Travelling With Odette

[Author's note: I expect most readers will not reach the end of this novella in one viewing. With that in mind, each chapter is written as a self-contained story.]

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CHAPTER 1 -- A TOURIST'S ARRIVAL

Home in Boston

At age 39 I enthusiastically embraced the maxim that life began at forty. Except I didn't notice any difference when the birthday came and passed. I just went on making money for myself, my partners, and the shareholders of the small company I headed. Even the death of my wife from cancer was just a blip along the way to turning fifty.

Everything came to a head at my 50th birthday party. A glass in one hand, I was with a group of my contemporaries, but only half-heartedly listening while they chatted, and my eyes wandered to the group of youngsters my daughter had invited. All aged about twenty, they'd dressed casually for a warm evening, which meant mainly in hipster mini-skirts, and tops that left their midriffs bare, as was the fashion for people their age.

The fecund hips of one particularly curvaceous girl seemed to be trying to burst out of their girding waistband. Pinched at the hips by the skirt, the skin over her padded pelvis was stretched tight, and glowing with vitality.

She caught me looking at her and sent a fulsome smile across the room. Mainly it said, 'Hello, you're Cheryl's father aren't you?' There was just a hint of, 'Why are you looking at me like that?' The smile shared her pretty face with a mild disquiet and an awareness of her own femininity. Reminded of the disparity in our ages, I gave her a dismissive, 'hope you're having fun', kind of smile and looked away.

My gaze came round to the bare neck and shoulders of the woman next to me -- an old friend of my late wife's. Her skin was tired, without the youthful glow on the curves of the girl across the room, and I felt a horrible awareness of only kidding myself I was still young.

My eyes crept back to my daughter's friend. She was gaily talking in her group and isolated from me by a gulf of years I was only just beginning to accept. Most of my life was over, and beyond being recaptured. I'd squandered the zest and liberty of my youth, tying myself down to a job and promotions then, at thirty, for business reasons, marrying a successful woman five years my senior. I'd loved her in a proper kind of way, without spontaneity. Commercial success had seemed the only reward in life I needed.

Now I ached for what I'd missed -- the intimate touch of a young woman's body -- like the girl's across the room.

I told my daughter after the party that I needed a vacation, and she understood. It would be my first break in five years. She would not, however, have understood the companion I arranged through a reputable escort agency in Auckland, New Zealand -- far enough way for only a remote risk of meeting anyone I knew.

Overcoming my qualms, I specified being provided with a girl between nineteen and twenty, despite it being my daughter's age group. She had to have worked with the agency for no longer than a month, and be prepared to tour with me through the dramatic scenic spots of that beautiful country.

Auckland Airport

Using the simple expedient of holding up an oblong of cardboard with my name hand-written on it, the girl met me at the airport as I came out of Customs with the other passengers from the Qantas flight.

She was cute-looking, with a white cloth-cap planted jauntily on her curly brown hair. Her blue eyes were intelligent and certainly didn't say 'tart'. They lit up when she saw I'd recognised my name, her face expressive, her look not jaded or hardened. I'd insisted on that too.

Her mini-skirt was shorter than anyone else's in the airport concourse and, along with the shapely perfection of her legs, made her stand out in the crowd. Above the waist, a little cotton jacket was zipped up at the front. It lifted at the bottom with her arms holding the sign up, revealing a narrow glimpse of bare midriff and hips.

Nicely tanned, she certainly didn't need to have stockings or pantyhose, and the almost brazen display of bare thigh, coupled with the sign, left people wondering, who was the lucky guy she was waiting for.

"I'm Jason Tomber," I said, nodding at the sign. "Do you have ID?" I appreciated the care she was taking to be sure I was genuinely her client. To the benefit of her agency, and in advance, a lot of money had changed hands.

I showed her my passport then passed it in front of the eyes of the criminal-looking type who came up beside her. He glanced at her, she had another look at me, and then nodded to him and he melted into the crowd. I assumed she'd had the option of calling the deal off and of being replaced with another girl. After all, she knew I was going to be old enough to be her father so ugliness, had it been added to that, would have been just too much.

Anyhow, even though I would be paying for her services, I felt flattered by the choice she'd made. I even felt more at ease in her company.

Foreplay in the Limo

In the hire limousine, we sat in seats facing each other. She kept her knees together because her tight skirt had ridden up.

I asked, "You've had your baggage delivered to the hotel?" "I dropped it off there myself." "Do you have other skirts in it that short?" "Some -- for day-wear." "Ever wear them without panties?" My American voice was a contrast to her local accent, and my question a prod at her reticence.

"I may when I'm indoors, if that's what the client wants ... My name is Odette, by the way." "I know. That's pretty ... French ... So you're wearing panties now then ... Odette." My mind remained fixated on her underwear. She was young, lovely, and available for sex in a way only a prostitute can -- and I'd waited a long time -- all my life.

A nod confirmed my supposition. I asked, "Would you like to take them off for me?" "Do you want to have sex right here in the limo?" "No. I'd just like you to go without panties under your skirt all the time we're together -- indoors and out."

My request didn't faze her. She'd performed briefly as a lap dancer, according to the agency's bio. Show without touch would have been the cheapest option for the customers of the nightclub where she'd worked.

Slipping her panties off her legs, as if it was routine, she asked, "Do you want to see my pussy in any particular pose?" Her eyes probed mine for any indication of where my whim was leading.

No nineteen-year-old -- nor any other woman for that matter -- had ever made such an explicit offer to me before. I liked the open honesty she showed about sex, and her willingness to display her body for my pleasure.

"Just sit forward," I said, "and open your legs."

She complied gracefully. I was pleased to see I'd gotten what I'd required of the escort agency -- a sweet, bare, tight little pussy. Her outer labia concealed the pinkness inside and her skin was white under the dark stubble of her pubic hair -- less than a week's re-growth after shaving, just as I'd fantasised.

"You're perfect," I said to the lovely thighs framing the tantalising display of her sex. "Thank you."

The limo followed the curve of a long bend. One of Odette's legs swung across to join the other then opened again.

"Do you want me to spread for you?" I guessed she meant something other than her thighs because they were already open.

I shook my head, still admiring what she was already displaying for me. I asked, not looking up, "What sex acts do you do?" She waited until my eyes met hers. "Almost everything that's legal." "What is illegal in your country?" "Rape, or anything sadistic, or sex with animals. Not much else once you're over sixteen. I haven't done anal though." She looked like she hoped I didn't have a fetish for it. I told her my opinion that anal would be like passing up a Havana cigar for dung wrapped in tobacco leaf.

"If I ever strike someone who's not as nice as you I hope he's no bigger than a Havana cigar -- I'm sure that's all I could take up there." She grinned. "Maybe we'll try a Havana for fit one day then," I said with definite interest. "You'll understand if I don't smoke it afterwards, naturally." "I'd be offended if you did."

She seemed to be trying to read my mind. Then she said, humouring me, "Shall we get the usual question out of the way?" She paused meaningfully. "The answer is to pay off my student loan for the year."

"That only answers why," I retaliated. "What's the answer to how could you?" She didn't hesitate, "I like men's hands on my tits, and I like having my cunt penetrated more than once in a day."

I glanced below the hiked up hem of her skirt. "But?" "Other than that, it's just a service I provide. Guys get to fuck whatever wet orifice they pay for." "You do oral?" When I was a boy, it was unheard of. "Doesn't your wife?" "She didn't, no ... I'm a widower now." "I'm sorry." She seemed to be genuinely sympathetic. "Would you like oral?" She was looking at my mounded crotch.

I gave her the slightest nod. She slipped to her knees between the two seats and spread my legs. With my belt unfastened, she freed my trouser catch then lowered the zipper. Her fingers slipped inside the loose front of my boxer shorts and pressed against the crinkly hair on my pubic mound as she clasped the base of my stiff shaft.

As she caressed my cock I closed my eyes in ecstasy and let out the groan of pleasure building in my throat.

My boner stuck straight up from her small hand after she teased it out of my underwear. She let her fingers glide up and down over the white skin, making me not only vocalise sensations of pleasure but feel so sensitive down there that I could hardly bear it.

My eyelids closed again and I gave in to the exquisite waves of pleasure shooting up from my groin.

Then she stopped. I was looking into her blue eyes. Down below, her hand gripped my cock at the base again and started milking it like a cow's teat. I gasped at the hot river of sensual gratification flowing into every fibre of my body.

Jill, my deceased wife, hadn't believed in hand jobs either.

Was she to look down at me now she'd be learning a thing or two. The thought made up for a lot -- like the missionary position being the only way she had been prepared to perform her marital duty with me. Sex was distasteful to her if it got any more adventuresome.

Odette played my male organ with the sensitive fingers of a musician, knowing which key would tease me with delight and which chord would drive me over the edge. She gave my cock the dry heaves, bringing it to epileptic-like spasms I couldn't control and which, like overloading a circuit, almost blew the thrilled pathways of my brain.

My nuts ached and I couldn't believe how swollen I'd become. The blood vessels standing out along my erection looked like they'd never go down.

Abruptly, Odette stopped pumping my shaft. She took her hand off my cock altogether, leaving it throbbing. Lifting her skirt, she pressed her bare belly against my manhood. I realised she wanted to give it solace while, twisting, she fished in the shoulder purse on the seat behind her. She found a sealed condom and brought it out.

"Do we have to?" She regarded me seriously, "What have you done since your wife died -- for sex?" "Only what you were doing a few seconds ago, but by myself ... I like it more with you." She grinned then tossed the condom back in her opened purse. "I'll take a chance on you." She leant back and lifted her skirt off my cock. "It really is your first time for oral, isn't it?"

She milked me gently with her hand as she edged her knees apart on the carpet and let her face come closer to the flaring head of my cock. Her tongue moistened her lips then she lowered her chin, letting her mouth open and form a warm seal around the helmet on the end of the broad shaft in front of her.

It was like having my cock gripped by a vagina, but still different from anything I'd ever felt before. When her tongue touched the tip I almost exploded. It swirled quickly round the rim, teasing and thrilling. Then she alternately sucked and licked. I had to grab her head to make her stop.

She held her hair back out of the way and raised her eyes, her mouth hovering just above my cock, its head slick and the tip open. "It's all right," she said. "You can come whenever you want to." "In your mouth?" "If that's what you want." "Doesn't the taste gross you out?" Even so, I got a thrill out of the thought of my jism spurting into her throat and coating her tongue like thick mayonnaise. "I've only ever done it with a condom on, so I don't know."

She slid my cock between her lips again before I could talk myself out of it. Her head bobbed up and down, her saliva providing the lubricant for her lips while her free hand burrowed into my underwear and cupped my balls. My cock slid back and forward on her tongue as if it was the floor of her cunt, and her mouth gripped me like wet pussy.

An overpowering sensation flooded my groin and jism came rushing up my shaft and jerking out of the exit hole. Odette swallowed convulsively. I felt the last spasm in my loins and the cessation of sucking on my cock. The helmet popped wetly out from between Odette's lips as she slid her mouth off.

She straightened, smiling. There was a froth of cum and saliva between her teeth. Cheekily, she poked her white-coated tongue out at me. "You taste like shrimps." "That's not so bad." "I'm not all that keen on shellfish."

With her thighs together primly she sat back in the limo seat opposite me. I mixed a drink from the cocktail cabinet and handed it to her. She rinsed her mouth and swallowed. I imagined all my sperm washing down towards her belly, destined never to find her eggs

CHAPTER TWO -- ADVENTURES IN QUEENSTOWN

Odette Tells a Tale

The hotel room had a picture window looking out over a deep blue lake towards the rugged mountains on the other shore. In winter they would be covered in a cloak of snow, we were told. But it was mid-summer now and almost as hot and dry as Nevada.

Odette looked superb against the backdrop of that grandeur, two floors up, as she posed at the window to please me.

She'd taken off her stockings and the floral cotton dress she'd worn on the aeroplane. All she had on now was a red garter belt and lacy bra. I loved the sight of her bare thighs, loosely open, and the dark, familiar triangle of stubble between her legs.

So she would not have to get up from her perch on the deep windowsill, I took a cup of coffee over to her. Then I returned to the chair with my drink. After ranging around in my head for something to talk to her about, I asked her how many men had paid to fuck her in the few weeks she'd worked for the agency.

"I don't know," she said frankly, not finding my interest offensive. "On busy nights I had four or five clients. On quieter ones, maybe two at the most. Not all the guys wanted to stick their things in my cunt, though. And since I started, there were some clients I saw more than once."

Looking at her almost nude body against the scenic backdrop, I wasn't surprised men had gone back to her for more.

She filled the silence, "Does it bother you that a lot of men have fucked me." The idea seemed to amuse her. "I'm just surprised you still have such a tight cunt." (I guess it made me curious, having had such limited experience with women.) "Don't you get some big guys?" She grinned playfully, "Even bigger than you, you mean?" She sipped her coffee. "I've been stretched so wide by a few that my cunt's taken awhile to go back to normal."

"Do you like that -- being stretched wide open?"

She looked at me over the rim of her cup then shook her head, making her brown curls bounce. "Imagine yourself passing a big, hard stool when you're constipated." She knew from her down to earth description that I could imagine graphically how it might feel. She said, "The only relief is once it's out. Then it feels good."

"Is that how you feel about me?" "No." Her eyes met mine reassuringly. "Your cock is the perfect size -- not too big, not too small. It spreads me delightfully." She looked like she would be hugging herself if she wasn't holding a hot cup above a bare lap.

We were still strangers to each other, despite the mutual intimacies we'd shared, but I wanted to find out if there was any deeper reason for her having become a call girl. A question about it had been lurking in my mind for the last few days, but it was so unpleasant a subject that I had been unable to express it.

"What?" she said. "I was wondering if you'd ever been molested as a child."

Her legs closed. My eyes shifted to her face. Did she look shocked? She finally said, "I wasn't a child." "Was it a relative?" "No. Two boys in a park. I'd just turned sixteen ... the legal age here." She swallowed.

I waited for her to continue, looking sympathetic.

"They dragged me into the bushes and stuffed a sock in my mouth so I couldn't scream."

She re-lived the moment in her memories, "I was standing between them, petrified. They tore off my dress then joked about how I hardly had any tits. It excited them ..."

She explained to me, "I developed late. My breasts were just budding then and I didn't need a bra."

She went on about what happened, "One boy held my arms behind my back. I couldn't struggle or it hurt even more. The other one pulled down my panties. I was so shocked that my mouth just hung open. He stared up my legs for a long time, still on his knees, and then he forced his hand between my thighs and touched me. I was crying, and almost unable to breathe."

Her eyes stayed on mine for a second. I could visualise the scene -- her naked girlish body; one boy cruelly holding her, and the other feeling her up against her will. I wondered if she was telling me because she had never been able to confide her bad experience to anyone else.

She went on, "The boy on his knees said, 'Hey, stop clamping your legs together!' I was doing it instinctively, I guess. The one behind put his knee in my back and made my hips thrust out. The pain was so intense I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.

" 'Open up,' the boy behind me hissed, 'and I'll stop hurting you.' I moved my legs apart, like they wanted, and the boy took his knee out of my back.

"I'd never been in a sexual situation with any boy before, and the one on the ground was groping me, trying to find my hole, saying he liked the way I only had fluff on my pussy and that I 'wasn't a big girl yet'. He said it didn't matter because little cunts were much more fun to ram big cocks in. I was frozen with fear by the idea of them doing that to me."

Odette put down her coffee cup.

"His finger found my hole and started poking me. It hurt." She let another pause hang in the air. "The boy on the ground told his friend triumphantly that I still had a little cherry. 'Told you we'd picked the right one,' he said. Then I knew they'd been planning it -- waiting for an opportunity. It seemed even more horrible that they'd cold-bloodedly stalked me to perform indecencies on my body.

"I heard the boy behind me say, 'Let's get her on her back!' The one in front pulled my legs out from under me. They lifted me between them and lowered me roughly to the ground. The boy who had held my ankles used his knees on my thighs to force them apart.

"I struggled until the boy behind my head grabbed what little there was of my breasts -- virtually only nipples when I was lying down -- and pinched them viciously. I just about passed out. It made me stop fighting.

"The other one had his finger in my hole again and it was hurting me even worse. 'I can't break it,' he said. 'We'll have to cut her.' I was terrified, and thought I was going to die at their hands."

Odette glanced at me.

"The boy pulled my wrists above my head and pinioned my arms with his knees, pushing them into the soft mud and leaves under me, and hurting me almost beyond endurance. It left his hands free to rove down to my belly and delve between my legs. I couldn't close my thighs because the first boy was still kneeling between them