Inescapable Pt. 02 of 02

Still he fought. "It's more... physical." He showed signs of definite discomfort now... alongside maybe a sliver of hope.

Now it made sense. A deformity, or an injury. Maybe just a tiny dick. He still liked girls, but he didn't believe he could do much for them.

As Marci, I couldn't possibly have cared less. I looked him in the eye. "Honey, I promise, whatever you got down there, I'll find a way to make you happy. Free of charge." I meant every word.

He stared at me for a second. Then he nodded. "I'll pay. But I'll hold you to that."

I wasn't worried. He'd never met a girl like me. Any dick at all was fine, whatever the shape. My smile was genuine as I took his hand and waved to Vena for a takeover. Ben was still nervous on the way to my room. Hiding it well, but I could see. Hope and anxiety all swirled together. I guessed it had been a long time for him.

We got the door closed, and I did a happy little striptease for him. Better to keep him focused on me, not let him sink inside his own head. I had his attention; my tits and ass were relevant to his interests, you might say.

He got tense again when I went for his belt. But he was turned on, I could see it in his eyes, his stance. I couldn't see a bulge at his crotch, but I paid that no mind. I pretty much expected that by now. I got his pants down... and froze.

No scrotum. Just lips. It was... it was a pussy! With a giant clit. It stuck out an inch, inch and half.

It was a very close thing. The situation hung in the balance. The magic effectively made me attracted to men. My previous history made me like women. Neither one made me attracted to women who looked like men.

Ben didn't seem at all surprised at my expression. He was hurt... but not guilty or ashamed. His voice when he spoke was... determined. "I've been on T since I was fifteen."

Testosterone. A transsexual. I thought of Madison... but he was still talking. "My parents thought I was a tomboy for a long time. I never wanted to dress up or play with dolls. I wanted to play with boys, but I wouldn't let them make me the princess to get rescued." A pause as he grit his teeth at some memory. "I wanted to be the knight, the soldier. I wanted to be the rescuer."

He sighed. "I'm a man. But if you can't get past my birth defect, I understand."

If it had been my first night, I would have bailed for sure. But it wasn't. My perspective had undergone a fair amount of forcible expansion. Enough to entertain the thought... what if?

What if he were a guy? I sure as fuck accepted Madison as a girl now. At this point I even believed she had been a girl, in some sense, all along. Was it so difficult to take Ben at his word? Hell, in my heart of hearts - despite all evidence - I still thought of myself as a guy. And my body was way less manly than his. Shit, my old body hadn't been in that kind of shape. Of everyone here, I should be the last one to doubt him.

I could feel myself warming to the idea - literally. Here was a guy who was seriously hard up. Who needed to fuck a beautiful girl, and make her come. And his 'dick' might be small, but... I mean, c'mon! A guy who could have multiple orgasms? What Gerry's Girl could possibly resist?

So I nodded, smiled, and started sucking on his nub. He gasped, only partly in surprise.

Sure, it was weird. But now that I'd accepted him as male, the magic breezed me past that. Fundamentally, just another blowjob now. One that required some specialized techniques, granted... but as thoroughly sexy as the rest.

He grunted a little as I tickled that stub with my tongue. I held his eyes with mine - it was vital he knew I was enjoying this. That I found it - found him - sexy. One of my hands flowed carefully past the lips. I read a flicker of tension in the muscles of his legs (lots of my skin was pressed against his, there). It was quick and, I think, subconscious. It told me that he didn't want to be penetrated.

I could understand that. Better than almost all Gerry's Girls. In fact, at this point I was honestly glad that I was the one he'd picked. I don't think even Collette could have understood him so well.

So, straight male techniques only. To the extent possible, treat him like a guy with normal equipment. In moments I had a whole set of strategies and tactics laid out, and was proceeding with a plan of attack.

My own equipment had been pretty run-of-the-mill, back in the day. Even then I'd worried sometimes about pleasing a woman. Clearly Ben had issues about that. I recalled my first night here, how much it had meant to me that Collette enjoyed me, and I resolved to give Ben the same experience.

A disadvantage of his anatomy was that I didn't get a mouthful when he came. It's hard for a guy to fake that. You know he's come, then. The way Ben groaned and twitched, though, I had no doubts. I came along with him, naturally.

He sat on the bed, and while he caught his breath I unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled off his undershirt. His chest had scars where breasts had been removed. I made sure to run my fingers over his pecs, admiring the work he'd put in. They trailed over his shoulder, and down to linger on a bicep. In truth, he was decently developed. Women ogle, too, but they're generally more subtle about it. I was demure enough to be womanly while being sufficiently obvious to pump his ego.

I moved in close for a deep kiss. Although he'd taste some of his own juices on my lips and tongue, it was the 'normal' thing to do. I took up a position on his lap, pulling him close. All he could see was my face and neck and breasts, framed by the hair. My lower half pressed in close against him.

He got worked up enough after a few minutes to turn over and lay me on my back on the bed. I had considered this quickly but carefully. Woman on top was out. Doggie style wasn't gonna work. Even standard missionary would present difficulties. Fortunately there was a good option that was even fairly common amongst the young and limber.

He was getting ready to go down on me. I held his arm and arranged myself invitingly, sliding up the bed a foot or so. With my legs flat on my stomach, knees at the bottom of my breasts, rump raised, he had easy access to my pussy.

He smiled, nodded, and got himself arranged.

It shows up plenty in porn, but real-life lesbians don't actually rub their pussies together all that much. Oh, it happens... but it's seldom a 'go-to' move. Fingers and tongues are way more precise and dextrous.

However, Ben's 'clenis' could actually get inside me some. Hardly deep inside, of course, but most of the nerve endings are at the front of the channel anyway. And for my part, what I really cared about was how it felt for him. I gave him every impression of taking pleasure from his efforts, which boosted his confidence. A clit is lower down than a dick, so his hips were somewhat offset, but it worked.

We came, and then he insisted on eating me out. It probably won't shock you to hear he was better than average. Nor that we kept going for a good interval after that. After quite a while, we both pretty much collapsed.

At least ninety percent of the time, guys didn't care to linger once they'd had their fun. A handful wanted to rest or talk entwined with the beautiful woman they had just came in, or on. Ben was like that. But not the way you might expect - not like a post-orgasmic woman wanting to cuddle, to share closeness and affection.

He just... wasn't ready for it to be over. He wanted me to be womanly, to be a little stereotypical, and cling to him some. Ordinarily it would have been annoying - I'd have been looking forward to my next fuck - but this situation was a bit out of the ordinary. For one thing, Gerry's Girl or not, I was a human being, and I'd just had a lot of closely-spaced orgasms. For another, it was a chance for him to talk with someone who knew, and accepted, a central aspect of himself that he'd had to both fight for... and hide. I got to hear a chunk of his life story. I was only the third girl he'd ever bedded - and naturally the most successful outing he'd had, by far.

He'd worked several jobs in his life, including security guard, but for the last several years he had been a firefighter in Denver. That had taken an assload of work, and he'd had to go through a bunch of shit to prove he could do the job and earn the trust of the others. Firefighters have to trust each other, and a lot of prejudices were against him. But he was accepted now, by most of his co-workers. I could see how much he cherished that.

He had that puppy-like gratitude lots of guys showed when their fantasies come true. These days I understood why women were sometimes willing to do things for their guy that they didn't particularly enjoy, just because they wanted to see him happy. There's a difference between pleasure and joy - and Ben gave me a rare combination of both. Pleasure was easy for Gerry's Girls, but we seldom made a major positive difference in someone's life.

I was a good reader of people. Security guard, firefighter... knight... As he was getting dressed, I spoke up.

"I think there's someone you need to meet."

The wardrobe department had a few logistical bonuses. We only had to stock shoes in three different sizes - women's 5, 7, and 9. Gerry had us 'standardized'. Which was good because we needed so many kinds - boots, sandals, pumps, wedges, and especially heels. Plus the guys couldn't tell - and wouldn't have cared - that most of our clothes were cheap knock-offs and copies. Which was good, considering how many things got torn, stained, or otherwise ruined per night.

There was a lot of teamwork here, keeping up appearances. We all kept an eye on each other for makeup damage, clothing failures, hair problems, etc. Ensuring everyone looked their best was a communal duty.

Normal females were often hostile to attractive, sexually-available women. Competition, mostly. But being jealous of each other's looks here was silly. It'd be like tulips being jealous of roses or orchids. We were all gorgeous, just in different ways.

Besides, we liked being around sexy ladies dressed - or undressed - provocatively... because of the delicious effect it had on men. I didn't really care if a guy got hot for me, or Melissa, or Jessie, or Anong, or Collette - all that mattered was he got hot.

I mean, it was awesome when I got to make a guy spurt. It felt great, I came every time. But I got a nice frisson of pleasure just knowing another girl was going to get him there. If I could tell, say, Reika would really do it for some client, I'd make sure to send him her way. And they all made sure to steer guys in my direction if they thought they'd get the most out of me. We were all in it together. A weird kind of sisterhood, but... no cock-blocking here. Or rather, box-blocking.

It wasn't like we were going to run out, after all.

The Emperor's Room was big - a couple thousand square feet, with an extensive array of amenities. A full bar, a large Jacuzzi in one corner, an oversized bed big enough for a dinner party, a spacious lounge area, and a spiral staircase up to a stately bedroom with "just" a king-size bed. Large windows offered a view of the desert sunset outside from the top floor of Gerry's Place.

It was a decadent space, suitable for fulfilling a wide range of fantasies. Within very few limits - Gerry refused to provide even the illusion of illegal entertainments such as underage companions or real violence - clients could arrange for their heart's desire. If they were willing to part with mucho dinero for the privilege.

I hadn't seen it up until now. This morning Melissa had stopped by and informed me I had an assignment here tonight. I'd gleaned as much information as possible from Anong and other girls during the day. A few seemed jealous that I'd gotten the opportunity.

I adjusted the formal, dark pink dress with white trim. It exposed ample cleavage. Then again, I now had a lot more cleavage to expose. I was taller, about five foot six, with shoulder-length pink hair (and pink pubes). I was now at least a hundred sixty pounds, plump and plush, with big pendulous breasts. A little further magic had endowed me with pierced nipples and a hole for a lip ring. Gerry couldn't create tattoos as such, but an artist painted some designs on my skin, and the ring sank the pigments down below the surface. He could remove them later just as easily.

It was surreal. I didn't look a thing like Marci anymore. Not even a "big beautiful" pink-haired version of her. My eyes were a different color. The face was pretty - no duh, right? - but definitively not Marci-related. And it felt so weird to turn my head without feeling the hair shifting and sliding all down my back. By now, it felt wrong.

Melissa was still blonde, but also transformed. Zaftig and padded, with breasts bigger than mine plus a sizeable round rump. All the girls in the room were well-rounded, in keeping with the client's specifications. Only Melissa was clad in white lace and brocade, however. The rest wore the same dark pink dress as me.

The client wanted a wedding party of plus-size women. It was a preposterous setup - he was a male stripper coming to a bachelorette party, and would wind up fucking the bride and all the bridesmaids. Gerry had a rep for being able to tease out what a client really wanted... and the most they were willing to pay. Telepathy is a killer edge when negotiating.

The situation was technically possible, sure. More plausible than a lot of notions people stroked off to, in fact. But would everybody be dressed in bridal gown and bridesmaid dresses, plus full makeup, for a party? Our job was to sell the fantasy, however, and for the price he was paying he deserved good service.

Gerry had given the client a little boost. First, a pill he'd been told would give him extra stamina. Actually just a placebo - but accompanied by a covert magical enhancement. Few guys could fuck six women in a row naturally. He even got a slight upgrade to the size of his dick. Not enough to be suspicious; merely enough to enhance his confidence.

A few minutes remained before he arrived. We were milling about, making sure we knew our characters and the rough outline of how the night was supposed to go. It wasn't the kind of thing that could be scripted in detail. For these sorts of jobs, the girls who were best at improvising got selected. In a way, it was flattering that I'd been tapped.

I was talking to Jessie. She was a brunette tonight, and as upholstered as the rest of us. "Feels weird, huh?" I nodded my head at her very different figure. Her waist was likely four times its normal - or rather, usual - circumference.

"It's nice to do something different sometimes," she said, unconcerned. Her voice was higher. It was hard to psychologically connect the girl in front of me with the exaggerated spectacle I'd seen before.

"What's it like?" I was compelled to ask after a moment.

"Being a freak?" she teased.

"You know I didn't mean that!" I protested. Weakly, though - in a way I had meant exactly that.

She laughed a little, not appearing offended. "It's actually pretty cool. Guys get..." She thought for a second. "They get kind of in a weird place, y'know? They do things they'd never do with a normal girl."

That was an aspect I hadn't considered. And it made sense, come to think of it. I found myself actually feeling a mite jealous.

Before I could muse on that much, the show started. A knock came at the door, which Riley answered. Her face flashed anxious dismay, segueing to thoughtful appreciation. And then she pulled the door fully open.

In stepped the client. He wore a cop uniform, albeit unusually tight-fitting. No gun, but a truncheon of a suspiciously convenient size. And he carried a small bag. We all looked his way, apparently surprised.

"I'm sorry, ladies," he began. "I'm afraid we've had some noise complaints." He looked around. "I'll have to ask you all to move over here." He motioned us to the lounge space. A circular carpeted area recessed a few inches into the floor, surrounded on three sides by long, plush, curved leather couches that faced a giant screen on the wall.

Each of us stole glances at him as we followed meekly along. We all preened ourselves, subtly, the way a woman does when she's interested in a guy and making sure she looks good for him. Adjusting clothes, changing posture, covertly checking makeup. I reached to toy with my hair, but it was shorter than I'd gotten used to. I played it off as a nervous tic.

"Everyone sit down," he ordered sternly. We did so, though some of us were giggling and whispering to each other other. Reika was playing "Maid of Honor", so she elbowed Melissa and muttered something in her ear. They both laughed.

Once we were arrayed on the couches, he shook his head. "Like I said, people have been complaining about the noise you're making." He glanced at all of us, trying to be cool about it. He didn't do a perfect job; we'd been restructured to his specifications, and he couldn't help appreciating our looks somewhat. We acted just a bit nervous and cowed.

He continued. "You don't really seem like the noisy type, though." He frowned, and unzipped the bag. "Looks like I'll have to..." A portable speaker system emerged. "... bring the noise!"

"Whooooo!" we all called, laughing and smiling. Our glances at him became openly lascivious while the music started up and he set the speaker against the wall. Then he commenced to dance.

He would not have made it as a real stripper. He was only in average shape, and of average height. Not a bad face, though. His dance skills... well, Ms. Ep would have called him 'teachable'. Plus he was nervous at first. I think he was realizing how silly his chosen scenario was, wondering if we were judging him behind our rapt expressions. But as we played into it, it turned him on. He became more aroused... and that was incredibly seductive. We didn't have to pretend at all now. Soon he really was driving us wild.

I shifted in my chair, and licked my lips. All the women were paying close attention, looking flushed. He was getting us too turned on, making us lose control. Exactly what he wanted.

He grabbed Chloe's hand and pulled her to her feet. Then he danced around her. We all hooted and made catcalls - actually quite reminiscent of the main floor downstairs, only in a higher register. He got in her personal space, with hands and crotch. She was like a mouse hypnotized by a predatory snake, paralyzed. Obviously tempted but unsure. His cap and sunglasses came off, and then his shirt. We all drank him in, making little titters and cries of approval.

His caress wasn't particularly skillful, nor were his moves especially slick. On one level, I was amused by his attempted seduction. On every other level I was completely enthralled. Any expression of male sexual interest, however clumsy, is hot to a Gerry's Girl. Finally he leaned in and kissed her. The dam broke and she clung to him, kissing back ravenously. We all shrieked in delighted shock and surprise.

He kneaded her ass and pulled her in tight, getting no resistance whatsoever. And then he got a hand on the back of her dress and slid the zipper down. Our catcalls stopped, and our voices dropped to whispers.

"Ohmigod..."

"What the fuck?"

"Jeez..."

The top half of her dress fell from her shoulders, bunching at her waist, exposing her breasts. (Few women with breasts of the size we now possessed would go braless in real life, but this wasn't exactly real life.) He manhandled one while continuing to kiss her, his other arm holding her waist close to him. Chloe appeared to have completely forgotten where she was, or anything but getting busy with the stripper who was all over her.