Having successfully acquired the list of all the magazines she was appearing in, Emily headed back to the square. Jaap may think he'd abused his position, taking payment by means of Emily sucking his cock, but the truth was Emily had got what she wanted too.
Her next stop was the sex shop. As she walked in, she realised this was the first time she'd entered such a place in her life. She felt that familiar shiver of excitement rushing through her, realising that a single woman probably didn't fit the profile of the usual clientele entering a place like this. That said, Amsterdam seemed to have an overarching 'don't give a shit' attitude which resonated strongly with Emily.
Inside it was pretty much as she'd imagined. Dildos, tacky outfits and blow-up dolls lined the shelves. At the back was a booth where you could presumably go and masturbate to porn. Along one wall were videos, hundreds of them. Emily was distracted from her task in hand by some. Many featured truly beautiful women on the covers, and she couldn't help turning to the back to see what they got up to.
The results left her looking forward to watching channel thirty-one tonight. She also couldn't help but be drawn to an extremely lifelike dildo, not quite large enough to be intimidating, but big enough to give her a thrill imagining it stretching her open. She picked it up and moved on.
Emily reached a wall of magazines. This was what she was looking for. Taking Jaap's list, she began to browse. The first one was easy, she'd seen it before - 'Fuck' issue thirty-nine. And there she was on the cover, smiling as the sperm hit her face. She became a little breathless picturing her son Stephen's friends stumbling upon this on their recent holiday.
Next, she found 'Cum Queens' issue three. Another pretty girl was on the cover of this one. She added it to her pile. In total Emily found five of the eleven magazines Jaap had listed. There were plenty more sex shops to visit, so she was going to enjoy her shopping adventures.
Leaving the shop with a nice new dildo and several magazines, Emily was as happy as she could remember. She decided to go back to the hotel for a while and have a good look through her new purchases.
As she approached the hotel entrance, she noticed a change from when she'd arrived this morning. Even the unshockable Emily stopped in her tracks. In little cubicles, three either side of the hotel door, stood a woman in underwear or some sort of sexy outfit. Emily stood and looked at each one in disbelief.
She was in the red-light district, of course. But she hadn't imagined it would operate as blatantly and unashamedly as this. Right alongside the hotel and a little tattoo parlour, women were selling themselves for sex. Businessmen, families and women strolled past like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Even as she watched, a guy tapped on the window of a pretty, blonde girl who welcomed him inside with a smile.
When Emily approached the hotel reception to retrieve her key, the woman had been replaced by an older man, probably about ten years Emily's senior.
"Hi," Emily smiled. She was surprised when the man handed her the key without prompting. "Oh, thank you! How did you know?"
"It's my hotel, it's my business to know," he laughed. "I'm Eric. Are you enjoying your stay?"
"So far so good," Emily smiled back. "I was quite surprised by the girls outside though."
"Outside?" He took a moment to register. "Oh, sure. A bit different from England, no?"
"Just a bit!" Emily had composed herself, but the situation still seemed a bit mad.
"But I guess a girl who likes to watch channel thirty-one doesn't mind this, eh?"
Privacy obviously didn't count for much, Emily thought. But she didn't care. Tomorrow evening she'd be back on the ferry and all of these people would be distant memories -- they could think what they liked. She shrugged, no shame that she had paid for the hardcore adult channel for her room. Eric eyed her curiously, before continuing.
"We all have to make a living. I have the space; the girls need the space. It all works for us, yes?"
Emily realised Eric was not only the owner of the hotel, but he also owned and rented the booths to the whores outside.
Back in her room, Emily was surprised how the sight of the Amsterdam whores had affected her. The buzz she got when the guys saw her on the cover of magazines like those she was now placing on her bed was out of this world, but now her mind was putting herself in the place of the girls in the booths downstairs.
She'd already been ready for release, now her head was spinning with ever filthier thoughts. What must that feel like, standing on display, every person knowing you are available for sex with anyone who wanted you?
Emily spent a few blissful hours enjoying her body. One of the walls sported a full-length mirror, and she found a perfect position where her new dildo, affixed firmly to the smooth surface, could push into her nicely from behind whilst she perused her magazines, with hardcore porn visible on the TV at the same time.
She deliberately turned the volume slightly higher than she needed to -- not enough to cause a complaint, but enough so that any neighbours or passers-by the room could hear exactly what Emily was watching.
Leafing through her appearances in the magazines was everything she knew it would be. Seeing herself being used by all of those cocks knowing that any number of men all over the world were bringing themselves off over her was a guaranteed orgasm every time she let that thought sink in.
'Hot Slut' featured Emily as the centrefold. One day, she told herself, she'd blow that picture up to poster size and give it pride of place in her living room or kitchen. She was being held in the air by two men, each clutching an outstretched leg, leaving her completely exposed. Hands were groping her from all sides, and she had three fingers inside her, each from a different man.
Her hair, face, shoulders, breasts and stomach were drenched in sperm. Another orgasm built as soon as she saw this picture.
Emily couldn't actually remember this scene at all. She reflected that she now been attending the camera club sessions weekly for nearly four months. Each shoot finished with this sort of scene, and they'd all begun to blur into one. The picture summed her recent experiences up perfectly.
Flicking to 'Cum Queens' she was ecstatic to find that they had dedicated almost a quarter of the magazine to her, over two sets. And there was a sizeable editorial accompanying the many shots. Unusually, this was in English -- as well as German, French and Spanish, one page dedicated to each language.
'Emily Stainthorpe is addicted to cum,' it began. Fair, she thought. Seeing her name there in black and white was amazing.
'Emily is one of those girls who can never get enough. Once one cock has served its purpose, she's immediately looking for the next.'
'Emily offered to 'model' for her local camera club. That's where these pictures come from, but Emily isn't doing it for the art, or for the money. We think she'd be doing this if she wasn't getting paid a penny. Sometimes a girl just has to admit, she's a cum queen!'
Opposite this caption was a bedraggled and beautiful shot of Emily with what had to be three or four loads of cum visible in her open mouth, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by spent penises.
Sometimes it took a minute of self-reflection for Emily to truly appreciate the impact her behaviour had on the world. That she could travel to a foreign country and buy a stack of magazines, all featuring herself being treated like this, was breathtaking.
Just as she was bringing herself to another orgasm a knock came on her door. Still in a blissful place she pulled away from the dildo, stood and opened without thinking of covering up. Emily was bad enough back home where everyone knew her. Here she was a nobody, and she meant to enjoy the freedom.
"Hi!" Emily smiled, naked and flushed. Over her shoulder gangbang porn played loudly on the TV, porn magazines were strewn around the floor and her large dildo stuck out obscenely from the mirror.
The young man, sporting a polo shirt with the hotel's logo across the breast, smiled back. He looked her up and down. Emily didn't flinch. His eyes on her body were very welcome.
"I was just looking for a breakfast order -- there's a little form on the table over there," he pointed. "You can just fill it in and hang it on the door handle."
"It's fine, come in!" Emily stepped back, gesturing the boy inside. He accepted immediately. This was definitely a perk of the job.
Half an hour later, digesting her second load of sperm today, Emily was getting ready to go out. She had half a mind to stay in with her new dildo and the endless porn, but she reasoned that she could, and most certainly would, do that at home. Anders, the room service guy, had been nice and had a lovely thin, long cock, which she'd really enjoyed; it had fitted in her throat nicely.
He'd also been surprisingly adept with his tongue and fingers. She had half a mind to let him fuck her, but he went off very quickly down her throat. Emily didn't mind this, a mouthful of sperm was always welcome. But now it was time to see what the nightlife of Amsterdam had to offer.
As the weather was still warm, she'd opted for a tight denim miniskirt, paired with a tight, light-blue top which made it very obvious she was braless. Knee-length, black leather boots completed a look which gave her a little thrill each time she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Without any real agenda she strode off into the evening.
Emily didn't see the point of doing things she could do back home. She had one night to sample what Amsterdam had to offer. So, her first port of call was a coffee shop. She'd tried a joint when she was younger, and she wasn't afraid to give it another go. The girl working there was very helpful, explaining the different 'highs', and Emily opted for a light, uplifting strain of hash.
The girl helpfully rolled it up into a joint for her, and Emily went and sat on an outdoor table. She smoked and watched the world go by. It kept going out in her ashtray, so she'd light it again, have another little puff, and forget what she was doing for a few minutes.
'This isn't affecting me at all,' she told herself. But then she realised it most definitely was -- she was all of a sudden acutely aware of everything going on around her. A group of what she assumed would probably be termed 'frat boys' from America surrounded the next table -- there must have been eight or nine of them.
"It's time, Joe. It's your time!"
"Fuck off! I'll do it when I'm ready."
