Inescapable Pt. 01 of 02

Anong had on a tight, dark, shimmery dress. The neckline plunged as low, and the skirt was slit as high, as you'd expect. Black heels went well with the dress. Our makeup wasn't quite at "street hooker advertising for trade" levels, but it was definitely in the range of "girls going out on the make". We smiled and silently double-checked each other's clothes and makeup.

Then we knocked on the door and stepped in, as I consciously dropped several decades of maturity and a couple dozen IQ points. My smile wasn't precisely vacant, but let's just say it was at no more than half occupancy.

"Hello!" Anong called as she closed the door. "It's me! And I brought Marci as you asked!" Her Thai accent was pronounced but her English was reasonable. She adjusted her vocabulary and grammar for each client. Samesh spoke a couple languages but Thai wasn't one of them. English being the only common tongue they had, she made sure they could effectively communicate.

"Hey, Mr. Samesh!" I said, just as cheerfully as I waved at him. I glanced at Anong, ingenuous. "You're right, he is cute!"

That won a tolerant smile from the client leaning back on the sofa. A well-groomed Indonesian, wearing a tailored suit in a conservative blue. Late thirties, only a little fat. One glance confirmed what I had deduced from Anong's descriptions. I knew the type from before: semi-legitimate businessman. He wouldn't move drugs or ship arms, but he'd happily put together deals that skirted tax, disclosure, and export laws.

He fancied himself a smooth operator. Maybe he was; he could afford a few hours with us in a private room, after all. But he definitely had a need to be in control of any situation. A fair number of guys like that desired to let go in bed, give up control. Diana did a brisk trade humiliating such.

Samesh, however, wasn't that kind of guy. He still wanted to be in charge, even in bed... he just didn't feel like working for it. He was after a reward, not a conquest.

With only a slight accent, he said, "Very nice to meet you, Marci. Please, come closer, both of you."

With big smiles, we did so. He swirled a finger, and we turned around, letting him see us from all angles. "Anong, lovely as always. Marci, you are stunning."

We both beamed from the compliments. "Come, sit here," he said. We took positions on either side of him. I was learning how to sit without getting the hair caught somewhere. "So, Marci, how did you come here?"

I told him a pack of lies. "I'm from Denver, but I, like, moved out to L.A. I was gonna, y'know, be a model, actress. I almost got into porn. Then I came with some friends to Vegas, and, like, Gerry found me." (I made sure to say "Vegas"; actual natives like me always said "Las Vegas.") My smile was huge. "This is a lot more fun!"

"I'm sure," he said. He reached for my shirt. "May I?"

"Like, of course, silly!" I said, laughing. He pulled the shirt up over my head. I had to help him a little after that to get it around the hair.

"She has great boobies," said Anong, excitedly.

"That she does," Samesh agreed, staring with a crooked smile as I puffed out my chest. He reached out to stroke one, and I all but purred.

He undressed us both, then let us take his clothes off. We cuddled up on either side of him, caressing his body and taking turns kissing him whenever he turned to one of us. He was erect, so we were in no rush. Just being near a stiff cock was enough to make me melt anymore.

He took me as I lay on my back on the couch. Anong rubbing and caressing his back and legs. When he came, I saw her shiver behind him as I shrieked.

He had room service sent up. The food at Gerry's Place wasn't awesome. As Collette had noted, it didn't need to be the main attraction, so Gerry, ever-prudent, didn't spend the kind of money it took to procure the absolute top-quality ingredients that serious gourmet cooking required. Although neither did he cheap out; the food was at least as good as any hotel restaurant.

So we had a lovely naked snack. We giggled and chattered about nothing important all through the meal, amusing him. Of course we got a little messy, but in a carefully decorative way that lent itself to being licked clean.

That naturally eased into Anong and I kissing and embracing each other, amusing him in a different way.

He began to idly handle his prick. It was time. I looked in Anong's eyes for a second and we both smiled. Then we got emplaced and I started licking her pussy with gusto. She was on top, I was on my back. The hair would cover up too much of her, otherwise.

I still liked women, on some level. It was already more in the vein of sprinkles on ice cream, though - a nice addition to the primary ingredient, not something that would satisfy me alone. Not anymore.

I was sopping wet anyway, though... because he was watching. I knew it would get him cranked. I sure would have been panting, before. We knew just what he'd want to see, and it was - quite literally - our pleasure to give him a good show, far more than the actual 69. My clit got stiff much more from the little grunts he made as he stroked himself than from her tongue licking it.

I knew Anong felt almost the same way. It was like we were a team, and we both won if he came. Neither of us cared how he got there, we'd do whatever it took. But she didn't even like girls, except when a client wanted her to.

Once he came, we raced to see which one of us could lick him clean.

-----

I ate some pancakes and thought very carefully. It had been a little over a week since Gerry had flipped my whole world over. And every night since, I'd been an enthusiastic whore.

Integrity isn't a partial thing. You either have it or you don't. It doesn't matter how tough the rubber of a balloon is; if there's a hole somewhere, it won't hold air. Gerry had poked a hole in my psyche, and it wasn't integral anymore. When it came to men, I would do practically anything to get them off. That was simply the way it was now.

I was beginning to appreciate just how diabolical a situation I was in. My degree was in criminology, but that required classes in psychology. I'd read about a study once. They took little kids and put them in a room with a treat - a cupcake, I think. They told them if they waited ten minutes, something like that, they could have two treats. But if they ate the cupcake before then, they wouldn't get a second one.

Very few kids made it. Almost all of them broke. The researchers noticed something about the ones that held on, though.

They didn't have exceptional willpower or anything. What they did was distract themselves. They didn't look at the temptation. They played games on the other side of the room, or sang a song, or whatever.

The ones who tried to tough it out, staring at the treat and holding on - they failed. Moral of the story: relying on willpower isn't reliable.

Addicts trying to quit can't hang around addicts, or they'll relapse. They have to stay away from temptation, find something else to occupy their minds and time. A smoker who sells cigarettes, an alcoholic bartender - they aren't going to quit.

But I had a built-in fetish for horny men now. An addiction. Stiff cocks, cum, the faces men made, the sounds they made, the way they smelled and moved when they were on the hunt. That hungry look they got and...

Fuck, I was getting wet just thinking about it. I wanted to run out right now and find a guy and suck him off then and there.

How could I possibly get away from temptation? I was a strikingly sexy woman now, and men were... men. They'd look, they'd touch, they'd hit on me all the time. They couldn't help themselves. I was an addict, and it was so easy to get a fix.

Fuck, they would pay me for the privilege of giving me what I craved. Imagine a junkie who got a salary for shooting up. What chance would they have of getting clean?

A cloistered nunnery was about the only environment I could imagine that would give me any chance. But even as I tried to figure out if I could find one and get them to take me in... I was picturing myself in a nun's outfit. And speculating what I could do to make it sexy, make it more of a fetish thing.

If I hadn't known the place was doomed, I might have been seriously tempted to let the month deadline pass. Instead I kept careful track of the 'countdown', and kept watch for any of Novinski's toughs among the clients.

And I kept going to work every night.

Concluded in Part 2