DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM Chapter Four free porn video

Nine Months Past...

I'd been meeting with clients for almost a month when I got a text from Marla asking for a face-to-face. Marla had been great about letting me stash newly bought clothes and shoes in boxes I was stacking in her storage closet next to her office. There was no way I could explain these expensive and very risque clothes to my Mom. Dresses showing so much bosom above and so much thigh below would have Mom reaching for a drink. Then another and another... I couldn't even imagine what she would say about my beloved black leather, knee length stiletto boots with 5-inch heels.

When I got to her office Marla didn't look happy. "Viv, I've been patient. Letting you fill my storage closet with your things. Letting you use my bathroom to put on make-up. My patience is at an end. You need to move out of my office soon! It's past time for you to have your own apartment."

"I know. I know, Marla. It's just... I can't seem to save enough money," I explained. Money seemed to flow through my fingers faster than cum through a client's dick. There was always another pair of shoes I just had to have!

Marla looked astonished. "You don't have the money!? Viv, you're sitting on an ass that I charge clients a very high price to use! A very high price of which you get the majority. Really, Viv. Have you no self-control?" Marla looked at me slouching in her chair and frowned. "Speaking of sitting, young lady, posture is the first thing a client notices."

I sat up with my back ram-rod straight and smiled guilelessly. "I thought it was my big tits men noticed first."

"Tits will get you only so far, Viv. My clients aren't paying me top dollar for common street whores! They want poise and sophistication in addition to blow jobs. It's best you begin cultivating those attributes along with your oral skills. If all a client wants is a dick sucking whore he can find those standing on any corner of Fifth Street. If he wants a young lady who enjoys giving oral sex he comes to me."

Marla leaned back against her chair's back (with perfect posture, of course!) and tapped a manicured fingernail on her desk. "Viv, it's your money. I can't tell you how to spend it. But I can suggest you put together enough to get an apartment before you buy more dresses and shoes! I know exactly how much you're earning since I'm the one depositing the money into your bank account."

Marla went quiet. Considering and making a decision. "All right! Here's the deal..."

Marla sat up straight. (Damn her perfect posture!) She pointed a slim finger at me. "By next Friday you will have an apartment. Any box in my storage room past that date gets tossed. Any make-up cluttering my bathroom gets shit-canned. To help you earn enough money quickly, I have a client who wants three girls this Saturday. It's a bachelor party. A car will be outside my office at 4pm to pick you and the other girls up. The party will last until 4am Sunday morning. Needless to say, the fee you'll get for a twelve hour party with fifteen or so men should be more than enough for you to rent any apartment you find next week."

"Fifteen!" The thought of that many men fucking me was frightening. "But, Marla, it's the weekend. I can't tell my Mom I'm working..." I began trying to weasel my way out of this 'party'.

"Don't even try, Viv." The slender finger was pointed at me again for emphasis. "Tell your Mom you're doing a sleepover with a girl you met at an office you're working at or something. This one appointment on Saturday will earn you enough money that you can spend the next week apartment hunting. I mean it, Viv. Next Friday you're out of here or all those beautiful dresses and shoes cluttering up my storage closet go into a dumpster!"

"Not my shoes!" I was horrified. It was sinking in that Marla meant every word. I had five clients scheduled between now and next Friday. But I needed cash in the bank now to go apartment hunting. If it took letting fifteen men fuck me to save my shoes... I nodded, resigned to my fate. "Okay, I'll be here Saturday."

Marla smiled. She'd won but wasn't going to gloat. "By the way, Viv, have you ever been with a woman? Have you ever wondered..."

"What? I thought you said fifteen guys?"

"Fifteen or so guys and two more of my girls. I'd be astonished if my client doesn't want some girl-on-girl-on-girl action at some point to entertain his guests."

"I, ahh... I thought about it a couple of times in high school...," I hesitantly admitted. "But, no. I've never been with a girl, you know, that way."

"I don't like the idea of sending a virgin to a job this large," Marla said thoughtfully and then smiled as she picked up her phone. After checking her iPhone's schedule book she auto-dialed a number. "Sandy? I have a client for you. Tomorrow. 10am. Female. Two hours." Marla listened for a few moments then looked at me and smiled. "She's gorgeous and, Sandy? She's a virgin. Do everything to make sure no part of her is virginal when she leaves..... Thank you, Sandy. I'll text you where to meet later."

I listened to Marla's side of the conversation and my mouth dropped open when I began to realize that she was scheduling me as a client!

"10am, tomorrow," Marla told me in her no-nonsense voice after hanging up. "I'll text you the hotel and room number. I'll pay for Sandy and the room and take the fee from your future pay. Congratulations, Ms. Olivia. You just booked your first call girl."

The Present...

I knew something was out of the ordinary when Marla asked that I visit her office after my last client of the day. Usually we communicate via phone and texts. Sometimes two, even three weeks might pass between visits. When Marla handed me a letter and showed me the contents of a large package, I knew I was right. There are times when even a whore just has to ask, "What... The... Fuck?" This was one of them.

The instructions in the letter which had come with the package were clear enough. I was to arrive early enough to change and set the scene... How I was to act... But, I couldn't help myself, glancing at the contents of the package again. I started laughing.

We were in Marla's office and I stopped laughing when she frowned across the desk. But I couldn't help uttering some girly giggles as I read the instructions again. "If you can't control yourself when the client is in the room, maybe I should give the appointment to another of my girls," Marla observed with the same frowny face.

Thinking of the very fat fee the client had offered, I shook my head, "No. No, I can do this. It's just something I never even thought about." I looked in the package once more and pulled an item out. "I'll look like an idiot."

"Yes, well... I'm sure the money will make you feel better. Ours not to reason why and all that... Just try it on to see if it fits." Minutes later I re-entered the office. Marla looked at me then made a down motion with a finger. I got on hands and knees and at another finger command shuffled through a complete 360 turn. When next I looked, Marla had her hand over her mouth to hide a grin. She didn't laugh, but there was definite mirth in her voice as she declared that it fit me. After clearing her throat while regaining control of her facial expression, she asked, "So, do you want the assignment? It's a little later in the day than usual for you but now that you've moved into your 'Mom Apartment'," Marla air quoted, "I didn't think that would matter."

For the last four evenings I'd busied myself moving clothes and other things from my bedroom in my parents' house into the tiny efficiency apartment that my Mom and Dad would think was where I lived. Mom, of course had to drive into the city with a car load of my things to check out my new digs. She wasn't impressed. Mom would have been impressed with my other apartment, but I hoped she'd never find out about my much more spacious brownstone two blocks away. Especially what I did to earn the money that let me afford it!

My Mom Apartment was a complete lie. But so had my life been for the last ten months. My parents thought I worked office jobs through a temp agency. While technically Marla did run a temp agency out of which I worked, when I was requested to meet a client at his office I expected to be bent over a desk or to open my legs on a couch instead of opening a filing cabinet.

"I'll take it," I declared.

After changing, I took the letter of instructions and package home with me. I usually run the stairs for the cardio and to help keep my leg muscles toned. This evening I took the elevator. As soon as my door was closed behind me I bent my knees and reached down to take off my 'fuck me' stilettos. Entering my den, I took a moment to 'ahhh' and enjoy as I stretched my little piggies out on the thick, soft carpet that had cost me more money than I ever though I'd pay for a rug. Setting the package on my coffee table I sat on the sofa and massaged my feet. God, that felt so good...

I could easily have stretched out on the sofa and taken a nap. I was tired. I'd had three clients today. Times and distances between places we met had worked out perfectly. Going from place to place, man to man... Satisfying each of them... It was positively exhausting! It was after 5 pm, the time I told my parents I left work as an office temp. Telling my Mom the plausible lie that my 'bosses' didn't like employees taking personal phone calls during working hours, I kept my phone turned off most of the day. Turning my phone on I checked for messages. One from my Mom asking me to call back after work. 

Hitting the auto dial, I hiked my short skirt up more and began unhooking hose from garter belt. Mom didn't want to talk about anything important. Her 'baby girl' hadn't slept in the same room she'd had since she was a baby for five nights. Mom just wanted to hear my voice. I'd just had my nineteenth birthday, but something told me I'd still be my Mom's baby girl when I was forty.

Wiggling out of my dress and garter belt, I laid them on the cushion next to me and began rolling my hose down as we talked. My Mom's a talker. She'd keep me on the phone all night talking about nothing if I let her. Naked now, I padded into the kitchen with my purse. In a small drawer I kept even smaller plastic baggies. Setting my phone to conference call so I could still hear and talk to my Mom, I put the phone on the counter. Fishing between my pussy lips I found the string and pulled out the tampon I'd inserted to prevent leaking cum from wetting my dress. My dry cleaning bill was high enough already! I dropped the tampon into the baggie and wrapped it up before tossing both into the kitchen garbage can.

Washing my fingers off, "Mom, I just want to hang out in my new apartment this weekend... I have more of my stuff here than in my room now and... Okay, I'll come home for Sunday brunch..." 

Remembering other duties while I was in the kitchen... The change coins in my purse I'd collected during the day went into the large, lacquered box I'd found at an antique shop. Opening the large, decorative metal container on the counter marked FLOUR, I tossed my tip money for the day on top of the pile of cash already inside. Opening the smaller, matching decorative metal container marked SUGAR, I took out a handful of condoms and pushed them into the small, side pouch inside my purse. My clients don't usually ask for condoms but two of my clients had today. It's always best to have more than you'll need than not enough when at work.

"Fourth of July? That's on a Friday this year, right? Yeah, I'll take a day off and you, me and Dad can drive to Uncle Jimmy's on Thursday to visit for a couple of days and for the cookout. I haven't seen Uncle Jimmy since he came to my high school graduation..."

Gathering my clothes I went to my bedroom and inspected each article. Dress was good, no cum stains. Sniffing at the arm pits after a quick spray of fabric freshener, I hung it up. My black hose showed no sign of runs but, picking with a fingernail at what might be dried cum, I shrugged and carried hose and garter belt into the bathroom. Running warm water in the sink, I added a splash of mild soap and left hose and belt to soak while I took my bath.

I completed these tasks while giving 'Yes', 'No' and 'Really?' responses as required while Mom kept rambling on. Sitting on my bed I inspected my heels and wiped then off with a Shammy before wrapping them carefully back in their box. I gave my little piggies another good rub before I played the hunger card and the need to fix something to eat as an excuse to end the call after having to give Mom a fictitious menu of what I was going to eat.

Twenty minutes later, after a quick shower to wash my hair and to give myself a good scrubbing between my thighs, I was finally where I'd wanted to be since spreading my legs for my last client... Lying in my tub, relaxing in hot water with bubbles tickling my nose. I'm in love with my huge, oversized tub. Even stretched out full length I could lie immersed in hot water without my head or feet touching the sides. I'm six feet tall, so that should give you some idea of my beloved tub's dimensions.

After adding more bath oil to the steaming water it was Inspection Time... Fingernail polish looked good for another day. Feeling my mound and pussy lips, I made a mental note to make an appointment for a waxing next week. Continuing my inspection down my body, I raised my feet until my little piggies rose up through the bubbles like two submarine periscopes. My toe nail polish passed inspection. Down periscope! Dive! Dive! Dive! 

Later, after a quick shower to wash off bubbles, I ate the only thing I felt like making for my supper. I munched on pop tarts with a large glass of milk while surfing TV channels, combing out my damp hair and rubbing skin lotion on my knees and elbows. "Don't judge me," I told Imaginary Mom who was sitting on the other side of my couch and frowning at my diet. "I know how to cook but spending all that time cooking for just one is so much trouble!" Big frown. "I'll cook something healthy tomorrow night. Promise!"

Drying my long hair took the last of my energy. Turning off the lights I went to bed. In the dark, lying in my bed, I couldn't help laughing when my thoughts took a weird turn. Contrasting my days of sex, cocks and cum with my nights of TV shows, pop tarts and an empty bed... 

I slept late. My first appointment wasn't until 11 am. Standing at my kitchen counter I munched more pop tarts with my morning coffee. From a closet I dug out the large sports bag I've had since high school when a boyfriend and I had used the excuse of learning how to play tennis at the high school tennis courts as a reason to slip away from parental supervision. Tennis wasn't what I was interested in learning about at the time. Instead, we studied senior year level biology and anatomy under the bleachers of the high school football field. I couldn't help smiling as I remembered those lessons while trying to stay quiet and hidden from those around us who were using the athletic field for non-sexual activities.. But I had other things to do today that required my boobs and pussy. Everything I needed for my special afternoon client fit inside the bag.

I wouldn't have time to come back to my apartment between appointments. I'd need to take the bag with me while meeting my morning client. Deciding to continue the sports theme I put on what would pass as clothes for tennis. Not wearing a bra would have to supply my nod to sexy. If anyone asked, I could claim I had a tennis date after my business meeting with Tim.

Except for our first time together, Tim and I had always met in hotel rooms. I already had an appointment scheduled for next week to meet him again. His phone call to Marla yesterday to book me on such short notice had come out of nowhere. I already had a morning client booked but when Tim offered triple my usual fee, Marla had moved another of her girls to cover the other appointment. I didn't mind the extra fee but I thought meeting at his office was a bit strange if he wanted enough sex to make that amount of money worth while. What was also a surprise was instructions for me to remember to pass myself off as a prospective German investor. That would be easy. My height and blonde hair proclaimed to anyone looking that I had some Nordic heritage. Turns out I have quite a knack for languages. Surprised the hell out'a me since I rarely studied in high school, but after three years of taking German classes for the easy C grade, I had a decent command of the spoken and written language.

"Guten Tag, Frau  Phillips. Ich habe ein Treffen mit... Sorry, I say I have meeting with Timothy Duncan."

"Yes, Fräulein Fälschung. One second..."  Fälschung was my private joke when I was passing as German. It translated to 'fake' in English. Many clients I met at their office wanted people to think I was something other than an American whore there to give the boss a nooner.

Ms. Phillips dialed Tim to tell him, "Your eleven o'clock is here".

Tim appeared and I was struck by the change in his behavior from our previous meetings. Nervous, eyes darting everywhere and... I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He greeted me and then surprised me again by inviting Ms. Phillips to come with us and to bring her Notary Stamp. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. I wasn't sure what elaborate fantasy Tim was acting out. Did he want Ms. Phillips to join us in a threesome? I looked at her for the first time as a potential sex partner. Not quite to my taste but I'd done worse. I went with the flow. I've gotta keep the client happy, after all.

I spoke in broken English and 'forgot' at times, slipping into German and asking, 'Where is the nearest train station?' and other nonsense. I played along and signed papers as Tisla Fälschung, the name I used meeting clients at their offices. The papers seemed to be written in German, but I didn't have time to read before Tim would have me signing another. I thought this was taking play acting to the extreme.

Once Tim decided enough papers had been signed and notarized, he made a pretense of looking at his watch and informing Ms. Phillips she could go on to lunch. He wouldn't be needing her. He was going to answer any questions 'Fräulein Fälschung might have,' before going to lunch himself. No threesome after all... Once the door had closed behind Ms. Phillips, Tim collapsed onto the couch on which we'd had our first fuck. Agitated, he got up almost as soon as he was seated. Going to his desk he brought out a bottle of scotch and a glass out of the top drawer. Knocking back a shot he slumped heavily onto his chair behind the desk. This was not the Tim I was used to meeting.

"Tim, what the hell is wrong with you? What's going on?" I asked.

"I'm fucked. I'm so fucking fucked. I really thought I could do it, Viv. I thought I'd be long gone before anyone found out."

"Do what? Go where? Why am I here? Signing papers?" If anyone looked less likely to want a nooner it was Tim as he knocked back more scotch.

Tim's voice was slow but not slurred by alcohol. "I needed someone I could trust. God help me, between my family and my co-workers, I can't think of a single, fucking one I can trust." Tim looked at me with sad eyes. "Does that tell you what a complete fuck up my life is? I trust a call girl more than my own wife..." 

Tim put his hands over his eyes and, Fuck Me!, he was crying! I'd never had any experience of seeing a man cry. Tim wasn't sobbing but when his hands fell to his desk his cheeks were wet and tears ran down his face into his salt-and-pepper mustache. I went to his side and put my hand on his shoulder. "Tim... Timmy! What's wrong? Tell me! What the fuck is going on?"

"Call me Timmy again, Viv. I loved it when you did that." Tim closed his eyes and smiled sadly, "I haven't been called Timmy by anyone after my Mother died..." 

God help me he's breaking down again, I thought as I watched fresh tears well up in his eyes. Forgetting the glass Tim took sips straight from the bottle.

"Timmy, please tell me what's wrong," I begged, shaking his shoulder.

"I just wanted out, Viv," Tim said in a voice that pleaded with me to understand. "Out of this job. Out of my marriage. Out of my fucked up life! I was going to take the money and run to somewhere far away. Live the rest of my life in peace. Now it's all gone... They know, Viv. They don't say anything, of course, but I know they know. Yesterday my briefcase was searched when I left it in my office to attend a meeting. I'm sure my office was searched last night. But they couldn't get into my safe," Tim said in with a note of triumph in his tone. "I screwed those assholes by changing the combination. But it's only a matter of time before they make me open it! Probably today! Fucking bastards!" Tim picked up the bottle again.

"I'm dead, Viv," Tim repeated again and slumped back in his chair, defeated. He muttered while more scotch went past his lips, "I'm a real walking dead man. The people I stole from... They don't forgive. Even if I gave back the money... But, they won't get the money back! The way I hid it? Not a goddamn dime!" Tim sounded victorious at this thought, straightening up in his chair, but then he slumped back again, defeated.

"Viv, you're the only one I can trust. They wouldn't have tipped their hand by searching my briefcase yesterday if they weren't going to move. I should have run last night but everything was in my safe! I couldn't take the chance they'd search me when I left yesterday after work! The mail room here... They'll look at anything I mail. I just know I'll be searched today before I take two steps towards the outside door. But I'm gonna show those bastards!" Agitated again, Tim opened the center drawer of his desk and took out a thick envelope. Picking up the file binder where he'd placed the papers I'd signed and others, he put the envelope inside the binder and tried putting the binder in my hand. "Viv, take it! Find a mailbox somewhere and mail the letter as soon as you can! Don't open the envelope, just mail it. I put enough in there to nail these assholes to the wall!. I've worked here over twenty years. I know where all the skeletons are buried!"

Tim kept thrusting the binder at me until I took it. He began telling me to put it in my bag. "Mail the letter, Viv! And the other papers? Never let anyone know what you have! No one, Viv. Promise me! Mail the letter and keep the papers secret! Promise me, Viv!"

"I promise, Timmy." Hell, I'd promise anything to get out of this madhouse. I opened my bag and pushed the half-inch thick binder inside. Tim took a couple of steps towards his office door, no doubt wanting me to leave, then he stopped.

"Viv, be careful. If you figure it out, be very careful. If you can't figure it out... Burn them. Toss 'em away."

"Figure what out, Tim?"

"I'm so sorry to get you involved but I needed those papers out of my safe and the letter mailed. Took me forever to think of a way to hide... No matter, now. But I can't take the chance I'll be searched leaving the building and the papers taken. If you figure it out, have a wonderful life, Viv. Don't end up like me! Wait. Wait, Viv," Tim called out as if just remembering something. I watched as he went to his knees behind his desk. Tim pulled a fake, wooden file door open to reveal a steel safe door. I heard him mutter, 'I'll show those assholes!' again while dialing the combination. When the lock disengaged he pulled the door open and told me to bring my bag over. I put my bag next to him and my mouth dropped open as bundle after bundle of money came out of the safe to be stuffed into my bag. Tim was stuffing too fast for me to keep count, but there were a shitload of bundles.

"I put money aside. Money my fucking family didn't know about. I can pay you for getting you involved. For mailing the letter," Tim told me, as he pushed the mass of bills deeper into the bag until he could get the zipper closed. "Think of it as your severance pay! I'd rather you have it than those goddamned vultures I have as a family. Fucking kids won't even talk to me unless they're asking for money.

"I'm dead, Viv. But I'm gonna screw 'em all. There's enough in the letter to put my fucking partners in jail and those I stole from won't get a penny back," Tim laughed as he stood up. I didn't have experience with dealing with crying, laughing, crazy men. Wherever Tim was at in his mind? I never wanted to go there. 

"Years in jail and not a penny," Tim repeated in triumph, then grabbed my forearms, "I'm a dead man but I screwed them all! You've been the only good thing in my life the last few months, Viv. I would have tried to take you with me. If you figure it out, I hope you have the life I wish I'd had."

As quickly as triumph had flooded Tim's voice, now only sadness. "Time to go, Viv," Tim told me. "I'm sorry you're involved, but I had no one else. No one! What a fucked up mess my life is..." Tim said slowly. "If you figure it out promise me you'll have fun with your life. Don't let your life end like mine." I thought Tim was gonna break down and cry again, but he pulled himself together. Gripping the long bill of my tennis cap, he pulled it low over my eyes. 

"Keep your head down and don't let 'em follow you," were Tim's last words as he pushed me out of his office. I heard the door lock engage behind me.

I was confused beyond flabbergasted. But I kept my head down and took the stairs to the lobby. Leaning against the wall in the stairwell I tried but could make neither heads-nor-tails out of Tim's behavior. Staring at my bag I wondered what the fuck was in there. If I'd taken the elevator I might have already been in a taxi and away before...

Instead, Tim got to the sidewalk before I did.

The screams had stopped but out of the buzz of voices I gleaned what had happened, as I stared at the legs that were all I could see between two parked cars. I looked up and counted floors to the broken window. I knew whose office was on that floor. I should have stayed, told the police what I knew. Olivia would have. But Viv wanted to get the fuck out of there! Too many questions to answer and too many truths to admit if Viv stayed.

I turned and walked away. I didn't think of going in any particular direction. I just walked. The heavy bag suspended from my shoulder finally reminded me that I had a destination I should be going towards. I turned in the direction of the hotel then remembered what Tim had said. 'Don't let 'em follow you.' Paranoia moved into my vacant, confused brain.

I had plenty of time to make my next appointment. Tim hadn't kept me for even an hour. I had time to go back to my apartment and drop off what Tim had asked me to carry out of his building. I was trying to flag down a taxi when my paranoia flared up again. I thought of the police. Taxi drivers kept logs of when and where they picked up fares and the destination they took them to. Ms. Phillips would give the police my name and description. A name that they'd learn was fictitious.I imagined the police asking a taxi driver, 'Did you pick up a tall blonde with a large bag and where did you take her?'

Taxi cabs were out. The hotel my next appointment was in was far closer than my apartments. I'd hoof it to my next appointment. But every block I walked closer to the hotel, I took more notice of how many cameras there were. Traffic cameras. Store cameras watching the sidewalk in front of the store... Cameras were everywhere! With nowhere else to go I kept my head down and continued towards the hotel, my every step recorded into computer memory somewhere. It would take time for someone to follow my trail that way. I just needed someplace I could go and hide out for a few quiet hours, while sorting out what the fuck was happening.

In the hotel I went straight to the room. Whoever had set up this tryst had paid for a room long enough to have sent a key card in with the letter of instructions. Once in the room I headed straight for the mini-bar and poured the contents of first bottle my hand touched into a glass. Tossing it past my tongue and down my throat without swallowing, I savored the burn. A second shot followed. Oh, fuck. Bourbon and vodka mixed! That's gonna bite me in the ass soon, I thought, when I looked at the bottles on the counter while feeling the two shots burning in my stomach. I shrugged and played bottle roulette again, not looking at what the third bottle contained before pouring it into the glass and tossing it back.

I wasn't drunk but I was definitely feeling calmer when it was time to set the stage for what was to come. I kept expecting a knock on the door by my imaginary pursuers, but as time passed I began chiding myself for being paranoid over nothing. But then I'd imagine people looking for the tall blonde who'd been the last to see Tim. People who'd scared Tim so badly he'd committed suicide. I needed a way to throw people off my track. Off the track of a tall blonde carrying a large bag. I needed a way to disappear in a city filled with damned cameras before I went anywhere near my apartment.

Hollywood might have you believe that six-foot tall blondes are a dime a dozen. We're not. Especially when we're carrying around a large sports bag. I'd stand out immediately in any camera recording. I wasn't normally one who lived in a world of paranoid delusions. But I had experience being a young teen wanting to disappear from parental eyes. For several months I'd been living a dual life. Becoming adept at lies and deception. I began thinking... By the time I started to set the stage following my client's instructions, I had the bare bones of a plan formed. All I needed was a few more hours of undiscovered freedom and to please my client so Marla wouldn't have cause to suspect anything out of the ordinary from my behavior.

I kept replaying everything which had happened in Tim's office. What had I touched? Were my fingerprints even now in the system? Ready to bite me in the ass if I was ever arrested in the future and my prints were run... Tim had held the door open for me coming and going... I touched the papers I'd signed but they were in my bag... I hadn't even sat down while following Tim about the room. If I'd touched anything I couldn't think of it. Paranoia strikes deep. I dug out the small bottles of liqueur I'd tossed into the trash and they and the glass I'd touched went into my bag. I wiped the door handles to the room and anything else I might have touched. I kept my hands to myself afterwards.

Setting out full water and food bowls and the bag of treats where my owner would be sure to find it, I changed into my 'uniform'. When my 'mate' opened the door to our room, I was curled up on the bed. My instructions were to remain curled up on the bed with my face away from the door and pretend I was asleep until my mate woke me up. Also, I wasn't to speak when he woke me. I heard the person unlock the door and move around the part of the room I couldn't see.

When he 'woke' me, it was by pawing at and sniffing my furry ass. I was surprised to see he had put on a mask much like mine. Growling, spitting and hissing, I followed instructions and fought back hard enough that my fake claws left red streaks on his skin. I finally let him pin me to the bed and yowled like a cat in heat as he mounted me through the slit cut in the costume.

Really? Ya just gotta ask yourself sometimes... What kind of life are you living when getting fucked as a cat is the least weird part of your day?

Both of us acted like cats for our remaining time... Neither of us saying a word. Meows and body language our only communication. Crawling on hands and knees about the room. Pretending to eat and drink from the bowls I'd set out. Grooming each other with our paws. We took turns feeding each other the treats in the bag. Tasted like cut up pepperoni. I certainly hoped it was pepperoni and I wasn't eating real cat kibble! My grooming of the man behind his mask was concentrated on rubbing furry paws over a dick that would grow hard quickly under my stroking. The man behind the other cat mask was certainly turned on by having his furry dream come true, mounting me twice more when my grooming paws had hardened his dick again. We'd screech and yowl and fight until I surrendered to be mounted again.

I followed the last instructions and, curled up on the bed once more, pretended to sleep as the man moved unseen about the room again. Only after hearing the sound of the room's door closing did I move. I didn't take time to clean the fur of cum. I just pushed my costume back into the bag on top of the cash I hadn't counted yet. I didn't want to even think about anything connected with Tim and what he'd done.

Examining myself in the bathroom mirror I knew a damp washcloth wasn't going to be enough. Three cum loads had been left inside me without my having a chance to clean. I saw the reflection of dried and drying cum smeared from pussy lips to knees in the mirror. After getting the temperature as hot as I could stand, careful not to get my hair wet, I stepped into the shower. The shower head could be detached from the wall. I pushed two fingers of one hand as far into my pussy as I could before scissoring them open. My other hand directed the water stream from the shower head up my pussy gape. After douching my pussy as clean of cum as I could, I turned off the water and exited the shower. Only after I was dry with a tampon inserted to stop any future cum drips did I continue to dress. I simply refused to contemplate going home with 'cat cum' spotting my panties. The tip money I'd found in an envelope on the bed next to me when I 'woke' went into my jean's pocket.

I wiped everything I'd touched in the hotel room and bathroom. One good thing about being a cat was I wasn't leaving behind cum stains. All our sex had dribbled down my thighs and was inside my cat costume. Wearing cat paws meant no fingerprints. Hopefully all I'd leave behind at the hotel would be fuzzy camera recordings of a woman with a long billed cap hiding her face. 

Once dressed I left the hotel for the nearest subway stop. There was nothing I could do if someone at a later date used camera recordings to follow my path. I didn't try to hide. I kept my head down and walked. Taking the subway that let me off close to a train station far away from my apartment, I got on the next train and rode it past my normal stop. I left the train two stops past my parents' house. I had about fourteen miles to walk. I would gladly have gone twice that distance because, away from the city, I could walk those miles completely out of the view of any cameras. Yeah, you better believe I was paranoid by now... I just hoped I was being paranoid enough.

Keeping off the main roads, I walked on neighborhood streets. For the first time in hours I began to relax among familiar suburban sights and sounds. Kids tossing footballs, chasing each other in games they'd made up. Sounds of lawnmowers coming from several directions... I hadn't realized how keyed up I'd been until the tension began to leave my muscles. Thanking God I was wearing running shoes instead of my usual stilettos, I stretched out my long legs and began eating up the miles. It wasn't yet dark when the neighborhoods became familiar. My childhood friends and I had ridden bicycles all over these streets. Taking memorized shortcuts through backyards, I was outside my parents' house just as the street lights began coming on.

My parents were glad to see me. Home is where you're never turned away. My Mom gave me a hug. Though her eyes narrowed in a disapproving look when she felt I wasn't wearing a bra, she didn't say anything in front of Dad. I said I'd gotten lonely in my apartment and on the spur of the moment had decided to come visit. Mom immediately began pulling left-overs from the refrigerator. Piling more food than I'd eaten in the last two days onto a plate, she put it into the microwave.

Dad eyed the large bag I'd set on the table and grumpily asked what was in it. If I was moving back in. "Just got rid of your skinny ass. If you move back in I can't chase your Mom around the house nak..."

I stuck my fingers in my ears, "La,La,La,La,La!! No, no, no,I don't want to hear this. Crap! Now I've got this picture of you two in my brain! I need psychotherapy!"

Dad just laughed. Mom blushed but I noticed she didn't deny anything. Eww...

I said it was just dirty laundry before my brain was fully engaged. Bad move! A terrible thing to say, I realized, as Mom grabbed the strap, saying she'd do it. I grabbed the strap also and we engaged in a tug-of-war. Mom saying it was no trouble and I saying I was an independent woman now and I'd do my own laundry. Mom finally let go of the strap while Dad was still chortling at my description of myself as an 'independent woman'.

"Well, Miss Independent, I see you're not too independent to turn down our food," Dad said as the microwave beeped.

"I'm independent, Dad. Not stupid," I said, as my stomach rumbled at the thought of food, any food that wasn't more pop tarts.

A quiet evening of watching TV with homemade milkshakes was just what I needed after my day. Dad had a metabolism that allowed him to drink shakes every night without gaining a pound. I'd inherited that same genetic quirk. Mom sat quietly, no doubt in anticipation of the day when Dad would gain weight at just the thought of ice cream like she did. As for me? "Just wait till you have kids! Then we'll see how much ice cream you can eat then," she gloated.

The next morning I changed into different clothes. I'd left behind many outfits in my closet most suitable for Winter wear. It was cool enough in the early morning that what I wore wasn't going to draw attention. My hair bunched under a hat... Large sunglasses... The large bag I stuffed into a rolling suitcase. Outfitted for maximum camouflage, I rode the train and slouched back into the city.

When my apartment door was closed and locked behind me, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Tim had warned me not to be followed. I had no doubt that I'd thrown anyone who might try following my trail completely off my track...

Next Chapter Coming...