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Freebie - 4
by Lord John Thomas (lord_john_thomas@hotmail.com)

***

The final part of how my efforts to keep my man out of 
jail led to my life of prostitution. (MMF, wife, nc, 
prost)

***

All of my stories include descriptions of sex scenes 
that could cause offence to some people. Please do not 
read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual 
material, or if you are under the legal age of consent 
for your own country. These stories are pure fiction 
and are not based on anyone living or deceased.

As this is now part four of my tale, I'm assuming 
you've read parts one to three, so you know how I got 
into the situation I find myself in at the moment. 

I dreamt that night, and I'm sure you won't be 
surprised if I tell you Trav featured very strongly in 
my dreams. It wasn't, however, a dream of sex and lust, 
but more a romantic journey with him at my side, 
protecting and guiding me through some magical garden. 
The details are long since faded from my memory, and 
even at the time I first recalled them the next 
morning, didn't actually make sense. But I know I 
thought a lot about Trav in those next few days.

But back to reality, and the true reality on the next 
morning was answering the phone to Graham at around ten 
in the morning, Gerry was still in bed.

"4, 3, 6, 5, 8, 7."

"Hello, its Graham. I'm just ringing to find out how 
last night went."

Just hearing his voice sent a shiver of rage down my 
spine, but I tried to be polite even if I didn't want 
to talk to him.

"Oh, it was nice thank you. And thank you for letting 
us borrow your car and driver."

"That's alright my dear. You know I'd do anything for 
you. A little dickybird tells me you also did well at 
the dancing?"

"Yes. I won the first prize."

"So my dear, I wonder if I could ask you a favour?"

This I didn't want to hear, I knew he'd pretend it was 
something innocent, and I'd end-up being in another 
situation.

"I'm not sure. What is it you want?"

"Oh I see. You don't mind receiving favours, but you 
don't like repaying them. In that case, I'll say 
goodbye."

Even as I first heard the tone of his voice, I began to 
feel ashamed of my reaction, but by the time he'd 
finished speaking I felt so guilty, I just blurted out, 
"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Just tell me 
what it is you want."

Why oh why was I so stupid? I know this man plays mind 
games, and I also know what his real intentions are. So 
now my tummy knots up waiting to find out what he's 
going to ask for.

"I'm not sure if I can ask you now. It seems people who 
I thought were my friends are now letting me down."

"I'm sorry. I just don't want to get involved with 
anything like that club you took me to last time."

"It's not just you. Even my old friend Peter has sent 
me some legal stuff; that note you made me sign, it 
appears I'm now the one who is guilty of stealing my 
own stuff. And all because I tried to help you and your 
husband out of a hole; what gratitude? I guess in 
future, I'll just let the guilty party suffer."

As I've just said, I know he plays mind games. But 
games or not, he was having an effect on me, "I'm 
sorry. I am really grateful. But that note was just to 
make sure I didn't end up being a... you know, it 
wasn't something I could keep doing."

"Yes, I guess it's easier to say you're grateful than 
it is to do something to repay your debt."

"It's not like that. I thought with all those things I 
did for you, I'd repaid you."

"Oh now I see. You think having five or ten minutes of 
sexy romps is payment enough for what could have been 
thirty plus years in jail. I'm sure if it had been you 
faced with going to prison for thirty years, you'd put 
a different value on things. But like I say, you don't 
believe in honouring your debts, and you've got me over 
a barrel legally, so I guess you can do what you want 
and forget who helped you along the way."

"Please don't say that, tell me what you want me to 
do?"

"It was something I'd hoped to do last night, but you 
were otherwise engaged. There is a Japanese importer 
over here..."

Just hearing the word Japanese sent shivers down my 
spine, and before he'd finished his sentence, I 
interrupted.

"Please stop."

"What? What's wrong, I haven't even told you what I 
want."

"I know, but I don't like the sound of it."

"Sound of what, I haven't told you what I'm planning."

"It was the nationality of the man."

"What? You don't like Japanese men?"

"No. I know it's not the done thing these days, but 
I've had a bad experience with a Japanese man, and I 
couldn't do anything like that again."

"Well that's rich. Are you saying you've never had an 
English man do something wrong?"

"Well no."

"But that hasn't put you off all English men. I can see 
you've got a bit of a bigoted personality, to add to 
your ungrateful nature. And there was I thinking you 
were a nice generous and open minded girl. It's a good 
job for you, they don't think that way about us. 
Otherwise you wouldn't have any of those high tech 
electrical things you take for granted. But I guess I'm 
wasting my breath, you've got what you wanted from me, 
and now I'm of no use, you can just walk away."

"Ok, you've made your point. But I want to know exactly 
what you are expecting me to do before I agree."

"That was what I was about to tell you, but you were 
the one who interrupted me."

"Ok, I'm sorry, I'll let you finish before I speak 
again."

"Well exactly; my car will pick you up around seven. Of 
course my girls will have been with you all afternoon, 
getting you ready. Then, when you arrive at my house, 
you will be shown up to the smoking room, where I will 
be waiting with Mr. Aioka."

On hearing that name I couldn't hold back and again I 
interrupted, "Oh no."

"What now?"

"That's the man who I just told you I had a bad 
experience with."

"That's not possible; he's never been to England 
before. He arrived yesterday. Unless you mean you've 
been to Japan?"

"No. It was him last night at that place we went to."

"Well if you go around arranging meetings with men from 
foreign countries without taking precautions, then you 
shouldn't be surprised when they behave according to 
their own customs. Why on earth did you go to him last 
night?"

"He asked us to. He sent a message telling Gerry he 
could fix it for me to win the dance competition."

"And you went to his room alone?"

"No, Gerry came with me."

"Well that's as bad as being alone; he's not exactly 
action man. What on earth did you think he wanted you 
for?"

"Please I don't want to talk about it. All I know is 
that man is not nice, and I couldn't help you if it's 
him you want me to entertain."

"So you don't trust me to be able to control the 
situation?"

"How do you mean?"

"I'm guessing you and Gerry went to him, and he had his 
own men there to enforce his will on you?"

"Yes."

"This time, it will be on my turf, with my men, and he 
will only have one of his henchmen with him. So I'll be 
in control of what goes on, and being my guest, he'll 
just comply."

"I'm still not sure; he didn't appear to be a man who 
could be persuaded."

"And neither am I when I'm the one being backed by my 
manpower. You'll see, he'll be meek as a new born 
lamb."

"I hope you're right."

"So back to what will happen. You say Mr. Aioka has 
already met you; well maybe that was why he was so 
interested when I showed him the photos of you in the 
underwear and beachwear. Anyway, all I need you to do 
is to pose for him, in traditional Japanese poses, with 
the things Mr. Aioka will provide."

"Just posing, no touching or more important, no hitting 
or beating with sticks."

"Just posing, Mr. Aioka won't touch you at all."

"And the things he'll be asking me to model?"

"What do you think? They'll probably leave you as good 
as naked, and he will expect you to display yourself. 
But surely that won't present a problem for you?"

"Ok, I'll do it, but remember, I trust you to make sure 
he behaves himself."

"Ok, so I'll send my girls around to give you the once 
over. Bye for now."

Just as I put the phone down, Gerry walked in the room, 
"Who was that?"

"Your ex boss."

"Who? Mr. Spencer?"

"How many other ex bosses have you got?"

"Did you thank him for last night?"

"Yes. But after what happened with that Jap, I don't 
know why."

"That wasn't his fault."

"Maybe not, but if we hadn't been there, and we'd gone 
to the Marriott instead, it couldn't have happened."

"That's just you using your dislike of Mr. Spencer to 
blame him for anything that happens. It could have 
happened at the Marriott, and at least going to that 
club, you got five hundred quid."

"That's all you think about, bloody money."

"Anyway, what was he ringing for?"

"What do you think? He still wants what he wanted last 
night, only now it's moved on to tonight."

"So I suppose you told him where to go."

"Well I was going to, but he kind of convinced me we 
still owe him for you not going to prison."

"But that other guy, Peter said that's all done with 
now. And he daren't try to shop me now."

"I know, and even Graham says the same. But he also 
said, morally, we still owe him."

"And you went along with it?"

"I guess it made sense when he explained it, but I'm 
not sure now."

"So, has he told you what he wants you to do tonight?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"You'll laugh if I tell you."

"Laugh? Why, what has he got in mind?"

"No I don't mean its funny, but you'll think I'm mad 
for agreeing to go."

"Come on you can't leave it there."

"It's that same Japanese man. Mr. Aioka."

"You're joking?"

"No."

"My god Mary, even I wouldn't go anywhere I knew he was 
going to be. You can't seriously tell me you're going 
to meet him again?"

"I don't want to, but Graham said he could make sure I 
wasn't touched. And I agreed to go and model some 
Japanese underwear."

"Are you kidding? Over there they either wear nothing 
underneath, or just wrap themselves in white cloth. I 
think you've got it all wrong. And if you think that 
bloke will be contented to just sit there watching you 
model, in either Jap or western knickers, and not touch 
you? You were right, you are mad."

"So should I ring Graham and tell him I'm not going to 
go to his house?"

"I would. But why are you asking me. I thought I was a 
moron these days. You only take notice of that Peter 
fella."

"What? You think I should ask him?"

"Not really. But what ever I say, it'll be wrong."

"Don't be like that. But you might have a point. He'd 
have more idea about Graham's intentions. But that 
would mean telling him all about last night."

"So?"

"The less people that know about that, the happier I'll 
be."

"Your choice. But don't go blaming me if it all goes 
wrong."

"I wouldn't. But even if I have to tell Peter, I know 
he'll understand. And I'm sure he'll know what's best 
to do. I'll ring him now."

I dialled the number, it took a few rings, and I 
expected the phone to go over to a message service, but 
then, "Hello."

"Is that Peter?"

"Yes, is that Mary? I was about to ring you when I got 
through with this meeting. I wanted to know if it is 
convenient to call on you?"

"Oh yes please. We've got something to tell you, and we 
need your advice."

"Ok, can't really talk now, I've just had to duck out 
of a meeting to answer this call. I'll wind the meeting 
up, and be with you in half an hour."

So that was it, I made our lunch, and we waited for 
Peter. It took him a little over his estimated half an 
hour, but when he arrived, his first question was, "So 
why on earth did you go to that place last night?"

We were still walking along the hall as he asked me, 
and as we turned into the front room and he sat himself 
down, I answered, "Well, to be honest, I thought we 
were going to the Marriott as you'd arranged. It was 
Gerry who changed the plan."

Peter looked at Gerry.

"I sometimes wonder how many times that man has to dupe 
you before you see him for what he is."

Gerry didn't look pleased at this rebuke, "What do you 
mean?"

"That Japanese man is one of Graham's business 
contacts, he set you up. Your wife was used as a 
sweetener to help his importing business."

As I looked at Peter in amazement I asked, "How do you 
know about that man?"

"I told you yesterday, I know people who are interested 
in that kind of activity. And he is one of those on the 
fringe, the ones you have to handle very carefully. And 
his taste in entertainment is not for the squeamish. 
You can think yourself lucky you got away as lightly as 
you did, he must have been in a good mood."

"So you even know what he did to me?"

"Yes. And what happened to Gerry."

"His leg, yes, that was really scary."

"Well yes, I bet that bit was, but I was actually 
talking about what happened to him later."

I looked at Gerry, and this time it was him who turned 
a bright red. This was something very unusual. I 
hesitated to ask, but I couldn't stop myself, "When do 
you call later? And what happened?"

Peter looked a bit guilty, knowing he'd let the cat out 
of the bag, but he just said, "That's up to your 
husband to tell you. I thought you'd already know about 
it."

I looked at Gerry, "Well? Cat got your tongue?"

"Please Mary. I'll tell you later when we're on our 
own."

"But Peter already knows, so why am I the only one 
who's being kept in the dark."

"It was after you'd stormed off. I was about to go back 
to the bar, when that manager bloke asked if I wanted 
to join Mr. Aioka in his apartment."

"But after what we'd just been through, why on earth 
did you go back up there?"

"I don't know, curiosity I guess."

"Curiosity? You know what that creep is capable of, I 
wouldn't have gone back up there for all the tea in 
china."

"Well I did. And when I got up there, it was me who 
they grabbed hold of. And they did the same to me as 
they did to you. Well not exactly, they didn't spank 
me, and it wasn't Mr. Aioka who... you know. But it was 
one of those guards of his. And while they did it, that 
little bastard was sat there watching and laughing."

"Oh my god Gerry. I never knew. Are you alright?"

"Well I ain't going near that bastard again, that's for 
sure."

"I can't for the life of me understand why you went 
back after what we'd both been through earlier."

Peter said, "I think the curiosity was enhanced by what 
they told him he might see when he got there."

I turned and asked, "See? Like what?"

"I'm guessing, but it normally goes something like, 
'we're going to have a little show up stairs'. When you 
ask what kind. You're told, 'someone will be getting an 
arse fucking. Do you want to come and watch?' You will 
of course, imagine you are going to see some girl 
getting fucked. But when you get there, the only person 
you see getting fucked; is yourself in the mirror."

I turned to Gerry, "Was that what happened?"

In a very dejected voice he replied, "More or less."

I got to my feet, and as I knelt by his side, I wrapped 
my arms around him, and we hugged and kissed. We'd only 
been hugging for a few seconds, when Peter, said, "I 
can't imagine why you're making such a fuss of him. For 
a start, he only went up there hoping to either see or 
be the one to fuck some poor innocent girl. And what 
happened to him is not a patch on what you've done on 
his behalf."

I gave Peter a dirty look as I said, "Less of that. You 
wouldn't be so cocky if you'd been through something 
like that."

"Ok, if we can't talk about that, what was it you 
wanted to talk to me about?"

"Its Graham, he wants me to go to his house tonight."

"But you know he has no hold over you now."

"I know, but he says, morally, I still haven't paid him 
enough."

"That's bollocks. If you'll excuse my French."

"But when he was explaining it to me, I felt so guilty; 
I agreed."

"That's silly. Do you know what he wants you for?"

I repeated what I'd told Gerry'

"To model some Japanese underwear for Mr. Aioka."

"And you believed that? My god Mary! You're not the 
girl I took you for. I thought you had more sense than 
that."

Then he looked at Gerry, "Surely you weren't going to 
let her go?"

"I told her I didn't think it was a good idea, and I 
was the one who told her to contact you, to ask what 
you thought."

"Well at least you're starting to think straight, and 
I'm glad you're now accepting that maybe I do know a 
bit more about these things than you do. But first 
things first, pick up the phone and tell Graham he's 
out of luck."

He was looking at Gerry when he gave the instruction, 
and as Gerry picked up the phone, he asked, "Then 
what?"

"Don't worry about what comes next, just phone Graham 
and make sure he gets the message."

Gerry phoned, and he told Graham, but obviously Graham 
was putting up an argument or some kind of defence of 
his motives. Then as Gerry came off the phone Peter 
asked, "So is he clear about where he stands?"

"It's not that simple."

"Oh my god, don't tell me he's persuaded you to let her 
go?"

"He says Mary won't be hurt in any way, and the only 
reason you don't want her to go, is because you are a 
major league pimp. He says you have over fifty whores 
working for you, and all you're doing is attempting to 
get my Mary to join your stable."

"But you know that already. I explained the other day I 
run girls, and yes, if your Mary wants to do that kind 
of work, I'll make sure she's protected, and find her 
suitable clients. But how does that change what could 
happen to Mary tonight?"

"I don't know. It was the way he put it, he says he'll 
look after Mary better than you, and he isn't trying to 
make money out of her. He only wants her to entertain 
some of his friends, and he won't make her into a 
whore."

Peter looked from me to Gerry, and then slowly said, 
"Well. I guess it's just a case of who you believe. I 
thought I'd found a way out for you from under Graham's 
thumb. And I've already told you, the other stuff is 
your choice. But if you think he's your saviour, then 
it's up to you."

Gerry looked at me, but I guess I was as confused as 
him as to whom we could trust. Then Gerry said, "I 
think maybe she should go to Mr. Spencer's house 
tonight, and if it is as he says, then maybe we'll just 
pay him off, doing the odd modelling thing for him. 
That way I can maybe go back to my old job, and things 
can get back to normal."

"You bloody fool. Still it's your funeral. Or to be 
more precise, it's your wife's."

"I don't think he's as bad as you make him out to be."

"Ok, you've made your choice. But you do know what will 
happen to your wife tonight?"

"She's told you, just modelling."

"Do you want to see some photos of what kind of thing 
he has in mind?"

I answered, "No, it's alright. I can guess I'll be 
showing lots of naked flesh. But so long as I'm not 
being slapped or beaten, it won't be too bad."

"I should just go and let you suffer, but I do feel 
partly responsible for you being in this mess. Wait 
while I go to my car and gets some photos, then I'll 
explain what he has planned for tonight."

He got up and went out to his car, and Gerry said, 
"What do you think, who would you trust?"

"Peter. But even if we trust him, we know he wants me 
to work as a prostitute for him. At least with Graham, 
even if tonight does involve sex, I'm sure once I've 
done it a few times, and you're back working at your 
old job, we can then get back to normal; like you 
said."

"That's the way I see it. I don't think these photos 
will make any difference, no matter how much cunt you 
have to show."

I didn't like the way Gerry put it, but in essence, the 
gist of what he said was about right. Then Peter came 
in and handed us about five photos. All the photos were 
of the same girl, but just one glance at each of them 
made a shiver run down my spine. The girl was naked in 
all of the photos, and in all of them she was hanging 
by ropes from a horizontally suspended bamboo cane. 
What it was hanging from was not shown in the pictures. 

All that could be seen was the single rope divided into 
two, and held each end of the stout bamboo shaft, which 
was somewhere around five or six feet long, and a good 
inch or more thick. The poor girl was trust up with 
ropes cutting into her naked flesh, each photo showing 
her in a different pose to the next. And in one, she 
was being probed in her pussy by a large dildo that 
appeared to be part of a mask worn by a man. To say she 
looked in distress in all these pictures is an 
understatement, and to say I was repulsed by them was 
also putting it mildly.

Peter asked, "Well, do you still intend to let your 
wife go to meet that man?"

"What makes you think this is anything to do with Mr. 
Aioka?"

"It was him, or to be more accurate, his personal 
assistant who sent them to me."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he knew he'd be over here for a few weeks, and 
I have a reputation for being able to provide girls for 
any kind of taste, no matter how weird."

"I don't get it, if you can find him a girl, then what 
makes you think he will do something like this to 
Mary?"

"If I find him a girl, it'll cost him five grand plus 
for just one night. Girls in this country don't go in 
for that kind of thing lightly. But a leopard doesn't 
change his spots, and being as Graham is trying to 
butter this guy up, it's my guess, he's gonna use your 
wife to do it."

Gerry repeated what I'd told him, "But Mr. Spencer has 
already said it's just posing in Japanese underwear."

"That is what Mr. Aioka calls posing, and as for 
Japanese underwear, they either wear nothing, western 
stuff as in my catalogue, or traditional linen wraps. 
Did he actually say underwear?"

Peter was looking at me when he asked the question.

I thought back, and then tried to repeat the actual 
words Graham had said, "I think it was something like, 
'He'd seen the photos of me in the underwear and 
beachwear. And he wanted me to pose for him in 
traditional Japanese poses. He would provide the...' 
I'm not sure. I think he said 'things', which I assumed 
meant underwear or swimwear."

"As I thought. Those photos show the traditional poses 
he wants, and the things, are ropes, clips, pins and 
all manner of other ways of causing pain."

Gerry held me close, and I snuggled into his chest.

"So my boy, if I was you I'd tell Graham to find some 
other sucker."

Gerry went to the phone, and it was obvious from his 
attitude, he was just telling Graham, and not listening 
to any kind of excuse or explanation. Then when he came 
back, he looked at Peter, "Well I guess I can forget 
about getting my job back. And now, I'll bet you have 
some kind of plan of your own."

"Plan? For what?"

"For Mary. Who else?"

"I have no plan. As far as I'm concerned, all I'm gonna 
do now is leave a card with the name and address of my 
legal people, just in case Graham ever does try 
anything silly. You've already got my card, if you do 
want to contact me. So I guess I'll take my leave."

I looked at Gerry, and my eyes were asking if he 
thought I should offer to reward Peter for his help. 
But Gerry just asked, "What's up with you?"

"Please Peter, can you just wait here a minute, I want 
to have a quick word with Gerry on my own."

And with that I took his arm and led him into the 
kitchen.

"We can't just let him go without doing something to 
show him how much he's done for us."

"Oh I see. You're back to that again. I'm beginning to 
think this sex thing is like a drug for you. Any man 
who crosses your path you have to open your legs."

"You ungrateful pig. I've done all this to keep you 
from prison."

"Yes so you keep banging on. But that's sorted now, and 
yet you still want an excuse to get him into bed with 
you."

"I sometimes wonder why I bothered. Don't you 
understand if it hadn't been for Peter, I'd still be 
under Graham's control, and those photos you saw would 
be me tonight? And maybe even worse tomorrow. Well I 
don't care what you think, I'm going to let Peter know 
if he wants me; it's the least I can do to repay him."

As I turned and began to walk back to the front room, 
Gerry said, "So why did you asked me my opinion, if 
you'd already made up your mind?"

I ignored him, and as I walked into the front room, I 
said to Peter, "We really are grateful for all the help 
you've given us, I know we haven't got enough money to 
repay your kindness, but if you want to go upstairs 
with me, I'll do my best to show you how much we 
appreciate your help."

"You know what I think about your prowess in that 
department, but I can see from Gerry's look, it is just 
been offered as a repayment. So as much as I'd love to 
take you up on the offer, I think I'll say no. If at 
any time in the future you want my help, just ask, and 
if at any time in the future, you offer yourself to me, 
just because we are friends, then I'll consider it an 
honour. But an offer made under these circumstances is 
not what I want; I think you're confusing me with 
Graham."

As he first started talking, I felt hurt; at first 
thinking he didn't want sex with me. But then as he 
continued, my feelings changed, and I somehow felt we'd 
insulted him.

"Please Peter. It wasn't meant in that way. And I do 
look upon you as my friend."

"Maybe love. But I know your husband still thinks I'm 
only doing this to get my hooks into you. So better we 
part now on good terms."

I reached up and with my arms around Peter's neck I 
began to kiss. The kiss lasted over a minute, and as 
our tongues mingled, I felt an exchange of spirits 
between two lovers. In that brief moment, I knew this 
could not be the last time Peter and I would be in each 
others arms. Then as he gently lowered me back to my 
feet, he held out his hand to Gerry, and said,

"Well my lad. Hope you get your life sorted out. I have 
only two pieces of advice for you. One; stay well clear 
of Graham, no matter what he's offering. And second, 
make sure you take real good care of this little girl. 
Because if you don't, there's plenty of men out there 
who will willingly do it for you. And you young lady. 
Well what can I say, I'm sorry to be saying goodbye, 
but happy you are now free to make your own choices."

With that he walked out of the room; in seconds was 
climbing into his car and as I stood in the front 
doorway with Gerry's arms wrapped around my waist, off 
drove Peter. My head was racing, not knowing if that 
was the last time I'd ever see him. Then my trance was 
broken by, "Hmm. Maybe he was genuine. I thought all 
that stuff was just his patter leading up to getting 
you working in one of his brothels."

"Gerry! You really are crude. Even if he had been 
trying to persuade me to work for him, it wouldn't have 
been like that."

"Look girl, it doesn't matter how it would have been, 
if you work for him selling your body for sex, you're a 
whore and that's that."

The next few days were very strange, Gerry not going to 
work, and not even going out of the house looking for 
it. We had argument after argument, neither of us 
knowing in what direction our life would take, or even 
in what direction we wanted it to go. Gerry collected 
all his pay owing to him from work, and with the other 
money from those two men and the dance competition; we 
had around two grand to live on. Not much, once the 
monthly mortgage had been taken out, especially knowing 
there wouldn't be another pay check next month.

Then out of the blue came an invitation to the next 
round of the dance competition, to be held this time in 
Manchester, a large town about a hundred or so miles 
away. As soon as Gerry read it, his eyes lit up, 
"That's it, if you win this one, it'll solve our money 
worries."

I had also been thinking, but I'd been trying to work 
out how I could even think about entering.

"It will; will it? Well for one, I need a dress. You 
won't get much change out of a grand for the complete 
outfit. And then there's entrance money, hotel, and who 
am I going to dance with?"

"I hadn't thought about that. What about if I phone Mr. 
Spencer and see if he can pull any strings?"

"My god Gerry, don't you dare."

"But he was the one who organised the dress and a 
dancing partner last time."

"Yes, and if you remember, that Japanese bloke was some 
kind of business contact of his, so it's a little more 
than a coincidence, that we got involved with him, 
don't you think?"

"Well maybe he'll have gone home by now."

"You're not phoning Graham, if it isn't that Jap, he'll 
find some other man to humiliate me with. What about if 
I phone Peter?"

"But he didn't organise any of that stuff, and I can't 
see him paying for a dress or hotel."

"You're right; we couldn't expect him to pay out unless 
we do something for him."

"Are you still going on about having sex with him?"

"No."

The subject was dropped, and as the next week passed 
by, our arguments increased in frequency and 
bitterness, and by now Gerry had taken to going out in 
the afternoons to the pub. Although I resented this, 
because we couldn't afford it, it did give me a welcome 
break from our constant rowing. While he was out one 
afternoon, the phone rang, "4 3 6 5 8 7."

"Hello, is that Mrs. Mary Kendal?"

"Yes, who wants to know?"

"Well my name is Jeff Bland, and I represent the Matrix 
Organisation. I assume you've heard of us, we produce 
the dance show on Saturday night television."

"Yes, but what do you want me for?"

"You won the last round of the preliminary 
competitions, and we expected you to take part in the 
next one, but you haven't returned your entrance 
application."

"I won't be competing."

"Why ever not?"

"A little thing called money."

"But I was led to believe you were being sponsored by a 
wealthy business group."

"Maybe that was who sponsored me for the last 
competition, but not anymore."

"Well if there's anything I can do to talk to them, I 
might be able to persuade them about the advantages of 
continuing their support."

"No thank you, it was my decision to end the connection 
between us."

There was a few seconds pause, "Well I won't pry into 
your reasons for making that decision, but we would 
still like to see you in future competitions, and you 
do realise, winning that last one gives you automatic 
entry into our up coming series on the TV? Surely 
you'll be competing in that?"

"I hadn't realised, but even if I'm entitled, I still 
have the same problem."

"But don't tell me you'll miss out on the opportunities 
being on TV will create for you."

"What opportunities?"

"They're endless. Once you've appeared on our program, 
you'll get invitations to appear on all kind of TV 
shows. You'll automatically become a celebrity, and 
that means you can ask money just for going to events, 
and almost never have to buy things like theatre 
tickets, meals, clothes, and even sometimes jewellery. 
The list of things people will want you to endorse is 
endless. If you can't afford the necessary to compete, 
I can recommend and introduce you to several companies 
who will support your entrance expenses."

"Why would they do that?"

"As an investment, knowing even if you don't win, just 
the TV exposure will allow you to generate any money 
they loan you."

"I didn't realise it could be that profitable."

"Just let me send someone to see you to explain it all. 
There will be no obligation to take up their offer."

"Ok, but make sure they ring me first so I can have 
someone here who'll be able to advise me."

"Ok, will do, and I hope we see you entering for the 
next round. Bye for now."

My first action was to pick the phone back up and ring 
Peter to ask if he would be available when the person 
came to see me. I knew I wouldn't be able to decide if 
it was a good idea to accept what ever terms they 
offered, and Gerry wouldn't be much better than me. But 
Peter said in his opinion, it was pointless the person 
coming at all, and he suggested he should come and 
explain his reasons to Gerry and I together. So knowing 
Gerry would be home later, I arranged for Peter to call 
to see us around seven in the evening.

When Gerry arrived home from his afternoons drinking, I 
gave him his evening meal, and told him about the two 
telephone conversations I'd had while he was out. The 
first one got him excited, but on hearing I'd arranged 
for Peter to come and advise us, this dampened his 
enthusiasm. But around seven, Peter arrived, and I 
showed him into the front room. He then told us, that 
in his opinion, the dance competition was a really 
positive way forward, and he even said, "I'm not sure 
old Graham intended it to work in your favour, but 
getting you to that competition was the best thing he 
could have done for you."

He went on to explain all the things the man on the 
phone had mentioned about capitalising on a TV 
appearance were true. And he even added, if handled by 
an agent, I could make a career from just one 
appearance. But he strongly advised against going 
through any of the many sponsors that I'd find willing 
to back my attempt. Again, in his opinion, unless they 
were backing me to gain advertising from my appearance, 
he said their motives would be the interest they would 
make on the money loaned to me. And as this would be a 
very substantial sum, it could take me years to pay it 
back. And leave me in the position where if the future 
career didn't pan out, I could be deep in debt for 
years, or even loose our house.

Gerry didn't look pleased at Peter's advice, and he 
said, "So even though you think she could make loads of 
money, you don't think it's worth the gamble?"

"It's your choice, but, and I'm not saying your Mary 
can't dance; you did say that last competition was 
fixed. There are so many who've gone this way before, 
and come unstuck."

"So should she just give-up on her dream?"

"No. But if you could earn enough money to get the ball 
rolling, and then just do a single job every time you 
need to top-up the kitty. That way if she wins 
competitions on her own merit, and the money does start 
rolling in, it'll all be spends. But if things don't 
turnout, you won't end up in debt."

"I get it. You're back to trying to get Mary working in 
one of your whore houses?"

"Not quite. But I do have a couple of clients who saw 
her dancing the other week, and either or both of them 
would pay handsomely to take her out for the evening."

"Yes, but she'd still be working as a whore, and you'd 
still take your cut?"

"Well her job title would actually be 'An Escort', but 
yes, she'd be whoring. And yes I'd take my ten percent. 
But at around two grand a man, she'd make a net of 
three-thousand six-hundred for just two nights. And 
she'd be wined and dined at the very best places, and I 
can guarantee she won't have to put up with any rough 
stuff."

I still hadn't spoken, as I thought Gerry was fighting 
my cause quite effectively. But as Gerry heard the 
amounts of money to be made, I could see his excitement 
building. Then he asked,

"Are you sure you can get that much money for just one 
fuck?"

"I told you before, it's the desirability factor. They 
know she's gonna be on TV, so they can brag to their 
colleagues, 'I've fucked her'. Once she's actually done 
her first show, I'll be upping the anti to five grand a 
time."

"Jesus Mary. I bet you never knew just how valuable 
that pussy you're sitting on was worth?"

I replied in a disapprovingly sarcastic tone, "You're 
right. But I also never imagined you put so little 
value on it."

He looked at Peter, "What the fuck is it with her? I 
don't know what I've done; but what ever I say I'm in 
the wrong."

Peter didn't reply to Gerry, but turned and said to me 
softly, "I know it's a hard pill to swallow, but if you 
just do these first two jobs, it'll give you enough 
funds to enter the next few competitions, and keep your 
household bills up to date. If you're winning 
competitions by then, and as your fame grows, maybe I 
could get you some legitimate advertising."

I didn't answer, but just sat there with my head hung 
low, shaking it side to side. Gerry said, "It don't 
look like she's interested. And it wouldn't surprise me 
if I'm in the spare room tonight. I guess you'd better 
go."

"Ok, I'll leave. And if you still want to take up a 
loan, I will try to get here to advise you. Bye for 
now."

As soon as he'd gone, and it wasn't even seven-thirty, 
I went up to my room, got into bed, and that was me for 
the night. Gerry didn't attempt to join me, but he 
spent the night as he'd predicted, in the spare room. I 
didn't actually go straight to sleep when I'd gone up 
stairs; I lay there into the early hours of the 
morning, just running various scenarios through my 
head. I was up and doing housework by the time Gerry 
decided to come down stairs, and his first words were 
spoken in a very submissive tone.

"Are we cool?"

"I guess so. I'm sorry about last night; I know it 
wasn't your fault."

"So I guess I'll have to think about going to the job 
centre?"

"Maybe. But before we do anything, I think we should 
talk."

We both sat down, and he held my hand, "Ok, what are 
you thinking?"

"I haven't decided anything yet, but let me just run 
these ideas past you. First, you could do what you've 
just said, go find a job, and I'll go back to being a 
dreary housewife."

"You're not dreary."

"No please don't speak; I'll loose my train of 
thought."

"Sorry."

"Well that is one option."

"Then I could wait for this man from the TV Company to 
send someone to sponsor me. And maybe, just maybe, if 
my dancing is good enough. And if my face clicks when I 
do TV interviews, then I could become a celebrity. But 
that is a big risk."

I paused before daring to say the next option.

"Ok, you know the third option, but if I spell this 
out; I don't want any comments about me being sex 
crazy."

"I'm Shtum."

"Well if I do let Peter find men, at least if I'm not 
any good at dancing, at least I'll have given it my 
best shot, and we won't be in debt."

"Can I speak?"

"Yes, I want to know what you think?"

"You've obviously thought this through. And it's also 
obvious; you want to try the dancing. Like you just 
said, once you've tried, if it don't workout, I can 
always look for work then, but we won't be starting 
with a big debt to repay."

"So you think I should phone Peter?"

"I guess so."

"You know what that will make me?"

"Yes, but it isn't as if you're gonna keep doing it."

"And there won't be any snide remarks?"

"No babe. You know I'm with you all the way."

So move on a week, Peter has advanced me the money to 
enter the next round of the competition. Supplied me 
with a wardrobe of a dozen dresses and underwear. And 
even managed to locate Trav, and persuade him to be my 
permanent partner. But this now meant, any competition 
money earned, would be split two ways. But that was 
better than none at all. So now my days are taken up 
with dance practice, while Gerry spends his mornings in 
bed, and his afternoons down the pub.

I think it was about two or three weeks after making my 
decision, that I got a call from Peter, asking me to be 
ready at around seven the next evening, I'd be picked 
up by a taxi, and meet a Mr. Yardley at the Holiday 
Inn. He also told me to expect an express delivery; 
he'd sent me a supply of yellow pills. The pills 
arrived that same day by motorcycle dispatch rider. The 
next evening, I was ready, and the taxi was on time, 
but I'd made up my mind to do this without the help of 
the pills. So about seven-thirty, as I step out from 
the cab, a very distinguished gentleman was waiting to 
take my hand.

"Good evening Mrs. Kendal, I'm Mr. Yardley. I think 
you're expecting me?"

I took his hand, gave a slight bow, and replied, "Yes. 
But please call me Mary."

There was some small talk, where he also told me his 
first name, which was Alan, and then he escorted me 
into the hotel. We dined in the main restaurant, and as 
you might expect, the meal was sumptuous. I did drink 
some wine, but not too much, I wanted to be sure I kept 
my wits about me. After the meal, we talked, nothing of 
any consequence, just me agreeing with any opinion he 
put forward. Then around nine-thirty, he took me 
through to the ballroom, where there were about thirty 
or so couples just dancing in a relaxed manner around 
the floor. 

We joined them, and though not a competition dancer, 
this man knew not only how to dance, but how to hold a 
girl and provide the all important lead. The next hour 
or so was so pleasant, just floating around, not having 
to impress any judges, but still being with a real 
dancer. Even if he was in my dad's age group! I later 
found out he was actually sixty-two years old! I'd only 
guessed in his early fifties. But all that aside, his 
behaviour and conversation was impeccable, and it was 
hard to believe what the real purpose of this evening 
was.

During the evenings dancing, we took time out several 
times, where he'd drink champagne, but after just the 
one glass, I reverted to a non-alcoholic orange drink. 
I guess it was around eleven-thirty when the mood of 
the music began to incline to the romantic, and they 
also dropped the light level. It was with this change, 
that it became evident; Alan was beginning to think 
about what was still to come when the dance had ended.

This as you can guess was demonstrated by his cock 
making itself known as Alan pulled himself close to me 
during the dancing. The first time I realised, I guess 
it must have shown on my face, because he immediately 
slackened his hold, and as a mild blush came to his 
cheeks, he whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry my dear. It 
has a will of its own."

I found this so charming, as he'd been holding me 
tightly to his body all evening, and it wasn't as 
though he'd suddenly pushed his cock up against me in a 
base or threatening manner. So as I said, "I 
understand. But please don't relax your hold; I need 
your strong guidance."

The smile that appeared on his face was as if I'd given 
him the moon, and he resumed his grip, pulling my body 
back into contact with his cock.

The rest of the dances were almost like actual sex! 
Several times, I saw his eyes glaze over, and I was 
almost sure it was because he was actually cumming in 
his pants. But it wasn't just him who couldn't control 
his emotions, on at least three occasions, my arousal 
got the upper hand, and by the time we arrived at the 
last waltz, I was praying the juices I could feel at 
the tops of my legs wouldn't make themselves known to 
other dancers.

His comments about our evening as we made our way up in 
the lift, and along the corridors towards his room, had 
now moved from the impeccable behaviour standard, to 
the, can't wait to fuck you variety.

I guess that's not really fair, his language was always 
that of a gentleman, but the subject of his 
conversation was now directed to the actual point of 
the evening. He told me how he'd cum whilst dancing, 
and how he wanted to cum in every possible way with me. 
I for my part tried to banter on equal terms, and 
didn't let any of his sexual suggestions faze me. As we 
arrived at his room his first pressing engagement was 
the bathroom, and whilst he was busy, I re-opened the 
door and hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the outside.

Then as we proceeded to the bed, he lay me down and 
took the greatest of pleasure in slowly peeling my 
clothes off until I was completely naked. Then he must 
have spent a good ten or more minutes kissing, 
stroking, licking and generally fondling just about 
every square inch of my flesh, finishing up with his 
face buried deep into my crotch. My arousal was 
simmering just below boiling point as we'd left the 
dance floor, and his wonderful attention since we 
arrived in his room created several minor eruptions. 
But his tongue in my pussy, bottom and that whole area, 
had me bucking and heaving, and almost at the point of 
begging him to fuck me.

But before I actually reached that humiliating 
situation, he stepped down from the bed, and began to 
strip himself. As his boxer shorts left his waist, I 
could now see why his cock had made itself so apparent 
during the dancing. Not only was it hard, but big. Not 
I hasten to add a rival for Olaf, but fatter and every 
bit as long a Peter's magnificent specimen. Once naked, 
he climbed up alongside me, and as he lay himself on 
his back, he said, "Come-on then, let's see you earn 
your money."

This was definitely an out of character remark for him, 
and at first I took it as some kind of slur. But then 
it came to me, that this man had treated me to all of 
the finest things money could buy all evening, and he 
was right, it was now my turn to show him I was worth 
two thousand pounds of his money. I got up onto my 
hands and knees along side him on the bed, and asked, 
"Do you want me to take you in my mouth first, or shall 
I just mount you?"

"I think you can just slip that little cunt onto my 
cock, it won't take long for my first load."

I lifted my leg over his torso, and put the head of his 
cock against my wet slippery valley. Knowing the size 
of his cock, I'd intended to lower myself down slowly, 
but my pussy had other ideas. As soon as I felt his 
bell-end resting against the flesh of my slit, my hips 
lunged forwards. It wasn't so much his cock slipping up 
my pussy; more a case of my pussy stretching itself 
down and around his cock. It took me by surprise, and I 
could tell by the look on his face, he was also taken 
aback.

Unthinkingly, I paraphrased his remark from earlier, 
"I'm sorry. It has a will of its own."

A wry smile appeared on his face, as he pushed his cock 
hard up, making crotch to groin contact. I fucked him 
slow and purposely, using all of the length of his 
cock, but as he'd said, it was only five or so minutes 
before he began to jerk his cum up into my pussy. My 
pussy, of course, returned the compliment, by going 
into a minor convulsion. 

This orgasm was a full contraction and fairly hefty 
gusher, but not one that knocked out my consciousness. 
But even though he'd finished his cum strokes, and I 
was conscious of my crotch display, I was unable to cut 
my performance short. So by the time I was able to lift 
myself from above him, his lower belly was covered in 
my sticky juices. Now I guess in some of the other 
sexual events that had taken place in this last month 
or so, this kind of sticky excess must have covered my 
sexual partner before, but then as I had either been in 
a semi-conscious state, or just because I'd felt like I 
was the one being used, I'd never before felt guilty 
for causing such a mess. But now with this man who I 
still considered to be a refined gentleman, I felt so 
guilty, and I began to blurt out apologies.

He just smoothed over the whole thing, by turning me 
over on my back, ignoring the sticky mess, and just 
began to kiss and caress me. Within minutes, we were 
making love again; for that is what it felt like, not 
just lustful sex. And he continued in this way for at 
least two hours, I think he actually climax seven 
times! How a man of his age had the stamina, to enable 
him to keep his erection for so long, I can only assume 
must be due to some kind of drugs. But never mind the 
length of time he held his erection, where on earth did 
he summon up all that spunk!

We slept the night together in each others arms, and 
when I awoke in the morning, he was gone. But there on 
the little table beside the bed were two tall champagne 
glasses. One was empty, but the other had a single red 
rose in it. To one side was a bucket with a bottle of 
champagne sitting in the ice, the wires already broken, 
and cork ready to pop. Then set up in front of the 
glass with the rose was an envelope. I reached across 
and took out the note from inside.

---------

My Dearest Mary, 

Thank you for a wonderful evening; I can't remember 
when I last enjoyed myself as much as I did last night. 
I hope you enjoy the champagne. The bill for the room, 
complete with breakfast is already settled. The 
breakfast can be taken either in the room, or in the 
breakfast lounge downstairs. When you leave, just ask 
at reception, I have settled the fare for the taxi. I 
sincerely hope we can meet again some time in the near 
future.

Bye, and fondest wishes Alan.

---------

So after I'd had my shower and sorted myself out, I 
phoned for the breakfast to be brought to the room, and 
sat there sipping champagne, waiting for it to arrive. 
Everything was as he'd said, and I arrived home around 
ten in the morning. Gerry was still in bed, and I 
decided to slip in alongside him. As he felt me getting 
into bed, he turned over, and slipped his arm around 
me. Within minutes, his leg was lifting over mine, and 
I was opening my legs wide for him to mount me. I know 
it sounds wicked, but although this was something he 
did regularly, I'm sure neither of us actually got as 
much pleasure from sex alone together, as we did if it 
is given the added danger or spice provided by another 
person being involved with us. But that said, he rolled 
off after he'd spent his ardour, and I slipped out to 
the bathroom to clean myself before once again slipping 
in alongside him.

We were both awaken by the telephone, and as it is on 
Gerry's side of the bed, he answered it, "Yeh. Who is 
it?"

There was a pause while whom ever it was spoke, and 
then Gerry said excitedly, "No bloody Shit. That's 
great."

Another pause, then.

"Too bloody right. She must have really rung his bell. 
Yep, I'll let her know."

Then as he put the phone down, "My god Mary, what did 
you get up to with that bloke last night?"

My heart dropped, I didn't need this kind of 
inquisition, especially after he'd agreed this was what 
he wanted me to do. I snapped out in an angry voice, 
"That's it! I've had it with you."

"Hey babe, what's wrong? I wasn't trying to be nasty. 
Come on its all cool. In fact it's more than cool. I 
was just trying to tell you how good you must have 
been. That guy paid an extra five hundred quid, and it 
wasn't because Peter asked him. He just said you 
deserved the extra. And he wants to see you again."

While Gerry was speaking I calmed down, as I realised 
it wasn't his usual recriminations, and blaming me for 
being a slut, but he was genuinely pleased with what 
I'd done. Even if it was only because I'd earned even 
more money than he'd expected.

"That's ok then. But I don't want any snide comments."

"Hey love, come on."

He wrapped his arms around me, and in between kissing 
and cuddling me, he continued,

"I'm cool with what you're doing. Just so long as 
you're ok with it?"

"I guess so."

Then thinking about the sum of money he'd just 
mentioned, I added,

"That man was ever so nice last night; he behaved like 
a real gentleman all evening."

Gerry lent back so he could look into my face a see my 
expression, "What? He didn't even fuck you?"

"No. I don't mean that. I mean all evening; he behaved 
as if we were on a date. Yes when we got up to his 
room, we made love. But he wasn't aggressive or nasty 
with it."

"Look babe, I know you don't like some words. But what 
he did wasn't making love; he fucked you. And you 
fucked him, but only for the money. Don't get any 
romantic ideas about it."

"Well ok, he fucked me. But I still felt he did it with 
feeling, as though it meant something to him."

"It must have, he paid enough for it."

Then he continued, "Will you meet him again?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"Well you ought to; Peter says he wants another bite of 
the apple."

"We said I'd only do a couple of jobs, just to make 
enough to finance this dance competition."

"So if you see him again, that will be two jobs."

"But Peter said he had another man who wanted to go out 
with me. I don't want to agree to one man, and then 
find out I still have another one arranged."

"Do you want me to ring Peter and see what the score 
is?"

"I guess so."

So while I went to the bathroom Gerry phoned Peter, and 
when I returned, he informed me, Peter had already 
arranged for me to spend the whole of next weekend with 
a Mr. Francis. Again, Peter would supply suitable 
clothing for me. But this time I would be escorting 
this Mr. Francis as his daughter, at some high-class 
social event. On hearing this, it gave me some cause 
for concern, not on the sexual front, but more my lack 
of social graces. After all, although I hadn't liked 
Gerry sisters remark whilst out on her hen night, she 
was in essence right; I had been brought-up on a 
council-house estate.

I actually rang Peter back, and pointed out my 
misgivings, but he assured me, in his opinion, I'd be 
able to pull it off without any problems. So Friday 
night arrived, and a black Rolls Royce pulled up in 
front of our house. I didn't wait for the driver to 
walk up to our door, but as soon as I'd spotted the car 
through the window, I'd grabbed my weekend bag, put on 
my coat, and opened the front door, just as he was half 
way up our garden path.

"Mrs. Kendal?"

"Yes."

"Let me take your bag. Follow me."

In the car was a man, again I'm guessing, but I'd think 
around forty-five years old. Dressed in formal evening 
wear, and looking very hansom. As I stepped in and sat 
alongside him he said, "My name is David, but I'd like 
you to just call me daddy. Not dad or pop, just daddy. 
And as everyone will eventually see you on TV, I will 
need to introduce you as Mary. But most of the time 
I'll call you by the pet name I have for you; Lou."

"Yes daddy."

"That's good. Now as to your behaviour. I'd like you to 
appear innocent, and if there are any comments or jokes 
of a riskay nature, do not laugh or react in any way, 
let them go over your head, as if you don't understand 
them."

"Yes daddy."

He smiled, and said, "Ok, now give me a kiss."

"What kind? A daddy kiss, or one to wet your appetite?"

"Well just this once, I'll try one of each, the daddy 
one first."

I first gave him a simple peck on the cheek, and then 
sat back. Then after a few seconds pause I brought my 
head up towards his, with it held on a slight angle. As 
our mouths came into contact, I let my tongue penetrate 
through my own lips, and then on into his mouth. He 
responded with equal vigour, and our tongues 
intermingled for a minute or more. I'm not sure about 
the affect I had on his state of arousal, but I know 
for my part, it ignited the kindling in my tummy, and I 
wouldn't have needed any persuading to have taken the 
whole thing to the next level.

But as it was, he took a deep breath after the kiss, 
and said, "Wow! Yes well! I don't think you'd better 
let anyone see you giving me a kiss like that."

Then we settled down and he explained a few more things 
about how I was to behave during the weekend. Not once 
was there any mention of where, when or whom I'd be 
expected to have sex with. And to my amazement, the 
whole weekend was just as he had described, I played 
the part of his daughter, at a very big country house, 
and we two were just one couple out of at least ten 
invited guests. The food was excellent, and company was 
pleasant, if somewhat upper-crust and full of their own 
importance. And I was returned to my home at around 
nine on Sunday evening. Daddy said goodnight, and 
thanked me for a pleasant weekend, and off he went.

Gerry was surprised to see me home so early, and when 
he asked, "Well how was it?"

I replied, "I'm not sure."

"Why what went wrong?"

"I don't know. Nothing happened as far as I know that 
could have upset him."

"But what?"

"Well, we didn't have sex. All I did was pretend to be 
his daughter."

"What he didn't even touch you?"

"No. Not unless you class holding my hand, or me 
sitting on his knee a couple of times."

"Did he say anything about not paying you when he 
dropped you off?"

"No, he just thanked me for a pleasant weekend."

"That don't sound good, I can't think he'll pay two 
grand for just a pleasant weekend. Why didn't you ask 
if he wanted you to fuck on the way home in the car?"

"I'm not sure. I think I'd been playing the part of the 
innocent daughter so long, I actually felt like it was 
my dad in the car with me."

"That's no good; I'll bet he was waiting for you to 
give him the nod. Some blokes are like that. A bit 
shy."

"I don't think he was shy. Maybe he just didn't like 
me. I'll ring Peter and ask him to find out if I 
screwed-up."

So off I went, but Peter's phone went onto answer 
machine, "Hi. It's Mary. I've just got home from my 
weekend with Mr. Francis. I hope everything's ok, but 
he didn't attempt to... you know, touch me or anything. 
I'm sorry if I didn't live up his expectation. Ring me 
back as soon as you can. Bye Mary."

It was nearly thirty minutes before Peter rang back, 
and as Gerry was so uptight about the thought of me not 
getting paid, he dashed to answer the phone. When he 
came into the kitchen where I was doing the washing-up, 
his face told me things were ok before he opened his 
mouth. He had a beaming smile from ear to ear.

"What?"

"How the bloody hell do you do it?"

"What d'you mean?"

"He's gone and matched that other bloke."

"What do you mean?"

"Paid two-and-a-half-grand! And he wants to take you 
out again."

"Oh my god! But we said I'd only do the two jobs."

"You have to be joking? One bloke doesn't even touch 
you, and even you said going out with the other one was 
like going on a date, except you got paid for it. And 
if they've paid that price once, I'll bet they'll both 
pay the same if not more next time. Do you realise, 
you'll have got the same amount for going out twice, as 
I earned by working forty hours a week for six months."

"But what if they both want to keep seeing me?"

"Well why not?"

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Well of course, I don't like the idea. But we have to 
be realistic. Four times, compared to me working like 
an idiot for six months. I'd have to be stupid to kick-
up a fuss."

So with us both on a high, up we went to bed, and he 
made love to me. Next day I was back with Trav doing 
our dance practice, we were doing six hours a day, four 
days a week, and this next weekend was the next round 
of the competition. The evening of the competition 
Gerry and I were picked-up by Peter in a limo, and we 
then picked-up Trav on our way. All four of us shared a 
table, but Gerry very soon disappeared to the bar, 
leaving me with Trav and Peter. The dancing went well, 
and although we got into the two couple dance-off 
finale, this time we were the runners-up. But even 
though we didn't win, we were still on a high, as 
second was no minor achievement, and still carried a 
two hundred quid prise. Peter had just suggested 
getting us a bottle of champagne, when one arrived at 
our table, with a note attached. We were told it was 
courtesy of a gentleman on the other side of the dance 
floor.

The note read.

Mary my dear, you danced as always exquisitely, and I 
can only assume the reason you didn't win, was that 
judges had been bribed by the other couple. But the 
result apart, it did my heart the power of good seeing 
you once again gliding around the floor. My only regret 
is that I won't be the one who gets the pleasure of the 
last dance of the evening, or more importantly, the 
last sighs before you go to sleep.

I hope we can meet again soon, Alan.

The note was handed directly to me, but I could see 
both Trav and Peter were curious to know what it said. 
I passed it to Peter, letting him decide if he wanted 
Trav to know its contents. Peter read it, and then 
after folding it up, slipped it in his pocket without 
showing it to Trav. We all took a glass of champagne, 
and after I'd about drank my glass half way down, Trav 
said, "Well Mary. How about we take to the floor again, 
but this time, just for the pleasure."

I didn't answer, but just rose to my feet, and soon we 
floated around, in a similar manner to how I'd danced 
with Alan the other night. And in a similar manner, it 
soon became obvious to me; Trav had his mind on other 
things than dancing. But where as Alan had attempted to 
release his hold to prevent me from noticing, Trav 
appeared to be trying to impress his arousal on me, and 
I guessed he was trying to get a reaction from me. I 
know I felt on that first night with Trav, a sense of 
debt for his guidance and help, but now, we had been 
practicing together for a few weeks, and we were both 
on equal footing regarding any benefits to be gained 
from this competition. So tonight, I didn't have that 
same feeling of debt, and in fact thought this display 
of his arousal was crude. So as the next dance began, I 
made my excuses, and returned towards the table. 

As Peter saw us making our way back, he got to his 
feet, and intercepted us, offering to take over from 
Trav. I didn't mind this, and again we were off around 
the floor. Peter wasn't a bad dancer, but obviously not 
in the same league as Trav. But the main difference was 
his stance and hold. A confident male lead will always 
bring his partners body up to his own, and it is this 
contact of the hip area which gives the control to the 
male. It is also as I have already mentioned, how they 
indicate to the female they want to do more than just 
dance with her. But that aside, as Peter and I danced, 
although he made his way around the floor a lot better 
than my Gerry, it wasn't what I'd call real dancing. 
But the second dance with Peter was a slow smoochie 
number, it was of course, getting towards that time of 
night, and within seconds of the lights dimming, his 
hands had dropped and came to rest cupping the cheeks 
of my bottom. It was then he pulled me close up to 
himself, and now it was his erection I could feel 
pressing into my tummy.

Only a few seconds of this shuffling around had passed 
by before he was whispering in my ear, "I was just 
thinking; I never did get around to claiming my reward 
for getting Graham off your husbands back."

Now even though back when he'd first helped us, I was 
more than willing to repay him by taking him to my bed, 
somehow tonight just didn't feel like the right moment. 
So I tried to put him off until another time,

"Maybe we could arrange a night out together next 
week?"

"I was thinking about coming home with you tonight."

"What? You want to do it at my house?"

"Why not? If we give Gerry the choice to either join us 
or use your spare room, I'm sure he'll go along with 
one or the other of those options."

Now I could see Peter had his mind already set on 
having sex, and knowing Trav also had this on his mind, 
if Peter was going to come back to our house tonight, I 
didn't want Trav to know why. So I stupidly said,

"Ok, but make sure you don't say anything in front of 
Trav."

"Trav, why what's it got to do with him?"

"Well nothing really. But he's already made his desires 
known, and he might take it as a slap in the face if he 
knows I'm letting you, but denying him."

Peter had a wry smile on his face as he said, "So the 
randy young buck wants to get in on the action?"

"I don't know about getting in on any action. But 
during that last dance, he made sure I could tell he 
was aroused."

"So why not let him come back with us? After all, he is 
an essential part of your plan to do well on TV."

This wasn't an outcome I'd even considered, "But. You 
mean go to bed with all three of you?"

"Why not? You've got more than enough stamina to see us 
three off."

"I-I couldn't do that. What would Gerry say?"

"Once I explain it's a necessary part of earning his 
weekly beer money, he'll just toe the line as usual."

At that moment the song stopped, and a slightly quicker 
number began to play, Peter loosed his hold and as he 
took my hand to lead me back to the table he said, 
"Come-on lets sit this one out."

As we walked back around the perimeter of the dance 
floor, Peter used his hand to signal to Gerry, who then 
also began to make his way back towards our table. 
However, before we'd reached the table Peter and I were 
intercepted by Alan; he must have been lying in wait 
near our table watching for me leaving the dance floor.

"Hello my dear. And how are you enjoying the dance?"

Peter instantly replied, "I hope you'll excuse me Mr. 
Francis, I'll leave Mary in your capable hands."

As they nodded to each other and Peter walked away, I 
replied,

"I'm having a wonderful time, and thank you for the 
lovely note, and of course the champagne. Are you here 
by yourself?"

"No my dear, I'm with my wife. She's over at our table 
on the other side of the floor."

"Oh, I see. I thought maybe you'd come to ask me for a 
dance?"

"And if I had, would you have said yes?"

"Of course I would."

"Why? Because you think you need to curry favour with 
me?"

"No. Of course not. You know I love the way you dance."

"So tell me my dear, if I invited you out to a dance 
next week. Not via that weasel Peter Harris and his 
phony agency. But just ask you to come, and no money 
changing hands. Would you still come?"

This really put me on the spot,

"I-I don't know. I'm married. I don't think my husband 
would approve."

"I see. So it is my money you're after?"

"Please don't put it that way. I would come out with 
you just for the pleasure of dancing. But that would be 
all I'd agree to do with you. But if I suggested that, 
my husband would think there was something more going 
on. He wouldn't understand we could just go out 
together for an innocent dance."

"And he'd be right."

"W-What do you mean?"

"I couldn't dance with you all evening, and not make 
love to you afterwards. That would be like spending all 
day preparing the ingredients, all afternoon cooking 
them, and then when the meal is ready to eat, throwing 
it in the bin."

I blushed, and then asked, "So if I agreed to go 
dancing, you'd expect me to spend the night in your 
bed?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't do that."

Just at that moment, they announced the last dance was 
about to start. So I added, "Please, will you excuse 
me? I'd like to get my husband to accompany me on the 
floor for this last dance."

"And if I said I'd pay you one hundred pounds to let me 
have this dance, what would you say to that?"

"I'm so sorry, please don't take this as an insult, but 
I do want to be with him for this last dance."

"Ok my dear. But at least let me escort you back to 
your table."

With that he took my arm and walked me back to where 
Gerry was seated with Trav and Peter. As I arrived at 
the table, I held out my arm and said to Gerry, "It's 
the last waltz, are you going to dance with me?"

He curled his lip, and in a disgruntled tone asked, "Do 
I have to? Can't one of these others dance with you?"

I could see all three of the other men about to offer, 
and I quickly replied, "Please Gerry. I haven't asked 
you for anything else all-night."

Before Gerry uttered a word, Alan had placed five crisp 
new twenty-pound notes on the table in front of Gerry. 
As Gerry blurted out, "What the...?"

Alan said, "It'd be my pleasure to take your place 
young man. I hope that is sufficient to cover the wear 
and tear on your little lady?"

Gerry reached for the money, and I could see by his 
face he looked delighted to accept Alan's offer. But 
before he'd managed to get his hands on it, Peter had 
snatched it up off the table, and as he thrust it back 
up to Alan, he snapped angrily, "Take that back. You 
should know better than to do your business in public. 
And in future, don't forget, all transactions need to 
be negotiated through me."

Now Gerry looked angry, I guess on two counts, one, 
he'd wanted that money, but second, I think he felt as 
my husband he had some say in who I went with, and how 
much it cost them. Peter, as you've just heard, didn't 
like Alan trying to deal without him. And Trav was 
maybe a little confused at what was going on, but also 
angry at what I think he considered as me being used 
for money.

So as I could see they were all getting to their feet, 
and fearing some kind of brawl developing, I took 
Alan's hand, and as I led him back onto the floor, I 
said to all three of the others at the table, "For 
god's sake, pack it in. I'll dance with him, and 
nobodies gonna pay anyone."

Then as I turned back to Alan, "Come-on, if we don't 
get a move on the dance will be over."

He lifted his arm high in the air, and snapped his 
fingers. Instantly, a waiter arrived, before we'd even 
started to dance. Alan lent away from me and spoke 
directly into the waiter's ear. Then as the waiter 
left, he took hold and began to guide me around the 
floor.

It was only a minute or so before that piece of music 
finished, but then the band leader announced, "Well 
ladies and gentlemen; it seems tonight we are to have a 
second last waltz. So those of you who still have a few 
more sweet nothings to whisper, please take your 
partners once again."

And again we were off; it still amazes me what money 
can do. 

While we danced, Alan said, "So my dear, it looks like 
your husband only has a minor share in your interests."

"Please, I don't want to talk about it."

"Ok. But tell me this; if I wanted to take you into one 
of the private rooms they have here, are you authorised 
to negotiate terms, or do I need to discuss it with 
Peter?"

"It wouldn't do you any good who you discuss it with, 
as soon as this dance finishes, I'm going home."

He dropped the subject, and when this final dance of 
the evening came to an end, he escorted me back to the 
table. As I sat down, Alan asked, "Excuse me gentlemen, 
I'm not sure which one of you I am supposed to discuss 
this with. But as I guess it has to be one of you 
three; I am wondering just how much it would cost me 
for the pleasure of young Mary's company for the next 
hour?"

This time, I was angry, and I snapped back before any 
of the others got the chance,

"I've already told you! I'm going straight home. And 
after tonight, don't you ever bother asking Peter to 
arrange another meeting with me."

Alan instantly replied, "My, my. Me thinks the lady 
doth protest too much."

Then looking straight at Peter, "I don't think you've 
got this one house trained yet. Perhaps you need to 
have a little talk with her, and then come over to my 
table and let me know how much it will cost me."

With that he gave a little bow of his head, turned and 
walked back across the dance floor.

I was at a loss for words, but Trav seeing my reaction 
to Alan's proposition, turned to me and asked, "Do you 
want me to go over there and plant one on the dirty old 
bastard?"

Peter interrupted before I spoke, "Don't you dare. Just 
keep your nose out of things you don't understand."

Surprisingly, Trav just sat back in his chair without 
any protest.

Gerry looked at me, as if not knowing what to say, so I 
spoke-up for myself, "Well I don't care what he's 
offering, he's gonna be out of luck tonight."

Then I immediately added, "Or any other night for that 
matter."

Then looking directly at Peter I continued, "If he 
calls you again, tell him to get lost."

Peter got to his feet, held his hand out towards me, 
and said, "Excuse me lads, but I think Mary and I need 
a word in private."

"What ever you've got to say to me on this subject, you 
can say in front of Gerry and Trav."

"No I can't. Now are you coming or not."

I was determined to stay put, and I was about to tell 
him to get lost, but Gerry said, "I think you'd better 
hear what he wants to tell you. Trav and I can wait 
over there, and if you still don't like what he says, 
you can always tell him no."

So as Trav and Gerry got to their feet and walk from 
the table, Peter sat back down.

"Ok. What's it all about?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You couldn't say enough nice things about him the 
other week. Now you're spitting feathers every time his 
name is mentioned."

"It's his attitude. He thinks he can just open his 
wallet and I'll jump through hoops."

"Well if you don't, there are plenty more out there who 
will. He always treats his girls like ladies. He pays 
well. And he's never been violent. What more do you 
want?"

"But it's just he expects me to..."

Peter interrupted, "Do as he asks. He's entitled to. He 
pays the bills. You know what they say, 'he who pays 
the piper, calls the tune'. And he's been calling the 
tune for so many years, he just expects everyone to 
jump the minute he speaks. But he won't call a tune 
that you won't enjoy singing along with."

There was a little pause, and then Peter continued, 
"Now come on, let me take you over to his table, so you 
can apologise."

"Never."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't see why I should."

"Well I've asked you to. Isn't that enough?"

"You're sounding as bad as him."

"Ok, maybe he's right?"

"About what?"

"Maybe you aren't house trained. Maybe its time for me 
to walk away and let you look after your own life. If 
you can't take advice, maybe you're not worth the 
effort."

He rose to his feet, but before he moved I said 
quickly, "What are you doing? Are you going to stop 
helping me?"

"It seems you don't want to take my advice, so for what 
little use you'll be to me, I might as well let you go 
your own way. Maybe that husband will get you some 
punters from down his local pub."

"No Peter. I don't want you to go. I need you to look 
after things for me."

"Well its your choice, come and tell Alan how sorry you 
are, and maybe if we let him have you tonight as a 
gesture of goodwill, it might get you back in his good 
books."

I knew I had to agree, and without speaking, I got to 
my feet. Then as Peter began to walk me across the 
floor, I remembered Alan saying he was with his wife at 
the table.

"Oh my god!"

"What?"

"He's got his wife with him."

"So?"

"But we can't talk about him... you know... having sex 
with me. Not in front of her."

Peter hadn't even slowed his pace, and as Alan's table 
was now in sight, "Don't worry about her, she knows all 
about his little hobby."

As we approached the table where Alan sat, I could see 
his wife, a lady of about the same age as him, but 
unlike him, she actually looked in her sixties. And as 
she was sitting to the right hand side of the table, I 
could see she wasn't sitting on a normal chair, but 
instead, she was seated in a wheelchair.

As we arrived at the table, Peter said, "Excuse me Mr. 
Mrs. Francis. Mary has re-considered your request. And 
by way of an apology for any offence she might have 
caused, she would like you to accept her company 
tonight with her compliments."

I expected at least a look of distaste or disgust on 
his wife's face, but instead, she smiled, and she was 
the one who replied.

"My husband will be pleased to accept."

And as she manipulated the little joystick on the arm 
of her wheelchair, it span around towards where we 
stood, and it was off. As it dashed towards Peter and 
I, we had to both jump sideways to avoid being run down 
by her as she zoomed off in the direction of the dance 
floor. As she passed in between us, she said, "Well 
come-on girl. I hope you can walk quickly in those 
shoes you're wearing."

Alan rose to his feet, and as he walked around the 
table, he slipped his arm through mine, and said, "You 
heard her. We'd better keep up."

We followed her down and around a few corridors, and 
then we arrived at a private room. She waited for Alan 
to unlock it, and then we both followed her in. It was 
laid out with the furniture of an office, with desk and 
chairs. But over to one side was a large chesterfield 
leather couch. Unlike last time, Alan immediately began 
to takeoff his clothes, and as he did so, he folded 
them up neatly and carefully laid them on the desk. I 
was about to ask if I should do the same, when his wife 
said, "Well come-on girl. Lets see what you've got that 
he finds so irresistible."

So I also began to strip, but unlike previous 
occasions, stripping in front of strangers; having his 
wife present, completely subdued any feelings of 
arousal. Once he was naked, he sat himself on the 
couch; his wife had parked her wheelchair by the desk, 
so she was towards one end of the couch, giving her a 
clear view of any activity that might take place on 
there. I lowered my knickers, the last piece of my 
clothing, and placed them with my other clothes on the 
desk at the side of Alan's. Then as I turned to face 
where he sat, I could see he already had an erection, 
and he was using his right hand to slowly stroke his 
shaft. I walked across, and knelt down in front of him, 
and then taking over from his hand, I continued to 
stroke his cock, whilst my other hand cupped his 
scrotum.

As I put my face down to his groin, and began to lick 
under his balls, I heard his wife's wheelchair begin to 
move. From the sound, it appeared to be coming closer 
to me, but maybe slightly behind where I knelt. Then I 
heard a buzzing noise, this I instantly associated with 
a vibrator of some kind. Almost immediately, my 
thoughts were confirmed, as I felt the vibrations in 
the valley of my pussy. It was at first cold, and 
slightly disconcerting; especially knowing it was his 
wife who was wielding the instrument. But gradually 
over the next few minutes, as I attended to his 
throbbing cock in my hand, and occasionally my mouth, 
coupled with the sensations her pussy toy began to 
generate, I felt my tummy begin to flutter. From this 
point on, I guess his wife was just part of my 
stimulation, and my inhibitions about her being the 
same sex as me, or even being the wife of the man I was 
about to have sex with, just disappeared from my 
conscious thought.

So very soon, I can feel the big bulbous end of the 
dildo probing my hole, and instinctively, I heave back 
onto it. His wife speaks, but although I hear her 
words, I take no notice, "My, she is keen to get her 
cunt filled."

The dildo works its way into my pussy, and it is a big 
one. I haven't yet seen it, but the way it's stretching 
my pussy as she pushes it deeper, I know it must be 
about the size of Alan himself. She works it quite 
skillfully, and my pussy is almost fooled into 
believing it is a real cock. But I know different, and 
even if I'd forgotten, Alan's next comment to his wife 
would have reminded me.

"You've got her cunt working; now see if you can get 
her bottom to take it."

I by now had my head over top of Alan's cock, and I was 
busy thrusting my face down into his groin, forcing his 
cock deep into my windpipe. As I felt the big bell-end 
of the dildo slipping along the crevice of my bottom, 
and come to rest at my hole, I momentarily stopped my 
head movements, and braced myself for the pain. But I 
guess a combination of factors must have all combined 
to turn the entry of this massive phallic, from the 
inflictor of pain I'd expected, into the supplier of 
elation. One of the factors was it wasn't my first anal 
intrusion. But more so was the expert way his wife had 
worked my arousal, and the also expert method she used 
to tease the dildo into my hole, working around in 
circles until my bottom was almost craving for it to 
enter.

She must have taken a good five minutes nudging around 
before she actually eased the bell-end in. But once 
inside, and she'd found the depth to which it would 
penetrate, she began to pound it in and out. This 
rhythmic sensation must have taken over the movement of 
my head, and in lest than a minute of her action, my 
head movements had brought forth his first load of cum; 
which was delivered directly into my throat. 

By now I was almost going wild, my hips were bucking 
and I knew my pussy pouting would be visible. I heard 
words taking place between Alan and his wife, but what 
they said I don't know; it was as if it was someone 
talking over a dream sequence. But Alan manoeuvred me 
onto the couch, and lay me on my back. As he got into 
position in between my legs, he lifted them high in the 
air, and then as his body loomed over mine, he took my 
ankles down to the couch alongside my shoulders. This 
position lifted my pussy almost vertically upwards, and 
as he proceeded to lunge his cock down into it, his 
wife continued to shaft my bottom, which was, of 
course, lifted up clear of the couch.

The two of them pounded me until I could hold my climax 
no longer, and I felt my pussy begin to spasm, the look 
on Alan's face was almost one of horror. He obviously 
wasn't at the point of ejaculation, and as he'd been on 
a withdrawal stroke as my pussy contracted, I think he 
must have thought it was trying to bite his cock off! 
But as this was only momentary, and then it dilated 
with a flush of pussy juice, it only required him to 
time his strokes with my pussy action, to enable him to 
keep pumping whilst I heaved away on auto-pilot. And 
although due to my heightened state of arousal, I 
wasn't actually aware of him cumming, he did reach a 
climax, and then his wife immediately removed the 
dildo, leaving me still writhing in ecstasy.

When I came back to normality, Alan had already 
showered in the on-suite bathroom, and once they 
directed me to do the same, they both left. I did my 
best to make myself presentable, and then returned to 
the dance floor. The ballroom was almost empty, just a 
few waiters cleaning down tables, and Gerry, Peter and 
Trav all sitting patiently together at the same table. 
As I approached, they all rose to their feet, and as I 
arrived at the table, they escorted me out of the 
ballroom and out to the waiting car. There were very 
few words spoken, it was as if nobody knew what the 
correct words were after an event of that type. But 
gradually, on the journey back home, they did begin to 
make conversation, and it was Gerry who first broached 
the subject of a three man sex session.

He was sitting next to me, and he turned and asked, "Do 
you remember saying you felt you owed Trav a favour on 
the night of that first dance contest?"

"Yes. But I'm sure by now he knows how grateful I was."

"That's as maybe, but you also said you owed Peter a 
favour, and if I remember rightly you actually offered 
to let him take you to bed."

"So what if I did? That was weeks ago."

"And being as I'm your husband, don't you think that 
gives me the right to have sex with you?"

"Look Gerry! What's all this leading up to?"

"Its like this, before that old bloke Alan came across 
to our table, we'd already disgust the idea of giving 
you a bit a of a gang bang."

"Who disgust? And why wasn't I even asked anything 
about it?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. We were just about 
to see what you thought of the idea, when the old bloke 
came up and tried to buy you for the night."

"Well I'd have said no."

"Why?"

"I'm surprised you have to ask. What makes you think 
I'd agree to letting the three of you do that to me?"

"Well you seemed pretty happy with two men fucking you 
at the same time, why should one more be any 
different?"

I didn't answer, but as I sat there thinking, I came to 
the conclusion maybe he was right; what difference 
would one more man make. It was then we arrived at 
Trav's home, and we let him out of the car. It only 
took a few minutes more before Gerry and I were dropped 
off at our house. As we lay in bed together, after 
making love, I turned and asked him, "Do you want me to 
have sex with Peter and Trav?"

"Well you've already given Peter the offer, so if he 
feels he wants to take you up on it, it would be wrong 
to back out now. And you and Trav are getting on well 
at that dancing lark, so I just thought, it might keep 
him keen. And even I'll admit, both Peter and Graham 
hit the nail on the head when they said no one man 
could keep up with your needs in bed."

I didn't know whether to take that last comment as a 
slur, and I said, "Are you saying I'm a nymphomaniac?"

"No. But let's face it; you don't get as excited when 
we have sex on our own as you do when there are other 
men involved."

"Maybe not. But that isn't because I don't love you."

"Nobody said it was. But you know you get more pleasure 
when you're really excited?"

"I still like our love making best."

"Maybe in one way you do, but I've never made you cum 
the way you do when you are with other men. Is it 
because my dick isn't big enough?"

"No. You're plenty man enough for me. It's just, I 
don't know; maybe the danger, or wickedness of doing it 
with someone you shouldn't."

"Please don't think I'm a slut. But when I'm out with 
one of these men who've paid all that money, even 
before they touch me, my body is on fire. Its not love. 
It's something to do with knowing I'm not in control. 
They've paid, and I can't refuse; no matter what kind 
of sexual act they want to perform. So by the time they 
do touch me, I just loose control. It's almost like 
it's not me. Like I'm an actress, just playing a part. 
Oh I can't explain."

"So if it isn't you? And you know you'll get aroused 
and enjoy it. Why don't you like the thought of letting 
the three of us gang bang you?"

I thought long and hard, not knowing if I dare tell him 
the truth. Then I said, "If I tell you, promise you 
won't think badly of me?"

"I can't promise that. But now you've said that much, 
you have to tell me what you mean."

"I don't like it when you're in the room, because 
you'll see how I behave. I know I go berserk, but I 
don't feel ashamed in front of someone else. Whereas in 
front of you, I feel I'm letting you down."

"Ok I'll be honest with you. That time when I watched 
you with Graham, and he thought he was humiliating me, 
wanting me to join in. I was so turned on watching you; 
I couldn't wait to get at you. You weren't my wife, and 
like you've just said; I wasn't me. It was weird, but I 
enjoyed fucking you more that time than any other time 
I can ever remember."

We both held each other and kissed until we drifted off 
to sleep.

I guess it's about time to bring the tale of my 
downfall to a close, the little gang bang was 
organised, and took place. And I'd be telling a lie if 
I said I hadn't enjoyed it. And I'm sure all three of 
my studs also had a good time. Over the next few months 
leading up to the TV appearance, I saw both Alan and 
Francis several times, and as Gerry had predicted, they 
always paid well. None of these sessions with Alan 
included his wife, and all of them followed broadly the 
same direction as my first meeting with him. Not all of 
them involved going dancing, but on every occasion, we 
dined in public, and he behaved as one would expect a 
real gentleman to behave. My relationship with him is 
still on going, some seven years on, and he is still 
one of my favourite clients.

Francis kept up his pretence of me being his daughter 
for nearly three years, and in all that time he never 
so much as put his hand on my breasts, or up my skirt. 
I did however get into a situation one night when out 
with him, and after that, he never contacted Peter 
again. Well if he did, it wasn't to solicit my 
services. The incident happened one evening, while we 
were staying the weekend with friends of his in a big 
country house. This was quite normal for his sessions, 
and usually he'd just be bathing in the reflected glory 
he perceived came from his daughter (me), once being a 
dancer on TV, and the half-a-dozen or so adverts I'd 
later appeared in.

This weekend, one of the other guests, the house 
owner's son, had been hitting on me all evening, and I 
could tell Francis didn't like me getting this kind of 
attention. I did my best to keep the gentleman at a 
distance, without causing offence. These were upper-
class gatherings, and I could hardly just tell him to 
go and take a running jump. It was somewhere around 
eleven in the evening, and I was returning from a visit 
to the bathroom. As I walked along the hallway, and 
just before I emerged into the large central reception 
hall, a door to my left side opened, and out stepped 
Jason. This was the man I'd just mentioned, the house 
owner's son; a man in his mid thirties.

He had almost jumped from the room, and stood 
motionless directly in front of me. I froze for a 
second, and then stepped sideways to my right as I 
said, "Oops. I'm sorry, I nearly bumped into you." 

He didn't speak, and his face didn't show any sign of 
emotion, but as I'd moved, the door to my right opened, 
and Ian, one of Jason's friends stepped out, blocking 
my escape in that direction.

I tried to make light of the situation, and again said, 
"Oops. Silly me. I seem to be getting in everybody's 
way."

Jason spoke, calmly and slowly, "Can we interest you in 
a game of billiards?"

This wasn't the kind of comment I'd expected, and I 
just answered with the first thing that came into my 
head, "Err. No, I don't think so. For one thing, I've 
no idea how to play, and anyway, I'm no good with games 
that involve balls."

"That does surprise me. But even if you're no good, 
surely as a guest in my house, you'll indulge me by 
letting me show you how the game is played?"

I felt as if saying no would be tantamount to an 
insult, so reluctantly, I turned and walked into the 
room on my left, the one Jason had just stepped out 
from.

The room was well lit, but the big green covered table 
in the middle of the room had its own set of lighting, 
and it almost glowed. Around the room were four more 
men, all about the same age as Jason, and as I entered, 
they all began to gather around the big table. As Jason 
and Ian entered behind me, Ian closed the door, and 
ominously, I then saw him turning the key, obviously 
making sure they weren't going to get disturbed. Jason 
picked up on the look of concern on my face.

"Don't look so worried, he's left the key in the lock, 
so its not you who is being locked in, just unwanted 
guests who are being locked out."

Then one of the others, whose name I didn't know 
quipped, "Maybe that's why she's worried. Maybe she 
wants her daddy to hold her hand while she plays with 
your balls."

Jason then looked my way and asked, "Are you going to 
do that for me?"

I could tell he was trying to embarrass what he thought 
was a naïve unmarried daddy's girl. And although it was 
obvious to me what balls he was talking about, I still 
felt I had to keep in character. After all, I was being 
paid handsomely by Francis to do just that. So I tried 
to answer according to my character, "I think your 
friend is right. Even though I know I won't be any good 
at this game, I bet daddy will be able to show me how 
to play."

This brought a general round of laughter, as if they 
all thought me to be very gullible.

Jason said, "No need for daddy's help, let me explain 
the basic idea. You see on the table three balls."

"Yes."

"And you see at each corner, and one each side, there 
are holes; six in all."

"Yes. It's the same as the snooker table on the TV. Pot 
Black."

"Good girl. Yes the table is the same, but snooker is 
played by the hoypaloy. Billiards is a refined 
gentleman's game."

"I see."

One of the other men then interjected with, "Looks like 
she'll learn quite quickly."

Jason continued, "So up to now, we've got balls, and 
holes."

Now at this point he took hold of a cue from the rack 
on the wall, and held it by the pointed end, "This end 
has a tip, and it is this end that hits the ball."

Then he swivelled the cue around, and held it by the 
thick end, about a couple of foot along its shaft. Then 
with his other hand, he used his first finger and thumb 
to circle the shaft, as if he was about to wank it. And 
as he began to slowly slide his hand back and forth 
along this thick end, he continued, "This is the end 
you hold, it's called the shaft. Now remember that. 
It's important."

Then he placed the cue on the table, and as he turned 
back towards me, "So all clear then? You know how to 
play now?"

"Well not really, what is the idea of the game? Which 
ball do I hit, and which one do I try to get in the 
holes?"

Ian was stood on the other side of me, and he said, 
"Maybe this game is a bit too difficult for her. Why 
not try the simplified version?"

Jason then asked, "Would you prefer that?"

I just wanted to get this all over with, and thinking 
that by now, Francis would be wondering where I'd got 
to; I replied, "I think that might be a good idea."

"Ok for this version of the game, we just use one hole. 
And there will be lots of balls, but all you do with 
them is to hold them, two at a time. Ok?"

Now stupidly I actually believed he was really 
describing a game on the table, but I still couldn't 
think what the object of the game was, so I asked.

"Ok, I hold the balls two at a time, does it matter 
which hand I use?"

"No, use either or both."

"And then what?"

"You remember I told you about the shaft?"

"Yes."

Then thinking it might impress him, and still not 
realising what his game was, I said, "It's the thick 
end of that stick on the table."

"Good girl. Now for the point of the game. All of us 
men have a shaft and two balls; we'll hold our shafts 
in our hands, and you'll be up on the table."

He didn't pause here, but it was at this point I began 
to smell a rat.

"As we circle in front of you, you can then choose who 
will be the first one to put his shaft in the hole, 
while you hold his balls."

Even though I knew my character might have been 
innocent enough to wonder what on earth they were 
talking about, I certainly wasn't. But I didn't know 
how to react. What would Francis want me to do?

I decided to try to follow little miss gullible as far 
as I could, even though I knew either way, I'd have to 
take a gang fucking, or cause a major upheaval. So 
acting like an idiot, I asked, "How do I get onto the 
table?"

Nobody answered with words, but I suddenly had hands 
lifting me from all areas of my body, and in seconds I 
was sat up there under the bright lights. I'd let my 
legs fall flat to the table, and they were held close 
together. Also, during the lift, someone had removed 
both my shoes, which made sense with the lovely green 
baize cloth covering the table.

Jason asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"It's a bit hard, but it's ok."

"Oh; one other thing. See the little semi-circle behind 
you?"

Still sitting, I turned and looked, "Yes."

"Well your little bottom should be sat just there."

I shuffled myself back, and sat in the semi-circle."

"Good. Now, your heels should slip into the pockets at 
either side of the table."

Still being miss innocent, I began to open my legs, but 
the stretch to these pockets was a lot further than I'd 
expected, and by the time my heels touched the pockets, 
my legs were at full stretch, and my bottom had slid 
down the table some what. (I'm not sure just how wide 
that table was, but I've since been told, they come in 
widths up to six feet!)

To attain this position, I'd had to let my arms fall 
behind me, to support my weight as I'd lent backwards. 
Also my dress was fully flared, and just above knee 
height. Perfectly respectable in normal circumstances, 
but in this position, it was obvious my open crotch 
would be on full display.

I felt, even if I kept in character; I'd have to say 
something.

"Surely this can't be right? Daddy wouldn't like me 
sitting here like this with you all looking up my 
dress."

Jason instantly; and I felt somewhat excitedly, 
replied, "Never mind daddy. We won't tell him. And 
don't forget, you are in my house, and it would be rude 
not to indulge me."

"Ok. But what happens now?"

As I asked the question, I felt hands all around 
simultaneously restraining both hands and feet. Then 
directly afterwards, I could feel on my hands, and see 
on my ankles, men were binding them with ropes to the 
pockets of the table.

"Please. I don't like it. What are you going to do?"

"There was no answer, but all the men were now 
stripping naked, and in no time, they were all gathered 
around, and hands began to stroke my legs. Men not 
stroking me, were mostly stroking their own cocks, and 
getting them ready for action. Men from either side 
began to open the top of my dress, and soon my breasts 
were being fondled. It would have been pointless me 
attempting to resist, but my body being what it is, 
once they'd started this fondling, even if I'd wanted 
to resist, it would have been futile. As my hips began 
to lift, and my pussy to pout, I heard someone say,

"She's no virgin. And neither is her arse. Just look, 
both holes are begging for a fucking."

Jason replied, "You're fucking right. Come on get her 
untied. I'll bet she'll fuck without even being held."

So that was it, they just untied me, and as each one 
mounted, I fucked. What I hadn't realised, was that 
somewhere along the road, once Jason had had his fuck, 
he'd gone back to the main room and started to talk to 
Francis. When Francis had asked him if he'd seen his 
daughter, he'd said, "No, but if you want, I'll come 
with you and help you look for her."

He'd then led Francis into the billiard room, where I 
was on top of one man, with another fucking for all he 
was worth up my bottom. Of course, by now I was in full 
swing, making all kind of crude noises, calling for as 
much cock as they could give me, and there was no sign 
I'd been coerced into the situation.

On the way home I'd tried to explain to Francis, but he 
wouldn't even let me speak. The next day I explained at 
length to Peter what had taken place, but in the event, 
Francis never called for my services again. Peter did 
however get calls from several of the men who'd been 
involved, somehow they managed to find out Peter was my 
pimp. But as Peter didn't know too much about the 
reliability of these men, he'd declined all advances 
from them.

During the period before my first TV appearance, Trav 
and I won two of the remaining four preliminary 
competitions, and even became secret lovers for a short 
period; but that only lasted a month or so. He was too 
jealous of my part time job.

The TV show began, and we lasted five weeks into the 
series before we were voted off. The TV exposure 
brought with it a certain amount of fame, in total 
maybe ten or so chat shows. But I guess I didn't really 
have enough experience of life, or enough personality 
to break into the big time. Peter then began to find 
some legitimate advertising work, and this in itself is 
maybe worthy of a little more investigation. These 
adverts may be as he claimed legitimate, but they are 
not as innocent as you might first think.

The first of these adverts I was engaged for was 
something as simple as sausages. The main drift of the 
advert was to impress on the punter, how fresh and 
nourishing the ingredients used to make the sausages 
were. It was to start with me running down a meadow 
towards a stream. Crossing the stream via stepping 
stones. Then running through a field of waving corn. 
Then entering the farmyard gate, and taking a bucket to 
feed first the pigs, and lastly the beef cattle. The 
last part would be me cooking the sausages in two 
different pans, and dishing it out to four men seated 
around a big farmhouse kitchen table. They would then 
all be smiling, and saying how good they taste. Simple 
enough you might think, and certainly nothing sexy 
involved. You'd be wrong. The first thing that I 
thought strange was that although there were six girls 
up for the job; I was the only one there on the day of 
my audition. I later found out they only do one 
audition a day. I can only speak for my own experience, 
but I assume all the other girls were treated in a 
similar fashion. 

I was asked into a room where the men with the 
influence, six of them, were seated in low arm chairs, 
positioned in a semi-circle at the far end. Behind them 
were several spot-lights to make sure the hopefuls were 
well illuminated. 

As I walked in, the light intensity was so bright; I 
could hardly make out who or how many people were 
actually in the room. As I raised my hand to shade my 
eyes, a voice said, "No my dear. What's the point in us 
having lights to show-up your face if you're going to 
cover it up."

Then, even though I couldn't actually see the man who 
was talking, I could tell by the tone and change of 
note, he must have been looking from side to side and 
talking to the other men on the panel.

"My god! Where do they find these girls? She looks as 
if she's never been in front of a camera before."

Another voice answered him, "I know where she's come 
from. She's the one off the TV dance program, the one 
with the legs that reach all the way up to her tush."

The first voice again spoke, "My god, you're right. I 
should have bloody recognised her. I'm the one who 
asked for her to audition. I can't wait to see her 
panties up close. Come on then girl; stand on that big 
white cross marked on the floor. And then let's see 
that crotch."

I walked forwards until I stood above the white cross, 
and I could just about make out the chairs in a semi-
circle, but not the faces of the men sitting in them.

I gathered from the man's remark, his lasting 
impression of my TV performance, was nothing to do with 
all the hard work rehearsing dance steps and footwork. 
It was like most male viewers, just the occasional 
swings in the air, with my legs wide open, and more 
likely, the final pose the dance ends with. In all of 
these staged moves, I'd invariably end the dance, 
motionless with me, in various poses, but invariably 
with legs wide open. But, of course, the underwear, 
knickers in particular, were designed to give absolute 
coverage. Even if sometimes, the layers of different 
coloured material might on first glance give a riskay 
impression. In other words, the knickers would be made 
full width, in flesh coloured material, with a dress 
coloured, or contrasting material overlaid. Thus giving 
the impression of a narrow gusseted pair of knickers.

So here I am being auditioned for a sausage commercial 
on mainstream TV, and the first thing the man wants to 
see is me posing in a position where he can see my 
knickers. 

"How exactly do you want me to pose?"

"Any way you like, so long as we get a good look at 
your crotch."

As I've mentioned before, the dance underwear allows 
such poses, whilst still giving screening from actual 
nakedness. But I was dressed in a normal thong, not the 
micro variety, but still too skimpy to display myself 
with open legs.

"But I thought this was an audition for a TV 
commercial?"

"It is. And if you get the part, it pays good money. So 
let's have a look at your crotch."

"Can I go back to the dressing room and find some 
suitable underwear?"

A different voice answered, but not the voice of the 
other man earlier, "Not much point my dear. If you want 
the job, you'll be taking your knickers off, no matter 
how much they cover."

I stood there, not knowing if I should comply, or just 
leave. And then came a voice I recognised, "Come on 
Mary, nobodies going to hurt you."

It was Peter's voice!

So he'd got me the audition, and he was actually one of 
the men in the room. It then just became obvious, that 
this was what I'd have to do to break into the 
advertising market. As you might expect, once they'd 
all seen the goods, they were soon handling them, and 
then went on to sample as much as they could manage. So 
now you can see why they can only do one audition a 
day. After letting them all fuck me, I got that job, 
but on several subsequent auditions, even after taking 
a gang fucking, all I got was a 'thanks for coming'. Or 
should that be cumming?

I won't go into detail about the various adverts I 
filmed, as this would take forever, and although during 
these film shoots, they filmed a lot more than was 
necessary for the commercials, there was never any 
actual sex activity as such. Well I guess that brings 
my tale to an end, I've been whoring now for seven 
years, and apart from three or four of my long standing 
regulars, I have now just about retired. We have enough 
money invested to live off the interest. Not I hasten 
to add, wild extravagant living. But we own a modest 
six bedroom house in the country. So while Gerry spends 
most of his time playing golf, I'm occupied as the vice 
chairwoman of our local women's institute. (Rather an 
apt title for me don't you think?)

And just to complete the full circle, this tale all 
started with my husbands freebies, and I've told you I 
still have four other men in my life as well as my 
Gerry. One is of course Peter, who never paid me for 
sex all through our relationship. The second is Alan, 
now at almost seventy years of age, and his wife has 
passed away. But I still visit him for sex once a 
month, only now it's free of charge, and he still 
manages to ring my bell. Next is Olaf, I've set him up 
in his own business as a bodyguard, come escort. He's 
doing well for himself, but he visits me every couple 
of weeks. I sometimes joke I should be paying him; but 
by now we are just old friends, who fuck like rabbits 
every time we meet. Even Gerry has come to terms with 
my voracious appetite for other men. 

But man number four, you might guess would be Trav, but 
no, I haven't seen or heard from him for years, he 
never liked the thought of me going with men for money. 
So who is my other lover? I should be ashamed to 
divulge this, but all I can say in my defence was it 
started in all innocence. That is if you can call 
attending a male only party as the entertainment, and 
knowing you are there to first dance provocatively, and 
then fuck with the ten male guests. Well I call that 
innocent; because that was the kind of thing I did to 
earn my money. What I didn't know was the event was 
some kind of mock pagan ritual, where all the men would 
be wearing face masks, and hooded cloaks.

As I arrived the butler showed me to a side room, and 
left me there with a white dress and appropriate skimpy 
underwear to change into. But there was also a mask for 
me to wear. Once I joined the men, I danced my dance, 
they all walked around me in a circle, chanting, and 
then it was just every man for himself. They began 
stripping me, and fucking or fingering every available 
part of my body. And although it was only a minute or 
so before my mask was removed, most men kept theirs on. 
I didn't know my brother was one of the men until the 
next day when he called at our, then newly acquired, 
country house.

His first reaction was scathing abuse, "You fucking 
whore."

Were the words that greeted me as I opened my new big 
front door. It took a while, but after an hour or so 
explaining to him how it had all started, I then 
plucked up the courage to say something I'd wanted to 
say since his first outburst on my doorstep.

"So now you know why I was there. Tell me this, my mask 
wasn't in place for long; so unless you were the first 
man to have me, you must have known who I was?"

"Don't go trying to make me out to be the one in the 
wrong. You were the one selling yourself."

"I know that. And why not, it's my body to sell. Why 
should I be ashamed? But that doesn't explain you doing 
the same as all the others. And even if it hadn't been 
me, you still knew you were going to a fake ritual, to 
have sex with a girl who was being paid. What would 
Tania (His wife) think of that?"

"Jesus Mary! You wouldn't tell her?"

"You know I wouldn't. I don't even speak to her unless 
I have too. But don't you go looking down your nose at 
me. My husband knows what I do, and he's man enough to 
handle it. Now unless you've got anything more to say, 
I think you might as well leave."

So you might think I wouldn't be seeing much of him 
again; and you'd be wrong. We walked to the door, and 
as he was about to leave, he turned and held me. I'd 
expected a brotherly kiss, kind of an apology. But even 
if he meant it to start that way, within seconds his 
tongue was in my mouth, and as he held me close to 
himself with one arm, his other hand was pushing up 
under my skirt, and into my crotch. I promise I did try 
to fight him off. But not aggressively, with scratching 
and kicking, just trying to push him away, not wanting 
to hurt him. But what ever excuses I make, the result 
was the same, with my front door still wide open; he 
fucked me on the floor, in the hall. If I tell you he 
took me to heaven and I lost control, I'm sure you 
won't be surprised. But when I then admit, we closed 
the front door, and spent the next three hours in my 
bed, fucking in every conceivable position, you'll 
realise just how wicked I really am.

So that's it, I'm now Mrs. respectable, living in 
style, and being fucked regularly by husband, brother, 
ex-pimp, ex-client, and last but with a cock as big as 
his, definitely not least, Olaf, my friend.

END

Thanks for reading, and please feel free to email me at 
Lord_John_Thomas@hotmail.com 

It is only the feedback from readers that make the 
effort of writing worthwhile, and I will answer all 
mail received (eventually). To ensure I accept your 
mail, make sure your mail has 'Story Feedback' as a 
subject, all other mail to this account is deleted as 
spam.

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 55