Message-ID: <35100asstr$1012975812@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "John Ashcroft" <johnashcroft22@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} The Baby-Sitter Escort Service, ch.7 {jashcroft}
Date: Wed,  6 Feb 2002 01:10:12 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is mine. I wrote it; you can read it. (N.B.: "Read" is not synonymous 
with "steal," "repost," "archive," "rewrite," "redistribute," or "use on a 
pay site.")

I think this is the best episode yet. Hope you all enjoy it.

---

Missed a previous chapter? Click here:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34807
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34836
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34883
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34931
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/35011
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/35076

---

The Baby-Sitter Escort Service

by John Ashcroft (johnashcroft22@hotmail.com)

Ch.7

A room, harsh fluorescent lights in the ceiling. A table, four people seated 
around it. The table's piled with an odd collection of bagged-up evidence: a 
black bra, a matching pair of panties, a matching garter belt. Another bag 
holds what's probably a pair of silk stockings, though it's hard to tell 
from how they're wadded up. If you looked inside the bags and examined the 
lingerie, you'd find little La Perla tags on all of it, though the name 
wouldn't mean anything to most of the people at the table.

Two of them are cops; bad suits, bad haircuts, bad attitudes, and far too 
little income to know anything about designer Italian underwear. One's tall, 
fortyish; the other's on the far side of fifty, marking time until his 
pension kicks in. The other two are both lawyers, though only one's being 
paid to be here. That guy's never paid much attention to his wife's drawers, 
though his $300/hour fee helped pay for the pair of La Perla panties that 
someone else is sliding off her ass right now. He works too much, you see.

The last guy knows plenty about designer lingerie, though. He bought the 
stuff on the table, after all.

"Have you seen any of these items before, Mr. Wellington?" Pensioner asks.

The guy glances at his lawyer. The two of them had a very heated discussion 
earlier about his being here, and the lawyer is already wondering why the 
guy called him in if he was planning to spill his guts.

"Yeah," the guy says, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah, I have."

"These were recovered from Kaitlyn's closet when we searched it yesterday 
morning. She's identified these items of clothing as presents you gave her. 
Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"She said you asked her to wear them for you, after which the two of you 
engaged in sexual intercourse."

The guy nods, staring at the table. "Yeah."

The lawyer glances at his watch, shaking his head. So much for getting on TV 
with this one. No way he can take this to trial now, what with his client 
having conceded the entire case. He'll be out of this thing in days, maybe 
sooner. _I always thought Neil was a fucking Boy Scout_, he thinks, _but now 
I know it_.

"How much did all of this cost, just out curiosity?" the tall cop asks. 
"Kaitlyn acted like it was something special."

The guy sits back, taking a deep breath. "Uh, I can't remember exactly. The 
bra would have been about two-fifty, the panties around two. Altogether, 
maybe six hundred for everything."

The other men around the table look down at the pile of underwear in 
amazement. _Two hundred bucks for a pair of goddamned panties?_ they're all 
thinking.

"You're kidding," Pensioner says.

"No," the guy says. "This stuff is all--"

---

"--La Perla! Oh, my God, La Perla." I couldn't stop myself from laughing in 
excitement. "How do you even know about stuff like this?"

Mr. Wellington just smiled at me. "Some guys know about clothes. I think you 
pick it up doing entertainment law."

"Wow. Wow. Can I put it on?"

"I got it for you to wear tonight."

That had gradually begun to dawn on me, but I didn't care. _Jesus_. I 
probably would have gotten around to buying something like this eventually, 
once I'd gotten the other stuff I wanted, but still. I decided then and 
there to forget about the money tonight. The bra and panty alone had to be 
more than five hundred bucks.

"I hope I got the sizes right."

I checked, and yeah he had. I giggled again. "Did you look at my bra last 
time?"

"No. I just guessed. Rachel's a 34B, and you look a little slimmer than 
her."

Hearing him talk about his wife spoiled the mood a little. "Do you buy stuff 
like this for her?" I asked. But he shook his head.

"She's not into fancy lingerie. I used to buy it, but she would never wear 
it."

"Huh. Well, okay, let me go put it all on." I gathered up the boxes and 
carried them into the bathroom. I'd arrived at his house still half-jazzed 
and half-weirded out from what I'd done with Lauren and Mr. Taylor that 
afternoon, but suddenly I no longer cared. God, this stuff was so cool. For 
the first time, I really felt like a call girl, an honest to goodness call 
girl. I got it now. Wives didn't wear stuff like this. Only mistresses and 
call girls got to.

I stripped out of my clothes and pulled on the panties. I turned around, 
admiring myself in the mirror. They didn't look all _that_ different from 
the stuff at Victoria's Secret, but at the same time there was just 
something about them that set them apart. I put on the bra and adjusted the 
straps. It looked even better. I did _not_ look fourteen anymore.

The garter belt was something else, though. I knew what it was and what it 
was for, but I hadn't exactly ever worn one. I mean, like, when would I 
have, you know? I'd sneaked a peek at the ones my mom had, but I'd never had 
the guts to try them on.

But I had the general idea. I slipped the stockings on, and though it took 
me a few minutes to figure out how the garter straps attached to them, I 
eventually got it all together. Then I looked in the mirror again.

Shit. Shit.

I didn't recognize myself. I was in there somewhere, but that was Kaitlyn 
the Call Girl looking back at me. Not Kaitlyn the baby-sitter. I 
straightened everything out one last time. When I pulled up the panties, I 
realized as the fabric slid against my puss that I was almost about to come, 
I was so turned on. For a second I wanted to reach in and push myself over 
the edge, then thought, no, I should let him do it.

When I came out of the bathroom, Mr. Wellington was sitting on the bed in 
his boxer shorts. He looked up at me, and his face went all pale and gaping. 
And don't ask me how, but that was enough to do it. I came--I actually came 
just standing there looking at him get all weak and horny at the sight of 
me.

That had never happened to me before, in care you're wondering. I wasn't 
sure what it meant. But I shut my eyes and shivered for a moment because I 
couldn't do anything else.

"Kaitlyn?"

I fought to get control of myself again. "Do you like it?"

"It's . . . you're beautiful. Like some kind of dream."

I walked up until I was standing right in front of him. "Did you dream about 
me?"

"I--about this, yes. About seeing you like this."

"If you buy me more, I'll wear it. I'll wear whatever you want me to."

I looked down and saw his dick standing up through the fly of his boxers. He 
didn't seem to know what to do, so I knelt between his legs and bent 
forward. He whimpered, putting his hands on my shoulders, as I opened my 
mouth and took him in.

Getting off out of the blue like that hadn't made me any less turned on, and 
for once I felt like making this last, trying to actually _fuck_ Mr. 
Wellington instead of lying on my back and letting him fuck me. I knew I 
still had a lot to learn, but I'd made a list of things to do from studying 
the sex book.

I held his dick in my mouth, just sucking on it gently, moving my head up 
and down. The sex book had talked about rubbing your tongue against the 
head, so I started doing that. He seemed to like it, moaning more and 
gripping my hair in his hands. I kept it up for a few minutes, bobbing 
slowly and working my tongue.

He finally pulled me off and pulled me to my feet. He looked me over again, 
touching me all over, and stroking all the stuff I was wearing. The 
stockings felt weird, nothing like the nylons or tights I'd worn up to now. 
Feeling him touching my thighs above the silk just sent shivers up my back. 
Then he started undoing the hooks.

"What are you doing?"

"Next time . . . the panties should go on over the garter straps. So you can 
take them off."

I got it, though I hadn't thought of that at all. He slipped the straps 
under the panties and reattached them, then hooked his fingers into the 
waistband and slipped the panties down. But he didn't take them off. He just 
pulled them down far enough to expose my puss.

I stood there paralyzed from all the feelings racing through me, nervous, 
excited, turned on, wanting to do something but bewildered about what to do. 
Mr. Wellington didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't seem to mind. 
He reached in and touched me very gently. I had to close my eyes.

"You're wet."

"Uh-huh."

"You like this? It's turning you on?"

"Big time," I gasped.

His finger poked through my lips and stroked my clit slowly. I shivered 
again. I was going to come if he kept doing that.

"I've never seen pubic hair like yours before."

"You haven't?"

"All the blonde women I've slept with were bottle blondes. Not natural."

He stroked my clit again, and that did it. A good solid come just shot up 
from my puss, and I had to grab hold of him to keep my balance. He held me 
and kept rubbing me until it was over.

I felt him sliding the panties all the way off, then pulling me back onto 
the bed. I let him guide me, and he pulled me up to his mouth so I was 
straddling his face. I knew what was coming and just leaned against the 
headboard and let it. His tongue came out and began licking me.

As turned on as I was, it didn't take him very long to get me off again. He 
kept his hands tight on my butt, holding me close to his mouth, and the feel 
of his tongue flicking and rubbing against my clit over and over almost 
drove me crazy. I came and came and came until I had to pull myself off 
before I fainted or something. Mr. Wellington laid me on the bed, and as I 
caught my breath, he took off the bra and his boxers. He reached for a 
condom, and though I hadn't done half the stuff to him I'd wanted to, he 
rolled on top of me and slipped into my puss.

The feel of having him inside me while I still had the stockings on was 
really weird at the same time it really turned me on. Up to now, I'd done 
nothing but lie flat on my back when the dads were fucking me, but I felt 
like doing more. I wrapped my arms around Mr. Wellington's neck and kissed 
him, then tried one of the positions I'd seen in the sex book. I pulled my 
legs all the way up until my knees were against his chest. It felt good, but 
what I hadn't expected was that it would let him get even further into me. 
He moaned and pushed himself as far in as he could get. For a second, it 
took my breath away, but the feeling of having my puss completely full was 
unlike anything I'd ever done before, and though I'd never once come while 
some guy was fucking me, I realized it might happen now.

Mr. Wellington grabbed at my legs and stroked them as he fucked me, touching 
the stockings then the bare parts of my thighs. He bent down to suck on my 
nipples, and at that point I started losing control of myself. I cried out 
and thrashed around under him, squeezing him with my legs and arching my 
back to push my tits up at his face. He fucked me harder, and faster, and I 
felt the come starting to build all around my puss, spinning and buzzing as 
my whole body locked up and--this was about the last clear thought I had 
before I came--I squeezed my puss around him as hard as I could. He groaned, 
pumped himself into me roughly a few more times, then I felt his dick 
pulsing inside as he came right after I did.

_God_. And to think I was getting _paid_ for this.

I lay completely still under him letting the tingles spread out to my toes. 
My body kept shivering and twitching even though I was trying to relax. Mr. 
Wellington rolled off of me, breathing hard. Neither of us said anything 
until he'd come back from the bathroom after getting rid of the rubber.

"You all right?" He asked. I nodded, though I still couldn't open my eyes. I 
felt him caressing my face. "I still can't believe this is real," he said.

I finally looked up at him. "Why not?"

"I wanted you for so long. I just couldn't let myself believe it could ever 
happen."

Wow. "Thanks."

"You have no idea what it's like for a man my age, work, family, a wife 
who's forgotten what's like to be sensual. To be around girls like you and 
Tricia and Lauren, who still know what it's like to be alive."

I grinned at him. "Did you want Tricia too?"

He looked away from me, smiling. "You must think I'm a pervert."

"No. If you want her, there's nothing wrong with admitting it."

"It wouldn't bother you?"

I grinned again. "It would turn me on."

That threw him for a loop. "It would?"

"Do you want her? I can get her to come here with me, if you want. You'd 
have to, you know, make it worth her while like we've been doing it, but I 
could do it." He stared at me for about ten seconds, eyes bulging, jaw 
hanging open. "We'd do whatever you wanted us to," I said. "We like that 
kind of stuff."

He gulped. "I'd like that."

"Cool. I'll talk to her, then. I'll e-mail you as soon as I know something, 
and we can set it up."

"Does Lauren know?"

I couldn't stop myself from giggling. "I could get her too, if you wanted. 
She's still a virgin and she doesn't want to have sex yet, but she'd do just 
about anything else."

He lay there spacing out for a few seconds, then shook his head. "No. No. 
Just you and Tricia. For now, I guess."

"Okay. I'll set it up and let you know."

---

"What are we up to now?" Tricia asked.

"Sixty-three hundred, plus the undies Kaitlyn got the other night," Lauren 
said.

"Fuck. I still can't believe we're doing this. You could buy a car for that 
much, almost."

"Too bad we've spent most of it," I said.

We were at the mall food court Saturday afternoon, surrounded by Prada, 
Ferragamo, and Neiman Marcus shopping bags. Between the three of us, we'd 
spent over two thousand dollars. I don't think I was ever going to forget 
the look on the Prada salesgirl's face when I paid for that six-hundred 
dollar blouse in cash. She kept looking back and forth between me and the 
pile of bills like she didn't know what to do.

The blouse rocked, by the way. Between it and the Gucci sunglasses I'd 
gotten, I felt like a model. Or a call girl, at least.

Lauren had gotten some clothes, but she'd blown most of her money on 
_software_ of all things. Some kind of professional graphic design program. 
She'd decided she didn't like her web site and wanted to re-do the whole 
thing. "Plus we have to take the pictures all over again, since you did the 
wax thingy on me," she said.

"I still can't believe you did that," Tricia said. "It must have hurt like 
fuck."

"It did. But Mr. Taylor totally liked it."

I laughed. "He was all like, 'I thought you were fourteen!'" Tricia shrieked 
in laughter. "What a perv!" she said. "Doesn't it look all weird now?"

Lauren shrugged. "I'm getting used to it. I don't think it makes me look 
like a kid. It makes me look more like a porn model."

Tricia nodded. "I guess it would. I wonder if the other dads want us to do 
stuff like that."

"I don't think so," I said. "Mr. Wellington said he liked my pubes." Both of 
them looked at me in shock. I kicked Tricia under the table. "Because I'm 
blonde, you geeks. What do you think?"

They looked at each other again. Then Tricia looked at her lap. I had a 
feeling what she was thinking because although the hair on her head was 
reddish-brown (naturally, anyway, she'd had a lot of blonde highlights put 
in), her pubes were about as dark as Lauren's.

"Are you thinking about doing it?" Lauren asked.

"I don't know. The girl who wrote the call girl book talks about how she has 
bikini waxes all the time. And all the porn girls seem to do it. Maybe we're 
supposed to."

"It doesn't hurt _that_ much."

"Maybe ask Mr. Dillard what he thinks," I said. She'd seen him again the 
night after I was with Mr. Wellington, and she was pretty sure he was 
getting a thing for her.

"I bet he'll tell me to do it."

"So do it," Lauren said. "I'll do it for you if you want."

"I don't know. I got to think about this," Tricia said. Lauren looked at me, 
and I shook my head. "No way. I like my puss the way it is. And Mr. 
Wellington likes it."

Lauren picked at the last of her french fries. "Did you guys set a date for 
your threesome?"

"No," I said. "He wants to do it, but he's not sure when he can that Mrs. 
Wellington won't suspect something. Maybe some afternoon."

"I can't believe he bought you underwear," Tricia said. "That's like, 
totally perverted."

"Not just underwear. _La Perla_ underwear. The bra alone was probably like 
three hundred bucks. It's from _Italy_." I kicked her again. "Get a clue." 
She tried to kick me back, but I moved out of the way. "Besides, he's 
probably going to buy you something, too. He said Mrs. Wellington won't wear 
anything like that anymore. I think he's a got a--a--" I glanced at Lauren. 
"What's it called?"

"A fetish," she said.

"Yeah, a fetish. He's got a fetish for all that lingerie stuff."

"Well, I still want the money," Tricia said.

"Yeah, we worked all that out. A grand a piece, just like with Mr. Dillard. 
But he wants to buy us more stuff to wear."

I stuffed down the last of my fish taco as they started gathering up the 
trash from the table. "So what are we doing tonight?" I asked.

"I'm sitting for the Conlons," Lauren said. "I think I can get Mr. Conlon on 
our list. He's always been really nice to me."

"He looks at my tits all the time," Tricia said.

"Well, so does everyone," I said. This time her foot connected with my leg, 
and I punched her back on the shoulder.

"I'm sitting for Ms. Rosenstock tonight," I said. "That's about it."

"I wish we could forget the baby-sitting and just do the sex," Tricia said. 
"But I guess that wouldn't work."

"We need it for the cover," Lauren said. "Plus to get more clients."

I just nodded, trying not to look at them. I hadn't told Tricia or Lauren 
about what had happened with Ms. Rosenstock. And I didn't know why, even 
though I was about 90% sure I was going to fuck her tonight. She'd asked me 
to come over again, except she hadn't really said anything about going 
anywhere so she needed a sitter. Just, "I'd like you to come over Saturday 
night, Kaitlyn."

And I'd said nothing about the money or even hinted that I expected to be 
paid. I kept telling myself that I could ask her afterward, but I had a 
sinking feeling that wouldn't go over too well.

So why was I doing it?

Lauren and Tricia wanted to go over to BCBG, and I followed them wondering 
what was going on. I'd been telling myself over and over that I wasn't a 
lesbo, and I still didn't think I was, but I _had_ fucked both of them. More 
than once. That thing with Lauren the other day, when we were doing Mr. 
Taylor . . . I still didn't know where that had come from. I'd just turned 
into this robo-dyke. Not until she and Mr. Taylor left did it dawn on me 
that I'd probably been eating her out for at least ten minutes, ten minutes 
when I hadn't thought twice about what I was doing. I'd just done it.

Except . . . it was while _she_ was doing _me_. She'd started it. And Mr. 
Taylor had kind of pushed me into it. Once Lauren was eating me out, my 
judgment had to be, what do they call it, impaired. I'd just done it because 
she was doing it. And, well, so what if I came? That was to be expected.

So what about Ms. Rosenstock? If she didn't pay me, why do it? Why the fuck 
had I put on that "please teach me everything act" the other night? Now I 
had to go through with it and let her--

Oh. Well, fuck. Why didn't I think about that? If I was going to be a call 
girl, and keep doing these threesomes, I kind of needed to know about lesbo 
stuff. Right? She would be sort of paying me by teaching me what to do. And 
if she didn't pay me, some other lesbo might later on. Once I knew stuff.

Okay. That worked. I could do this after all.

"What do you think?" Tricia asked. She was holding this Lycra 
spaghetti-strap tube top against her chest. "For Mr. Dillard."

"You'd totally be falling out of it," I said. "But I guess that's the 
point."

---

I got to Ms. Rosenstock's around eight. When she came to the door, I pretty 
much got my answer about what was going to happen. She had on just sweats, 
nice ones--DKNY, I realized when I spotted the logo--but nothing you really 
went out in.

"Hi, Kaitlyn."

"Hi."

"Come on in." I followed her inside. Her son was in the den, and he got all 
excited when he saw me. He ran over and gave me a hug.

"Why don't you sit with Kevin for a little while?" she said. "I'm, um, I'm 
going upstairs."

"You just want me to sit with him?" I tried to look disappointed, which 
wasn't hard since I kind of was. But she shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be upstairs. But please sit with him. When 
he's in bed, why don't you come find me."

Ah. I got it. "Okay."

So for about forty-five minutes or so, I got to be a baby-sitter again. 
Kevin and I played with his G.I. Joe collection and killed terrorists until 
I couldn't make myself wait any longer. I put him to bed, and luckily he was 
one of those rare kids who didn't fight about bedtime, as long as I was nice 
about it. So I tucked him and kissed him good night . . . and then went to 
fuck his mother.

Ms. Rosenstock's bedroom door was open just a few inches. I smelled some 
kind of fruity incense or something as I walked up to it. I tapped lightly 
on the door.

"Ms. Rosenstock?"

She came to the door wearing just a silk robe, and it was pretty obvious she 
had nothing under it. She motioned for me to come in and shut the door. Then 
she reached up and caressed my cheek.

"Please call me Stacey."

"Okay."

She took a deep breath and pulled me to her, pressing her lips against my 
forehead. "This is wrong. I know I shouldn't be doing this. But you remind 
me so much of myself when I was your age."

"Really?"

"Yes. I used to wish so hard that I had someone to explain what I was 
feeling." She kissed my head again. "You've never done this before?"

"Not really. Just, you know, fooling around when I was a kid."

"What about boys?"

"I don't really get boys."

She laughed softly. "Neither do I." Then she let go of me. "I wanted your 
first time to as close to perfect as I could make it. We'll take our time. I 
thought we could take a bath. Would you like that?"

To be perfectly honest . . . "Yeah."

"All right. Come on."

I followed her into the bathroom and saw that she'd drawn a big bubble bath 
for us. I'd never taken a bath with anyone, unless you counted stuff when I 
was like eight. Lesbo or not, this actually looked neat.

Ms. Rosenstock let her robe fall off and began undressing me. When we were 
both naked, she kissed me again, and gently touched my breasts. Then she 
took my hand and led me into the tub.

She lay back against the wall and had me lay against her. She started 
touching me very slowly and softly. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but 
the truth was, I was getting pretty turned on already. The bath felt really 
neat, and I liked the smell of it. Strawberries or something.

For a while all we did was touch each other. She stroked my breasts or my 
stomach, and I did the same with her arms and legs. She had me turn around, 
and I tried to do what she'd been doing to me. She was pretty, and I didn't 
feel that weird about this, but I still wasn't really sure what to do. She 
took my hand and started guiding it over her body, over her chest, her 
breasts, and her stomach. But before I reached her puss, she stopped me.

"There's plenty of time. Lean against me again."

I turned around and leaned back. She caressed me again, except this time she 
touched my puss as well as my breasts. Her fingers stroked me gently, 
exploring me, feeling my clit. Her other hand was cupping my boobs and 
stroking my nipples. So as you'd probably expect, I got pretty fucking hot 
from this, especially since the bath was so warm. I thought she might stop 
again, but she didn't. I was breathing hard and making these little 
whimpering noises as her fingers kept tickling my puss. I squeezed her arm 
to let her know what she was doing to me. She kept it up.

Something about the whole bath thing had gotten me about as turned on as I'd 
ever been before, and the come I felt coming was a big one, about the 
biggest I'd ever had. My whole stomach was tingling and twitching, and my 
legs started to shake. Ms. Rosenstock was really rubbing my clit and 
tweaking my nipples now. When I finally started to come, I think I came 
close to blacking out. My whole head spun, and my body thrashed around in 
the water for about ten seconds.

She didn't stop fingering me until I came down and melted against her. Then 
she held me and kissed my neck.

"Did you like that?" she asked about a minute later.

I was still weak, so I just whimpered. "Mmm-hmm."

"There's so much more I want to show you."

"Okay."

She had me turn around and kissed me on the mouth. We made out in the water 
for a few minutes, and this time she guided my hand to her puss. I sort of 
knew what to do now--I mean, I'd fingered myself enough times--but I let her 
show me what to do anyway. Bit by bit, she got more turned on and just held 
me close against her. I fingered her for about five minutes until she let 
out a moan and hugged me really tightly. Her hand grabbed my wrist and 
pulled it away from her puss. She shook and shivered against me for a few 
seconds.

"Did I do it right?" I asked. She nodded, then kissed me weakly. "Wonderful. 
Come on." She stood up and helped me out of the bath. We dried each other 
off, then she led me to the bed.

"Just lie down. Let me do everything."

That I could do. So I just lay still and let her. What happened after that 
was kind of hard to describe. It wasn't what I had expected. I figured we'd 
just go down on each other, but instead she lay beside me and started 
touching and massaging me. She put some kind of really neat-smelling oil on 
her hands and rubbed them all over me for what seemed like half an hour. She 
fingered me again, slowly and teasingly, and when I finally came, it was 
just as hard as in the tub, if not more. I felt like this big blob of jello 
when she was done with me. I didn't want to move at all.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"_God_."

I felt her lips against mine. "You're so precious. So beautiful and young. 
You're like this little piece of candy. I just want to eat you up."

I laughed softly. "Go ahead."

And then she did go down on me, and guys, let me tell you--it was _nothing_ 
like with the dads or even Lauren or Tricia. She knew just what to do and 
just how to do it. Her tongue was like this perfect connection to my puss, 
right to all my nerves and everything. Yeah, I'd gotten off from other 
people eating me out, but this was something else. She teased and tickled me 
right up to the edge and held me there so long I almost screamed. And I did 
scream, I think, when I came. It was hard to tell, because I lost touch with 
just about everything. One of those out-of-body experiences, you know. I 
came back down realizing that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this 
lesbo thing that I'd let myself think.

Anyway.

She held me afterward, and guess what? She didn't want me to go down on 
_her_. "Next time," she said. Instead, she had me suck on her nipples while 
she got herself off a couple of times with her vibrator. When it was over, I 
looked over at her clock and realized we'd been doing it for like two hours.

"I kind of need to get home," I said.

"Of course." She kissed me again. I went to get dressed. I didn't feel like 
the same person I'd been when I showed up that night. I stared at myself in 
her bathroom mirror. Was I really a lesbo?

Maybe.

But I was still a call girl, whatever else happened. That was what mattered. 
And that last come she'd given me was worth five hundred easy.

---

[Ch.8 will be a bit long in coming, as I've got other stuff to take care of 
this week, but I promise it will be worth the wait--J]

---

Hey you! If you liked this (or if you didn't and have suggestions for 
improvement), let me know.

_________________________________________________________________
Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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