The coffee at this restaurant was said to be good, and it might be for someone used to the usual American coffee. I am from Europe, and I am used to GOOD coffee. My favorite is Mocha Java, the coffee I brew at home. Most visitors gladly accept the mini carafe of hot water I serve them with their cup of coffee so they can dilute the taste and the color.
But Freddie and I were not here for the coffee. We had just met at the hardware store and decided to share what was new in our lives. He was married to a classic lady he had met on his travels. She absolutely dripped sex droplets like a jungle rain and Freddie was always delighted to watch males of all stripes to be turned on by her.
But it was clear also that here was a look-but-do-not-touch situation. Her relationship with me, however, had progressed a tad further, we flirted with each other shamelessly, knowing that this was just a pleasant and harmless entertainment. Freddie enjoyed the interplay. But Mireille's flirting with me belongs to another story. Anyway, I am glad Freddie is unaware of my fantasies, especially the favorite of mine where she is working for me as a call girl.
This story is about Frances who was introduced to me at Mireille's birthday party. Everyone knows that I am a widower and everyone seems to be bent on playing matchmaker. Frances was good looking, bordering on beautiful, had a slim body that made her look like a teenager when seen from behind. She even walked with a bit of an ass wiggle. She would be a very sexy package if she would only take care of herself.
Her hair was always in disarray like she had just finished a Marathon run. She dressed in a nondescript way as if she wanted to disappear into the crowd before someone noticed her. She was a widow; her husband had died in a car wreck three years ago while they were in the middle of their divorce proceedings. When we met she had a distinct aura of 'leave me alone' around her. Frances had not made a great impression on me.
That's why I did not recall having met her when Freddie started talking about her. But after a while it clicked and she slowly came into focus. As it turned out, Freddie did not know her too well. If they met by chance they might share a cup coffee and chat a bit, but still he had gleaned enough from their occasional talks to get a blurred picture of the problems she was facing.
"You know what gripes me the most about that situation is that scoundrels can live a good life and nice people like Frances are kicked around by fate," Freddie was telling me. "And since she always was a housewife she doesn't have any job skills. Naturally, she can't find a job that is paying enough to keep her head above water. It's hard to watch someone you know lose everything, the house, the car, and be out on the street."
He continued for a while longer, telling me what a wonderful person she is once you get to know her a bit, and I wondered if we are again playing a matchmaking game here. Especially after he said "I wished you could come up with a solution, you are so knowledgeable in money matters. Maybe you can give it a thought, that girl is in need of help." He gave me Frances' phone number and I promised to think about it. And I did.
When I called her the next day I explained how we had met, and that I had heard about a problem she had, and I hinted that I might be able to help her. I set up an appointment with her for the next afternoon at three, asking her to bring with her all pertinent data, payments due, balance etc.
She rang my doorbell at exactly three. She even had made up her hair and wore a hint of makeup. Today everything about her said 'notice me a little bit, but not too much'. After I had seated her I got two glasses and a bottle of a nice Spaelese Moselle wine, a wine that is so smooth it just begs for another glass and then some more. I made some small talk to get her relaxed. To help create this feeling of a relaxed atmosphere even more I leaned back deeper into the cushions of the couch and crossed my legs.
This and the wine seemed to have their effect. I had her talking about herself, her early childhood, her parents, and her school. From there I switched to her chances for a job, considering her education and past job experiences. Well, you know the answer already.
The time had come to get to the heart of the matter at hand. I asked her to sit next to me on the couch and give me the details of her financial situation, how far in arrears she was on the house, the car, credit cards, and so on. It was a bleak picture, there was no hope left in her, she had run out of options and she knew it.
I wondered why she even bothered to keep her appointment. But I was glad she did. Now that I had a chance to look her over closer I felt that she could well be my second girl. Her figure, her face, her skin, the way she walk-ed, - all were positives as far as I was concerned.
"Here is what we can do. I can get you a well paying job," I explained.. "I can free you of all your problems, no more arrears. Are you interested?" She was perplexed and sat still and stiff next to me.
I continued, "what I just told you is absolutely true. Listen carefully for a few minutes and keep your mind open. First I will pay off all arrears, including all late penalties. Then we will pay off the credit card and cancel it. You will get another card with your name on it from me that will be used for all your purchases. You will use cash only for such things as tips and such. All payments for your house and your car will be made automatically from my account. You will be absolutely free of all money worries. I want you to be relaxed and happy so you can devote your energy to your job instead of having bleak thoughts. There will be additional benefits I will explain later. Does this sound good so far?"
It took a few moments before she could manage a very quiet 'yes'. Her yes also carried with it the question of 'what do I have to do' to earn all that. t was time to explain.
"You remember that I asked you a while ago to listen with an open mind. You have done a great job so far, continue to keep your mind open for what I have to say. Let's start with, 'I have no job skills'. That is not quite true. When we are hired, all of us have to give of ourselves to get paid, whether a masseuse or a lawyer. What we give depends on our job skills that gave us the chance to get hired in the first place.
You have practiced your skills at pleasing a male and making him happy while you were married, maybe even before getting married. All that was not a free contribution as most wives think. Wives receive in turn the security the male supplies. Without that security a female is on her own. That's where you are presently.
If you come to work for me you will have that security again, even to a much higher degree. All you have to do is making someone happy. Forget the word prostitution, Just compare a call girl's bringing happiness and fulfillment to someone who needs it with the lawyer who let's himself get hired to get a man off the hook who had killed and raped two women. Isn't the latter case a distasteful prostitution compared to the other?
Working for me you would be a professional, as any other professional. You will be able to leave behind you warm feelings, a grateful, thankful client; and you will feel satisfaction in a job well done. You as a professional will do your job out of necessity to make a living. This is different from the girls who prostitute themselves to gain fame, or to receive a gift of a pearl necklace, or even just for a free dinner.
Now I mentioned two more benefits. I will set up an annuity for you, into which I will pay every month, and I will enroll you in a health insurance program.
You will turn over all payments to me. You are required to have no less than twenty dollars in your possession at all times. If you run low you just take whatever you need out of a drawer I will show you. But you will use your credit card whenever possible.
Now go home and think it over. Come back to morrow at four and ask any question you have, I will answer them fully. I know you will have to wrestle with preconceived notions, but in the end you will make an intelligent decision. Let me know tomorrow."
Frances did not rise from the couch immediately. She kept looking at me as if she had just been transported to Egypt and I was the Sphinx. When she left she grabbed my hand with both of hers, thanked me for taking the time to talk to her, and promised to think about what I had told her.
The next morning around nine the doorbell rang just as I had finished reading my web mail. It was a pretty teenager, or very early twenty something, carrying a clipboard. There was a little courtesy smile, but basically her face was serious. She introduced herself as Frances' daughter Jennifer and asked for a twenty minute discussion with me. And yes, she really called it a discussion.
I invited her in, settled her in my favorite chair, and wondered out loud if she would like to join me with a cup of coffee. She declined, but she would accept a glass of plain water, she informed me. Once I served her water and poured another cup of Micha Java for myself, I settled my frame into the cushions of my couch, waiting for her to start what she had called the discussion.
"My Mom does not know of my visit," she started. There was a distinct undertone of dislike for me in her voice. "I have a few questions you will hopefully answer. When my mother and I talked last night, she told me a most improbable story about you promising to not only wipe out her debts, but also to take care of her financially from there on. And even more impossible for me to swallow, you asked my mother to become a prostitute."
She looked at me as if expecting a denial of some sort, or at least an apology. I knew I would disappoint her on both counts. I leaned forward and closer to her and went right to the counter attack with, "I judge you about twenty, an age I remember distinctly and with fondness. The world was full of wondrous things and the harsh and cold reality was still in the future. And having been there I should tell you what is in store for you, whether you like it or not. I will not do that, but you can see one of the harsh realities happening right now to your mother.
The sicker a patient is, the stronger must be the medicine. Cute words will not help your mom. Yesterday I explained to her that she had only one job qualification and I had the feeling she realized I was right. What other talents can she offer an employer? Many of us do not particularly love our job, but we need the financial security the job affords. Your mother would have the most secure of all. No more worry about anything except what color blouse to buy, or what to have for dinner.
I am sure she explained to you the financial side. Now to your second objection. A call girl is as much a professional as a lawyer. Maybe we should call them intimate entertainers to get you off that word you don't like. Their clients leave happy and satisfied, not true of every client of a lawyer. If you have any other solution, I am sure your mother as well as I would love to listen to you."
I settled back into the couch again and waited. She kept staring at me, trying to bring some order to her thoughts and then formulate an appropriate response. Her efforts did not bear fruit and she finally told me she would talk this proposal over again with her mother, rand she enjoyed meeting me and she wished me a nice day. I knew right then that I would see her again soon.
I was right. She walked in behind her mother at four. And this time both accepted a glass of wine, probably to quiet their nerves. I couldn't blame them, a big decision was to be made, and I am sure they had wrestled with this till it had been time to leave for Frances' appointment with me. I was wondering if they had thought about the two points we had not yet discussed.
Settling back into my cushions I waited for Frances to start, which she did immediately. Her voice was clear and steady when she said, "I would never accept such an offer from any other man except you, and that's a compliment. Did we discuss everything or did you leave something for after I accepted?"
"Yes, there are two items. The money I spend to dig you out of the hole you are in is technically a loan, secured by a second mortgage on your house. That means you will not have to come up with cash should you leave me. There is no interest, and for every year you stay with me the mortgage reduces by one thousand dollars.
Then there is one other item, our personal relationship. I will be your pimp and as such have a certain privilege. You cannot refuse intimacy, in other words if I want to fuck you, you will be available. This is standard in the industry. There are no further contract items. Oh, I almost forgot, I will get you a separate cell phone that is strictly for the business. Just one more. You have to select a name you want to use in your professional career.
I will tell you the time and [lace of you appointments, plus any particulars if needed such as how to dress etc. If the client has any idiosyncrasies that I know about I will let you know also. "
I then turned to Jennifer and said, "as to you young lady, you can stop worrying about your mom, she is in good hands."
She surprised both her mother and me with her answer. "I stopped worrying when I met you this morning, you are kind and considerate and a pleasure to be with. I wouldn't mind coming to work for you some time."
The next days were busy days, lots of paper work, shopping at Victoria's Secret or sexy outfits. She needed heels, blouses, mini skirts, and much more. I also had arranged for a beauty make-over studio to show her how to apply eye make-up correctly, plus many other make-up tricks.
Finally, it was time for the Photo Studio. A number of glamour shots at the start, followed by some risqué lingerie pix. Next she was photographed doing a blow job, getting a cream pie, having the cum shoot into her open mouth, getting fucked doggie style, and many more. Whenever possible she had to face into the camera with a smile. I watched her squirm uncomfortably a few times, but she always did as she was told. I was proud of my new girl who called herself Debbie.
Her first assignment was a Mr. Wilson who wanted her to wear a French Maid outfit. I waited for her at the motel and she did as instructed, looked around to find me, came to my window and handed me my money. She was wearing a long coat, probably to avoid recognition by anyone who knew her. I watched her drive off and then returned home also. But only halfway home she called me on her cell phone and asked if she could drop by for a short visit. I assured her that she was always welcome.
Debbie arrived shortly after me. Once inside the living room she dropped the coat she was wearing. What a surprise, she was still in her French Maid outfit and she looked so sexy. I could tell she was tremendously turned on. She pirouetted once and then asked me in a sultry voice if she could offer me something to eat. It was a blatant invitation, so out of character as I had known her. Whether a pimp or a gentleman, one should not let a lady waiting when invited to dinner.
I led her to my bedroom and started to undress, only to be stopped by her. "This is my job," she said with a smile while she unzipped my pants, "and don't deny me my pleasure," she added wistfully. Once my pants were on the floor she took a long look at my growing dick and told me how glad she was that I did not wear underpants. They are just in the way, she almost whispered, while admiring the object of her interest.
Her next words were a shocker, too. "Before serving something to eat to my master I always make sure that the taste is right and temperature just perfect, just hot enough to please the soul." A moment later she had my prick in her mouth, testing every inch from the tip to the very root. Apparently, she was not sure of the results because she repeated it over and over, until I stopped her and she reluctantly released me.
It was time for dinner as she had said. I was in a hurry and did not even bother to remove her Maids outfit. I had her sit down on the edge of the bed and then tipped her back, spread her legs without any resistance, and lifted her knees. There was my steak looking at me, - it was rare, I don't like it well done. A slow journey of my tongue along the inside of her thigh eventually brought it to the vicinity of the object of my desire; my tongue was now close, but not all the way.
Debbie had shaved her pussy, and I ran my tongue over to the other side just above her clit. She wiggled in an effort to change the path of my tongue so it would slide over her clit, but I stayed just out of reach. Once I arrived on the other side of her pussy, I let my tongue glide past it, south to the inner thigh were I traced tiny circles with the tip of my tongue. She had a hard time to remain still, I could feel her quiver inside with anticipation. With her legs up and her knees bent, I found her toes almost next to me. I moved my head to the left and kissed her big toe before I sucked into my mouth. I kept sucking on it for maybe ten seconds. By this time she was squirming all over the bed and I was willing to give her some relief soon. But first I had to give the other big toe the same treatment, sucking on it. And when I added a little tongue play to my sucking, it made her whole body twist and jerk.
Only then did I release her toe and pounced on her pussy. I let my tongue get hard and massage her inside. I could swear her pussy tried to swallow my tongue. Her vaginal muscles tensed and relaxed, then tensed again, and again. As I moved my tongue north to pay a visit to her clit, and say hello with swipes, interspersed with the tongue tip pressing down slightly on her engorged clit, she moved so violently I almost lost my grip. I decided to start on the next installment.
Her quivering and shaking stopped as I moved my body up onto hers. Her pussy reached up eagerly to meet my prick and swallow it greedily. Her legs wrapped themselves around my waist and her feet started a drum beat on my back. Low whimpers came from her clenched teeth and I could feel her climax building up.
She was so highly charged, that it was only a short time, much too short for me, before her climax erupted with a force that almost kicked me off her as she arched her back. Her whimpers had given way to small shrieks, and when her peak arrived she let out one ear splitting wail and then collapsed, completely spent and exhausted.
Later we sat in the living room with a glass of wine. She talked about her family, her youth, when suddenly she cried, "Oh No. You realize today was the first and second time that I have ever been with a man other than my husband? And I liked it. Am I becoming a slut? Mr. Wilson was very nice, and he and I exchanged a few words as to our family. His wife absolutely refused to give him a blowjob, which is why he asked for my services. He said he would ask for me again next week. Does that mean I already get a steady customer the first time on the job?
Anyway, it's still like a dream. I am now a prostitute. I never thought that this could be possible. And thank you so much, I enjoyed your treatment. It was so different from the way my husband went about sex. When he fucked, it was plain vanilla, with you it was a symphony with drums and cymbals. I didn't know sex could be sooo beautiful. I am looking forward to be available any time."
She rambled on a few more minutes, then she grabbed her purse, came to me, hugged me and gave me a hot goodbye kiss. Suddenly she stiffened, threw her purse on a chair and dropped to her knees in front of me. "I am sorry, Freddie, I was thinking about myself so hard that I forgot about you."
While she spoke, her fingers were frantically working on my zipper, then my belt. By the time I found my speech, she already had pulled down my pants, and made my flaccid penis disappear in her mouth. I did manage to ask her what she was doing, but all I could hear from her were grunts and slurping sounds, which I did not understand, but my prick understood her and obeyed. It must have been Mr. Wilson who had taught her, because she played my dick like a virtuoso violinist plays a precious Stradivarius.
Her soft lips moved with authority, accentuated at times with her tongue playing on the sensitive area under the glans, where glans and skin meet. But more than the technique, it was her joy of doing what she did, that made her efforts so exquisite.
I had only good feedback about Debbie. Her clients especially liked the enthusiasm she brought to her work, her willingness to please beyond the raw customer/call girl contract. I had experienced the same feeling on the occasions when I called on her for an afternoon or evening.
As I said, everything about Debbie rolled along on greased rails, until one Friday morning. I had gone to lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant. When I returned home I took off my shirt , which sported a few tomato sauce spots, and threw it into the laundry hamper. I then listened to a message from the client who Debbie was to meet that morning. He thanked me for sending such a delightful and talented young lady to pinch hit for Debbie. I was shocked and puzzled, and wondered what could have happened to Debbie.
Just as I clicked off the recorder, the doorbell rang. It was Jennifer, wearing the black miniskirt and the see through blouse my client had requested. As I looked at her with her long legs, the high heels, the miniskirt, I felt an almost physical sex appeal emanating from her. Jennifer handed me my two hundred and fifty dollars, and then explained that her mom had some kind of stomach flu, that she tried to reach me on the business cell phone, but received no answer. Then I remembered that the phone was still on the charger and I had forgotten to take it with me to lunch.
I could hardly believe it, but it must have been Jennifer who kept the appointment. And so it was. "We couldn't let the poor man go home disappointed and maybe even frustrated," she explained as if this was the most natural thing to do.
When I told her, that the client had left a glowing report about a pretty young lady who had taken Debbie's place, she smiled impishly, "It was fun, but mostly I wanted to collect your money, so that I had a reason to see you, and convince you, that I am a capable woman. Convincing is not done by e-mail but in person. The least I should get out of my efforts is a kiss from the man who came to the rescue of my mom."
With this she stepped in front of me, put her hands behind my neck, and kissed me, assisted by an insistent tongue exploring the inside of my mouth. What could I do but kiss her back. Her body molded itself to mine while one arm left my neck to cone to rest on my back crushing me to her chest. She broke the kiss and told me that there are other parts that like kisses, and in a flash she had anchored her moth on one sensitive nipple. My God, she knew what to do to arouse a man who is blessed with sensitive nipples.
The other was not left out, it was attended to by two fingers, rolling it, tweaking it, being scratched lightly with a finger nail. After a while her lips replaced her fingers who were now assigned other tasks. They moved down to my crotch to caress my dick from the outside for a bit before they marched to my zipper. It was pulled down and the fingers went inside my pants to free my prick. Jennifer played with it for a short while before she grabbed it in earnest and ked me to the bedroom, using my dick like a leash.
It is I who normally leads the ladies to my bed but this vixen had her own ideas how to handle a man. Sure, I was thoroughly aroused by now, but I was also curious about what she would do. She motioned me to sit on the edge of my bed so she could remove my shoes and socks. With them gone, I was treated to a two minute foot massage.
Jennifer was still wearing her sexy French Maid's uniform when she pulled me up from the bed and announced that appetizers would be served shortly. She slowly kneeled down, her hands never leaving me, always in contact with my skin, rubbing or scratching my skin wherever they found themselves. Most women just go through the motions, fucking a penis without any finesse. Some ladies are gifted and instinctively know how to play this sensitive instrument, bringing into play all the nuances of pressure, sucking, stroking with their lips, using a roving tongue, slowing down, speeding up, stopping for a short rest, then playing at fortissimo. Jennifer was such a gifted one.
When she was done serving me my appetizer, she rose and announced that dinner would be served presently. It was to be a three course meal, she added.
For the first course she positioned herself on the edge of the bed, her pussy just a tad over the edge, legs spread and knees raised to give me full access to her. "I want you to fuck me standing right there at the edge so I can see you and smile at you."
For the second course she wiggled herself up towards the top of the bed and invited me on top of her, so she could feel my chest on hers, she explained. This gave me a chance to look deep into her eyes. They were grey, I found out, a fact that had not consciously registered with me before. They were knowing eyes, eyes that could look deep into my thoughts.
For the third course I had to switch places with her so she could impale herself and look down on me, and participate vicariously in my enjoyment. Many women have been riding me in my life, but none had brought me to the brink of spending as fast as this one. I did not want to miss the dessert. And to delay my climax, I tried to pay attention to her and her technique, and find out what she did that was so deliciously different. Then I noticed, she used her vaginal muscles in rhythm with her up and down movement. She must have sensed that the end was close. A knowing smile appeared on her face and she lingered for a few long moments, so I could savor the sensation of her being in charge. It dawned on me then that she had been in charge all along from the time she walked into my living room this afternoon. She gave me one last vaginal squeeze and then dismounted.
The next moment she was between my legs, with my prick in her mouth. Now she again demonstrated her mastery, all the while looking at me with smiling eyes. She played with me, getting me right to the edge, then stopping and letting my dick soak in her warm mouth. When she continued, she would start out slow, so that I could enjoy her tongue playing with the underside of my prick. After a while of this slow treatment she went back to work on me.
But finally it had to come to an end and I wondered what she would do when I came. Her smile became more impish as I shot my load. She swallowed my semen as if it had been ambrosia. My dick stayed in her mouth until it was completely flaccid, only then did she release it. Jennifer stayed where she was; she did not want to disturb my time of recovery and afterglow.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/wife-lovers/mother-and-daughter.aspx">MOTHER AND DAUGHTER</a>