Island Getaway Ch 03

Abigail felt the hard cock slide into her pussy. She wanted to cry out, but the cock deep inside her mouth prevented her from making anything more than a muffled squeal.

"Um, you like that?" asked the youth, awkwardly grasping onto her thick thighs and beginning to thrust semi-rhythmically.

"Oh god," Abigail thought to herself. "They're barely older than the high school students I teach. "How did I end up here?"

***Earlier That Day***

Abigail awoke lying in a small bed and for a few blissful moments she wasn't sure where she was or what had happened.

Then, as the sun peeked through the window her memory slowly started to come back.

The summer vacation from her job as a teacher had quickly become a nightmare. Starting with the delayed flight, then lost luggage, the discovery of "top secret" government documents in a suitcase that was very obviously not hers, and being declared an international terrorist, had all led to her giving a stranger a blowjob (and getting paid for it) so that the soldiers hunting her wouldn't recognize her.

She moved her hand to brush some hair out of her face and the vibrant red color reminded her of what happened after she'd escaped from under the noses of the soldiers searching her hotel. She'd met a brothel owner called Madam Valerie and undergone a painful "initiation" to prove that she wasn't a spy: piercings through her tongue, navel, and nipples and a lower back tattoo that permanently marked her as a "BAD GIRL."

Madam Valerie had promised to help Abigail get home as long as Abigail helped her with a "little problem" by acting as a "distraction." She'd agreed, because when you're trapped in a foreign country where you don't know anybody, what other choice do you have? Madam Valerie had insisted on further changes to Abigail's appearance so that she could better fit the role she'd "volunteered" for. Her long, dark brown hair had been cut and dyed into a wavy red bob with bangs, her pubic hair had been completely waxed off, her normally pale skin was coated with a deep bronzing spray tan, and her nails featured long, French-tipped extensions.

All that--other than the tattoo--had been bearable, if not enjoyable. She'd then been brought to a millionaire government official's pool party where she had ended up wearing the tiniest, skimpiest bikini she'd ever encountered. It had barely covered her nipples and pussy even before it had gotten wet and become almost entirely transparent.

The man she was supposed to distract, whose name she realized she still didn't know, had groped her breasts and pussy while she sat on his lap before she'd practically begged him to fuck her as she tried her best to distract him for as long as possible. She'd felt humiliated when he'd bent her over a desk and fucked her, his unprotected cock plunging into her wet pussy before he'd, thankfully, pulled out and his cock had exploded cum over her back and ass. That feeling had only intensified when he slapped her ass and walked away without another word. Discovering that this had all happened in front of a window that allowed at least a dozen people to see everything had made a bad situation even worse.

Abigail realized that, as she'd replayed the previous day's memories in her head, her hand had slipped down to her newly bare pussy and begun fingering her clit. She hadn't cum when she'd been fucked and had been interrupted before she could bring herself to orgasm, much to her relief when she realized people had been watching. But going through all that and getting nothing out of it had, apparently, left her uncomfortably horny.

She quickly pulled her hand away when she realized what she was doing. Was she really going to masturbate while thinking about a stranger fucking her? No, no, no. She was a respectable, 40-year-old high school teacher. She would not.

Abigail threw aside the covers and sleepily stumbled into the adjoining bathroom. She stood under the cool water of the shower, letting it wash away the sticky mixture of sweat and cum that still coated her thick body.

Emerging from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, she put on her glasses and looked at the skimpy top, plaid miniskirt, and push-up bra she'd worn the day before on the way to the pool party. They'd been the least sexy things she'd been able to find amongst the castoffs she'd been given, and now they definitely had residue from the previous night on them.

"I'm not desperate enough to wear cum-stained clothing," Abigail muttered to herself, as she started digging through the plastic shopping bags that held the remaining clothing she'd been given, hoping to find something that wasn't

too

slutty.

She pulled out yet another garishly colored and, thankfully, unworn g-string and slipped it up over her round ass. This one was neon yellow and she wondered why anyone would ever voluntarily wear something like this.

There were a few bras within the bag, but none of them were large enough for her breasts to fit inside comfortably. She glanced over at the bra she'd worn the night before, but the stains that marked it meant she definitely wasn't wearing that again. She hoped that whatever clothes she found would at least hide the gold rings that now pierced her nipples.

After digging through countless tube tops, bodystockings, and lingerie she wasn't even sure how to put on--all of which made it obvious that these clothes were things left behind by the strippers and escorts who worked in the bar downstairs--the best thing she could find was a

very

low-cut red halterneck dress which exposed more sideboob than she thought was possible. At least it fit (unlike most of the other clothes), didn't show off her navel piercing, and covered her ass, even if just barely.

"Guess I didn't need a bra after all," Abigail sighed, looking at herself in a mirror.

She put on the strappy black heels she'd been wearing since she escaped from the hotel, a little dismayed to find that she was far more capable of walking in stiletto heels after a few days of practice, even if she still stumbled a little going down the stairs.

She entered the bar and saw Madame Valerie talking with some of the women who worked there.

"Abigail!" Madam Valerie cried upon seeing her. The sixty-year-old woman was wearing a low-cut black blouse that showed off her "enhancements" and had her platinum blonde hair in some sort of updo.

"Hi Madam Valerie," Abigail replied, unsure why the woman seemed so excited.

"Fabulous work last night, darling," she drawled.

"Um, thanks," said Abigail.

"Now, I know that we had made a deal and I said that once you did a tiny little favor for me and went to that party last night then I'd help you get home."

"Here it comes," thought Abigail. "She's going to tell me that she can't help me and that I fucked that guy for no reason." She braced herself for the bad news she knew was coming.

"And I wanted you to know that I've arranged for you to get a fake passport that should let you get through customs and a ticket for a flight this very evening."

"That's okay," began Abigail before what Madam Valerie said registered in her mind. "Wait, you can get me home?"

"Yes, of course, I am a woman of my word after all. You just need to go and pick up the documents and once you have those in hand, you can head to the airport."

Abigail surprised herself by running up to Madam Valerie and embracing her in a massive hug. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you," she babbled, tears coming to her eyes.

Madam Valerie cautiously patted Abigail on the back. "Yes, there, there dear."

Abigail stepped back struggling to get her emotions under control.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Can I have the passport?"

"You'll have to go pick it up," said Madam Valerie. "Here's the address," she handed Abigail a piece of paper with an apartment number scrawled on it. "And Yvette will drive you. Yvette!"

The same thin woman who had driven Abigail around the day before suddenly appeared.

"Take Abigail to get her documents."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Yvette turned on her heel and began walking out of the bar. Abigail, not knowing what else to do, started following her. Before she could catch up she felt a hand grab hers. She turned and saw that the hand belonged to Starla, the young blonde woman who'd helped her at the pool party the night before.

"Hey!" cried Starla, standing up from her seat. "You can't go yet!"

"I, uhm," Abigail stammered, wondering why Starla might want to stop her from going home. "But I need a passport so I can go home."

"Okay, but you need your picture taken and everything for that, right?" replied Starla, who was shockingly perky this early in the morning, presumably due to the mostly empty energy drink sitting in front of her. "You can't go looking like that!"

Abigail thought about how she looked. She wasn't wearing any makeup, but it wasn't that bad, was it?

"What do you mean?"

Starla looked around her conspiratorially then lowered her voice. "You don't want anyone to find out who you are, right?"

Abigail nodded. She thought about how her photo was plastered all over the news and the soldiers searching for her. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized.

"Great, we'll be really quick!" Starla turned to Yvette who was waiting at the door. "This'll just take a minute!"

Abigail let herself be hustled out of the bar and into the currently empty backstage room where women got ready for their shifts.

"Sit down, sit down," said Starla gesturing towards a chair facing a mirror, as she dug through the piles of makeup that were scattered across a table pushed against a wall.

***45 minutes later***

"All done!"

Abigail opened her eyes and put on her glasses. She stared at the image of herself in the mirror.

Starla had applied a thick layer of concealer, blended to match the artificial tan of the rest of Abigail's skin, and followed that by using bronzer and blush to contour her face. Thick, winged eyeliner ringed her eyes which now also sported long, fake eyelash extensions and metallic pink eyeshadow coating her eyelids. Her lips were coated with glossy, bubblegum pink lipstick.

"I look like some cheap, desperate bimbo," Abigail thought to herself.

"Isn't it perfect?" asked Starla. "Nobody would recognize you like this!"

"Yes," said Abigail quietly. "Thank you." She had to admit that Starla was right.

"Now for the finishing touches," said Starla, putting the largest gold hoop earrings Abigail had ever seen through her ears and pairing it with a large chunky gold necklace that seemed to somehow draw even more attention to Abigail's cleavage.

"You're good to go!" said Starla, clearly pleased with her transformation of Abigail. She helped Abigail to her feet and pushed her towards Yvette, who'd been standing in silence with what Abigail was sure was annoyance filling her eyes.

"Oh, and remember to take off your glasses for the photos," said Starla as Abigail and Yvette walked out of the bar.

"I probably should," thought Abigail. Her glasses were the one thing still tying her to her previous identity, so it made sense for her not to wear them for the passport photograph.

Abigail emerged out into the daylight, shocked at how bright it seemed compared to the dimly lit bar. She saw Yvette get into the waiting town car and she quickly opened the passenger door and stepped into the passenger seat. As she did so, she felt a breeze blow up her dress and the air graze her barely-covered hairless pussy.

A barely muffled "Eep," escaped from her mouth before she pressed her legs tightly together, as they stayed for the rest of the ride across the city. Thankfully, Yvette was happy to spend the next hour driving in silence.

"I'll wait for you here," said Yvette when they arrived.

"Thank you," replied Abigail, before getting out of the car very carefully.

She looked up at a somewhat run-down gray building above her and then quickly walked through the doors and into the lobby. Inside, an older woman sitting on a bench to the side of the room stared at her intently.

Abigail pushed the button for the elevator and, as she waited, she could feel the eyes of the woman burning into her. "Whore," Abigail heard the woman mutter under her breath.

Abigail turned to her, the frustration of the last few days welling up inside her. "I'm not a whore," she said. "Do you think I want to be dressed this way? That I'm here to fuck someone for money? Well, you're wrong."

Before the shocked woman could respond, the elevator arrived and Abigail quickly got inside, riding it up to the third floor where she found the room she'd been told to look for. Cautiously she knocked, but there was no response.

She tried again, but after another minute she decided she might as well bite the bullet. She grabbed the handle, which turned easily in her hand, opened the door, and entered.

The room on the other side of the door was a chaotic mess. An old couch was pushed up against the window, though the window blinds were fully closed leaving the only illumination to some mismatched lamps balanced on various desks and shelves. The floor was covered by a stained and threadbare carpet, while against one wall cardboard boxes were stacked almost to the ceiling. Scattered around the room were at least six different printers and scanners of various sizes.

In the center of the room, two guys--one in shorts and a t-shirt, the other in jeans and a polo shirt--who Abigail thought seemed barely older than the high school students she taught, were sitting at computers and throwing a baseball back and forth between them, while loud music played from one of their phones.

"Uhm," began Abigail, waving one hand in the air. "I'm here for a passport."

"Aha!" said the guy wearing shorts who was sitting closer to Abigail as he turned to face her. Abigail could see his shaggy brown hair and his partially successful attempt to grow a mustache. "You must be Miss Dohl!"

"Miss who?" Abigail replied, wondering if she had the wrong place.

The guy replied, seeming somewhat confused. "You're not Miss Barbara Dohl? Do you need a passport and visa?"

"Barb--" Abigail began before she realized. Barbara Dohl. Barbie Doll. Great. At least it wasn't actually "Barbie," though she wished Madam Valerie had asked her what she wanted on the passport.

"Yes, that's me."

"Fantastic!" said the youth, jumping to his feet. "Right this way Miss Dohl," he gestured over to a camera set up on one side of the room. Abigail was about to correct him that it was "Ms." and not "Miss," but she realized it didn't actually matter and followed him to the camera.

"Just stand right there," the young man said as Abigail followed him. He began adjusting the lights that pointed at her.

He looked through the camera's viewfinder. "Now, look at the spot right about the lens, and remember, don't smile!"

Abigail removed her glasses and did her best to look at where she thought she was supposed to as the camera flashed several times.

"Please take a look and let me know which one you'd like to use."

Abigail went over next to the youth and looked at a computer screen that showed half a dozen headshots of her. Did she really look that trashy?

"Um, that one," she pointed to one of the photos at random. She didn't think any of them made her look good.

"Perfect," said the youth. "If you'll please just wait a few moments we'll have this ready for you in no time."

Abigail sat on the couch, careful to keep her knees together. After only a couple of minutes of the guy doing something on the computer, he pulled what looked like a passport out of a box on the table next to him and fed it into a complicated-looking printer.

Abigail almost held her breath as the printer warmed up and ran through whatever the printing processes were. A few minutes later the guy who'd been helping her scooped up the passport and examined it. "Fuck, no, no no," he shook his head and went back to the computer.

There were two more attempts, including one where he opened the printer and fiddled with something inside of it before he seemed happy. He took the passport he'd deemed acceptable back to his desk, where he carefully pasted something to a page inside, used a rubber stamp that was sitting on the desk to stamp something into it, and brought the passport over to Abigail.

"And here you go Miss Dohl. One passport and visa. Make sure you sign it!" He handed the passport to Abigail who took it and looked through it quickly.

Abigail's joy at getting the passport quickly dried up, the passport was from a different country than her own. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake. This isn't for the right country."

The young man looked at her. "You want a passport today? This is what you get. One that doesn't have all the security features of most passports. You want to wait a month, maybe we can get you another one."

"Could I wait a month?" thought Abigail. "No, I have to get out of here now, before this whole situation gets worse."

She smiled. "Thank you so much. You don't understand how much I appreciate it."

She turned to leave, excited beyond belief that she was almost heading home, but found the youth (she struggled to think of him as a man) quickly dodging around her and grabbing the passport out of her hands.

"Okay Miss Dohl," said the youth, dragging out the name. "But thanks don't pay the bills. You gotta pay up."

He said a number to Abigail that, even ignoring the fact that she had no money on her, seemed very large.

"I don't, I don't--" she was on the verge of tails.

"No money, no passport. Sorry, Miss." The youth looked almost apologetic.

The youth led Abigail out to the hallway.

"Come back when you get the money," he said. "And we'll give you the passport."

In the hallway, Abigail searched her mind for what she could do. She could go back to Madam Valerie and ask for some money, but by the time they drove back and forth across the city, it would probably be too late for her to catch her flight.

And then it came to her. The obvious solution. The one that had been staring her right in the face and yelling to get her attention. The one she'd been doing her best to ignore. She could offer them "sexual favors" (even in her mind, she didn't want to describe it as anything more than that).

She couldn't believe it had come to this again. That the idea had come to her mind so easily. That she'd accepted it so quickly. There wasn't even an armed soldier about to arrest her this time. Just some teenager who had something she wanted.

"It's just one cock," she said, trying to psych herself up. "Just give him a blowjob, get the passport, and you can go home."

Steeling herself, she turned around, opened the door, and walked back in.

"..and if she comes back we'll get paid tw--" the youth who'd helped her was saying to the other before Abigail interrupted him.

"I have an offer for you," she said. "I could," she paused for a moment, swallowed, and bit her lip before continuing very quietly. "I could give you a blowjob for the passport."

"What?" the young man replied.

Abigail took a large breath.

"I'll suck your cock for the passport."

"Are you serious?" he asked, looking somewhat dumbfounded.

For a moment Abigail thought he was going to turn her down, but then she saw his cock hardening through his shorts and realized that she had him.

"Yes, of course." She licked her pink lips, trying to look as seductive as possible.

The youth wearing the polo shirt had come up behind her. "What about me?" he asked. "Will you suck my cock too?"

"You already offered to suck one cock," thought Abigail to herself. "What's one more?"

"You know it," she winked at him while screaming at herself internally.

She turned back to the first young man.