Ron Vincent shook his head as he viewed the information in front of him.
"You might be lucky with this one, Jack," he told me, his chubby face spreading with his grin.
"She's got a hotel room already booked. Specifically asked for somebody in his early twenties."
"How old's she?" I enquired, keeping my fingers crossed.
"Forty -hree, it says here," Ron replied.
This would be only my second client. My first had been a forty-two year old. Surely I couldn't be lucky enough to have another early forties looker like she had been.
"Anything else about her?"
"Blonde hair---Okay?" And his eyes sparkled. "Funny though. She's wants her real name withheld. It's down here. We insist on real names and addresses. But she wants to be known only as Tania."
"Tania---sounds exotic. Hope so."
Ron winked at me, "Maybe your reputation is getting out already, Jack. Your last lady has booked you specifically for next Saturday night."
Well, that was worth looking forward to. That was the lady who thought she might be frigid, but was anything but. What surprises could this one have in store for me?
If only I had known!
"The hotel is the Algonquin---so, pretty cosy. Time, eight thirty tonight."
"Straight to the room?"
"That's what it says---she must be pretty eager. Instructions are that you identify yourself by saying 'Room special service'. A cautious lady, maybe. Good luck."
And he treated me to the now familiar Ron Vincent leering smile. I winked back and walked to the door.
"Jack!" Ron called after me, and I turned to see him shaking his head. "Isn't there something you'll need?"
I frowned, "Need?"
"The room number, Jack. The friggin' room number."
"I could have asked for Tania."
"And got nobody. It's 276."
"276," I repeated. "Right. I'll try not to get lost."
I didn't get lost. But at first I wished I had.
At precisely eight thirty, dressed in blue sports jacket and dark grey pants, with a matching open neck shirt, I was striding confidently down the plushly carpeted second floor corridor of the Algonquin.
Confident because I was pretty sure that, having booked a hotel room, this lady was after sexual service and not just companionship.
At 276 I stopped, adjusted my jacket, put on my smile, and knocked discreetly on the door.
A rather husky female voice on the other side said, "Yes?"
"Room special service, ma'am," I quoted, anticipation already twitching inside my pants,
The door slowly opened, and the lady, standing there dressed only in a peach negligee revealing a fascinating suggestion of ample bosom stared at me, a mixture of dismay and horror on her face.
"Jack!" she gasped.
My own face must have been quite a picture as shock, disbelief and some little quirk of excitement, ran through me as I stammered, "Aunt Steph!"
I recalled my mother frequently talking about the family surprise when her thirty two year old brother, Phil, had married a buxom young nineteen year old.
When my mother talked it was generally to express her surprise that the marriage had lasted. "That Stephanie she's such a live wire."
What she had meant was that my Aunt Steph was a sexy bundle, but my mother was not the kind to talk in that way.
At how many family get-togethers through my adolescent years had I wistfully observed my Aunt Steph, swaying and swinging on the dance floor, ample breasts jostling to burst from the thin summer dress she wore?
Her hips would roll with such erotic fascination that I had to remain firmly behind a table to hide what was happening to me down below.
I recalled her leaning over me one Christmas asking for a festive kiss and my eyes had gazed into that exquisite fleshy valley as her dress dropped forward. Her kiss had been warm, moist on the corner of my uncertain mouth.
Now, here we were staring at each other with mutual confusion. It seemed like minutes but could only have been a few seconds before she grabbed my arm, and dragged me inside, slamming the door behind us.
"Oh, God," she sighed her head of trailing blonde hair shaking," Of all the bloody possibilities. How the hell are you into this?"
I told her as she turned away and went over to a low sideboard, "I think we both need a drink," she said firmly. "I have the wine opened, but at this point we need something stronger."
She held up a bottle of Jack Daniels and looked at me questioningly. Dumbly, I nodded my head.
The very act of holding up the bottle had dragged the material of her negligee off her right breast, and that gorgeous pink tipped mound seemed to be smiling at me.
Aunt Steph gestured to the sofa and we sat down, both of us taking quick sips at our drinks. The warming liquid quickly dispelled early embarrassment.
"Jack, you won't say anything about this, will you?"
"Discretion is our bye-word," I reassured her. "Anyway, we haven't done anything."
She placed her hand over mine and said,
"That's true---but you deserve an explanation."
"If you like."
She went on to tell me of how Uncle Phil was becoming less interested in the physical side of marriage these days. "He'd rather go off to his pool match, or his horse racing."
Then she got to the point, "Your cousin Dean is just a year younger than you, Jack"
I knew that well enough. Dean and I were good mates. We had footballed together, knocked around in the same teenage gangs. We got on well.
Aunt Steph took another deep gulp at her bourbon, "Jack, I've found myself watching him, ogling his lithe young body as he's ambled half naked around the house. Oh, please understand Jack----I've longed for him to do it with me. Please don't think badly of me."
Then she was on her feet the negligee flowing away from her generous tanned thighs as she went and poured two more drinks..
"It's all right, Aunt Steph. I understand." I said, trying to be kindly, even if I didn't fully understand her desire for her own son.
She placed the drinks on the coffee table and stood looking down at me, her eyes clouded under lowered lids.
"That's so kind of you, Jack. I asked for a younger man to try to eradicate these feelings. I can't stand the notion of getting old. That's another part of it. Do you think I'm still attractive?"
And she ran her hands over her breasts and down to her hips.
This was no time for any kind of falseness and I confessed, "I've always thought you were one of the sexiest ladies I've ever seen."
"Even now?" And as I nodded she leaned down towards me just like that Christmas of long ago, but now the negligee afforded a more expansive view of her breasts as her lips brushed softly across mine.
My hands itched to reach out and grab her to me.
She stepped back, gazing down at me, while a sensuous smile played at the corners of her mouth, "Why, Jack, I can see exactly what you think of me-----how sweet."
Her eyes were on my crotch and I knew I was bulging down there. Before I had time to adjust she had dropped to her knees and with a brief, husky, "May I?" she ran the flat of her hand gently over the straining material.
Her blue eyes looked up into mine, "You like that don't you?" Her fingers moved to my zip. "I think you need a little more space."
As she lowered the zip and her hand opened me up to search I just sat there wondering who was supposed to be giving the service here.
As my erection broke free she leaned back with a look of astonishment on her face,"My God, Jack. I've always thought you were a good-looking lad. But what you've got there would be known as being well-endowed. That is one magnificent penis."
And her fingers closed around it, with such expert gentility that I could only throw my head back at the thrill of it.
Then her head stooped and the tip of her tongue tickling over the smoothness of my cockhead made me gasp with pleasure.
"You men," Aunt Steph chuckled, "you just love to be pampered."
And so saying her lips enveloped my straining cock, and the head, so recently licked, was pushing around the area of her tonsils, before she drew back slightly to lavish more favours with her tongue.
I don't know how long I would have let her go on, but suddenly she released me and leaned back.
"I think it's fair to say you are up for this---whether we are relatives or not no longer matters. It is time you earned your corn."
With that she grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. My erection waving helplessly in the air as I was led into a neatly laid out bedroom dominated by a king size bed.
By the side of the bed she turned and faced me, a wicked grin lighting her handsome face. "You are being paid to pleasure me, Jack. I know you have the equipment."
Her fingers brushed feather light over my
erection. "But do you have the skills?"
And she allowed her negligee to slip from her shoulders and slide to the floor. This was the second time in my limited experience that I found myself totally overcome with admiration of the naked body of a more mature lady.
Skin, smooth and glossy as alabaster, breasts that swelled and only delicately drooped, and the curve from waist to hip had my hands reaching out in instinctive need to glide along the splendour of those contours.
She closed her eyes as my fingers began coursing down over her hips, across the flatness of her belly. In reality I wanted my skills to rise to her challenge.
Without opening her eyes she began undressing me with rapid jerky movements.
Occasionally she drew in a harsh pleasured breath as my wandering fingers, stroking her generous buttocks, briefly lingered at that rear entry, or, trailing round her pubic mound, suggested movement into her intimate valley before moving on up to tantalise her heaving breasts.
When I was naked she took a short step back, her fingers clasped around my penis, her eyes scolding, "Jack,are you being a tease?"
"Aren't you enjoying it?"
"Oh, I have a lovely feeling I'm going to."
She released me and flung herself back on the bed with open-legged abandon.
I lay alongside her, my erection pressed against her thigh, and we had our first deep kiss. And deep it was.
Her tongue meshed with mine, probed and electrified the insides of my cheeks.
Hands were wildly active too. Mine glided over shoulder, breast and inner thigh, searching across buttock mounds to finger at her darker aperture.
