High school felt smaller somehow. In just three days, over the past weekend, my life changed completely and now school halls loomed in around me, tight and claustrophobic. Friends greeted me with the same sense of fun, interest, or cool indifference as before. Class curriculum remained the same. An uneasy, unfamiliar emotion settled over me like a pall. At lunch, sitting amongst my good friends, I recognized the uneasy feeling: shame.

Not once over the weekend, not even covered in cum after four men used me, did I feel a moment of shame. I got embarrassed sure, but not ashamed. Now, just thinking about telling my friends or going back to my house filled me with it.

Everything felt constricting and dirty, even my clothes. I ran from the school to Curly’s waiting car at the final bell, unable to tolerate it a moment longer. In the vestibule back at Sea Cliff, I shed my clothes and ran upstairs leaving discarded garments in my wake. I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself in a cleansing panic. Eventually I calmed down and just leaned against the shower wall letting the hot water wash over me while I processed.

It didn’t make sense. Why would I feel shame at school but clean at Sea Cliff? Experimentally, I turned the water off and walked out into the hallway still dripping wet and shiny. Anyone could come by and see me, and maybe use me. I felt nothing in particular about that. Well, maybe a bit excited about being used. Sea Cliff was a sexy hotel I didn’t mind being a guest in. 

I dried off, put on my Jimmy Choo sandals, and went down to the basement to blow the security staff. I took two loads of cum on my face without protest and walked back to my room without cleaning up. It felt good. Invigorating. Still no shame.

I inserted the medium butt plug, did my homework, ate a quick dinner, and went back down to security for the shift change at seven. The four of them, Darren and Bill were off duty again, were more than willing to bang me. Afterward I felt even better than I had after the previous facials. Being a whore wasn’t the problem, it seemed.

--

For two days the same shame haunted me at school and cleared up back at Sea Cliff. This mystified me until I nearly boarded my usual bus home out of habit instead of walking to Curly’s waiting town car. A crushing swell of dread pummeled me the moment my foot lighted on the first step on the bus. Bussing meant going back home. Home meant dealing with Harold. Harold meant living a lie. Dread and shame overawed me. 

Harold was a tyrant and together we had faked being a normal family for years. He betrayed my mother and blamed her for abandoning me. Unwittingly, I’d enabled him. I couldn’t do it anymore. My flesh crawled, even my clothes chaffed, just thinking about acting like nice old Bell for that man. That Bell was a sham, a fake.

“Her clothes make me sick,” I said, when I got in Curly’s car. He put it in drive and slid the car out of the school parking lot without a word. “I need new clothes. I can’t wear anything from home. I can’t act like I did before this, lying for Harold.”

“I’ll take care of it,” was all he said. Somehow, I trusted he would and relaxed. 

For the first time since negotiating my freedom (or bondage, depending), I had asked for something personal and important. A favor. Curly responded immediately with a promise of help, not questions. How different my new life with Nicolette, John, and Curly was from the old one with Harold. 

I scratched the skin under my shirt collar, chafing.

Back at Sea Cliff I got naked at the door. I gathered my entire wardrobe, clothes, underwear, shoes, everything, and put them in one of the big trash bins downstairs. I emptied my backpack and did the same with it. I’d go to school in my new yoga outfit or one of those fancy dresses before wearing anything from my old life. It sounds frivolously dramatic, but immediately I felt lighter, better.

Curly ‘took care of it’ by calling in Nicolette then driving me to pick her up outside Lilith. She got in the back with me, looking as sharp and intimidating as ever.

“Here, I was going to give this to you on Saturday, but now works,” she said, handing me a matte black cylinder with a seam down the length. Another box, then. After her gift of the plugs, the shape of this one suggested it might contain a designer dildo. Would it be shiny and chrome? “It’s designed to be small enough to fit inside a handbag.”

Classy, I thought.

It was a clutch purse, I discovered. Actually quite classy. Inside were a pair of house keys, an Apple Watch, a new iPhone, a credit card for Alanna, lube, a small screw top cylinder containing condoms, and finally Alanna’s license. 

“Everything a girl needs for a night out whoring, or drinking, except this,” I said. I held up the one oddity in the purse, a curious looking black and red sphere about the size of an eightball. 

“Put the watch on and be careful with the ball,” she said. “It’s like a dye pack from bank robber movies except it paints everything in a twenty foot radius with enough stink to make a skunk barf. I’ll show you how to trigger it later, in the meantime, TSA will arrest you for having it.”

“Good to know... what’s it good for?” I asked, as I put on the watch.

“Protection, actually. But explosive,” she said. “No one will want to be near you for any reason for about three days after using that. Seriously, if you jumped in a pool of ravenous sharks, they would jump out onto land.”

“Only one of the girls ever used one. A guy got out of hand so she triggered it. Inside his car. Puked everywhere, still dry heaving when our people arrived. Totalled the fucker’s Ferrari.”

“Wow,” I said. She didn’t sound sad about the car.

“Alanna owns the iPhone,” she pointed, changing the subject. “It’s already linked to the watch so we can monitor her. Don’t take the watch off when you work. Unless you want Curly storming in and breaking bones. The keys are to Alanna’s apartment.”

“I have an apartment?” 

“Alanna does, yes. On paper anyway. She shares it with about fifteen other ‘people’. And by share it I mean they host there occasionally. Also, we pick up their mail.”

“Host?” I didn’t understand.

“Sometimes guys want a ‘girlfriend experience’ but they have wives or girlfriends or whatever. Alanna can go to that address and use those keys for that type of call. We never overbook.” 

I nodded my head sagely.

“None of that is the reason I gave the clutch to you tonight,” she said. Pointing at the card, she said, “Wardrobes cost money.”

Curly dropped us off on the curb outside Macy’s in Union Square. Alanna (holder of the a credit card and whore to be) and Nicolette (madam wonderful) shopped until the stores closed.

We started the women’s designer section in Macy’s, where I looked but didn’t touch. The first price tag shocked me. Woo! Three hundred and seventy-five for a dress? Made of cotton?!

“See anything you like?” Nicolette asked. 

“Yeah, lots.”

“So,” Nicolette pursed her lips, showing out the word, “you gonna try something on?”

“What’s the point? That T-shirt is sixty-five dollars, ten percent off! Maybe we should go to target or something.”

“Okay, stop,” Nicolette smiled at me genuinely.

I stared of into space, shocked. I imaged the operation to be high class but this was ridiculous. 

“I hear your school has some pretty good math courses,” she added, crossing her arms.

I did the math. If I worked six days a week on site and did no off-site work, I would bring in....

“What kind of tax bracket does that put me in?” I asked. Tax law wasn’t math.

“Just assume you’ll get sixty percent of your debt adjusted gross after benefits and taxes,” she said. 

“Sexy,” I raised my eyebrows. 

“Our girls make six figures if they work a light load, and most do. Lilith serves the one percent on site and the point-five percent off. Rich men and women like to spend money, they like to fuck fresh beautiful cuts of organically grown grass fed meat, and they like showing off their shiny toys to friends. If it doesn’t cost a lot or sparkle, it doesn’t have value.”

Her green eyes were inches from mine, and very intense. 

“Okay,” I said, squirming. “I got a bit wet from that. Is that bad?”

“Not for a whore,” she whispered, her smile warm and welcoming. “Right, now, Alanna, you’re a college age girl with low overhead and an associate lawyer’s salary. Shop!”

My god we had fun. Alanna’s credit limit peaked at twelve thousand, I found out. There were too many boxes and bags for two people to carry so whenever we had enough, Nicolette brought us out to the curb where Curly would be waiting, trunk open. After chucking in all our bags, we girls would head back in to shop while Curly circled the car. 

I bought seven pairs of heels, three in cute styles I could wear to school without looking ridiculous and four more that made me want to bend over and show off my ass. None were below four inches. Fuck, I loved how long my legs looked in heels.

All my new underthings had lace or straps or mesh panels. I tried to buy sporty cotton underwear but Nicolette refused to let me. Too dull, she said. Bell bought cotton underwear in a six pack. Alanna wore only classy slut underwear and hose, when she wore anything.  The four workout sets I bought at Athleta didn’t need underwear, anyway. 

I bought twenty-four dresses in various styles, about ten were appropriate for school. For more casual days I bought several pairs of designer jeans and five or six, seventy dollar blouses and T-shirts with hip graphics designed to draw the eye to my chest. I ran out of credit buying my second bag.

I didn’t want to think what further debt Alanna’s shopping spree shackled me to. I, Bell, could wear some of these to school, and I’d be sure to work off-site to make up for it faster.

On the way back to Cliff House Nicolette taught me how to use the phone and the watch. She handed me a bag containing all the chargers, boxes, and instructions. A folder in the bag contained information about Alanna, her social security number, parent’s names, her nonexistent college courses, and so on.

“That’s a lot of detail for a nom de guerre,” I commented.

“A framework to start with. Clients ask personal questions. Never tell them anything about Bell. You need to fill out her framework into a real person so you’re a convincing Alanna.”

“So I can make up anything?” I asked. Nicolette shrugged. 

“The devices belong to Alanna, too,” she said. “We will discuss protocols for that when it happens. The phone and watch are mandatory for off-site work, but you should keep them on you always so Lilith can call Alanna. There might be demand for someone like you on a school night. Get another phone for Bell if you want to socialize.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hugged her exuberantly and to my surprise, the bitch hugged me back. She wasn’t all that bad, just crusty. I ruined the moment by blurting out my problem. “What if I like Alanna more than Bell?”

“?” Nicolette’s face showed confusion.

“Bell is a pushover. Harold ran her life while she waited for someone to rescue her. She cowered from his anger. She was downright incurious about his apathy to her. She let him take her to a stranger’s house, like a sheep to slaughter, to be sold into sexual slavery. Alanna is just a whore, well she plans to be one, but she’s not hiding or timid,” I said. “Shame overwhelmed me when I got to school Monday. Dishonest, weak, stupid little Bell made me sick. I’m not like that, but at school I feel… I don’t know. It’s confusing.”

Nicolette nodded, looking out the window. Curly, ever professional, kept his eyes on the road. She spoke while she stared at the passing scenery.

“You’ll work that out, I’m sure of that. But I warn you, Alanna is a ghost, an act you perform. All the girls have fake names and licenses so they can be someone different and then go home to their friends, lovers, and families. Bell is who you are, make Alanna a skin she wears.”

“That’s it,” I barked. “At school, Bell feels like a skin I’ve shed and can’t fit back into.”

“Maybe she is. But you’re still Bell. Bell stood up to your dad. She refused to save him. She made a deal with John, which couldn’t have been easy. That was all you, maybe a new changed version of Bell, but definitely not some fake persona.”

“I don’t know,” I said weakly.

--

The following morning, determined to be a new Bell, I woke in time for the security guard shift change. Gang fucking four guys made me late for school and steamed Curly more than a bit, but walking around campus with two loads of cum in my ass? Mmmm. 

The clothes maketh the woman, I discovered.

I’d chosen to wear a nice blue tight bodiced a-line dress and heels with light makeup. I felt stupidly overdressed, but no one else seemed to think so. Everyone complimented me, in fact. My friends doted on me and boys tripped over themselves looking at me. School was just school now, I didn’t feel tight or restrained walking down the halls. 

I remembered I wasn’t wearing underwear as I sat down for the first time in home room. I hadn’t even thought about putting them on after showering the cum off me earlier that morning. I’d been late, after all. My breasts bounced around enough cupped in a bra, without the bra they caused boys to stumble, apparently. I laughed, causing some curious looks from my homeroom mates. I got a lot more looks from people throughout the day.

High headed self-confidence pushed out the pall of shame from before. So what if I didn’t have underwear on? This was the new Bell, more honest in form at least, if not in words. I liked her, even if she was a flashy slut. Hiding that truth from Jasmine, Cindy, and Ariel grated on me, but I would tell them when the time presented itself. My new job wasn’t a secret I planned to keep and nourish like the old Bell would have.

After that I made a point to wear something lacy and supportive under my clothes, but not always. Sometimes, on days I didn’t have P.E... I wore a plug too. 

(to be continued in part 9)