Executive Solutions
By
Michele Nylons

Chapter One – Amnesia

She felt the sting of the needle and then her world went black.

Later… Strange voices coming to her like from a dream, she couldn’t move or open her eyes.

“Did he fuck her?”

“What?”

“Did he fuck her? We need to make it look like he fucked her.”

“I doubt they’ll run any DNA given the evidence we’re going to leave but if they find a few different semen samples, it will collaborate that she’s a hooker,” the man grunted as he unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants.

“Roll her over and pull down her panties.”

She felt the man roll her over so that she was face down on the bed, lift her dress and pull down her underwear. She couldn’t move a muscle or utter a sound.

The bed creaked as the man climbed on to it, he opened her legs and knelt between them.

“She does have a great ass,” he chuckled as he improved his growing erection.

“Not my type at all but I’ll make my contribution,” the other man pulled his penis out of his trousers and began to masturbate as he watched his friend position himself between the woman’s shapely stocking-clad legs.

“Oh yeah! She’s fuckin’ tight!” the man pushed his erection against her sphincter and slowly penetrated the woman.

She wanted to scream. The man’s penis was unlubricated and her anus was tight; the pain seared through her body but she could do nothing.

“Gimme that!” the man pointed to a tube of lubricant on the bedside table.

He extracted his penis and liberally coated his erection with the viscous jelly.

This time he slid in easy and he enjoyed the feel of her tight anus clutching at his cock as he thrust back and forth.

The woman was relieved that most of the pain had stopped but was still distressed that the man was taking her anally while she was comatose. The man’s cock slid easily in and out of her back passage and she heard him grunting with pleasure and felt his cock get harder.

“Oh shit!” the man cursed as he ejaculated deep in the woman’s anus.

“Jesus, that wasn’t half bad. Imagine how good it would be if she was awake?” he said as he extracted himself.

He wiped his dripping penis on the woman’s buttocks.

“Move!” the other man gasped.

“What?”

“Move or you’ll get this,” the other man was furiously masturbating and his angry cock looked ready to explode.

The man leapt out of the way just as his accomplice sprayed his issue over the woman’s thighs, buttocks and back.

“There! My contribution,” he zipped up while his partner pulled up his pants.

“Ok let’s get this shit done. Let’s take some pictures for the boss and get the fuck out of here,” the man said.

“Roll her back over while I get the gun.”

The accomplice rolled the woman over, face up on the bed. He left her dress hiked up and her panties draped around her ankle. The other man put the silenced nine-millimetre pistol in her hand and placed his gloved hand over hers and put her finger inside the trigger guard.

“Look out,” the man said.

He pointed the weapon at the wall and pulled the trigger twice, pressing the woman’s finger against the trigger.

The weapon made a ‘phut’ sound when it discharged; it was nearly noiseless.

“There’ll be plenty of GSR on her hand and wrist,” the man said, carefully lowering the woman’s arm onto the bed, ensuring that the pistol remained in her hand.

The woman moaned.

“Fuck! How can the bitch still be alive?” the accomplice whined.

“Gimme the kit,” the man said.

He took a syringe out of the little black bag and carefully checked the dose of the drug. He searched for the small pinprick in the crook of her left forearm and inserted the needle into the tiny wound and pressed the plunger.

“That’s her gone. Let’s check everything one last time, get the pics, and get the fuck out of here.”

The woman passed into oblivion.

Much later… The woman groaned.

She felt herself floating, still semi-conscious. She forced herself back into consciousness and opened her eyes.

The ceiling was coated with white textured polyurethane paint common to most cheap hotels. It was flyspecked and stained with the residue of thousands of cigarettes. Her sense of smell began to function. Stale cigarette smoke, stale booze, a faint hint of disinfectant, a scintilla of semen, and ominously, gunsmoke.

The woman tried to think. She couldn’t remember her name or anything prior to the two men violating her. Besides her amnesia she just didn’t feel right; it was like she was wearing the wrong skin.

It took her nearly an hour before she regained any motor skills. She was able to move her fingers and toes and then she was able to wriggle them. Once she was able to move her extremities, her controllable bodily functions quickly returned.

She turned her head and saw a bedside table. On it was a cheap clock radio, a tube of personal lubricant, a foil of condoms, and a roll of banknotes. She turned the other way and saw the interior of a decrepit hotel room with cheap faded curtains pulled closed against the windows.

She looked down and saw that she was clad in a red sequined evening gown that was split to the thigh on one side. The dress had been rucked up exposing her legs clad in what appeared to be expensive hosiery; a pair of black satin panties hung from one ankle and her feet were clad in red high-heels.

It still didn’t feel quite right. She let go of the pistol and rubbed the small sting on her inner elbow; it itched.

She summoned all her efforts and was able to sit up. Nausea and vertigo immediately hit her but she fought the urge to lie down and rest. She reached down and pulled her panties up her legs. It was only when she got them to the top of her thighs that realised why she felt so perplexed.

Between her legs was a full set of male genitalia.

Was she a woman or man?

Her thoughts were feminine but she also felt some maleness. She shook her head and tried her hardest to think, but try as she might she was unable to remember anything.

“Maybe when the drugs wear off,” she said, surprising herself.

Her voice was sultry; feminine but dusky. Sensuous, she thought.

She was able to rise and sit on the edge of the bed. She eased herself up and slid her panties into place and pulled down the hem of her dress.

Then she saw the body.

The man was heavyset and balding; naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling.

She kicked off her heels so she could maintain her precarious balance and took a step closer. The man had a neat hole in the centre of his forehead. There was a pool of coagulating blood blooming from the exit wound soaking into the carpet.

The woman immediately snapped her head around and looked at the pistol on the bed. She had awakened clutching it and she vaguely remembered the man forcing her to fire it. She quickly found the two bullet holes in the far wall.

She looked around the room. There was an opened bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table and two glasses of the golden liquid beside it; one of them stained with lipstick. There was a small mirror with white powder arranged in small lines, and a pill bottle had spilled its contents onto the table. Little blue tablets. The ashtray was half full and two packets of cigarettes sat beside the liquor. One Marlboro Red the other Marlboro Menthol Lights. Did she smoke?

Her mouth tasted rancid and she detected the taste of bourbon and cigarettes and something vaguely medicinal.

“What the fuck is going on? Who am I? Why am I here?” she murmured.

There was a sofa and two lounge chairs adjacent to the coffee table and the woman carefully picked her way between the body and the table and fell into a chair. An expensive looking suit and a shirt and tie were draped over the back of the other chair. She instinctively picked up the menthol cigarettes and lit one up.

She studied the glowing tip of the cigarette.

“I guess I’m a Marlboro Menthol girl?” she giggled dementedly.

“But I’m not a real girl am I?” she frowned and tried to make sense of her surroundings.

She coughed, the smoke burned her throat and she was about to stub out the cigarette but then she realised that the smoke had soothed her, provided her with some sense of clarity.

She walked over to the full-length mirror and looked at herself. Her makeup was professionally applied but garish; dark eyeliner and long mascaraed eyelashes, turquoise and mauve eyeshadow, bright red lipstick, rouge highlighted her cheekbones. She was attractive in a slatternish sort of way. Her dress hugged her lithe figure, her breasts were small but the swell of them filled her decolletage.

She put her hands there and found she had a small but well-defined bosom. Her skin was smooth and soft, her legs long and shapely. She thrust her leg out. She was wearing sheer hold-up stockings. Her hair was coal black worn shoulder-length with cerise highlights. It was straight with bangs.

She looked like a high-class hooker.

She rummaged around in the man’s trousers and found a wallet devoid of any identification other than a single business card. It was printed on expensive card stock. She read it: ‘Executive Solutions, Kelsey Reka’ and a phone number. Blue raised font on a crisp white background. Seeing the phone number on the card gave her an idea and she searched the area around the coffee table and found an iphone on the floor. It was locked.

“Shithouse mouse!” she hissed.

She put the card and the phone on the table. She saw a small silver clutch purse on the floor beside the bed and her heart skipped beat. If it was hers it might provide her with the answers she needed. First off; who was she?

The clutch was empty except for some tissues and a hundred dollars in twenties. No ID, nothing.

She drew on her cigarette and surveyed the scene. She crushed out her cigarette and thought hard. If someone entered the room and found her dead or comatose on the bed what would they think?

She surmised that she was supposed to be found lying on the bed. A recently fucked transsexual hooker, her anus and body bearing traces of semen, a gun in her hand. Two wild shots in the wall and a third that had killed the man. The booze, the cocaine, blue tablets that were likely Viagra, a roll of banknotes and a dead man naked except for his boxers.

They would have found gunshot residue on her hand.

The hooker and the man had fallen out over something. Had the man had become violent? Was it a robbery gone wrong? Was it a sting or a scam?

Either way the logical explanation was that the hooker had shot the man after having sex with him.

But the woman knew the scene was staged. Her recollections of the two men manipulating the spectacle in the room supported her thesis. If only she could remember something about herself. Anything!

She heard the sound of approaching sirens on the street outside and although the sirens could mean anything they spurned her into action. She picked up her clutch and stuffed the roll of cash from the bedside table, the cell phone, and the business card into it. She went over to the coffee table and picked up the menthols and a bic lighter and stuffed them in the purse. She slipped on her high-heels and scanned the hotel room one last time.

She cracked open the door and saw that the corridor was deserted. She took a deep breath and stepped outside and closed the door behind her. She made her way to the elevator and twice had to rest against the wall to catch her breath. The powerful sedative that she had been administered to her was still affecting her coordination and clouding her thoughts. She pressed the call button and breathed deeply as she waited for the car.

The elevator pinged and mercifully it was empty. She pressed the button for the ground floor.

The foyer was also deserted except for the receptionist, a dishevelled looking fat man thumbing through a girly magazine; and a black man wearing a suit smoking a cheroot sitting in a lounge chair reading a copy of USA Today. Both men looked up at the woman as she carefully stepped from the elevator car and purposely strode across the foyer.

“Hey honey. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” the receptionist chuckled lewdly.

He watched her every step, studying her swaying buttocks in the tight dress. Under the desk he rubbed his erect penis through his pants.

The black man glanced up at her and then he went back to studying his newspaper.

The woman made it outside and gulped in the cold air. It was night and she was obviously in the seedy district of whatever city she was in. She looked around and tried to force herself to remember where she was but nothing triggered her memory. The streets were wet from drizzle, the neon signs advertising X-rated movies and cruise lounges reflected off the pavement. People either scurried along purposely or drifted aimlessly. It was a tableau of desperation and she felt no affinity to the surroundings.

Where did she go now? She didn’t know who she was or why she was here; she certainly had no inkling of where she lived.

The obvious choice was to get a cab to somewhere more civilised, somewhere less depressing. Hookers in hotpants, miniskirts and tight leggings offered their services to the occupants of slow moving vehicles cruising the street and dealers plied their wares on the street corners.

The woman knew that hanging around the fleapit hotel was the least desirable course of action and she turned right and walked as steadily as she could along the sidewalk. She kept her eyes down, only glancing up at the approaching headlights hoping to snag a vacant taxi.

“Shit bitch! I tag you the best John you gonna get in a week and you walk past me like me like I don’t exist,” the black man from the foyer gripped her wrist and began to pull her along.

The woman tottered on her heels as the man half dragged her into an alley.

It was narrow and dark and the man pushed her against the cold brickwork.

“Come on sugar; I know you scored up there. That guy’s watch was a gold Patek Philippe and his suit must have cost at least a thousand dollars,” the black man had her pinned against the wall, his face inches from hers.

The woman tried her hardest to think who the man might be. Was he her pimp? Was she a prostitute?

She thought quickly and put her hand in her clutch and found the roll of bills. She hadn’t even looked at their denomination but she stripped off a handful and held them up in front of her. The man snatched them from her and stepped back a pace and counted them in the gloom of the alley.

“Sheeit momma! That’s nearly a grand! I know you some fine looking pussy but you must be some hot shit for fatty to pay you two grand. Half of your take was the deal right?” the black man was handsome, he looked a little like Denzel Washington, his teeth gleamed in the gloom.

The man stuffed the bills into his pocket and stepped forward again so that he was face to face with the woman.

“And don’t forget the other half of the deal,” the man grinned.

The woman had no idea what he talking about.

“Sheeit! I ain't got all night. Get to giving me what you promised,” the man pushed the woman down on her knees in the filthy alley.

The woman was too surprised to react and fell to her knees looking up at the black man.

“Sheeit! I gotta do everything?” he cursed.

The man unzipped his flies and his long thick cock fell out of his pants at eye level with the woman. He pushed her face into his groin and guided his cock to her lips. The woman instinctively opened her mouth and began to suckle the proffered organ.

The woman had no idea how she knew this was the right thing to do or where she had learned her fellatrix skills but she suckled the man’s glans and used her hand to stroke the shaft. When he was fully erect the man began to fuck her mouth and at first the woman began to gag but intuitively she began breathing through her nose while she sucked the black phallus with the bulging purple glans.

She slavered at the man’s glans and then ran her tongue up and down the shaft; she worked her tongue on his fraenulum and was rewarded with a sigh of contentment from the man. She fellated the man for about five minutes before he dragged her to her feet.

“Hot damn woman; you are the best cocksucker I’ve ever had but I want my piece of pussy,” the man moaned.

Still not certain what she was supposed to do the man spun her around and pushed her against the wall. He lifted her dress and pulled down her panties. He prodded at her sphincter with his large cock and the woman knew what was about to happen. She remembered the man doing the same to her while she lay drugged on the bed.

She struggled and tried to extricate herself but the man pushed her hard against the wall.

“Come on sugar, a deal is deal,” the man panted as he fumbled behind her trying to find a way into her rectum.

“Ohh!” the woman gasped as the man’s cock slid inside her.

Mercifully for her she still retained some of the semen and lube from when the man had fucked her on the bed in the hotel and this provided lubrication. The man’s cock was huge and it stretched her anus and she grimaced with pain.

The man began to fuck her with long slow strokes and the woman realised that resistance was futile. She concentrated on relaxing her sphincter. The man pulled her close to him and kissed her on the neck and his hands found her breasts, he squeezed them through the material of her dress and her bra.

The woman found some sort of defensive response mechanism deep inside her psyche; something learned or ingrained. She somehow knew the best way to conclude the assault on her was to capitulate and participate willingly.

The woman placed her hands on the wall and pushed out her buttocks so that the man could fuck her deeply. The man grinned and gripped her hips and thrust himself in and out of her tight ass.

The woman ground her buttocks against the man and got into rhythm with him, pushing back to meet his thrusts, gyrating her soft ass against his groin.

A strange thing happened. The man’s penis began to sexually excite her; his bulbous glans was pushing on her prostate and its girth stimulated her sphincter. The woman felt a deep sensual awakening in her anus spreading to her groin and she began to become erect.

“Oh my!” she gasped.

“That’s it sugar. You enjoy what daddy is giving you,” the man moaned.

The man penetrated her deeper and pulled her against him. She found the presence of the man’s body against her and the feel of his groin pushing on her buttocks as he fucked her comforting as well as arousing. She sighed and surrendered to the inevitable.

The man fucked her harder and faster and she gasped and rutted in concert with him. He twisted her face sideways and kissed her and she kissed him back, her tongue slurping on his, their lips crushed together.

“Oh yeah honey! You’re my honeysuckle!” the man drove himself deep inside her and shuddered.

The woman felt his cock convulse inside her anus and instinctively her hand found her own penis and squeezed it. Her own issue dribbled from her erect penis and splattered on the filthy pavement as the man ejaculated inside her.

The man howled and she shuddered with a paroxysm of lust as he climaxed.

They clung to each other as they orgasmed, the man pulling her back to him and she gripped his thighs, pushing back and grinding herself against him.

They stayed like that until their lust was sated. The man extracted himself from her and spun her around and kissed her amorously.

He looked into her eyes.

“Damn bitch you know how to strike a bargain! Nearly a grand in cash and the best tranny fuck I had in a long time! You ever need a short-time pimp and lookout again I’m your man,” the man pushed his deflating penis back into his pants and zipped.

The woman was still dazed and confused. She pulled her panties back into place and smoothed her dress. The bump of her penis showed at the front of her sheath dress and she pushed it between her legs and hitched her panties tighter to keep it in place.

“Ok girl. You stay safe now you hear,” the man began to walk away.

“Hey!” the woman called after him.

The man stopped and turned around.

“Do you know who I am?” she beseeched the man.

“Sheeit no bitch! That was part of the deal!” the man shook his head and continued on his way.

The woman exited the alley and mercifully found a yellow cab with its vacancy light on cruising the street looking for a fare and she flagged it down.

She climbed into the back seat.

“Where to?” the Pakistani driver looked at her in the rearview mirror.

“Is there a Holiday Inn in this city?” she asked.

The woman was perplexed. She knew nothing about herself but she knew about hotels? She needed somewhere to think.

The driver dropped the flag and accelerated.

They left the decrepit part of the city and entered a well-lit commercial district. The woman saw a shopping mall and an illuminated Kmart sign advertising twenty four-hour service.

“Pull over here and wait,” she handed the driver a twenty from the roll in her clutch purse.

“I’ll double that when we get to the hotel,” she said.

The diver nodded. He looked perplexed but forty dollars for a fifteen-dollar fare was not to be passed up.

The lights in the store were bright and garish and she looked out of place in her evening gown but she paid no attention to the stares of the customers.

She bought cosmetics, toiletries, and in the ladies clothing section, some leggings, a top, underwear and a pair of flat shoes. She also bought a small suitcase.

For a short while she wondered if she should be buying men’s clothes, but she was obviously not presenting herself as male, even though she had male genitalia.

She figured she had made enough purchases to make a start, she obviously couldn’t go out tomorrow in her evening down.

She stopped at an all-night liquor store and bought a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and a carton of cigarettes. She somehow knew that these were her drugs of choice and it seemed logical as both were present in the hotel room where she had regained consciousness.

The taxi driver raised his eyebrows at her as she piled the bags containing her purchases onto the back seat.

“Fuck off Apu, just take me to the Holiday Inn,” she hissed, she was tired, confused, and in no need for a confrontation.

The taxi driver stopped out front of the Holiday Inn and with the offer of a further five-dollar tip on top of the doubled fare he helped her inside with her purchases.

The foyer was bereft of customers at this late hour and the woman strode to the counter where a young man was stifling a yawn whilst sliding his finger absentmindedly across his cell phone.

“I’d like a suite if you have one,” the woman said fanning three fifty-dollar bills on the counter.

The man worked the keyboard and then slipped a registration card onto the counter.

“We have one suite available madam, if you could just fill this out,” he looked her up and down like she was dogshit on his shoe.

The woman knew that she looked like a poorly used hooker and didn’t resent his attitude. She knew that she had nothing in her possession that she could use for identification but scrambled around in her purse in the vain hope that she might have missed something that identified her. She found the ‘Executive Solutions’ business card and dropped it on the counter as she continued to rummage around in her purse.

The young man immediately became alert when he saw the card.

“I’m so sorry ma’am. I’ll have your bags bought up to the Ambassador suite,” the young man looked alarmed.

He pushed the bank notes on the counter back at her; mystified at the change in attitude she stuffed the notes back in her clutch purse.

“Please enjoy your stay,” he swiped a room key to activate it and offered it to the bemused woman with a shaking hand.

He picked up the house phone and uttered some words and a bellhop appeared out of nowhere and picked up her purchases and guided her to the elevator.

The elevator stopped on the ‘Ambassador Floor’ and the bellhop escorted her to a luxury suite.

The woman showered, still perplexed that she had a woman’s body but with a man’s genitalia, and changed into a pair of fresh new panties and satin full-slip. She opened the Jack and poured a generous amount over ice.

She opened the sliding door to her balcony and enjoyed a cigarette. She was tired, confused, abused, and suffering from amnesia, but she felt safe. She slipped under the covers of her king-sized bed and was ready to sleep but her mind was racing. She clicked the remote for the TV and selected an all-news station to provide some background noise.

A pretty Asian reporter sat on a stool, her short skirt showing a lot of leg.

“And in breaking news, alleged Mafioso Capo, Franco Delgado, was found dead in a downtown hotel room tonight. Early reports are that he was shot dead by a prostitute and that drugs were found at the scene. CNN contacted his wife for comment but she refused to respond. Stay tuned for updates.”

A recent picture of Franco Delgado was projected on the screen. It was the man the woman had found shot in the head in the sleazy hotel room.

“Who the fuck am I?” the woman sobbed.

To be continued