Chapter 2

It took close to an hour to get the hair ready. Every morning. I always had to take a shower - most girls didn’t wake up each and every day with cum in their hair. Shampoo and oceans of conditioner. I only went to the salon once or twice a week. Most days I’d have one of my ‘sisters’ help me blow dry it, usually Anong. If they were too busy, though, it took even longer. And then, tons of product to shape it just right.

They were somewhat annoying at times, but long earrings and long hair really worked together. I got my ears pierced - Gerry could create a non-fatal hole anywhere, painlessly - and wore dangling stuff every night. I just had to put up with it; every little bit helped.

A great deal of being a sexy woman was a hassle, actually. Heels demanded concentration for a lot of common actions like swerving through crowds or walking down steps. Skimpy underwear, even when it didn’t chafe, was generally binding. In fact, most of our clothes were really tight, except for the exceptionally loose, light item ... and those tore easily. Maintaining makeup is difficult when you’ve got a physical job like waitressing. I could go on and on.

But the cocks made it all worth it.

His name was Mershom, and he wanted to fuck me bad. Riley had traded tables with me right after she saw how he looked at me from across the room.

He was tall, six-two or so, and black. Not full-blooded African, but dark-skinned. Neither thick enough for football, nor thin enough for basketball. Maybe the right shape for baseball, just ... balanced.

I was dressed kinda princess-y tonight. That white micro-dress and lacy panties combo Melissa had put me in the first day. But this time I was rocking the heels, and had traces of glitter on my face and shoulders. I hadn’t gone for pigtails, but had some braids laced through the curls.

His eyes widened just a touch as I walked toward the table where he sat with a couple friends. Riley had been right. One of his pals elbowed him and laughed when he caught sight of me.

“Hey guys,” I drawled, “Riley got called away. I’m Marci. What can I do for you?” As I asked that last, I looked in Mershom’s eyes, then cast them down. Not exactly shy, but ... my people-reading skills had a laser focus lately. He wanted me to be curious, a little excited ... and a little intimidated. I could just tell.

One of his friends answered. “You can get me another vodka tonic. And vodka straight for my brother here.”

“Coming right up!” I said brightly, and stepped away. Of course my gait was as sexy as possible without being too obvious about it, providing them a show.

The food order Riley had put in was ready, so I brought it all along, getting Lori to help me. She was the platinum blonde I’d seen the first night. It was partly an experiment. Was he specifically in to me, or what? Lori’s persona was a fashion-model type. A sophisticated city girl; not worldly in the same way as Collette, just ... kind of modern. Like everyone here at Gerry’s, she could fine-tune her approach. Outgoing party girl, arrogant and wilful bitch in need of taming, decadent and shallow model desperate for validation of her looks, etc.

Mershom enjoyed looking at her; he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t. Yet his eyes lingered on me. As I exchanged a quick glance with Lori, we both suppressed shivers of lust - she’d noticed too. It was extra sexy when a guy responded really strongly to one of us.

As we took the trays back to the kitchen, I thought it over. My educated guess was that he wanted forbidden fruit: a privileged white girl. He wanted to take some rich, innocent white chick and do her raw and dirty, ruin her for white boys. And Marci came across about as close to “innocent” as any girl could, here.

I didn’t judge him. I wouldn’t even have done so before. We don’t get to pick what gets us sprung - I’d had my face rubbed in that truth - and race relations in America affected people sexually, too. It was a common-enough turn-on, both ways. Destiny and LaShawna got so much white dick it was hilarious; noticeably more than Chloe, who was lighter-skinned.

Besides, thanks to Gerry’s ring, I thought the idea was sexy as fuck because he thought it was sexy as fuck.

His interest hadn’t flagged by the time I swung by again. But he wasn’t making a move. Shy, ashamed, impecunious? Whatever the cause of his hesitation, I found it profoundly frustrating. If I was right, there wasn’t much time. If he saw me do an under-the-table or VIP dance or whatever, my perceived innocence would suffer. He’d probably not want me anymore. At least, not so intensely.

How to quickly get him over the hump - or more to the point, over to humping? A stiffie was a terrible thing to waste...

I quickly decided on a strategy while I walked toward him. I would act shy, but strongly attracted and therefore flustered. It would play into his desires. So as I arrived, I said, “How’s it going, guys? Everything good?” I met his eyes a couple times, but looked away, awkwardly. When you’ve got big hair, every head motion is more prominent, carries more weight.

“It’s all good, shorty,” his other buddy said.

“Yeah,” Mershom agreed, gaze hungry.

I looked at him. “Is there... anything else I can get you?” I shifted my eyes to the table, with a flush of lust that I hoped resembled a blush.

“Shorty’s on your jock, my man!” his friend cackled.

He didn’t say anything, just kept a smirk on his face, trying to play it off. I could see through it, though, and so could his crew.

“Shit, my man, you gotta do this,” one of them said. “Fuck it, here’s a hundred bucks, right now. Call it a coupon. But pay the lady and go have a good time.” It wouldn’t cover my fee, but it wasn’t an insubstantial discount. That was all the excuse he needed. In a twinkling we were walking back to my room, arm in arm. I acted jazzed and energized, giddy as a schoolgirl. But a little nervous too, like someone about to make their first skydive or bungie jump.

He ate it up. You had to manage things right; some guys got cold feet or second thoughts on the way. Married or religious or whatever. You had to keep up the image that had lured them in. Often you had to maintain their focus on you, prevent them from falling back into their own heads. Fortunately, he didn’t seem inclined to back out.

When we got to my room, I subtly moved us toward the bed and let the nervousness predominate. “So ... whatcha wanna do?” There was a corner of my mind that was chastened at how I was demeaning myself, but the way he concentrated on me...

“I want to get those fucking clothes offa you.” I let my eyes widen as he reached for me, pulled me up to a standing position, and started undoing my bra. I didn’t help him, but I put up no resistance at all. I acted indecisive, pulled by lust, balanced by apprehension. The bra came off easily; few items of clothing were a challenge to remove here.

He grabbed one tit, palming a nipple. I let out a tiny moan as my lips parted. He kissed those lips, slipping in a tongue. He had that haven’t-shaved-since-the-morning stubble many guys get by evening. It should have been revolting but his passion compelled me to kiss him back, my nipples getting even harder.

He got a hand down the front of my panties as our mouths pressed together, slid fingers into my moist crevices, tickled my pointed clit. I let it force a groan out of me, closed my eyes so he’d know I was savoring the sensations. That he was driving me wild. After a bit he got hands on either side of those panties and slid them down off my hips. They fell to my knees. Without pulling away or ceasing the kiss, I shimmied and stepped and dropped them to the ground.

He grabbed my ass with both hands and lifted. I wrapped my legs about his waist and ground into him. It still surprised me a little that I was small and light enough for a guy to just pick up like that, but if he wanted a lot of physical contact I just was not able to refuse. We made out passionately. I wasn’t evincing any apprehension now.

Eventually his grip on my ass loosened, and I unhooked my legs and sank to my knees in front of him. Men just loved that pose, and he was no exception. Squatting with legs spread was almost as good. Better, if there were guys watching from behind; it displayed your ass to good advantage. Kneeling implied submission, though - and that added spice for most guys.

He was entirely on-board with me unbuttoning his jeans. I pulled them down, leaving the boxers; you have to be careful with cocks, not get them caught. Of course he was sporting a ramrod, pulling the fabric into a cone. I made sure to have an expression of daunted delight, shading toward awe. He was lapping it up.

And then I slid the boxers off, revealing him in full. The daunting and the awe both grew.

He wore a satisfied smile. “Ain’t you never seen a real man before, honey?”

“I ... I never...” I was speechless, staring. It was good-sized, but not huge. I marvelled anyway, like I’d never even conceived of one his size.

In truth, for most girls, size isn’t that big a deal, and dicks could definitely be too big for comfort. Not only had I learned that as a man, but the girls I’d talked to here confirmed it. On the other hand, once they became Gerry’s Girls, size really didn’t matter. If it was a hard penis, it was perfect by definition. “From the tiniest little tadger to the world’s biggest prick,” as Monty Python sang.

But Mershom wanted me to be impressed and astonished, so that’s what I gave him.

As if drawn by gravity, I leaned close, kissed it, licked it. I took the head in my mouth ... He jammed it in, to the back of my throat. I opened my eyes wide; my startled squeal was understandably muffled. And so, a moment later, was my moan of pleasure...

I got him close. I took my time doing it, acting just inexperienced enough that he wouldn’t suspect how much I was enjoying teasing him, right on the edge. But he broke it off, pulled me to my feet, then immediately flopped me on my back on the bed. “Time for the sugar, shorty.”

I spread my legs, acting dazed, and he plunged in. Quickly I sensed that he was holding back. He wasn’t trying to get off yet; he wanted to get me off first. That wasn’t exactly uncommon. Nor was it unpleasant. I mean, think about it. I wasn’t especially concerned about me coming; it was pretty much guaranteed to happen as soon as he did. All I needed to do was convince him I’d climaxed. However, the highest-probability way to convince him I’d climaxed was ... to have a real climax.

So, once he got a thumb on my clit, I thought about him enjoying me, and had a screaming monster orgasm.

Once it was over, he pulled out. Showing little mercy for my gasping looseness, he flipped me over on the bed. “Get that ass up high. We finishing this right.”

Gerry’s Girls were never very far from a supply of lube. He grinned at my wide-eyed expression as I silently pulled open the drawer on the nightstand, got out a tube and handed it to him. He was further amused, and aroused, at my slight hesitation while I got on my hands and knees, butt facing him.

Before, anal had been a real turn-off. There was a stand-up comedian who’d summed up my feelings well: “Why go for that when you’re half an inch from the happiest place on Earth?” A lot of guys disagreed strongly, though. And since my transformation they’d made me love it.

Since he was big, almost porn-star level, he filled me right up. But Gerry had engineered us with resilience, and I got off on how tight it was for him.

He was maybe a little rougher than he needed to be - most ordinary girls might have been discomfited - but so long as he was enjoying himself it was almost impossible for it to bother me.

Quite soon I was crying out. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, omigod omigod omigoooooooooood!” I sounded transported, overwhelmed, overloaded ... so overpleasured it was almost painful. It was easy, because I was. His dick was so hard, I could tell he was loving it.

“Here it comes, bitch! Take it!” I came again when he shot his load, forcefully. I felt sure he didn’t usually talk like that, but he was getting carried away by the experience. It just enhanced my pleasure to know I was getting him so hyped.

After a good thirty seconds of both of us just catching our breath, he pulled out, and found the wipes in the still-open drawer, as I’d intended. I rolled onto my back (exaggerating how weak I appeared in the aftermath) and looked up at him with adoring eyes.

“Jeez, I never got fucked like that!” I fibbed. Mershom was so chuffed I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

I don’t think he was as pleased twenty minutes later, as I was slipping with evident delight under another table in the main room. But he’d had his turn.

You saw some weird things in a place like this.

Not just the costumes. Sure, you’d see girls walking the halls in all sorts of bizarre outfits - way beyond nurses and maids. I’d seen sexy plumbers, sexy scientists, even - I shit you not - a sexy balloon vendor.

No, there was genuinely surreal stuff. One time I had to stop Melissa on her way to her room and ask why she had blueberry pie filling smeared all over her ass. Or when the guy held up Destiny’s legs and had her walk on her hands into her room. Or the guy who jerked off as we faced away from each other and rubbed our asses together.

My second client of the night had just left. I was in my bathroom, smiling and wiping semen out of my crotch, when I heard a loud bang. I scooted toward the hall as fast as I could in heels and yanked the door open.

Two rooms over, September’s door was wide open. Broken open. Another bang sounded, something heavy hitting a wall. More girls down the hall opened their doors and peeked out. I ran over to September’s doorway and beheld Duane, one of the security guards, struggling with a guy. Well, the man was struggling; Duane wasn’t having any trouble holding him at bay, despite the fact that his opponent was huge. In fact, he was a pro football player, I recognized him.

September lay on her couch behind the guard, wheezing and holding her neck. The counter in the breakfast nook was damaged. I watched Duane block a sweep of his arm, then he made a vicious jab at the guy’s gut. It knocked the wind out of him, and then Duane literally picked the brute up and slammed him back-first into the floor. He couldn’t breathe at all now, and Duane was able to flip him over and lock his arm in a hold.

A rush of wind, a flicker in the corner of my eye made me look; Tony, another security guy, was racing up the hall at an Olympic record pace. I had just enough time to pull back from the opening so he could whiz through.

Tony immediately checked on September. She murmured something to him. He looked at me and jerked his head to summon me over. I stepped in the room and gave Duane and the man a wide berth.

“Can you help her out? Get her to Gerry?” Tony said.

“Sure, no problem,” I said.

They picked up the client and moved him toward the door. He was able to gasp, wheezing, “You know who I am, motherfuckers?”

Duane, with unconcealed irritation, said, “I know exactly who you are. You give us any more shit, I’m gonna break both your knees and end your fucking career, got it?”

As they moved down the hall, I heard Tony say, “Maybe you can beat up your girlfriend and get away with it, asshole. Yeah, I read the news. But nobody hurts Gerry’s Girls.” They were already a good distance off, but I heard a very solid thump and the running back groaned in pain.

I turned back to September. “Are you okay?” I said, a little doubtfully, as I helped her to her feet. She had curly dark brown hair, a button nose, and a long lean body with great hips, awesome legs, and cute B-cup breasts. In dark lingerie she was a vision, and just roped in guys looking for a little class.

“Yeah,” she rasped. We moved toward the door. “He just started choking me,” September said. “He wasn’t even getting off on it. He just went crazy.”

“Some guys are like that.” Bruises had begun forming on her neck. I waved at Melissa to let her know the situation was under control, and she went back in her room.

Anong came around the corner, leading an Indian man toward her room. Instinctively, September and I adjusted our postures a bit to seem more casual, carefree. Anong noticed something wrong, though, and turned her smile on the guy to distract him. Her eyes promised me questions later.

We made it down the front elevator, the one for clients, without incident. It was the quickest route. Gerry was waiting at the door and ushered us into his office. “I’m so sorry, September.” A wave of the ring as soon as the door closed, and she smiled in relief. The dark marks on her skin were gone.

“Thanks, Gerry,” she said in a restored voice. “And thank the guys for me.” She gave him a lingering hug.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I just got off the phone with the team manager. I let him know that none of his teammates will be welcome here so long as he has a contract.” A grimly satisfied smile. “He will be punished by his fellow players, I guarantee.”

September was all gratitude. “Thanks, Gerry, I really appreciate it. When he got his hands around my...” She trailed off, shivered, and pulled him close. I’m a fast learner; I noticed exactly where her belly was rubbing him.

So did he. He glanced my way, then down at September, who turned her face up to his, lips slightly parted.

“Thank you, Marci,” he said to me. “We’ll speak later.” I took the hint and left, controlling my frustration. Apparently comforting one of his girls was a ‘special occasion’.

I took the back hall to the staging area, to find a makeup kit. I was too horny to head back to my room, thinking about what must be happening in Gerry’s office right now.

Gerry obviously appreciated women. All the walking confections around here ... You couldn’t invent or imagine Gerry’s Girls unless you loved the female form. I had a hunch - the kind I got sometimes in an investigation. I had no objective evidence for it, yet I saw a vision of Gerry as a failed artist, maybe, who couldn’t paint or sculpt what he conceived in his mind. And then got the ring?

I didn’t get jealous, really. More like I felt sad that there was something I wanted that I just wasn’t going to get. And I was pissed that I wanted it that much.

“Jesus, is there a square foot in this whole building that doesn’t have glitter on it somewhere?” I complained, shaking off my coffee mug before I poured another dose.

Anong chuckled. “Prob’ly not.” Her smile was amused and superior. “It’s a stripper thing. Like, traditional.”

I sat down at the counter, and cut off another chunk of waffle. “I wonder how much of it I’ve eaten since I got here,” I mused.

“Can’t be that much. Does everything shine for you in the bathroom?” We both laughed.

I had breakfast with Anong most days. I was alternately intrigued and amused as she related the storied history of Gerry’s Place.

She liked hearing tales from my private investigator career. But only once in a while did we talk about her life before she became Anong. That was ... pretty common, I gathered. Not surprisingly, choosing to become a Gerry’s Girl was usually driven by some intense desire or regret. Most of the women here tended to focus on the present and future.

Her room was set up in an Oriental style, as you would imagine. Her bedroom in back was set up a lot more like what I’d expect from a girl from Idaho - but even there, little related to her past. There was a single picture of an older couple, a man and a woman - her parents. I’d never seen a picture of what she had looked like before. She’d never even told me what her name had been, before.

She was Anong to a far greater degree than I was Marci. I had a life to get back to, though.

One of the most humiliating things about the situation was how I couldn’t help loving Marci’s body.

I didn’t want to be female, exactly. I didn’t feel like a girl inside; I wasn’t even sure what that would feel like. But ... I really wanted to turn men on. I craved making guys cum. And this body was a much better tool for that job than my old one. So I’d find myself feeling grateful for having tits, and a pussy, and a round padded ass, and even the hair. They were just so useful. I would’ve felt almost helpless without them. There were a lot fewer gay guys than straights.

And then I’d remember that, once I had my old body back, I’d have my old mind too. I wouldn’t want guys to cum inside me anymore. By now, I couldn’t remember - or even really conceive - what that’d be like, though.

Care and maintenance of that body sucked up an alarming amount of my attention. Not just the hair, although my hairstyle vocabulary was growing by leaps and bounds. (Beehive, bouffant, feathering and layering and waves and fringes and wraps, the endless variations of braids and buns - on and on.) Makeup was another whole field of study now, too.

Then jewelry on top of that. Like I said, I wore earrings a lot. Piercings were extremely common here. I was old-school enough that nose rings or lip rings weren’t my style. So I added a couple more earring holes, and a jewel in my belly button.

I also got a stud in my tongue. Really opens up your options for blowjobs. That little extra tickle coaxes out the cum like nobody’s business.

That’s in addition to bracelets and anklets and necklaces and sometimes rings (though since we needed a lot of manual dexterity those weren’t as common).

Remember the website menu I mentioned? There had been a special order. And they’d picked me!

But the details of the order gave me pause. D&S, bondage and humiliation. I had no real clue how to pull that off - and I was more than a little confused why a guy would pick a girly frou-frou princess for such a role, anyway. Since, as previously noted, I hated to be unprepared, I made a beeline for the local expert.

Diana was not confused. “Oh, Aaron, yeah,” she said with an indulgent, reminiscent smile. “He’s really into the whole humiliation thing. I’ve done him a couple times.”

“Wouldn’t you be better at it?” I asked. “Is he tired of you or something?”

Now I was the target of her indulgence. “You know how guys are. Always wanting the new hotness. He’s tried a bunch of new girls.” Then she paused, recalling that my knowledge of guys was from the inside as well as from experience.

I rolled my eyes, as if to say, ‘whatever’. “But I don’t exactly have a dominant build. How am I supposed to -”

She laughed, interrupting me. “Not all bottoms are the same!” She shook her head. “Some of ‘em want to be physically dominated, yeah. So they have an excuse for giving in.” Then she shrugged. “A lot of ‘em want, y’know, emotional dominance. A lover or even a mother, someone who knows best for ‘em.”

I still didn’t get it. “But...”

She held my eyes, as if to say, ‘let me finish’. “But, some guys - like Aaron - want to be humiliated. Feeling pathetic gets them off.”

The light dawned. “Oh! So if even a frilly little girl can push him around...”

“Right!” she replied.

Now that I had some understanding, now that I could picture it, I started to get turned on by the image. If he thought it was hot, that automatically made it hot, period. Diana gave me a lot of advice, not unlike Anong had with Samesh. I could see her getting almost as worked up as me, just imagining Aaron responding to me.

And then I had to wait all day. I was in a heady state of tension and anticipation and horniness, and distracted myself trying to pick a hairstyle. I settled on a loose side-braid with sweeps on either side of my face. It worked well - my skill level made it just amateurish enough to look like an experiment by a fashion-conscious girl who didn’t have quite enough time to hit the salon.

I was sitting on my couch, watching the news with the volume low. When the knock came at the door, I shut the TV off, stood up, and spent a few seconds examining myself in the mirror over the dresser, just to check my appearance.

I was wearing a purple dress, not fancy - cotton/polyester blend. The skirt was short, but past my crotch and covered my butt. It had two straps over the shoulders, thin but not ‘spaghetti’. Bra straps were visible - I was wearing white-and-purple bra and panties. The neckline was about even with my armpits, with only a modest scoop. In back, there was a wide strip of fabric across the shoulderblades that kept it from being backless. It was cute (and with my body, quite sexy) but not at all explicit. A girl could wear it to a family party with hardly a raised eyebrow.

I couldn’t bring myself to delay more than a moment or two more. When I opened the door I did it casually, as if I didn’t care. It felt weird to hold back - most guys wanted eagerness - but Diana had insisted. As I let him in, I hoped she was right.

Aaron was tall, thin, in his mid thirties. Shoulder-length hair, curly. Diana said he was a consultant in some tech field, had money to throw around. He wasn’t wearing a suit; he had on skinny jeans and a tan sweater. He was a little hard to read; not exactly a poker face, but low-affect.

Since I wasn’t Diana, her kind of style wouldn’t work for me. We’d agreed that I’d be a typical teenage girl - by the standards of Gerry’s Place, at least - and I would start out a little unsure. Not afraid, just not used to the idea of humiliating someone.

I spoke up, my eyes squinting. “So, like ... you really want me to, like, take over?”

Still hard to read. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said, with just a shade of doubt. “Um ... stand up straight. Lemme look at ya.”

He did. After a second, I said, “Turn around,” with a bit more confidence. He did. “Not so fast,” I said. As he slowed down, I thought I saw the first flicker of interest.

“Huh. Not much to look at,” I said, half to myself. I looked him in the eye. “So you’ll really do anything I say?” I asked, with lingering disbelief.

He nodded.

I thought for a second. “Then take off that stupid sweater!”

He did, then stood still. I smiled slightly and said, “Okay, like, get your shoes and pants off.”

He started to, but I barked, “C’mon! Faster!” More rapidly, his shoes were pushed off. He hooked a finger under a sock but I countermanded that. “I didn’t say take off your socks!” I thought I saw his eyebrows rise for a second - almost the first emotion he’d displayed. Then his pants dropped, and he pulled his feet out of them. He was wearing briefs, which let me judge how tumescent he was pretty well. He wasn’t cranked yet, but was getting there.

But I wanted to speed that along. I tilted my head and told him to pull down his underwear. He did, and...

“Ohmigod, is that your dick?” I scoffed, and tittered, exuding shocked and amused derision. That dick got harder. So did my nipples, but I had chosen a bra that would keep me from sprouting points through my dress.

“Ohmigod, you really are a pussy!” I exclaimed. His cock stiffened yet more.

I put him through some paces, my apparent delight growing with my scorn. He warmed to my discipline and mocking, but I didn’t let him touch himself or do anything about the erection jutting out from his crotch.

Diana had warned me, but I hadn’t really appreciated how incredibly difficult this kind of job was for Gerry’s Girls. He wanted to be humiliated, dominated. He wanted me to be in total control at all times. If I got mildly aroused, that was fine - but he craved my contempt. Having a shrieking vocal orgasm was right out; it would ruin the mood. So would touching that dick that wobbled around, tempting me.

So I had to stay outwardly casual the whole time. Ever try to look snide and maybe a little bored while your pussy is literally quivering with lust? When he came the first time I only just managed to keep myself from whimpering. I turned it into a bout of laughter that didn’t quite become hysterical.

Then I made him clean himself up. He had to lick his cum off his hands. We played more games and he came twice more. I ordered him to get dressed after that, and kicked him out with a few insults.

Once I shut the door I counted to ten, to give him a chance to walk away. Then I jammed my fingers past my panties and frantically fingered myself. In seconds I fell to the floor in the throes of a climax so intense it bordered on a seizure.

I heard some disturbing gossip the next morning. A car with two guys in it had parked toward the back of the lot, and they’d just sat there for a couple hours before Duane noticed them on the security cameras.

He went up to the roof, and checked them out with binoculars. They were set up for a stakeout, including binoculars of their own. Duane had flicked on a laser gunsight and pointed it at the men in the car. Once they noticed it, they started up the engine and peeled out.