Virgin Whore (3 page)

“How much tip for ‘everything’?” 

At this point, with a two-handed grip on my cock and balls, she definitely had the advantage in negotiating a price.  I decided to start by offering the standard fee.  “Two hundred,” I said, fully expecting her to make a higher counter offer.  I figured that she knew that she had the upper hand, and I was just hoping that she would come back with something realistic.

“Two hundred,” she repeated without expression.  Then, “I’m little bit cold.”  She let go of me, wiped her hands on a towel, and got up and adjusted the air conditioner controls.

I couldn’t read her at all.  Was she satisfied with two hundred?  It was the standard tip for full service.  And it probably was more than she made all day working in the bar.  But surely she would counter my offer.

She sat down on the edge of the bed with her back to me.  Hugging herself with both arms, she leaned her head back and stared at the dark ceiling, as if searching for the right words.  I wondered if she were going to ask for a bigger tip.  Then I realized what was going on.    She really wasn’t focused on price.  “Yong?” I said softly.  She half turned her head toward me.  “Is this the first time you have done this?”  She closed her eyes and nodded.

“I was virgin when I married my husband.  Until now, he was the only one.”  Her shoulders started to shake.

I reached over and rubbed her back for a few moments.  Then I lightly tugged on her shoulder as an invitation to come to me.  She hesitated and then lay down on her side, back to me.  I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a gentle hug.  “Just relax and take it easy.  I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do,” I said.  She nodded again.  Then she rolled over and nestled against me, her face pressed against my chest.  I kissed her on the forehead.  Her hair smelled of fresh shampoo.

I wondered what must she be feeling, about to prostitute herself for the first time.  Fear, anger, depression?  Probably a mixture of those and more.  I brushed off a wave of guilt.  I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I made that time in Manila.

The young Filipina had said her name was Cecelia, but she couldn’t spell it for me.  She said she was 21, but I thought she looked younger.  Fresh and nubile.  Beautiful white smile.  Flawless brown skin.  Iridescent pink bikini that glowed in the black light.  I bought her a few drinks and, at her urging, paid her bar fine so she could leave with me.  She took me by taxi to a sex hotel where they rented the rooms by the hour.  But once inside, she lay back on the bed, fully clothed, and stared morosely at the overhead mirror.  When I asked what was wrong, she said that she hated her job.  I felt guilty, as if I somehow were exploiting her, even though she propositioned me and clearly was prepared to give herself to me.  I said that she didn’t have to go through with it, and asked if she wanted to go.  She nodded, and we left without my ever having touched her.  We shared a taxi back to her bar.  I paid her the same as if she had gone to bed with me.  She took my money and got out of the taxi without even thanking me.  And then I knew who had exploited whom.

I decided that this time with Yong would be different.  She offered herself to me of her own free will.  A value-for-value exchange between consenting adults.  She had to work off the money she owed the owner.  So if it wasn’t me, it would be some other man who would be her first customer.  And there would be others.  I might as well be the first.  I would treat her well, gently and with respect, and make it as easy for her as possible.  Of course, I knew I was rationalizing.  But that didn’t change anything.

I decided to stop thinking about Yong’s apparent distress and just enjoy the moment.  I was relaxed from the oil rub-down and yet stimulated by the newness of the woman snuggled against me.  But time was a problem.  Surely my hour was about to expire.  At best, we’d have time for a quickie.  And Yong didn’t seem primed for that.

As if she had been reading my mind, Yong stirred and asked, “Can you stay one more hour?”

My spirits lifted.  “Sure.  No problem.”  Apparently, she intended to go through with it.  And with the preliminaries already over, we would have nearly the whole hour for “full service.”  I suddenly became aware of the growing sensation of need and urgency in my balls.

“Be right back,” Yong said.  She got up, stepped into her shoes, and slipped out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.  A thin shaft of light violated the dusky room.

I felt exposed, lying naked on the bed with the door ajar.  No telling who might wander by and look into the room.  I had no idea how many women were working there or how many customers were being entertained at the moment.  I found the robe lying on the floor next to the bed and pulled it over my midsection.

Yong was gone longer than I had expected.  When she returned, she wore a disturbed expression.  “She wants you to pay forty dollars more!”

“OK.  No problem.”  I already had assumed as much.  I reached for my pants.

“You sure?” Yong asked.

My balls tightened.  They were in control, so I was sure.  No problem at all.  I handed the money to her.  “Uh-huh.  Hurry back.”

Her face relaxed.  She looked me in the eyes and flashed a genuine smile as she took the money and slipped out the door again.  This time, she was gone for only a couple of minutes.

When she returned, she wordlessly locked the door.  She kicked off her shoes.  Then she removed her earrings and bracelets and placed them next to the clock-radio on the night stand.  She moved into the corner of the room, away from the red glow of the light.  She fumbled with her belt for a moment and then stepped out of her long skirt and carefully folded it on the floor.  Then she peeled off her top and dropped it on the skirt.  Now she was clad only in bikini panties and a strapless bra.  I marveled at her slimness.  Not the gaunt, bony skinniness of the malnourished, but the comfortable, round slimness of one who was just naturally that way.  She reminded me of a tall prepubescent girl.  Only the breasts belied the image.  And perhaps they weren’t all her.  They seemed unnaturally large for such a slim woman.

She slipped into bed next to me, her head on my shoulder and one hand on my thigh.  She started to speak, and then stopped.  Finally, she asked, “Um...are you sure you don’t have no disease?”

I wondered why she would ask that.  In a place like this, wouldn’t she just assume the worst?  Maybe it was because she was new?

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said.  “Remember, I’m a married man.”

“You sure you are married?”

I held up my left hand and showed her my diamond ring.  It wasn’t a wedding ring, but how could she know?  She examined it with her finger tips and rotated it around my finger a couple of times.  Then she slipped her hand into mine.

We lay together silently for a little while longer, and then she began to rub her hand up and down my thigh.  She cupped my balls, gently massaging them with the confident touch of a familiar lover.  My penis swelled instantly to full hardness.  She kissed it and then enveloped its head with her lips, flicking it with the tip of her tongue.  I was surprised that she was sucking me without a condom.

Almost as if in answer to my thought, she stopped sucking and said, “You don’t need to use a rubber this time.  No need to worry.  You are my first man in two years.  I don’t have no disease.  Not yet.  Maybe next time you see me, I will.  But not this time.”

Somewhere, in the far recesses of my mind, I knew that I should use a condom.  No sense taking any chances.  But my balls had taken charge.  And they craved the stimulation of my bare penis probing the warm, wet depths of her pussy.  They clamored to answer their calling in life:  To flood her with sperm-laden semen.  Nothing else would do.  A condom would foil my primal need to mate with her.  I needed to inseminate her and know that she felt my warm release flood into her.  Only then would my balls be satisfied, their mission accomplished, their needs gratified.  At least for a little while.

Yong took my penis in her mouth again.  She slid up and down its length, expertly applying just the right amount of pressure with her lips and tongue.  Enough to stimulate, but not so much that she pushed me over the edge prematurely.

As a lover, she knew exactly what she was doing, perhaps from years pleasing the husband who had fathered her three children.  But as a whore, she clearly was a novice.  She hadn’t yet developed that penchant for finishing off the John as quickly as possible.  She hadn’t asked for the money in advance, and I wasn’t even sure we had settled on a price.   It seemed I really was her first customer.  I could hardly believe my good fortune.

I explored her body with my fingertips as she continued her oral massage.  Her skin was smooth and soft.  Despite her slimness, her behind felt round and firm through her sheer panties.  But her breasts were bound by a tight bra.  My fingers examined the fastener that held the bra together.  I couldn’t figure out how it worked.  I longed for the day when a simple tug on the free end would disengage the little metal hooks.

Apparently sensing my confusion, Yong rose to her feet and deftly removed the bra, baring full, firm breasts and large nipples.  Then she stepped out of her panties, exposing her petite triangle of dark hair.

She climbed back into bed and straddled me.  She tried to mount me, but she was too dry.  So she slipped down and took me in her mouth again, generously wetting me with her saliva.  Then she licked her fingertips and lubricated herself as she straddled me again.  This time, she was successful, working me into her until her pubic hair mixed with mine.  After a few moments, she began gently to move up and down.

I grasped her slim hips with both hands and matched her movements.  She had said that she hadn’t had a man in two years.  I believed her.  She was so tight around my swollen cock that I was afraid I might hurt her if I wasn’t careful.

I began to explore her body with my hands.  I slid them from her hips down her thighs and calves.  I was amazed by how slim her legs were.  I just couldn’t imagine that they belonged to a full-grown woman.  But the heat enveloping my penis assured me that they did.

I slid my hands back up to her waist, momentarily grasping her above the hips as I carefully pushed myself fully into her.  Her stomach was flat and her skin taut.  So far as I could see in the dim red light, she appeared not to have any stretch marks.

I slid my hands up her to her chest and enveloped a breast in each.  The size and firmness of her breasts suggested implants, but my fingers couldn’t find any surgical scars.  Her plump nipples hardened as I caressed them with my thumbs and forefingers.

She placed her hands on my thighs and arched her back.  Now, in the dim red light, I could just make out a thin semicircular scar around the bottom edge of each areola.  But the scars were so fine and well-healed that I couldn’t detect them with my fingertips.  So she did have implants, but they weren’t recent.  They probably were done back in Arizona.  Had they been an attempt to rekindle the interest of a husband who had tired of her?  Were they a lure to attract someone new?  Maybe they were just something she did to feel better about herself, to assure herself that she still was attractive.  I tried to imagine what she had looked like without them.  Probably not much more than a pair of nipples.

My attention shifted to my penis.  I was so hard I throbbed each time I pushed up into her.  I nearly lost control and had to grasp her hips and hold her very still for a few moments until the crisis passed.  I decided to roll her over.  I would have better self-control on top.

I pulled her down against my chest, and then, holding her firmly, I rolled her onto her back while we remained coupled.  I slid my arms under her and gently pressed her into the bed with my body.  She wrapped her arms and legs around me, drawing her knees back to spread herself fully open to me.  I pushed deep into her and probed her with slow, deep strokes.  She moved with me in perfect concert, as if we were inveterate lovers.

I buried my face in her neck.  She smelled fresh and clean.  No perfume.  Just a hint of bath soap and shampoo.  Instinctively, I sucked gently on her ear lobe.  She hugged me.  I kissed her on the forehead and touched my nose to hers.  I knew that these women didn’t kiss their customers.  Even so, I tentatively touched my lips to hers, half expecting her to turn away, or at best, to give me a perfunctory dry-lipped peck.  Instead, she parted her lips and gave me her tongue.  My balls tightened and my penis throbbed.  We kissed slowly and deeply, my tongue mimicking the action of my penis.  It was all so natural, so satisfying, so stimulating.  I teetered on the brink of orgasm and finally had to disengage from her lips to avoid losing control.  Once again, I buried my face in her neck.  She breathed raggedly in my ear.

I planted kisses down her throat and between her breasts.  I took a nipple between my lips and sucked.  She bucked up against me.  I slowly withdrew my cock from her pussy and planted more kisses down the center of her abdomen to the top of her pubic hair.  I skipped to her inner thighs, running my tongue up and down.  Each time I ran my tongue up toward her pussy, she gasped and tensed.

I recalled the advice a friend had once given me, “Never fuck anything you wouldn’t eat.”  I pressed my tongue hard against her inner thigh and licked my way up to her pussy.  She shuddered and grabbed my head.  I thrust my tongue into her and then slowly worked it up to her clitoris.  She was fresh and clean.  I licked and nibbled at her until her wetness flowed and her legs began to shake.

I rose to my knees and pushed her legs apart with my thighs.  I found her wetness with the tip of my penis and slid into her.  I pressed my body against hers and pushed deep into her.  I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “I want you to promise me something.”

“Mmm?”

“Promise me something.”

“Promise what?”

“Promise that you’ll use condoms with all your other customers.”

She hugged me, and I could feel her nodding her head.  I kissed her cheek and began to move in her again.

We continued for the better part of an hour.  Using slow, deep strokes, I brought myself to the verge of orgasm time and time again, each time intensifying the sense of urgency in my balls.  I knew that, when I finally released it, my orgasm would be huge.  But I was in no hurry.  And apparently, neither was Yong.  She met me stroke-for-stroke, pausing when I paused, allowing me to pull back from the brink.  When I kissed her, she received my tongue warmly, almost lovingly.