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 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'm trusting 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 wrapt 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 celeb, 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 celeb. 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 cuming 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 errection, 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 errection 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 phoney 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 errection, 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 skilfully, 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 falic, 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 cuming, 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 cuming?

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.

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