1 comments/ 21495 views/ 2 favorites Vixens - Room 1567 By: Nellskitchen - Part I The few minutes it took Dr. Ellison to join me seemed an eternity as I sat alone in her office. My eyes scanned the wall behind her desk, absently scrutinizing assorted degrees and certifications. The silence was oppressive. "Just have a seat," her receptionist had said. "Doctor will be with you in a minute. Can I get you some coffee? Some tea?" She smiled warmly. "Thank you, no." Nodding, she turned away and left the room. As she closed the door, I slid uneasily onto the overstuffed leather chair and within seconds I felt it, the piercing desolation I'd come to hate whenever left to myself. There was no street noise, no sound from the outer office where the same receptionist had been busily tapping on her keyboard moments before. I broke into a cold sweat and ferociously nibbled my fingernail. Agitation overcame me and I sprang up out of the chair. With arms crossed, I paced the empty office, glancing about the room for an open window. My burning throat was closing and craved water. I needed air -- different air -- and looked up to the solitary window. It was a high transom, damn it. I had to stand on a heavy hassock in order to reach it. Of course, it was fastened shut. I pulled desperately on the heavy mechanism and still the window wouldn't open. "Fuck me!" I said out loud. Banging my palm on its latch I tried in vain to free it, then slammed the thing with both fists. My throat was closing more now, and I scanned the room for an object - a paperweight, anything heavy, to shatter the despised glass. I'll break you, you fucking bastard! I thought. My skin tingled as waves of anxiety washed over me. Just then, and with a quiet creak, the door to a side office slowly opened and a tall woman stepped in. My body language pretended my behavior were somehow normal. "Hi," I said nonchalantly from atop the hassock. The woman paused and looked up at me. "Hello, Tricia. I'm Dr. Ellison," she said. "I gathered that." "Would you like me to call someone to open that window for you?" Her unassuming entry had startled me and pulling the tangled hair away from my face, I flounced to the floor like a child. She glanced at my forehead, no doubt seeing the beads of sweat pouring from my agitated skin and though I quickly wiped the droplets away, their presence hadn't been lost on her. She was an arresting woman, fortyish, with perfect white skin, long legs and a feel of self-assured grace about her. It was all interwoven with soft femininity. From her auburn bob-cut hair to the black pumps which rounded off the professionalism she exuded, she was a woman comfortable with who she was. Being near her made me jealous and self-conscious. Her gray and perfectly tailored business suit set itself against my ragged jeans and pullover shirt. I was braless and wore flip flops. In one visual gulp, she'd seen the mess I was in. "So nice to meet you at last, Patricia," she said reassuringly, extending a graceful hand. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too," I half-heartedly answered. She was holding a folder. I spied the tab: Patricia Gressel. "Is it too hot in here for you?" she asked, her nod referencing the high window. "Would you like the air conditioner on a little higher?" The thought that I was now just fine wasn't lost on her either, as I had stopped sweating and my irregular breathing had calmed. "No," I whispered, staring at the floor. "I'll be fine. I'M FINE!" "Well, shall we begin? Will you sit with me?" "I'd just as soon stand," I snarled. "Look Doctor, nothing personal but I so hate being here. It's all Eileen's idea and she..." "Ms. Lindholm speaks highly of you, Patricia," she said with a smile. "I appreciated her call. She cares about you. But remember, what we discuss here, stays here. All she did was refer you - with your approval of course. Eileen is committed to supporting your therapy. She didn't say why we should meet but I assure you, neither she nor anyone else will ever have access to our discussions." "No one?" "No one. Now, I would consider it a personal favor if you would sit with me...please?" She had, in the briefest instant, managed to get me down from the hassock, back to the floor and into the chair. Much as I wasn't ready to admit it, I liked her; a little anyway. I sat. The room's silence was broken by the rasp of her stockings as she crossed her well-proportioned legs. I glanced at them as she moved, catching a glimpse of her white panties before she straightened her skirt. Though I quickly returned my stare to her pleasant face, I think she caught my glance as well. She was going to be a challenge. With my slender file resting in intimidating fashion on her coffee table, she sat back in her chair and jotted something onto a legal pad. Probably doodling, I thought. "Do you want to begin, Tricia? You'll find I'm very relaxed about the process and where we start, or for that matter which of us initiates what will hopefully become a continuing dialogue, is up to you. Whatever you're most comfortable with." "Good!" I responded a little too sharply. "You can begin, because I don't know how to. This won't do any good anyway." "All right," she replied softly, reaching for the folder. "I'll start. Here's what I know from your medical history: You're twenty-two, single, have no children, are generally healthy and hold a Masters Degree from the State University of New York -- Brockport, I believe. You work for Vixens, Eileen Lindholm's escort service. You're a call girl, an occupation you've always kept from your parents. Am I accurate so far?" Her incisive eyes peered over the folder, at me. Repeatedly pulling at my hair, I whispered, "You're doing all right so far, I guess. Except for one thing - I used to work call for her. I don't anymore." My response was more a sigh than an answer and I glanced at the nothingness on the other side of the office. Still looking away, I asked, "What else does it say?" I pointed awkwardly to the folder. Dr. Ellison continued guardedly. "While working during November of last year, something happened to you. It left you traumatized. You were hospitalized for weeks. You stopped working and according to your own account, you essentially stayed in your apartment, refusing to see anyone. You began drinking heavily and..." "...and I fucking quit! And I don't care what Eileen wants, I'm not going back! Never! I hate her and I hate..." Before I could utter another word, my eyes welled, spilling torrential rain. Dr. Ellison jumped from her chair and came to my side. She held on to me and I cried into her skirt. When I finally lifted my face from the warm fabric I looked at it and all I could think to say was, "I've ruined your suit." But she just handed me a tissue to blow my nose and laughed in a measured tone I knew already to be her hallmark. She had all of the reason I needed to master the mess I'd made. I had none. It was stolen from me one hapless night, after which I plunged head first into oblivion. Part II -- Six months earlier Opening my eyes, I gazed up at Eileen's face. I couldn't understand why she was here or why she was looking at me this way. Like always, I reached to hug her but my arm, it wouldn't move. I realized I was wearing a cast. Inflamed with tears, I could see fear in her eyes. Eileen! Afraid! Eileen's never afraid. "Your makeup, Ei. You'll spoil your makeup." I was weak and scarcely got the words out. She lowered her face to listen. "I hurt, Ei. What...where am I?" Glancing over her shoulder, she hesitated before answering. "You got hurt Trish. You're...in the hospital." Her words cracked under some unseen weight. It was so unlike her and I wondered if the two strangers standing at the foot of the bed had anything to do with it. "An...an accident?" I half-mumbled the question, before re-focusing on the people behind her. He was a tall, strong-looking, no nonsense guy, with dark hair. He chewed on an unlit cigar. The woman cast an all-business kind of attitude. I didn't like her. After exchanging glances, each forced a smile. "Who...who are they?" I asked Eileen. She had shifted her body, partially hiding them from view. Her face hovered over mine, her eyes desperately searching. She was close enough that I could feel her breath against my face. "Trish, these are detectives," she whispered into my ear. "They want you to tell them..." My eyes opened wide. A chill spiked my senses and I stared into her. Peering back at me, I suddenly understood her fright. She was trying to tell me something without uttering the words. "Detectives!" The title resonated through me. I can't talk to detectives -- not ever! Turning my head away, I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. Part III -- Ten days earlier "Miss Gressel. Can ya hear me? Patricia. It's Detective Vance, Patricia, NYPD. Patricia, you're safe now. Don't be afraid. I'm here with my partner, Detective Diane Meyer. Do you know where you are? Can you talk to me?" "Detective, she's lapsing in and out of consciousness. You'll have to do this when she's stronger. She has to rest. " The man's voice carried a stern warning. "Can't ya give us another few minutes, Doc? It's all we need. Only a few minutes. Give us that will ya? Her eyes; didn't they flutter just then? So maybe we can get her talking. It's a good sign, right?" "Her eye movements are self-referent, Detective. It's meaningless reflex. If she's going to come out of it, you need to leave her alone. She requires complete rest and stress will cause her to regress. Also, keep in mind; she may not even know what happened to her." "She knows!" the woman insisted cynically. "And somebody wants her dead. We're posting a uniform outside her door 24/7. Call us if she comes to." Voices were everywhere. Who are these people? I don't know them. They don't make sense. Fucking dreams. Dreams never make sense. I hurt. Everything hurts. Why do I hurt? And who are they talking about anyway? "Go away," I think I whispered at the awful bright lights shining above me. Though they seemed far away, somehow the light exerted unbearable pressure over my entire body. How funny it is, that light hurts. It's so bright. It stings. Even with my eye lids shut tight, it seeps through anyway, stinging more. "Turn those goddamned lights off! Turn `em off!!" She screamed. "They're hurting her!" Finally, a voice I knew. Eileen's. She was sobbing. Darkness replaced the light. Part IV -- Five days earlier My breath quickened. Sweat poured from my forehead, running down into my matted hair, bound tightly to my head by the leather strap of the gag whose large 'O' ring forced me to suck air and to emit frantic sounds which amounted to little more than delirious whimpers. Unable to move my lips, my ability to communicate had all but ceased. But no matter how hard I struggled I couldn't draw enough oxygen to breathe. I had willingly put it on for him and had managed them in the past, but now my own saliva was choking me as his strong fingers pinched my nose shut. Gags. They cause the wearer to drool uncontrollably and with his weight on my chest and his knees pinning my upper arms to the floor, I not only couldn't move, but wheezed loudly as I struggled to get him off me. He rolled me over, forcing me to lie face down and yanked the skirt above my waist. Grabbing hold of the soft fox tail he'd played with so affectionately at the restaurant. I screamed as he jerked it from my rectum. In an instant, he forced a stainless steel hook in its place, expertly connecting it with a piece of rope to the gag strap at the back of my head. "Be still bitch!" he ordered. "If you struggle the hook will dig deeper into your pretty bottom." He was right; with the two devices joined, I was helpless. He pulled hard at my hair, raising my face, cinching the connecting rope in the process. It drew the hook deeper into me and I cried out as it forced my spine to curve painfully upward. It was as if my entire body was bound, yet he controlled me completely with nothing more than two sex toys and a rope. Don't panic, I managed to think. I had worn both devices before, but this was different. Then, I wasn't forced. Grasping, my flustered mind still rationalized it had to be a game, yes; a game - but the powerful man's sudden ferocity had overwhelmed my little body. It was frighteningly effortless. He'd moved faster than I imagined possible. I knew I'd been outwitted by his gentle and caring display of affection during a pleasant day strolling about the city. I had willingly allowed his initial advances, batting my eyes at him in response to what appeared at first to be playfulness. Then everything changed. Sex is a game for me, one I played with skill. But this man had, in the space of moments, turned it into a nightmare, a painful reminder of my weakness and the arrogance that brought me here. I wanted to hide from him, but couldn't. Instead, I took deeper breaths, hyperventilating my fears to a monster whose physical strength loomed over me as if feeding on my blood. His strong hands flipped me onto my back and my frightened eyes darted as I futilely strained against him. Many men possessed such strength; I'd felt it often and liked it, but I had never been held against my will. How naïve I was. Having always thought I could take care of myself, the idea of opposing such fury had never occurred to me. Once at his hotel, I'd fussed with my phone as he opened the door to his room. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Nothing, Jayjan. I just have to check in with Celeste. It'll take a minute." "Ladies first," he said, motioning me in. That's when he shoved me into the room. Stumbling, and trying to hold my balance, I turned in surprise to look at him. He was grinning, so I half-smiled in return, assuming it must be his style; a little roughness to spice up a seductive evening. But I snapped at him anyway. "Hey! What's..." Before I could finish the question, he'd slapped the phone away and with a powerful backhand, he struck my cheek, sending me to the floor. The door slammed shut behind him and he tore into me, ripping at my clothes; his extremities working as a cold, unfeeling machine. Trapped in some complex maze, my mind raced. What is happening? Why is he doing this? Snippets of logic flashed like a drive-by shooting past my confused thinking. He's bought me for the night. He knew beforehand I'd give him anal. I'd agreed to everything. Why this? I tried to get hold of myself. I'm a call girl. I handle men. It's what I do. I can do this too. But he hit me again and I recognized I'd completely lost him. Panic replaced rationality; I hadn't seen any of it coming and couldn't get out! His room! Eileen said room 1423. This was 1567! I hadn't paid attention! He'd lured me to a place where I couldn't be found! A chill snaked my spine and defensively, I backed away from him. He followed like a cat stalking its prey. I bumped against a closet door a few feet behind me. His eyes had emptied of their warmth. He hit me again and I fell again. My body shook. "No, Jayjan, no, please don't do this! I'll do anything!" I was finished and I knew it. He grabbed me by the throat, lifting me with one hand, pushing his weight heavy against my little form, raising me up like a toy. I turned my face away, desperately standing on tiptoes but he let loose his grip, dropping me to the floor, where I slumped and cried more. In one terrifying instant I realized the thin veil of reckless abandon and swaggering self-confidence I displayed to countless men -- men who infested a world I had opted with so much excitement to join -- had vanished, replaced by the transparent fear of the child that hid inside me, one who lived just beneath the surface of sureness and style I smartly showed as if it was real. How quickly it all fell apart. Oh God, help me, please God help me! I cried to myself. How did this happen? I knew the answer. I was a whore and deserved it! The hateful thought cycled effortlessly through me. I was a bad girl! I did bad things! God, to whom I arrogantly cried out for help, was punishing me. "Stop it, please, Jayjan! I'm begging you!" I called out to the African, mouthing the words futilely through the obstructive gag which jumbled my pathetic pleadings. Even I knew I sounded foolish. He laughed and tugged at the rope running the length of my spine and I slumped over, my head coming to rest near his crotch. I raised my hand and caressed the zippered front of his pants, but he pushed me away, forcing me to fall back onto the mattress, bouncing my body like a ball on a playing field, jarring yet again the cruel hook in my sore bottom. I thought back to how nice he'd been. Eileen told me he was kind when he called to arrange to meet one of her girls. I liked him. We had spent a pleasant hour at dinner, complete with the sultry give-and-take of escort and client before returning at a leisurely pace to his hotel. I had explained the sights of New York as we walked, pointing out shops where I bought expensive shoes and sexy underwear. He joked with me as any other man might have. I never guessed he'd do this. He ripped the remains of my blouse open, and his finger reached into my bra which initially refused to give way. Panting ever more intensely, I called to him in an attempt to regain a semblance of control. "Let me...let me do it. I'll do it for you," I pleaded, my words muffled through the gag. "NO!" he shouted into my face. Shoving his entire hand into my cleavage, he pulled the bra away. I stumbled, hitting the floor face first. He savagely seized the rope and pulled me up. In a ridiculous display of modesty I, the unabashed whore, tried to cover my bruised and naked breasts, but he pushed my hands away. "NO!" He insisted again in the same frightful voice. "Prostitute! I bought you and will have you as I want!" He grabbed my nipples, yanking me to him. In pain, I fell forward onto his chest and he reached behind me with his hand grabbing my hair, snapping my head back as he raked my body with his nails. "Stop!" I cried, more sheepishly this time. The sobbing was uncontrollable. "Just tell me what you want -- I'll do it - but please stop!!" He didn't stop. Instead, his pace quickened and he threw me back onto the bed and lunged. He had planned it all as lengths of white rope, each arranged in a hangman's noose, were extracted from under the pillows and into which he efficiently forced my wrists. Snugged tightly I tried to move my legs to keep him away but his hand landed with a crash against my cheek and he grabbed one of my breasts, wringing it till I cried out in pain. "HARLOT!" He shouted. "I'll punish your breasts if you defy me!" His words were menacing. "Is that what you want? You don't like your tits? I'll cut them!" "No!" I cried through gasping whimpers. With that threat, I was paralyzed. The very thought was terror. "No what?" he demanded. "No, I don't want to be punished. No...please, I'll do anything...only don't hurt me any more -- please!" His words grew soft. "You're a pig?" "Yes..." "Yes what?" "Yes...I'm a pig." "You do anything for money. Say it!" "...I'm a pig. I do anything for money." "Listen pig. You know who I am. I have diplomatic immunity and if you tell anyone this, they won't believe you because you're a prostitute. My government will protect me. Even your government will protect me! You are nothing. I am everything." "Yes, I am nothing...you can do anything...I won't tell, only please, untie me." "That's a good girl. Now, be still, whore." With his weight set firmly on my chest, he shifted personalities again, adding calmly, "If you stay still, they won't hurt you. Struggle and you suffer. No one will care...they'll never miss you." Vixens - Room 1567 He was right and my body shuddered at the words, even as I forced myself to calm. But my breathing was labored; my face, swollen and I couldn't control the trembling in my limbs. "Open your legs," he ordered. I was too slow. "OPEN!" He shouted. I did as he told me. He smiled, noticing the string of my tampon and he ripped it from me, before forcing the full length of his thumb into my vagina. Grumbling calmly, he said, "Filthy fucking whore. You bleed like a squealing pig. Bleeding women are unclean. You have to be punished. There is no other way." "Jayjan. No." "No?" He asked, almost disinterestedly. Gasping, I repeated, "I mean, yes, yes, I...punished...have to be. I'll do...just...anything, only stop -- please." I was blundering and fumbling my way with broken words, not knowing what I was saying. And I prayed. Oh God, I thought, I'm so scared, please help me. "I'm going to let go of your throat and..." As he spoke, he abruptly pulled his thumb from my vagina. "If you so much as whimper, no one will ever find your body. Are you listening?" I nodded, nervously. He spoke with the authority of a college professor turned Boston Strangler. But his whole face calmed, and the harshness of moments ago faded away. Just to buy myself a moment's peace, I shammed relaxation. But he knew fear's grip had overpowered my ability to think coherently. With me lying still, he went to work, stripping away my garter belt and stockings, which he roughly unsnapped and drew down each leg, exposing more of me to the uncertainty and fear besieging the bed. He slipped the sheers over his shoulder as he slid down to my feet and reached under the bedspread. There were two more knotted ropes which he efficiently drew over my ankles. Reflexively, I pulled a leg away, but he sprang to my pelvis and looked at me threateningly. Then with hard slaps, he struck my tender breasts and I cried for my father. "Save me daddy. Please save me." "You forgot the rules, adulteress," he shouted. "The rule, slut, is you don't dare...don't you dare move. And no talking! Your father can't help you now." As if being nice, he smiled. I lay shaking but unable to shift my body and with my legs open as they were, he stepped back like an accomplished sculptor admiring his handiwork. "Yes, that will do quite well," he murmured to himself, acting like I was no longer there. He had dominated me in ten assaultive minutes. Without removing a stitch of his clothing, he had stripped me naked; tied me to a four poster bed, and controlled my reactions to the point where, aside from inveterate shivering, I no longer felt human. He drew one of my stockings from his shoulder and began wrapping my breast. "That's okay," I stammered, lying pathetically. "I like it...I...I do it for lots of guys, I really like it." Working mechanically, he answered sarcastically. "Yeah woman, I'll bet." I could feel it as the stocking disturbed circulation to the breast. The fabric's cutting sensation was a serrated knife, sharp against the delicate skin. Yes, there had been others, men who had done it before, but only with soft rope and I had controlled the tension. I had controlled everything. Now, my scattered thoughts fumbled over themselves, still insisting it was a normal fetish. Yes, it was all right. Clients sometimes liked it, I thought, as things grew calmer. But he drew the stocking more and more tightly. The pain worsened. I cried again and admitted to myself, this was more than some obsessive fetish. "They?" The word struck me and I recalled how he'd used it moments ago. "They," he'd said. Who were they? I became resigned to death and knew in the end, he would strangle me, my breasts first, but eventually; he'd kill me with my own stockings. He was showing me his intentions, after all. He wrapped the second breast; starting this time by tying the one stocking to the other, devising one, continuous and knife-like binder. He forced harder now and the pain sharpened. I stared up at him, tears spilling everywhere, my bruised mouth dripping saliva and blood. The words "pig and slut," slid through my mind, incessantly repeating themselves. As I wept he paused and in the calmest voice, he said, "You will stop now." Then, placing his index finger to his lips he whispered, "Shhhh...just...stop. Look at you. Do you think me a fool? That I would pay for a cunt with runny makeup?" But I had lost all control and couldn't stop the tears. He grinned as he gazed down at my quivering form and the violence returned. With clenched fists, he pounded at my tightly-bound breasts. The first blow knocked my breath away. He struck again and again, before seizing my throat with powerful hands. In the now familiar but no less frightening voice, he whispered, "Calm now bitch. Tell me you'll do as you're told." I tried to speak but words failed me. "Blink twice." I blinked. He hit me hard in the face. "I SAID BLINK TWICE!" he shouted. I nodded and blinked again, unaware anymore, what I was doing it for. Looking down at me and shaking his head, he laughed softly. "Miserable bitch," he whispered. "Why does this have meaning to you? You probably did the same things with some other fellows last night and the night before. You are a whore." He speed-dialed his phone and speaking in business-like manner, he said chillingly, "She's ready." Setting the phone aside, he lit a candle and shielding the flame with his hand he walked back toward the bed, causing the dancing glimmer to reflect off his dark face. I heard the familiar click of a key being slipped into the electronic lock outside the door. As it opened my terrified eyes seized his, which exhibited a look of comfortable satisfaction. "She's a pretty white woman," said a new voice. I jerked my head to see. There were two of them; big men. Both were black. The taller looked like a basketball player. The second was stocky and powerfully built. He wore a full beard. They were grinning and moved towards the bed, taking up positions on either side. One carried a duffel bag and the other a policeman's nightstick which he continuously slammed onto the palm of his hand, each time striking it with a snap. "Now, slut," Jayjan warned sedately, "it's time to see how much woman you really are..." Part V -- Six hours earlier It was a perfect autumn day in New York. November still saw its share of perfect days and I had already relaxed with him. He was just right and seizing upon Eileen's offer to take him as a client for the whole day, I was pleased with things. I liked all-day guys; it was easier to let go with them as opposed to the 'let's just fuck' clients of an hour or two. "He's Sudanese," she said. "First time with us. No negatives that I can detect. He's very black Trisha, tall, a former Olympic Soccer Player I think...anyway, something like that. Do you want him? He's staying at the Lowell on 63rd - room 1423. We're still working on your list of regulars and well, you okay with it?" "Sounds all right, Eileen," I answered neutrally. "Maybe he's a good addition. How often does he come to Manhattan?" "Says he's here a few times a year, so if he likes you -- hey, you can never tell. He's very courteous and you'll love his accent. You know what I mean? He speaks English, but it's perfect English? Anyway his native language is called Bari or well, some native tongue - he's Sudanese. So you'll take him then? He wants the whole night." "Will you allow a full night?" Eileen was strict about the rule. No all-night dates. "I'll bend it this once. We like diplomat types, right? And he paid in advance," she purred. "Imagine? He had cash delivered right to me here at the office, which is lovely." "The whole night? Yeah, for sure. What time?" "Seven o'clock." "Good." "Oh Trish, he's a backdoor guy. That little tush still sore?" "I'm fine," I said, though I was still a little tender from the previous day. "Eileen, are you sure that's his preference because my period's started and..." "I know that, Tricia," the madam remarked sharply. "Remember dear, I keep track of all my girls' periods but he specifically requested that too, which seems odd. Can you believe it? Men. Anyway, he was, shall we say, slightly insistent? I guess Sunni women can't have sex during their periods -- a Koran thing, and he isn't interested in straight; only anal. So? I guess you're it." "So he wants me swollen? You know how I get. I feel like I'm about to burst, Eileen; you sure `bout this?" "Absolutely sure, sweetheart, I am. But play it like the Sudanese women do. Nothing vaginal and be strict about it. He'll like that. Anal play only, combined with the usual, of course. That okay?" "Sure. Fine. Oh, Eileen, what's his name?" "Jayjan." "Interesting...good. Talk to you later." That evening, we met at the corner of E. 34th & 5th. I was immediately taken by his warm greeting. Leaning back to view the Empire State Building, he said, "I've always wanted to see your city from up there. Can we go?" "Of course, Jayjan," I answered assuredly, focusing my attention directly on him. "Remember, this is your night." Jayjan was as handsome as he had sounded on the phone and carried a roll of hundreds in the pocket of his sleek Dunhill suit. His entire demeanor interested me. I did black guys periodically and most of my clients were attached to one or another of the diplomatic corps at the U.N. I had had good experiences with Africans. Most were kind and caring lovers. More importantly, they tipped well. I was a neat-freak and sex can be so sloppy. For some unknown reason, black men seemed to ejaculate less copiously than whites; always an incentive to a girl if the man decided on a messy ending. He worked out of Berlin as an Assistant Counsel for the Sudanese government. My only reservation about taking him on rested with the depressing reports from remote Darfur, but like most Americans, I paid little attention. It was someone else's business. Mine was to show him the city, the sights New Yorkers rarely bother with. So I gave him the grand tour before we stopped at the Kunjip Restaurant for dinner. I was two martinis into the night when I whispered, "I have to go to the ladies' room." Shifting my bottom out of the secluded booth, I stood and as I began walking away I stopped momentarily and reached back to caress his smiling face. He extended his hand which came to rest on the back of my knee and I gazed lovingly at him. "Wait," he urged, his fingers dancing up my thigh. I wasn't wearing panties and he went right for my foxtail, giving the furry device a tug. Pleasantly surprised, he murmured, "Ahh...so you wore it for me!" "I did, Jayjan. It's what you wanted. A little something you won't find back home?" I ran my nail over the top of his ear. "Yes, but my question is, will you take it out for me later?" "Later - after I'm ready for you back there. You're a big boy so I'll want things just right for you." He laughed knowingly and winked. After dinner, we strolled our way to Central Park. "So what do you think?" I asked, looking around at the lush greenery at the city's center. Glancing at my exposed cleavage, he responded, "And I was told the twin towers no longer existed." I playfully slapped the arm I was holding and he laughed as we continued our walk. "Not those, silly, the park! New York! Do you like it?" "I love it. Even though I've only had these few hours looking about, I'm in love with the city already. It must be exciting for you here." Approaching a cluster of trees and acting the little boy, he suddenly spouted, "Look, look!" He pointed his finger in the direction of a man and woman occupying a bench in the late evening shade. Actually, it was the man who was seated. The woman, a tiny Asian girl with shiny black hair was on her knees, ravenously sucking his cock. "How deeply she takes him!" Jayjan suggestively observed. "And do you like that?" I asked coyly. "Welcome to the Big Apple!" He laughed heartily. "She's pretty," he murmured. His gaze locked onto the petite girl, an unmistakable mistress of deep throat. The young man, paying no attention to the small crowd of onlookers who had gravitated to her three ring circus, just sat there, eyes locked shut, legs apart, his penis jutting proudly from his open zipper as she mouthed him. "Let's watch him as he comes!" I suggested mischievously. I tugged Jayjan in the direction of the improbable audience. He pretended to be reluctant. "All right," he responded shyly. We worked our way to the front of the little crowd and waited for the big moment. It didn't take her long. With the skill of a specialist she worked him with lips, tongue, teeth, hands and even hair. A few minutes later the man groaned and we were close enough to see the first droplets of semen spill from her mouth which she opened slightly, allowing the thick substance to fall onto his hefty balls. After providing for that well-timed spillage, she closed her lips tightly around his yielding cock and after slurping his remaining seed, she drifted to his pubic hair and lapped at the remainder, conveniently puddled at its base. Then looking up at him she extended her talented tongue and drew it back into her swollen lips before swallowing. We, along with several other couples who had stopped to enjoy the spectacle, extended respectful applause. "Wow," Jayjan said, glancing my way. "Will you do that for me tonight?" I smiled my Vixen smile. "Minus the public display? Of course I will! Remember, this is your night!" End.