Inescapable Pt. 01 of 02

At least I had an out. Three weeks, six days. With any luck, that would be before Novinski made any major moves.

-----

I knocked on 310, and waited. I could tell someone was at the door, considering. Finally it opened.

"Hey, Sam," I said. "How's it hanging?"

Collette's smile was brittle. "Bonjour, Marci. Quelle surprise."

"You didn't think you could avoid me forever." It was a statement, not a question.

Her smile was a shade more amused now. "Non. I simply wanted to wait until after your first night."

Jaw clenched, I bit out, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Encore?" she teased, but moved so I could pass.

"You can lose the accent," I snapped. The room was just as I remembered it. I kept having flashes of what we'd done in here, and finding them sexy for totally unexpected reasons. Unfortunately I couldn't confront her on my home ground.

"But the accent, it brings me pleasure!" She gave me a direct gaze. "Now you know how much."

That got to me, though I tried not to show it. I sat on a stool by the breakfast nook. My dignity was undercut by having to shift and pull hair out from under my butt.

Now that I knew what to look for, I thought I could see some traces of Sam. In her demeanor, her movements. Very few, though. She'd put effort into practicing this persona. Of course, now I knew just how motivating a stiff prick could be.

Not relevant right now. I went after the salient point. "You spotted me from the start. You could have warned me."

"But you were so cute, sniffing a ma chatte! How could I resist?" My fists clenched, and she relented. Serious at last, she asked, "Would you have believed me?"

"Fuck, no. But you didn't have to convince me. You didn't have to tell me shit. All you had to do was say my name. I'd have known I was blown." I forced myself not to be distracted by other ways to interpret 'blown'. "I'd have left, reported back that I was made." Dammit, again.

"I needed Gerry to see you. To find out what you knew." She leaned against the wall, looking down at me. "He wouldn't be back for hours." A highly jaundiced eye regarded me. "I'm sure you planned it that way, n'est-ce pas?"

I certainly had, but - keep her on the defensive. "And there was only one way to do that, right? You've really gone native."

The jab didn't sink as deep as I wanted. She was apparently past embarrassment about her sexual needs. But she knew I wasn't: "Diana says you went quite native last night." My skin flushed, despite my fury. "Yes, now you understand."

It was time to break out the heavy armament. "I'm not waiting around to be a target."

"Gerry has done well here. And you have seen by now he is not a monster." Her eyebrows lifted. "Novinski does not treat his girls so well, no?"

That struck home, but also wasn't relevant right now. "It can't last forever," I said. "You know that."

She stared fixedly at the wall. Not admitting I was right, but not able to deny it, either.

I drove on. "Gerry knows business. I have to admit, he's a smart one. But he learned business at a bank. He doesn't have the instincts for the kinds of risks in this field. He knows bank robberies, and he knows hostile business moves. Legal ones."

Collette nibbled her lip. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"It's legal in Nevada, sure. So what? Even here, this kind of business gets attention from violent people. People who pay off cops. Who don't worry about bad publicity, or getting prosecuted."

"He's got the ring," she objected. Feebly.

"He has to travel, recruit. He can't just hole up here forever. Sure, he's got great bodyguards, but even they can't stop everything. And if he uses the ring in a situation like that, it won't stay secret. Fuck knows what happens then, but nothing good."

It wasn't news to her. She'd had the same thoughts, I could tell. I kept pressing. "Even if he did fort up here, they can switch to harassing customers. Vandalism. Arson."

She sighed. "Yes, trouble will come. But..." Even she couldn't come up with a happy way to end that sentence.

"When I don't report in, they'll escalate. I see it's been a good run, but it's coming to an end." I shook my head slowly. "And can you imagine what Novinski would do with that ring?"

"Then you should enjoy it while it lasts," Collette said with classic European fatalism. "I intend to."

-----

Feeling a little fatalistic myself, I showed up for 'work' at six. Melissa had dropped off some clothes - pink panties and miniskirt, with a white tube top. The kind with no midriff, just a band around the breasts. Sparkly wedge pumps for the feet - excessively high-heeled, of course. It was a very 'teenager' ensemble.

I'd come close to staying in my room. But I made a critical mistake. I'd taken a picture of myself in the mirror, all dressed up, and posted it on Instagram. I looked for all the world like any young woman showing off her body, fishing for compliments. The crudely positive comments got me wet and my resistance melted away.

Tonight, a woman named Kristall was acting as hostess, and I was paired up with Vena. The hostess role was rotated every night, since the poor girl doing the job rarely got to fuck anybody.

Vena looked older than me, but her exact age was ambiguous. Again, Gerry had gone for versatility. She could play a career woman, or a housewife, or a MILF... and with me, she went for the latter. She also backed off on her accent.

By contrast I was encouraged to emphasize my youngish side, and she did my face in that vein. She slipped me some gum to chew, but warned me not to blow bubbles with it until I had more practice with lipstick. We became a sort of a mother-stepdaughter team.

It worked.

It still came across as 'training' me, but not in a BDSM sense. More in an 'older woman corrupting a younger woman' sense. And along the way, I did learn several things. We teamed up on an under-the-table and she showed me some advanced techniques, ones for two girls working together.

I know what you're probably thinking. How does a pushing-fifty, cynical private eye convincingly play a slutty teen girl... with less than a day of practice? Especially when he's chronologically older than the 'MILF' he's 'learning' from? Who isn't, physically, that much older than her 'stepdaughter' anyway?

You'd think the guys would see through it, feel something wrong. For that matter, did Gerry screen for acting talent, too? How could these random girls pull it off, night after night?

But we had a huge advantage. Our clients were men.

I mean, c'mon. When a sexy woman is telling a guy what he wants to hear, it becomes remarkably hard for him to let the voice of reason interrupt her. When that woman seems genuinely sexually excited to boot, he'll actively beat the voice of reason to death with a spiked club.

If we made a mistake or hit a false note, they'd refuse to notice, or rationalize it away. They wanted to believe, or at least pretend. And for the guys who didn't really care... in the end, they still wanted to get laid. It was delicious to work a guy up to a fever pitch, so we did our best. But even a standard ejaculation was still pretty nice as far as we were concerned.

Besides, Gerry's Girls put in a lot of effort. We practiced and shared techniques and supported each other. Look at Collette. I'd only seen 'sophisticated, worldly Collette'. That night, I got to see 'dirty, perverted Collette' in action, and later in the week 'innocently hedonistic Collette'.

But early on my second night, I was still far too enchanted with the guys at the tables to pay much attention to anything the other women were doing. And the guys were certainly paying attention to me and Vena.

She'd correct my posture or my smile, but unlike Diana she'd illustrate herself. 'Show by doing,' you might say. Since the guys got a double dose of sexy moves, they certainly weren't complaining. After all, there's a whole subgenre of porn devoted to 'threesomes with mother and daughter'.

So before long we were acting out that scene in Vena's room. It had some of the maturity mine lacked; slightly better furniture, styling. Like a career woman or wealthier housewife. Still, plenty of space for three or more people to get nasty. Which we did, under her instruction.

The guy was in his mid-thirties. Vena was giving a solid impression of a well-preserved woman in her early forties - which was a decade older than she'd looked when I'd met her half an hour ago. I'd swear she hadn't done anything special with her makeup, so it was all attitude and deportment. And maybe a shift in tone of voice and vocabulary. Either way it was impressive, and the right tack to take with the client.

I was acting nervous, but a slightly different 'nervous' than with Diana. With her I'd been anxious about pleasing my 'Mistress'. With Vena, I acted unsure about getting down with her and the guy. Not reluctant - I didn't hide that I was turned on, my prominent nipples made that an easy deduction anyway. Just... not sure if I should give in to my obvious desire. And maybe a little about how to give in.

She ordered me to help undress him. I did so inexpertly, like a girl who wasn't used to shirt buttons on the wrong side. And any reluctance I might have felt just shriveled up and died as soon as his semi-erect prick was revealed. At that point, I knew I would do just about anything to get him sprung.

So my nervousness was feigned as Vena undressed me in front of him. The halter-top slid up over my arms, and the hair.

"Such cute titties," she said, rubbing them, still amused. I could tell she was just playing to the audience; she wasn't really into girls. But since he wanted a little lesbian action in his threesome, she was glad to play along. My breath hitched as she stroked my stiff nipples. She dipped her head for a quick suckle.

Then she dropped the skirt past my hips and I stepped out of it.

"I'm not going to take your panties off," Vena said sternly. "That's your job. Besides, see how wet they are." I was blushing, but she was right. "Turn, show him your ass. Yes, like that. Now, pull them down. No, slowly! You've got to tease them some."

Now I was naked like him. "Time to do a real blowjob. No hiding under a table. He gets to see you."

So he sat on the edge of the bed and I got on my knees. Vena began to strip as I commenced eager but inexpert fellatio.

I kept stealing looks at Vena while I gobbled his crank. She was frowning in dissatisfaction; I made a guess about her intent and dropped my apparent skill level a notch. An almost-invisible nod confirmed it.

"Paah!" she exclaimed once she was nude, pushing me aside and taking my place. "Enough! Here." She pointed at the floor between her legs. "Lick my pussy, I know you practice with your girlfriends." I saw instantly where she was going and put on a shocked, guilty look. "Yes, I knew, silly girl. You want boys but you're too scared. Now you watch me handle a man instead of a little girl."

So while she knelt in front of him and commenced sucking, I got down under her crotch and started licking. He could look down past Vena moving her head in and out, and see the top of my head poking out between her thighs, staring wide-eyed at the blowjob above me.

Of course I thought she was sexy, too, and enjoyed going down, or in this case up, on her. Before, I would have loved it. Now... it wasn't at all unpleasant, but it didn't have the charge it should have. Not compared to that hard prick she was savoring. I was glad that the scene gave me an excuse to stare.

It didn't take him that long to come, which made both of us climax, too. He lay back on the bed, panting.

Vena stood, a wicked smirk blossoming. She lectured me as I rose. "You see, that is how you please a man.” She scoffed. "Boys won't last as long, though. No control."

Her satisfied eyes swept along the guy's body, who was sitting up. Then she turned to me. "Maybe you can use your hands better than your mouth. Get going."

I moved in tentatively, biting my lip. My nipples showed I was willing, but I gave her a look. "Should I wait, or..."

Again she scoffed. "No, no. This is a real man. He's got more in him." The client didn't look entirely convinced, but he let me get going. I took his member in hand and began to caress and stroke it.

Vena gave me running advice, and even illustrated for me once or twice. It took a little under ten minutes, but he manage another solid erection. I made sure to seem impressed.

I leaned in to suck him again, but got spanked by my "stepmother". "Get up on him," she scolded. "You need to see what a real stud is like. You'll never go back to girls."

So he stayed on his back and I straddled him, pumping my hips up and down, getting progressively more impassioned. Lost in sensation.

Eventually Vena settled her pussy onto his face, facing me. Once he couldn't see us, she gave me a knowing, amused look. Her tone of voice didn't change, though. Still instructing: "Bounce that cute little tushie! Boys like some energy."

We kissed, making slurping noises he could hear. Our expressions were amused and knowing - not what he would picture at all - but we enjoyed every grunt and pant that he made, and when he came inside me it was just delightful.

We acted out similar scenes twice more that night, and it worked just as well each time.

-----

The hair woke me up early. It was covering my nose and mouth. I tried to brush it away... but it wasn't bedsheets, it was attached to me.

Once I could breathe, I got up and went into the kitchen, which I had stocked with one box of cereal and a small carton of milk. I ate slowly, sitting naked in the nook, and tried to sort through my thoughts.

I felt ashamed of what I'd done, at my inability to stop myself. It was disturbing, the acts I was willing - eager - to perform when my motor was all revved up. Although, people did crazy things for sex all the time. Maybe my "self-control" had really just been vanilla tastes, not virtue of my own.

Either way, like yesterday I still didn't feel as depressed as I would have expected. Endorphins from the orgasms, maybe. I'd had plenty last night.

To keep myself from dwelling on the cause of those orgasms, I went and took a shower. Then I spent almost ninety minutes brushing and drying the hair. I knew it couldn't be true, but I swear it felt ten pounds heavier when wet. I eventually wrestled it into a sloppy ponytail, and was just wondering if I should put on my dirty clothes from last night when there came a knock at my door.

I felt tempted to just fling open the door, the way Melissa had. Just in case I could surprise a guy on the other side with my nakedness. But I still felt vulnerable, being smaller and weaker than what I'd been used to.

So I peeked through the little lens in the door. Melissa, and some other women, carrying bundles. "Come on, let us in!" she called.

I did, and discovered my clothing problem was resolved. The lack of them, anyway.

A ridiculous number of items fit in those bundles. Or maybe not so ridiculous; it helped that everything was thin and skimpy. Skirts, shorts, tights, leggings. Blouses, t-shirts, tube tops, halter tops. Dresses. And as much lingerie as the rest of the stuff, combined.

And then they opened up the last bundle, laughing at my expression. The costumes in there were made of improbable materials and would not be legal in public. The girly dresser started getting loaded with the spoils, over my protests. "I'm not gonna need all this stuff! I'm not staying!"

"Never hurts to have options," Melissa said with a sly grin.

They left one drawer empty, and laughed again at my puzzlement. Before I could ask for clarification, a knock came at the door. One of the seamstresses opened it, and Anong came in. "Hey! You didn't say you were getting your stuff today!"

"She didn't know," Melissa said.

"I. Don't. Need. This. Crap.” I reiterated.

Anong had explored an open drawer and was holding up a pair of knee-high white stockings with little bows at the top. "But you'd look super cute in these!"

Another lady displayed a lacy white bra. "They'll go nicely with this!"

"Oooh, yeah, and maybe some butterfly clips in your hair." Melissa had a faraway look as she pawed through a drawer. "And no panties."

The mental picture they were conjuring was threatening to undermine my conviction. "Look, people, thanks and all, but..."

"Oh, c'mon, let's just try some stuff out," Anong wheedled. "You change back, you'll never get to see what it's like..."

"Can't you just see the guys drooling if you were wearing this?" Melissa had found fishnet stockings with pink panties, and a pink mesh top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The thing was, I could see them drooling. And groping. And sliding a hand down the front to cup my pussy as their eyes got that focused look...

Anong was searching another drawer. "Hey, what about these?" Rainbow stockings, black panties, a black bra. Would look juvenile, except for how developed my body was. That would make the combination look sexy.

So, before long I was putting on - and being coached on how to entertainingly get out of - a bunch of different clothes. And even the part of me that hated that I was wearing them still couldn't help but enjoy what I saw in the mirror. The new kinky me was getting eager to test some of the looks in practice.

"When did she go in for a fitting, anyway?" Anong asked Melissa while I was pulling up a gauzy skirt.

Actually, that was a good question, which I should have thought of. I didn't know all that much about women's clothes, but I knew the tolerances were a lot tighter. How'd they know my exact size? I stopped and looked at Melissa, waiting.

"She didn't," Melissa said to Anong, not explicitly paying attention to me. "We measured her the first night, while Gerry had her knocked out."

"Oh, okay," Anong said with a remarkable lack of concern.

I snorted and went back to the fashion show. It was all in line with the lack of personal boundaries I'd noticed around here. Although, Gerry's Girls wouldn't tend to have - or need - such boundaries. In fact, that would interfere with their primary function.

-----

The clothiers and Melissa left after a while. Anong and I wound up having lunch in my room, then she took me downstairs. We were heading for the salon, but to put off dealing with the hair, I took a side trip into the dance studio for more practice. Anong and I did more girl-band moves; seeing how I couldn't quite sync up with her forced me to admit that Ms. Ep was right. I did need practice before I was up to the dancing standards at Gerry's Place.

I got another remedial lesson in hair care, but the ladies decided to have fun - note I didn't say I had fun - and braid things into two long pigtails on either side of my head, with some multicolored ribbons woven in. To my irritation, I couldn't help but picture how they'd go with those rainbow stockings and black undies.

-----

Sure enough, I couldn't convince myself to go on strike that night. And sure enough, I was wearing the rainbow stuff. The hair ribbons just matched so well.

I didn't get assigned a girl to work with. My 'probation' was over. It felt weird to be doing this all on my own; I couldn't blame my behavior on being pushed by another Gerry's Girl. Not weird enough to stop, however. By this point I was pretty sure our hormone levels were exceptionally high.