Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Continuing the saga of Sylvia’s conversion to a Lesbian lifestyle, and her subjugation by the exotic Susana, that started under ‘Calandria’ – for technical reasons now under my new author-designation.
Nobody in this story is under 18.
My mistress’s house felt quiet, with Paloma and Adela no longer in residence, and Lucy, the new Chinese maid, still feeling her way into the household. I soon fell back into the household routine, but had no warning that my life was about to be turned upside-down – again.
At first, the regular visits from the beautiful blonde Kathy seemed innocent enough. We dined together, usually at home, but occasionally in restaurants, and Susana treated me, on those occasion, more like a friend than the slave I had become. Later, when we made love in her queen-size bed, she stroked my hair as I gently bit down on her clitoris, and always came when I tongued her arsehole. But, if I noticed any change at all, it was that she seemed to have lost the taste for punishing me, and only whipped me, as I remember, on one occasion, and then only because I begged her to.
One night, though, after we had finished a lovely Thai meal prepared by the attentive Lucy, Susana sent me to fetch from her room a handbag Kathy wanted to borrow. When I returned, I thought I detected a guilty movement apart, as if, I thought, they had been kissing. They moved further apart than was usual, and Kathy’s lovely, pale features looked flushed. It set me to wondering – I shouldn’t have thought twice about my mistress kissing Kathy, or even if they made love, so why would they move in that guilty fashion? I started to take note of little things, gestures, chance words, on Kathy’s increasingly frequent visits.
Then, one day, Susana announced, over breakfast, that she would be away for the next two nights, without any explanation of where she was going. I was upset, because she normally shared such things with me, even usually taking me with her.
When the taxi had whisked her off, I sat in the lounge, still wearing my robe, a book open, though the print looked blurred through a mist of tears. Lucy appeared from nowhere and stood with a hand on my shoulder.
‘I don’t like to see you crying,’ she said, in her weetly-accented voice, gently rubbing my shoulder. I inclined my head, and kissed her long, slender fingers, looking up at her.
She sat down on the arm of the sofa, her little black skirt riding up so that I could see a little pale flesh above the black lace of her stocking-tops.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked me.
‘I don’t think mistress Susana wants me any more.’
Lucy wiped my tears away with her fingers, but offered no opinion. I looked at her pretty face, and ‘inscrutable Chinese’ came into my mind, but without really knowing what I was doing, I ran my hand slowly up her nylon-covered leg. She watched my hand, then looked back into my eyes. Her pretty mouth was slightly open, and I sensed that her breathing quickened. My hand had a life of its own, and crawled over her silky flesh, until my fingertips reached her hairless pussy. She let out the tiniest , almost imperceptible, gasp. I reached her wrist with my free hand, and pulled her down onto the sofa beside me.
‘Oh, Miss Sylvia,’ she breathed, ‘please don’t be sad – you are so beautiful when you smile.’
‘You don’t smile much, Lucy.’
‘I am not very happy,’ she said, ‘because I am lonely.’
‘But the mistress thinks very highly of you – she has told me so.’
‘She never tells me, though.’
My heart went out to her, despite my own concerns. ‘Kiss me,’ I told her, as I lightly traced her neat labia with the fingers of one hand, and snaked the other arm around her neck, under her glossy black mane of hair.
She did as I asked, tentatively at first, then let her tongue slide into my mouth, its tip seeking out my stud. Soon we were kissing passionately, and I pinched her growing clit between my thumb and forefinger, causing a low moan to come from somewhere deep in her throat.
‘Come on, we will be more comfortable in my bed,’ I told her, and stood up, extending a hand to her.
I led her up to my room, slipped off my robe, and watched her as she shyly undressed.
‘You can leave your stockings and suspender belt on,’ I told her as she slipped off her skirt, then she turned away from me as she unbuttoned her blouse. When she turned again to face me, her arms covered her breasts. I reached out and pulled an arm away.
‘Don’t be shy, Lucy,’ I said.
‘But – but….I’m so small!’
‘You are truly lovely, and your tits are bigger than mistress Susana’s.’ In truth, it was a close-run thing – neither had more than little, almost adolescent mounds, and Lucy’s nipples and aureola didn’t match the spectacular ones my mistress had, but her boyish chest, I thought, had a special charm. I took her into my arms, and resumed kissing her. She responded now with gusto, and when I bent to bit gently on her nipples, bursa escort bayan they quickly became as hard as pebbles. Continuing downwards, I traced her flat belly with my tongue, then thrust it between her discreet labia.
‘Open your legs wide,’ I had to tell her, and she responded immediately, flinging her slender, nylon-clad limbs wider than I would have thought possible, until I remembered her telling me she had once been a budding gymnast. Her open cunt glistened pink, and, when I licked the whole length of her crack, she tasted sweet. I plunged my studded tongue hard into her vagina, and she groaned, and squirmed under me.
‘Oh, Miss Sylvia, oh, oh!’ she cried, and I could sense her impending orgasm, which only needed me to bite down on her clit, then she actually squirted copiously all over my face.
‘Miss Sylvia,’ she gasped, when she had come down, ‘I’m so sorry. Are you angry with me?’
‘You silly girl,’ I said, ‘that was lovely. But now you can do the same for me.’
I showed her then how to bring me off, first lapping my eager, hot cunt, then tonguing my arsehole, and finally ramming three fingers deep into my velvet tunnel, until I screamed, and my climax hit me like a tornado.
We stayed on my bed together until hunger pangs set us thinking about lunch.
As we tucked into a defrosted pizza, Lucy never took her eyes off me.
‘You would like to tell me something, wouldn’t you, Lucy?
‘Er-yes,’ she replied, hesitantly, then blurted out, ‘Mistress Susana has gone with Miss Kathy.’
Even though I suspected as much, it was a bombshell. ‘How do you know?’
‘I saw the airline tickets and hotel reservation on her bedside table. I’m so sorry, Miss Sylvia.’
‘Where have they gone?’ Not that it mattered.
We ate, then, in silence, each with her own thoughts.
After lunch, I went to bed alone – more in order to think than to rest. What I decided upon was that I should leave, and leave immediately. Where to go? I hadn’t a clue, but I just knew that I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted. Quietly, I got up and started to pack a small suitcase and a rucksack – the ones I had taken to Mexico, what seemed like a century ago. As I did so, I wondered how I could survive, and remembered that I had the two credit cards Susana had given me. I didn’t think she’d mind if I made use of them – she wasn’t a vindictive person, and, as far as I knew, I had done nothing wrong. I thought she’d just be relieved to have seen the last of me.
I wrote her a note:-
I now know you have gone away with Kathy. Although I am sad to have lost your love, I feel no bitterness towards you – or for Kathy. I shall remember you with much fondness, as you have shown me a whole new life.
It is clearly time for me to move on. I have taken only a few clothes, but I hope you won’t mind if I use your credit cards sparingly, until I get on my feet.
Please look after Lucy – she needs your tenderness.
I shall always have a special place in my heart for you
Call me a coward if you like, but I couldn’t face a tearful goodbye to Lucy, so, as I knew she had to go and buy vegetables, I waited until I heard her go out, gave her time to get clear, then called a taxi, which I knew would be there quickly, as the rank was just around the corner.
All the time I had been packing, I had thought about where I could go. There wasn’t anybody I knew, anywhere but England, and I sure as hell wasn’t going back to that cold, grim place, so full of unpleasant memories. My Spanish was now fluent, and coupled to my native English, I thought I’d have the best chance of getting work where people went on holiday. I bought a ticket to Alicante, and spent the four hour train ride plotting my strategy.
By the time the short ‘bus ride deposited me amidst the skyscrapers of Benidorm, it was quite late at night. I booked into a simple hotel near the ‘bus station, and crashed – it had been a long day.
Next morning I awoke to a warm, bright, May day, and set about seeking a job, trying all the best-looking hotels. I struck lucky, after a frustrating couple of hours, when I walked into the cool, verdant foyer of the Hotel Reina del Mar. When I asked the male receptionist if I could see the manager, a well-groomed lady in a dark purple business suit, who had been posting keys into cubbyholes behind him, interrupted.
‘I’m the owner. How can I help?’
‘Perhaps I could have a word?’
She approached the counter. ‘You’re looking for job.’ She smiled.
‘I suppose it is obvious. Yes, I just wondered…..’
She looked me up and down, and I was glad I had dressed in a skirt and silk blouse, with high-heeled sandals, rather than the ubiquitous jeans and tee-shirt – I had learned from Susana that clothes give you confidence.
‘You are a well-presented young lady,’ she said, ‘but your Spanish bursa anal yapan escort isn’t native, is it?’
‘I am English.’
‘Ah.’ Cool grey eyes regarded me.
After a pause, she continued. ‘As it happens, Tomás here is leaving this weekend, so I have a position for a receptionist. If you are interested, I am prepared to give you a two-week trial.’
Was I interested? Is the Pope catholic? I tried not to appear too eager, but didn’t fool Doña Martina, as I found she liked to be known – she knew I was – well, if not desperate, anxious to find work. I was grateful that she didn’t ask me much about my background, as I didn’t want to go into details about my sudden departure from Madrid.
I agreed to start the next morning, to ‘learn the ropes’ from Tomás, so it was back to my grotty little room for one night.
Next morning, Doña Martina was there waiting for me, and within an hour, I was fitted out with my uniform – a maroon skirt-suit – and shown to my room. I had been given the option of living in, with a greatly reduced salary, and gladly accepted the arrangement. With my meals provided, I should need very little to live on, I thought.
My room was on the twelfth (top) floor. There were six rooms my side of the lifts, and a huge brutish-looking man, wearing chef’s gear, whom I later found was called Oscar, was emerging from one across the corridor as I came out of mine. Doña Martin had volunteered the information that my co-receptionist occupied the room next to mine.
The work seemed simple enough, but Tomás warned me about guests who didn’t vacate their rooms in time for the twelve noon deadline, and about the several per week who got stroppy about being charged for telephone calls, room service or use of the minibar.
In my first day, I twice had to help out with my English, so I thought I should be OK.
Whilst Tomás was out having lunch, I took a look at the computerised register. Sure enough, the six rooms at my side of the top floor, were all marked as occupied by ‘staff.’ The top-floor rooms at the other side of the building, twelve in all, each had a pair of initials marked aginst them, unlike all the rooms lower down, where full names and details appeared. When Tomás came back, I asked him why.
‘They’re let for the season to people from the clubs,’ he said.
‘Oh, Doña Martina owns three clubs in town, and some of the staff stay here.’
Two weeks later, I met DD. My first week proper, I was on mornings, starting at the ungodly hour of six, but having the afternoon free from two, so that I had a nice siesta, then raided the surprisingly good range of clothes shops that Benidorm had to offer, having a last fling on Susana’s credit cards before I sent them back. My mind dwelt on my time with her, often when I lay in bed, and I sometimes cried myself to sleep, though whether it was from missing her, or from the hurt she had done me taking up with Kathy, I didn’t want to ponder. The second week, my ‘other half’ – a chubby Belgian girl called Melanie – took over the morning spot, and I got to sleep in, coming on duty at two, until the night guy wandered in, invariably late, around ten. On the second afternoon, at around six, I was tidying the computerised register after a hectic hour or so, when I felt, rather than heard, someone putting a key down on the counter. I looked up to see a girl with long, long, blonde hair and a little flared white minidress, like a tennis dress, going out through the revolving door. Putting her key in the rack, I saw that it bore the number 1216 – she was one of the ‘long-termers’ on my floor. Checking against the register, I found the initials ‘DD.’
Around eight, I was taking advantage of a quiet spell to write to my mum, when ‘DD’ returned, carrying several bags, and asked for the key to 1216.
‘You are new?’ she asked, a pronounced French accent coming through her Spanish.
‘Yes,’ I said, instantly captivated by her lithe, slim form, and slightly pouting, intensely Gallic features, ‘but what does DD stand for?’
‘It stands for Dominique Dubois, but everyone calls me Didi,’ she smiled.
‘And you work for Doña Martina?’
‘I am a stripper.’ It came out ‘strippeur.’
I imagined her naked, and thought how gorgeous she would look. I am irresistibly attracted to slim girls with small firm breasts. She mistook my look for disapproval.
‘It’s not the same as being a puta, you know!’
‘I know, I know! I…I was wondering, wondering if you like your….work?’
‘Yes, I do. I like to give pleasure. It excites me to show my body.’
‘You’re very beautiful,’ I heard myself saying, and thought: I’d give a month’s salary to sleep with her!
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I need a shower now – I’ve been shopping.’ She brandished her spoils, then as she turned to get the lift, she said tentatively, ‘Perhaps you’d like to come to one of my bursa rus escort shows?’
‘I’d love to, but aren’t your audience all men.’
‘By no means. I get couples, and quite a few women. I sometimes think I appeal to women more.’
You certainly appeal to me, I didn’t say, but I agreed to go with her when she went to work that evening, at eleven.
When I finished work, I was in a quandary – what to wear? I had a couple of evening gowns that I had brought with me, but decided they were too dressy. A skirt and blouse, on the other hand, just didn’t do it. I settled finally on a silky green summer dress, mid-thigh length, which fitted me snugly down to the hips, then flared out so that it was cool around my thighs – a feeling I loved, especially as I still retained the custom of wearing no underwear that Susana had first insisted upon, but which had become habit. When I looked in the mirror, the outline of my breasts, with their pointed nipples, was readily discernible. I wondered about going bare-legged, but eventually chose a pair of white, lace-topped hold-ups, stepped into a pair of strappy stilettos, put in long silver pendant ear-rings, clasped a tight silver amulet around my upper arm, and clipped on a silver anklet.
I went down and waited for Didi in reception. Why had she invited me? Did she find me attractive? I sensed that she was – well, at least bisexual, if not gay – it was just something about her comportment. When she emerged from the lift, I was disappointed to see that she was wearing jeans and a baggy tee-shirt.
‘Oh my,’ she said, ‘you look good enough to eat – and just look at me!’
‘I imagine you have to change when you get there,’ I said, making her excuse for her.
‘That’s true, but I still feel sloppy beside you.’
We had to go by taxi, was the club as the other side of town.
In the back of the cab, Didi suddenly said, ‘I noticed you have your tongue pierced. Is that your only piercing?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to look?’ I joked.
‘Mmmm, maybe.’ She replied, leaving me wondering for the rest of the ride – would she really like to look?
We got out under a red and blue neon sign proclaiming:-
CLUB MONTEVIDEO – Dancing, striptease, beautiful girls.
It sounded at least a touch ambiguous to me. Didi led me in through a heavy wooden door, to where a gorilla of a man was stood by a red velvet curtain. She introduced me, and asked the guy to find me a nice table. While he delegated that task to a young girl in a short skirt, heels and nothing else, her big tits bouncing free as she walked, Didi headed off to change. I sat at a little table and ordered a beer. On stage, a tired-looking bleached-blonde was sitting on a chair, legs apart, stroking her pussy, while row of men at the front made every effort not to appear to be masturbating.
The curtain came down, and there was a tiny ripple of applause. Music played, some electric guitar stuff I didn’t recognise, for several minutes. I took in the scene. The stage, now obscured by a red curtain, had a projection like a catwalk, and the surprisingly large area of the club was occupied by small round tables, some seats in two rows near the stage and catwalk, and a small dance floor, currently empty. Most of the seats were taken, the tables mainly by couples, the front seats by men.
A voluptuous woman in a long silver lurex dress pushed through the curtain, and spoke into a microphone: ‘Now what you’ve all been waiting for.’ She looked down at the guys in front. ‘If you can spare a hand, give a big round of applause to our own sex-bomb, Didi, who is going to get dressed for you!’
There was some laughter at her little joke, at the expense of the shamefaced front row, and a polite round of clapping as the curtain rose to reveal a small dressing table with a mirror, a revolving stool set in front of it, and a couch beside it.
‘Sex-bomb’ was the obvious number that played on the loud sound system, and on came Didi, clad in a long, diaphanous white nightgown and fluffy high-heeled mules. Every detail of her body could be seen through the gown, as she danced enticingly, sliding her manicured hands up and down her flanks as she moved. A triple silver chain dangled from her navel. After a minute or so, Tina Charles started to sing about how she ‘loves to love’ – the cue for Didi to sit at her dressing table, from which she picked up a pair of black lace stockings, which she rolled up her long slim legs, artfully covering her naked, shaven pussy as she did so, the nightgown falling softly back into place as she finished. Putting the mules back on, she stood, and picked up a black item from the table, then eased the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders. The black object revealed itself to be a corset, and she fastened the clips up the front, then shed the nightgown, laying it across the couch, and walked slowly around the stage, the corset loosely fixed, as she attached the clipped the long garter straps to her stocking-tops. The music changed to a Clapton number. She was making eye-contact with all the lustful guys at the front, as she now drew on a pair of filmy black lace panties, and finally latched onto one at the end of the row, walked slowly down the three steps from the stage, and extended a hand to him.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32