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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 2
The man moved easily through the crowd, attracting no undue attention. He was
a partier among partiers to anyone observing. Bigger than most, certainly, but
even that he minimized, hunching his shoulders forward slightly, 'thinking'
small as it were. He kept a fresh Ginger Ale in his hand at all times, sizing
up the crowd, looking for his opportunities.
Or to follow up on past successes, as he had been waiting to do for more than
a month. Tom was a recruiter of sorts. He found dancers for the clubs downtown,
and even for out of state, and occasionally for out of country clients. For
nearly 15 years, he'd been finding willing young women to go on stage and
expose themselves, for dollar tips, but in the last 5 years, he'd developed a
more specialized, though unadvertised, service.
He was a man who could 'get' a woman for a buyer. They need only provide him a
list of desired traits, and he would find the woman who fit the bill. And the
woman's willingness to participate in whatever his customer wanted, was
completely optional, thanks to his little friends.
He had used the 'roofies' increasingly, as he carved out his niche, and refined
his methods. At first it'd been procure otherwise inaccessible women for his
own pleasure. But seeing how well it worked, he'd expanded the use to his
business as well. His little helpers had made it possible to stop being a small
time hustler, and hit the big time in a big, albeit hidden, way.
He smiled, considering that in the past 2 years, he'd established the premiere
'escort service' in one city after another. And the girls working for him were
predominantly housewives, women who had fallen into his subtle, but so far
inescapable trap. Their behavior was amazingly consistent, which made his work
easier and less risky than it would seem to an outsider. After a night with
him, during which he made sure that they did outrageous things, the women
invariably tried to ignore whatever had happened to them. None of them ever
seemed to consider that he had their names and addresses, their credit card
numbers and house keys, their grocery lists and day planners, or at least
copies thereof. None of them seemed to consider that he might have done things
to, shall we say, encourage their future cooperation.
Of course, he seldom needed to use the Polaroids anymore, though he never
passed up a chance to snap some incriminating, to the women, though not to
himself, pictures. At his most recent 'home base' the cheap airfares allowed a
more convincing and profitable means of guaranteeing the women's cooperation.
Those fares had also made it easier to keep tabs on the operations that he'd
left still going behind, and to begin to spread his 'services' beyond a single
city at a time. He had several wives in his stable, flying to service out of
town customers each week.
He eyed the crowd in the bar, but not searching for new victims. He was ready
instead to reel in a pair that he'd previously tagged, and so he was looking
for potential trouble. He knew that it was the first time that they'd returned
to the bar since that night, and he smiled again, remembering the evening's
events with a rare fondness, the women were truly talented, if somewhat
uninspired. He fingered the vials of crushed tablets in his pocket, as he
considered his options. He could let them have their evening uninterrupted, or
proceed immediately. His smile returned, no sense in wasting time. He stepped
forward and caught the bartender's attention.
"What's tonight's special?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Blue Hawaii." the bartender answered.
Tom nodded and held up two fingers, and a $10 bill. A minute later,
he sauntered over to the table where his women were sitting. he already thought
of them that way, were sitting with nearly empty Pina Coladas before them on
the table.
"Hello ladies," he said, having pinched a tray from the server's station, and
uncovered a pin approximating that worn by the waiters and waitresses, and
using a circuitous route to reach them, in order to give him time to add the
healthy doses of crushed Rohypnol to each glass.
"The bartender says that you're regulars." the spiel was easy, so long as no
real waiters happened by, "and this is tonight's special, the Blue Hawaii.
Compliments of the bar," he waved in the direction of the bar, confident that
the bartender was busy, and having waited until their waitress were busy
elsewhere.
"That's OK." the brunette said, clearly intent on refusing the drinks, but he
waved her off.
"Seriously. Please. You're the prettiest women here. And the folks who ordered
these drinks left. Rick and I can't drink them..." he forced a smile onto his
face, as he used the bartender's name to prove his position.
He was ready to go to plan B, if there was a problem. The pictures were tucked
into his inside jacket pocket, two envelopes with the women's names, addresses,
and other pertinent information hand written on the outside.
Instead, the blonde shrugged, taking one of the drinks from the tray, as she
told him thanks. Her friend, Kathy, soon followed. Waving farewell to them,
Tom turned, ostensibly to return to the bar. He circled near the bar, but away
from the bartender, hiding the poached tray at his side, and flipping his
jacket to hide the name tag at the same time. From the far side of the bar, in
a shadowed corner, he watched as the ladies sipped at their drinks.
This was the risky part, if another man hit on them, after the drug was working,
but before he could get there, they might give someone else a freebie. He
waited, willing himself to be patient, while the women finished their drinks.
The brunette finished first, and Tom took the opportunity to swing by, again
posing as their waiter, the lack of a visible name tag wouldn't alert either
woman any longer. The first night was always harder, he usually had to trail
a waitress, adding the drug to their drinks, when she paused to serve another
group in the crowded bar.
That was the sort of thing that took real timing, so as not to get caught and
to get the marks dosed in good time. But he'd had lots of practice, and that
night it'd been especially easy, when their waitress had paused to jabber with
a friend, leaving her tray on the bar. Then it'd been a simple matter of
watching, until the time was right to sweep in and take control of the
helpless women.
His smile broadened, as he remembered how much fun that evening had been, and
anticipated more such enjoyment. Reaching their table, he checked that their
waitress wasn't nearby or interested, before asking, "Want another Blue Hawaii."
The brunette paused for a moment, as if she was having difficulty understanding
the question, which hadn't really been a question at all. She nodded slowly,
and he smiled and turned away, hurrying back to the bar, where he purchased
three more drinks, dosing each, as he circled the bar, and avoiding the real
waiting staff. He'd popped a pair of Romazicon tabs, an 'antidote' of sorts
for the Rohypnol, while he was waiting for the drinks. There wasn't so much
that he'd get loopy from these drinks, but he wanted to remain completely
clear headed, and he had to get the ladies a little higher, in order that they
would really obey him. Instead of leaving their drinks at the table, as he'd
done before, he sat down beside the blonde, and slid the drinks in front of
each of them, before leaning back to look at them.
"Damn, but you two are really something." he said appreciatively.
The blonde leaned away from him slightly and said, "Look, thanks, but we don't
take drinks from other people." Her words were slurred slightly, as if she'd
had several drinks. Tom knew better, some people were extremely susceptible to
the drug.
He shrugged. "What? You think I drugged these or something? Here..." he said,
as he took a healthy drink from each glass, and then sat back, "Besides, I
already brought you drinks, remember?" Panic sparked behind the blonde's eyes,
but he went on smoothly, leading her off track, "I was your 'waiter' just a
minute ago? I figured that you'd at least let me sit here during my break for
a minute or two."
The brunette eyed him warily but didn't speak. "Look, I saw you two in here
the other day... maybe a month ago. You didn't have a problem leaving with a
black guy that night." he said, dangling the bait, wondering how they'd react.
The women looked at each other, before the brunette spoke.
"You saw us with another black guy?"
"Sure did. I remember thinking what a lucky guy he was." Tom said, as he took
a drink of the Blue Hawaii in front of him, willing the women to do the same.
The blonde seemed terribly thirsty suddenly. Her friend considered him for a
moment.
"You know him? The guy we were with?"
"Nah... I mean not specifically. I've seen him around, he hangs out on the club
scene, I'd heard that he deals in crank, and some of the other illicit
pharmaceuticals, but I don't go for that stuff, man."
"Would you recognize him if you saw him?"
"You kidding? I mean yeah, but what's wrong? He stiff you or something?" The
brunette didn't answer, instead she took a healthy gulp of her drink. He
watched, trying to gauge their reactions, then looked around.
"He's been here off and on the last couple of weeks. He'll swing through, like
he's looking for someone, then leave. I dunno," he shrugged, "maybe he's
trying to pay you back, if he owes you some money."
Neither woman spoke, but they didn't tell him to leave either. Tom nursed his
drink, pretending to swallow any time the women were drinking. Soon their
glasses were empty, and he insisted on sharing his with them. By that time,
neither woman was saying much, spending their time staring blankly ahead of
them for increasingly long stretches of time.
He smiled inwardly, then said, "Hey, I think he's been hanging out at that
place downtown, the Edge. I mean I've seen him there more than here lately.
You should look there. I'll even take you."
As he spoke, he caught the blonde gently by the arm, lifting her out of her
seat. She didn't protest, letting him guide her out of the booth. The brunette
followed docilely behind them. He checked to be sure the waiting staff weren't
paying them any attention, glad again that he usually worked with pairs of
women. It made the people in a bar less suspicious, when it was more than one
woman leaving with him, as well as making the women interdependent, if one
screwed up, they both had trouble. And it was a built in cover for their time
working for him.
He maneuvered them to the shadowed edge of the bar, staying at least partially
hidden until they were safely outside. "Where's your car?" he asked. The
brunette pointed at a late model Jeep Grand Cherokee.
He asked for the keys, which were offered to him without question, then had
them climb in, and donning a pair of well worn leather driving gloves, he got
in behind the wheel, adjusted the seat and mirrors to his liking, and got on
the highway, heading downtown. He turned off though, going not towards the
Edge, but rather north towards the Municipal Airport. The change in direction,
raised no question from the passive women.
There was non-stop service, from a small carrier to Las Vegas, and he had
plans for his latest acquisitions. With his quiet prompting, each woman called
home from the small terminal. He was pleased when they each got an answering
machine, it was easier to simply direct the message they should leave, rather
than manage their end of a discussion. The women dutifully relayed to their
husbands, that Melissa had 'won' a weekend getaway for two, good this weekend
only, and so they had flown out, with each promising their husbands a 'boys'
weekend' soon.
After that, it was a simple matter to get them aboard the small business jet.
Already on board were a few of Tom's 'friends', his steadiest customers. Each
had paid handsomely to help in assuring that the housewives would soon be his
willing, if not eager, whores. He carefully plied both women with spiked drinks,
keeping the level of drugs high enough in their system, that they were quite
docile and obedient, but adding a touch of E, to keep them conscious and prime
their bodies for the coming action. When he told them to strip, after they
were in the air, they did so without hesitation. He already had the camcorder
rolling, being careful not to let any of the men's faces be seen.
The women were soon both standing naked in the narrow aisle, and he had them
turn around slowly, so that he could get some nice closeups of each woman in
all her naked glory. A moment later, he had both women masturbating in
adjacent aisle seats. As he had noted was often the case, the women seemed
mostly lucid while performing. At his urging, off camera thanks to the 'mute'
function, each woman then said for the recording's benefit, "I want to join
the mile high club." And that was the signal for his friends, they quickly
moved in to 'oblige' the drugged women, bending them over the seat arms, and
fucking them hard and fast, doggie style.
The women moaned and groaned at the urging of the men taking them, it didn't
have to be Tom giving the orders. They begged for more when the first men had
cum deep in their cunts, seemingly welcoming the in-flight gang bang that
followed. When every man had enjoyed each of the women once, Tom recorded a
nice bit where they laid down in the aisle, eating each other clean. Then,
shortly before they began their descent into Vegas, the tattoo artist went to
work on them.
The man had demanded that Tom had to pay for the portable equipment when he
had initially approached him with his 'business proposal,' but it had been
well worth it. The guy got a 'free ride' on these flights, but he also provided
advance notice if and when, the women that Tom had 'recruited' were searching
for him, as these two had. And besides, his work was truly first class.
Tom prepped each woman off camera, after which they sauntered to the tiny
'studio' set up in the back of the plane, and casually asked if the artist
would trade them a tattoo for a pussy fuck.
When the artist said, "Sure, what do you want?" the women giggled, as Tom had
told them to do, and said, "This."
Kathy went first, offering the page that Tom had given her. It was a
bastardized version of the mouse, "Jerry", from "Tom and Jerry", leering
suggestively, while holding an oversized erect cock in one hand. All of Tom's
'girls' had that tattoo somewhere, he let the women choose, as addled as they
were when they were being marked.
Most often, his soon to be whores just settled back in their chair, ready for
the agreed upon fuck, and letting the tat be placed down by their pubes. The
occasional, especially willful woman would chose an ankle or back or breast.
Both of his newest recruits obediently reclined in the provided seat, spreading
their legs wide apart, and letting the artist choose where to ink them, before
he balled them.
Tom always enjoyed the fact that the camera showed him carefully donning latex
gloves, to prevent infection while doing the skin work, after which, he'd
strip the gloves off with a snap, drop down, and plunge his naked cock into
their exposed pussy, sans any sort of protection.
He'd just finished wiping the petite blonde's new artwork off, when the wheels
hit the tarmac, signaling their landing. The men smiled and talked to one
another, aware that they'd get similar treatment on the ride home, but from
more responsive women. For the next day, they were free to enjoy the sites of
the City that Never Sleeps.
Tom's number one rule, to protect his investment, was that the men helping him
to break his new whores in, were not allowed to fool around on the side, as
the last thing that he needed was to get any of his women infected with some
STD. That had been difficult at first, since there weren't many women, but
with almost 45 women now working for him directly, and another seven or eight
dozen where he'd previously set up similar outfits, the men had no end of
available pussy.
He told the women to get dressed, noticing that neither wore any panties, and
was aware that it was likely because of the labia rings, with which he'd begun
their indoctrination. They obediently downed another glass of spiked champagne,
before he led them down the stairs and into a waiting limo, which whisked them
into the city, and a prepared suite.
Once there, he again had them strip. Then he fucked each of them in their
pussies and ass holes, making sure to leave a load in each of them, and
recording it, before collecting their things. He gave each of them another
drink, more heavily spiked this time, which put them out completely, then
spent some time quickly dubbing the tape with his camcorder, and the room's
VCR. He left the rough copy, and a note on the television cabinet. He guessed
they'd call later in the morning, or at least he hoped so, since they had a
full day ahead of them.
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