Inescapable (Part 1/2)

by Optimizer

-----

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?"

He grinned. "Collette got a little proactive, I admit. Her background showing." Gerry was in his fifties. He'd been running to seed in the old pictures I'd found; nowadays he was in better shape. Overweight, but he'd dropped a few pounds, firmed up some. Still not a handsome guy.

"This isn't the best way to get repeat business," I cracked. For now, I was trying not to leak anything. The questions he asked would hopefully give me information.

But he didn't ask any questions. He just got straight to business. "I offer triple what they are paying you. Just give them a useless report.'

I couldn't do that. Private investigators have to stay bought. If they get a rep for double-dealing they're through. But I didn't have to tell him that. "You got it. Best offer I've had all day." I paused. "Well, okay, second best. Until the drink, Collette was a lot of fun." I could be charming when I needed to be.

It didn't help. He frowned. "That's disappointing. I had hoped you'd be reasonable."

What was wrong with my lying today? "Uh, maybe you misheard. I accept."

Gerry shook his head. "No, you don't, Mr. Bordreaux. And I see I won't be able to persuade you."

Shit. "How can I convince you I'm telling the truth?"

"You can't. You see, I'm reading your mind, right now."

That... wasn't among the responses I'd planned for. After blinking a couple times, I said, neutrally, "Well, that's a neat trick."

"I have others." He waved his hand at me, and I shrank. My clothes, the whole room got bigger. In about a second, I was three and a half feet tall and swimming in a crumpled suit.

I yelped in shock - sounding like I'd inhaled helium - and tried to move. As I fell to the floor, I grew again. I got to my feet, the suit now uncomfortably arranged on my body - the belt was down by my thighs, and one arm was stuck inside my shirt, having missed the sleeve as I grew.

Whatever the fuck was going on, it was dangerous beyond my worst imaginings. I had to take Gerry down immediately, and hope to find a way out past the guards.

He shook his head. "Sorry, no." All of a sudden I was frozen in position. I could move my head, but my body wouldn't respond - it just stood there. This time I noted something about his hand - it had been shrouded in darkness or something for a moment. Like it put out anti-light.

By sheer force of will, I pushed panic away. Information, understanding was my only hope. "How the fuck are you doing this?"

"It's simple: this is a magic ring." He held up his right hand. A thick men's ring on the third finger - dull metal, with a black stone, maybe onyx.

I wasn't sure what to think. I mean, magic rings, right? Under the circumstances, though... I knew I shouldn't show fear. "Where do you get those?" I asked, as if I were in the market for one.

He grinned despite himself. "I don't know, in general. This one came from my old job." He spread his hands apologetically. "Sometimes customers stop paying for safe deposit boxes. We make every effort to contact them, but often it's not possible. One of my duties was to open them and go through the contents."

He held up his hand and looked at the ring. "I found this in one. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I felt compelled to try it on. Once I did, I knew what it could do. Its abilities, and limitations." He looked me in the eye. "I still have no idea where it came from, or who stored it away. But obviously, it works."

Not useful, except maybe the 'limitations' bit.

He nodded. "You're a smart one, interesting. Yes, it is far from all-powerful." A resigned shrug. "I don't know how much magic there is in the world, but I suspect it's all limited like that. Otherwise the world would be quite different." Another glance at the ring. "For example, this only affects human beings. Not objects, or animals. Just people. Although, within that domain...."

I tried to move again. Yeah, it was powerful all right.

He chuckled. "Obviously I can alter bodies. They have to stay human, but beyond that there's not much I can't manage." His lips quirked. "Except my own. I can't even remove a sliver or heal a bruise with it."

Glancing down at my paralyzed body, I said, "You have all my sympathies."

Gerry nodded, granting the point. "Fortunately for you, I can't kill with magic, even indirectly. If I pulled a gun on you right now, you'd find yourself able to duck for cover."

I'd never wanted so much for anyone to try to kill me before.

He didn't oblige me. "Obviously, I can read minds. I can influence them as well. But note: influence, not control. Your soul, such as it is, is inviolate. I can't change your memories. Nor can I actually compel you to do anything. I can make you want to do something, or not, but you still have free will. You still choose for yourself."

The first really good news since I'd awakened. I clung to it like a lifeline.

He nodded once more, but his voice finally betrayed a flicker of annoyance. "And the ring can't just keep making changes forever. It gathers a... a 'charge', so to speak, over time. Rather too much time, in fact." He shrugged. "So I have to manage my usage. I always keep some in reserve to deal with unexpected needs - like, say, someone investigating too closely." His hand opened my way, in sardonic acknowledgment. "But because of that, I try not to do more changes than strictly necessary. Economy, efficiency - perhaps even elegance - that's what I strive for." He looked proud almost, to my great annoyance... and even greater fear.

"Contrary to what you might expect, changing bodies isn't terribly costly. Mental changes are much more expensive, energy-wise."

I wondered for a moment why he was sharing so completely with me.

He let out a sigh. "You may well wonder." I still wasn't used to that. It was creepy, having no privacy in my own head.

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, it's necessary for now. But to answer your unasked question - you are intelligent, and this is a rare opportunity. I can't speak to most people about this."

I spoke up. No point in silence. "Which implies I'm not going to be in a position to do anything about what you tell me."

"Don't worry, I haven't even gotten to the most irritating restriction. I can't make permanent changes without your permission."

Wow...

"Exactly. I can force changes on you for only a month. Well, technically, twenty-eight days - a lunar cycle. After that, they're all undone unless you choose - freely - to accept them." He shrugged, though his smile didn't waver. "After that point, I need your permission to make any changes at all."

I felt real confidence for moment - then it occurred to me that his establishment had been open for over two years now...

He grinned at my expression. "Indeed, I've gotten pretty good at this. But as I said, you're intelligent, and I'm curious. How would you profit from this thing, given its constraints?"

Actually, that was a pretty good question.

Reading minds by itself was power. It'd sure make my job easier. Stock trading might be a fast way to make money, a few other fields. But you couldn't be spectacularly successful. If it got out that you could do that, you'd be a big fat target. Any intelligence agency, anywhere, would slaughter your entire family tree to get hold of you.

You could be a damn good doctor, assuming the ring could heal - Gerry nodded along - but again, a rep for miraculous cures would attract dangerous attention. And the ring wouldn't let you keep people from blabbing.

The more I thought about it, the harder it became to make good use of. You could get away with using it once in a while, and not too dramatically - that's all. And then I recalled what kind of establishment I was in. Collette... Clarissa... Jessie.

Gerry looked self-satisfied. "Precisely. I thought very, very carefully, for months, about how to best apply this little bauble." He brushed some imaginary lint off his jacket. "I've come up with quite a clever little set of changes. Works like a charm, and requires surprisingly little 'energy'. One or two body modifications, and a single psychological quirk. Inspired, if I say so myself."

Given that he obviously didn't expect me to spill the beans, that came across as highly ominous. I gathered my determination. He noticed. "Yes, yes, I know. One month, and then you can take your revenge." He spread his hands wide as he stood. "Who knows, you might even make it. It's possible. Indeed, it has to be, by the rules of magic." His smile shifted again, smug and confident. "But I should tell you, if you do manage to refuse... you'll be the first."

He raised his hand. The ring flashed darkly. Something happened, and I felt myself blacking out...

-----

I shifted, mostly asleep. But I couldn't turn my head, something was pulling my hair. A lot of hair - I realized something was really wrong, and sat bolt upright. I looked down and only felt a fraction of a moment's surprise, which dissolved almost as soon as it appeared. The dismay just kept going.

"Oh, goddammit," I said. In a sweet alto. I had to shift my weight to get hair out from under my ass.

Feeling resigned but determined, I looked around the room. I was on a plain bed, under a throw blanket, in a small, neutrally-decorated suite - much like a hotel room. Light leaked in from behind curtains - morning, most likely. I got up and walked over to the door. Outside, a hall with a door on the other side, half-open on a bathroom. I realized the floorplan was the same as Collette's, I was just in the back rooms.

I stepped across the hall to look in the mirror. I needed to assess the damage, see what I'd be living with for the next month.

Naked girl in the glass, of course. Hardly a shock at this point. I would've pegged her at twenty, plus or minus. Though she could probably play off as younger. She was only about 5'4”.

What was a shock was the hair. Voluminous auburn waves of it down to the tops of my thighs, falling in loose lazy curls. I wanted to find some scissors immediately, it was totally impractical. And it had a truly epic case of 'bed head'.

It was styled to frame a face with a narrow nose and high-ish cheekbones. Wide, potentially-innocent blue eyes - a little unusual for the hair, but I couldn't see any roots - fine arched eyebrows, pouting lips but not a large mouth. Just as sexy a face as graced any of the girls I'd seen here. I almost wanted to call it 'aristocratic' but it was too young to support that term.

Full but not overgenerous breasts; firm and high, of course. The nipples and areolae were a trifle large - yet they fit, they somehow seemed... appropriate. Slim arms, womanly shoulders, painted nails. An hourglass waist and well-rounded hips. Long legs coming off the hips, tapering in smooth curves. There was even a thigh-gap. That made it easy to see more auburn hair between the legs, shaved neatly into a heart shape above the mound.

I rotated to look at my - I resolved, temporary - new ass. I had to push the hair out of the way, it was almost like a cape. Pert and shapely, as expected; I would have called it enticing if it hadn't been my own.

So far, so attractive. Not a human cartoon like Jessie, I was obscurely relieved to see. But there were those few extra touches that pushed her - pushed me - into the exceptional territory of a "Gerry's Girl".

The skin was smooth; unlined and unblemished, and utterly even in tone. Almost photoshopped. Plus the face, the body lines, were highly symmetrical. Not unearthly, but definitely supermodel-ish.

I was yet another of what I realized were Gerry's works of art. If I'd been able to be more objective, I'd have admired it more; but under the circumstances it was a little hard to appreciate.

I didn't reach to explore between my legs. I wasn't ready for that. The only surprises would be unpleasant ones, anyway. I went down the hall and surveyed the front room.

The floorplan might have been the same as Collette's, but the decor was completely different. Exceedingly girly - a room for a college-age "Daddy's little princess". The bed had an embroidered bedspread, fluffy throw pillows, and a white scrollwork header and footer. There was a dresser with matching scrollwork; on top of it rested a pink jewelry chest, next to a stuffed blue cartoon Pegasus with rainbow mane and tail. A large framed mirror was attached.

What indicated 'college-age' was the couch facing the coffee table, which supported a TV and a wooden bowl holding some crystal rocks. A thick soft rug occupied the floor between table and couch. A little end table next to it with a vase. It wasn't quite as tasteful as it could have been - and certainly not expensive. Not what a mature woman would have picked, somehow.

All of it was infuriating. On the counter in the breakfast nook was a note. I unfolded it and started reading.

By now you've had a chance to get a handle on the most obvious aspects of your new situation. It may have occurred to you to check the front door and discover that it's unlocked. I can't magically force you to remain here, as I said, and guarding you is economically prohibitive. You can leave if you want. I would point out, however, that your legal position is rather dubious, and you can expect difficulties establishing any identity at all, let alone your previous one.

Additionally, if you choose to leave and make trouble for me, I may well choose to hunt up your loved ones, and see if they are more persuadable than you. I suggest you stay here a little while, and make sure you fully understand the ramifications, before you inadvertently embroil someone else in the same predicament.

P.S. When you're ready, knock on the door across the hall.

I set the note down and chewed my lip for a moment, absorbing that. Absently I walked over to the door and turned the doorknob; sure enough, I felt it unlatch, and pulled in the door about half an inch. Not even enough to see the hall - I wasn't ready for that yet either. I pushed the door closed, and after a second locked it. For all the good it might do.

The door barely registered in my thoughts. I was processing more urgent issues. His 'no-ID' threat wasn't a bluff, but I thought he might be underestimating my resourcefulness. Although, I hadn't had to handle things as a girl before. In any case...

The other threat was more persuasive. I didn't hate my ex-wife. And even if I had, I wanted her safe to take care of my daughter. As for my daughter... I didn't want Gerry in the same state as her. What he could do to a kid... she could be traumatized even if he couldn't do anything permanent.

For that matter, what exactly had he done to me?

I tried to remember his precise words. "A couple body changes and a psychological quirk." Something like that. The body changes were pretty obvious. But what had he done to my 'psychology'? My own mind was now potentially enemy territory...

Tentatively, I brought Collette to mind. To my relief, I still thought she was damn sexy. Apparently that wasn't the 'quirk'.

With real fear, I thought about Gerry. But I didn't feel love, or loyalty, or any positive emotion about him. I was still afraid of his magic, and angry with him - but I was more angry than afraid. He hadn't made me his slave or anything. That was good... except that it meant he must be doing something more subtle.

With trepidation I considered men as a category. Naturally recent examples were closest to the surface. The specific image that came to mind was that guy slapping the blonde's rump last night.

"Oh, goddammit." I found out right then what it feels like to have your nipples crinkle and your clit perk up and your pussy start lubricating.

I recalled the guy breathing hard as the blue-haired girl sucked his tool. The dazed expression on the college boy's face as Jessie led him away. All those hooting men drooling over Diana and Clarissa...

I could feel my heart rate climb. "You motherfucker..." I muttered, mentally cursing at Gerry. If magic was real, I hoped a curse would actually work. It was certainly heartfelt.

My mind kept racing. I imagined what they did with the girls here. What might be going on right now, in a room nearby. A kiss, and then maybe she'd rub him through his pants and he'd groan. Then she'd undo his belt and drop his pants and lick his cock 'til it was pointing straight up and little drops were leaking out the tip. Then she'd lay back and he'd jam his dick in her pussy and stroke it in and out, harder and faster, getting more and more worked up until he went over the edge and spurted...

I was getting too impassioned, I had to stop. I had to find a way to get back to my old body, I...

Oh, God. I had a whole new reason to want my dick back: just so I could watch it get hard. The thought made me shiver.

And because my legs were instinctively clenched together, my labia rubbed my clit some. And because of that, I came. I shuddered, I needed to grab the edges of the counter to keep from falling to my knees.

Gerry was going to die.

-----

Once I was able, I stumbled over to the couch and sat down. This wasn't going to be easy.

I needed to think... about something besides erections. The microwave in the kitchenette was blinking 12:00. I didn't want to open the window and check the time of day. I needed to gather data before I could risk seeing another human being, especially a male one. I turned on the TV.

It was set up like a hotel system. I brought up the menu; basic cable stuff, and lots of music channels in different genres. It was ten in the morning - the next morning, I hadn't been unconscious for days or anything.

Also like a hotel system, it had movies on demand. Unlike any hotel I'd stayed at, it seemed to be all adult fare. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was a mistake. But it was just one button push. Too quick to stop the impulse.

One section of the menu gave access to 'homemade' content. Gerry's Girls doing their thing on-camera. Collette's name was toward the top of the list, alphabetically. I picked a random video of hers.

She was clad in black lingerie, elaborately-filigreed with red accents.The camera explored her body in loving detail, from toes to face, as soft sensual music played. I recalled how her skin felt, what she'd smelled like; yes, she still turned me on.

But then a tall, muscled man moved into the frame. He embraced her and kissed her, and that stirred a mix of emotions that's hard to describe. "Hopeless excitement"? "Passionate despair"? "Urgent depression"? I was horrified and defeated by how intensely I enjoyed hearing his breath hitch as she fondled his dick and balls.

It was the difference between looking at a postcard, and standing next to the Grand Canyon, feeling the wind and watching the sunset. Collette was undeniably sexy, sure... but she couldn't possibly compete with the guy's rising shaft. I whimpered as it lifted and swelled. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen.

She slid to her knees and began nuzzling his balls, a familiar curve to her lips. Now, I had no trouble comprehending why she took such pleasure in her work. I appreciated her skill as she slowly licked up the underside of his dick.

My hand was between my legs before I consciously realized it. The clit there was good-sized, on the high end of normal, and thus easy to find by touch. I recalled a few times when I'd had trouble locating the important bits. That wasn't a good feeling for a guy, but it wouldn't be a problem for them with me.

My God, was I actually looking forward to fucking men?

I watched, enraptured, as he got more and more excited. She teased him for a while with her mouth, and then stood and wrapped a leg around his waist, grinding herself up against him. He picked her up, swung her around, and set her on a bed. In seconds he was inside her, and she was moaning and biting her lip.

He pulled out and shot his load all over her belly. I gasped and climaxed again. It was arresting, almost hypnotic.

Only half-pretending it was experimentation now, I backed up to the top of the video menu and grabbed something at random. No Gerry's Girls here; the woman was skinny, with stringy hair; not my type at all. The guy was fat, and hairy as a gorilla. His cock was squat and thick and one of his balls was bigger than the other.

He was sexy as fuck; I wished he was right here in the room with me. I could do a better job than she was doing. He wasn't even that hard! Instead of just tugging it, she could try stroking the sides as she licked the head. Or maybe I'd find a little oil or lube or even just spit, and let him slide between my tits. I could give his helmet a little tongue-flick on each stroke. My creative juices were flowing as liberally as the ones from my pussy...

Desperately, like I'd fallen off a building and was trying to grab a ledge, I hit the channel-up button. A gray-haired black weatherman genially discussed a storm front approaching Chattanooga. I sat there, panting as I recovered, so close to tears it was frightening.

'Quirk' my ass! My real ass, my male one! He'd warped my whole brain, made me some kind of, of, skank, slut! This wasn't one change, he must have reworked half my mind to make me...

Then I realized something. I wasn't getting horny over the weather announcer.

He was just a guy. The camera switched over to an anchor man and woman. Both good-looking people, of course, but I wasn't any more inclined to appreciate the guy than the lady. Less, even.

I went up another channel. A cooking show. Men and women contestants coming up with meals based on limited ingredients. Again, the guys didn't seize my attention.

Another channel. An action movie. Some guy zapped aliens, blew open a door. I started feeling better. I could control this, I wasn't totally at the mercy of...

He pulled some girl out of a probing table or whatever and they kissed. And suddenly I was interested again. My nipples hardened... and then began to relax. The moment was over, and the couple was fighting their way out.

"Okay, that's enough of that," I said out loud to myself, and turned it off.

I thought carefully. So, it wasn't guys per se that got my motor running. Something more 'elegant' was going on. Summoning all my resolve, I pictured a naked guy, with a limp dick.

There wasn't that instant reaction. Things didn't threaten to get out of hand until I pictured it getting hard. That was like a riptide pulling me out to sea. I tried to shift things, picture some old smelly bum... but he had a hardon, and that was enough.

I realized I didn't care what guys looked like. Ripped, flabby, tall, short, hot, ugly... it just didn't matter. All I cared about was that they had a dick. A dick that could get stiff, and squirt cum...

Feeling my face - among other things - getting flushed, I picked up the remote again. I told myself that I had to check... but I knew I was lying. Just reading the titles in that section made me breathe faster. I wasn't even a bit surprised when it started playing and I moaned out loud.

A white guy sucked a black guy's cock, and I simply stared in a trance, almost drooling. Definitely dripping. I came again, almost instantly. Two horny guys!

I finally understood what was going on, though it didn't help me fight the feelings in the slightest. It was a pretty common thing, really. Gerry had given me a fetish. I now had a specific, intense, involuntary turn-on.

I'd even figured out the precise nature of my new obsession. It was a fetish for male arousal, period. Just the general idea of a man being attracted to someone was so fucking hot...

One of the cheating husbands I'd busted had been a judge. And a deacon at his church. Married, to a pretty wife who loved him and gave him three kids. But it turned out he had a fetish for ladies dressed in rubber. And his wife wasn't down with helping him out that way.

To him it had been worth risking everything he had, plus spending a good chunk of change, to hire an escort to make his dreams come true. The evidence I gathered just ruined him. So far as I know, his visits with his kids are still supervised to this day. At the time, it hadn't bothered me. If I thought about it at all, I figured he deserved it for being so stupid.

Now my eyes were locked on a throbbing dick about to slide into another guy's asshole - and that other guy's prick was stiff, too. And I just couldn't manage to look away. One of them was going to cum any second now, I couldn't miss it! I'd always prided myself on my self-control; my shame and embarrassment were intense and crushing. I suddenly felt a lot more sympathy for that poor judge.

But as the bottom's jism leaked out on the screen, I came again, almost shrieking. Once I caught my breath, I exercised what little free will I had and shut off the TV, and threw the remote across the room. Even though I wanted more, lots more.

-----

The closet held exactly two outfits.

One hanger had a white baby-doll t-shirt, cut down alarmingly. If I wore it, there would be considerable underboob visible, and regular flashes of nipple would be unavoidable. There were shiny blue hotpants, barely larger than the average bikini bottom. I felt positive they'd be tight enough to guarantee camel-toe. And on the floor beneath, spiked blue strapped heels.

Draped on the other hanger were gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt, clearly at least a size too big. Underneath, plain flat sandals.

My first real choice about how to respond to the changes. That hotpants-and-t-shirt combo was ridiculous - but also ridiculously tempting. Guys would stare, and get interested, and want to do all kinds of things to my body. Hot sexy yummy things...

It cost me more than I could have imagined to put on the sweats. They hid my shape, made me look frumpy and unavailable. The sandals wouldn't add any extra sway to my hips. It felt so wrong. Like giving up a Maserati for a rusty Chevelle.

I stepped out the door and looked back and forth down the hall. A different one from Collette's, but the same area. No one visible for the present. Apparently I was in room 204. Hesitantly I stepped forward and knocked on 205.

"Just a sec!" I heard from inside. A few seconds later, the door pulled back to reveal Melissa. She wore heels and panties... and nothing else.

She saw my outfit and rolled her eyes with a little grin. Her posture shifted, no longer angling for maximum display.

"Oh, hey, it's you. C'mon in," she said, friendly enough, as she stepped out of the way. I followed her in. Her front room looked like a young woman's first place after leaving home. Ikea furniture, a few stuffed animals on the bed. A curtain hung in front of the hallway, subtly separating the space, implying maybe a closet or something. It made the suite seem smaller.

The bed was rumpled, though, and frilly underthings lay scattered around. I recognized the lingerie from last night. She saw my gaze and shrugged with a smile. "Yeah, the maids come after lunch for the night girls."

She was opening up the refrigerator. "You hungry? I don't have much here, sorry. Maybe some yogurt?"

"Uh... not right now." I paused, then asked, "What... um, what did Gerry tell you about me?"

She looked at me with a neutral expression. "Well, I know you were the guy I sent Collette after last night. He said you were trying to get this place shut down."

My own expression had gone neutral, too. "I was just investigating. It's what I do."

She shrugged. "He said we should call you Marci."

My jaw clenched. "Did he, now." I took a breath. "What else did he say?"

"I'm supposed to show you the ropes. And show you around," she said, deadpan.

"Hah," I said, mirthlessly but without heat, showing I got the joke. Then I asked, "Does he do this with everyone who inconveniences him?"

"Nah, this is kind of special. You're only, like, the third guy who's, uh... 'joined up'."

"Drafted. Not joined," I bit out.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything."

I made myself settle down. This wasn't her fault. In fact, she was probably just as trapped as I was. "Sorry. It's been kind of a rough morning."

She chuckled once. "I bet." She tried again. "Sure you don't want anything to eat? Even some toast?"

There was no reason to refuse, and I might as well not antagonize her. "Okay, yeah. Got peanut butter?"

"I got strawberry jelly."

After we literally broke bread together, I felt some tension subside. So I decided to risk probing. "You're not as... effervescent as you were last night."

She scoffed and flicked her fingers. "I ain't trying to get in your pants anymore. No offense."

"None taken," I said, shaking my head as if to say, 'who would think it?'

That got a smile. "For my looks," she elaborated, "cheerful, maybe ditzy works best. We each have our own style." A wink. "Collette's sure worked on you."

I couldn't deny it. I opened my hand, as if to say 'Touché'.

She cocked her head to the side, looked me over. "Man, the hair-fetish guys are gonna be all over you. You're gonna knock 'em dead."

I saw in her eyes how she relished the thought. Just like part of me did now, too. It confirmed my deduction - all of Gerry's Girls had the same fetish.

Despite myself, despite my anger, I had to admit Gerry had achieved a measure of the 'elegance' he said he aimed for. What could be more perfect for a place like this? The whole point was to turn men on. And every girl here was passionately devoted to exactly that...

"No thanks," I said, striving to sound determined and not regretful.

"Okay," she said, non-committal.

After a beat, I asked, "How did you get mixed up in all this?"

She nodded, very slowly, and gave me a thoughtful look. "I was hooking in Vegas. I'd just been busted, third strike. And my pimp didn't bail me out. I had to call another girl to pull money from my stash. She got me out... and stole the rest."

"Damn," I said. I'd heard stories like this before. Things can get pretty cutthroat on the fringes of the law.

"Gerry found me sitting in a McDonald's, flat broke, tired, and pissed. And I had the clap again. My junk was on fire. He made me an offer. And proved he could do it by curing me, just like that." She shrugged. "I signed up and now I look like this. I been making good money and having fun every night since."

Well. That was... interesting. Some of the girls weren't forced? At least at first. That meant I might not be able to count on as much help as I'd been expecting.

Hit it from the side. "What do you think now?"

"I never came once before I got here." She looked me dead in the eyes. "My dad and my uncle molested me since I was eight years old. Sex was always something I did to survive. It never felt good." She held my gaze, a challenge. "When I leave, I'm gonna be in a hot body, with money, and I'll be able to be with a guy I love and not hate him for his dick."

I didn't know what to say to that. Except... "Leave?"

She leaned back in her chair, calming down. "Yeah, this ain't a permanent thing. Gerry doesn't try to own us. We get paid good, even a frickin' 401k. One girl left already. Put in a year and now she can have kids. She couldn't before. She brought her baby girl for a visit a couple weeks ago."

Great. Not only could I not expect allies, but Gerry's Girls wouldn't appreciate threats to Gerry's Place. This kept getting better.

-----

We put the dishes away as there came a knock at the door. Melissa let in a pair of maids that started cleaning the room. She turned to me and said, "Ready for, like, 'orientation'?"

"I guess," I replied.

When we got to the door, she put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You sure you don't wanna brush out your hair? Just a little?" The idea was profoundly tempting. After all, the better I looked, the more chance to attract and excite guys. I saw in her eyes that she wanted me to look good too. I grasped why - she wanted guys to be turned on, and it didn't much matter who got them there.

Nevertheless... "No thanks," I said again.

"Ok," she said, with an 'on your head be it' tone.

She led me down the hall, towards the back. I was going to get a guided tour of the areas I'd wanted to investigate last night. Under circumstances I'd never conceived of. We came around a corner and I almost tripped.

A beautiful girl - maybe Caribbean, rich cafe-au-lait skin - led a customer toward her room. She held one of his hands and walked in front just a bit, every few steps sending a smoky glance his way. The guy seemed hypnotized by her; especially her hips as they flowed along in a sexy rhythm.

He was kinda thick and muscled, but short. That didn't seem relevant, though. I was fascinated by his manner, poleaxed with lust by his lust. I only came back to myself once they went in the room and closed the door.

Melissa had a knowing smile. "Never gets old." I don't think she meant it to be as discouraging as it sounded to me.

We rode the elevator down. She explained something of how things worked here. All the chefs and line cooks in back, and the maids and janitors that cleaned up, were female. "A guy working here would never get anything done. Besides girls - he'd get a lot of those done."

I frowned. "Wait, what about the security guys?" I caught myself speculating about how to get one alone. Fuck.

"Oh, don't even bother. Gerry's got a deal with them. So long as they work here, they're asexual."

My eyes must have gotten wide, because she laughed. "No, they still got the equipment! They just got zero urge to use it, that's all." She shrugged. "It keeps us from messing with them, and the other way around."

I couldn't guess what I'd have to be paid to give up my sex drive, even temporarily.

Gerry sometimes had to pay a little more, look a little harder for help, she said. Especially because the women were expected to be discreet and not gossip about what they saw. I'd already run into that when I'd been digging before; it had been frustrating at times.

But discretion has its limits, of course. "We're not supposed to talk about the ring in front of anyone who doesn't know already. That's Gerry's Girls, security, and one or two others, I'll let you know." The elevator door opened.

The basement level had a gym, a salon, a wardrobe department, a couple of conference rooms, and a dance studio. They were clean and well-maintained, more functional than decorative. Melissa glanced at the hair on my head again, then sighed. She led me past the salon to the studio.

Melissa called over to the woman leading two gorgeous, less-than-one-quarter-dressed Latinas through a very dirty bump-n-grind. "Hey Ms. Ep! Got some fresh meat for ya!"

She spoke to the girls for a few moments, then sent them on their way and came over to where we stood. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties, and was dressed conventionally for a dance instructor - form-fitting, not fetish, tights. "Hello, dear! I'm Ms. Epstein. And you are?"

My real name was of no utility here. "I guess I'm Marci."

"Well," she said, giving a sharp glance at Melissa, "you can call me Ms. Ep. Everybody does."

"Pleased to meet you." I was trying to be as polite as possible. She was good-looking, and in excellent shape, but not at the level of a Gerry's Girl. So I wanted to peg her as a collaborator. But Melissa had taught me that I had to check my assumptions. So... "What brings you here?" I was upset enough that it still came out as a challenge.

First she tried to examine my body, but the sweats defeated her. She made a sidelong look at Melissa, who nodded. It barely took a second. She waved at her right leg. "You see this knee? I tore the ACL, ripped it right in half. Ended my career. Then Gerry found me." She dropped down, left leg straight behind her and right knee folded double. Then she shot up into a graceful pirouette.

She came to a halt facing me. "In a couple years I can go back to dancing. With enough money to start my own dance company, if I'm careful."

Gerry knew how to pick personnel - and motivate them, it seemed. Then again, he could read minds...

Her head tilted to one side as she looked me up and down. "Hmm. That hair... we can work it into your routine, make it work for you. Swirl it around, use it to hide and show things. We'll go big on the heels, shape your legs and ass."

Part of me was furious. But in my mind I could kind of see what she was going for. I had to agree, it'd be stunning, glamorous. It'd drive guys wild. And that got my heart racing.

Ms. Ep pointed. "Get those sweats off, please. Let me see what you're working with." At my dismayed look, she said, "Oh, come on. Just us girls here. Whatever's new, you don't have anything I haven't seen before."

Melissa spoke up. "It's more what she doesn't have. Anymore." I glared at her. She wasn't affected.

Ms. Ep's eyebrows lifted. "Really?" She shrugged. "Oh, well, the last one worked out nicely."

Melissa chuckled. "She worked him out pretty nicely last night."

Both of them laughed at my speechless astonishment. That hot little number was a man? Or, had been? "Bullshit," I declared, bristling.

Melissa spread her arms, palms up, apologetic... but still grinning. "Nah, she got... recruited in July."

Now I wasn't just disturbed, I was horrified. Sam? 'Collette' was Sam?! Oh, shit... that thing Gerry had said about 'her background showing'...

"I... I need to sit down."

Looking concerned, Ms. Ep said, "Of course, dear, come over here..." She led me to a folding chair which I dropped into.

They only gave me a minute or so, whispering to each other a few steps away. I had time to accumulate a lot of worry and despair. Sam had been portly, and balding, and the hair that was left was brown. He'd been mostly German-American, and couldn't do accents - French or otherwise. If he could be so throughly remade...

They struck at a low point, I think by coincidence, when my defenses were weakest. "C'mon, honey, calm down. It'll be okay. I just want to see what you look like under that mess." Before I knew it I was standing with my arms up and Ms. Ep was pulling the sweatshirt over my head, and hair. And then Melissa's fingers hooked the waistband and pulled down the pants.

I stood naked, feeling very vulnerable. But Ms. Ep had some experience with Gerry's Girls. She knew how to motivate them. "Oh, Mel, just look at those tits! Her nipples are so cute! She's gonna be pop-u-lar!"

Those nipples were poking out in response to the idea. Melissa said, "Turn around, show us your ass!"

Hesitantly, I did. Again I had to move the hair so it could be seen. "Oooooh," she cooed, "apple-bottom! That'll get 'em sprung!" Her hand made the 'stroking' motion at her crotch, which made me picture a guy doing that.

Ms. Ep made an assenting "Mmm". Then she said, "Lean forward a bit, like this. Yes, let your hair hang over them. Just like that." She waved at the mirror across the room. "See? Guys love that stuff. Imagine a guy sitting in front of you, that's what he sees."

I was getting wet as she painted a verbal picture of an audience of men, and talked me through poses. Then she started a little music and had me try some dance moves. I was lost in fantasy, enticing a crowd of guys who were getting more and more aroused... soon they wouldn't be able to hold back anymore, and there would be a gangbang...

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.

We got a table of frat boys, and before we finished setting down their drink orders one of them sprang for a session in the back rooms with me. He was kind of a rich douchebro, and I felt some contempt for him... but it didn't make any difference. After what I'd already been doing, after being in a state of nonstop arousal for a few hours, I just had no resistance. I'd already blown two guys, and flashed my breasts and ass and pussy all over the place, right?

Diana took us to her room. "You'll need a firm hand with this one," she declared, giving me a doubtful look. Her place had a large, double-doored chest. A bed with iron headboard and footboard, suitable for attaching straps or chains to. A weight bench in the corner, a table with iron legs. No actual BDSM gear was visible as we entered, however. It was a space that could be quickly adapted to several different ambiances.

Which Diana proved as soon as she opened the chest. She handed the guy some chains with padded leather cuffs, and talked him through attaching me to the table. The lights dimmed as he did so. I acted nervous and hesitant, but curious despite myself - which was only about one-quarter an act. In what seemed a twinkling I was bent over the table, my feet spread wide, each ankle hooked to a table leg. My hands were strapped together, but dragged forward by another chain connected to the legs on the opposite side.

I think she didn't want to leave me a chance to back out on my first time. In truth, he seemed about as nervous as me. He was trying not to show it; pretending confidence and knowledge he clearly didn't have. But he was also finding the whole scene to be hot; Diana and I could both tell, and found that unspeakably hot.

I probably would have been more nervous, but I was pretty sure that (a) Diana wouldn't let anything too terrible happen, and (b) she could take this guy with one arm if he did try anything 'off the menu'. Plus, Anong had explained that the security guys kept watch on the rooms via hidden cameras. And since they couldn't take a prurient interest, they were quite attentive.

Anyway, there I was, ass and pussy exposed, the hair spread like a blanket across my back and the table, as he slipped a ball gag into my mouth and pulled it tight.

Diana had backed away and sat in a corner, out of our direct line of sight, continuing to guide him. "Touch her. Slowly, slide your hand along her side, up her back. Let her feel you're in control, that she can't stop you." He did so for a minute, and I whimpered. Then she said, "Touch her breasts, her pussy. No, don't push, just... tease. Assert a claim, that's all." When he slid a finger along my slit, I groaned and shook my head.

"Ah. Defiance. We can't have that. Take the paddle, spank her."

My eyes widened and I struggled as the wood slapped my tender backside.

"Not too hard! You want to correct her, guide her, not frighten her." The next slap was softer. "Yes, that's it.
You're encouraging her to submit, not punishing her. Let her learn that obedience brings pleasure. Teach her that you know best."

I moaned. I could hear his panting, he was lost in the moment. I could picture the bulge in his pants, straining to get out.

"Now, the plug. A little oil, and... there." It felt weird going in my ass, then I just had a feeling of fullness. But the way his hands shook, this had to be driving him bananas. I looked over my shoulder at him, moaning. His own eyes were full of wonder, and need.

"Take the feather. Tickle, tease. Compel her to experience sensation, to anticipate you." He played with it, and I twitched and giggled and jerked and moaned, playing up my reactions in a show for him.

"Probe now. Test her. Is she wet? Can you feel her strain, hear her breath come faster?" I was definitely wet, my nipples pressed against the table, inhaling and exhaling through my nose in heaving surges, knowing he was so on the edge. I flexed against my bonds, tensed my muscles.

"Now she's ready. Ready to be claimed, to give herself to you." A pause, then, urgent: "Take her."

I looked over my shoulder again, into his eyes, pleading. He was the one who was actually ready now, turgid and rampant as he desperately kicked off his pants. Diana had talked him into a frenzy. He pounced and plunged into me.

I was so tight for him, but sopping wet; I squeezed to make it tighter, grateful in the moment that Gerry had given me the right tools for the job. I wasn't even registering the sensations of penetration as pleasurable or uncomfortable. I wasn't doing anything but imagining how my pussy was making him feel.

In less than half a minute, he came. A typical girl would have been disappointed; in my experience hardly any women could get off that quick. An ordinary prostitute would have been pleased, her work over so soon. I wasn't normal, so I was already coming when he did. As I heard his frantic "Uuuuuuaaaah!" and felt him climax, pulsing in my tunnel, I just exploded. It was all so unbelievably sexy...

He thrusted, and shuddered, and pulled out, almost stumbling. I felt anxious for a heartbeat, but then I heard Diana murmuring in his ear, telling him to undo my chains. He did so - with, at first, shaking hands. As he left I tried to look dazed, and amazed at his performance. Anything to encourage him to come back and go again.

Once he closed the door, Diana led me into her bathroom, and got a wet washcloth. She showed me how to clean myself. I should have been disgusted, but in the afterglow of an intense orgasm I was more amused than anything. The semen was proof that a male orgasm had just happened, and I'd helped it along! It was almost empowering. A hell of a first time.

And it was only midnight! Two more hours, I knew I could get laid again. At least another blowjob.

At that thought, I had a moment of clarity. What the fuck was I thinking? I was cooperating with guys tying me up and spanking me and fucking me roughly from behind. Things had gotten completely out of control. The only rational course was to head back to my room and barricade the door shut...

-----

What can I say? People are seldom rational about sex. That fact had informed a big part of my old job, for that matter. A few minutes later, after Diana touched up my makeup, I was following her back to the main room again.

And within twenty minutes, I got to fuck a guy on my own. Still in Diana's room, but she waited outside. I guess she knew I was hooked on hooking by that point.

We didn't bust out the toys. He almost carried me to the bed and started yanking off my clothes. He didn't even give me a chance to blow him or anything. He dropped his pants and got inside me with what can best be described as 'alacrity'. Not even the stupidest whore could have missed his urgency. Apparently I was a whore now, but I wasn't stupid, so did my best to mirror it. If passion was what he wanted, what would get him off, then I was happy to provide it.

For all that he started fast, he lasted longer than the douchebro. I had my eyes locked on his so I wasn't worried. He was savoring, enjoying himself, not stalling.

I'd had exactly two simultaneous orgasms in my life, both with my ex. If she hadn't been faking. To Gerry's Girls, though... the feel, or even the sight, of a guy coming... It is, if you'll pardon the phrase, magical. It's almost always enough to get us off, even if we just have.

In short, when he came, I came. Because he came.

He was just as cheerful, after, and gave me a big smooch before he left. Later I found out he left an extra tip on the bill, too. Then I went back out and got in another under-the-table before last call.

At the end of the shift, Diana dropped me off at my door. I was too tired to worry about much of anything. I just kicked off the heels, and pulled off the hotpants - I'd lost the t-shirt somewhere along the way - on the way to the bed. As I lay down, though, I couldn't help smiling. I'd never climaxed so much in my life, it felt like the end of a great workout - my body was tired but glowing. It was a weird combination of satisfaction and hunger; I was ready for sleep but anticipating more tomorrow. In moments I fell into a thoughtless, contented slumber.

-----

I woke up still feeling good. I lay dozing for a time, just... happy. The only actual thought I had for a while was that I didn't have to get up immediately. Finally, though, I remembered why I didn't have to get up early and I sat up in bed.

I looked down at my breasts as the sheet fell away. At the hair. At the hotpants on the floor. On each, there were little streaks of dried cum. I saw every individual one distinctly, and I felt a chill. But each one sparked a sexy memory, too. I knew exactly when that sticky spot in the hair had gotten that way, and I felt my clit engorge a little.

Of course it bothered me, a lot. Yet, it was as if I couldn't actually feel depressed. My spirits would only get so low, and then it was like they bounced off a padded floor. I got up and got the water started, and discovered that long hair meant long showers. Then it took me about ten minutes to figure out how to wrap it in a towel so it wouldn't fall in my face. I didn't even attempt to dry it.

Melissa found me eating a breakfast delivered from the kitchen. It was all fruit and yogurt. She scoffed. "You don't gotta diet too much. Aerobics three times a week, and yoga on the off days. That's all you need, and you can have waffles or ice cream and still be skinny. Gerry's awesome like that."

I blushed, again. When I'd ordered, I'd suddenly been gripped with fear. I tried to tell myself that Gerry might get mad if I spoiled his handiwork. But really, I worried that I wouldn't be able to turn guys on anymore if I got fat.

She took me to the basement; our first stop was the salon, where the hair was beaten into submission and my face was done.

The work was prep for the next stop. One of the general-purpose rooms had been decorated up, with bright lights and cameras in place. They wanted to do a photo shoot, advertise me on the Gerry's Place website. Of course I'd looked it over during my investigation; it had a menu with most unusual options. Members could subscribe for monthly web content, or pre-order a number of special services.

The thought of guys being enticed by pictures and video of me - maybe even stroking off to it - got me hyped. I posed, and twisted, and jiggled, and did anything they asked. I came several times just from the images in my mind, even before they had me masturbate on camera. The only sad thing was the photographer was female.

They handed me a phone and showed me how to handle the social media stuff. Marci had her own Instagram and Twitter feeds, and several pictures were already posted there and on the main Gerry's Place feeds. They showed me samples of the comments and followers:

the-wet-pistol: Fuuuuuuuuuuuu....

homesick102: Dose titties! I needs a bite!

aint-broke: I'm gonna tear that ass UP!

dreamintheshade: my pants are tight

After, I was so jazzed that, God help me, I went to the studio and did some dance practice. Ms. Ep had me watch a couple of K-pop girl-band music videos, then walked me through some of the moves.

That all took up the morning. I found out Anong was just down the hall, in room 208. We had lunch and talked. I asked something I'd been wondering about.

"Melissa said I'm the third guy Gerry's turned into a girl. I know Collette, but who's the other one?" I wanted to know for many reasons. The possibility of an ally was one. The feasibility of resistance was another.

"Oh, that's Madison." She pulled up the website on her tablet and pointed.

I frowned. That little redhead, exhibitionistic even by Gerry's Girls standards? "Damn..."

"It's actually kind of sweet. She came here with some friends when she was still a guy. Heather got the feeling something was off, and called Gerry down. He saw how she really wanted to be a girl and offered her a deal."

So, probably not inclined to team up against Gerry. There had to be somebody here unsatisfied with the status quo. For that matter... "Do you ever regret signing up?"

Anong's sunny smile was not encouraging. "Nah, it's pretty great here."

"Don't you think it's... degrading?" Flashes of what I'd done last night - what I wanted to do tonight - passed through my mind. I had no faith my shame would keep me from showing up for work later...

She looked sympathetic. "I guess it must be pretty hard for you," she said, laying a hand on mine. "You didn't like guys before, right?"

At my glower, she waved her question away. She actually thought about it for a while. "I know I wouldn't have wanted to do all that stuff before." She shrugged, sheepishly. "I never wanted to be a total slut."

Anong looked almost haunted now. "I wanted to be pretty." She looked at me. "You got no clue what it's like to be a fat, ugly girl. The boys ignore you. Even if you let them fuck you they avoid you after. And girls... they're so mean."

I recognized her anger, and felt bad all over again about my 'whale' comment. She went on. "The pretty ones treat you like shit, and even the okay ones just keep you around to make them look better."

I probably looked shocked. She grimaced. "High school sucked for me. I wanted to kill myself a couple times. College was supposed to be better." Her hand was clutching mine. "It wasn't. So I did try to kill myself."

Now I was squeezing her hand. She paused, and said, "It's okay. I didn't take near enough pills." A sly look. "I mean, I was a whale." At my wince, she flashed me a quick, forgiving grin.

More cheerfully, she kept going. "Gerry found me after I was released. I was waiting for a bus to go home." A shrug. "Now I'm gorgeous. As good-looking as any girl here. And I'm making mad bank. And I've got friends. We're all on a team together, y'know?

Philosophically: "Maybe I do 'degrading' stuff now, but I have fun doing it." A pause. "Besides, it's not like
it's really me liking it. It's not my fault, just the spell."

I frowned down at the table, noticing the rationalization going on. "I'm just a smidge more conflicted." I inhaled, exhaled. "I don't think I even 'like guys' now. It's just... I can't help..." I trailed off.

After a pause, Anong said, diplomatically, "Well, it ain't gonna be forever. We gotta sign up for at least a year, and then we can 'retire'. There's barely any girls that left yet, but we can."

"Twenty-seven days," I said flatly.

She looked troubled. To shift topics, I brought up something I had to know. "So does Gerry... sample the goods? 'First fruits' and all that?"

Anong grinned. "Yeah. The first few girls, he did more. But now it's kind of a rule - once per girl." She put a hand on mine. "Not always the first night or anything. But they get a whole night with him." She developed a sly smile. "I think he kinda rests up before. He's not a young guy, and I wore him out when it was my turn."

On the one hand, that meant I would likely be doing something with him. I had conflicting emotions about that. On the other... "That's, um, awfully... restrained of him. Most pim... um, 'managers' don't... give the girls much of a choice.""

She laughed. "He makes exceptions. Some of the first girls, he's got kind of a relationship. The rest of us, maybe every so often, on a special occasion, or right before a girl retires. If he did any more, he'd be buried in girls all the time. I hear it was simpler when they were first starting up." Then she caught herself, and looked concerned. "Um... one thing, though. From what I hear, he, uh..." She swallowed. "He never did Madison, or Collette."

The uppermost emotion I felt was relief, to my relief. But that cursed new part of my brain felt sad. "Huh. Not so into girls who were guys, huh?"

"It's no big deal. I think Madison was a little hurt, but the rest of us girls don't care," she rushed to reassure me. "I mean, I've seen both of them in action. He's really missing out."

I managed a weak smile at that. I didn't take it as the encouragement she'd intended.

-----

I was scared as I walked toward Gerry's office. No duh, right? Oddly, though, I wasn't as scared as I could have been. Because for most of my life, if was frightened, I had to pretend I wasn't. Especially in my job. In this case, though, I couldn't put on a front. Gerry could read my mind, know my emotional state exactly. So there was no point in worrying about my worry.

I knocked, and waited. "Come in, Marci," I heard. The voice came from back in the room; he'd checked who it was through the door. I filed the information away.

I entered, sniffing irritation at the name. He sat at his desk. I sat on the couch, right where I'd woken up, and said, "Any chance you could make 'Mr. Bordreaux' appropriate again?"

He tilted his head, evaluating me. "I think you have a pretty good idea now what I'm protecting. Even leaving aside my own autonomy, these girls could be badly exploited by the likes of your employer."

"Like they're not exploited now," I muttered, defensively.

He rolled his eyes. I felt embarrassed. That had been a poor bluff.

He knew as well as I did, I'd taken the job from Novinski even though I didn't like the guy at all. Refusing a job from him was a dicey proposition. He was Russian, and a human trafficker, and violent.

And besides, I knew I couldn't cure all the world's ills.
I'd never run into a prostitution operation that was all that much better. Some of the legal ones, maybe - but Gerry's had been too good to be true. He had to be forcing the girls, especially with how they seldom seemed to leave the facility.

Maybe the girls wouldn't be better off if Novinski took over, but I hadn't seen how they could be worse off.

Except, now I could. A magic ring changes the situation just a tiny bit. Frankly, Gerry was a hell of a lot more ethical about using it than most guys would be. Fuck, more than I probably would be.

Except there were other things that hadn't changed. "Novinski isn't going to stop. He's just getting started. If I don't report in, he'll start trying other things." I didn't bother elaborating. He could see them in my mind. "Even if I do report in, I can't stop him. Maybe slow him down a little, that's all." I left the implication unstated - if he changed me back now, I could help some. If he waited a month, I wouldn't be inclined to help at all.

It was frustrating to watch him dismiss what I had to say. "We have good security here; better than you might imagine. Cameras to record evidence. He won't find us unprepared."

I suddenly realized I was sitting in a pose that bordered on lewd - legs a bit spread, back up straight to display my new endowments. I wanted to kick myself. Although, he wasn't responding like the customers had. More discomfited than turned on. It was true - he didn't like the idea of fucking a former man. In some senses that was fortunate; it allowed me to stay focused.

Like on my frustration. "That's not going to be enough. This isn't a hostile takeover with stock options, these are bad motherfuckers." I had to make him understand.

"I suggest you visit the gym when one of my security detail is exercising. I have some 'bad motherfuckers' of my own." He sighed. "We're not going to convince each other today, I see. Run along, Marci. Perhaps we'll speak again in a week."

I stared at him for a beat, then got up, not saying a word. As I walked out the door, I realized I was a little disappointed. Gerry had seemed so formidable this morning. Now I saw that he had limitations and blind spots, like any man. I was still angry with him - but I could feel a little pity, too. I felt a lot more pity for the girls, and what awaited them.

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.

Anong greeted me warmly. "Hey, babe! Lookin' fiiiine!" she said, giving me that standoffish hug women did when they didn't want to smear their makeup.

"Back atcha," I said. She had on a blue and yellow, translucent silken ensemble that was definitely Asian-inspired, but covered rather less skin than actual street fashions ever did. Instead of a little stud on one side of her nose, she had a ring with a chain that joined it to her left earring. What a king's concubine might wear, in the bedroom on her first night. She was delectable.

Melissa was, too, naturally. She emphasized the sunny side that night, with white lingerie and makeup tuned to widen her eyes. Both of them were sent out in the initial batch of waitresses. I got held back to be a replacement when one of the 'first round draft picks' went to service clients in the back rooms.

A shade nervously, I scanned the room. Half a dozen other girls, all sexy beyond belief, chatting amongst themselves.

In the corner was Madison, talking to Clarissa and a black girl I remembered from the website - Destiny. Madison had gone for platform heels, and another semi-legal bathing suit. A V-shaped one that looped under her crotch and had two long strips to the shoulder that just covered her nipples. If you squinted.

A few minutes later, Destiny got sent out to take over for Kylie. I took the opportunity to sidle up to them.

"Hi," I said. "I'm, uh, Marci."

"Yeah, we heard," Clarissa said. They didn't volunteer more, waiting for me to continue. Not friendly, but not unfriendly either.

It was clear that everyone was in on my situation. No point in dancing around it, though I found it hard to be direct. I looked at Madison. "Um... Anong said... um, that you were... well, you used to be a guy, too?"

"No," she said. Before my squint had really formed, she said, "I was always a girl. But I did have a guy's body."

"Okay," I said, noncommittal. When I grew up, people didn't talk like that. I was aware terms had shifted these days.

She turned her head to the side, but apparently understood I might not share her feelings. "I never fit in as a kid. I wanted to play with my sister more than my brothers. But my dad was a preacher. He couldn't have any sissies."

I saw ghosts of old pain - and anger - in her face as she went on. "I tried my sister's clothes on once. I just looked stupid, and I got caught. And got a beating." She shook her head. "I played a part for years. Then some friends came here for a bachelor party, and I guess you heard the rest." Her smile didn't show the same ghosts anymore.

"What about your family?" I probed. I kept half an eye on Clarissa at the same time. She stiffened a bit and her face went blank.

Madison rolled her eyes. "They only cared about a guy named Ezekiel. They never even wanted to know me, inside. No matter what I said." A scoff. "Not like any of them looked too hard for me when I disappeared."

I came at it from an angle. "You wanted to be this kind of girl?"

"No," she giggled. "I'll take it if it gets me where I need to be, though." A pointed look. "Plenty of regular girls do the same things. For a lot less money and a lot less fun." After a pause, she added, "And a lot more risk."

Clarissa jumped in. "Yeah, I used to fuck guys to get a fix, before. Now that's my fix, it doesn't cost me anything, and I don't wanna die when I come down."

I bit my lip and looked away, conceding the point. "So, a few years here and you're off to a new life?" I sad to Madison. It was becoming a familiar story.

"You got it." She looked amazed. "I might even have kids. I thought that could never happen."

I needed to understand this. "You never tried to, uh, 'transition'? Before?"

She shrugged. "If I couldn't do it right, what's the point? I was tall with big shoulders and no hips. I never coulda passed even if I did hormones and surgery and all that." She waved down her entirely feminine body. "But Gerry's got the magic."

"Can he really change everything, though?" I asked, almost in desperation.

"Are you hitting on me right now?" Her gaze was direct, a challenge.

She was scoring points left and right. If I'd really thought of her as still male, I'd be trying to get her sprung right now. She watched as I made the next logical connection - Gerry's Girls weren't hitting on me.

Instead of hitting on me, she took some pity on me. "Look, I'm sorry it had to be this way. I know what it's like to be stuck in the wrong body." She put a hand on my shoulder. But then Iris, the hostess, waved Madison to the floor. I was left standing with Clarissa.

I don't feel proud about it, but I was off-balance from Madison's story. So I was a little aggressive with her. It's not like I had any doubt at this point. "My family hired me to find you, you know. I almost caught up with you in Reno."

Her jaw set. "Yeah?"

"They were really worried about you."

She took a deep breath. "Did they tell you why I ran away?"

"No..."

"I had sex. Once. And I got gonorrhea." The expression of fury looked really out of place on that sexy face. "They kept me prisoner after that. I mean, I couldn't leave the house without one of them around. I couldn't talk to my friends, go my cousin's, anything. And they acted like I was... I was garbage, that I'd ruined myself forever." She had her hands in fists. "Like all that mattered was how it affected them."

I thought about her parents. There had been hints; their insistence on discretion...

"So I got out. And nothing was better, but it was easy to do what I had to. I was ruined anyway, right?"

I was rescued from having to reply by Iris motioning me to the door. I took over for Skye after being rapidly briefed on her tables. It was easy to push aside my unease from my conversation with Clarissa. As soon as I caught sight of the men, it was hard to think about anything else.

My first table had two Chinese businessmen, sampling the decadence of the West. Shortly after I returned with their drinks, they sprang for under-the-tables. First the elder, then the younger one - Chinese were big on protocol.

I pranced around, admiring all the sexy vibes - the way some men hollered at the singers or dancers, the way others just goggled silently. Some tried to act blasé, some pounced on the first girl to pass by. Endless variations on a theme I couldn't help but love.

There were three "VIP rooms" off the main floor. Some guys wanted something closer to the traditional strip-club experience. Sex there was slightly cheaper; the rooms were easier to clean.

I hadn't even seen the inside of them yet, but a patron asked me for a private dance.

"I'm really new," I told him nervously. "Like, only a couple days." I didn't want him to be disappointed...

He seemed to grasp that I wasn't reluctant for any reason beyond inexperience. Apparently he found it cute. "Missy, I'm sure you'll do fine."

I waved down Iris and gave her the signal I'd be occupied for a while. Clarissa emerged seconds later, but I was already leading my guy to an unoccupied lounge.

The space was a little dark, with a curved, low, leather couch and a pole in front of it. Mirrors on a couple walls. I fiddled with a small touchscreen and brought up a song to dance to. Wherever the current entry was in the playlist, I was too keyed-up to care.

He set himself down and leaned back on the couch. I could tell he wasn't hard yet and it upset me a little. An intolerable state of affairs.

So, under his close supervision, I caught the beat. Ms. Ep had barely started teaching me anything, but the basics are universal. Sexy dancing for women starts with the hips. Move them with rhythm and you're halfway there. Arms and legs aren't as critical; asymmetrical movements are fine.

I turned on the pole, just fooling around, not trusting myself to do anything fancy. I hated being unprepared. I wanted to know what I was doing, especially for things that were important. And getting this guy off was the most important thing in my world right now.

Fortunately, he wore an indulgent smile, which gave me a little room to experiment. I fell on the old standbys of jiggling ass and tits to the beat. I tried to be at least a little sophisticated about it, but I could see in the mirrors that I wasn't doing a great job, dancing-wise.

I came across as earnest, though. I genuinely wanted to entertain, to arouse. That, by itself, put me up on a lot of strippers. And, to my joy, I saw the john shift in his seat. He was getting a little wood!

I danced closer. I was asking myself, "What would Marci do?" This guy saw a sexy young woman, I had to give him that impression. Marci, I decided, would twirl in front of him, sticking out her rear one moment and segueing to showing him her tits.

I got up on the couch, straddling him, boobies right in his face. An important checkbox for any lap dance. Marci would nuzzle his nose as she ground her crotch down on his. She might take a braid in hand and use the end to tickle his ear and face and neck, a mischievous grin on her face.

I flowed down his body onto my knees before him, and began to unbuckle his belt. He was into it now, for damn sure. I got his pants unbuttoned and pulled them down to pool at his ankles.

His erection stood free and proud. It was like... like the distilled essence of sex. Hotter than any woman I'd ever seen. Beautiful.

But it wasn't complete, not yet. A stiffie has a purpose, and I needed to help it fulfill that purpose.

I kissed it and licked it and made his breath turn fast and shallow. I got him deep in the back of my throat a couple times, but this wasn't the endgame. He'd asked for a lap dance, and I intended to give him the top of the line.

I got up and turned around. I bent forward, and hooked my thumbs around my panties, stretching them away from my hips. Slowly I worked them down as I rocked my hips back and forth to the beat, exposing my pussy. I bent low and stepped out of the panties, carefully. Then I shimmied a little out of sheer excitement as I shifted back and slowly sat down; one hand by my bottom. I got fingers on his prick and guided it in.

In.

It felt good; it goes without saying that I was thoroughly wet and turned on. But... look, a regular woman who's getting fucked by a guy will have at least some focus on how it feels for her, what he's doing to her. Whether her clit's getting any action, his hands caressing her, kisses or whatever.

For Gerry's Girls, that stuff was almost totally irrelevant.

Instead I was focused on his cock, giving it every sensation possible. On his hands cupping my breasts from behind, making sure I didn't accidentally jiggle them out of his grasp. On the moans and "mmmmm's" and little hitching gasps I made for him to enjoy. On my body and posture, so that the visuals would please his eyes. I could track things in the mirror.

With me, reverse cowgirl put the hair front and center for the guy's attention. My back was framed by the two long dangling braids, that rippled as I bounced. I could feel him inside me, that dick on its way to fulfilling its purpose. It felt sublime. Precisely as it should be.

I wasn't experienced enough then to anticipate the exact moment he'd come. I mean, I knew he was close, from his breathing, the tension in his body. Yet when I felt things get more slippery inside me, and he let out a low grunt, it was a slight surprise. It kicked me right over the edge and I came too, delighted and proud.

I kept pumping until I was quite certain it was over. Then I popped off him, got down on my knees again, and cleaned and drained that crank with my mouth, bright-eyed and cheery.

He ran a hand through the hair as I did so, and said, "Missy, if that was your first, you're gonna be a legend in a little bit."

In a post-orgasmic haze, I could not help but feel warmly satisfied. We parted on good terms, as you might imagine. And I went back to waiting on tables with a will.

The rest of the night was just as fun. I got to see an actual celebrity and his entourage. An actor; fat and and a little nerdy, he'd mostly been a comedy sidekick. Still, he had money and a degree of fame. That attracted hangers-on. And a certain type of woman, but apparently he was looking for something else. Something like me, it turned out.

He sprang for girls for his entourage, and me for himself. It actually put a strain on the table service in the main room, they had to call a few girls back on-shift. I paid it no mind as I led him to my room. I had my priorities straight.

I dropped his pants as soon as we got in, and got him in my mouth as soon as possible. In only a few minutes, I was swallowing his issue as he sat on the couch. I didn't stop, though - I kept stroking and stimulating him as I disrobed and rubbed myself up against him. He was hard again before too long, and I moved him to the bed. He got on top of me and jabbed it in.

He was fat, and his dick was undersized. Who cared, though? He was pounding me hard, gasping, frantic to fuck me. It was glorious. The lust in his eyes, the vehement intensity - it got me all the way off. I was glad it took him a while to come again, just so I could relish the experience.

-----

The next few days went similarly. I got official training in various topics in the morning. Mostly dance - I wasn't going to be caught short-skilled again - and care for the hair. I hung out a lot with Anong, who helped introduce me to the other girls. They gave me unofficial training in the form of sexual tips and techniques.

And all night, every night, I did whatever the fuck guys wanted so I could make them come. And loved every second of it. Just like Anong and the others, I told myself it wasn't really me doing it, anyway. I was playing the role of Marci, it wasn't my identity. I learned fast who Marci should be.

There's a kind of stereotype, or at least expectation, about women with really long hair. A certain... lack of maturity. If she's prone to excess in one area, then she's probably high-maintenance elsewhere. A princess type. I mean, you don't find a lot of tomboys whose hair reaches the hem of a short skirt.

The guys with a thing for long hair tended to buy that idea, so I had to kind of lean into it. Be girly, or at least womanly. I went more for dresses and skirts. One night I got the hair done in multiple braids and put on an anime-inspired, cosplayish ensemble, and pitched my voice a little higher. That really pulled in the college boys.

I developed an appreciation for the thought that had gone into my front room's decor. If clients wanted an emphasis on immaturity, on childishness, I'd steer them toward the bed. Or maybe hold onto the dresser as they did me from behind, maybe meeting their eyes in the mirror if that turned them on. If they wanted a slightly older princess, a willful young woman, then we'd do it on the couch or the rug.

I found out what the empty drawer was for - a bunch of naughty toys. The end table by the couch had a small toy supply, too - best to have them handy, immediately available. Sometimes the moment could be lost in the time it took to walk to the other side of the room.

For guys with a hair fetish, there's something called a 'hair job' - you rub and wrap hair around his cock, while you use your mouth or boobs. The hair was long enough that I could even do that while they fucked me doggy style. It was a little abrasive, granted - but for one guy, it got him off so hard we both saw stars.

It wasn't enough to get a man to come, usually, but in a 69 when I was on top, I'd usually dangle hair onto his erection and sweep my head to give him some good friction before getting into the oral action. Some guys liked to pull the hair while I sucked them off or they did me from behind. In that case, I'd try to make a couple pigtails they could use as handlebars.

And younger guys who'd seen a lot of porn just loved spraying cum on my face and hair. So I loved it, too.

But clients liked a lot of different things. I thought pegging a guy was a little weird, but he got off on it so it became fun.

Anong suggested a great trick I pulled off on susceptible clients. I'd lay them on their backs, mount them cowgirl style, and lean forward to spread the hair out around their head. There was so much, it was like a tent. I would look in their eyes, and all they could see was my face - and boobs pressed on their chest - surrounded by hair. With me pumping on them, it just blew them away.

I couldn't do it on really tall guys. For them I'd bury my face in their chest, rubbing the hair against their skin. Still pretty effective.

You've seen the motion a million times, but probably haven't thought about it much. A woman with long hair, sweeping it away from her face with her hand. I had time while working on the hair every morning to practice it a lot of different ways. You could do it shyly, or with the elbow high to pull your tits up, or throw in a little head-bob to get them to jiggle. Lots more. I had a whole repertoire to bring to bear on clients.

Chewing on hair - immature, and draws attention to the mouth and lips. Twisting hair between your fingertips, or twirling it around a finger - not as immature, but a classic flirting signal.

If you bobbed your head just a little, in the right sync with your hips as you walked, you could get the hair to kinda swing back and forth. Got attention even from guys that didn't care particularly about long hair. I was a little stunned at how fast I learned, how easily my posture and voice and vocabulary and habits shifted... but thanks to the magic, I was kind of monomaniacal about turning men on. We all were.

-----

A guy named Samesh came in one evening, a regular. So regular he had an account on the website, and made reservations in advance. Anong was a favorite of his, but he also liked to try out fresh talent as it came in. He was fairly rich - some kind of ties (business, not family) to the House of Saud. So he booked a double - Anong, and me, the new blood.

She had given me lots of tips over lunch about how to get him going, which I lapped up excitedly. I only worked the floor for a couple hours, then went back to my room to get ready. That took another two hours including a trip to the salon to re-do the hair. (Not many places have a hairdresser on the late shift...)

I took the service elevator all the way up and met her outside a door. The Emperor's Room was the biggest space in the building - it took up almost half the top floor - but there were three other good-sized suites on the same level. Nice spots for high-rollers to have fun in, without spending an actual fortune.

We had brainstormed together about how I should present myself. With her guidance, I'd selected something fairly juvenile. He wanted girly, chipper, and complaisant. Brains were a detriment. He didn't want his bed partners to be any kind of intellectual challenge. And he had the stereotype - common among a lot of countries, especially Eastern ones, thanks in part to Hollywood movies - that American girls were sluts.

Thus, I was wearing something you might, just plausibly, see on an American street. A clingy t-shirt with a hand-cut neckline - pink and sporting a 'Supergirl' logo. No bra, of course. Low-rise, hip-hugger jeans that revealed the top of a thong. The jeans themselves were distressed enough to expose a lot of skin. Pink sneakers - no heels, but I knew by now how to walk sexily without that assistance. The hair was done in a partial knot-top with a long tail. I'm sure it had a name; I'd seen it on various female singers in videos.

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