"Lawfully wedded nymph" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hotey Don K.)

CHAPTER SIX

The Geisha was a very special kind of massage^ parlor. The cheap, sleazy atmosphere of the earlier parlors was completely gone. In its place was an almost opulent material splendor. Literally thousands of dollars was spent on the decor. Every floor, even its many bathrooms, was carpeted with a thick, wall to wall rug of vivid, electric blue. The walls and the ceilings had a clean, wholesome look, and were painted a stark, brilliantly airy white. Throughout the house, the fixtures were all either crystal or silver or gold. Even the furniture was totally new: the most modem, most expensive that money could buy. The Gesha was a pleasure palace that ensnared your sensuality before it attacked your sexuality. Perhaps the most innovative aspect of the Geisha was its location: it was no storefront on some wide city street. The Geisha was an entire house, located far from the city, out in the middle of two acres of beautiful green rolling hills, at the foot of a mountain. You just didn't drop in at the Geisha. You came by appointment. We catered to a very special class of clientele: businessmen, executives, film people, politicans, and millionaires. People who were used to the best of everything, and were willing 'to pay to receive that special kind of attention. While waiting, they could

sit around and relax in a kind of atmosphere they were used to. They could have a drink, even a meal if they wanted. There was a swimming pool, showers, and a tennis court. I think they could have even probably gotten a massage if they wanted. But mostly there was sex. Sex of aH kinds, very expensive, and on a very elegant, sophisticated level. I was driven out to the Geisha by Mr. Sutton, personally. I was given a room where I slept, and my own private room where I worked. The first week I was there, I did nothing but go to classes. Classes on how to talk, how to act, and how to treat our very special guests. The following week, I began my new job. I was very popular that first week. Since I had no appointments because I was new, I was introduced to all our guests as the Geishds latest hostess, to keep me in mind for future appointments. Naturally, when all those horny men saw a new cunt, they all wanted to dip their cock into me, "testing the water," as , one aptly put it. I made over seven hundred dollars in my first week. The second week was slow since the novelty of my newness had worn off. I made less than two hundred dollars. I should explain that I received no salary from the Geisha for working there outside of my room to sleep in, and food to eat. My whole salary consisted of tips from the guests. They were called "tips," but actually there was a carefully worked out schedule of payment for every type of sexual act, and the girls were paid accordingly, depending on what their guest wanted them to do. A straight fuck was so much, a blow-job was a little more, the attention of two girls was even more, and so on. 114 I kept all my "tips," and the guests at the Geisha ·aid an annual attendance fee for tne right to be a member of this very exclusive club. In the boredom of the second week, I had plenty of time to wonder about what happened to me that morning with Patti. The perspective of the two weeks suggested that the expansive feeling of ecstasy I had experienced might have only been a result of the newness of the act: you know, my first Lesbian encounter. So I tried an experiment. I got friendly with another girl, Glori, who was a self-avowed Lesbian, working here only for the money. We went to my room one quiet afternoon, and we made love, slowly, tenderly, and with a great deal of experimentation. We did everything two women could do together sexually, even fuck each other with a dildo. I came that afternoon, perhaps a dozen times, but the magic of that first unique time with Patti simply was not there. It was good, and I really turned on to lesbian lovemaking, but it was not what I needed. It was not what I'd been looking for. But I enjoyed my job, despite this single drawback. I enjoyed the sexual outlet it provided me, naturally, and I enjoyed the freedom it allowed me. I had one day off a week, to go and come as I pleased, no questions asked. I was never asked how much I made, and no one ever told me how to work or how to take care of my business. Sure I did live there, but I was really on my own for the first time in my life. I looked at my sleeping quarters as no more than a hotel I, might have been living at. I was on my own, with no ties to the past and no obligations to the future. I was a free woman.

It was nearly two o'clock, time for my first appointment of the day. Benson Kores was his name, a man I'd never met. My name was suggested to him from a friend of his, a satisfied customer from my first prolific week. I asked around about him to some of the girls, and I found out that he was a very famous motion picture producer, although I'd never heard of him. I hurried to my room to prepare for the appointment. Like all the other work rooms in the Gesha, mine was identical. A perfectly square room, painted sfe rk white, with high ceilings, also painted white. The floor was covered with the same electric blue rug that stretched from one end of the house to the other. There was a black, leather-topped massage table in the center of the room, and off to one corner there was a bed. Two or three mirrors decorated the antiseptic whiteness of the walls. I closed the door behind me, and checked myself in the mirror. I took off my kimono, the standard garment all girls wore at the Geisha, and I sprayed myself strategically with an expensive perfume. Then I put on a clean kimono, and brushed my hair in place. A moment later there was a knock on my door. That was one of the better, more sophisticated aspects of the Geisha. Unlike a whorehouse, we were not permitted to hang around so that the client could make his selection. The appointment was set, the guest arrived, the girl remained in her room, and then the guest was escorted to her room. Very elegant, very classy. I parted the door and peeked out. He was standing there.

I said: "Good morning, Mr. Kores. Won't you come in, please?" He was an older man than Yd expected. Tall and gaunt-looking, thin-faced, thin-lipped, with dark hollows for eyes. His hair was a colorless shade, and lay like dead string on top his skull-like head. He was dressed in dark, somber clothing, like an em-balmer, or a mortician. He smiled brittily, as if he was afraid his lips would crack. I guessed he was forty-five to fifty, but it was difficult to really say for sure. He might have been one hundred for all I knew. "How do you do," he said, formally, with the faint^ est touch of a British accent shadowing the quality of his speech. "Please call me Benson, Miss-" "Bryant," I said, cutting in. Tm sorry. Sally Bryant." I closed the door behind him and locked it. He stood stiffly in the center of the room, not turning, not looking around, not moving. I walked around in front of him. He stared hard and long at my face, cocking his head to side slightly, as if he were listening to something. "New York!" he said suddenly. "Right?" I didn't understand. "I-I . . ." "You come from New York City, right?" Now it was my turn to stare. "Do I know you?" I asked apprehensively. He laughed, a loud explosive cackle. "New York City, am I right?" "Yes, but- He laughed again. "Hah! I knew it. I never fail." "But how? I don't understand . . ." 117 "Your voice, pussycat," he said. The way you speak. I have a very acute ear." I sighed in relief. "You had me frightened there for a moment, Mr. Kores." He held up his hand. "Benson! Benson, pussycat. Don't forget again." I nodded and said I wouldn't. "What part of New York City?" he wanted to know. I told him, and a momentary frown of disappointment registered on his frozen face when I told him that I lived on Long Island. But then it went away when I assured him that I had lived in the City all my life before I got married. "Did you work in the New York place?" he asked. Again I didn't understand what he was talking about. "What other . . . place?" The other Geisha," he said. The New York Geisha. They have another,one identical to this in New York City. In the Seventies somewhere. In a brownstone. Did you work there before you came out here?" "No, I didn't. I didn't even know they had one in New York. This is my first . . . job of this kind." Something glinted in his eye. "Is it now, pussycat? How do you like it?" I shrugged. "It's . . . good, I guess. The money and aH." "What about the sex?" he asked. "Do you like to get fucked, Sally? Do you enjoy having many cocks shoved into your hot little pussy?" I blushed. "That, too, I guess …" I answered, flustered. "It's all right." He clapped his hands together gleefully. "Why 118 you're blushingr he said, real emotion in his voice for the first time. "How positively unique. You really are new in this business, aren't you?" I nodded, gulping back the blush, blushing deeper because he had caught me at it. "I guess so." He settled against the massage table, crossing his legs and leaning back. I stood in the middle of the floor, feeling very uncomfortable and very naked. "Does that bother you?" he asked. "I mean my using terms like fuck and cock and cunt?" "No, I don't think so. It's just that I wasn't . » . prepared for it, that's all." "But you're still blushing, pussycat. Imagine that: a prudish hooker. A sensitive whore." He laughed deeply and gleefully, and I found it obscene. "I think we might as well get down to work," I said, turning from him, from my own embarrassment "It's getting late . . ." "This is work, pussy cat," he said, turning me around. "This is what I want. Talk dirty to me, Sally." I looked at him. "What?" "You heard me: talk dirty to me. Say obscene things. Say things like: 'I love to suck big black cocks' and 'suck my hairy cunt' You know-talk dirty." His hand was still on my shoulder, and I pulled slightly back, away from it. It slipped off, and slid down the front of my body, across my breasts. I shuddered from the contact. "You're not joking, are you?" I asked. "You really want me to do this." "You can bet your goddam cunt I do, pussycat," his voice'had somehow gotten harder, almost distant

"Now talk dirty to me, Sally. I'm going to jerk myself off, and you are going to make me come from just talking. I may even come all over you." He laughed, obviously pleased with the idea. "Now start talking," Something cold touched me. I grasped desperately for an idea. I didn't mind fucking or making love, but this . . . this was perverted. Obscene. "But the money," I objected. "The schedule. This isn't listed. I wouldn't know what to charge you." He reached his hand into his side pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills. He peeled two bills off and threw them at me. He said: "Is one hundred dollars enough?" The money fluttered down my body, like leaves dying in autumn. I didn't stoop to pick them up. I left them there, on the floor. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his erect cock. "Now start talking," he said, pulling his fist up and down the length of the slender shaft The joke had gone out of his voice. "And take your kimono off. I want you to be naked." I stared at him, trying to judge his reaction if I refused. I didn't think it would be pleasant. At the very least I would probably be fired. And then what? Where would I go? I wasn't ready to make so radical a move so soon. I had gotten used to security again, and I was more than just a little intimidated. "AH right," I said. I began to unbutton the kimono. If you want . . . sure. Sure I'll talk." I slipped out of the silky dress and stood naked in front of him. I touched my breasts and caressed my cunt, watching the reaction in his eyes. "Ooohhh! That feels nice," I moaned. Tm hot … my pussy, my cunt is very hot. Wet. Juicy." 120 "More!" he said, strolcing himself, watching me. "More. And obscene . . . vile . . . dirty!" "You have a wonderful cock," I said. I began to masturbate myself, pressing my hand against the broad hairy mound of my cunt, I pushed my legs apart and stood flat-footed. "A wonderful cock. Would you like me to touch it? Would you like me to … suck it?" I reach for him. "Nor He slapped my hand away. "Just talk. Don't touch me. Just talk to me." Despite my initial lack of enthusiasm, my cunt began to respond to the manipulations of my hand. My clitoris stiffened to rigid attention, pushing open the lips with its hardness, and something wet was sliding down the clinging canal of my vagina, lubricating the labia. I worked my fingers around slowly, systematically, and pleasure began to s rise up my body, making my breasts hard. "It's starting to feel . . . good," I said, being honest for the first time. "Pleasurable, I mean. The first real sexual sensations." Benson's hand worked slowly up and down. Somehow his being fully clothed, with his cock just poking from his open zipper, made the act seem so much more erotic. If was as if we were doing something dirty: like two children playing doctor, "Good," he said. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead. I think he sensed the subtle change in my composure. "Very ; . . good." "I can feel the pleasure in my cunt . . . It's warm, pleasant. And my tits are hard. The nipples feel like they're , . . tingling." "More . . . grosser. Dirtier!" "My cunt is very wet now. I can feel myself 121 opening. The pleasure is building." My arm was beginning to ache, and my back was straining from standing. I said: "I feel like I would like to fuck now. I wish you were fucking me right this moment." "Uh," he said. He licked his top lip with his tongue. His hand jerked steadily up and down. "Do you like to fuck, Sally? Answer me honestly now." The lips were wide open, flapping loosely, and my cunt glistened with moisture. My fingers kept slipping off the nub of my clit as my fingers made a sticky, wet sound. "Yes … I do. I like to fuck very much. I like to fuck with many . . . many men. I enjoy the feel of different sized cocks in my . . . pussy." He swallowed heavily, and the tempo of his hand picked up slightly. "Do you like to suck cocks? Drink sperm?" The pleasure grew more intense, and I groaned. "Yes, yes … I do. Sperm tastes hot in your mouth, did you know that? They say it doesn't have any taste, but that's not so. It tastes . . . hot. Salty. It's like when you lick a sweaty body . . . that kind of a taste." My thighs began to quiver, and sweat began to collect between my breasts. My back and arm ached from the strain, but the intensity of the pleasure kept me from stopping, or even slowing my pace. I was no longer an unwilling pawn, I realized. I was participating. And what's more, I was enjoying it. "Do you know what I discovered the .first time a man shot his come in my mouth?" I asked, remembering Ralph. Benson grunted. He smiled. He stroked himself. "No … what?"

"I found that all .those fuck books tell lies . . . sperm doesn't gush or shoot from the tip of a man's cock. It sort of … /oozes out . . . slow and steady." He was stroking^imself deeply now, from the base of his cock down to the tip, then back .again. He was leaning heavily against the massage table, with his legs straight out in front of him, stiff and straining. "I didn't . . . know that," he said, grunting with pleasure. "That's good . . . very good." I could feel the thick pasty discharge of my excitement running down my inner thighs. My hips were bent out, tipped towards him, almost parallel to his cock. It was as though we were fucking, three feet apart, without ever once having touched each other. "I am a very horny woman," I confessed. "Although most of the time while I was married I was faithful to my husband. But I've always been fend of … preoccupied with sex, and I used to do … strange things." His cock was almost stark white, colorless, and it bobbled stiffly as he jerked it off. "Like what, for example." "I used to masturbate a great deal," I confessed. "I guess a lot of women do … home alone all day in a big empty house . . . waiting for your husband to come home. You know there is only so much house work you can do …" "Tell me about that," he grunted. "Tell me about the times you . . . jerked yourself off." Sweat was dripping into my mouth, and I licked it away with my tongue. "Most of the times I did it the regular , . . normal way. You know … on the bed, or in the bathroom, with iny feet up on the

edge of the tub . . . But sometimes . . . sometimes I did it differently." "How?" he asked tensely. "How?" "I used to practice . . . shooing things into my cunt. You know like pencils or hairbrush handles . . . Then I began to use larger things . . . like carrots or bananas … I tried a cucumber once, but it was too wide . . ." He was grunting as if he were straining. "Good . . . goodl I can . . . see it. In my mind . . ." "Once I shoved a bottle of warm soda up my cunt … I shook the bottle first . . . then squatted down on it … sinking it into my pussy. The gas in the soda bubbled over , . . violently, furiously . . . and gushed out into my cunt. It was like a thousand cocks all coming at the same time . . , It was . . . wild. I could feel the bubbles . . . the foam . . . inside of me. I came from just doing that." Benson's hand was moving rapidly now. He wiped the sweat off of his face with his free hand. "Good . . . more! More!" My back was breaking, and my forearm felt like it was going to cramp. But there was a fire in my cunt, a very real, very hot fire. I didn't want to stop. I strained my brain to remember all the vile, all the obscene sexual things I've ever done in my Me. I dredged them up, welled them up from the forgotten corners of my memory, and exposed them, vomited them out all over my perverse, straining nakedness. "Once," I said, between groans of pleasure, "once I was very hot . . . very horny, and I didn't know

what to do. I wanted to do something special . . . something dirty." "What?" he groaned, wringing his cock with his hand. "What did you do?" "I took all my clothing off," I said, remembering, feeling the shame flush my face, burning like my roaring passion until I couldn't tell one from the other. "I lay down on my bed . . . picked up the telephone . . . and made an obscene telephone call to a man." "Oh Godl" Benson moaned. Sweat had soaked through his dark shirt. "Tell me about it, Sally. Tett me about it!" "I kept on dialing until I got a man . . . and then I began to talk dirty to him. I told him what I was doing. I told him I wanted to fuck him. I made him tell me how big . . . how long his cock was. . . . And all the while I was talking, I was masturbating myself." "What . . . then? What happened then?" "I made a date with him to meet him … so he could fuck me. I could hear him getting very excited. I began to fantasize about him in my mind. And then I began to come." "Yes . . . yes . . . yes?" His voice kept on getting higher and higher and higer, "And then . . . then the worst part." I moaned in shame, in passion. "Oh, I can't tell you, it's too . . . too-" "Tell me, Sally. Please . . . tell mer "And then. . . when I was coming . . . when I was coming, I took the phone . . . the receiver . . . and pushed it up against my cunt . . . / came all over it . . . while he was listening . . . My cunt 125 . . . my coming cunt, all over the telephone receiver . . . trying to push it up inside of me!" "My . . . God!" I saw Benson's body tremble. His pumping hand was a blur. "Did you keep your date with him? The man on the phone? Did you fuck with him, Sally?" I was using the heel of my hand now, pressing it hard against my cunt because my fingers kept slipping off. I dug in hard, pressing down with my wrist, grinding the wet folds of my cunt against the blunt hardness. There was a knot of excitement in the pit of my stomach, and I began to concentrate on it, surprised that I was so close to orgasm. "No . . . no," I said, shaking my head. "I went there … to the place where I was supposed to meet him. I saw him even. He was young . . . very good-looking. I saw that he had a hardon through his pants. But I chickened out … I got cold feet. I went home and masturbated again. I had an unbelievable orgasm. Fantastic one." He moaned in disappointment. "You should have, Sally," he groaned, shaking his head. "You should have fucked him!" I swayed from side to side, my knees weak, my thighs like quivering jello. "I wanted to … but . . . but-" "More, Sally, more!" he cried. He was getting close himself, I could tell. "Tell me more . . . dirtier things." Pleasure began to course up and down my body, from my feet rooted like trees in the blue rug, up through my straining, sweating body, and exploding into my head. My body began to prepare for an orgasm.

1 used to do crazy things sometimes . . . Like go shopping in a skirt and not wear panties . . . Purposely not wear them because I found it exciting , . . sexually exciting. I used to fantasize that someone . . . some man might accidentally see up my skirt . . . see my naked cunt." "I can see your naked cunt, Sally!" Benson cried, staring at it, jerking off violently. "I can see your cunt, Sally!" I began to groan, closing my eyes because the pleasure inside of me was too sharp, too glaring, too bright. I closed my mouth, I shut my eyes, I held my breath, I tensed my muscles: it was as if I were trying to contain the pleasure, prevent it from escaping, giving it a chance to build up high enough, vol-atilely enough, like the bottle of soda I once shoved into my pussy, so that it would gush up inside of me and bring on my orgasm. A memory, a long forgotten, long forbidden memory came suddenly back to me. It startled me with its vividness, with its perversity. My cunt began to quiver excitedly. It was something I've never told anyone in my life. Not anyone. Not even Peter. "Once," I said, straining my hand against my cunt, "once I did something on the subway . , , in New York City." Benson moaned: "Soon, soon!" "You know how crowded it is on the subways . . . how some men like to take advantage of the crowds … by brushing up against women … by grabbing their cunts or ass or tits . . ." "Yes . . . yesl" he moaned. "Yes!" "Once . . . when I was young . . . about nineteen … I used to get excited when that happened

to me . . . sexually excited. Aroused very . . . very much." "Soon, soon!" he grunted, pulling his rigid cock violently. "Soon/" I fought against my own pleasure, tried to delay it, hold it back until the last possible moment. I fought to control myself, to think straight, to say the words correctly. My whole body was quaking with excitement. "I used to get so excited that I would purposely wait for the most crowded train . . . push my way in … and wait until someone began to feel me up!" Sweat poured down his face. His eyes were closed and he was straining desperately. "Mo . . . uhl . . . rel More, Sally. More/" "I-I once let a man put his hand on my cunt . . . under my skirt . . . inside of my pantiesr "Oh . . . God . . . I'm . . . going … to … come!" "He did that to me . . . put his finger inside of me … in my cunt … fingering me on the crowded subway . . . and I-I . . ." "What, Sally .. . Whatr "I touched himT I began to moan. I could taste the pleasure in my mouth. "I put my hand . . . .down his pants! I touched his cock . . ." "Now . . . nowr My hand was a swirling blur against my cunt. "… and while he fingered me . . . my cunt … I jerked him off!" "I'm coming, Sally," he cried. "Tm coming/" The sperm began to gush from the tip of Benson's cock, spitting across the room at me. Thick, swirling white blobs. Hot. Hot. Hot!

"We earner I moaned. My orgasm was screaming in my ears. "We came , . . on the crowded subway . . . his finger in my cunt . . . my hand on his cock . . . jerking him off. Sperm . . . sperm all over my hand … all over his pants . . . Hot … So wet! The first time I've ever felt itl . . . Oh my God, I'm coming!" I pushed down with my cunt, straining against the orgasm as if it were an abrasive friction rubbing up between my parted thighs. A quivering blob of sperm splashed against my thigh, landed on my belly, burned into the hair on my crotch. "I can feel it," I groaned, standing, coming like crazy. "I can feel your sperm, Benson. I can feel your sperm on my bodyr My back was screaming, pain fused with pleasure. My arm began to cramp, and my knees began to crumble. Pleasure soared up and down inside of me, like some crazy sexual elevator, going up and down, up and down, up and down until it blew the top of my head right off. I stumbled and fell, first to one knee, then all the way down until I was lying flat on the rug. My fingers twirled the bud of my clit, splashing through the sperm that dripped from my cunt. I lay there for a very long time on the electric blue rug. I had two fingers buried deep inside of my cunt. Standing over me, milking his cock, was Benson Kores, still fully dressed. And every once in a while, another spurt of sperm would drip from his cock, and land hotly on my naked back.