Chrissy had no option but to go with him, wondering how he knew the way to her bedroom. Inside he started to strip, without saying a word to her, and threw his clothes on the floor. Hell, thought Chrissy, I've just spent hours tidying that. As the clothes came off her disgust at his body grew. She cursed Anton for this mean trick but then she realised it was a test.
She knew she would have been happy to fuck Anton, if he had asked, because he was her new employer. Because he was quite attractive. And because he had a certain mystique as a gangster. And she could have pretended that the younger man - the one her mother was currently fucking - was a date with a slightly older guy that she'd decided to go all the way with. Owen was neither of these, he was an ugly, unfit, overweight, over the hill, man who just happened to have enough money to afford to pay for sex. And the test was... could she fuck him? If she could then she could fuck pretty much anyone.
Which is presumably what Anton wants, she thought.
Owen had finished stripping and flung back the bedclothes. Then he looked around the room, clearly searching for something. He strode over to the thermostat on the wall and fiddled with it. Chrissy kept her bedroom cool but Owen seemed to prefer warmth, he turned it up as high as it would go. He then flopped onto the bed, grunted with satisfaction, and, holding the sheets open, invited Chrissy to join him.
"Do a strip, lass, and jump in," he said. "But don't take too much time over it, I'm gettin' cold 'ere." And, as she moved about the room uncertain just how to do a striptease, he leant out of the bed, took a couple of blue pills from the pocket of his trousers and washed them down with a good slug from his hip flask.
Chrissy stared at her bed. It was a large single. Lots of space for one person to sleep. But only just enough space for two. When she got in there would be nowhere to hide, no way to put even the smallest distance between them. But what was the point of trying to put this off, she thought. I'm fucked, might as well get on with being fucked. She lifted off her nightdress over her head, doing it in stages to reveal her legs, then her crotch, her tummy, and finally her breasts. Then letting it fall to the floor. Bracing herself she slipped into bed beside Owen.
"That's better, lass," he said. "You've got a great figure on you. You got a gap all the way up those fine legs to your cunt. That's unusual these days wi' the trend to fat thighs and big bums. I like to see a gap like that, means nothing is going to get in the way of fucking you."
She turned away from him, putting her back up against him, and waited. His hands engulfed her, pulling her to him, she could feel his hairy legs rubbing up against the back of her thighs, and his chest hairs against her shoulder. Wet kisses were slobbered onto her shoulders and neck as his hands probed between her thighs. His fingers were rough workman's fingers with callouses and damaged nails, perhaps he was a builder or something. He pushed two fingers between her plump labial lips and on, into her vagina, curling them inside her as if to catch and hold her. She felt like a fish on a hook, being dragged to the riverbank to lay gasping for breath. His other hand, denied action once the first had covered her cunt, moved up to crush her breasts and squeeze her nipples.
I suppose this counts as foreplay, she thought, but at least he's not shoving that cock in me. She'd caught glimpses of it when Owen undressed. What she had seen was stubby and rather gnarled and wrinkled. It was like a piece of ancient root, twisted, covered with rough bark, but still sucking nutrients from the dark soil. She could feel it now between her buttocks. It had grown and was hot against her and, from time to time, it twitched with his desire.
"Reet lass," Owen breathed into her ear. "Time to go for it. Your mum's already taking me son's cock."
It was true that her mother's moans could be heard through the bedroom wall. But what shocked Chrissy more was the revelation that the man giving her mother such evident pleasure was Owen's son. She'd thought the two men were unrelated. Perhaps meeting for the first time on the doorstep. Mere comrades in the quest for paid sex. But it was now clear that Father and son had come to the house together and both knew the other was there to get sex. There was little time to think about this fact as Owen shifted his bulk in the bed, rolled Chrissy until she was on her back, and pressed his knees between her legs.
"Open up lass," he said. "Spread 'em wide. Don't make me tell Anton you refused me. That wouldn't go down well."
His stomach was sagging over her, touching Chrissy's abdomen, and his knees were trying to force her thighs apart. His hands were holding her forearms down onto the bed. He dipped his face towards hers. "Are you no ready?" he said. "Wanna drink from my hip flask? It'll give you courage."
Chrissy shook her head.
"Then gi us a kiss and get your legs out of the way. I'm cummin' in!"
Next door Debs was having a wonderful time. The young man, Richard, was immensely attractive and, unusually, not at all obsessed with his own pleasure. He was currently eating her out with a passion that put all her previous clients to shame. Anton can send me more like this, she thought, I can cope with this as a lifestyle.
She had been thinking of getting in touch with her mother, of asking her advice on how to stop all this. Her mother lived in Scotland and ran a tourist shop and an occult supply business. She was, Debs knew, a witch and led a little coven of a half dozen women. They danced naked on the heather covered hills, cast spells, and had a reputation for being entirely amoral. But now Debs was being amoral too, tending towards immoral, and when she got clients like Richard she was enjoying it too much to even think of stopping.
Richard was lying on his back on the bed and Debs had been stretched out next to him at first for a series of kisses and gentle caresses. Then he had suggested she should kneel over him, hanging onto the headboard, and put her cunt over his mouth. She could see no reason to refuse him and was now groaning with pleasure as he kissed and licked her towards her rapidly rising orgasm.
Oh God, she thought, this was going to be one amazing night. And the only problem was worrying about what Chrissy was going through. She'd seen the man behind Richard. Not someone she would have chosen for her first time as an escort. Then her orgasm burst on her and she was wriggling on Richard's face, and the fate of her daughter was forgotten for a while.
Georgina was just tucking into her dessert course. Following the pager's instructions she had waited outside the Railway Hotel for her date. The hotel was an impressive building. Damcaster was, in earlier times, a significant station on the L.N.E.R. line. The London and North Eastern Railway had a major depot and construction works for locomotives and carriages at Damcaster and some of the wealth generated had been put into a grand station, and even grander hotel next door.
Her date had arrived on time and they entered the hotel. The ground floor was taken up with the Stephenson restaurant and the Railshed bar and, after a brief drink at the bar, Georgina had been taken through to the restaurant to be wined and dined before joining her client in his room.
Her client insisted she call him Monty. He was the senior partner in the most prestigious law firm in Damcaster. That of Montgomery, Standing and Flax. He was a good six inches taller than Georgina, with black hair, a well trimmed beard, and a broad smile. He was well dressed, as befitting a successful businessman, in a tuxedo. About ten years older than Georgina she thought he looked like a retired James Bond. He even wore a watch that looked like it could calculate trajectories or shoot poison darts.
Some of the couples on the other tables looked at Georgina with quizzical expressions and she guessed that her appearance wasn't yet one of a totally convincing female. But Monty seemed quite happy with her, chatting amiably as they ate their starters. He was generous too, ordering fine wine to accompany their meal.
Georgina sat and listened to Monty, his strong hands, with their hairy backs, covering her own from time to time as he leaned forward across the table. The choice of hotel and restaurant turned out not to be random for Monty was a railway buff, spending a lot of his wealth on a local vintage steam railway run by volunteers. And his anecdotes of life in the law firm, and adventures on the vintage railway, made her laugh. Then he talked about driving an 0-4-0 saddle tank engine through a snow storm to rescue some volunteers who had got themselves stuck in a snowdrift. The technical stuff went over Georgina's head in the drama of the story, but she found herself loving the passion and humour of this man.
After desert there was coffee, an Irish Coffee in Georgina's case, and Monty took her hand and led the way to the lift. His room was one of the larger suites on the fourth floor. In the lift he bent down and gently kissed her. The beard was a little tickly but she enjoyed the kiss. It sent a thrill through her body that she'd not experienced for a long time. The thrill of a first date, and the anticipation of what might follow. Though, if she was honest, she knew that there was no mystery. She was going to spend the night with this man who had paid for her company.
