Talked Into It

I

Paige nearly spat out her tea.

Brenda faced her from across the coffee table, a cheap glass and luminium affair picked up from the gods only knew what kind of flea market her parents shifted through. A point of pride for them, she thought ruefully. Not for her, though. Still, until she made her own money, it was all she had.

I mean, it's not like I haven't tried. Besides, I haven't done so badly. Her mind darted over the flurry of jobs she'd acquired and lost for that semester. Waitress. Cashier. Housecleaner. Hostess. That last one had lasted the longest, over a month in fact. She really liked it, and it was easy.

Sucked in the way of hours, but still. Tips offset that a little.

Still.

It's not like her folks could help much with rent.

Her scholarship only covered tuition and fees.

Her apartment had been a godsend, but now she was going to lose it. Had lost it.

The realization sent a wave of nausea through her gut.

She'd been frantic that past couple of weeks. Okay, maybe not frantic. But diligent. Okay, maybe not diligent. A girl had to party, and something always turned up. But she tried. She did try. She applied to places. Online and in-person. Networking among the working girls, and nobody had anything.

Only it didn't.

Application after application had been rejected.

A vast employer conspiracy keeping her from getting a job.

Her friends worried about her.

Which was sweet of them.

But since they all had money, came from money, the sympathy rang a little hollow.

But then they all came over this evening, Brenda with her fancy tea, Heather with her perfect makeup and hair, Olivia in her usual slutty outfit.

"I don't understand," Paige stammered. "You want me to what?"

"Drink your tea, dear," Brenda said, no ordered. In that way of hers she had of speaking to Paige. "It'll make you feel better."

That part was true.

The tea did make her feel better, reducing nausea, that sickening feeling at losing her apartment, of getting evicted, of breaking her lease.

Paige took another sip.

"Go ahead and finish it. And then we'll talk more about this."

Paige tilted the cup and gulped the remaining tea, leaving only a thin layer of loose tea leaves at the bottom of her cup.

She did feel better, more relaxed, ready to listen to her friends' ideas. Even they bordered on the, well. Bizarre.

"You want me to what?"

Olivia, her platinum hair waving over her face, her high cheeks accentuating the sharpness of her eyes, hazel and slightly inclined, giving her a vaguely Asian appearance, leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, covered in a pink hose.

Her red glossy lips gleamed when she smiled, and the blue shadow of above her eyes glittered. She blinked rapidly with long, heavily mascaraed lashes.

"It wouldn't be so bad, would it? You'd be able to keep your apartment. And the money would be good. I promise, it would be so good."

I'm sorry, but no was all Paige could think. She couldn't, however, bring herself to say it. Not out loud. Not to her friends who'd been so kind to her.

Really, she shouldn't have even had such friends.

They moved way beyond her social circle.

But she'd met them as a hostess.

Brenda was the one who chatted with her, too an interest in her, started to invite her out to the clubs, the parties, the yacht parties in the bay.

They'd had fun, they'd taken care of her, kept her away from bad elements when she drank too much champagne.

She kind of owed them.

In a way, didn't she owe them?

"But. But why?"

Heather sighed. The practical one of the group, despite her name, she liked to dress at all times in a semi-professional manner. Pencil skirts, hose, three- to four-inch heels, a dark or light blazer thrown over a dark or light blouse. A blazer that never managed to conceal the fullness of her breasts.

Heather, like Olivia, had blue eyes, but Heather's hair shone yellow almost golden blond in contrast to her friend's platinum look.

Paige herself was a tiny thing, waif-like; she knew it, acknowledged it, and never let it get to her. She kind of liked it in a way. Her small breasts, her thin hips, not boy-like, she had curves, just not pronounced in the way of her friends. Among Brenda, Heather, and Olivia, she was a child among grownups, a girl among women.

"Surely it's clear to you, Paige? I mean, we're making it clear to you, aren't we?"

They were.

And she should just stand up, yell at them, and kick them out of her apartment. It belonged to her for now at least, and she didn't have to put up with any of this bullshit.

Bullshit?

It wasn't bullshit, though. Was it?

I mean, it kind of made sense.

Didn't it?

"But what would I have to do?"

That's when Brenda took over the reins of the conversation.

Good old Brenda.

"It's just that we kind of get lonely ourselves, Paige. And it would be nice to have someone we could rely on. Someone we trusted. A friend we loved. It's kind of a dangerous world out there, and you know how men are. We've been keeping you safe for a reason, you know. Keeping you away from those boys at our parties. Keeping you from making terrible, terrible mistakes."

"But you want me to be your prostitute!"

There. She said it.

And somehow saying it came as a relief.

She felt less confused. More sure of herself. More sure of where things stood.

"Yes, Paige. We do. We want you to be our prostitute, as you put it. I mean, we'd pay you for your services. A lot of women, you know, a lot of girls like to get paid for sex. It's a power thing. It fulfills them."

"But I'm not gay. I'm not a lesbian. I'm not even bi. I'm just not into girls."

Heather spoke up again, obviously annoyed.

"You don't have to be honey. You're not paying us. We're paying you."

Olivia chirped in.

"Besides, we're not lesbians either. It's just that. It's just that."

Brenda's eyes darted at the blond woman.

Olivia fell quiet, not quite being able to put a finger on what "just that" actually entailed.

"I'm sorry," Paige said. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I can't. I just can't."

Brenda stood up, followed quickly by her two companions.

"I want you to think about it tonight, Paige. All night long I want you to think about being our prostitute. Just ours. Just mine, and Heather's, and Olivia's little lesbian whore. If it makes you hot, if you get really horny, play with yourself and think about us. Just us. Or other women. But not men, okay? Don't fantasize about fucking men. Not tonight, darling. Can you do that for us? Would you do that for us?"

Paige looked up, her pale hazel eyes meeting Brenda's brown eyes, and something told Paige inside that it would be so rude, so hurtful, so selfish not to at least consider it. All night long.

Paige nodded slowly and gulped.

"You can even watch lesbian porn to help you."

Brenda smiled.

"Good. That's it then. I really do think this will all work out for the best."

Brenda reached down to pinch Paige's chin softly between her thumb and forefinger.

"You really are the cutest thing."

Somehow that made everything better.

Being the cutest thing.

II

She'd spent so much time thinking about it, considering her options from every angle, she didn't fall asleep until well after midnight.

It didn't make any sense.

Not all of it, anyway.

Some of it did.

About her making money, about her needing money, and about her getting paid a good amount.

That made sense.

I mean, I'd have to be.

Paid, that is. I'd have to be paid a good amount.

For that.

Paige frowned.

She wasn't even sure what that was.

Oh, she'd seen those videos the boys would watch.

She watched television.

Streaming channels.

But not much of it.

She'd kept strictly with boys, men, as hard as that sometimes -- often, to be honest -- proved to be.

Men weren't exactly, you know. Emotionally and intellectually rewarding.

Or even sexually rewarding for the most part.

Oh, she loved riding them, she loved the way the paid attention to her, fawned over her, squeezed her, held her tight against their hard male bodies.

Ghosted her after having had their way.

She didn't like that.

It made her feel so.

Used.

But with girls?

She actually didn't think about it. Oh, it crossed her mind, she'd theoretically, theoretically explored the idea. I mean, who hasn't? What woman hasn't? But to do it? To really do it? What did they do?

Well. They kissed.

They touched each other.

Their breasts. Did lesbians say breasts? Or did they say tits? Or did lesbians have a language known only to themselves for words like tit?

Would she have to learn the secret lesbian language?

Their pussies.

Oh my god.

They touched each other's pussies.

Just the thought of it made her giggle like a middle schooler.

That'd have to be weird, right?

To lie next to another girl, say Olivia, and rub her pussy while making out with her, sinking her tongue into Olivia's mouth. That'd have to be weird. Right? Rolling their hips together, trying to fuck without a dick.

How did anyone do that?

If she was going to be a prostitute, a lesbian prostitute for her friends, for Olivia, for Heather, for Brenda, she'd have to know.

She was thinking about it, too. Really considering it.

Olivia's prostitute.

Heather's whore.

Brenda's call girl.

Could she? Could she do it?

She opened her phone browser, searched for lesbians, searched for lesbian kissing, and finally, having gathered all her courage, lesbian pornography.

Hot lesbian porn.

Hot dykes fucking.

The screen was so small.

She took a deep breath.

She needed a bigger screen.

III

She dragged herself out of bed, stumbled to her living room, turned on her television, a big flat screen hooked to the wall, and shared the websites on her phone.

Slipping her pajamas and panties to the floor, she sat on the sofa facing the screen and spread her legs.

I'll should play with myself while watching this. When I become their whore, if I become their whore, I'm going to have to at least pretend to be excited.

Turned on.

Turned on by another woman.

I'm going to have to learn how to turn them on, too.

For me to be a good call girl, a woman's call girl, I need to turn on other women.

Especially Olivia, Heather, and Brenda.

My clients.

I mean, it's what they pay me for.

She visualized herself going from apartment to apartment, dressed as an expensive call girl, stripping sexily in front of her friends, trying hard to seduce them.

But I've already been bought. I won't have to seduce them.

Still. They should get what they pay for.

She saw her friends, Heather for one, slowly taking her clothes off, leading her to her bed and then.

Then what?

She clicked play on her phone, letting the images and sounds of the videos roll over her.

Her hand slid down the soft skin of her abdomen, lingering over her bellybutton, an outie. Her fingertips touched the yielding protrusion, then slowly traveled the short distance over the small hump of her mons, sliding easily across the lips of her pussy.

Her pussy was warm but still a little dry, a little too dry.

She looked at the video, at the video of three women lying partially on their sides in a triangle on a bed, each woman's face buried between the thighs of the other. From time to time the screen zoomed up close to show fingers entering wet vaginas, accompanied by squishy, squelchy sounds, the wet sounds of a pussy getting hammered by the fingers of a female lover.

Or the sounds of a woman's mouth sucking on the fat, engorged lips of her lover's pussy.

"Oh god, baby, that feels so good, don't stop, don't stop. Fuck me. Please, please fuck me. There. Yeah there."

One of the women pulled her fingers away from a steaming, gaping cunt and brought her fingers to her lips, tasting the juices of her lover.

Paige followed suit, pulling her fingers away to suck her fingers, to suck her secretions off her fingers.

She thrust her fingers back into her warm fuckhole, her hips rolling and gyrating now against her hand, sliding her ass against the fabric of the sofa.

She felt so dirty now, so dirty and turned on, and she just wanted to fuck.

She closed her eyes to imagine a strong man with chiseled features standing in front of her spread legs, flinging her thighs apart to fuck like a wild animal.

No.

She had to think about Heather. Or Olivia. Or Brenda. She had to think about Brenda standing between her thighs, plunging a pink dildo into her hungry pussy, just like the blond girl on the screen was doing to the brunette.

Just fucking her senseless with a huge dildo to the rising screams coming from the screen, filling her living room, clobbering her brain.

And when the redhaired climbed back onto the bed, a fantastically large purple cock swinging and dangling from her groin by straps, Paige knew how Brenda was going to fuck her.

She spread her legs wider, scooting forward to the very edge of the couch to fuck herself with her hand.

I can do this, she thought with a growing sense of pride and happiness. I can be their prostitute. I can be their whore. I can take their money to let them fuck me all they want. Or fuck them. I can let them pay me to fuck them. I can do it.

Finally she came.

And continued to watch the videos, lesbian after lesbian. Some pretty and made up, some butch and covered in tattoos, almost manlike. But woman. All woman.

And that started to make her horny again.

IV

Brenda dropped by late in the morning, and she prepared another cup of tea for the still sleepy Paige.

She grimaced when she saw tea balls, tiny metal meshed spheres to hold the loose tea.

"Don't be a grump," Brenda scolded. "This tea will help wake you up."

"You could have brought me a latte."

Brenda turned to face her directly, hands on hip.

"You'd have to pay me for that. Unless. You're prepared to pay in other ways."

Paige tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

Eventually she had fallen asleep last night. She couldn't remember how many times she climaxed watching and listening to women making love, having sex, fucking, kissing each other, touching each other. She fell asleep on the sofa, her final thoughts about being Brenda's little whore drifting through her sleepy mind.

Then she woke up, and she felt sick.

Literally, emotionally, physically, and mentally sick.

What the hell was wrong with me last night?

As if I'd let them pay for me to have sex with them.

She got up, took a shower, pulled on her sweat shorts and t-shirt, and got ready for a new day searching online for jobs or TikTok videos.

She cleared her phone's open browser.

She didn't need that kind of reminder.

Then a knock rapped on the door, Paige answered it, and Brenda swooped in, hugging her friend, and then flowing into the kitchen to make tea.

Brenda giggled.

"Just kidding, Paige. God, you're so dense. I can't believe you think the three of us would want that with you. As if."

Brenda held out a cup for Paige.

"We really got you good, didn't we?"

Brenda walked to the sofa, sat in the middle and patted the seat for Paige to sit down. Next to her.

She waited for Paige to take a sip of her tea.

One sip.

Two sips.

Brenda continued to chat with her friend, and Paige slowly, slowly began to lose that sense of nausea creeping through her system ever since waking up.

She felt better. Much better.

She grinned at her behavior last night, and looked down to see Brenda's left knee, covered in another pair of hose, touching the bare skin of her right knee as they sat on the sofa, the two of them close together and partly facing each other.

Brenda placed her left hand on Paige's thigh, just above her knee.

Paige wanted to pull away, she did. It was just that, well. It felt nice. It felt nice for Brenda to touch her. It felt nice to have friends, woman friends to touch and comfort you. When you were worried. About boys. About money. About life goals.

"You thought about it last night, didn't you? About being our whore. About us paying you to lick our pussies. Or for us to lick yours. To kiss our tits. Our lips. To taste us on your fingers, and on your tongue, and in your mouth. You thought about it all night long, didn't you?

"To be our little lesbian prostitute."

Paige nodded.

"And that's the thing, isn't it? You'd have to be a lesbian. Not just a girl getting by, not just a girl making an extra buck jilling her friends. No. You'd have to really be gay, Paige. You'd have to really become a dyke. A total lesbian whore for us. For our pussies.

"Because you need pussy so bad, don't you?"

Paige nodded, practically whimpering.

"And that means practice. Lots of practice before we can pay you. You need lots of practice being a lesbian before you can be a lesbian whore. A lesbian call girl. A lesbian prostitute."

It was true of course. Every word of it.

A sudden panic seized Paige.

She needed practice. She had to practice being a lesbian, she couldn't just pretend to be one for a few bucks. She had to earn it. To really earn it by being a real lesbian. But how could she? How could she practice?

"I watched a lot of porn last night," she said softly. "Lesbian porn. Dyke porn. I saw."

"Yeah?"

"I saw girls fucking each other with dildos strapped to their hips."

"Was it hot?"

"Oh god, Brenda. I came so hard."

Brenda set her cup of tea down on the table right beside Paige's empty cup.

Paige felt Brenda's fingers caressing her face softly, using the back of her knuckles to wipe up and down Paige's face. Her eyes were closed, and Paige sighed.

"You can practice with me, Paige. You can practice with me this morning."

Brenda's hands dropped to the hem of Paige's t-shirt, lifting it up.

"But are you a lesbian, Brenda?" Paige asked.

Brenda smiled and bit her bottom lip.

"I don't have to be," she replied as she lifted Paige's shirt over her neck and head.

"You can be one for the both of us."

Then Brenda removed her own blouse, slowly unbuttoning her shirt button by button.

"Watch me, Paige. Watch me take off my shirt, watch me take off my bra."

Paige watched.

V

Brenda moved Paige's shoulders to face her directly.

"I'm going to kiss you now," she said. "It's no big deal, I promise. You've kissed plenty of boys, right? It's the same thing. Kind of."

Brenda's hands clasped Paige's face, holding the soft skin of her cheeks in her hands. Paige closed her eyes and waited. She didn't have to wait long. She jerked when she felt Brenda's lips brush her own, but Brenda told her to hush and keep still.

"Hush," she said. "Keep still."

Brenda's lips mushed against Paige's lips, and Brenda's tongue slipped, meeting the resistance of her friend's clenched mouth. But Brenda persisted, licking the tip of her tongue along the warm lips of her friend. Paige resisted, feeling a little gross -- and a little violated -- by her friend. She squeezed her lips tightly as a flurry of confused feelings and conflicting emotions ran through her mind.

This is so gross, she thought.

We shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be doing this.

I don't like girls. I'm not a lesbian. I don't.

But she was. She was a lesbian. She masturbated all last night to lesbians, and she had imagined this moment while she came and came and came.

Kissing a girl. Kissing a woman. Kissing her friends. Kissing Brenda and Heather and Olivia while they did things to her, wonderful things.

Feeling her breasts, her boobs, her tits pressed so close to Brenda's tits, feeling her nipples hardened against Brenda's nipples, she moaned and whined into her friend's mouth.

My client, she suddenly realized.

She's not just my friend. She's my client. She's paying me for this. She's paying me to make her feel good. I need to make her feel good. I'm her prostitute.