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Life was good. Very good. I had a job that I enjoyed and paid me well, servicing sex-starved women. A hobby that I enjoyed, learning about computers. And a ‘girl friend’, albeit only fortnightly, with the sort of beauty wars have been fought for.
It couldn’t last.
The fortnightly meetings continued. And intensified. When I was available, Jenny would make her trans-Pennine journey earlier in the day, so that we could spend afternoons together, as well as evenings and, oh, those nights. During the afternoons, we would drive to the country in her little car, and, weather permitting, would engage in al fresco sex. We fucked in fields, in woods, in cornfields, wherever there was a little privacy. We sometimes ate out in country pubs, sometimes at the hotel, but always ended up in her hotel bed for desert.
She enjoyed sex however it came, but she had certainly developed a taste for my spunk. At least once each session, I would spurt my seed into the back of her mouth. She also developed a taste, quite literally, for anal sex. Not only did she adore me tonguing her sweet arsehole, she liked doing it to me. She had also somehow learned about prostate massage and could bring me to the most mind blowing orgasms by wanking, or more likely, sucking me off, while her finger did it’s wicked work up my bum.
And she just loved my prick up her arse. She would have her best orgasms with me reaming her back passage while either me, or her strummed her clit. I taught her the ‘Becky’ method of self-gratification, (Thumb in cunt, finger in bum-hole and other hand wanking.) so that she could enjoy similar pleasures by herself. We occasionally engaged in a little mild bondage. We both found that pleasure could sometimes be increased by being restrained and most importantly, blindfolded so that we had no idea what was coming next. S & M was a no-no. Neither of us enjoyed pain.
One night, or rather, early morning, she had drained me dry. I was lying with my cheek on her smooth, flat belly, looking at and caressing, her smooth, hairless mound.
“It’s so smooth,” I marvelled, “how do you do it?”
“I don’t. I pay for it to be done at a beauty parlour. The regular kind. They use wax, and yes, it hurts.” She replied.
“What does your husband think about it?” I asked.
“Oh he never sees it. I could have it sewn up for all he cares. I do it for you, do you like it?
“Yes. I do. Although I must confess to being a little old fashioned. I also like women fully furred.”
“What do your ‘clients’ do?”
“Very mixed. I suppose mostly a bikini wax. Some ‘landing strips’, a few untouched. I’ve never seen a ‘Hollywood’ on a client. But the working girls in our associate men’s parlour are mostly bald. Men seem to prefer it.”
She was quiet for a few moments, then;
“I think that I would like to try it with another woman again. Will you fix it?”
“No. Someone else. Another woman. Chelsea was fine, but I like a varied diet. Can you get a red-head?”
“I think so, I’ll certainly try. Two weeks?”
“Yes. I’ll call you. Oh. See if you can get a red-head ‘fully furred’. She can be my gift to you. See how much I care for you.”
There was only one red-head in Karen’s employ, so we would have to take a chance on whether she had matching collar and cuffs. When Jenny called, I told her so.
“We can have fun finding out.” Was Jenny’s response. “Ask her to join us for dinner at seven.”
On the afternoon of the appointed day, Jenny announced that we were going to Old Trafford, to see the cricket. It was a charity match between Lancashire and the touring Australian side. How she came by the tickets I will never know. She enjoyed the match, but admitted that she knew little about the game. We left early so that we could be ready for our dinner appointment.
Caitlin was new to Karen’s, we had not met. She was Liverpool-Irish. More Irish than Liverpool if the soft, Southern Ireland brogue was anything to go by. And a head-turner. She was thirty-ish, went in and out in all the right places and possessed the most glorious head of hair, the colour of a West of Ireland sunset. A few freckles on her cheeks suggested that the colour was natural and the top of her fine tits, also freckled and revealed by her low-cut, green dress, offered confirmation. She and Jenny hit it off from the start. Caitlin was good company and had a wicked sense of humour which kept us in fits of laughter. Our normally quiet, secluded table was attracting a good deal of attention that evening, women glowering at, and men ogling, my two prick-stiffeningly lovely companions. In just a short time, I was going to be in a hotel room with this pair, for the express purpose of sex.
Life was good.
“What was your score today?” Jenny suddenly avcılar elit escort asked me.
I reminded her that I had not been working today, I had been with her. Caitlin gave the two of us a questioning look, Jenny explained that it was part of our sex-play.
“Ask me then.” Said Caitlin.
“Alright, what was your score today?” Jenny obliged.
“Nine.” Announced Caitlin.
“Nine?” I echoed.
“Nine. A bit above average.” Caitlin confirmed.
“If I could manage nine in a day I would be retired already” I marvelled.
“Grow some tits and come and work for us,” Caitlin quipped. “You’ve got most of the necessary holes.”
“Tell us. All the details.” Ordered Jenny.
Caitlin told us about her punters that day. The procedure was much the same as in Pamper’s, but the punter did not get to be wanked off and asked what else they wanted. A rubbered-up suck and a fuck was the minimum on offer. Extras included an uncovered suck, all the way to climax if required, a tit wank and if the punter was lucky, an arse-fuck.
Caitlin had had four ejaculations in her mouth and two on her tits. Two more had been allowed to use the road less travelled, her rather expensive anus. The others had spurted into condoms while in the conventional hole.
“What’s the most that you’ve had in a day? Asked Jenny.
But that was a double shift, someone had not turned up to replace her.
“Believe me, ” She went on, “I felt fucked (She pronounced it ‘focked’.) that night and I couldn’t ride my bike for two days!”
More laughter. Jenny was intrigued by Caitlin’s story.
“What are the men like, the ones who come to you for sex?”
“Varied. Mostly middle-aged. They’re fine. It’s usually a friendly commercial transaction. I’ve got something to sell, or rather, rent, and they are willing to pay for it. They are not shy or ashamed about their needs. It’s the younger men who can be a problem, though not so much in Karen’s. Karen’s is up-market, more expensive than most. Price is an effective filter. And anyway, trouble makers soon find themselves out on the street, sometimes bollock-naked. Our two receptionists are qualified marshal arts experts. But I’ve worked in other parlours, less discriminating. By no means all, but some young men think that they have paid for the right to abuse a girl. Sometimes they are drunk and/or, put up to it by their mates. Reception can usually spot trouble before it happens, the undesirables are told that the girls are all busy, not available for an hour or so. Then there are the granddads. They’re probably the best of all, never any trouble.”
It had suddenly become serious.
“I need to powder my nose.” Announced Caitlin, standing up.
“Me too.” And Jenny followed.
They were gone for a long time, the coffee had arrived by the time they came back, smiling conspiratorially. They took their seats and I poured the coffee.
“Cream, with black lace. And wet.” Announced Jenny.
Caitlin cottoned on instantly.
“Green.” She said. “And yes, also wet.”
They both looked at me. After a long pause, I ventured;
Two pairs of eyebrows raised expectantly. They waited.
“I could probably knock nails in with it.” I boasted.
“Come on.” Ordered Jenny. “It’s time.”
The ride up to the room was uneventful. Once inside, the girls wasted no time in stripping. Caitlin was no disappointment. Under the dress she wore a green ‘waspie’ type corset which supported black stockings. She removed the matching bra and knickers. Those ripe, freckled tits were pushed up by the corset. And yes, her full but neatly trimmed bush was the same fiery red as her head hair.
She and Jenny came together in a long kiss, broken only by them falling sideways onto the bed. Jenny had left on the, as promised, black lace trimmed suspender belt.
They made torrid but gentle love, for their own pleasure. I was just the audience. But a very attentive audience, I had a fine close view of their couplings. First, Caitlin went down on Jenny’s depilated vulva, then Jenny returned the favour on Caitlin’s furry mound. Jenny then used the ‘Becky’ method to bring Caitlin to the first of her many orgasms. No faking. They were all real. Jenny was keen to give Caitlin the tit-in cunt-treatment she had learned from Chelsea, then demanded the same treatment from Caitlin.
I have no idea how often each girl came, but after what seemed an age, they took a breather. I had started my spectating by stroking my towering erection, but had to stop. I was so hard. Caitlin dipped into her bag and fished out a strap-on dildo, which she offered to Jenny. Jenny put the thing on, with Caitlin’s help, then took it in her hand and pretended to wank it.
“Shall I avcılar escort leave you two to it?” I enquired. I felt surplus to requirements.
“Oh no,” replied Jenny, ” we have plans for you.”
She waved the prosthetic in my direction. Realisation dawned.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” I protested.
“Oh yes, yes, yes, yes.” They trilled in unison.
“Be a good boy and take it like a woman,” quipped Caitlin, “think of it as practice for increasing you income. ‘Arse for rent.’ Come on. On your knees.”
What the hell, Jenny loved it that way, was I missing out? I knelt on the bed. Caitlin greased my trembling hole and guided the artificial prick to the mark. Jenny was gentle, pushing just the tip in and allowing my sphincter to accommodate to it, then driving slowly all the way in. She paused again, then began to fuck me. Of course it hurt. Or did it? Was it just prejudice? I relaxed and began to enjoy it.
“His cock and balls wave about as you fuck him,” said Caitlin, “just like my tits do when I’m fucked from behind.”
Jenny had to see. Caitlin strapped on the plastic prick and after more lubing, pushed it back up my, by now, welcoming arse-hole. Jenny lay almost under me to watch the real cock thrash about to Caitlin’s thrusts. Caitlin knew just how to do it and only pushed in enough for the artificial glans to stimulate my prostate. Jenny stopped my prick-flailing by taking it into her mouth and I could not stop a tidal wave of spunk from powering out of me into her.
The spontaneity and the sheer power, caught Jenny by surprise and she released the still spurting organ so that if fired it’s contents into her face. I fell forward onto the bed as Jenny recoiled from the unexpected stream. The two of us lay panting as Caitlin watched, concerned.
I would be no good to either of for some time, I had just had the best come of my life. Jenny decided to call time and dispatched a rather bemused Caitlin, clutching her £300.
So I did not get the chance to part the hair of Caitlin’s burning bush with my one-toothed comb. Not at least, on that occasion.
I quickly recovered, and excelled myself by spunking four times more that night, twice into Jenny’s cunt and twice up her arse. Just as well I was not working the next day.
Two weeks later and I was looking forward to her call. But the call did not come. Perhaps something had happened to cause cancellation of her meeting and therfore, our tryst? I had sworn that I would not contact her. Ever. She had to make the arrangements.
Two weeks after that and still no call, either to me of to the parlour. I was tempted to go to Leeds just to look at her house, perhaps I would catch a glimpse? I knew that she lived at the vicarage. But this was just torturing myself. And besides, I did not have a car. Forget her, she was the past.
But of course, I could not forget her. I moped. If this was love, I would do without it. I concentrated on my work. Pamper’s had got busier all the time, Karen was considering taking on more ‘companions, perhaps opening up the large top floor room, as an extra massage room. Becky made her weekly visits for what she now called; “A full service”. And chose me when available. She tipped well and it was always a pleasure to do business with her. Outcalls also increased. These were money for nothing. Or at least, for no more that the customers could get for much less in the parlour. But I was not going to complain.
I did become aquainted with Catlin’s Fiery thatch. On several occasions, the most memorable of which was the first, not including the Jenny threesome. A client booked a session, asking for; “A man and a girl.” I was available and I asked if Catlin could join us.
When Cait and I were admitted to the massage room, a standard room by the way, the woman was still fully dressed. She ordered the two of us to undress. Completely. She wanted us both nude. Even the crucifix that Caitlin always wore, had to go.
We had to pirouette before the punter, so that she could inspect us. When she was happy that we were what she wanted, she undressed. Again, all off. She was a good looking woman, I would have fucked her with pleasure. The performance began. Caitlin was ordered to kneel in front of me and to suck my cock, but I was not to come. The woman masturbated as she watched. Next, she pulled the chair up close to the couch, which she had already set at it’s lowest, and ordered me to go to work on Caitlins cunt with my mouth. A pleasure.
The client watched closely as I kissed, sucked and licked Caitlins juicy hole. Caitlin came, genuinely I think, her climax was matched by the client. Then I was told to mount Catlin, missionary position and fuck her. We were told to fuck in numerous positions, each one until the customer made herself come again. Finally we were avcılar eve gelen escort told to sixty-nine, with me on top. I had to spunk into Caitlins mouth, then Caitlin had to show the mouthful of come before swallowing it. The woman wanked furiously the whole time, she must have come a dozen times during the show.
And that’s all it was. A show. She gave us £100 each and asked us to leave. Neither of us had laid a finger on her. A genuine voyeur.
I arranged to have my hair removed in the ‘straight’ part of Pamper’s. It does hurt, but removes the need for every day shaves. I also enrolled on a degree course in computing, with the Open University. I was delighted to fine that my night-school studies qualified as the ‘Foundation Course’, and was able to go straight for an M.Sc.
It was almost seven weeks after our previous encounter, that Jenny called me. At home. Could I get away for a few days next week? I would certainly try, what did she have in mind?
“I will pick you up at midday on Monday, and bring you back on Friday evening. I want to have some time with you, away from the city. We will drive out somewhere and find a small hotel.”
So there was some kind of change happening. I invented some ficticious family problem and was given leave to go and sort out the problem.
Jenny picked me up at home after an anxious wait all Monday morning, my heart thumping like a teenager anticipating his first date. As she drew up, I picked up my bag and ran to meet her. She drove away, she had obviously decided on our destination. After the small talk, how are you, nice to see you again, it dawned on me that I had never given Jenny my address, how did she know how to find me? She was silent for a while, then spoke softly, reluctantly;
“My company uses the services of an investgation bureau, I had you checked out months ago. I know everything about you. I did not want to get involved with some kind of criminal. Your proffession is borderline illegal anyway.”
My turn for silence. So much for a free country. At first I was annoyed, but eventually softened. I had nothing to hide anyway. But the trip was made pretty much in silence, Jenny was preoccupied with something. Jenny knew precisely where she was going, to a small hotel in central Wales. And we were expected, she had booked.
We had an idyllic five days, or at least, four. It was autumn now and the weather was trying to make up for an indifferent summer. The colours of the countryside were stunning, the hotel good, especially the food. And the bed was big. It took quite a battering as we made up for seven lost weeks.
After breakfast on the fifth day, Jenny dropped her bombshell. This would be our last meeting. She told me the story, starting on the morning after our threesome with Caitlin.
“I turned up for the Thursday morning meeting as usual, only to be informed that it was cancelled. During the previous night, the principal of the company had suffered a heart attack and died. He had been fifty years old. Later rumours suggested that he was on top of his twenty-five year old, model girl trophy wife when it happened.”
“Not a bad way to go.” I interrupted.
Jenny managed a smile and continued;
“Anyway, I had a free morning. I decided that I would go straight home. I found my husband in bed. With another man.
I walked straight out and back to my office, told them about the demise of our colleague, and began divorce proceedings. I suppose that I knew that I would have to leave him anyway, he had given me a perfect excuse.
I also asked my company if I could be transferred to head office, in London. I am starting there on Monday. I’ve found a tiny flat, close enough to be able to walk to my office. As from Monday, Jenny is dead. Long live Genevieve.
“And me?” I asked.
“Part of Jenny. A very big part, I will never forget you and I will always remember what a good teacher you have been. But be honest, we could never have worked out as a couple. You will not be a part of Genevieve”
Brutal, but honest. And she was right. All we had in common was sex. Very good sex, but even if sex was my life, it could never be all of Jenny’s.
She kissed me goodbye in the car outside my flat, and I watched her drive away and out of my life forever.
On Sunday morning, there was a bulky envelope in my, usually sparse mail. Hand delivered. I tore it open. It was from her;
“Thanks for everything. I will never forget you. The keys are for my car. I will have no use for it in London. It’s yours. All the documents are included.”
It was simply signed; “J”
The car was parked right outside my house.
A year later, I received a letter, with a central London postmark, obviously from her;
“I have found a wonderful man, kind and generous. I think that I love him. He’s not as good as you in your particular area of expertise, but he’ll do.
Your best pupil.”
I have now received my degree and am job-hunting. What the future holds for me remains to be seen. I will continue my quest for a replacement Jenny, but I know that she does not exist. Jenny was a one-off.
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