I knew the female's voice. I was absolutely certain. But somehow I could not believe what my ears told me; all she had said was 'Here is four hundred'. That was enough to tell me who spoke the words. What was my wife doing here? She was supposed to be at a hen party tonight and this was not a hen party. This was the Grand Hotel where most of the conventions took place.
The man's voice I was not familiar with, it was new to me. I had never heard it before. He spoke to her in a low, pleasant voice, telling her to go back to work and turn another trick. Did this mean that he was her pimp?
The clicking of heels told me that she was leaving and I ventured a peek through the bushes that circled the porch. I could just get a glimpse of a shapely ass wiggling in a blue mini skirt. She was returning to the convention hall. The male voice I had heard belonged to a tall, wide shouldered man who was slowly making his way to the bar.
I was stunned. I just stood rooted to my spot for a few minutes. But then I decided to try and find a place from where I could observe the convention hall and not be seen easily. The bar was definitely the best spot for my purpose.
Luck was with me that night. There was a free stool next to the stranger whose voice I had heard and it was perfect. From my vantage point I was able to see most of the convention hall. And as I scanned the bustling hall I spied a couple standing at the elevators, a well dressed gentleman and a petite, black haired girl in a blue mini skirt. His left hand reached out to press an elevator button while his right hand was busy caressing the girl's bottom. I strained to see more but the elevator door opened and the couple walked in.
As I eased myself onto the stool I accidentally brushed against the stranger's arm, causing him to spill a few drops of his drink. I apologized, but he waved me off with a 'warm grin and a laughing 'don't mention, I might spill a drop of yours'. And with this we were no strangers any longer.
His name was George he told me, and I introduced myself as Karl, which is my middle name. I certainly did not want to give out my real name until I knew where all this was leading to.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries to see if there was interest enough to continue talking to each other. He seemed to be intrigued by my accent and asked me where I came from originally. Sweden, I told him.
He shifted the conversation and asked if I was looking for some 'action'. If so there was just the right girl here he knew and he would love to introduce me to her. She is from Germany, he informed me.
"She is one hell of a girl. Almost petite, beautiful, shiny black hair, and eyes that can burn a hole in you if you let her. But not cheap," he laughed.
"That sounds great," I answered. "I have another fifteen minutes left before I have to run to be in time for an important meeting with a client."
The meeting was the truth, the time was not. I wanted to be gone when my wife returned from her meeting. And fifteen minutes sounded safe enough.
"That's too bad", he informed me as he handed me his business card. "She is with a customer right now and you will be gone before she comes back down."
He then told me a little nit about Jessica. That she was the top girl working for him. That she was a real lady. That she was endowed with a phantastic body and face, but with a warm and pleasant personality. She had some kind of aura that made you love her the moment you meet her. There was more praise of Jessica but I had to cut the description of her short if I wanted to be gone by the time she returned.
I put my tip next to my empty glass and George and I shook hands. His parting words "Hope to meet you again," as he pressed his calling card into my hand.
The meeting with my client went well and it was late when I arrived home. Sitting in my favorite arm chair in our living room I thought about the evening's discovery at the Grand Hotel. Was my wife blackmailed? Was she on a whim just playing out a fantasy of hers? Was she acting on an 'I dare you' challenge? Did she lose a bet at one of her Saturday hen parties? I was utterly perplexed.
How could what I had heard tonight be true? Liolani and I were deeply in love with each other. Among our friends we were called 'The Lovebirds', 'The honeymooners', and similar names. I decided that the best way to discover the truth was through George.
I was awake in bed when Liolani came home about 2 AM. I expected to see some eye make-op, but there was no trace of it, she must have cleaned her face somewhere. She also had changed from the blue mini skirt in which I had seen her to the slinky black dress she had worn when she had left for her 'hen party'. Coming out of her shower she was surprised and delighted to find me awake.
My wife and I had met in Hawaii where I had been sent to supervise the installation of a new system. It was love on first sight. I proposed and six months later we were husband and wife. I took her back with to Germany as soon as the papers had made it through the proper channels. Her blood truly was a mixture, a mixture of Chinese, some Hawaiian, some Portuguese, and some Dutch. Her dark eyes had a slight almond shape, a hint of the Oriental, in short, she was an exotic beauty turning heads wherever we went.
She also was always ready for sex, but even more so after her twice monthly 'hen parties'. Tonight she walked to the foot of the bed and just stood there smiling at me. Then she slowly raised her arms above her head. It did wonders for her tits; they were a perfect 34 without a bit of sag, slightly conical. Her raised arms made them stand up pointing at me, calling me. But I resisted for now.
I noticed with delight that her aureoles were much darker than usual and that her nipples looked hard and enlarged. There was no question, she was turned on. Her eyes almost smoldered as she looked at the tent that had formed just two feet in front of her. I expected her any moment to pounce on it like a tigress.
Instead she licked her lips, slowly lowered her arms, drew back the covers and drank in the sight of my upright penis. I knew she was going to worship it in her own unique way when she parted my legs and started crawling up toward her prey.
Her teasing tongue started at the base and then slowly wiggled up to the top. She knew the most sensitive spot and played a fortissimo there before opening her lips and swallowing my shaft as far as she could. I knew I was going to be treated to her special.
Her special was a wondrous mixture of deep throat and shallow nips at the top, constantly changing her tempo, her suction, her angle of attack, and the pressure of her lips. Combined with the antics of her tongue her performance always became a truly triumphant symphony. Sometimes they resembled a Wagnerian overture, at other times a Light Cavalry overture, or even a Strauss Waltz. But they were always a new surprise.
Tonight I was going to be treated to another of her creative performances I sensed. She played her instrument until she felt the crescendo of the finale approaching. She withdrew her lips at the right moment and grasping my penis with her right hand, directed my jism onto her face. She then nonchalantly used her fingers to smear it all over her face. It did not seem to matter to her that some even had landed in her hair.
I was utterly amazed at her wantonness. She knew what effect it was having on me, smiled innocently and whispered: "I wanted to do that for some time and just once behave like a whore and get a cream pie from you. You didn't mind, I hope."
After she had cleaned herself and wiped me dry she started on getting me hard again for her main course. It was a memorable night. She wanted to be fucked doggie style, and then she wanted to fuck herself on top, facing me, so that I could play with her sensitive tits. She was wild that night. She always was vocal but tonight her volume almost doubled. It was a good thing she had taken the edge off of me, I could not have lasted through her performance. I counted at least three heavy climaxes, plus a swarm of little ones.
I am a patient man and had no trouble biding my time. I waited two weeks before I called George and invited him for a drink at my favorite bar. The ladies present ogled him, some furtively, some openly. Even I could feel the magnetism he exuded. It was powerful, the promise of sex, a mixture of both tenderness and of stern demands.
This time I could study him at leisure and I liked what I saw. I knew instinctively that I had found a true friend. And the future proved me right.
He told me about growing up in a black ghetto as a mixed child that did not belong to either black or white. An outcast among his black neighbors, an unaccepted person among the whites at school. He reminded me of Gen. Powell. His face was only slightly tinged with some black features, and his skin color was just a shade off a Caucasian. A white skin that was a little darker than usual, maybe tanned by too much sun.
I had to assume that he would tell Jessica about the fellow from Europe he had met. So I changed my date of arrival in the US by several years. And I told him that I sometimes missed my home town, Stokholm.
As we talked, the subject eventually and predictably moved to his 'girl'Jessica. She was married to a wonderful husband whom she adored and who loved her with all his heart. George obviously admired Jessica and cared for her. And from several remarks he made it became clear that she cared for him. No, he stated firmly, it was not love but attraction of a different and indefinable kind.
We both had enjoyed each others company and we decided to get together every two to three weeks. What started out as a fishing trip for information about my wife had turned into a nice friendship with her pimp. I began to wonder how he would react when he found out that Jessica was actually my wife Liolani.
At our next meeting I asked him outright how he recruited his girls. All three were married he had already told me, - married girls don't tell, he had added. As far as recruiting goes he was willing to share with me how Jessica had joined his crew. His announcement dumped several buckets of adrenaline into my blood and I almost started shaking with anticipation. This was what I wanted to know more than anything, - how did all this start.
"I was driving home from a luncheon with friends," recounted George, "when I saw a young lady opening the hood of her car, which was obviously disabled. I stopped to see if I could help. But I am not a mechanic and was as helpless as she. When I offered to give her a ride home, she gratefully accepted. She asked me to stop at a little park on Windsor Ave, one block from her home. As she thanked me for the ride, I gave her my business card and told her that I could probably help her if she ever needed some money.
I did not expect to ever hear from her but a week later she called me to arrange a meeting. Her car was repaired and if I would give her my address she would see me in one hour. She arrived on time, looking absolutely stunning. Much later I found out that she always looked the perfect lady, dressed elegantly, whenever she left the house, even if she only went shopping. Jessica is a proud lady, and rightfully so.
We made small talk for a while. I told her where I grew up; she told me that she and her husband came to the US in 1952. She said she was 36 and then proved it when I absolutely refused to believe her. Honestly, she looked like 26 and her vivaciousness also made her appear much less than 36.
After two glasses of wine I showed her the backyard with the pool I had just filled the week before. Then I took her through the house. We stopped in my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. I started to explain the duties and the income if she wanted to join me, but I never dreamed that she would eventually become one of my girls.
The longer we talked the more fidgety she became, crossing and uncrossing her legs over and over. I also noticed that her breathing was getting a bit labored; and when I put my arm around her she practically melted into me. Just thinking about our next hour or two makes my breathing quicken. It was not a plain fuck; this lady turned fucking into an art form.
She explained how she and her husband viewed prostitution. That a call girl was dispensing happiness and should be compensated like everyone else, such as masseuses, or bartenders, etc. That she and her husband felt as Robert Heinlein, who wrote in one of his books that 'there are more honest prostitutes than honest lawyers'.
But she turned down my invitation. We had one more glass of wine and she was gone, leaving behind the memory of a goodbye kiss that could have melted Gibraltar.
She phoned me again a week later to ask if she could come and visit. We again made small talk, and then she dropped a bomb shell. She was willing to join if I would agree to a number of rules she had drawn up. How could I refuse? I went over some of my rules and she agreed to them. When I told her that a prostitute mist always make herself available to her pimp she agreed by saying 'absolutely'. That was about five months ago and she has bloomed into the very top call girl, probably of the entire State. Now you know how Jessica came to work for me.
I promised George that I would call him when I could get another afternoon off so we could meet again for a drink.
A month later I finally could get together with George again at my favorite little bar. We bitched a bit about the problems we had, I talked of mine and he grumbled about his. We told some jokes, discussed and cussed our favorite football team, and generally had a good time.
"One more problem," he suddenly burst out. "And it's a big one. You see, I have really taken to Jessica. Not real love, like getting married or so, I can't really explain it. Not long ago we met some friends at a grocery store and I proudly introduced her as my girl friend. Later I apologized to her and guess what, she said. 'I loved it, I like being your girl friend,' she had told me.
But that's not the problem, Karl. I have won an all-expense paid tour for two to Germany for this fall, about six weeks from now. I so much would love to take Jessica with me, but how do you tell a devoted husband like hers. Just not possible. She would love to go, but she is a girl that absolutely cannot lie even if her life depended on it. So a lie like going with a girl friend is out.
Now she is considering asking him outright. That will bring up questions like who is George etc. And since she will not lie…. well you figure yourself. You can see the mess this could create. We just don't know. You are the only person I told this to because I trust that it will not go further."
I agreed with him and promised him to let him know if I could think of a solution. We shook hands and I left him sitting alone in his booth with his drink. Suddenly I remembered a story about Alexander the Great cutting the intricate knot of King Gordius with one sword stroke. Aha, I said to myself, that is what we need, a swift sword strike.
A week later I had to run home to get some papers I had worked on the night before and then had forgotten to take them with me this morning. Liolami was not home but I did not write her a note, which I usually do. I was in a hurry to get back to the office. I was just getting ready to leave when the phone started ringing, but I decided to let the call go to the recorder. I recognized George's voice at once and stopped to listen. He left a cryptic message. 'Tomorrow 2:30 Toro twelve, mini." It took me two minutes to understand that my wife had an assignment at 2:30 tomorrow at the El Toro Motel, room 12, wearing a mini skirt.
That afternoon I bought a black mini skirt, which I gave her after dinner. I had for some time asked her to wear one at home, together with a pair of heels. That would display her beautiful long legs I had reasoned. Humor me for once and wear a miniskirt tomorrow night I pleaded with her and she promised she would do that.
The next day was her assignment and I had to see this event. At 2:10 I was in place in a car I had borrowed from a co-worker.