0 comments/ 90914 views/ 5 favorites My Prettiest Whore By: moonfire Some people hate that word: whore. I think it is beautiful. Look at them, now. They cannot see you. The window is mirrored. I watch it all from here. My girls and their clients. The ancient dance, the men and the women. Always the same, yet always different. Look over there, now, by the bar. See that girl in the silver mini-skirt. Tamsyn. The one with the long, ever so slightly kinky dark red hair. I’ve had her for two years now. Isn’t she a dish? Isn’t she a thousand volt stunner? I think she’s sex on wheels, or on stilletto heels in any case. Some people like their women skinnier, but who would not want her? She is so sensual: that flat little tummy poking out from under her top, her long smooth arms, the white swell of her breasts, her graceful legs. Looking at her, don’t you want to fuck her? Just imagine how sweet her nipples will be, just imagine her soft thighs around you. Do you think she will give good head? I can tell you that she does. But let her ride you if you really want a treat. She’s a sweet, sweet girl, and sweet sweet fuck. I know. I’ve had each and every one of them. Part of my job. I want to know who’s on my floor and what they do. She’s fantastic, a special experience. Don’t take my word for it. Your’re welcome to try her. It’s on the house. You’ll love it. Watch how she moves. She looks ever so slightly bored, distracted, looking off into the distance, looking just as if she does not notice that dude in the blue suit gazing at her body. Don’t be fooled. She’s well aware of him; he’s the one who does not know how she’s been checking him. He’s nervous, can you see? I bet you he has not been with a whore before. He lights a cigarette: his hands tremble ever so slightly. He’s watching her over his drink. He’s come here three or four times before. Sometimes after business hours, sometimes late at night. He’s lonely. He’s looking for company, and I think tonight’s the night. Tamsyn will go for him. She’s been around, she knows the signs, and she can spot a good trick when she sees him. It’s a necessary skill. You need to know your client. There are all kinds. Some people just come to watch. They look at the strip show, they check out the topless waitresses, they might take in a lap-dance or try to cop a feel. They’re harmless, and some of them get on well with the girls, but they’re strictly a waste of time. They’ll never book a lady. What you do with them, is you keep them buying drinks. Then there are the scary ones. Sometimes you can confuse them with the just-watchers. Look at that guy now, the one at the back, skulking in the shadows. His face is like a fucking mask. See how uptight he is. Every time the door opens, he checks who it is, as if he’s scared his wife will come in and see him here. You’d think he’s harmless, just one of the oglers. But you get a feel for it. Those are the guys who hate the girls. Hate and want. I don’t know what it is. There is something that lures them here, some hot desire, but they don’t have the balls to admit it. For them a whore is a shameful woman. But they’re the shameful ones: shame eats them up like a cancer. They come here and they hate themselves for coming here, and before long they hate the women worse. At best they’re not too bad – they just treat the girls like shit, walk all over their feelings. But when they’re bad they’re the worst fucking news on earth. I’m talking serial killer here. I don’t tolerate that shit. I keep an eye on it, and I protect my girls. You remember that New Ripper scare some years ago? Someone was cutting up street girls and escorts? You remember how it stopped, all of a sudden? Suffice it to say that the coldhearted fuck showed up here. Thin, handsome man: wealthy, manicured hands, expensive suit, flat, expressionless eyes. In the rooms he pulled a knife on Sandi. I won’t say what happened to him. You mess with my girls, let’s just say they won’t find your body. Ever. I don’t like a man who cannot respect a whore. Respecting a whore, sounds like a strange idea doesn’t it? But those are the good customers. Guys who come here wanting some company. Wanting what a woman can give a man in a place like this: a warm body, a friendly touch, an instant of pleasure. Accepting the girls for what they are, and treating them decently. Some of them will show up only once in a while; sometimes they will come back again and again to the same girl. I’m not talking guys who fall for the girls or any of that “Pretty Woman” bullshit. The girls tend to run a mile from that sad nonsense. In the end, it’s a business transaction. But you can do it badly, and you can do it well. You can make a man feel like he’s just jerked some sperm out over some cold bitch, or you can give him what he really wants, which is just a human touch. A spell in dreamland. And that goes both ways. The girls don’t like to be treated like they’re bits of kleenex. They want you to play along too. Look at Tamsyn now. The man has caught her eye. She’s going over, sashaying ever so slightly, giving him that warm smile of hers, bending forwards to give him her hand, letting him know he can ogle her breasts. She’s asking him whether he will buy her a drink. She likes Pimm’s. That or lemonade with bitters. She’s sitting down, all friendly and demure. Look how he casually puts his arm around her shoulder. She’s looking at him sidelong. He’s gone all shy. She touches his knee, and then leans into his arm. They laugh; he’s made some crack or other. She runs her hand through his hair, pecks him on the cheek. She likes him. The girls like a man who can be funny. Defusing an awkward moment with a joke, putting them both at their ease. Their drinks arive; they touch glasses. She laughs again, burying her face in his neck. Watch: she makes the move. She’s toying with her straw, she’s asking him a question: Is this just a friendly drink, or is he going to want….? He looks a bit shy, but he nods. Look – that’s our signal. She smiles sweetly, gives him another peck, and she turns the menu stand on the table on its side. That’s the house code. He’s agreed. He’s hers for now. The other girls will keep clear and the floor manager won’t hassle her. She settles back, nestles against him. They’re in no hurry. Kiara is stripping on stage – now isn’t she the prettiest little poppet? - and they can enjoy their drinks. Still very tentatively, his fingers run through her hair. You can’t see from here, but I bet you her hand is on his cock by now, teasing him through the material. She’s a pro, Tamsyn is, in the best sense of the word. Knows how to make a man feel special. And she loves to fuck. That’s essential. Don’t ever take a girl on in this business if she does not enjoy the sex. I remember when she first appeared on my doorstep. This was two years ago. There she sat, all five feet nothing of her, her long red hair ironed straight and tied back in a severe ponytail in those days, nervously clasping and unclasping a purse in the leather settee in the outer office. That settee is big and voluminous, and it all but swallowed her. Through the video link on my desk she looked small and petite and vulnerable. She did not look old enough at all. “What on earth have we here?” murmured Laura, my floor manager at the time, peering at the video screen over my shoulder. “Do you think she knows where she is? Is she looking for a waitressing job?” “I know what you mean.” She looked like jailbait. “Either way, we’d have to turn her away.” “Would be a pity, though. She looks absolutely tasty.” Laura went both ways, and she used to enjoy the odd staff encounter too from time to time. “Let’s bring her in, see what she thinks she’s doing.” She went to open the door. “Good afternoon, sweetie, you can come in.” I don’t always remember the first time a girl comes through my door but I won’t foget Tamsyn. She’d looked pretty over the video link, but in the flesh she was breathtaking - beautiful in that unearthly way only a girl in the first full flush of her womanhood can be. It was as if God had only just invented cool green eyes, long fiery red tresses, ever so slightly freckled pale white skin, ample hips, pert breasts. She was simply and subtly dressed. Nothing gaudy or crude: just a pair of knee-length pants that emphasised her slender ankles and that hugged her hips, and a green satin shirt that seemed just a size too small. Her tummy peeked out under its lower edges. The top buttons of that shirt strained to hold it closed over her young, full breasts. I felt my cock stir inside my pants. After twenty years in the business you might call me jaded, but she got me right in touch with my inner caveman. My fingers just ached to pop those buttons then and there. Behind her, Laura made big eyes at me and mouthed “phwoaar” – Laura’s come to us from the UK – and then she continued in her normal voice. “Hi. I am Laura. That is Stephen. He’s the boss. Thanks for coming in. You can sit down. Want a drink?” “Hi Laura. No thanks. I’m fine.” She sat down on the heavy leather armchair in front of my desk and folded her hands together over her purse. She pressed her knees tightly together, took a deep breath, and looked straight at me with those cool green eyes. “Er, I’m Tamsyn. I’ve come about, uh, about the ad.” She sat up straight, trying to look confident, but I could see her slim fingers squirming on her lap. Laura sat down next to her, perching gracefully on the broad arm rest. “Hi Tamsyn. Thanks for coming in.” I hesitated. I’d been in the business for some time, and I was used to summing people up at a glance. Tamsyn had me floored. She did not look at all like the usual kind of woman who walks into my establishment offering her services as a prostitute. She looked young and…. well, innocent is not really the word. She came on like a woman all right, she radiated sex. But she did not look desperately poor, and she did not have that matter-of-fact-hardness some women get when they’ve been on the streets too long. She did not look like a whore. She looked like a sexy secretary, like a juicy barmaid, like a high school hottie. What was she doing here? I cleared my throat. “We, we’re glad that you’re interested in, um, working here. You are, uhm, you are aware of what the, uh… job is you are applying for? ” Behind Tamsyn, Laura carefully kept a straight face. God, I hadn’t heard myself sounding so lame for a long while. “Yeah, I am, ” she said, and she lowered her eyes. I waited. She realised that she was not going to be let off the hook. She breathed out hard again, and looked me straight in the eye. “This is, this is a brothel. A whorehouse. The job is, fucking strangers. For money.” “And, are you prepared to do that?” Her eyes did not leave mine. I was wrong: they were not cool green, they were hot. “Yes, I am.” Her cheeks were pink. The freckles stood out clearly. “Tamsyn, how old are you?” “Eighteen.” “Are you sure? You look a little young to me.” “I am so eighteen. I turned eighteen a month ago.” The hot flush did not leave her cheeks. Damn, she was beautiful. “Can I see some proof of that?.” She dug in her purse, and put an ID on the desk with an ever so slightly trembling hand. She played it cool, but she was a little nervous. Out of her depth. She was telling the truth. Her name was not Tamsyn but then I had not expected it to be. The photograph showed a pretty but strait-laced young woman in little-girl plaits and an awful check pattern dress. But it was her all right. And it was true: she had just turned eighteen. Something about the ID bothered me. Wasn’t her last name familiar? I am not good at celebrity names, but I was sure the name also belonged to someone in the news. Wasn’t her father some kind of minor celebrity? I racked my brains but it eluded me. I held on to the ID and looked at the live version of that goody-two-shoes picture. She looked right back at me. She looked determined. “OK, Tamsyn, you are old enough and you do seem to be serious about this. Could you get up, please? I’d like to have a look at you.” She stood up uncertainly. “You can put down your purse. Thank you. Now, would you please take off your clothes?” She froze, and her arms automatically rose to cover her chest. “What’s the matter, Tamsyn?” asked Laura, patiently enough, “you don’t want to get naked for us?” “I, uh, I thought, uh, aren’t you going to ask me some questions first? I mean, interview me?’ Laura smiled indulgently. “Sweetie my dear, this is the interview. And to start it, we would like to have a look at you. You’re very pretty with your clothes on, but for me and mr Hawkes here, that’s not the issue. What you look like naked – that is. So, my dear. Please don’t waste our time. Get your kit off. Now. Or leave” Laura can be quite steely under all that velvet sweetness Tamsyn froze for a moment, but only a moment. We were not going to make it easy for her. She was going to have to undress before these two people, the tall dark voluptuous woman with the soft voice and the small wiry greying man behind the desk, and we were going to watch her do it. She started unbuttoning her shirt. Laura and I did not move or speak. We sat quietly, impassively, not letting our eyes stray from her a moment as she undressed. She did it equally quietly, with a kind of defiant cool, not turning it into a strip-tease but not being furtive about it either: just taking off her clothes methodically, one by one, folding each item neatly and draping it over the back of the chair before going on to the next. She moved slowly and quietly, like someone willing herself to pretend we were not there. My cock stirred again and hardened uncomfortably in my pants. If she looked sexy in her tight-fitting clothes she looked seriously seductive in the black satin bra and thong she wore underneath. She could not stop her eyes flicking over to me for a second as she unfastened the clasp of her bra, but looked demurely down again as she took it off, revealing beautiful young tender breasts, full with pink up-tilted nipples. Then the thong. I guessed she must have done serious aerobics or ballet for a number of years; her ass was firm and her long slender back was sinuous and supple. At last she turned and faced me, tossing her hair back and once again fiercely returning my gaze. What a woman. From her fine sensual shoulders to those long, slender toes, from her vulnerable white throat to the dark fur around her pretty little slit, she was utterly desirable. “Thank you my dear. Very good. You are very beautiful. And you handled that well. Better than I did when Mr Hawkes first asked to see my tits.” Laura chuckled. I remembered Laura doing pretty bloody well herself, actually, but did not contradict her. “Now please turn around for us… till your back is to Mr Hawkes… OK, put your feet wider apart… Now, can you bend forward? Touch your toes? Ooh, you can put your hands flat on the floor, I wish I could still do that… Very good. You have a very pretty pussy, my dear. A sweet little pussy… OK, now straighten up… good. And turn around again… and put your hands behind your head…. good. Now hold that pose…” She stood next to Tamsyn, lightly allowing her fingers to travel over the young girl’s body. She touched her eyes, her lips,her throat. She let her hands brush the young girl’s breasts, rest briefly on her belly, touch the lips of her sex. All the while she said nothing, and Tamsyn did not move a muscle her eyes fixed determinedly on me. She was getting the message. Laura was doing it in part for me, playing her own game of getting me hot – she’s not jealous of me, is Laura, though she does claim first privilege to my cock – and doing it partly for her self. But she was also letting the new girl understand something. There was no space for shame here. When she became a whore, she would be offering her body, offering it to stranger for their pleasure. She could choose to turn back, or she could choose to go on, but if she went on, it would be along this path: opening herself without reservation, without shame, to those who bought her, letting them use her, and use her entirely. That is the whore’s burden. And Tamsyn understood. She understood entirely. She did not flinch or even tense. She let the strange woman play with her nipples, caress her mouth, slide her hands between her legs. She even let her eyes close, her head hang back, let herself relax against that touch. “OK my dear,” said Laura, “Thank you. You can sit down now.” Tamsyn opened her eyes and looked uncertainly at where her clothes lay neatly folded. “You can get dressed again when you’re done, sweetie,” smiled Laura, “But we haven’t even started yet. We have to interview you, don’t we? So sit down and make yourself comfortable. You won’t need your clothes for a while.” Tamsyn seemed to accept this, but remained standing. “OK… uh, but if you don’t mind…” “Yes?” “… Can I change my mind about that drink?” “Certainly, sweetie. Tea, coffee?” “Well, actually, do you have something like, uh, Vodka?” Laura smiled quietly to herself. I picked up the intercom microphone and called the bar. “Shall I make it a double?” “Yeah, uh, why not,” said the naked girl with an attempt at nonchalance, and sat down on the leather armchair again. She put on a good show of pretending to be completely cool, or at least not showing how aware she was of Laura and my eyes on her body. But her body gave her away. Her nipples were hard and her shoulders tense. I was pretty sure that when she stood up there would be a damp spot on the leather. I cleared my throat. “So, er, Tamsyn, is it? Tell us about your previous experience in the sex industry. Where have you worked before?” She looked down. “Er, nowhere, actually. I don’t have any. Previous experience, I mean.” “What? You can’t be serious. None at all?” “No.” Then, somewhat truculently, “I did not realise it was required.” (Laura rolled her eyes.) “Well, experience helps. I need to know that you know what you are doing. Hmm,… no experience in a brothel. Have you been on the streets?” “No!” she said, a little indignantly. “Tough place to be. Nothing to be ashamed of, but a tough place. Danced in a strip club? Topless waitressing?” “No.” “But you’re not a virgin.” “No.” Lauren piped up. “Well, that’s a relief. How many men have you fucked?” Tamsyn coloured, and hesitated for a moment. “Not many. Four. Three. Uh, four.” “Were all of them boyfriends? How many of them were men you did not know?” “Two of them were boyfriends. The one was, steady, the other one did not last long. Just earlier this year. The other two were, were at a party. It happened just once. When I was seventeen.” She had recovered her poise somewhat. “And you did not know them?” “No. They were from some college. Friends of my boyfriend. I was… I was a bit drunk.” “I can quite imagine that,” said Laura. “Do you remember it, though?” A pause. “Yes. Yes, I do. Afterwards I, like, pretended that I couldn’t remember, that I had blacked out or something… But actually I did.” “What was it like?” Tamsyn hesitated a moment, but saw Laura looking at her expectantly. No secrets, with Laura, and no shame. All the facts, all the storied pleasures, she wanted them. She heard them all without judgement. Tamsyn considered Laura’s question as if she had not thought about it before. “Uh, it was sort of, you know, wild?” she said at last. “They were like, both drunk, and I knew I could get them excited about me, and I sort of teased them, I wanted them to sort of compete, you know? And in the end I sort of, uh, wanted them both… And everyone at the party knew what was going on in the bathroom, I knew they could h-hear us, and I didn’t care, I just wanted them to d-do it to me.” The skin on her arms goosepimpled at the memory, and she squirmed in her seat. My Prettiest Whore “Did you like it? Did you like doing it? With strangers?” “Yeah,” she said, and paused, still remembering. “Yeah, I did.” She blew out her breath. “They were older guys.” “And they fucked your brains out, did they?” said Laura kindly. “Yeah,” said Tamsyn, suddenly shy at the memory. She lowered her head. “They did.” She smiled secretly, and peered up at me again through a curtain. She looked damned seductive when she was a bit more relaxed. “Is that why you came here? To get your brains fucked out?” “Well…” “Cause then you shouldn’t be here. If you want to get great sex, get a boyfriend.” Laura advised kindly. “I am not saying you can’t have a good time here. In fact it helps. But round these parts, you’re here in the first place to give great sex, not to get it. You’re fucking them. They don’t owe you a thing. Except the money. You owe them the fuck of their lives.” Tamsyn was silent, but and looked at Laura rather challengingly. I decided to intervene. “Your story interests me, Tamsyn. Tell me more about what you liked about… that experience. What was so great about it? Were they such fantastic lovers? Considerate and sensitive and all that?” She rolled her eyes. “Not! As if! I mean, they thought they were great. They thought their cocks were really big and all. But that wasn’t what I, what I was into…” “So what did you like about it?” “Just the, the making them want me. And the wildness. Not caring what people thought. I felt like, like I had no limits. Like, I did not care what was, uh, forbidden and all. I just wanted to do it. And to let them have me. That sort of thing had never happened to me before.” Something clicked for me then, and I looked down again at the ID still lying on the desk. I remembered where I had heard that last name before. Her father. Not a minor celebrity either – a well known politician, a conservative. I won’t say who. You’ve seen him on television, mouthing off about the war for the souls of our kids, about what books should and should not be in school libraries, about gays and immigrants and the moral majority, about locking up peaceniks and prostitutes. Big on telling other people what to do, strong on bombing far of countries, less eager to discuss the allegations of wife-beating. I wondered what it would be like to have him as a father: to grow up all your life with that loveless, intolerant, prudish, fatuous, pompous, cold-hearted, violent, selfish jerk for a dad; to be told who your friends could be and what you could think and what music you could listen to, to be told that women were either whores or virgins… Tamsyn, Tamsyn, I thought. You’ve come to the right place. Or altogether to the wrong one. Which would it be? “And that’s why you came here? Because you want to play with the fire?” “I guess…” she said uncertainly. “And to make money.” I did not believe her. I saw the longing in her eyes, the desire to plunge entirely into the depths of the body and what it could do. Sin. Escape. Depravity. Lust. Freedom. She paused and hesitated for a moment. “What is this, this, uh shrink trip you’re laying on me? Do you always do this?” I smiled. “Not always. But if you haven’t worked in a place like this before, I’d like to know that you know what you are letting yourself in for.” She had no comment to that. I wondered whether I was coming across a little bit too fatherly. But fuck it, that’s what I am supposed to be. I take care of the girls. There was a knock at the door. It was Jade, one of the floor girls, with the vodka. She was curious as hell – she knew I was interviewing a new girl, and she was dying to get a good look at her, and trying not to be too obvious about it. Tamsyn ignored the ogling; she sat there aloof as anything and received her drink graciously like she was royalty or a film star or something, and as if Jade was not half naked herself. When she was gone, I nodded at the closed door. “OK, so that’s one of the jobs here. Some of the girls start like that. Do a bit of topless waiting. Not too much contact with the clients. The clients cop a feel every now and then; or they will pay you to lick ice cream or Bailey’s off your nipples. Nothing heavy.” Tamsyn shrugged non-commitally and took a sip of the vodka. “OK, you don’t look interested. The money’s not that great, as you can imagine. So you will go straight to fucking the clients?” She nodded, again looking me straight in the eye. I could see part of her mind was telling her to get the hell out of there while she still had a chance, to go back to being a good girl and go to the college her rich daddy had picked out for her. But she was determined. “And what are your limits? What would you do, or not do?” She considered that for a moment. “Well, I don’t know… like what?” “Oral sex, anal sex, double penetration? Would you do all that?” “Yeah…” “Swallowing? If a client came in your mouth?” “I guess. I mean, yes I would.” “Would you have sex with a woman?” “I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t tried.” “Would you consider it, though? Would you be prepared to do it?” Her eyes flickered over to Laura for the merest second. “Yeah, I guess I would.” “How about in public?” That got her attention. “You mean, like, on the street?” “No, no. We sometimes arrange shows. We have some male performers. You do it on stage. Or a group of men club together. Some of them fuck a girl, others watch. Would you do that?” “Whoo, uh, I guess, yeah, I could.” She did that squirm thing on the seat again, and I noticed her nipples perking. “That turns you on, doesn’t it?” “Yeah, I guess it does.” She took another sip of vodka. “What else?” “BDSM?” “Say what?” “Bondage, discipline. Tying people up, being tied up.” “Oh, that. I don’t know. That’s kind of weird. I haven’t thought about it. I would try it though. I don’t like getting hurt though. Or any of that humiliation shit.” I guessed not. She’d probably had her share of taking punishment in her life. “You wouldn’t have to do anything you did not want to.” There was a pause. Laura caught my eye, and nodded imperceptibly. We were in agreement. She stood up gracefully, and went to the door. “Well, I guess I better leave you two alone, then,” she said, and then she was gone. There was a moment’s silence. Tamsyn and I looked at each other quietly over the desk. “OK, Tamsyn,” I said. “I guess you can figure out what happens now.” She knew. The knowledge lay between us silently. My cock was hard and hot inside my pants, and my mouth was dry. She tossed back the rest of the vodka in one go, letting the glass rattle against her teeth. “OK,” she said, “Here goes…”” I did not say a word. The noise of traffic came out through the open window, and the warm, rich air late summer afternoon. I thought I could smell the scent of her sex. She walked slowly round the desk and came over to me. She was silent. She walked like a lamb going to the slaughter, like a priestess to the offering table, like a girl becoming a woman in a way her father never dreamed. She walked like someone choosing her destiny, going over the edge, letting go. She walked like a queen, like a sorceress, tall and graceful, her hips gently swaying, her eyes fixed on mine, suddenly seeing her power. For the power was hers. True: she was the one who wanted the job; I was the whorehouse owner; she was naked in my office, she would do whatever I wanted. But she had the power. She had my desire. I wanted her with a sudden, urgent need. My hart hammered in my chest, my mouth was dry, my cock suddenly felt hot and heavy, pushing hard against my pants. Before her, I suddenly felt like a callow teenager again, staring with wondering eyes at a creature too beautiful for words. She must have seen it in my face, how my throat tightened and my breath caught in my chest. For she smiled, a slow, sweet, smug, seductive smile, a smile that said, ok Baby, you are twenty years older than me, you could have been my father and I kind of wish you were, but I see the longing in your eyes… The next moment she was upon me, still smiling in that half-scared, half-confident way. She pushed my chair away from the desk – it rolled back with a groan of protest from its casters - and the next moment she was straddling me, her fingers pulling me forward by my collar, her unbelievable green eyes sparkling inches from my face, her hair falling over us in a sensuous auburn waterfall. For a moment she teased me, bending forward for a kiss and then withdrawing, and then with a moan she kissed me, a long, a trifle over-urgently perhaps (our teeth clashed at one moment with a jarring impact), but then she settled in and let her mouth explore mine. Her mouth was hot and juicy; kissing her was like a long drink of water. And then she leaned forward and let me kiss and nibble her breasts, which incredibly enough were even softer and warmer than I thought they would be. Her skin was soft and satin-smooth and warm, and smelled ever so slightly of sweat. I let my hands run down her long sensuous back and up again, I curled my fingers in her long, cool, silky hair, and kissed her mouth and her breasts, her breasts and her mouth. Then she sat back astride me, throwing back her gorgeous head, exposing the long white column of her throat and her tender breasts to my exploring fingers. My hands quickly found what pleased her, and I teased and tickled her breasts, scratching them gently with my nails, pinching her little pink nipples and then letting my hand dart away again, tickling the upper and lower curves of her breasts and scratching and stroking her belly. She spread her legs wider, pushing her hot cunt hard against the bulge in my pants – I could feel the heat through the fabric – and starting to thrust and slide against me. Then she untangled herself from me – she turned around and put her feet back on the floor, grinding in my lap as my hands found her breasts. She leaned back against me, pressing her little forehead into the crook of my neck; she whispered, “harder, harder”, until my fingers were buried deep in her soft flesh. Finally she slid slowly down between my spread legs. Turning around again, she looked up at me – still with that strange, serene, poised amusement, and let her hands travel slowly up and down the length of my cock, which was straining against the confines of my pants. I reached down to unbutton them, but she restrained me with a soft hand, and undid them herself, slowly undoing the belt buckle, gently unbuttoning my pants, inch by inch drawing down my zipper, and finally (I gasped with pleasure) taking my cock in her mouth as it sprang free. Slowly and deliciously she licked me, her eyes alternately looking up at me and down at my cock. Somehow I managed to wriggle entirely out of my pants and underpants, while all the while she licked and sucked, letting us lose ourselves in the slow stream of mounting desire. She took her time about it too, sometimes blowing on my cock to cool it down, sometimes, nibbling my balls or scratching them with gentle nails, sometimes softly sucking and teasing me, sometimes taking me wholly into her mouth, her movements wilder and wilder. Sometimes she leaned back and let my cock slip between her breasts, and tit-fucked me, her hot gaze never leaving mine. And all the time her left hand was between her own legs, teasing and playing with her own little cunt. Finally she looked up at me – for the first time, she looked shy and uncertain – and she mouthed, “now you.” Slowly she stood up. Her hair was tousled, her skin was flushed, her nipples were engorged, and the smell of sex was now unmistakable. Slowly she lowered her beautiful ass on the edge of my desk and spread her legs. She jammed the middle finger of her left hand deep into her cunt and furiously masturbated, her right hand never ceasing for an instant to pinch and rub her breasts. I hesitated, confused. Was she ready, so soon? “Now you!” she repeated, more urgently, and I stood up, prepared to penetrate her. Then I got her meaning as she pressed the top of my head gently down. Her pussy was fragrant, spicy and sopping wet. I’d forgotten how pleasurable the act of giving pleasure could be. My whole being seemed to drown in her heady scent, and slowly my tongue learned where she liked being pleasured, how she liked her outer pussy lips sucked, how she liked me to tease her little clit with the soft underside of my tongue, how her body trembled and how she groaned when my tongue entered the hot narrow gap that lay between her inner lips. Before I knew what had happened, she had already come once, crying out softly and bucking her hips, locking her strong thighs solidly around my neck. Then her hands were pulling urgently at me, inviting me to come deep into her… She lay spreadeagled across my desk, her lovely head and shoulders hanging back over its further edge, her fingers fiercely gripping its edges, her legs spread wide. She was still so tight, so tight… I had to enter her slowly and gently, guided signals from her straining body. Slowly and blissfully her soft warm cunt little cunt enveloped my cock, welcoming me home. It was bliss. Slowly I started to move in her, slowly and then more quickly. She threw her head back in a spasm, locked her legs around me again and arched her back, rocking against me with an answering rhythm, her soft breasts wobbling liquidly as she moved with me. Her eyes were closed now, and her breath came in ragged, hoarse gasps - softly at first and then with mounting abandon, till she was growling softly in her throat each time I thrust into her. Somewhere in the red haze in my brain it registered that Tamsyn was multi-orgasmic, for long before I could climax she had come again. Her growls reached a sudden crescendo and she screamed in rapture, screamed again and again, reaching out with her long strong arms and grasping me around the shoulders, pressing her little body hard against mine as the orgasm shook her. “On the chair, on the chair”, she whispered in my ear when she could breathe again. She was small and light and I take care of myself – I was able to lift her with ease off the table, my cock still deep within her as she clung feebly to my shoulders, her sweat-streaked head lolling sleepily against mine. For a long while I let her rest, straddling me again on the chair, her body resting against mine, her breath hot in my throat. Then we started moving again, moving together. She leaned back a little and took some of her weight on her arms, pressing down on the arm rests. She was in a trance, all modesty and hope forgotten, locked only into the pleasure I was giving her and she was getting me. Her face was vulnerable and open, and I could suddenly see right into her. I realised all of a sudden that the naked body straddling me belonged not to a woman, but to a girl, to someone to whom sex was still a strange, alarming continent, who did not fully understand the power she commanded over a man, or how to possess and encompass a man’s desire for her. Something – a desire to be used, to lose herself utterly - had led her through this door, and here she was, still herself, still her daddy’s girl, sliding the mouth of her cunt across the penis of a man she’d never seen before. But deep inside the girl lived the goddess, her deep power of life and connection. I stroked her back and stroked her hair. And for a third time we let the stream take us, the hot current of the body. This time her eyes did not leave mine; she stared right into my own soul as desire and passion rose in me. Fiercely she rode me, fiercely she held me, and for what seemed like minutes I came and came in her, while her astonishing green eyes looked deep into mine, seeing in my face the pleasure she gave me and the pleasure she felt. She came too, I think, but softly, shuddering, whimpering in her throat. For a long time we lay tangled in my chair. The room faded back into focus around us: outside, cars were still rumbling and hooting, caught in a traffic jam in the hot sun of the late summer afternoon. After a while she stirred. She let me slide softly out of her but remained on my lap, her girlish arm flung over my shoulder. “Whoo, I could really use a drink of water. And a shower, now,” she said. “OK, I will get you something. There’s a bathroom right there. The door next to the window.” She wandered slowly and dreamily over door, and paused for a moment in front of the window. If any motorists looked up right then – and maybe one of them did – they would have seen her slender figure framed in a top floor window, like a naked young princess looking out from her tower. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the shower come on. I leaned forward to switch on the intercom, and then saw it had been on all along. Oops. I realised we’d probably given the kitchen staff a little audio show. For a second I felt embarassed, and then I let it slide. So what, they knew what happened in here when a new girl was auditioned. And perhaps they could learn something. I remembered a joke I had heard somewhere, about a rooster talking to some hens, showing them a huge ostrich egg. “ I am not comparing, I am not criticising. I am just drawing your attention to what has been achieved elsewhere”. So I ignored the amusement in Laura’s voice as she took my order for two bottles of mineral water, as well as Jade’s satisfied smirk when she brought it. We did not speak a lot as Tamsyn sipped our water. She’d found a nightgown somewhere in the little bathroom and wrapped herself demurely in it, sitting on the edge of her leather chair as her red hair slowly dried. “So, er, have I got the job?” she asked after a while. “Er? Yes, of course, my dear. We wouldn’t have, have-” “Fucked?” “Er, yes.” “That was good, by the way. You’re not bad, for, for a -” “Older guy?” “Er, yes.” “Hmm. Don’t underestimate us, sweetie. Don’t underestimate us.” “I won’t” A silence passed. “Er, Tamsyn?” “Yes?” “So, when can you start?” “Right now, I guess. Well, I am a little pooped, so, what about, like, tomorrow?” “Tomorrow is fine. Laura will take care of the contract. It’s, er, it’s for five years, renewable once. You will get a pretty decent salary – best in the trade. You can stay here – bed and board is free – so if you like we can invest half of your salary. We have a pretty good health and pension scheme for the girls. No-one works here for more than ten years. We like our girls to study a bit. There’s a decentish Business School at the university. We can pay half the tuition, if you decide to do a course. Quite a few of our girls do quite well for themselves after they have left here.” “Cool,” she said, with complete disinterest. She was eighteen and luscious and the days when she would want to do something else than fuck and dance for money were still some years away. Then she looked up at me. “S-Steven?” “Yes?” “That was a great fuck. You took care of me. I won’t be selfish with the clients. But, you know, every once in a while, er – um, you know” “A girl likes to have fun?” “Um, yes.” “Don’t worry, sweetie. I will take care of you. It comes with the job.” And it does.