I had been on a long day's drinking spree; it had started around eleven AM, and I had just topped up each beer with another. I didn’t seem to get drunk, but I knew I probably was way beyond driving had I owned a car. I had been at a public house called The Rising Sun, an establishment on the outskirts of town. It was a sort of members-only place, but membership cost a pound, so it was not really restricted.

It was a place that older men could go to meet younger girls. No, I don’t mean younger in the Epstein sense; I mean older teens and young women in their twenties—girls who wanted an older man like me to look after them, perhaps fund their university education, and who were willing to repay that funding with a kindness or two. You could also go there and gamble.

On this occasion, there were only a few girls present, so instead of renting a room, I sat alone at the bar, drinking. None of the girls who went and worked there would fraternise with the staff, not on the premises; the owner was very clear about that. He made his money from overpriced alcohol and rooms that were rentable by the hour.

My mother used to be a tailor; she made my clothes or mended them when I tore them, like when I tore my new blue jeans on a tree when I was a teenager. Dad gambled a lot, and so the house we lived in was rented from the people who owned the dressmakers that Mum worked at, the rent coming out of her wages. We often went without food; Dad usually gambled it away, and all Mum had to feed me was the weekly family allowance, just a few shillings, but it fed me in basic and small portions.

Mum and Dad passed away many years ago, and I had picked up my dad's habits; I gambled and drank. No woman would stay with me, but I had won the lottery a few years ago, and in a moment of sober sensibility, I signed all my money over to a trust that issues me with a living wage each week. The trust also owned the house I lived in, so I couldn’t gamble it away.

The allocated trust money was in my bank on a Friday and was often gone by the end of the weekend, usually on gambling and my bill at The Rising Sun; they had a direct debit to my bank account and took what they needed. My bank account did not allow an overdraft, so when the money was gone, I had no credit at The Rising Sun until the following Friday’s debit had been collected.

A local taxi firm also had a debit on my bank account. I was usually too drunk to drive, so the taxi firm was my speed dial number one. My phone was pretty much the cheapest phone I could get. I had a habit of losing them when drunk, and they were always pay-as-you-go; that way, if someone found it, they couldn’t run up a huge bill.

I got home late in the evening, simply approving the taxi driver's fee and a small tip, and then I staggered into the house. My stomach contents ended up down the toilet; I was experienced – no mess. I knew to keep my head well inside the bowl until I had finished. I drank a large glass of water, using the first few mouthfuls to rinse my mouth of the rancid taste of bile.

Collapsing on the bed, I didn’t even undress; I welcomed the bliss of unconsciousness and slept until dawn. In the morning I stripped, threw my shirt and underpants in the washing machine and then went back upstairs to shower. I probably stank to high heaven, but my sense of smell seemed to have abandoned me some years ago, and so, I showered every time I was sober.

I was a little depressed and thought that I should go to the Rising Sun and see if there was a game of poker I could play. I liked Texas hold 'em, although many locals preferred stud. I didn’t play that; I lost every time instead of just most of the time. I did get some good wins, though, and those winnings went into an account behind the bar that I could call on to supplement my initial stake when I lost it, which I usually did.

I guess I got to the Rising Sun at about midday; the bar had a few girls in. It was the weekend, so they were usually free – I should say 'available'; I suppose that is a better description. I ordered a beer and went and sat in the social area. It wasn’t long before a girl came over and said hello.

“Hi,” she said, “want some company?”

She was blond-haired, her hair held up in a ponytail, and she was probably just over five feet tall and thinnish – not scrawny, but not a lot of meat to her either. She was wearing a blouse, a skirt and what looked like tights or stockings and flats, not heels – nothing remarkable.

“Help yourself,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether I was in the mood for company or whether I was going to go and join a poker game that had started in the games area on the other side of the bar.

“I’m Augustina,” she said. "Most people call me Aggie.” 

“Hello, Aggie. I’m Luke. What brings you here?”

“I am at uni during the week, so busy all the time, either lectures or just doing research or writing papers or that sort of thing, but my weekends were free, and I thought that perhaps I might meet someone, someone that might be interested in helping me with my uni time.”

So there it was; she was looking for some financial assistance, just like they all were, bodies for sale for their education. I guess it was no different to women who marry and don’t work; they provide physical comfort to their husbands in return for a roof over their heads. Thus, it has always been.

“Oh, I see, and what were you thinking of offering in return for any offered help?”

She looked at me and smiled. "Well, me, of course,” she replied.

“I see." I looked her back in the eyes and then ran my eyes up and down her body before settling back on her face. “And would you be offering a sampler?”

She laughed and leant back in the chair. “Oh no, there is no sampling of the goods, no trial runs. I am in every way proficient; you would not be disappointed.”

“Is that guaranteed? Is it satisfaction guaranteed or my money back? I assume that we are talking financial assistance, not other services, such as writing and editing?”

That would be what helps me the most in the way that I need. Do you gamble when you come here?” 

“Well, yes, I do normally; in fact, that is what I was just thinking of going to do when you came and joined me.”

“Do you normally win or do you normally lose?”

“Let’s just say I can’t live on what I make from poker.”

“Let me make a proposal. Why don't you gamble with me? Give me what you would normally spend at the poker table, and I will give you a better time than fifty-two cards ever will, and I will last far longer.”

I have my five-hundred-pound budget that I allow myself at the poker table, plus, of course, anything in the winnings kitty, which is typically currently empty. She was asking five hundred pounds for a lay. Seemed steep.

“That’s a lot of money for a few minutes' sack time; a poker game can last hours,” I replied.

"Oh, I didn’t ask how much money; I just want you to honestly give me what you would have lost at the poker table, and you would have lost, and you know you would. As for time, you would have me from early Saturday morning until Sunday teatime, exclusively, to do whatever you wanted, satisfaction assured.”

“Whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and however many times I wanted?”

“Yes, from early Saturday morning until Sunday teatime, my only rule is nothing that leaves a mark on my body, and I will consent to anything that you want.”

“You are gambling a lot, considering you have no idea how much money I invest at the poker table.”

“Invest? You don’t invest money, you invest your time, and I am giving you more of my time than you would ever spend at the poker table. What is the longest you have played poker? A few hours? I am offering you two days, two days to do what you like, either here in one of their dingy, by-the-hour rooms with questionable bedding or at your home, assuming no one else is there to cramp your style.

“My home, and how long is this arrangement to last?”

“Until the end of June, when uni finishes. If you have enjoyed the experience, and I do not have a job to go to when I finish, I am open to extending the arrangement under the existing agreed terms.”

“I see.”

“You understand that it is me or the gambling. I assume that you can’t afford both, and you can’t play poker from early Saturday morning until Sunday teatime when you are with me.”

“Can I terminate the arrangement after a period if it is not satisfactory to me?”

“Of course you can, and so can I. As I will if the financial return is not at the level I expect or need.”

“What are you getting out of this?”

“Funds, simply funds to cover my living costs so that I am not building up a huge debt for my future, and a regular weekend itinerary and company, if you like. You can even take me out at the weekend if you want, but not to go and gamble; I mean, out for a meal or dancing or the pictures, you know, something that normal people do. Plus, I am a human with human needs and desires.”

“You have thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Of course. Some would say that I am offering a lot; I see it as offering a commodity with reduced risks and heightened returns.”

“What are you studying at uni?"

“What? Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect that question to be asked. I am studying criminology and psychology. I have two years left.”

“So this arrangement could last two years?”

“Yes, or perhaps longer.”

“I see, beyond the end of June?”

“It could, assuming that I manage to pass my exams and carry on at the end of this year.”

“Would you like a drink?” I had finished my beer and needed another; this was turning into a very interesting morning.

"A glass of sparkling water, please,” she answered.

I had heard that the modern youngsters didn’t drink much, and she was conforming to that. I returned from the bar with a sparkling water and a beer and sat and looked at her with a more critical eye. I liked what I saw; she was attractive without being pretty, and her voice was easy on the ear. Her nails were manicured, not bitten. I thought that perhaps I had nothing to lose.

"Okay," I said, taking a mouthful of beer, “what are the arrangements?” I asked after swallowing.

“Money into my bank account by eight on Saturday morning; no money, no show. Simple.”

“I see.”

“If we go anywhere, you pay. I turn up on Saturday morning with a bag with a few clothes, a toothbrush, that sort of thing, and I leave at six on Sunday evening. If you don’t want me all weekend, then that is fine, but there is no refund. The money is for my arrival by nine.”

“You had better give me your bank details.”

She opened her bag and took out a small piece of paper; on it were a bank account number and details. I took the paper, and using online banking, I transferred four hundred pounds to the account and then set up a standing order to be paid weekly for the same amount. I did not see the need to spend the full five hundred I usually spent on poker; at least if I were being conned, I would have something left. 

“I have given you the full amount for today, even though we are starting later.”

“Thank you, I am sure that you will be more than satisfied with your investment.” She took a drink from her water and then asked, "Do you want to start now? Will it be here or at your home?”

“Oh yes, Aggie, I think so, and I think we will get a cab and go back to my home; it may not be brilliant, but it is certainly going to be cleaner and more hygienic than the rooms upstairs.”

I pulled out my phone, rang my taxi firm, and arranged for a cab; five minutes, they said.

"The cab'll be here in five minutes,” I told her as I finished my beer.

It didn’t take long for the taxi to get us back to my house. I unlocked the door and showed her inside. She didn’t comment. I was pleased that my self-respect, such as it was, had meant that I had at least tidied up before I left for the Rising Sun this morning. I opened the lounge and kitchen windows; with the doors open, it would give a through draught and at least freshen the air.

“Would you like to freshen up?” I asked her.

“Yes, please. Obviously, I don’t have a change of clothes or any toiletries this weekend; sorry about that. I didn’t expect to actually make a connection. In honesty, I have never done this before.”

“Well, you can use my toothbrush if you want; with what we are about to do, sharing a toothbrush should be fine. It is upstairs, door on the left of the top of the stairs; the bedroom is the door to the right.”

“Thank you, I will see you up there shortly. How would you like me to prepare?”

“When you are ready, just sit on the bed; I would like to undress you myself if you have no objection.”

“I have no objection; you have paid for my time to do with as you will.”

“One question: do you object to kissing?” Some of the one-time girls I went with did, so I thought I ought to check.

“Of course not. I’ll just go up then.” She turned and went upstairs. I locked the front door; I usually do when I am inside. There had been a few walk-in burglaries locally, so I just kept the front door locked; it was easier. You could get out from the inside, but not in from the outside.

I used the downstairs toilet and washed my hands, and then after I heard the upstairs loo flush, I went up. In the bathroom, I stripped and gave my dick and balls a quick wash. I know I had showered earlier, but, well, cleanliness is always good when you intend to get intimate. I sloshed some fresh breath around my mouth and headed naked into the bedroom, my dick rising as I walked.

Aggie was sitting on the bed, her legs slightly apart. She smiled as I entered.

“Nice looking equipment,” she said. I am not huge, but, well, back in the day when I used communal showers, I always acquitted myself adequately – never the biggest, far from the smallest. My balls had dropped a bit further down since then; I wondered if wearing boxers was the reason – their weight caused the sac to grow a bit. I had no idea, and I didn’t tend to use communal showers anymore, so there were no opportunities to compare. 

I smiled and nodded a thanks, and knelt down before her and started to unbutton her blouse. Her bra underneath was white and mostly lace; I could see her areola and nipples through it. I guessed it was chosen for the occasion. I pushed the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms, reaching around behind me and depositing her blouse on the chair. 

I reached around her back to undo her arms, and my face was close to hers. I leant forward a little more and pressed my lips against hers. Her mouth was warm and her lips moist, my tongue pushed between her lips, and our tongues danced a waltz around her mouth. As we kissed, I undid the catch on her bra, and it fell forwards, hanging at her elbows by the straps.

Her bra joined the blouse on the chair. Her nipples stood proud of her breasts, not huge but bigger than peanuts. Her areolas were only slightly larger than her nipples and looked perfect on her breasts, which stood beautifully on her upper chest, a C cup, I guessed, and totally natural-looking too.

“Stand up, Aggie,” I said, and as she stood, I undid the button at the waist of her skirt and then lowered the zip. Her skirt joined the other clothes on the chair. I was delighted to see that she was wearing hold-up stockings, not tights, and her knickers were small, lacy boyshorts that matched her bra. I could see the line of her crease through them.

I eased her knickers down, my eyes focused on her crease, neat, straight and with a dimple at the top. She had a small patch of blond hair above her dimple but no hair at all on her labia. I wondered if that was natural or if she shaved or waxed. At some point in our relationship, I would ask her.

With her knickers now on the chair, all that she was wearing were her stockings, and the sight of her standing before me caused my dick to lurch and gain an extra degree or two of hardness. I leant forwards and inhaled her aroma; it was intoxicating. Her scent was natural – no smell of perfume or soap, just woman. I gently ran my tongue along her crease, seeing her shiver at my touch.

“Widen your legs, Aggie,” I said, and as she moved her feet further apart, her crease slightly opened, revealing her secret inside. I held her buttocks, pushing her fanny to my face, and pressed my tongue into her crease, tasting the real her for the first time. Her smaller labia folded around my tongue as if caressing it; her taste was sweet, with an edge of spice. I wondered if she had eaten a curry just recently.

She gasped as my tongue found her clitoris and flicked it before I sucked it into my mouth, my fingers deep into the crease of her bottom, one finger pressing at her crinkle. I licked and sucked and dabbed at her clitoris, and then I moved my right hand from behind her and brought it up underneath my chin, pressing between the folds of her fanny and finding her entrance.

As I lightly chewed her hard little clitoris, two fingers circled her entrance, easing their way through, past her opening and deep into her fanny. Her fanny was hot and wet; it pulsed against my fingers as I parted them inside her, widening the walls of her fanny, my fingers playing in her void.

“Oh God, yes,” she gasped as my teeth gripped and pulled at her clitoris.

I eased my fingers back towards her entrance and then began a finger fuck, pressing in and pushing out, my unused fingers rubbing over her fourchette and sliding along her perineum towards her crinkle, opening and closing my fingers inside her fanny. I released her clitoris and began softly licking it as my fingers worked inside her.

She was beginning to pant; despite the unusual circumstances, it seemed that she was getting it. I slowed my fingers, and instead I scraped my fingernails along the walls of her fanny, riding over her inner ridges and grooves, pressing my hand against her harder than before, almost inverting her fourchette.

Her panting got louder and louder. I sucked her clitoris deep into my mouth and wiggled my fingers inside her. Her fanny tightened; she spasmed, she clamped, and she gasped loudly as an orgasm rippled through her. I smiled; we hadn’t even shagged yet, and I had a whole weekend of this.

“A minute, please, a minute,” she gasped.

I released her clitoris; I eased my fingers from inside her, and I gently pushed her back to the bed.

“Let’s get on the bed, Aggie,” I said softly, still with a smile on my face.

She sat on the mattress and then scrabbled up the bed until her head was on the pillow. I lay next to her and rolled to face her. I took her head in my hands, and I leant forwards, and my lips touched hers; my mouth, full of the flavour of her fanny, was on hers, my tongue seeking hers, and my fingers gently stroking her fanny, not penetrating, not pushing, simply gently stroking, keeping her warm, so to speak.

I felt her hand on my dick, her fingers wrapping around, and she pushed my foreskin down. I felt my foreskin rolling over my rim, my glans feeling the coolness in the bedroom, eager to experience the heat of her fanny. She pulled back and pushed me onto my back and bent down to my crotch. I shut my eyes and let the experience happen; this was up to her now. Was she going to earn my respect as well as my money? Only time would tell.

I gasped as her tongue, hot and wet, ran around the rim of my dick, pleasures coursing through my body, involuntary twitches leaving me breathless. She bobbed her mouth up and down, my dick rubbing against her tongue, electrics building in my balls, pressures growing. I was close, so very close; my buttocks were clenching, my back tensing.

Suddenly, my dick went cold, her mouth moved away, and as I opened my eyes, I saw her turn and straddle me, her arse facing me as she lowered herself onto my dick, her fanny gripping and surrounding it as I plumbed her depth. Oh, that felt good; the most wonderful feeling is to have a woman on your dick, and that is just what I had.

Aggie began rocking back and forth slowly, my dick moving inside her, my foreskin rolling and unrolling, her fanny walls squeezing my dick like she was kneading dough. As she rocked forward, her crinkle seemed to wink at me as her buttocks parted, and then it was almost gone from view as she rocked back and her buttocks closed. Her hands rested on my thighs as she flexed her hips and shagged my dick.

I could feel my pressures building again, a small pinching pain deep inside my groin, my balls getting a little squished between my thighs as her weight bore down on my hips. Pleasures were so intense that I was gasping as she pressed down. She began to rock faster, and my self-control was at a real risk of failing. I could feel the pain deep in my groin; my balls twinged, and I gasped loudly as they emptied, flooding her fanny.

She slowed her rocking and came to a halt, my dick still buried inside her. I guessed I was done for a while, but she had other ideas. She raised herself, and my dick fell from her fanny with a soft gurgle. She came back up on the bed on her knees, and her fanny was directly over my face, open, her hole black and reddened at the edges and dripping white. She lowered herself over my mouth.

“Drink,” she said, and as my spunk dripped from her fanny into my mouth, a salty metallic flavour, my mouth was overwhelmed as she emptied her bladder, pissing into my mouth; it was all I could do to capture and swallow so as not to soak the bedding. Her wee was hot, stripping the flavour of my spunk from my mouth, leaving a strange taste I had not had before.

Empty, she rolled off me and turned to lie next to me, her eyes on mine, sparking in the early afternoon sunlight. My dick was still hard, and as she looked down, she smiled and took hold of it again.

“Good, I am glad that you are still functioning,” she said quietly. “I have unexplored options that I can use.”

That she did; I still had her arse and her mouth to fuck, and that I fully intended to do.