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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 9


She felt him again, thrusting endlessly between her spread thighs, grunting
quietly with each forward lunge. Biting her lip, she fought to suppress the
groan that she knew was building in her throat, suddenly desperate for release,
and ashamed to be reacting as she was. But at just that moment, he shifted
higher, the root of his big cock pressing tightly against her erect clit,
rubbing at it endlessly, and quickly she was cuming. Her back arched, her head
dropping back against the motel's thin mattress, her thighs dropping wide,
offering her sex to the stranger firmly seated between them. Her breath didn't
come, and then it rasped into her lungs in a sobbing rush. She was dimly aware
of her hands grasping at his driving buttocks, pulling him close, urging him
on. He wasn't the first to take her that night, nor was he the biggest or the
fattest, and certainly he wasn't more skilled than his friends had been, but
after almost two hours of taking a cock in one manner or another, without
pause, it didn't take much finesse to get her off, just enough friction. It
didn't matter who was getting her off, or that he wasn't trying to make her
cum, after so long without a release, the orgasm satisfied a need that she'd
been denied of for too long. She heard her ragged groan, and felt the way that
it spurred him on. He stiffened a moment later, as she teetered on the
precipice of another climax, and after grunting irregularly for several moments,
holding himself inside of her, the brute backed out, leaving her still wanting.
She glanced drunkenly about the room, looking for the next stranger preparing
to enjoy her ready body, but the others were spent as well, except for the guy,
who reminded her of a boy she'd once wanted in high school, who was still
stroking his cock in and out of the other whore.

She blinked back a tear at that thought, once more trying to reconcile her
situation, as well as what she'd just felt. Taking a deep breath, Melissa
stopped replaying the past three hours, refocusing her attentions on the
present, and trying to block out what she'd just finished doing. What she'd
allowed others to do to her. Again. It no longer threatened to overwhelm her
when she was 'working', as Tom put it casually, and callously. She could lie
there making the appropriate noises, and moving her body convincingly, while
feeling empty and alone.

Strangely, it was only when she came, a simple physiological act, one of the
other girls had reminded her, and something that she would need to feel to
survive her ordeal, that she felt that control, or mental anesthesia, she
wasn't sure which, slip. The simple declaration that she needed to experience
pleasure, in order to tolerate being used by the endless line of unknown men
that she knew were waiting to use her, some time into the future, had been
disturbing when she had first heard it, especially considering that it had
been advice that was offered to her by a younger, and outwardly more innocent
girl than she was. Melissa scolded herself. They all were more innocent than
she now was.

Mel remembered scoffing at the sentiment at the time, even though she'd already
physically known that it was her new reality, thanks to the intensive,
involuntary 'training' that Tom had put them through not so long ago. That
anyone could simply accept that as necessary though, had frightened her at the
time. She'd been convinced that it was a further betrayal. But barely a month
later, she lay there panting in the plain hotel room, surrounded by strangers,
who just used her like a living fuck doll, and without a second thought about
it, she began to finger herself, quickly working herself to an adequate climax.
The world swirled into a kaleidoscope of sensory information, as she came
again, barely aware of the encouraging shouts of the men who suddenly realized
what she was doing, and were gathering around her to watch, and assumed that
she was doing it for them.

Blinking, Melissa stopped reliving the memory of the just finished evening,
checking internally to see if she'd reacted to the flashback physically, an
increasing occurrence that frightened her. She looked at the stranger staring
back at her from the mirror. The green eyes, heavily made up, and her mascara
streaked, after her long performance, seemed dull to her. She knew that there
were dark circles beneath her eyes, hidden by the make-up, she had dutifully
applied in front of the same mirror only three hours before. She ran a hand
through her teased, high-lighted hair, noting the bright flashes of her red
painted fingernails, then reexamined her hairstyle, nearly buzzed at the sides,
while the back was still long. It wasn't her, but even as she thought about
that, she knew otherwise.

Again she wondered if this was all that she'd ever be, a whore, a slave to
men's cocks. It didn't seem possible that so much could have changed, in just
a few months time, but it had. Otherwise, she'd never have been comfortable,
much less blase, about sitting beside a relative stranger, stark naked and
considering her face. And the act that she had just so willingly performed, no
not just one act, but a string of acts really, without even considering the
consequences of it. But she'd learned to endure, and to her fright, and disgust
at times, to even enjoy many of the new things that she was doing. Closing her
eyes again, as if she could shut out such thoughts, she took a deep breath,
then blinked them back open, letting her gaze return to the mirror.

Her eyes dropped to her breasts, one nipple was glittering where she'd been
pierced and ringed. She had been amazed to find out that Tom had apparently
been telling the truth, when he said that 'all of his girls' were so adorned.
Even the black woman sitting next to her, had silver rings on her nipples, and
sported a barely visible tattoo. She would've easily missed the latter, but
the woman's pubes had been as up close and personal, as was physically possible
only a short while ago. Mel's tongue traced her lips, the memory of the other
woman's taste still lingering in her mind. That was one of those enjoyable
moments that she'd once never even considered a possibility. It'd been
essentially the high point of the finished evening. She was startled at that
thought, shocking herself anew.

It had been a surprise to find herself working with a black woman, not out of
prejudice, but because to her knowledge that Tom's clients were almost
exclusively black, and had seemed to take a particular delight with the idea
of 'despoiling' white wives. Melissa had sometimes wondered how garishly she'd
be painted, if the facade of the innocent, unwilling married woman wasn't a
selling point. Except that it wasn't a facade, she WAS a married woman, a
mother and a school teacher. And now, though not wholly unwilling anymore, she
was also a prostitute, on a pretty regular basis.

Never mind that she received less money than the lowest street walker she'd
passed while driving to the 'meeting' that night, it was a horrifying, but
undeniable reality, she gave herself to strange men for money. In the three
months that she'd been "working" for Tom, she'd slept with more men than she
could count, all of them total strangers, who saw her as nothing more than
meat for their amusement and had more sexual encounters than she probably would
have had in a life time. She shivered, amazed that she could even find any
pleasure in that existence, but aware as well that she'd already have gone mad
if there hadn't been some bright spots, in the living nightmare that her life
had become.

She glanced at the other girl. Younger also, but more comfortable in her role,
Melissa thought. The woman noticed her stare and returned it. She offered a
smile, that stopped somewhere just short of her eyes, the sort of smile open,
outgoing Melissa had been developing unconsciously.

"Relax, girl." The other woman said, as she waved a similarly painted manicure
at Melissa, "That wasn't too bad. Some a them boys could really use their meat,
you know? I managed to get off more times tonight than I have all week at home!"

Melissa nodded reflexively, fervently hoping that she'd never compare what
she'd just done, with what she still tried to enjoy in her own bedroom at home
with Jeff. She'd diligently forced consideration of the sex that she had just
experienced, as wholly different from making love to Jeff. It was already so
horrid to consider how thoroughly that she had betrayed the man that she loved,
that she refused to believe that she could so callously compare what they
shared, with the things that she did for Tom's profit or pleasure.

She set about combing her hair, and tried not to worry about Kathy's absence.
They were supposed to meet right there, to offer what little consolation they
could, after another night of selling themselves, and more importantly, to
agree on what they would tell their husbands. Again, the web of lies seemed
more and more tangled, except that neither Fred nor Jeff seemed in the least
bit suspicious. To them it was just another of the 'girls' night out', that
they'd been enjoying long before Tom had ensnared them.

Acutely aware that she couldn't carry any sign of her infidelity home, Melissa
stood, and turned before the mirror, trying to eyeball every inch of her skin
for any lasting impression that she might have to explain. So far, none of the
men who'd been inside of her, had seemed interested in leaving any sign that
Jeff might notice, though at times she was sure that was only because they
were too stupid to think of it, or maybe Tom's rules had enough force backing
them to prevent it.

She considered asking Shanille to check her over, but opted instead to wait
for Kathy to return. She glanced at the clock, glad that at least the group
that had worked Shanille and her over had been done right at ten. At the same
time, seeing that it was approaching twenty after, Melissa couldn't suppress a
growing concern for her friend. She began to pace, not caring about her nudity,
as she unwillingly began to consider the things that might have happened.

"Chill out girl!" Shanille said, watching her pace in the mirror, "It's cool.
She'll be back, and you'll be home tucked in beside Little Dick before you
know it."

Mel resisted turning on the taller woman and confronting her. Maybe
dissatisfaction with her man was why Shanille was working for Tom, but Melissa
knew better than to get into such a discussion.

The first month, after their 'education' in Las Vegas, Tom had sent them out
together. They'd serviced a single, obviously wealthy black man their first
week 'in the rotation,' a man barely able to speak English. Kathy had whispered
to Melissa, as they'd smiled and nodded at the man, that 'it couldn't be too
bad.'

Three hours later though, they'd each endured being fucked in the mouth, cunt,
and ass by the man, as well as by his bodyguards, who'd taken turns with both
women after their client was spent. Neither had expected any 'easy' jobs,
since. They'd worked side by side in a downtown hotel room, not a nice place,
the next weekend, calmly servicing a seemingly endless supply of strangers that
Tom brought in three at a time, with a buxom redhead lying to Melissa's left.
She shivered from the memory of her recent orgasms, wondering how long the
other girl had been at it, the way she'd seemed to truly enjoy the endless
supply of cock. When Kathy had asked her about it afterwards, the redhead had
shrugged and said she'd learned 'long ago' to get what pleasure she could out
of the 'arrangement'. Melissa no longer remembered that she'd been horrified
at the time, but she knew after not so much more experience, that the woman
had been right, all it'd taken to change her mind was a few weeks time, and a
couple dozen men.

Tom had been present at their third 'job' as well, deftly slipping full face
leather masks onto their heads, after having them each sign a long legal form.
He reminded them when Kathy hesitated, that he had more than enough videotape
on them, to ruin their lives anyway. He'd made sure that their hair was
arranged through the openings provided just for that purpose, and when Melissa
had complained about it being hard to breathe, he laughed, telling her he'd
take it off if she wanted, but since they were going to be filmed having sex
that night, he thought that she and Kathy would want to remain 'mystery pussy.'

Their three hours that night had been another endless string of men moving
between their legs, thrusting into her and Kathy, taking her without any
regard for her own pleasure. She'd been glad for Tom's presence then, feeling
helpless, as she lay blind on a musty old mattress, feeling it shift with the
motion of Kathy's 'guests', as well as her own. At least having their 'pimp'
in the room meant that there'd be no argument about using condoms.

Their first 'John,' was a foreigner, and had been opposed to using them when
Kathy had torn a package open, but she'd stood her ground, threatening to
leave and call Tom. The man and his bodyguards had reluctantly let the women
apply the latex condoms. The lessons that Tom had taught them, had a way of
making a lasting impression.

That was also why both women had obediently fingered themselves, and each other
for the cameras, and had used whatever 'toys' he'd told them too use, as well.
Afterwards, Melissa had been tempted to search for her image on the Internet,
but she'd resisted, afraid of what she'd find.

During the second month, Tom had arranged for both women to have sex with
several of his clients in the back of a porn theater. a thoroughly disgusting,
but strangely exciting evening, Melissa had admitted to Kathy afterwards, and
was glad when her friend agreed with that assessment. That was the first night
that she remembered wanting to feel something between her legs, aware of a
need to get off, while putting out for her pimp's customers. And she had too,
so well that she'd drawn attention from many others in the theater, who
bargained with Tom for a piece of the action.\

Though she'd gotten off repeatedly that night, it had been a sobering
experience to learn that Tom would sell them out to anyone with the money.
Until that point, she'd held to the misguided notion that their persecutor was
at least vetting his clientele, and looking out for them. As sobering was the
'move' to the shared quarters that she was sitting in now. In the heart of
downtown, the grubby little place was next door to the hotel where Tom claimed
'most of his work' went on. It wasn't half as nice as the place they'd used at
first, a place that he explained was for 'special clients', such as when a
John spent more than an hour or three with Tom's girls.

The next week, Tom had met them in the tiny apartment, where they were supposed
to leave their things before any 'engagement', as he often turned their tricks.
To the girls' surprise and fear, he separated them, sending Kathy off in the
company of another brunette, while a second blonde drove Melissa to a
bachelor party, where they'd been expected to dance, and then put out. On the
way back, Mel had made the mistake of asking about the girl that she'd just
spent as intimate an evening as was possible, putting on a lesbian show before
willingly offering herself to a dozen total strangers, who each took turns
humping into both women again and again and again.

In doing so, she'd violated one of Tom's rules, first names or nicknames only.
She thought that it was a stupid rule, never considering why he insisted on
such limited knowledge. But not only had the girl been unresponsive to the
point that Melissa was insulted, to her horror, the girl had proceeded to tell
Tom about the conversation. Tom then calmly kissed the girl, whispering
something into her ear, then turned and smiled, as he told Melissa that he was
transferring two of the other girl's 'weeks of service' to her as punishment
for her disobedience.

It was the last time that Melissa did anything regarding her 'second career'
without considering her master's rules. What had frightened her the most at
the time, was the thought that she'd have to 'work' for two weeks without
Kathy's presence. She'd never thought to ask how many tricks '2 weeks' meant,
since before he'd always spoken of the number of men that she'd have to
service. The subtle shift from quantity of men to time was lost on her, even
as she remembered the past weeks' 'work.'

Since that week, though 'working' at the same time, she and Kathy hadn't been
together for a job, managing barely enough time on the drive to and from their
girls' nights out, to get their stories straight. At Tom's suggestion, both
were asking co-workers about movies that they'd seen, getting little facts
that could protect them, should their husbands ask questions, or God forbid
get together and talk about what their women had been doing.

Melissa eyed Shanille, wondering again about the woman, how long she'd been
working for Tom, how or why she'd gotten into such a hopelessly unrewarding
position. But she didn't ask. Instead, seeing her partner for the evening
replacing a handful of condoms in her 'cubbie' beside the make-up table, she
heard herself ask something safe.

"How'd you have that many left? There were six guys here, and several of them
were after me for second's. And I only have two left." Shanille laughed.

"Girl, you got to learn to, uh, like, make them last. They wear the coat if
they want to get between my legs, and if they put it in my back door, they
change before they get the good stuff again, but in my mouth, I don't know how
you do it. I can't stand the taste."

"But."

"But nothing, girl. You use the condoms to keep them from filling you up down
there. Taking a load now and then in the mouth won't hurt. Hell, sometimes
they're so excited, that's all they can do. In fact, I sometimes don't take a
condom at all." she said, smiling at Melissa's surprised expression.

"Haven't you heard about them fancy female condoms?" Melissa shook her head.

"They're like a big sleeve. a plastic sock, so a guy can dip his wick bare,
and not give you an unwanted package. You should try it."

Melissa nodded grudgingly, still unconvinced, but any further discussion was
interrupted by the prolonged scrabbling of a key at the lock of the community
apartment's front door. A moment later, Kathy came in, her hair disheveled,
eyes more blank than Melissa's had seemed a moment before. Melissa rushed to
her friend.

"Kathy? Are you OK, hon?" Getting no response, Melissa shook the taller woman
forcefully, "Talk to me, Kathy. What is it?" The usually self-assured brunette
stared through Melissa, walking stiff-legged into the room, her face an
expressionless mask.

"Kathy!" Melissa's nearly shouting, as she thought of a dozen possibilities,
"What's wrong?!"

Her friend reached the bathroom that opened into the studio apartment's single
room, closing the door behind her without answering. Melissa heard the shower
start, the glass door slide closed, and stood outside the door wondering what
could have happened, and what she should do. Shanille was suddenly busily
packing her things, making the same double and triple checks for missing, or
extra items, just as Melissa would do before she left for home.

Glancing nervously at the bathroom door, Shanille nodded at Mel, then left
without a word, which somehow amplified Melissa's anxiety over Kathy's behavior.
She checked the door, relieved to find that it unlocked, and began to open it,
worried at what she might find behind the thin plywood barrier.

Kathy's dress, Tom's actually, since he provided all of their clothes, what
little that he allowed them to wear, for their 'dates, weren't hanging on the
hook by the shower, or in the open hamper atop the semen stained clothes that
Melissa and Shanille had discarded upon their return. Melissa had once wondered
if the neighbors wondered about the endless, she guessed, parade of women
flouncing in and out of the apartment at odd hours, but she had seldom seen
anyone else in the hall. She quickly realized that the neighbors were likely
just glad that their 'neighbors' were quiet.

Such thoughts were far from her mind, as Melissa's eyes found her friend,
huddled in the corner of the shower. The water sounded strange, and with a
sudden urgency, she opened the door, hard enough that it rebounded from the
rubber stop, closing back half of the way before Melissa stopped it. Staring
at her friend, she saw that the hand-held showerhead was positioned firmly
between her legs. Her dress was bunched to her waist, exposing her trim, taut
thighs and hips, her calf muscles were tensed as she sat there in a crouch.
The brunette's eyes were pinched in response to the discomfort of the steaming
hot water, as it blasted against her naked sex.

Melissa stared for a handful of seconds, wondering what could have happened.
Certainly it wasn't anal sex, though both women had been 'anal virgins' before
that fateful trip to Las Vegas, though neither could claim such any longer.
Their first trick, with that foreign business man, or dignitary, and his body
guards, had Melissa thinking that she'd been torn apart, she'd limped into the
Plaza apartment, expecting to find on her abused body, signs that her husband
couldn't miss, only to find nothing.

Since then, they'd learned by watching the other more experienced women, who
were not uncommonly getting ready at the same time that they were. In addition
to the ever, present supply of condoms, which the women were to supply out of
their own funds. There were always several tubes of KY jelly or other
lubricants, which she and Kathy soon realized that the 'veterans' used in both
orifices, as there was no telling what the men that they were meeting would
want to do.

Melissa had quickly decided that all men had a basic perversion, a need to do
things to women, that the women would not typically offer or enjoy. At the
same time, she couldn't deny that sometimes, as a man was thrusting eagerly at
her back door, that she came just as strongly then, as at any time that she
had a man filling her cunt. For Kathy, who was more frequently taking men in
both holes at the same time, since Tom had 'turned them out,' doing anal seemed
second nature already, so Mel was sure that wasn't the issue.

Similarly, many of Tom's 'clients' seemed to have been especially gifted, so
far as the size of their sexual equipment was concerned. She and Kathy had
discussed whether their husbands were, in fact, much smaller than average,
which both of them doubted, or whether the men seeking Tom's assistance had
problems with all but 'professionals', due to their enormous size. More than
once, Mel had heard Tom or another girl laugh, when someone complained about a
guy being 'too big,' as he'd point out that if a baby could pass between a
woman's thighs, then there was no cock that could be 'too big.' But then again,
no one was volunteering to give birth as frequently as Tom was making 'his
girls' spread their legs, and accept those huge organs either.

Mercifully, few had been close to the size of the tool swinging between Tom's
thighs, or some those that the women had survived in their Vegas weekend of
initiation. While most of her tricks, she guessed, were a bit larger than
Jeff's, when she allowed herself to compare them at all, she could remember at
least three men who'd been much smaller than her husband, and on those
occasions, she was more than happy to compare him to the men who'd used her.
Having taken a 10" tool herself that night, Melissa was sure that size wasn't
the root of her friend's state, either.

"Kathy?" Melissa shouted, as she said a silent thanks for the continuing rain
outside, as she bent down towards her friend, aware that she was getting a bit
wet in the process herself. The brunette didn't seem aware of her presence. Up
close, Melissa could see tears glistening on Kathy's cheeks.

Worry became alarm, and she reached down, shaking her friend's soaked shoulder
forcefully as she shouted again, "Kathy! What's wrong?"

Her friend blinked, wiped feebly at one eye with the back of her hand, smearing
mascara all over her wet skin. Her gaze was finally focusing, and meeting
Melissa's. The eyes mirrored the emotional void that Melissa had feared she
saw in her own reflection just minutes before, but there was something more
unsettling as well, fear. An icy sensation clenched at Melissa's stomach, as
she knelt, heedless of the spray rising from her friend's exposed crotch to
soak the front of her own clothes. Despite the steam filling the small space,
Kathy was shivering violently, her face was ghostly pale. Melissa feared the
'John' Kathy had 'entertained' that night had done something horrific to her
friend.

"What happened? What did the bastard do?" she said plaintively.

She didn't stop to think about the solution that came to her mind first, "I'll
call Tom. He'll take care of it."

As she moved to rise, Kathy's right hand closed over her forearm, holding her
in place. Their locked gaze had never wavered, and for a moment, Melissa didn't
realize that she'd seen her friend's lips move in a silent answer.

She shook her head and asked, "What?"

Again the whisper of something lost in the hiss of the shower water.

"I still didn't..."

"It broke."

The words were delivered with a sigh that seemed to wrack her body in the
moment before Kathy sobbed in earnest. Reaching up and back, Melissa groped
for the shower control, and turned the pounding spray off, then leaned in
fully, circling her arms around her shivering friend, pulling her out of her
crouch in the shower, supporting the larger woman.

Kathy was still mumbling, and shaking her head slightly, "It broke... it broke
... it broke."

Melissa jerked her friend's soaked clothing off, throwing the garment into the
sink, and helping Kathy to the closed toilet, before she went to work drying
her off. She wondered what Kathy meant, unable to guess, and still uncertain
as to whether Tom needed to be called. He'd given them an emergency number,
warning them that any abuse would increase their 'debt.' She'd read enough
thrillers to guess that the phone wasn't his, and that any use would mean his
changing to a new number, as the number they'd been given hadn't changed while
they'd been working, but it was always provided at the same time he or his
'receptionist' called to alert them of their 'schedule.' That meant it wasn't
often that he got 'emergency' calls. Melissa cringed, wondering about the
severity of the penalty if she called.

She delayed calling him, as she was more concerned with her friend's immediate
situation. Kathy had quieted down, her body jerking periodically with
persistent, but silent sobs, as Melissa finished drying her off. Grabbing the
robe that she'd discarded before changing at the mirror, Mel wrapped her
friend up, leading her to the threadbare couch in the middle of the apartment's
single central room. She left her alone only long enough to grab a glass out
of the cupboard, and to pour an inch of the cheap whiskey that someone kept on
the bar between the kitchenette and the main room. As an after thought she
brought the bottle along, watching, as her friend accepted the glass with
tremulous hands, downing the bitter amber liquid in a single swallow. The
second and third glasses, which went down as quickly, were smaller volumes,
mercifully.

Melissa set the half empty bottle on the pressed board coffee table, wrapping her
arms around her friend, rocking and whispering nonsense, trying to be
comforting. After several minutes, Kathy gave a single shuddering sigh, as her
body relaxed. Melissa saw that she was biting her lip absently in worry. They'd
always been close friends, and the shared misery that they were enduring had
made them something more, though neither had admitted as much, both had
realized the joys of lesbian love, and their shared feelings while in Vegas,
but had been afraid or unable to spend further time together since, apart from
some brief 'performances' for some of the 'Johns' they'd serviced together, as
there simply wasn't enough time for them to be together, apart from the time
that they'd surrendered to Tom. Resisting the urge to kiss her friend with the
passion that she felt, Melissa rested her forehead on Kathy's temple,
whispering instead. "What happened K?"

Kathy dragged in another ragged breath, and for a moment, Melissa feared her
friend would pull away from her.

"It broke." she repeated to Melissa's alarm, though she seemed in better
control of herself now.

Mel waited, but no explanation was forthcoming, so she asked, "What broke,
hon?"

She saw Kathy blink back a tear, and bite at her upper lip again, before
answering. "The condom. It broke... And he came inside of me." Her body began
to quiver again, as emotion overwhelmed her reserve. "It broke, Mel. What am I
gonna do? I could be... I might..."

"You may be pregnant." Melissa finished. Kathy nodded mutely.

"Shhh." Melissa soothed, "It'll be all right."

"How?!" Kathy's response was an almost anguished cry. "If I am, Fred'll kill
me. I can't be. I can't go through with it." Melissa imagined herself in
Kathy's shoes, and shivered at the image.

"He had a vasectomy?" Funny, they'd never mentioned such things before. Kathy
shook her head.

"No. but he'd know."

"How? I mean... Oh." Melissa said, realization struck home with an awful
clarity. Tom's clients were predominantly black and Hispanic. "He was black."

Kathy nodded at the statement, it wasn't a question. The women sat silently
for several minutes, before Melissa ventured, "You're sure he came... inside
of you?"

Kathy nodded morosely. "Oh yeah. It was a single guy. He was handsome enough,
and funny. He even took me out to dinner, believe it or not."

Melissa suppressed a sudden surge of jealousy, none of her tricks had seemed
at all interested in her. "We danced, and then went to his room. He was gentle
and caring. It was almost like being with Fred, but a Fred built like Adonis.
He ate me out, while I sucked him off. God, I came like I can't remember from
having a man, and I was glad that I hadn't put a condom on him yet."

Melissa was surprised to learn that. She'd only that night learned about
skipping the condom for oral.

"I got him hard again, and he'd gotten me off again, and then I rolled the
condom onto him. One of those ribbed Trojans that was in the drawer tonight.
God, it was amazing. He took me like he hadn't had sex in years, but he didn't
cum, and he didn't cum. We started out with him on top, and then I was on top,
and then we were doing it doggie style. I was pounding back against him, cuming
and cuming, and not caring that it wasn't Fred. Hell, at that very moment, I
was glad that it wasn't Fred, it felt so good. Then he gasped that he was going
to cum. I pushed back, trying to milk him like that redhead told us the other
time, you know, those Kegel things? He held on to my hips, and held himself
buried, and I swear, that I could feel it boiling out of his cock, and into me.
I shivered and cried out and came again, wondering why it felt so strange. And
then he backed out, and went to take the condom off. He said 'Uh, oh.' and I
froze. I remember turning around, and seeing his cock jutting out of the torn
end of the condom. I swear that my heart stopped. I cried out, reaching down
and feeling the first of his cum leaking out of my cunt."

She stopped for a moment, controlling her emotions with great effort. "The
scary thing is, part of me didn't care. I was still tingling from the climaxes
he'd given me, and part of me was happy that he'd cum inside of me. It felt so
..." Kathy wrapped her arms tighter about her torso, as if against the cold.
"and then he smiled and said 'Well, it's too late now, we might as well enjoy
ourselves.' and he took me twice more, without bothering to use another condom.
HE just laughed when I asked him to. He said, 'Bitch! If you're not already
preggers from me, this won't knock you up.' and by that time he'd already be
balls deep inside of me. And God help me, I was humping up at him, ready to
let him fuck me like that for as long as he wanted. I even kept cuming. It
wasn't until he led me back down to the cab that he smiled, no, leered is more
like it, and said, 'Hope my baby has a good daddy to raise him,' as he closed
the door.

"I sat there in shock throughout the ride. And the cabbie... he kept eyeing me
and shaking his head, like he'd heard what the John said to me, and knew what
was going on."

She reached for the glass again, filling it half way and downing it in three
jagged swallows, before sagging back against Melissa, "What am I going to do?"

Melissa shook her head in sympathy, "That's horrible, baby. But it's over. And
you're fine. You don't even know that you're pregnant."

"But I could be. Or I could have... I could have caught anything..."

"Shhh. We'll tell Tom. He'll have the guy tested. He'll have you tested. If
you're late, we'll get a test, if it's positive... we'll cross that bridge
when we get there." She reached out, raising her friend's face, to meet her
gaze. "Listen to me. It wasn't your fault. And no one will ever know, even if
you are pregnant. We'll take care of this. We'll get through all of this
together."

Kathy nodded, but Melissa was disheartened at the dead glaze to her friend's
eyes.

"Do you want me to call Tom?" she asked, and without waiting for Kathy to
answer, she went on, "Remember, he'll probably call tomorrow morning or
Saturday with another 'job', and we can tell him then, otherwise. If we call
and he doesn't think it's an emergency, we'll have to work even longer for him.
None of this can change, and nothing will be sure for several days, but if you
want, I'll call him right now." Melissa stopped, hoping not to have seemed too
insensitive.

Her friend sighed, then shook her head slightly. "No. Let's just get cleaned
up and go home. I'll have to wait to see what happens." Both remembered the
pill he'd provided in Las Vegas. He could take care of it for them. The
question was whether he would, or how much it would cost them.

Across town, Tom glanced down at the cell phone, clipped unobtrusively to his
belt. It was set on 'vibrate,' and had a full charge. He kept it with him
whenever 'his girls' were working, which anymore was every night, and most days.
He'd brought in a friend, who was learning the ropes of 'procurement', and was
coming along nicely, though he found that he missed the excitement of the
chase, and especially knowing that he was the first to adulter most of his
whores' marriages. He considered calling the apartment to see if there'd been
any problem, but this wasn't a work night for him, as well. He trusted the
guys he'd sent girls to that night, they were old customers, and even the new
girls hadn't shown any inclination at causing trouble, since he'd fined the
blonde for being nosy.

He thought about Mike, who'd done some shady things for him on the periphery
of his enterprise for more than a year, more than long enough to put two and
two together. The man was smooth, but not too smooth, a frustrated lawyer
working in a lab across town. They'd met fortuitously when Dwayne had been
trying to figure a way to get his KC girls checked, when needed, without
jumping through the hoops that most doctors seemed intent on putting in front
of them. Tom hated situations where he had to give control to anyone else.

Mike had signed on the minute that he'd heard 'Tom's' sob story about his
'girlfriend,' and offered to run the tests for them, adding that he could get
whatever pharmaceuticals that they might need, as well. Of course, when Dwayne
had appeared with a pair of girls a week later, the younger man had been taken
aback. But he'd been even more eager to help, especially at the prospect of a
little 'bonus' intimacy, once the girls were proven clean.

Still masquerading as his 'Tom' alter, ego, Dwayne had carefully checked his
potential new 'partner' out, and everything he'd learned had been positive.
The guy was as cool as ice. He didn't get rattled, didn't worry about or
moralize or rationalize what he was doing. As long as no one was getting hurt,
or for that matter, so long as no one who got hurt could get him in trouble,
he was happy to do whatever Tom asked, for his weekly vig, and a piece of
whatever ass Tom sent his way. And while he didn't worry about other people
getting hurt in their little venture, he wasn't eager to see it happen either.

Dwayne had learned the hard way, when he'd turned over a promising Cleveland
'enterprise' to a slick, but sick fellow, that psychopaths can do all right
for a while as the boss, but they're a poison pill, when you turn your back.
The moment he'd moved on to set up in St. Louis, the nut he'd meant to take
charge had screwed things up so badly, that it had very nearly ruined that
entire branch of his perpetually expanding business. Luckily, the guy had been
... taken care of. That'd been the return of a favor he'd done a big hitter in
the Cincinnati area, and having weathered the fallout from that potential
disaster, Dwayne had been a lot more careful since.

Michael had laughed about the tests 'Tom' had given him, when approaching the
younger man about assuming a 'bigger role' in his operation, but he'd agreed
without hesitation, and none of the tests had suggested that he was more
unstable than anyone else Dwayne worked with regularly. He looked to be the
most stable of his partners. That was good, since KC was nearly the center of
his operation, and he'd been working the city for nearly two years, longer
than any place except Denver and Omaha. Lately the risks that complacency
carried, seemed to outweigh the benefits of knowing more about the people and
places around him. He figured that it was about time to move on to another
major city to 'open up another franchise' as he liked to explain it to his
'investors'.

The key was to stay long enough that things were settled and would work without
constant attention, without staying so long as to get entangled in the things
that invariably happen, once an operation is underway. Dwayne, as Tom, still
had a hand in what was happening in nearly all of the places that he'd worked
his scheme. In a couple places, one of 'the girls' had proven so adept at
handling the others, and the Johns, that he'd left them in charge of
recruiting and scheduling, visiting only to 'provide the meat' as one such
madam termed his manner of ensnaring the women. Or to iron out the problems
that infrequently arose in dealing with customers.

Considering that it was housewives running San Antonio and Denver, he admitted
women could do a better job of keeping things together, though they were also
hesitant to let him 'solve' the problem cases, knowing what that meant. That
was a plus of turning the operations over to men. And whenever he chose to do
that, he'd always maintained his own 'rights' to the girls' 'services' and ran
a sub-business shuttling women from city to city, to fulfill 'special orders'
or handle conventions and the like. And of course he handled the 'problem
cases' and worked to increase their customers in whatever city he was operating
or had operated.

In many cases his own initial 'recruits' had finished their terms and had gone
back to the suburbs, a nice way to limit his exposure, where he wasn't
operating. At the same time, it was flattering to know that several of the
women he'd tricked into tricking, had developed a taste for it, and were doing
it even after they'd worked themselves 'free.' and he took steps to hide
himself. Even around the women, he was always dressed well, but not too well,
and kept his sunglasses on almost constantly. And even if someone did start to
look for him, if someone found out about 'Tom', they'd find that avenue a dead
end.

While Dwayne was known to his friends and women as Tom, there was nothing he
knew of, to connect Tom with Dwayne. Looking for him would trigger alerts he'd
carefully placed throughout the state, and into the capital. He'd melt away,
and all anyone after him would find was a phantom, After all, he wasn't really
Dwayne, either. Nor any of four other identities he'd developed over the
nearly two decades that he'd been plying his 'trade'. The two he'd picked out
of the yuppie bar, would be his last 'crop' from KC. Given that consideration,
he was glad that things were operating smoothly. Six more months tops, to get
Michael up to speed, and he'd be gone to greener pastures.

"Hey Dwayne! You want another?" the bartender, a family man that Dwayne
considered a friend, but one he consciously kept oblivious to how Dwayne
Richards made a living, shouted jovially, pointing at the nearly empty mug in
front of him.

"Sure Tiny." he answered, "Give me another root beer."

The big man laughed, and shook his head. "Boys," he began telling the others
irregularly lining the bar, "time was when Mr. Richards here drank enough to
keep me in business single handedly!"

Dwayne waved him off. "Flatterer."

"It's truth!" the bartender/owner countered, "You were amazing in your day."

"Ouch!" Dwayne said smiling broadly, "I thought this still was my day."

The bartender smiled, showing large white teeth, the right front capped with
his initial in a garish red semi-precious stone. "You sure you aren't drinking
something harder, then?" Tiny razzed him as he set the foam capped mug down in
front of Dwayne.

Dwayne's smile vanished, as he felt a vibration on the other side of his belt.
His pager, or rather, Tom's pager. It was best to keep his business and
personal lives totally separate, considering the sort of profession he
practiced. He glanced at the screen of the alphanumeric pager, keying in with
the arrow keys the security code that he'd added as an extra feature. He
glanced at the number and stood, waving to Tiny.

"Keep my beer cold, will ya? I gotta visit the john." Tiny nodded, and waved
absently.

And Dwayne, now Tom, sauntered to the back of the bar. Standing in the small,
vacant bathroom, he dialed the number on the phone located inside the men's
room, a touch he had appreciated in choosing this bar, waiting through three
rings.

"'Lo Tom. Is that you?" It was Lionel, the advertising exec from Chicago. He'd
set him up with the brunette, Kathy. Tom paused, remembering what she felt
like, there was a fire inside of her that he really enjoyed.

"Yeah. What's up?" It was best to keep things to a minimum, even on a random
pay phone like he was using. He was careful not to leave any prints on the
phone, and guessed that he wouldn't be back to that bar.

"There was... look man, there was a problem. I didn't do anything. I don't
want to have you find out from anyone else for... you know. So I wanted to
call and tell you myself."

"Tell me what?"

"Your girl? The leggy brunette? I uh... the uh, condom failed, man, ripped or
something, and I filled her up."

"You did." Tom considered the information. He hadn't gotten a call, so maybe
the girl wasn't worried about it. Or maybe she was terrified, but wouldn't
risk the extra time that using his cell phone would cost her, she'd learned
that lesson the easy way, watching her friend get a couple of 'penalty weeks'.
He tried to calculate the risks, based on the intimate details he required the
girls to provide, as their only 'off' week was when they were bleeding. He
smiled to himself. Such 'accidents' were inevitable, and he'd learned to use
them to his advantage. A woman scared of getting preggers would agree to the
Depo shots he could provide, which would mean that she'd stop bleeding, so he
could work her every week for a while. Of course, it wasn't all perfect, he
knew, other questions needed answering. "Are you clean?"

"I swear it, man. I swear. If you want, I'll take a test."

"Damn right you'll take a test. That's the agreement at the get go. You'll
also pay for her tests."

"But..." Tom knew men enough to ask the right questions to end that sort of
argument.

"How many times did you cum inside of my girl?" There was an uncomfortable
pause that was answer enough. The guy was wondering whether the whore would be
loyal to him or Tom.

"Three times, man." Tom made another mental note to punish Kathy for letting
the guy do it after the accident, which he knew could easily not have been an
accident, but this guy had been with him a long time, and should know the cost
of such a screw up.

"Uh, huh. That gets checked too, you know." He didn't pause for an answer,
"But this way you get her test results too. That should be fair enough." He
sighed, then recited an address, "Stop there in the morning. Ask for Mike.
Tell him that Tom sent you. He'll collect the money for two sets of tests, and
the MAP," he spoke the acronym, 'map'.

"A map?"

"Yeah man. It's all in the fine print." and it was. Tom kept everything on
file, hard copies and computer back-ups. In an age where criminals could sue
for damages incurred during their criminal activities, he took no chances.
"You're paying for a morning after pill, so you don't have to worry about
child support later."

"What if she won't take it? I mean..."

"They're my girls. They do what I say!" Tom almost snarled into the phone,
"Why, are you thinkin' that you're gonna take her away from all of this?"

"No man, I... I mean she was nice. I'd like to do her again when I'm in town.
That's all."

"Uh, huh. Just remember, I'm the reason she'll do you at all. We'll see about
the next time man. Have to see how all this shakes out first. Now you got that
address and name?" He listened as the man read them back in response. "Good.
Now I gotta get a hold of the bitch and get this straight. Hope you had fun,
man."

"You're kiddin?" Dwayne could hear the man's smile through the phone.

"I'm serious, she was the best I've had. Really seemed to be enjoying it too,
you know? That blew my mind."

"It'd blow her hubby's mind, too, but that's what I can provide, my man.
Later."

He hung up, then returned to the bar, downing his drink quickly, before waving
a good-bye to Tiny, and stepping into the steamy, post-rain air. He resisted
the urge to call the apartment on the emergency phone. That would mean getting
another clone, and that would upset all of the girls. He was guessing the
little blonde, Melissa, had calmed her friend down, and that they'd decided to
wait until he called with their next appointment.

He smiled to himself, admitting both were doing just fine, though it wouldn't
keep him from dealing them when the time came. It was funny, the way most of
the women seemed relieved at the end. He guessed that they were tired of
leading a double life. Of course, he led a double life as well, a thought
which brought another smile to his face, as he considered how well his
'financial consultant' cover business had fared during the dot com boom.
Especially since he had closed things down in preparation for his next move,
and so had missed the bloodbath, as the businesses started dropping back to
reality.

The girls, though... they didn't ever really have a chance after they met him,
he knew. Almost universally, by the time their debt was paid, they'd been
beaten down by the guilt that they felt for what they'd allowed to happen to
them again and again and again. It got to the point that they didn't really
seem to care any more what happened to them, as if they deserved whatever
punishment that they received. He knew that several had continued to work for
a time, just to punish themselves.

Others got hooked on the sex. He'd heard the media zealots shouting about 'sex
addictions', but he didn't really believe in that. It was more that they
learned to like something most women would never consider experimenting with.
More than one of his housewives had left, only to return a few weeks later,
asking to work for pay. And the few who got uppity, or threatened to mess
things up, well the bars south of the border, and the estates in the Middle
East provided an ample means of ridding himself of such bothers, with a
minimum of risk. He didn't expect such an end for any of his current crew
though. Even the pair he'd 'trained' in the wake of Kathy and Melissa's
recruitment seemed to be adapting to their new lives.

Turning the key to start his Escalante, Dwayne paused to jot a few cryptic
notes into his password secured PDA, before he pulled out, heading for his
place. Part of him wished he'd stopped by 'the girls' apartment to enjoy a bit
of the talent he'd 'discovered. Glancing at the planner's calendar feature, he
shrugged, guessing they'd be his 'babies' for less than a month, maybe just a
couple more weeks. Michael's first pair was ready to be reeled in, and then
he'd hand over the reins of the operation, for a tidy chunk of cash, and a
continued percentage of the girls' earnings.

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