six days a week, with a day off. There were two shifts, that overlapped. Noon to 8 p.m., and six p.m. to two a.m. - unless a client made special arrangements for you. I was supposed to start work at six tonight, start my 'training'.

She told me how to order food from the kitchen. Later, I could send out for groceries, make my own meals. Apparently Gerry's Girls could go out and shop on their own, but seldom chose to. I'd wondered about that before, in my research. Now I understood better.

I spent the next couple hours pondering my options. I didn't have many. Escape was out. I couldn't leave until Gerry knew I wouldn't be a threat. And I couldn't fool him about the rage I felt. Because if I ran away... I pictured my daughter Amy working here. I could not risk it. In these days of automatic bill payments, my rent and utilities and even child support would keep going for well past the month this would take.

So I had to stay here. That left two choices - sit in my room until the next new moon, or go out and work as a Gerry's Girl.

Defiance was probably smartest, considering how I'd already been acting today. It would prevent me from learning anything, though. It would likely alienate the girls. And it might inspire Gerry to get even more creative.

I opened the closet door and gazed at the scraps of cloth. Damn me, I wanted to know what I'd look like in them. But if I put them on, I wouldn't be able to stop at just looking in the mirror. I'd head down to the room behind the hostess desk, and I'd be assigned a girl to follow around.

And guys would look at me, and get aroused. And I'd enjoy it. I wouldn't be able to help it. And I'd keep wanting more of it...

The damndest thing about this new turn-on Gerry had foisted on me was that it didn't feel forced. Long ago, when my balls dropped and I discovered what the deal was about girls, it had been new and confusing. Yet it hadn't been an imposition. It was like I finally noticed something about breasts and hips and legs and lips that I hadn't picked up on before.

Maddeningly, this was the same way. It was beyond uncomfortable, but I couldn't help getting turned on by the idea of guys getting turned on. Just... all that urgency...

Like I said, I spent a couple hours running in loops in my head.

-----

There was a back hall to get to the 'staging area'. I passed some other girls who looked at me and muttered to each other. Not precisely hostile, but I was clearly a person of note, perhaps concern. I stepped into the side room and was almost overwhelmed. A lot of scantily-clad beauty concentrated in a small space. At least Anong waved at me. And I didn't see Collette, thank God; I had no idea how I'd react to her now.

A woman stood with a clipboard. She was encased in a slightly more sedate dress than the other girls - which is to say, skintight and thin and short but didn't actually expose her nipples or crotch. The hostess from last night had been dressed in a similar way.

She stepped over to me. "You are Marci, right?" She had a slight Russian accent; I nodded. "I'm Vena." I was almost getting used to being evaluated up-and-down the way she did then. God knew the guys would be doing it soon enough.

At that thought, my nipples perked up. I think she noticed. Hard to miss in the t-shirt. Anyway, she called out, "Diana, come over here!" As the woman approached, Vena told me, "We'll hook you up with Diana. Just go with her and do what she says."

I looked up, and up, at Diana. 'Statuesque' was a lot more imposing now that I was smaller. Six feet, and in serious shape. Not a steroid case - she was female, with the appropriate amount of body fat for a woman. But I felt sure she could pick me up and throw me. Damn straight I'd do what she said.

She saw my dubious expression and smiled. "Relax. Some guys like being pushed around by an Amazon type." Suddenly her confidence drained away, she looked more intimidated than me. "And some like pushing one around." She was back to matter-of-fact in an instant. "I can do both." She winked. "I like both."

"Okay," I managed.

"For tonight, since I'm 'training' you, we'll play it straight. I'm in charge. You'll call me 'Mistress'." She gave me a once-over. "You're just a little shy. You're excited to be here, but kinda scared too. But the guys make you so hot you can't help yourself." Vena nodded along.

I swallowed. The portrait she was painting would indeed be sexy. The guys would love it... Suddenly I wished I'd chosen the defiant path. This was too much. I wanted it too much. I couldn't trust myself to -

But Diana, with a look of mild exasperation, grabbed a little bundle from a pile on a shelf and pulled me out into the hall. The bundle was a makeup repair kit. She started doing my face, and worked to distract me by launching into a quick 'waitress intro' lecture. She didn't expect me to remember all of it, and I didn't, but I surprised her by memorizing the specials on the first try.

In a terrifyingly short time I was following her into the main room, holding an order pad in my hand.

And I came to a stop. It was overwhelming. I'd been trying not to fantasize about horny men all day - and failing - but I hadn't actually seen a male human, in person. Now they were all around me.

And I was going into heat.

Humans can't really smell pheromones. But I felt like I could, like the male perspiration I whiffed was redolent with lust. The excited undertone in their voices, the explicit catcalls, the roving eyes... My heartbeat was racing, my nipples were spiked, and I knew the hotpants were getting damp.

Diana seemed to have expected it, and motioned me to get moving again. I followed her to a table, but I was drawn magnetically to the guys sitting there. The way they scoped her, and me, sitting up straighter - I hoped their dicks were sitting up straight, too...

"Good evening, gentlemen! Welcome to Gerry's Place! I'm Diana, and this is my trainee, Marci. Say hello, Marci."

"Hi boys!" I said with true enthusiasm. All four of them were checking me out - the one in the baseball cap kept staring at my boobs. I smiled helplessly, and puffed out my chest more, grateful Ms. Ep had taught me some poses.

I asked for their drink orders. I had to ask a couple of them twice, I was so distracted by their ogling. Diana firmly kept me on-task. We went back to the bar to get the drinks. I strutted, almost high-stepping, in the hopes that they were watching. I looked back as we got to the swinging doors, and caught one of them looking. My smile was fixing to split my face.

We went through, and headed to give the orders to a bartender. I was almost out of breath. "Oh my God!" I said in wonder, knees shaking.

Diana just smirked. But her nipples were denting her dress, too. I had just enough time to remember that I shouldn't be so excited before we got the drinks and walked back out through the service door to the main floor.

But my shame and anger and even fear couldn't last in that environment. I had just as much fun taking their drinks back, and getting their food orders. On the way I watched guys flirting with waitresses and hooting at dancers with the same interest I'd paid to the girls the night before. And then we got a second table to serve.

Carrying and handing out the food had its own rewards. I accidentally handed one guy the wrong stuff and got a stern lecture from Diana. "Sorry, Mistress," I apologized, head hanging, heels together, butt sticking out as I bowed to her. I swear I saw one guys' ears twitch with my half-lidded eyes.

As we started back things took a twist. "'Scuse me," one guy said. We turned around. "There's a hair on my fries."

I looked down. A very long auburn strand trailed from the plate to hang off the edge of the table. Before I could say anything, Diana spoke up. "I'm very sorry, sir. Marci, you need to be more careful!"

It helped that she called me 'Marci'. Nothing I did here had anything to do with my real identity. It was Marci doing this stuff, not Mr. Bordreaux.

I still hated myself a little for playing along, though. I thought I knew what kind of scene she was going for. Flustered, nervous: "I'm sorry, Mistress, really, I didn't mean to..." The way the guys were eating it up got me so hot...

She interrupted me. "Quiet, girl." She turned to the man. "Sir, while I get you some new fries, Marci here will comp you under the table."

My gasp, and the startled expression on my face, was entirely genuine and unplanned. I just assumed - or maybe had just told myself - they wouldn't have new girls actually do stuff with guys the first night. If it had been calculated to the millimeter, though, it could not have been more perfect to turn them on. They laughed so hard.

I shot Diana a look, and before I could say anything she said, "Maybe this will teach you to watch what you're doing!" and pushed down on my shoulder. A blowjob? Sucking and licking his... prick... until it...

My resistance was a halfhearted, feeble thing. I understood how little I was fighting it when I was on my knees lifting up the tablecloth, and one of the guys said, "Miss? You want your pad?"

That got another big laugh. My face burned... but I ducked under there anyway.

On some level, in some corner of my brain, I was humiliated and raging. But it was almost disconnected from me. Instead, pushing between male legs under a strip club table, I felt like a little kid squeezing through a closet to fabled Narnia.

There he was! I unhooked his belt, undid the waist button, ran down the zipper. I knew what his pants were covering, and I needed to see it. He was mostly hard already, and hairy, and incredible. I draped my long hair to rub over his legs to give him extra sensation and pursed my lips over the end of his cock, swirling my tongue around.

All my senses were engaged, and on overdrive. The taste of his cock, the close-up sight of his stomach and legs, the smells, the sound of his panting and the ribbing of his friends, the feel of soft skin sliding around a stiff center... I was hooked, I was delighted, I wanted all of it and more.

Before long I was deep-throating him. It wasn't even a conscious decision; I just knew from experience how good that felt, and I needed him to feel good. One of my hands was gently cupping and fondling his balls, and the other was rubbing, almost tickling, the underside of his leg.

"Fuuuuuuuck..." I heard him grunt. "That little girl knows how to suck."

My nipples were hard, my clit was engorged, my channel was dripping. I wasn't really aware of all that, exactly. I was lost in sensation; I just knew I was turned all the way on. Hearing the tension in his voice was as sexy as the words. I moaned around his dick, hoping the sound would help excite him more.

He came, and it never crossed my mind not to swallow his load. I wanted him to get the maximum pleasure, because I was coming too, and it was like his pleasure was driving mine. If I pulled away he wouldn't be getting friction and pressure!

He deflated most of the way before I finally let him out of my mouth, and slid his pants back up under the table. As I crawled out, it felt like my body was fizzing with pleasure.

The receipt of the comp was smiling broadly. "Are you satisfied, sir?" Diana asked him, to all appearances unironically.

"Hell, yes!" he said.

One of his buddies piped in, "Could I have a hair, missy?" My face flushed even brighter at the laughter, but I had to fight the urge not to take him literally so I could do it again, right away.

We circulated among the tables, flirting outrageously. Diana unobtrusively helped me with the mechanics of carrying food around and what the table numbers were.

Her flirting help, on the other hand, was quite obtrusive. One guy smiled at my top and cracked, "It's not fair, you teasing us with that shirt."

Diana said, sternly, "You're absolutely right, sir. Marci, show them your boobs!"

With what felt like a permanent blush, I pulled up my scrap of a shirt. Not that my nipples hadn't been practically cutting through the cloth already. It still felt so weird having these... masses hanging off my chest. But the way the guys stared and hooted almost reconciled me to them for the moment.

A bit later, as we checked on the first table, a bearded guy in a Harley Davidson t-shirt said, "Honey, Jake here talked up your mouth so much, I think I gotta try it." He waved at my first under-the-table recipient.

Diana jumped in. "Of course, sir. Marci, do a good job, now! No slacking!" Meekly, I slid past the tablecloth again. It was even more fun this time. Partly because I was so far past fighting the feelings, or even shame, that I just let myself go. And partly because paying for it proved he really wanted it.

The new guy agreed I had a genuine talent when I came back up for air. Diana told me - in front of them - that I was a good girl, and reminded me to thank them for coming out to Gerry's Place.

The night flew by. I saw everything in a new light; it was much more the girls preying on the guys than the other way around. Harvesting their lust like a trapper collecting pelts. And with how sexy the girls looked, and acted... it was like hunting curious squirrels with an elephant gun. The men stood no chance.