A few days later I was on the way to London, house-hunting. It was Sunday. I had arranged viewings on the following Monday and Tuesday. I was booked into a good hotel. That night I ate early and went to bed early. The next day I saw several flats, but none of them appealed. I had managed to get a ticket to a west-end show that night, a cancellation, so it was Tuesday evening that I found myself alone after dinner and needing fucking. Masturbation would not be enough. I thought about my last hotel encounter and wondered what would happen if I sat alone at the bar, were London hookers as territorial as those in Liverpool?
I hoisted myself onto a high stool, making sure that my stocking-tops were just visible. There were two obvious professionals sitting at the bar. I was dressed in my siren dress, complementing it, as usual, with very high heels, stockings and suspenders, with French knickers this time. No bra. The working girls made no demur, one even gave me a conspiratorial nod. She would probably not have done if she knew that I give it away.
I soon attracted a punter. An overweight German who had indulged in to much deutch courage. I told him that I was waiting for someone. He wobbled over to one of the other girls and they left together, having struck a deal. Another man soon joined me, offering to buy me a drink. I did not like the look of him. He was English, good looking in a gangsterish way, and that was the problem. He looked cruel. Again I said that I was meeting someone. He scored with the remaining bar-girl. I hoped that she would be alright, but such people, including myself, learn to look after themselves. Casual sex is risky for a woman, but the risk adds to the enjoyment. I was not prepared, at least not just yet, for domestic dinner, telly, then a 'dutiful-fuck-with-the-lights-out.
By nine-thirty I was in the bedroom of a good looking Canadian, here on business. He had been very charming in the bar, but he turned out to be a bad choice as a partner for what I needed. He fucked me alright. Twice. But he was only interested in his own pleasure. I did not come. After his second orgasm he fell asleep. I dressed and went to my own bed, where I finished the job with my own fingers.
I was back in London again the next weekend, more house-hunting, this time successful. That night I tried my luck at the bar again, although this time I was in a different hotel. The bar was quiet. At the far end was another woman, engaged in conversation with a fit looking young man with very short, crew-cut hair. On his own between us was another crew- cut, sipping his drink and watching the couple intently. I knew that he had seen me come in, but so far there was no acknowledgement of my presence. I too, watched the couple at the far end. Crew cut number one turned our way and shook his head slightly. Crew cut number two then approached me.
"What are you drinking?"
I let him buy me a drink. Crew cut one left the other woman and took a seat next to the one just vacated by crew cut two. Whose name, he announced, was Bryce. He and his 'buddy' were US Marines, in London for a little 'R&R'. I asked what he thought of London.
"Okay I guess," he replied, "lots of tourist stuff, but not good for hot action. Hamburg was better. Hell, even Paris is better."
What did he mean by 'hot action'?
He took a long pull at his drink and explained.
"Chuck and I like to share. That includes women. Woman rather, we like to share a woman. The Hamburg bar-girls will take on two at a time, but here in London we have lucked-out so far. Would you take on the two of us together?"
It was an attractive idea. I had never had two men at the same time. Although I had tried it at uni. Unsuccessfully I must add. We were all a bit drunk. They had taken turns to fuck me and then left. I would not describe the encounter as 'hot action'.
"I'm not a hooker." I replied.
The look on his face was priceless. A mixture of dismay and embarrassment. He spluttered an apology.
I went on;
"But that does not mean that I am averse to hot action. What are we waiting for?"
In the lift, Bryce took me in his arms and kissed me, pressing his erection against my belly. His 'buddy', Charles, or 'Chuck', pressed his hard-on against my back and slipped his hands between my body and Bryce's, so that he could grope my tits while he dry humped my backside. They were both quite tall, one erection reached my sternum, the other reached the small of my back. Promising.
In the room, again one in front and one behind, one unzipped me and the other slipped my dress off my shoulders, letting it fall on the floor. My bra followed, again a joint operation. They both stepped back to admire what they had revealed, then shirts were ripped off, buttons flying, in a race to be first naked. I dropped to my knees and waited for the first prick to be offered for my oral attention. It was a draw. Two fine erections vied for my mouth. I went from prick to prick, trying not to favour one over the other. I was enjoying this.
Charles was the first to cry enough, he must have been very close to losing it and obviously had other plans for his first delivery. He pulled away and put his hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet and pulling my mouth away from his friends cock. They led me to the bed and laid me on it. I pulled my knickers down and tossed them aside.
"On or off?"
I asked, indicating stockings. They replied in unison;
