The Girls of Club Cache Lena for Hire
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The Girls Of Club Cache [Part 3] free porn video
The Girls of Club Cache: Starr Obsession [Part 3]
By Diana Heche
Part 3: A Drug
When I woke up I was tired and dehydrated that was not a new
feeling for me. I had spent the past few months under the knife
transforming myself into the woman that I wanted to be. As soon
as the doctor cleared me to go back into surgery, I did so again.
Since I had the money to wave, they often rushed the process a
little more quickly than they normally would.
I sat up and looked in the mirror. My face looked as though I had
taken a severe beating. My eyes were swollen, nearly shut from my
latest eye surgery. My nose had been reshaped, which created two
black eyes from having to have it broken. I was still recovering
from having my jaw line shaved down and reset. Nevertheless, I
had to admit having had my jaw wired shut until a couple of weeks
ago, had the added benefit of creating great weight loss in me.
With those pounds shed, when I finally had my lower ribs removed,
to enhanced the hour glass shape given to me by my hip implants,
I looked curvy enough not to need anymore torso work.
At least my breasts no longer ached. I touched them gently. I was
on my second set of implants - it was suggested the large size I
had originally wanted would not settle well, so I began the
process with what I laughingly referred to as training tits,
small B cups. After my skin stretched and my body became
accustomed, I moved to a large D cup I now had.
I lay back down in bed quietly listening. Checking my watch I
noted it was 4:00 in the afternoon. If Lena or Darcy were around,
I would probably hear them, as they would be out of bed. However,
there was no real telling. Although it seemed initially if the
three of us were going to bond very tightly, we have definitely
drifted apart (even to the occasional point of underlying
tension) since I had decided to go all out in my conversion to
becoming female.
Lena, several times, has sat down with me to explain that I was
changing, not necessarily for the better. She claimed that I had
become obsessed with my transformation, a plastic surgery junkie,
and had become almost obnoxious in my need to be the center of
attention at the club and everywhere else - often at their
expense.
She noted in an environment, such as Club Cache, where overt
sexuality is not secreted behind closed doors that my actions
were over the top. She pointed out my new found habit of letting
people slip their hands inside of my clothing with less and less
discretion, not whether others could see, as an example.
For me it was a new bodily pride, and filling the desire of all
those who obviously wanted to touch me. Darcy, in her typical
fashion, stayed out of the debate, taking more of a "whatever"
attitude and went along her own way without having much to say
about it or to me.
I had to admit, I did feel somewhat obsessed, but that was
understandable. Wasn't it? I was turning myself into a woman. I
needed to do it right! Lena claimed that the surgeries I had ...
months ago ... were more than enough and I was going for
overkill. She questioned the need for me to have a rib removed,
or a need for such large breasts. Lena noted that she had nowhere
near the amount of surgery I had, to look the way she did.
I found it was growing difficult for me to determine whether
these comments, this attitude - were spawned from jealousy or
concern. In the interest of not drifting too far from the women
who introduced me to this life, I promised when this last set of
surgeries healed, I would stop. At least for awhile.
***
For the next week and a half or so while my face healed, I played
it very cool with the girls to get back into their good graces.
Much of this I did in the old fashioned, but shameless, way of
spending money on them. A good deal of it was done by adopting an
attitude that indicated I was chagrined at my "over the top
behavior."
As a peace offering, I began allowing myself to be dominated
sexually by them again. Something I had been doing less and less
as I came into my own as a beauty and confident girl. It was fun
to choose whether to be the "driver or passenger", as Darcy
called it. Ironically Lena, and Darcy in particular, never
assumed the "driven" role. My always being the "bottom", or girl
who took it, felt like being relegating to a lesser role in the
over all scheme of the house and social dynamic.
I was an astute person, I did not rule out the possibility that I
had changed. It was not just jealousy from the girls. Whatever
the case, I had a good thing going here, living with these girls.
I went clubbing all the time, having the types of sex which I
could only have imagined a year ago - all of which I had only
begun to experience, and I wasn't going to blow it over
unconfirmed perception.
***
I loved weekends. The sounds of the music pulsed through the wall
of The Apple and onto the patio, muffled yet distinct.
I wasn't even certain what his name even was. It didn't matter to
me. He had never been with a t-girl before, and was shocked to
discover that I even was one. He, like most people I ran into,
because of my perfectly sculpted body and face, and penchant for
stripper shoes and revealing outfits, mistook me for an exotic
dancer.
It was my fifth night out since my latest set of improvements. I
was finding out what girls like Lena and Darcy had long known. A
beautiful, well-built woman can make many men do anything. Even
if that anything is talking them into taking a penis into their
unexplored asses.
In my former life, I had never been a breast man, but I was
learning that they held an almost ridiculous and hypnotic power
over men. This man wanted to see my tits so badly, wanted to
explore my shapely body, it didn't matter to him what was in my
pants. However, he was finding out - as many others were. He was
the fifth such guy in as many days.
I moaned with smiling delight as I reared back to pump his ass. I
had taken many a body - boy, girl, t-girl - to the "smoking"
lounge of The Apple, but he was by far the most eager. I put this
down to my new appearance as well.
He was leaning against the wall as I did many months ago, bracing
himself against to impact of the sex, turning his head to bite
his arm. He turned and whispered to me, "Take it easy, take it
easy." He was feeling the pain as I plunged into his tight butt
hole, but I was not in the mood for gentleness. I was in the mood
for good rowdy sex with a virgin anus clinging to my shaft. I
enjoyed sex of all kinds, but it was the taking of a new ass that
made me feel ... almost drunk with power. I refused to heed his
cautions, and continued to pump my cock as deeply into his ass as
I could force it.
It didn't take me long to explode, and I left my dick in his ass,
pressing the melons he was willing to give his ass for, against
his back. I turned him around so he could feel them with his
hands before I sent him back to wherever it was he came from. To
my great surprise, he had cum all over himself. I gave him some
tissue from my purse and went out to rejoin the girls.
As I sat down Darcy asked, "Who was he?" I had been eyeing a
shapely brunette in an enticing mini, who had just entered The
Apple, and wasn't quite focused on what Darcy had asked.
"Who was who?" I responded distractedly.
"Who was the guy you punished in the smoking lounge?"
"Guy? Punished? I'm not sure who the guy is, and I'm definitely
not sure what you mean by punished." My attention whipped back
into focus. This sounded like a question Lena would put to me,
Darcy has always been hands off with other people's business.
Lena, however, sat with folded arms watching me intently.
"Listen," Darcy continued, "I watched that guy come back in here.
I'm not sure what you're doing back there in the smoking lounge,
but he is walking around like he was on the wrong end of a prison
rape."
"Well," I said, "the sperm he threw all over himself seems to
speak differently."
Darcy sighed, frustratedly, but drove on against my obstinate
stance, "I'm telling you Starr, this is dangerous territory you
are treading in, trust me, I know what I'm talking about here."
Her voice was the intense whisper of experience,
"For openers, this is not Cache. People who come to Cache know
that every single girl, who is in there, practically, has a dick.
If they consent and end up getting fucked a little rough, its
generally okay. It may have been a little harder than they
bargained for ... but they did bargain for a dick up the ass."
Darcy gestured about the room in a sweeping motion to indicate
the people in the club in a general fashion.
"A lot of these guys come up to you, and now us, because of you.
They think we're strippers. You're tall, you're blond, you're
long legged in six-inch heels and you have a huge fake rack.
Their hormones start racing, mixing with the alcohol, and in a
moment their dick is in overdrive taking over their brain.
They'll do anything, and I mean anything."
I nodded, even as I was taken aback at the frankness of the
discussion "I was kind of ... getting that feeling."
"The big difference is," Darcy emphasized her point by repeating
herself, "the big difference is when these boys wake up sober,
they sometimes wake up confused and angry. Very angry! To
crystallize it for you, one night they're about to bed what they
think is a stripper. The next day they wake up hurting, maybe
tiny blood spots in their underwear. It's then they realize that
they've been fucked by a girl with a penis.
They now wonder about their own sexuality, they feel like they
were tricked into the situation, and on top of it, the way you're
doing it, they've got the pain of someone who was taken against
their will. And you know, with the mental state of guys, that
this can't be good. Think about how you felt after your wife
forced those guys on you."
"But that was different." I said
"Granted a little," Darcy paused and looked me straight in the
eye, "But let's be clear about this. These, Starr darling, are
the sorts of situations you have to be careful of. Sometimes
these boys wake up and want to hurt someone. It can be dangerous
out there." She leaned back in her chair and took a drink.
I didn't have to ask for evidence or example to know that Darcy
knew of what she spoke. She was someone who gave it to various
men and women across the spectrum, and if she didn't know first
hand, she definitely knew someone who did. This wasn't the talk
of jealousy, this was a heartfelt and astute caution from a woman
who never gave it. Maybe I was going too far.
I had to ask myself again, was I becoming to self absorbed and
arrogant? Was I becoming a monster?
***
A mere two days had passed before Darcy's warning moved into the
territory of prescience. I, continuing my party roll of the past
few weeks, had headed to The Apple while the other girls stayed
at home. I was walking to my car, a bit slowly, as I calculated
the number of drinks I had determining if I should catch a cab.
Appearing in front of me, as suddenly and impossibly as if
materializing from thin air, was a young twenty something male. I
recognized him instantly as one of the several boys I had taken a
bit roughly in the "smoking lounge". His faced was carved in pure
anger and in his extended hand was a knife.
My adrenaline pulsed through me as my mind raced over the
possibilities of defense and escape. I was teetering around in
six-inch heels and was not going to be able to run nor get them
off before he could wield that knife. His visage told me all I
needed to know that any move I made was going to cost me. God
damn it why didn't I listen to Darcy?
The young man was shaking with anger, tearing in his eyes. At
that moment I truly understood that he was thinking about killing
or maiming me. Thoughts, uncontrolled and unmanaged raced through
my head. I didn't deserve this ... did I? Of course not!
"Take it easy," I said. The sounds of my words made him shake
even harder.
"I'm not! I'm not going to take it easy!" He was shouting loudly.
I prayed someone would hear him, "You're going to feel what its
like when I fuck you, you stupid bitch."
He was going to rape me, maim and possibly kill me. I had to get
away. Maybe if I could get close enough to kick him...
A female voice behind me: "I would put that knife away young man,
or I will open this purse, produce my gun and put bullet hole in
your head. No one's going to question a girl shooting an obvious
rapist."
I didn't want to take my eyes off of this madman in front of me,
but I glanced quickly over my shoulder. A woman, whom I did not
recognize, was standing confidently with her legs slightly spread
as if she were planning to shoot a weapon, holding her night time
purse above her shoulder in a fashion that made - me at least -
believe she had a gun in that purse.
The man's extended arm slowly returned to his side, the knife was
still out, but not at a ready position. The woman behind me, to
my great surprise, said, "Now apologize to him."
"What? Are you crazy. This guy was talking about carving me up."
The woman remained calm, "No, he never actually mentioned
'carving you up'. He said he was going to 'fuck you'. Now you
don't have to go into detail, but just tell this man you're
sorry."
Whatever it took to diffuse this situation, was what I was
prepared to do,
"I'm sorry," and as soon as I said it, I felt more sincere and
said it again, "I'm really very sorry."
Unsteady and unsure of what to do, now weeping tears of hot shame
openly, he turned and ran.
It was not until I saw him get into his car and speed away, did I
turn to the woman behind me. "Thank you," I said simply before
asking questions, "Who are you? How did you know...?"
"How did I know you were here? How did I know you owed him an
apology? How do I know anything at all?" she stepped closer to me
as she spoke. As I saw her face clearer a dim glimmer of
recognition pierced my brain. I stood and looked at her for a few
moments more before it dawned on me.
"You're the woman ... from the ... patio." I said.
"Yes. But I'm much more than that."
My mind went back many months ago to my first sexual encounter in
the "smoking lounge" when I found my self face to face with this
woman through the gaps in the alcoves created by the large patio
vases. We were both were on the receiving end of being rear-ended
by men neither one of us could see. As we both hit our dual
climaxes, it was each other's eyes we were looking into.
The woman pulled out a cigarette without bothering to offer me
one, "I'm not being rude, it's just that I know you don't smoke.
Just like I know a lot of things about you, which is why in part,
that I am here."
I watched her silently unsure what to say next.
"Let's go somewhere we can talk. I know of a all night breakfast
place a couple of blocks down."
***
The bars would not let out for another hour, so the breakfast
place was fairly quiet. We took a high-backed booth in the back
where it was difficult to see us from the door. I assumed it was
because she wanted our conversation to be private. She explained
that with the way I looked, it was to avoid the late night
breakfast drunks performing their acts of machismo for our table.
She was thin, but had no problem with ordering a couple of the
menu items - all of which bore incredibly ridiculous names. I
only wanted the coffee, realizing somewhere along the line I had
developed an aversion to eating in public. After eating a few
bites of the quickly served food, and drinking a few sips of her
orange juice, did she get down to business.
She held her hand across the table and shook mine, "I'm Linda
Worthell. No need to tell me your name - I know who you are and I
know who you were." At this my eyebrow raised, but I said
nothing.
She continued to speak in between bites, "Okay let's make this
easier. Let's not talk about you, instead let me tell you a
story: Once upon a time, there was a hot shot millionaire TV
exec, one who got his kicks in ways we had no idea,"
I was about to object to this nonsense, but she held her hand up
to allow her to continue,
"This hot shot TV exec at one point took a fledgling network, and
turned it into the number one children's network in the country.
A very big deal considering the stiff competition. He then
launched movies based on the network's original cartoon
characters, and while never taking over the Disney Empire of
course, he made them sit up and pay attention. Over all and most
importantly, he made the network and their production companies a
great deal of money. But a dark cloud rolled in as the TV
executive got caught playing the strange hanky-panky with a pay-
per-sex girl with his wife going over the top."
At this point, I merely leaned back in my chair. I made the early
assumption this conversation was heading toward black mail, I now
I was sure, but I was willing to hear her out.
"So the ex-wife spreads the pictures around the Internet like a
virus, ruins the TV exec, gets a nice divorce settlement and
that's the end of the story. Except ... the TV exec disappears
from the planet completely. And no one is willing to say - or
actually knows - where he is. Big, big story, big media shark
frenzy, and the TV exec isn't even around to feed it.
With everyone on the planet turning over every pillow looking for
this guy, they somehow come up with nothing. Then the rumors
start - that this children's network had him done away with,
because not only was he into the offbeat and colorful sexual
bends, but all kinds of network execs - and the network itself -
were up to the 'not ready for family hour practices'. I won't go
into detail, but keep in mind this is a kid's network, so you can
imagine how dark and ugly those rumors became. Investigations
were launched. Devastating for the network. Devastating for
everyone involved.
So the network hires an ex tabloid reporter named Linda Worthell
on the "QT' and give her a fake job in programming, because that
is the department where the people in this network knew the TV
exec the best. But this Linda is not really a programming
director. No, she is known for two things, being able to find a
drop of water in the ocean, and doing whatever it took to bring
home the story. The network wants her to find this guy, and bring
him home. At least long enough to clear the network and other
execs of these crushing false rumors."
Whatever it took to get the story, I thought to myself. Could she
have possibly placed herself in a situation of getting fucked by
a stranger in a public place, just to be close enough to me to
get the story? I couldn't believe it!
"And by digging around for a few weeks she locates him." At this
point she looks up from her meal to look directly at me, "It
turns out that Linda Worthell was able to find one soul who had
seen the TV exec, and, after much persuasion, got that soul to
talk. Convinced her I was the TV exec's sister. And of all people
it was a little make up artist from a cheesy sci-fi show."
Under my breath I cursed Josephine, the women who handled my
first transformation at Lena's place. I thought certainly I had
paid her enough money to keep quiet.
Linda seemed to decide that she didn't like the pancake portion
of her meal. She signaled for the waitress, an older woman
displaying all of the enthusiasm toward customers only a lifetime
of waitressing can give, asking for toast in place of the flap
jacks.
"Now here's where the story gets a little muddled," Linda
explained, "Linda finds the TV exec. And you won't, not in a
million years, guess what he - she's up to. It turns out the TV
exec has turned himself into a Maxim cover girl. Damndest Thing!
At the same time, old Linda, pretending part of the time to be a
TV programming person, actually has to do tiny portions of the
job - get to know the people involved. She learns a bit about it
- about how important it is to children in an age where parents
park their kids in front of the TV for hours at a time.
Some execs - most execs - it turns out, are there to very
cynically selling kids toys, while the very rare exec, like the
one she was tracking, care about the kid's minds and well being.
Linda realized that people like this old pervy TV exec are very
important, and she wished she could have someone that good at the
helm of the network again."
She pushed aside her plate and lit up a cigarette. I looked over
to our cranky waitress to see exactly how many minutes it would
be before we were kicked out. The waitress looked back and
shrugged. If she was too weary bring the toast Linda ordered a
good while ago, she was too weary to care about things like
smoking laws.
"Then," Linda finished between puffs, "this Linda woman looked
into the TV exec's, who as I said was now a woman, eyes during a
very intimate sexual moment. Linda, in a twist too warped for
even a Mexican soap opera, falls for the girl."
She pinched the end of her cigarette, placed it carefully in her
purse, threw more than enough money down to pay for the meal, and
stood. She didn't bother to ask if I had finished my cup of
coffee.
It wasn't until we walked down the block back to the parking lot
of the club that I did ask what was hanging between us like the
Los Angeles smog.
"Now what?"
"I don't know. I haven't told anyone I found you, because I
wasn't really sure I wanted them to. Well ... this is kind of
situation you have to watch for awhile before you even know what
to tell them."
"So, tell me a little more. You asked me to apologize to the kid
with the knife. You know about that, then?"
After the revelations of the evening, I should have been angry.
But I was oddly detached. She after all, hadn't told anyone she
found me, and she did, most probably, save my life.
She smiled a little self-consciously, "I know more about you than
you want to know. I was in the background, most of your recent
life, very close. If you had a video of your goings on, I think
it would shock you how much of it I star in. You're not a very
aware person, especially for a ... well ... beautiful girl."
"No, I guess I'm not." I thought back to how the knife wielding
man caught me utterly by surprise.
"And I was deadly serious when I said I fell for you. I fell for
you way back when these," she stabbed lightly at my breasts,
"were made of rubber and you were half the looker you are now.
As someone who has spent a great deal of time watching ... and
caring about you, I have to let you know honestly, you're
becoming something ugly. You're so wrapped up in your looks that
you're beginning to hurt people. Like tonight, its going to cost
you."
"You ... are you a lesbi -"
"Am I a lesbian? I don't know what I am. Do you know exactly what
you are? Does it matter?"
She made a circle in the parking lot gravel with her low cut
suede boots, and said quietly, "Listen, I have a lot more to talk
to you about, let's get together."
I was reaching into my purse to get a pen and paper to give her
my number.
She stopped me with that self conscious smile again, "I ... I uh,
know how to reach you. Starr."
And quickly she pecked me on the cheek and turned and walked
away.
I called after her with one more question, "Back there, a while
ago. Did you really have a gun?"
Without turning around she said, "Yes."
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