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| Girls' Nightmare Out | Back to N | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
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Girls' Nightmare Out
Rogue Alan
11/0-9/02, revision 2/03
(tattoo/piercing; cheat; stranger; interracial; gang bang; exhibitionism; anal;
prostitution; bondage; lesbianism; mind control; rape)
Part 18
Jordan wasn't sure why it kept feeling like the clock was ticking, he knew
better than to push too hard. The girl might get skittish, his front man might
get suspicious, or Tom might simply decide to bolt. But he was too close,
after too long without any shot at all. He knew he had to go for it, he just
didn't want to risk messing things up.
As he fixed his tie, he'd decided to use the 'new John' approach, unsure of
what was expected, and a hoping to make a positive impression on the girl, he
imagined what would happen when he single-handedly proved to his superiors,
and their superiors, that he hadn't been chasing a phantom, when he'd claimed
that there was a nationally organized syndicate of prostitution. The Bureau
had gone along to a point. His investigation of alleged crimes in the brothels
of Nevada hadn't panned out for him, but had provided them with some important
information. The arrests hadn't been so vital, but the names of those
implicated had been, he understood. Even the FBI occasionally found it
beneficial to have important people in their debt. But his supervisor had
balked at his insistence in the existence of a nationwide call girl scheme,
discounting the fragments of circumstantial evidence that he had accumulated,
and insisting that the Vegas bust was ample proof there was nothing more than
an endless succession of local pimps, running their handfuls of girls in
cities across the US. She had gone so far as to insist that anything so big as
a national prostitution ring would've long before been uncovered, using as an
example the periodic arrests of madams, whose larger than average stables,
(not the exact word that the madams employed), had invariably been exposed.
She and her peers had laughed at his insistence his evidence warranted more
investigative time. It didn't matter that he had computer generated sketches
from witnesses, who were willing to testify that the man each of them had seen,
had been the 'sponsor' of various women, who were hooking at business meetings
in Orlando, Tampa, Dallas, Phoenix, Vegas, Santa Fe, and Denver. Though he had
learned about the Denver and Santa Fe 'nodes' as he'd taken to calling them,
only after they'd suspended his investigation. Or that there were whispered
suggestions that the women, universally attractive, and 'locals', in those
cases where he had asked about that, but were not your 'typical', call girls.
The tidbit that a disgruntled John had offered up, to avoid a soliciting bust
in Tampa, had been that a man named 'Tom', a name that other evidence held in
common with the sketches, had claimed to be offering 'white whore housewives'.
As the ASAC in the Dallas office had pointed out, pimping for housewives wasn't
a federal crime. Jordan's hypothesis, that 'Tom' was practicing white slavery
inside the nation's borders, had met with hostile skepticism. He had tried to
go along, working his usual caseload, while pursuing his pet project in his
off time. His goal had been to amass enough circumstantial evidence, to demand
a task force to at least address the issue. Instead, his 'personal obsession'
had progressed in fits and starts, without uncovering a 'smoking gun'.
Others in his office and the labs became less and less helpful, and those who
truly considered him a friend, quietly suggested that he back off, for his own
good. To Jordan's disbelief, facts that he had previously nailed down, were
'proven wrong', when computer records were changed. Which had been ample proof
that 'Tom' had his fingers in the Bureau's workforce as well. He had been
prepared to angrily demand a hearing on those allegations, when his boss had
shut him down, *ordering* him to stop pursuing the 'imaginary super, pimp',
her words, even on his own time, and insisting that he was wasting Bureau
resources.
He had thought that the high profile nature of some of the evidence that he'd
gathered, sports figures, politicians, entertainers, and 'kings of industry',
trysting with other men's wives, would be an easy sell to his superiors at
least, if only to assure him leverage in the future. He had no doubt that his
own boss was innocent of the involvement, but he believed that someone in the
Bureau was providing 'Tom' all of his research, but it was too late when he
realized his error. The big names that he could implicate, might not have
stopped an investigation, but a bureaucracy, that was still reeling from a
series of incidents, allegations, and missteps, wasn't about to risk an
investigation that might uncover a mole in their own house. It was only
prostitution, after all.
Which is why he had thought that he had hit the wall that he hit, after his
boss' edict. But it didn't explain why someone would be gunning for him, which
quickly became obvious, as an unknown enemy set about ruining his career.
Fortunately, his boss recognized the stench of a cover-up when she saw it, and
while she was too politically ensnared in the machinery, that is that if the
FBI turned him loose, the potential to hurt the agency was too great. She
couldn't, or wouldn't, let an agent of Jordan Frank's ability be squandered.
Especially when the activities were a sort of a proof that his gut had been
right all along.
So she had publicly suggested that Franks was 'over-stressed' and that she
hoped he'd 'take some time' to get himself back together. Privately, she
offered him limited support and funding, the NSA and CIA aren't the only
government agencies with 'slush funds'. And while apologizing that the time he
spent on the investigation would have to be his own. She pointed out that he
had barely touched his vacation time, which had accumulated over his nearly
fifteen years of continuous service, and had promised him 'emotional distress'
leave if that time was not enough.
He had grudgingly taken a leave of absence, grateful that someone at least
believed him. Coincidentally, the attacks on his character also stopped
abruptly, the day his leave began and he left the Federal building in Dallas.
But he had hardly taken the time off, and he hadn't left empty handed,
'borrowing' a variety of equipment to take on 'vacation' with him.
Unassisted, he had continued his investigation, intent on gathering evidence
until he had built an air tight case. New 'nodes' had been discovered. He'd
actually spoken to a handful of the women purported to have worked for 'Tom'.
and twice that number of men who'd used Tom's women. He had enough to roll
every node he'd discovered up, along with their current 'operator'. But he
still didn't know the true identity of the man, known as Tom, whose face he
believed adorned the early composite sketches. The handful of photos that he'd
collected had been taken in varying combinations of bad lighting, long
distances, sharp angles, and with cheap equipment. None of which would even
enhance sufficiently to be of any use. And even if he'd had a pristine shot,
it would've been no proof in and of itself.
There were the records of the Johns and of the women he'd identified as having
worked in 'Tom's' syndicate. Without exception, they'd talked anonymously to
him, but had withheld much, that much he knew. And also without exception,
they'd promised him that they'd have no knowledge of why he was calling them,
if they were ever brought into court for whatever reason. The dedication, or
fear, or whatever combination that implied, was unparalleled in Jordan's
experience.
He submitted an anonymous report, not to his supervisor, so as to protect her
complicity, in hopes of someone else taking an interest in the case. IT made
no reference to where he had found 'nodes', but described a single man
organizing a shifting population of white prostitutes, predominantly servicing
black men, in major cities across the country, and asking that agents be on
the look out for such a suspect, noting that he was invariably present to
serve as a 'chaperone'.
Belatedly he realized that DC, where he'd sent the uncredited report, was an
obvious choice for a node in Tom's 'chain' of call girl services. That could
explain in part, how someone would be willing to leak information to the man,
whether by blackmail, or by sex and money for profit, as the motive.
Even so, he was surprised at the total lack of response, considering that he
had played the 'race' card, a trick that he had loathed throughout his tenure
in the Bureau. But then again, it was usually employed by those trying to get
a piece of scum off, regardless of the facts. But even the most bigoted SOB
he'd ever met, a DDC in the DC office, had been non-committal when Jordan
called, hinting that he'd 'heard about a inter-racial call girl ring. He echoed
the Bureau's party line, 'there was not, nor could there be an interstate
prostitution ring of any significance'.
In fact, the only real change had been that suddenly in Denver, the girls were
going to work, but without their pimp providing a visible presence. He still
catalogued a steadily growing list of 'likely recruits'. They were simply
working without a net. That change though, had reinforced his belief that
someone on the inside of the Bureau was protecting Tom. The man had reacted to
his brief, by changing his M.O. He'd protected himself so diligently, that
Jordan had nearly lost his trail, except for a lucky sighting of one of the
'known' girls, with a newbie, in Vegas.
Her flight out of Denver had put him on track again, and sooner than he'd been
onto the developing rings in Santa Fe or Denver. He hadn't abandoned the other
nodes, but his ongoing investigations there had run into problems. "Why weren't
there any 'disgruntled employees?'" he wondered, "Even the best of pimp had
girls who went south or went crazy, though he suspected that many of those had
started out that way."
It wasn't something law agencies would admit, but most vice work never rose
above the bottom of the human food chain, the hooker and her John, unless one
or the other was angry enough, or scared enough, to sell her pimp out. The
saving grace in vice, was that at some point, that always happened. Except to
Tom.
Jordan had tried to guess how he could keep all of his girls happy. Or lacking
that, how he could so successfully keep the angry and crazy ones from going to
the cops. In his experience, pimps were willing to 'make an example' of their
girls, a perverted form of sacrificing one, to protect many. And he also knew
that those who went to such harsh lengths, to keep their stable docile, were
invariably similarly severe with the Johns. Neither seemed to be Tom's style
however, and no matter how profitable sex for money nationwide was, he doubted
that Tom simply 'bought off' those working girls who got a bug in their
panties. But none of the women had offered an explanation to the phenomena,
though they'd definitely denied that any girls had 'gone missing', or to
seeing 'friends' in the news who'd 'turned up dead'. In fact, they'd seemed to
know very little about the other girls, whereas they were maniacally protective
of what they knew of their personal history with Tom. The difference was
obvious, but it had gotten him precisely nowhere.
Ignoring the 'supply' problem, there was also the issue of where were the
unhappy Johns? Working girls always get lazy or greedy. How did Tom keep his
girls in line, so that they put out and pleased their customers all of the
time, but didn't ask for, or simply take, too much in return. The Johns he'd
spoken with had been willing to admit they'd balled 'other men's wives', and
some had provided names and descriptions, that seemed to match the women on
his list. But none of them had been willing to name their supplier, much less
discuss how they'd gotten hooked up with him, or the girls. Which left the
question of how Tom got his customers. Until the night before, with a guy that
Jordan knew wasn't Tom, he'd never gotten this close to being offered 'a date'
as Mike had put it. Then again, he hadn't gone about it by openly wanting to
be a John. The entrapment statutes were unforgiving, and the con left law
officers too vulnerable for such practice to be routine, but he wasn't so
different from the girls in that manner, as he was operating without a net.
He decided that the sudden turn of fortune, in his favor, was the reason that
he was feeling antsy, and vowed not to waste the chance. That meant he couldn't
go full bore asking all sorts of questions on his 'date'. He had to hope that
he could reasonably ask to 'see' whoever he met again, and thought that the
story he'd fed Tom's surrogate, the night before, would make that easy enough.
Of course, if he'd been on the Government clock, doing the deed would be out
of the question, ignoring what the deep cover boys and girls did, of course.
In some ways, it was good that he was on his own, and not on the clock, because
it made him more careful. Pocketing a strip of condoms, he checked to be sure
that his only identification was that of the bland executive in the area's
regional Styrofoam plant, that he'd assumed when he moved to KC. It had been
backstopped in the national database, while his own real package had been
altered to protect him from any cross-references.
That 'help' had been accomplished by his boss, along with a handful of similar
bonafides, specific to the other cities where he'd been 'vacationing', a
parting gift for his 'fishing trip'.
He eyed his hotel room, making sure that there was no tell-tale signs of who
he really was, that might freak the girl out. He remembered a sting gone bad
when a 'priest' had left his Smith and Wesson sitting on the coffee table one
night, when he had brought the mark in for a meeting. Taking a deep breath, he
headed for the door, reminding himself again not to push things this time.
'Enjoy yourself', he said aloud, then stepped into the hallway.
Melissa felt naked, as she sat on the same bar stool that she'd occupied the
night before. She'd tossed back two drinks, while worrying that a Shriner that
she knew through her husband or church or school, would happen by and see her
in the slinky glitter accented dress, with the deeply plunging neckline. She
downed another one, while considering that her 'dates' from the night before
might find her, and want an encore.
Mike had told her that she was 'on' at 7:00, and she didn't like the way that
he leered at her, when he said it, making it seem dirty, whereas Tom just
talked about the work as if it were another day at school. But Mike was in
charge of this one, Tom had said so himself. And she guessed that she'd have
to get used to him, since he was going to be taking over for Tom.
She'd arrived from the next door 'ready room' at 6:50, specifically to have a
drink beforehand. Looking at the empties arrayed in front of her, she knew
that she needed to take it easy. She waved to the bartender, whose expression
betrayed his disapproval of her, though she didn't know if it was her drinking
or dress that offended him. Probably both. He paused long enough to ask if she
wanted another. Ignoring his tone of voice, she shook her head, reaching for
her purse to pay.
"Here, let me." a voice said. It was the man from the night before. Melissa
felt a strange conflict. He'd been so nice that she had almost convinced
herself that he didn't know what she was. Obviously that wasn't true. He was
just another John.
"I can't let you do that." she shook her head. His hand closed gently over hers.
She stared for a moment, surprised at how big he was, she hadn't noticed that
the night before.
"I insist. I was late getting here." He smiled at her. "But I wanted to look
good."
"You do." she said, as she bit her lip, amazed that she'd said it so
spontaneously. But by his smile, it was the right thing to say. Score another
one for the soothing effects of vodka.
"Well then... shall we?" He offered an arm, having flipped enough bills to
cover the tab and a generous tip onto the bar.
She stood up, aware of the way the short skirt rode up her thighs as she did.
She took a moment to straighten it, as if he wouldn't soon see everything
beneath it, before accepting his gesture. To her surprise, he turned away from
the elevators, toward the parking garage.
"Uhm... I don't..."
"Oh..." he stopped, and she imagined that she could see him blush. "I'm sorry.
I just..." he sighed, then leaned toward her to whisper conspiratorially, "I
haven't ever really done this before, you know? I just... I saw you last night,
and then a gentleman suggested that I could be with you. I assumed that meant
for dinner as well as... you know."
Melissa was sure of it, then. He was blushing. She was also aware of a strange
excitement that he wasn't a regular, that he'd been interested in her.
"I think that'll be OK." she nodded, leaning against him with a familiarity
neither yet truly felt. "Where did you have in mind?" she asked, as a handful
of nearby restaurants flashed through her mind, along with the thought that
they were overdressed.
"Well, I thought about Skye's, but..." he paused at the look Melissa hadn't
been able to hide, "Is something wrong?"
She swallowed, then managed to shake her head, worried that she was ruining
the whole thing. "Uh, No." she stammered, "Wherever you want to go." She tried
to remind herself that it was the middle of the week, and the odds of and of
her friends being at the revolving restaurant were slim.
"You seem...uh, anxious." the man offered, as he led her into the garage,
walking towards a sleek, sporty car. He held the door open for her, as she
waved away his concern.
"No. I was just surprised. Usually it's barbeque or room service." she said,
and then winced at the suggestion that she was that familiar with eating with
a 'client', and hoped that he wouldn't be turned off at the thought that she
was a regular working girl.
"Oh." was his only reply, and then he was quiet, after he'd climbed behind the
wheel.
He started the engine, backed out of the stall, and waited until they were
headed south, before he spoke again "Are you sure that's it?"
Melissa paused, asking herself if this was another of Tom's tricks. Or
Michael's. She decided that if this guy was really was going to be her ticket
to freedom, she had to be as honest as she could.
"Well... don't get me wrong, I love the thought of d inner at Skye's. I just...
you know how this works, right? What I am?"
He seemed flustered by that. "Well yeah. I mean, you're a call girl. Michael
explained that in nauseating detail, that I was 'paying to play' I think was
his exact phrase. He seemed to think that meant that I wouldn't have to 'mess
around with warming up', whatever that means."
Melissa rolled her eyes at Michael's suggestion. She realized that it was even
more important that this man become her sugar daddy.
"He didn't... he didn't say anything else about me? About why I do this?" she
asked.
Jordan's brow furrowed, and he glanced at her for a minute, then back at the
road. "Well... he said something about the fact that you were married. I just
thought that was a story. You mean it isn't?!"
Melissa shook her head, chewing at the inside of her right lip as she did so.
Answering his question could give him the key to ruining her marriage.
"Doesn't your husband mind... I mean, he's OK with that?"
Melissa took a long breath before she answered, reminding herself what was at
stake. "No. He doesn't know."
"Damn!" he exclaimed, as he shook his head, as he thought about that. His free
hand had been resting between the seats, and she'd assumed that he was working
up the courage to touch her. She'd found that hesitancy charming, but was
alarmed when he brought it back to the wheel.
"So you're worried that he might see you there with me." he said, nodding his
understanding.
Melissa echoed his nod. "Sort of. Him or friends of ours."
"You must really..." he started to say, but then changed the subject, "We
could go somewhere else... I mean, somewhere you wouldn't be recognized."
"That's OK," she waved a hand dismissively, "It's not really a big risk." She
allowed herself a real smile, "Most of my friends wouldn't recognize me like
this, and we can't drive around too long or I won't do my..." she'd been going
to say 'job'. "I won't get to be with you tonight. Like Michael said, I have
to be done before 11:00, sort of like Cinderella and midnight."
He smiled at that. "OK then Cinderella... it's off to the ball."
Dinner passed quickly, during a little more than a turn of the restaurant
around the panorama of the city. Melissa ate sparingly, the food better than
she remembered. Unlike her husband, Jordan didn't comment on her drinking,
even buying a second bottle of wine with the main course. She felt pleasantly
loose as they returned to the car, having heard about his job, being too busy
for kids, and the death of his wife.
He kept insisting that she must be bored, but she found it appealing, almost
attractive, that he was staying in place, learning to appreciate his memories
rather than running from them. And it was flattering that he wanted her to be
the first woman that he'd been with in more than a year, after losing his wife
to cancer. That, along with the way that he treated her throughout the evening,
left Melissa intent that he would enjoy himself, even if she was late getting
home. And even if he never called on her again.
For his part, Jordan had repeatedly asked himself how such a beautiful,
companionable woman could be so hooked on sex, that she'd risked everything by
selling herself to strangers. He wisely didn't pry, but knew enough from
talking to people, to lace his story with elements that drew her's out too.
She went on about teaching, when he mentioned his wife had been a school
librarian, she admitted to having children and to their importance to her,
when he had lamented at not having any. And he wasn't lying when he said he
hadn't been with a woman for a long time, his wife had been less than
understanding of his 'whore obsession', as she termed it, before leaving him
for the neighbor in their DC suburb, nearly a decade before. There'd been
other women since, but nothing serious, and certainly none since he'd started
to chase 'Tom'.
On the drive back, he hesitantly reached across the seat to touch Melissa's
thigh. When she didn't move, he began to back off, not wanting to push things
too far, when he was so close to his quarry. Her hand caught his though,
holding it in place and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Then you want to do this... to be with me?" she asked, her voice was quiet,
but he had heard her clearly.
He felt himself growing hard, as an image of her lying in her lesbian lover's
bed filled his head. "I do." he said, and meant it.
She nodded, never letting go of his hand. They walked into the hotel from the
garage arm in arm, and she led him over to the elevators, pausing as they
turned by the panel of numbers.
"I don't know which room." she whispered, almost in a giggle.
He cleared his throat, reaching forward to touch the appropriate floor. "Sorry."
he mumbled, as they waited for the car to arrive on their floor. As the doors
closed, and they started up the hallway, he wasn't sure whether to be glad or
anxious that they were alone. If she tried to start anything there...
"Don't be." she said in answer, leaning lightly against him, "It's nice not to
be thought of like..." and she trailed off, leaving him to wonder again how
she could stay in a lifestyle she clearly didn't like.
She waited demurely until the door was closed and locked, before gently putting
her arms around his neck, and tilting her head to kiss him lightly. The kiss
lingered, and he responded, hands moving to her trim waist. Her body pressed
against his, not obscenely or suggestively, merely responding to their mutual
arousal. After a minute, he pivoted, holding her firmly as he did so, and
guiding them to the nearer of the twin beds. He turned again, as she sat down,
and then lay back on the comforter, keeping their bodies close, and their lips
together, but holding himself off to the side.
"Mmmm." she purred, when the kiss was finally broken, after a minute, "I like
that."
He just nodded and smiled. She looked at him, wondering what it was that was
so attractive about him.
"I worried that I'd scare you off, or that you'd be too eager to really enjoy
it." she said.
Jordan shook his head. "I want you to enjoy yourself too." he managed to reply.
"That's not... that's nice." she sighed, as his hand moved beneath her skirt,
staying outside of her panties, but caressing her mons, while the other traced
a circle around one raised, taut nipple, where it tented her dress. He didn't
stop to wonder if her response was genuine. Her hands moved to his shirt,
unbuttoning it, despite the awkward angle, with practiced ease, that also went
unnoticed. Within moments, she was freeing his belt and opening his pants.
"Oh my!" she murmured again, as her hand dipped inside, finding his semi-erect
cock, "I'm sure that I'll enjoy this."
They continued to kiss and caress one another, undressing over a few minutes,
until they lay together, totally naked. His body was pressed against her's and
he was ready to take her then and there, but she sat up, bending to his waist,
letting her blonde hair cascade over his jutting erection.
"I think this needs a little attention first." she murmured, before taking the
head of his cock into her mouth.
Jordan groaned in appreciation, as she began to fellate him. She licked up and
down the length of his prick, before taking him into her mouth again, bobbing
her head, as she sucked on him with increasing fervor. Despite knowing what
she was, he was surprised that she could take almost his entire shaft without
any difficulty, as he wasn't a small man by any measure. He proved that by
easily lifting her naked hips, and turning her around, until she was straddling
his face, that he could return the favor. His tongue flickered over the top of
her slit, and he smiled at the way her back arched, pushing her pelvis down
onto his face. There was an appreciative moan around his swollen cock, which
was repeated when he began to lap at her sex, spreading her pouting labia a
bit more with each stroke. He toyed with the ring in her labia, the first time
he'd ever seen one up close. Then he began to thrust his tongue deeper into
her channel. He was pleased to find that it was not only man-made lubricant
easing the way, she was aroused, and becoming more so.
He had submitted to a rapid response HIV test administered by Michael the
night before, while the pimp went through the do's and don't's of enjoying
'his' girls. Condoms were a must for penetration, he'd been warned, though
he'd been less exact about oral activity. As thoughts of such started to slip
from his mind, Jordan tipped his head back, his voice a barely recognizable
growl.
"I'm getting close. Do you... um, want to do something else?"
There was a pause in the delicious sensation of her mouth working his cock,
before she replied. "Not right now. Just before we, Oh!" she gasped, as he
took her clit into his mouth, sucking at it lightly, while teasing the surface
with his tongue. Her body spasmed, and she eagerly dove back onto his shaft.
Within a moment, he came as well. She didn't stop though when he finished
pumping his load into her mouth and throat. He felt her fingers teasing his
balls, as his head bobbed steadily up and down, sucking her clit.
He rose quickly for more, after which she finally released him, smiling
teasingly, as she slid over his body, trapping his swelling erection against
her belly and mons, almost low enough to slip into her.
"Still interested in being with me?" she teased, giggling at his nod.
His hands moved over her body, lingering on her pierced nipple, and he
wondered briefly if it kept the nubbin perpetually aroused.
"This is interesting," he murmured, playing the part of the naive widower.
"Did it hurt?"
"I don't even remember." Melissa nuzzled his neck, wiggling her pelvis
suggestively, "It wasn't my idea to get it."
That surprised him, but he tried not to let on. "Oh... Does it help?" he asked,
as he felt her smile again.
"Sometimes. But tonight I haven't needed any 'help'. That was wonderful a
moment ago."
Jordan rumbled happily. "Tell me about it."
He felt her shift then, flexing her back, which drew her pelvis up. His cock
head brushed between her labia, then pushed gently into her sex. She sighed
settling onto him slowly, as he remembered that they'd skipped a step. "God
that feels so good," he managed to say, pumping his hips at her slightly, as
additional proof.
She stopped, holding him half inside of her for a moment, before rocking up
towards him again. With the second down stroke, he felt another inch or two
slip into her molten center. His hands came up, thumbs tweaking her nipples.
Melissa tipped her head back, rocking in a small motion that steadily worked
more of his member into her tight sex. She bit her lip, aware that he was
almost as big as Tom. And despite her 'rule' to the contrary, comparing his
concern for her, his tenderness, to Jeff. The combination was undeniably
arousing, which was the reason that she'd chosen to take him, if only for a
moment, into her sex without a condom. She had one in her hand, and would stop
to put it on him as he got closer, but knew he'd be able to go for awhile,
having blown one load already.
She felt her inner thighs brush against his, and knew that she was almost fully
impaled. There was the familiar stretch of being totally filled, and she smiled,
he was at least as big as Tom. Leaning back, she reveled in having him fully
inside of her. She looked down, still smiling at the expression in his eyes.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his hands on her waist, supporting her.
She nodded, then leaned forward to kiss him hungrily, rocking her hips more
quickly than before. God, he felt good thrusting into her like that! They moved
in unison, rocking together harder and faster for several minutes. Melissa had
enjoyed two strong orgasms when he sat up, bringing Melissa upright with him.
She giggled at his surprise when she quickly laced her legs around his waist,
without disengaging from his pleasantly aching shaft. Turning, he moved over
her into the missionary position, intent on pleasuring this enigmatic young
woman as fully as possible.
"Wait!" she managed to say, after he'd been thrusting into her for a minute,
building her to the edge of another climax, he was sure.
He paused, wondering what was wrong. "I need to get this on that wonderful
cock before it's too late." she murmured.
He nodded his head, and reluctantly slipped out of her cunt. She deftly
unrolled the latex sheath onto his prick, and then he resumed his steady
pumping. She had timed it well, he was getting close, and true to men world
wide, he'd stopped thinking about protection long before. They came together
a minute later, muffling one another's cries in a passionate kiss.
Spent, he rolled off of her, but making a conscious effort to pull her close
to him, in an intimate post-coital hug. She lay there for several moments,
murmuring contentedly. When she finally sat up, it was with a groan, having
checked the clock.
"I really have to leave." she sounded apologetic, "I hope that you enjoyed
yourself."
"I hope I can enjoy you again." Jordan blurted, then asked himself if he was
asking, as he had planned, or because this woman was honestly captivating. She
nodded, upper incisors closing on and indenting her lower lip, as she
unconsciously offered an endearing smile.
"If you'd like that, I would too." She hesitated, "This was the best time I've
had since I... since I started doing this." She got quickly off of the bed
reaching for her discarded clothing before she continued. "I really meant that.
I wish I could stay longer, but... I can't."
"You're sure?" he asked, now realizing that he wanted to be with her again
right then, to hold her as his own. He wondered if that was the reason men who
used prostitutes kept going back. Was this a normal response? He doubted it,
but didn't know why he'd suddenly feel such a bond while embroiled in the
biggest case of his career.
"That's the downside of cuckolding another man." she sounded unexpectedly
bitter, but quickly apologized, "That wasn't fair. And I really did love being
with you."
"That wasn't why I asked for you..."
"What?"
"I didn't know... I mean, I didn't know you were married." he said, giving a
short laugh, "Hell, I didn't realize you were a, um, professional when I met
you last night." He watched, sure that she'd bought his white lie.
"I don't know that I'd call myself a professional." she said, shaking her head,
"Though I guess that's as accurate as any other word now..." A melancholy
seemed to fill her then, and she turned away from him, dressing quickly before
she moved to the bedside once more.
"I'm sorry... this was wonderful and I'm ruining it. Thank you for dinner. And
for letting me be the first after your wife. I'm honored... And I hope you'll
ask for me again. I'd really like that."
Jordan reached under the pillow, the agent in him sure that she was fishing
for a tip. But before he could bring his hand out though, she'd bent down to
kiss him quickly on the cheek and turned, letting herself out of his room
without another word. He leapt out of bed, confused at her obvious sincerity,
incredulous that she hadn't wanted anything from him, and aware she was
walking off with a potential lead, wherever she changed from a housewife to
the vamp he'd met in the bar. If her friends and hubby wouldn't recognize her,
she had to have someplace to do that.
Guessing that it wasn't in the hotel, he threw on a pair of dark blue sweats
that he'd set out earlier, and dashed out of the room. For once he was glad
for the slow elevators, and for being on only the sixth floor. He nearly burst
out of the stairwell, before he checked that impulse, no use attracting any
undo attention. Instead, he eased into the hallway, and headed west, away from
the lobby, just in time to hear the chime of the arriving elevator. He slipped
behind the plastic plants by the phone booth, picking the handset up, as if
making a call, as he watched Melissa head out the revolving front door.
She turned right. Thanking the fates for putting him in the right wing of the
hotel, so that he didn't have to cross the open lobby, Jordan dashed to the
far end, where there was another stairwell. He took the stairs as far down as
they could go, relieved to find that there was no alarm on the exit door, just
a sign warning him that he could not reenter at that point.
Even before the door had clicked behind him, he'd scaled the concrete retaining
wall separating the hotel's underground parking from the more elevated
neighboring drive. He paused, relieved no one had seen him and pleased to see
that he hadn't lost Melissa. He followed the call girl to the adjacent,
decidedly seedier apartment building, and ducked into the shadowed corner at
the front, where he could see her wait for the elevator. Fortunately, she was
alone. Not moving, he noted the car climbed to the fourth floor.
Moving to the mailboxes in the entryway, he glanced at the names. There were
fourteen nameplates on each floor. He quickly focused on the fourth floor.
Three were blank, one was identified only as 'Fun LLC' and #413 was labeled
'Jerry Gerlz'. Any of the rooms could still be her destination, but his gut
said that was the place, Tom was obviously an alias, and he knew he marked
all of his 'girls' with a tattoo. That had been offered up by one of his
former employees, though she hadn't shown him her's, so he hadn't known what
to expect until that night. Having seen Melissa's various adornments, he'd
guessed her tattoo also was Tom's doing.
He wondered how she'd explained it to her husband, except that she apparently
had a thing for body art anyway, so maybe he hadn't thought twice about it.
Not wanting to attract any attention, he turned, checking the place out more
clinically as he left, and watching for any sign that someone had noticed him
or was watching him. He backtracked to his room, trying to decide how to
proceed.
