by Sean O'Kane
The next morning they went shopping and kitted Sophie out to look like an expensive escort girl. After the breaking of so many taboos the night before, stockings, glitzy dresses and high-heeled shoes were easily coped with and Sophie found for the first time that she really did like the feel of them. And the disappointed look on Martha’s face when she came out of a fitting room with her jeans back on, made it even more worthwhile.
By mid afternoon they were back in Martha’s room and making the bed springs work. Sex for Sophie, up until then, had been very much a missionary position thing with the lights turned out. But sex with Martha was such a whole body and mind experience that it blew her inhibitions to smithereens. Joyfully she threw herself into it with never a thought about her parents and her previous hang ups. And it was made all the better by the fact that Martha herself had only had a very fleeting lesbian fling in her youth, so for both of them it was a learning curve and neither of them fully understood how the attraction had come about. But they were ecstatic that it had.
By the end of that week, they had located an agency, checked it out, met the owner, who was a brisk and business-like lady in her fifties and by the weekend had their first bookings.
For Sophie it was a nerve jangling affair to begin with. She had always known in a casual sort of way that she was good looking, she had turned down modelling to study for her degree, but she had never set out to try and look sexy - even with boyfriends, let alone a complete stranger. But her first client was an elderly man who was obviously extremely wealthy, charming and urbane and they had a highly enjoyable meal together and that was that. Sophie was back at the newly rented flat several hours before Martha showed up, having had a rather more pushy client whom she had eventually charged a small fortune for getting into her knickers.
“If he wants it again,” she said, “he’s got my number. “
And that first night set the pattern. Sophie only gradually relaxed with her own attractiveness and it was several weeks before she allowed a very handsome property developer to take her back to his hotel room. She named what she thought was an exorbitant fee but he never batted an eyelid and she took a strange satisfaction from opening her legs for him in bed, knowing that his fingers were exploring what had cost him so much. And she was surprised by how good the sex was. She had been afraid that her passion for Martha would have taken the edge off sex with men but it was so different that it re-ignited her desire for males.
Martha was far more at ease with sex in all its manifestations and frequently slipped into bed in the early hours, smelling of men. Sophie didn’t mind, after all they showered together most mornings and had sex before they sallied forth for breakfast. In fact their lust for each other invaded pretty well their entire existence when they weren’t out earning. For the first time for Sophie, sex became a game, played in broad daylight, and not just in the bedroom either.
Martha brought home some toys one afternoon and insisted they were put to use straight away. They both stripped off in the lounge and Sophie, sprawled on the sofa was sent soaring to the stars and back propelled by a variety of vibrators and dildos, and ultimately by Martha herself with a strap-on.
But best of all was the remote controlled bullet. Martha persuaded Sophie not to dress once they’d finished experimenting with the rest of the toys, but to just put on knickers and insert the bullet. Sophie was so intoxicated by the blatant lust in Martha’s eyes that she happily stood spread legged and naked and fumbled the little thing up into her own cunt then put on the knickers and went about the flat for the rest of the afternoon being hit by unpredictable bursts of inner stimulation for unpredictable lengths of time. At one point she climaxed noisily having slid down to sit on the kitchen floor with her back to the units while Martha stood over her and kept her finger on the ‘On’ button. Through the haze of orgasms that hit her like waves crashing onto a beach, Sophie vaguely saw her lover’s face with a hard, intent smile on it as she made her climax helplessly time and again.
As the weeks went past in a haze of good living and good sex, Sophie gradually adjusted to her bi-sexuality. Although, as Martha said one morning after Sophie had knelt in front of her and licked her to orgasm in the shower, they were omni-sexual.
‘We’ll fuck anything human! Now put the bullet up your bottom, darling, I’m going to the boulangerie on the corner and want you creaming your knickers for me when I come back.” The range of the fiendish little thing was just enough for Martha to make Sophie’s rectum tingle and her inner septum shimmer even as she was buying a baguette for breakfast. Sophie was becoming so relaxed that she had had no inhibitions about bending over and inserting the device herself before her lover’s lust-filled gaze.
But there was one inhibition she couldn’t overcome. She couldn’t bring herself to use the strap-on to fuck Martha with. It just didn’t seem right, and it was something she couldn’t explain to Martha. However, Martha didn’t seem bothered as there were so many other ways Sophie could pleasure her and in any case she could have a man whenever she needed one.
So with more disposable income than she had ever enjoyed before and with a sensual life beyond her wildest imaginings, Sophie gradually forgot about how she had come to be in Paris and the pursuit that had driven her there.
Then a client took her to La Cage d’Or.
He was a tall and distinguished looking man with steel grey hair and dark eyes who was something in Pharmaceuticals. Dinner was pleasant and the man good company. Sophie was pretty certain that he would want her to go somewhere with him for the night and wasn’t finding the prospect displeasing when he suggested they adjourn to a club he knew for a few drinks before discussing further arrangements. Sophie was quite happy with that and felt the money she had spent on the halter neck dress she was wearing which really did little to cover her breasts was going to turn out to be a good investment.
The taxi dropped them outside a perfectly normal looking hotel and she followed him down some stairs that led off the main lobby to a small hallway blocked by a door at its far end. The man winked at her and knocked. It was opened by a large man in evening dress who checked some kind of card Sophie’s client was carrying and stood back. Courteously the man gestured Sophie through first and she entered another hall, decorated entirely in deep red with a golden cage for a cloakroom check-in. Inside it was a blonde girl wearing only a gold thong and gold tassels on her nipples.
Sophie’s client helped her out of her coat and gave it to the girl.
“It’s a club that is open to members only, Sophie. And the members have rather particular tastes. Don’t be alarmed by anything you see, everything is entirely consensual and need not involve you at all. I myself will be happy to have a couple of drinks and then we can adjourn,” he told her and guided her forward with a hand on her bottom. Sophie felt like a passenger on an aircraft who had just been told there was no cause for alarm, but it would be too embarrassing to make a scene, so with some reluctance she pushed through some heavy curtains and entered the main club room.
It was large and lit by lights placed along the walls to provide adequate, but not overly bright light. However, Sophie could see that it was populated by exquisitely dressed men and women and by some men and women who were hardly dressed at all. There were waiters who wore only the scantiest of pouches and waitresses dressed like the cloakroom attendant. But as her eyes became fully accustomed to the scene, Sophie also saw that quite a lot of the naked flesh on display belonged to people who were sitting at the tables. No, she corrected herself as she looked around, they weren’t sitting at the tables, there were plenty of men and women kneeling beside people who were sitting at the tables. And as her client took her arm and led her to a table, she began to take in the edges of the room. There were lots of strange frames and benches with seriously well-muscled men beside them, naked to the waist and with tight leggings on that only served to accentuate the bulge of their sexes. Dazedly she ordered a soft drink from the waitress who came up to the table, her
large breasts shivering and rippling as she walked.
“Quite soon there will be some action…ah! There we go! The first of the evening!” her client told her.
There were some cheers as a girl in a very low backed dress was led towards one of the frames by the man she had been sitting with. When they reached the frame she reached behind her and unzipped the dress and stepped out of it. Her voluptuous buttocks were covered only by lacy knickers which she shed with complete ease and then she held up her hands to allow her companion to buckle red leather cuffs onto her wrists.
Sophie had seen enough on the net, in the aftermath of her parents’ disclosures and in researching the depravities of the arenas, to know that she was in an SM club. Even as she watched, the girl was restrained in the frame and her companion had chosen a flogger and to her horror he began to wield it across her naked back. As if it was some sort of signal, there was movement from all over the room. As the first of the smacking sounds drifted across the room, a woman from almost beside them clicked her fingers and got up to walk towards a leather topped bench. Behind her on all fours came a man wearing a collar and lead and not much else.
Her companion must have seen her look of horror because he leaned across and told her solicitously that if she wanted they would just have this drink and then go. Sophie was about to nod gratefully when her eye was caught by a man sitting at a table just along from the curtained entrance they had come in by. Her heart leaped and thudded in terror as she registered that she knew him and then, as she watched him lean forward to talk to the girl he was sitting with, she placed him to that night in London when her cover had been blown and the police had searched her house. It was the same man who had accosted her and called her by her birth name. Tall and broad shouldered he was smiling and applauding as another man at his table guided a girl to her feet and led her to one of the frames.
If she needed any further corroboration of her suspicions about him being involved in the arenas, she had it now. She had to get out – and fast.
Mumbling an apology to her client she sprang to her feet, pushing her chair back more violently than she meant to. Its feet screeched on the polished wood floor and then it fell over with a loud crash that cut through the all the noise of the whips and the conversations. Heads turned and Sophie fled in panic, cursing herself for her stupidity. She couldn’t have attracted more attention had she tried. Tottering on her heels she raced up the stairs as best she could and tore them off before heading out into the night and looking for a taxi. Just as she had made it to the curtains, she had seen the man she recognised turn towards the racket she had made. Had she seen a flash of recognition on his face? Or had it been her fevered imagination? There was no way to tell, all that mattered was to get away as fast as possible. The chill of the pavement struck through her stockinged feet as she ran towards a cab, hearing her tight skirt tear and not caring a fig.
She gabbled the address of the flat to the driver and threw herself into the back, turning to look behind her as it pulled away. A man’s figure had emerged from the hotel and as he heard her cab pull away he turned and ran towards it. Sophie turned away and ducked down but he must have seen her blonde hair, she told herself and screamed at the driver to go faster.
Brian kept his eyes fixed on the retreating cab as he ran towards another one and dived in, pointing at its retreating rear lights and using all the French he knew to tell the driver to follow them. The man smiled and said he had always wanted to be told to; ‘follow that cab’ and they set off in pursuit.
He sat back and tried to regain his breath. The Cage was a famous stopping off point for those in the world of the arenas. He was on his way back from the Middle East and an evening with friends in The Cage would have transformed a stopover into a very pleasant interlude. But now!
He sat forward, staring at the kaleidoscope of lights as his driver tried to tail just one set among a myriad lights – and he was doing a good job, Brian noted. With just the tiniest bit of luck he could net – or at least get a decent tail on - Sophie Suarez herself, the greatest prize in the arena world. Her trail had gone stone cold after that fateful night in London but now there was a fighting chance that The Lodge and the CSL stable could steal a march on everyone else and get her back where she belonged.
Ahead of them Sophie’s cab had pulled in but his was in the outer lane and a truck pulled up beside them, preventing his driver from following. Pulling a wad of notes out and throwing them to the driver with garbled thanks, Brian hurled himself out into the traffic and dodged and wove his way to the pavement. He just caught a glimpse of the tall blonde disappearing into a building and sprinted after her. But when he reached the door he was sure she’d entered, he groaned in despair. It was divided into flats – but he pushed into the lobby in the hope that there might be a lift. There was, but it was empty. The girl had obviously realised it could be used to trace her and she had used the stairs. Brian listened intently, but of course she had abandoned her shoes back at the hotel, so there would be no telltale clicking of heels on the marble steps. But she was only just ahead of him so if she had avoided the lift maybe that meant she was confident she could get to her flat ahead of him, so maybe she was only on the first or second floor. It wasn’t much but it was all he had. He set off up the stairs trying to listen out for doors opening and closing. When he got to the first floor he groaned again. At the far end of the corridor there was another set of stairs. She could have just used this building to pass through and even now she could be in a totally different one. His shoulders slumped in defeat but he trudged up another floor in the vague hope he might hear or see something…anything.
On the third floor, preparing to give it up he heard the lift coming up and stop. The doors sighed open and an expensively dressed, handsome, black haired woman stepped out, giving a slight start when she saw him.
Brian decided that there was nothing left to lose.
“Do you know where a tall blonde haired girl lives, please? I think she has a flat here but I don’t know which one.”
The woman raised one eyebrow sceptically and took out her phone. “Concierge or police,” she said. “Which one?”
“No, it’s ok, really. I’m a friend,” he said desperately as she unlocked the keypad.
The eyebrow arched higher.
Brian realised that he could be in quite serious trouble. The arenas were becoming more and more legitimate but they were still viewed with hostility by some elements of some authorities. And if he was taken in, his explanations of why he was in this building would certainly give his competitors a clue as to Sophie’s whereabouts. Honesty was about the only resort left him.
He held his hands up. “Alright. I’m not a friend, but there’s a lot of people looking for her and I’m her best hope. If you know her, please help me find her before any of the others do.” Well, he told himself, he honestly believed he was her best hope.
“I might know who you mean, but I’ll need to know a lot more about you, buster,” she said.
Brian managed a grin, his hopes rising again. “Look, I’m really sorry about this,” he gestured to his unkempt appearance and skewed bow tie. “Will you let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you what this is all about. Then if you don’t want to tell me anything about who I’m looking for; fine. I’ll go and leave you in peace. Deal?”
The woman thought for a moment. “Deal,” she said. “There’s a bar just along the street stays open late.”
Brian relaxed just a little. “Her name’s Sophie,” he said and caught a flicker in the woman’s eyes. Mentally he rolled his sleeves up, there was work to do here but he was certain that he was still on the trail.
Sophie sobbed in panic as she struggled into jeans and pulled on a sweater. She had to go! Once they – either the arenas or the government, or both – knew she was in Paris, nowhere would be safe. And no one. She had to leave Martha before she got tangled up in all this. She grabbed an overnight bag and stuffed a few clothes and toiletries into
it then headed into the kitchen to find note paper. She had to leave some kind of explanation.
On her second attempt she calmed her breathing enough to write legibly and scrawled a note to her lover, begging her forgiveness but her past had caught up with her and she didn’t want anything to happen to her, so she had to run and would be in touch just as soon as she could. It was melodramatic but no more than the truth. Turning out all the lights, she tiptoed to the door and very carefully opened it a fraction. As far as she could see the coast was clear. Her trainers making no noise she made for the back stairs and went down to street level and hailed another taxi; this time for Charles de Gaulle. This time she was going to get right away. In the back of the taxi she took out the forged passport that had been printed for her a couple of months - and a lifetime - ago.
Chapter Six.
Huston was hot despite the air conditioning. Sophie could feel sweat trickling down her ribs inside the sweater she had pulled on in Paris but slowly the passport control desk was coming closer as the queue shuffled forwards patiently.