Journal #936 - Assignment Hertz-004

Begin Entry:

My name is Bernadette Evans. The assignment this journal will detail is attributed to Mr. Hertz. It is the fourth time I have worked with him. The objective of this assignment is to investigate a chain of illegal brothels. The brothels, going by the name of ‘The Night’, are notable for its use of magic to brainwash girls to become ‘Ladies’. Magic is also used for and by patrons, and occasionally by the Ladies for the purpose of extortion or recruitment.

The Night is problematic due to its owner’s uncanny ability to wrangle her way out of arrests, fines, or any sort of repercussions. It should be stated that I have no problem with the erotic profession itself. What I refuse to accept is the lack of accountability. I do not consider myself a warrior of justice or some hero from a children’s book. But this job pays, and the vast majority of my cases have ended with resounding success. It just so happens that my assignment this time involves bringing a corrupt businesswoman, and her associates, to justice.

To do so, I intend to become a regular of one patron, have my face well known, and eventually get close to its owner, Evelyn Synclair. This journal will include all the evidence I track. Should anything be too large, it will be sketched and kept in my storings elsewhere. Disguises may be warranted.

Attached is Mr. Hertz’s 400,000 gold pieces retainer contract. It will likely cover half of its work. Per agreement, I will not have communication with the client.

Signed,

Bernadette T. Evans

Evans Investigation Agency

~~~

Bernadette sighed in exhaustion, closing her investigator’s journal for the day. She rented out a cheap inn room in a secluded part of town. Despite the amount she’d been paid, Bernadette wasn’t one to waste money she just earned. Besides, she had no clue how long this assignment would take, and it would need to last her. That, and she had almost filled up her first vault of gold and silver currency.

The sun had set early; it must have been after midnight when she arrived. It was far easier to do assignments in the dead of winter. Less people around to catch her, it was easier for her to hide in the shadows, and while she didn’t mind bundling up for disguises in the summer, she had to say it was much easier in the colder months.

She already pinpointed the location of the brothel on her map, and the horse carriage had made a pit stop to the nearby area. From the cafe, she could tell generally what kind of locale the brothel brought in; surprisingly, there were more law officers than she expected, ones with faces flushed and unkempt hair and clothes. Bernadette jotted down a note about it, following up with some sketches, before heading to her lodgings.

As she looked outside from her motel room, she poured herself a glass of whiskey. It would keep her warm on top of her clothes and cast Heat Source. As she watched the snow begin to fall, she saw two figures walking by. One, a man in fancy attire, most likely a high-ranking politician. And the other, a lady in a trench coat, which was open to reveal a scandalous outfit that she likely would have frozen in. Bernadette sighed and closed the window curtains.

Bernadette never understood. Why would people go to such lengths just for a night of ecstasy? It seemed like poor planning, like a waste of time, a shame for a perfectly fine evening to be lost to pleasure. Perhaps Bernadette would find out in her endeavors this assignment.

Despite the whiskey and magical space heater, she was far too cold to be tired. Thank goodness she brought books. Books on the erotic industry, spells that might help her, and more guides on seduction and social deception. But she always brought a stray mystery book. Unfortunately, most authors injected romantic fantasies into otherwise excellent detective novels. It always ruined the book for her! Luckily, she tracked down a few authors who wrote to her taste. Not to mention the authors she’d generously commission to write detective stories sans romance. Any plot was okay as long as it didn’t end with two people smacking lips together.

Then again, maybe love plots would have been preferable. After all, Bernadette was hopelessly inexperienced with lovemaking.

~~~

Journal #936 - Assignment Hertz-004

Begin Entry:

Today I begin my formal efforts to infiltrate The Night. Stationed at a nearby coffee shop, I am awaiting when the brothel opens. From my last few observations, the most busy times are 21:00 (when they open), midnight, and 4:00 for stragglers, an hour before they close. Similarly, the quietest times are 23:00 and 2:00.

Thus, I intend to arrive around 23:00 and stay for 2 hours, leaving at an equally slow time. This will give the staff a chance to get to know my face, to expect me, and to wish to converse with me. With all luck, Ms. Synclair will also wish to discuss with me. Should she be elsewhere, I will attempt intel to gather from whichever Lady I regular with.

Signed,

Bernadette T. Evans

Evans Investigation Agency

~~~

Bernadette wasn’t sure whether or not to disguise herself as a man. If she did, she’d have to hold up the voice; not usually a problem, but she had no idea how she would sound while being pleasured by a presumably hot girl. Would she be able to control herself? She didn’t know, and if not, her entire plan would have fallen apart. On the other hand, being a lady seeking another Lady would surely raise some eyebrows and cause suspicion, eyes on her. So she opted for crossdressing, electing to spend more time on her vocal exercises. It was sort of a boon; crossdressing was one of her favorite parts of P.I. work.

Her personal feelings weren’t of too much importance to her, though. What she needed to do was succeed. If she had to crossdress, she supposed she had to crossdress. As a 28-year-old grizzly noir detective virgin, who knew how sex worked and not much else, Bernadette was walking into uncharted territory. She just hoped she was making the right call.

Bernadette would have been worried about what would happen when the escort would inevitably pull down her pants. Luckily, she had a plan. An expensive and cumbersome plan, but a plan nonetheless. And she brought said plan with her, hidden in her trench coat.

Bernadette never got nervous before assignments, especially when treading into the thick of it, the most substance. But for some reason, now she did. It was surreal; she never got nauseous, not even while training her body to withstand poison. She never had her legs clatter except when experiencing minor earthquakes. It was foreign, unusual, and not something she particularly enjoyed. Regardless, she made her way to the brothel.

As expected from her masterful deductions, the brothel was near empty. One door was closed. Bernadette made a note as she waited for a receptionist or staff member to assist her. The interior of the brothel betrayed its outermost look; from the exterior, it looked like nothing more interesting than a guest house or small lodging. Meanwhile, the interior was anything but; black walls and flooring, with paintings of seductive women, lip stains, and lingerie; a small selection of sex toys for sale, along with whips, floggers, and paddles; and furniture in royal hues of bright reds and purples with golden railings. Bernadette supposed she knew what to expect now.

Before too long, someone arrived at the front table, holding herself in a seductive position, with a luscious smile and matching lingerie. “Welcome to The Night, Mister! My name is Celine. How may we help you today?”

“Good evening, Madam,” Bernadette replied in a low, husky tone. No name tag on the person. She supposed that made sense. “I would like to reserve some time with one of your Ladies. Am I correct in asking if you offer two-hour slots?”

“We can offer you as much time as you’d like, Mister,” she licked her lips as she leaned in. “So long as you have, ah, the stamina to spare. Our Ladies offer you the finest of experiences.”

Bernadette waved her hand up. “I am certain I can keep up. And quite excited.”

“Lovely! It’s 50 gold per half-hour. If you may–”

Bernadette already pulled out the necessary gold, plus 100 extra. Tipping well was another perfect way to put a face to a name. And it sure worked like a charm; the Lady’s eyes widened and her jaw fell agape, recounting the gold to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

“Sir, are you certain? This is–”

“Well within my means. I am excited to get to know your Ladies.”

It took a second for her to gather herself from the shock, before nodding. “C-certainly. Right this way, you may pick whichever one suits your desires.”

“Thank you, Madam.” Bernadette followed Celine as she walked her to a gaggle of girls in scantily clad clothes. They all turned their attention to her, with eager smiles and mindless eyes. They weren’t all brainwashed, surely. Right? She made eye contact with each and every one, trying to find any traces of personality, of intelligence… she supposed she’d have to see them up close…

“Greetings, Ladies,” she said in a crisp voice. The Ladies replied with a gaggle of ‘good evening!’s and ‘how are you, Mister?’s.

“How may we help you?”

“May I get you a cup of tea, sir?”

“I would love to serve you, sir.”

Bernadette let them all finish their introductions. It’s likely they all saw her tipping extra and, at least subconsciously, and expected that she'd tip them personally as well. She supposed it would be yet another way to keep her face memorable. She cleared her throat, which had already become scratchy, but she pressed on.

As she looked from one lady to the next, her eyes landed on one in a devil-like costume, with bright purple hair, wide bright blue eyes, and skin that must have been so pale due to lack of sunlight. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Me?" she replied in a high-pitched voice. "Marivel Winters, at your service!"

"Marivel Winters," Bernadette replied, enunciating each word. Truthfully, she picked the first one to catch her eyes. After all, Bernadette had no idea what she was even into, if she was even into anything at all. "Very well. I would love to spend my two hours with you."

"Yessie, Mister!" she cheered like an adorable early college student, naive to the world around her. And especially naive to Bernadette's true intentions. A part of her felt bad for wanting to effectively destroy the ladies' career, but she needed to for her own career. Besides, surely they'd find something better for them all.

It seemed like the others were heavily jealous of Marivel. Bernadette shrugged off the jealousy, even as Marivel couldn't help but give them a smug grin. She let herself follow the escort, looking her body up and down as she did and overhearing the gossip already begin to spiral. She shrugged off the worry of what others were saying of her.

Marivel led Bernadette into a room with about everything a love hotel could possibly need. A plush king sized bed, red and black candles, a variety of toys for pleasure and/or pain, and no windows at all. Bernadette made a couple quick mental notes, intending to take more, but Marivel seemed beyond ready to get to work on her client.

“So,” she said in a slow droll, pushing her body against Bernadette and drawing circles on her chest with her fingers. “Tell me how I can best serve you today, please? What do you want to do to my body, and what do you want me to do to yours?”

A crack of a smile formed on Bernadette's lips. She was far from someone who'd swoon over a total stranger, but Marivel knew how to tug at even her heartstrings.

“Before we do,” Bernadette stopped Marivel in her seductive steps, “may I freshen up in the restroom, first?”

“But of course,” Marivel purred, “are you taking a shower? If you'd like, I can accompany you...?”

Bernadette pushed out her hand. “No, I'm fine. Merely going to fix my face and hair. I can't indulge in such a pretty lady with my face looking dirty and stress-ridden, now can I?”

Marivel gasped lightly. Bernadette didn't need her detective's intuition to figure out she made her heart flutter. "How sweet of you... very well, I'll be waiting here eagerly."

"I'm certain you will." Without waiting another beat, Bernadette made her way to the bathroom.

But not to freshen up. Luckily, Marivel fell for the lie. Truthfully, though, she probably wouldn't mind being lied to by an attractive man like Bernadette.

Sighing under her breath, Bernadette fished through her trench coat's pockets, grabbing a bottle of Lasever and whipping it out. She never knew it would come in handy in this kind of situation. But eh, a detective's job could never be predicted, now could it?

She got the bottles from some dubious witch. A smart one, too. Bernadette knew because she instantly saw through her disguise. The detective was, at first, thrown off, and tried to recount her cover story... until the witch offered some help. Despite Bernadette's lack of consent, the witch gave a demonstration. It was probably her way of coming onto the detective, but she brushed off the awkwardness and bought a couple dozen bottles. She'd need more, almost certainly.

Bernadette pried the cork off, and poured the contents onto her hand. She dropped her pants and boxers. With a shaky hand -- unusual for her -- she brushed her coated fingers against the folds of her labia and the tip of her clit. She had no idea how anyone thought this felt good. Bernadette just felt awkward.

A couple seconds passed. Surely, Marivel was waiting for her. Bernadette's heart dropped and she feared she might have gotten scammed. If that was the case, then--

Just as she was about to give up, it happened.

A pleasurable heat filled Bernadette's lower half. "Wh...what?" she couldn't help but moan. So caught off guard, she forgot to lower the octave of her voice. Shit, hopefully Marivel wasn't listening. Her folds began to close -- not that she could see it, but she could almost certainly feel it. Bernadette grabbed the nearest towel and covered her mouth to prevent herself from moaning.

"Mister?" Marivel's sing song voice interrupted Bernadette's spiral, "do you need some help? You know I would help get you off if you asked!"

Gathering herself for a split second, Bernadette lowered her voice deep enough to croak out -- "Good girls wait."

That was all she could muster before sinking into pleasure once more. She heard Marivel giggle, the excitement in her voice, before she apologized and went back to waiting. Where in god's green earth did 'good girls wait' come from? Bernadette was a virgin, but she far from uninformed, and she certainly knew her own lack of flirting capabilities. It didn't matter. Continuing to muffle her own voice, the rays of pleasure began to dull. And she could see it worked.

Nervously touching a hand to it, her new cock twitched. Pleasure shot through her once more, and she could see a bit of pre-cum forming on the tip.

Perfect. It should last two and a half hours. Bernadette stood up, her knees shaking. She gathered herself. She calmed her breath. She stilled her mind.

And she refocused on her mission, with a renewed sense of purpose.

~~~

Journal #936 - Assignment Hertz-004

Begin Entry:

I have concluded my first session at The Night. The worker I spent time with was named Marivel. Basic sketch of appearance attached. Additional, less detailed sketches of the other workers (including the receptionist) attached on next page. The workers were all extremely bubbly, cheerful, and enthusiastic. Perhaps this is an act to avoid deterring customers; perhaps they are genuinely happy at the workplace. However, it's more likely they are under some sort of conditioning, suggestion, spell work, or brainwashing. Upon glimpsing their eyes, I had a feeling in my gut. A subdued sympathy. While gut feelings can be useful, they can also mislead you. Open to possibilities.

To fix this discrepancy, I utilized the Lasever potion obtained from Ms. Carmilla Thornbriar on my expedition to _______ (journal #858). The potion worked to its advertisement, however some adverse, unexpected arousal came with it. Shockingly, I doubt I could tell the penis I had to any other man's penis. Intercourse was unlike anything I've ever felt. I suppose my inexperience was obvious because she offered to 'teach' me. I accepted for the sake of the investigation; in this case, learning good intercourse could prove of some benefit to me.

Unfortunately, I did not find anything on Evelyn Synclair. Upon asking Marivel, she claimed she'd never even met the CEO, though obviously she knew her name (as did everyone). Whether or not this is a front will become apparent with time.

Further updates to come.

Signed,

Bernadette T. Evans

Evans Investigation Agency

~~~

Key. Small notebook. Lasever. Masculine clothes and a voice deepening exercise. Bernadette had everything she needed to make herself prepared for that night's stake out. Their first encounter had ended on quite pleasant terms, Marivel grinning with pride in her after-sex glow. All other sessions had gone similarly.

Truth be told, she was good at her job. Way too good.

Upon realizing Bernadette was a virgin, she gasped and promised to make his first time special. She guided the faux dick into her cunt, and Bernadette this time managed to moan in a more masculine way. Being an unaware virgin, she didn't quite know what to expect. And she still wasn't going to become a head-over-heels needy slut; sex was just work at the end of the day, and she supposed that was true for Marivel too.

And so it was another night, another time to visit Marivel. Marivel had grown accustomed to it, beginning to dress in more revealing clothes playing to the fetishes she realized Bernadette had. The CEO still hadn't shown up, and Bernadette was starting to lose hope. She'd been frequenting the brothel for weeks at that point.

Not to mention, her supply of Lasever was beginning to run dry. With the nearest known selling of it a few days of travel off, it was becoming a dangerous gamble.

When Marivel started to get suspicious, Bernadette took to a different avenue of seduction. First, she'd presented Marivel with a beautiful necklace. With joy, she put it on immediately, unaware of its mind-numbing properties. Within half an hour, Marivel's suspicions went away, and the topic of Bernadette's identity and true intentions fizzled out.

But oh, Bernadette was bewitched herself. Bewitched by how excitable Marivel got. She made the cutest expressions, did the cutest little happy dance each and every time. Bernadette left increasingly large sums for tips. Eventually, gifts of clothes, jewelry, and accessories became gifts of sex toys, tools for BDSM, and outfits Bernadette wanted her to wear for their... excavations. Marivel was happy to, of course. Bernadette had accomplished her first goal: to become a regular at the Night and gain a reputation.

And yet, that accomplishment came with a price tag. A rather unexpected one. Bernadette hadn't hated sex as much as she thought, and Marivel did what she could to make her time enjoyable. But she began to want more. More. More. Bernadette didn't just want sex anymore. Not that she ever particularly wanted sex. But one day, Marivel asked Bernadette if she wanted to spank her. Once Bernadette got a few practice blows in, with Marivel's help, and landed a strike that left quite the bruise the next day.

When Bernadette saw the bruises on her ass the following night, something in her cracked. It continued to crack, threatening to hold back a dam of desires.

She knew she wouldn't hold out too much longer. Financially, she was fine. Physically, she was fine. But the mental stress, confusion, and constant repression was starting to take a toll.

With all luck, the CEO would stop by before too much longer.

~~~

Journal #936 - Assignment Hertz-004

Begin Entry:

Currently, I am on my way to Ms. Thornbriar. I have told Marivel that I will be out of town. Typically when she wishes me adieu, it is easy to recognize when she is and isn't being genuine. Before I left, I noticed a look of genuine sadness.

This is unsurprising, since our escapades have been becoming increasingly adventurous and excitable. First, the flogger. Then paddles, canes, whatever I could find. And with each strike, I wanted to do more damage. With each cry of pain, I wanted to make her cry harder. It was addictive. Enthralling, even. I've noticed Marivel begin to wince more and more upon seeing me; although I loved seeing her adoring look towards me in the beginning, seeing her fear, her anguish, when I hit her body with the cane... fear befits such a beautiful face more so than joy or excitement. Her cries are like songs to me. I hope she does not forbid me from seeing her, for I know that can happen. I have a feeling she won't.

The day before leaving, a girl a few years younger than me -- innocent and naive to the world -- walked into the brothel, believing it was an inn. A different escort offered to keep here there, with the implication fully clear. The girl, possibly a hopeless virgin such as myself not too long ago, looked stunned. She apologized before running out.

(Notably, this was the only customer who came in during 'slow hours', popping in just as I began to take off my trench coat. I wonder how exactly she ended up there. Should I see her again, I will report here.)

I still have yet to meet Ms. Synclair. Upon returning, I shall look into a couple more of the brothels to see if she spends more time there. If that's the case, I will have to start from square one. That would be unfortunate, however the client has sent an additional retainer of 100,000 gold pieces. That should be satisfactory for another month or so. If I am unsuccessful, I will consider dropping the investigation and report my findings.

It isn't particularly notable, but I would hate to leave Marivel; not that our ways won't eventually diverge. I hadn't expected to need to learn how to emotionally process separation as part of this contract. I suppose that's what makes investigative work so enchanting.

Signed,

Bernadette T. Evans

Evans Investigation Agency

~~~

Bernadette wished to see the CEO. Bernadette should have been careful what she wished for.

As Bernadette walked out, she caught a glimpse of something she wished she hadn't. Ms. Evelyn Synclair. She could tell by the perfume she was known by, and something in Bernadette screamed at her, 'THIS IS HER! THIS IS WHO YOU'RE LOOKING FOR!' The problem wasn't that she was there, it was what she was doing.

Pretending to simply be waiting for a receptionist, Bernadette listened in. It was the same girl who came in during slow hours. She was hiccuping, sobbing, those adorable -- no, those horrifying noises -- quieted over time. Ms. Synclair spoke to her in a comforting voice, and Bernadette could faintly hear the ticking of a pocket watch or metronome.

And the more Ms. Synclair spoke, the more times the girl repeated a mantra -- "I am a Lady, I belong to Ms. Synclair, I am at your service, you may do whatever you wish with me." And with each chant of the mantra, the girl lost more, and more, and more of herself.

Now, Bernadette had an answer. Ms. Synclair was brainwashing people to be Ladies. She didn't know what the fuck was wrong with Evelyn Sinclair.

All Bernadette knew was that she needed to get the fuck out.

~~~

Journal #936 - Assignment Hertz-004

Begin Entry:

This is my final entry. This assignment is abandoned. I have returned the remainder of the retainer to the client and asked him not to look into it. It is too dangerous and I'm cancelling the mission in order to protect myself. If Evelyn Synclair faces justice, it will not be by my hands.

FINAL STATUS: ASSIGNMENT ABANDONED

Signed,

Bernadette T. Evans

Evans Investigation Agency

~~~

The fire crackled, illuminating Bernadette in the night. Alone in the forest once more. The journal she barely started went up in flames, along with all of the documentation. The Lasever acted as a heat source, and the fire grew with each bottle she dumped into the bonfire. What a shame, after how much money she spent on the potions, and how much she began to enjoy acting as a man, using her power over Marivel. Oh, how she'd miss Marivel. She only wished she could at least leave her a letter, a farewell, one final night together. What she felt wasn't necessarily love, but it wasn't hatred or detachment, either.

Bernadette watched, enchanted, mournful, with the stoic look she'd come to perfect on her face. As the journal pages were rendered into ash, the words becoming lost forever, Bernadette brought out a cigar and lit it with the sputtering flames.

She inhaled deeply, remembering everything about the mission. The highs. The lows. The ecstasy. The fear. Bernadette concentrated all those memories into one place within her soul.

And exhaled.

She must have taken on that ritual on her third assignment. It was how she concluded each one since, spanning hundreds of entries. To think it would almost be a thousand. Bernadette wasn't a stranger to failed missions or abandoned assignments, but she staked her pride on each one, and she couldn't deny it wounded her.

With her exhale, though, the assignment was truly over. She returned the retainer, and after the bonfire went out, she'd pack her things and run off to... wherever. Bernadette didn't know. It wasn't like her to not plan that. But her abandonment of the assignment was a tad spontaneous. She suppose she'd just take a carriage to wherever the horses could carry her in one night, and wherever she was, she'd figure out what to do.

Her cigar burnt on. The flames, now free of both Lasever and papers, began to fizzle out. As soon as it did, Bernadette put out her cigar with her own fingers, wincing a tad. Putting it out elsewhere would leave traces of Bernadette. She was used to it.

With a heavy heart, Bernadette went back to the hotel room, thinking, on her hour long walk...

Where did she go wrong?

What, pray tell, did she do wrong?

...

...

...

Her thoughts silenced the closer she got to the inn. Bernadette made her way up the stairs, stairs she could walk up even in the dark, to take her leave.

Except...

Bernadette's eyes widened as she saw about the last person she expected -- and hoped -- to see.

Evelyn Synclair, with two Ladies by her sides.

Not expecting anyone at all, Bernadette made a fatal flaw, allowing the floor to creak under her footsteps. Given how Evelyn was staring at the door, though, she definitely expected Bernadette.

"How lovely we finally get to meet, Bernadette Evans."

Bernadette was at a loss for words. Evelyn waved her hand once, motioning for the escorts to leave. As they did, they gave a sadistic smirk Bernadette's way. Considering what she saw the day before, Bernadette's mind jumped to self-defense. She steeled her mind against potential influence, remembered where exactly her pocketknife was on her, and calmed her brain.

"Yes... quite," Bernadette's eyes narrowed. "How exactly did you get in here? Did the front desk not stop you?"

"Oh, they did," Evelyn replied casually. "But as I'm certain you gathered in your Investigation Journal, I have quite the reputation. It only took an offer for my Ladies to spend some time with him to loosen his rules." Bernadette's heart sank. If she knew about her investigation journal, then... "Oh, he's had so much free labor! I do hope he stops by for a full session once I'm done with you."

"What do you want?" Bernadette snapped, perhaps a tad propelled by the fear of whatever Evelyn would do to her. "I burnt my investigation journal, and was about to leave. I won't be bothering you or your Ladies anymore. I've left no evidence behind. Are you simply interested in retribution?"

"Oh, come now, I simply wanted to get a looksie at the 'Sir' who's been giving my Lady Marivel such a splendid time! And with lovely tips each time, to boot. I simply wish to bid you a proper farewell." That was a lie; Bernadette could see that all over her face. "You spent all your entries wondering endlessly where I was. Why didn't I show up in your vicinity? Well, I was certain to spend the quiet hours you took advantage of to do a bit of investigating myself. I must say, you're quite the smart cookie, aren't you?"

All of Bernadette's worst fears were beginning to come true. It would have been terrible to leave all her belongings in her room behind to escape. But she was prepared to. If Evelyn was going to brainwash her, turn her into a Lady, she'd rather be destitute or dead.

Evelyn advanced on her, and Bernadette took a step back. "Why the fear? I'm simply curious about you. Besides, you're far from the kind of woman I'd turn into my Lady. Though I can't deny many would like the chance for a beautiful, sexy lady to whip them. Fortunately for you, you're far from the kind of beautiful lady I'd hire."

"If your goal here is to insult me until I feel bad, you should leave now," Bernadette quipped back. "I know I'm not an ideal woman. I've never tried to be."

"Yes. It's no wonder you've taken such an interest in Lasever." Bernadette hadn't been paying close enough attention, and without her noticing, Evelyn had her pinned to the wall with her presence alone. "Wouldn't it be easier to use a permanent solution? Surely all that medicine tastes foul." She wasn't wrong. Bernadette wasn't one to complain about such trivial matters, and she got used to it after about a week of doing so. "Snooping around, deceiving my innocent Ladies, getting involved in business that isn't yours, and to boot, trying to get me in trouble and free my Ladies? You're not exactly a saint, are you, Ms. Evans?"

"I never claimed to be."

"And yet, you seem to be distancing yourself from your misdeeds." She pressed Bernadette against the wall with her huge breasts, almost cutting off Bernadette's airflow. "Would it not be easier to simply embrace that lifestyle?"

Embrace... it?

"Are you not tired of using 'justice' as an excuse? It's forced, isn't it? You simply crave trouble, crave punishing others, crave delivering pain alongside pleasure. Or do you think I haven't seen Marivel's bruises?" Evelyn chuckled, moving off of Bernadette and giving her a moment to steady herself. "Not that I particularly mind. That's what my Ladies are for, are they not? And it's not like they don't leave, like they don't enjoy it. So why not embrace this lifestyle you've been roleplaying? Explore your dark desires to the fullest extent. Train and punish my Ladies as you see fit. You don't even need a good reason; you simply can go at them if you've had a bad day or minor inconvenience."

Bernadette hated to admit it. She hated admitting it about herself. But Evelyn was right. She wanted more. Her escapades with Marivel only confirmed that, only stoked those fires.

"If you stay with me, I'll give you everything you want. You'll have total freedom. And you won't have to justify it with 'oh it's for justice' or 'well, a job's a job!' You can simply give in to your desires. I'll even give you permanent Lasever so you can use the shaft you've become oh so fond of. I can even make you have some enhancements. Have you ever fantasized about being so deep in a woman? I can assure you, when you get deep enough, you'll have them thrashing on you, begging for the pain to stop?"

Having... having it permanently. Being able to use it on whoever and whenever. Having girls hurt and scream simply for Bernadette's pleasure. Her legs clutched together in arousal, but it didn't do much, and it gave her away.

"You see? You're meant for this. I'll also give you a whole makeover to your liking. Masculine, feminine... whatever look you want. And you clearly enjoy being such a man's man than being a lady. You can live that life. You can live as the boy you wish to be, and you can indulge in your sadism every hour. You can be as depraved as you want. And you'll never have to justify yourself."

Each word enticed Bernadette more and more. She didn't have to worry. She didn't have to force herself to fit in as a woman. She never had to prove herself as a detective, to stand out from her male counterparts. No daily Lasever. No trying to hold herself back. Nothing to stop her. All she had to do... was...

"And..." Bernadette forced her mind out of that thick fog. "What do you get out of this? Certainly you're not making this offer out of the kindness of your heart."

"And surely you're not hesitating because of whatever shallow pool of kindness in yours," Evelyn replied. Once again, she was right. Bernadette was mostly worried about covering her own ass, about being taken advantage of later down the line, about whether Evelyn had a motive she hadn't mentioned. "But if it helps you... well, some of our girls who come here are... inexperienced, to say the least. I'm not able to stuff decades worth of sex experience into each and every one; I'm a busy lady, after all. To have a dependable man for the girls to be trained with, to ensure they do a stellar job entertaining our guests... That's what I get out of this. Of course, you'll get generously paid for it, and a room of your own! Where you can call upon Ladies to pleasure you at any point you wish. A win for you, a win for me, a win for the Ladies, and a win for the clients. I won't even force you to call me Mistress, a privilege just for you! And you can be their Master."

It was a good deal. Each condition, every word that Evelyn purred her way brought Bernadette closer and closer to the point of no return. There was no way Bernadette would get out of this now. Even if she declined Evelyn's offers, and made her escape, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Bernadette would grieve what her life would have been until the day of her death.

"It's a good deal on the surface," Bernadette murmured.

"I am a renowned business woman, after all," Evelyn chuckled.

It took a whole minute of silence for the thoughts to swirl around in her head. She wasn't properly protected against the influence, Evelyn's sudden appearance throwing her off.

"Then... fine," Bernadette concluded, exhausted. "I'll take your offer. As long as I remain my own person. I'll be their Master, their trainer, their tormentor. So long as I'm your equal. Understood?"

This was a bad decision.

But Bernadette was far past good decisions.

"Absolutely. Oh, but there is one condition I'd like," Evelyn started, and the bristles on Bernadette's neck stood up. "I'd love, so much, to choose your new name. I even have one ready."

"My new name?" Bernadette cocked her head.

"Yes," Evelyn grinned like a cat with a mouse under it. "Do you accept?"

She was in too deep.

Bernadette was changed.

Changed permanently.

"Yes, Evelyn."

Bernadette's new boss smiled wider, knowing she won the game of chess. She gently placed a hand to the now-former detective's face, stroking it softly, before...

"A pleasure to work with you... Blaise."

~~~

Journal #937 - Assignment Synclair-001

Begin Entry:

A late entry. Ms. Synclair asked I keep a training log going forward.

Ms. Synclair was telling the truth when she told me I would be on the same level as her. The Ladies look upon me with a delicious mixture of fear, resignation, and reverence. Of course, that is before I pull them into the training room and whip them into shape.

New Ladies need to be broken in, so as soon as they sign the contract, they are sent to me to assess their ability to give pleasure, improve their personalities, and make them Ladies that Ms. Synclair and I can be proud of. (And who can make us a profit.) The only problem is that Ms. Synclair gives the Ladies a treatment that removes their wounds and bruises. Understandably, of course - people don't want to buy time with a Lady only to see them covered in marks from a prior session. Men can be so possessive. I suppose I can understand it now.

Even better - Marivel has been personally assigned to me. She looked horrified when Ms. Synclair made that decision, and tried to weasel out of it, but I decided not to indulge her anxieties. I brought her into the room and whipped her into shape for disobeying Ms. Synclair and I. Each day, her sobs sound more musical. Like another instrument added to an orchestra. I use her not only in base ways, of course. She also tends to my administrative needs, cleans my bedroom, and comforts me when I need rest. Ah, what a wonderful Lady. Am I sure glad I chose her.

It is hard to believe that a mere few months ago I was a virgin detective who felt nothing, had nothing, and was hollow inside. Now, I feel and have everything.

I would not have my life any other way.

Thank you, Ms. Synclair, for giving me this paradise.

Signed,

Blaise T. Evans

Trainer of Ladies at The Night