Fifty-Fifty

"Don't do that, do it this way."

How do tell a young man where your clitoris really is? And in what terms? 'Fondle my mammarys.' Might excite a Roman soldier, or perhaps a student of Latin, but not the youth of today. 'Kiss my vagina.' Was worse, it sounded like a girl band at the Edinburgh fringe. No, I would have to learn a new language, the language of sex.

I knew the words of course, some of them are regularly used as swear-words, I do so myself I'm ashamed to say. Try them in the proper context I told myself.

"Suck my tits."

Wow, that would do it. It did it for me, an electric shock went from nipple to clit, to other nipple and back again.

"Lick my cunt."

I felt my knees go weak. I had never said the words to a lover, three husbands and goodness knows how many lovers, and I had never used the word. It was perfect. And had the backing of long usage: 'Cunt. noun. Origin believed to be Old Norse.'

I let my mind run through the words that I would use, assuming that I could 'pull' in the first place;

"Fuck me with your big, hard..."

Hard what? Lots of options for that part. 'Dick?' A bit coy. 'Cock?' better, but plumbing connotations: Stop-cock, bib-cock, ball-cock. Cock and balls perhaps, but I wanted something more specific. 'Prick?' Yes, perfect, another English classic. Prick then. With cock as an alternate.

"Fuck me with your big, hard prick, fill my cunt with your spunk."

'Spunk' sounded deliciously dirty, very English, and again, historical and accurate: 'Spunk. Noun. Origin unknown, but dating back to the early sixteenth century.

I was getting carried away, my tea had gone cold, but my, cunt, was hot. I went up to my room on slightly wobbly legs, to practice my words and to prepare myself for a seduction. I had no doubts that I could score, all a woman has to do is be alone and look reasonably presentable, the men do the rest.

In the safety of my room, I stripped naked and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Not bad for a thirty-six-year-old. Good, firm breasts. Tits, sorry. I exercised, so no flab, not too many wrinkles. I leaned forward and lifted my tits, squeezing them together, nipples pointing back at me like light artillery. I spoke out loud to myself;

"What you need girl, is a good fucking."

The words seemed to echo back from all around the room. I had a moment of irrational panic. Suppose the room was bugged? Did the management have secret cameras in every room? I knew what I must do, I had seen it in many spy films. Go to the bathroom, turn on the shower. The noise would cover any conversation. And besides, a good shower was the next thing on my list.

I stepped into the shower, adjusted the shower head so that it did not spray onto my newly coifed hair, even though I had donned the complimentary shower-cap, and turned the water on fully. The hot water was like needles on my bare flesh. I began to speak my lines;

"Yes, I would love to suck your prick, but first kiss my tits and lick my cunt until I come, then put your massive prick into my cunt and fuck it until your spunk shoots."

Oh my! What next?

"Come in my mouth, let me taste your spunk."

"Come on my tits and I will lick it off."

"Fuck me in the arse."

Okay, the last one was pushing it a bit. I was no stranger to anal, I had got to like it, but it had been a long time, and with a stranger? Perhaps, depends on the stranger. We would see.

I spent too long in the shower, got a bit wrinkly, but very clean. I dried myself and proceeded to stage two, the anointing with perfumed potions, smooth away those wrinkles. My hands on my naked flesh re-kindled my desires, I thought again of the masseuse. The body lotion would make good lubrication, just a little stroke? No. Save it for whoever is lucky enough to 'pull' me.

Make-up was next. I don't wear much at work, but if going out I usually applied more. What I had in mind was a step further than 'going out' - full war paint, signal the engine room – 'Seduction mode.' More eye-shadow, more mascara. And redder lipstick. I stood in front of the full length mirror again. Was that me? I leaned forward and blew myself a kiss,

"Well," I said to my reflection, "I would fuck you."

So what if the room was bugged? I hoped to be using my new language, my lingua-franker, out loud, on a man about to fuck me, the buggers would hear it then anyway! Now though, I had to cover up all my good work. With my purchases from today.

First came the suspender belt, a confection of lace and straps. Then the stockings, seams checked, suspender tabs lovingly connected to the deep lace welts. Mmm, it felt good. Shoes, black, very high heels, single strap around the ankle. 'Fuck me' shoes.' Anything around a woman's ankle seems sexy, an ankle chain is an invitation, shoe-straps just tease. Again I checked the mirror. Quite stunning. My neatly trimmed bush framed by all the straps. It would be a shame to hide the effect with knickers, but my cunt was dripping already, no knickers would mean dripping... Dripping what? Spunk? Doesn't seem to work for female juice. Girl-spunk? Not bad, but a feminisation of a male product. What then? Cunt-juice. Perfect! No knickers would mean dripping cunt-juice onto my new shoes.

The knickers were little more than a triangle of lace with numerous straps, two each side, one side ending in a flat metal ring and the other in a connecting hook. And one strap which ran beneath, between the buttocks to connect to the ring with another hook. Quick-release knickers! They certainly did not detract from the overall effect, they were not designed to keep draughts out! The matching bra, again lace and straps, completed the outfit. And unlike the sensible bra from earlier in the day, did nothing to conceal my organ-stop nipples. I pulled on the dress, checked everything one last time in the mirror, and began my quest.

My entry would rival Cleopatra's into Rome. There were two routes to the restaurant, one almost direct from the lift exit, and one through the lounge bar. I deliberately used the scenic route, intending to display myself to my potential targets drinking at the bar. Not a single head turned as I made my stately progress towards the restaurant. But my 'probably gay' waiter from tea-time saw me and moved towards me, beaming.

"Table for one Madam?" he gushed

I had probably over-tipped this afternoon, but it ensured his attention now, but less of the madam please, femmes fatale are surely 'Miss'? He placed me in a corner, they always do this with an unaccompanied woman, but tonight it suited my purpose, I had a good view of much of the restaurant and a direct line of sight to the by now, busy bar. A good reconnaissance spot.

I ate a light meal, with just one glass of wine. I did not want my senses dulled by either food or alcohol. But I could find no suitable bed-mates among the early diners. The waiter asked if I would like coffee.

"Could I take it in the bar?"

"Of course Madam."

"Is there a table for one in there?"

"I can make it so Madam."

Very Star Trek, but still I was 'madam'. He returned and escorted me to my 'single table'. All he had done was to remove a chair from a table for two, but it was enough, sharing a table would have inhibited my target selection. On an impulse, I asked him to make my coffee an Irish one. Perhaps a little Dutch, or more correctly, Irish courage, was needed after all. There were plenty of men in the bar, but mainly in twos and threes, no singletons. There was the group of six from this afternoon, five men and a girl, now obviously tipsy. She need not be lonely tonight, I thought. Five to choose from. Why choose? She could have them all! I had a mental picture of five naked young men, throbbing pricks in hand, waiting their turn. Perhaps when they had all fucked her, she could have them in twos? But there were five, not divisible by two. Why not three at a time? There was another, perfectly usable hole round the back.

The last time my own 'perfectly usable hole round the back', had been used, was in this very hotel. Six months ago. I was here to commission the computers at 'The Branch'. I had stayed here for three nights, two of them I had my boss for company, (Strictly business.) but he had gone back and the third night I was alone. I made the innocent mistake of sitting on one of the high stools at the bar for an after-dinner drink. Apparently this is where 'available' women sit. I was picked up. He was charming, good looking and ten years my junior. I was lonely and flattered that he should want me. We went to my room.

It had been my best sex for a long time, he fucked me all ways, coming first in my... cunt, remember your new language girl, then in my mouth and finally up my arse. I came several times. He left me sleeping soundly, satisfied to say the least. The experience had been marred when I woke up alone, naked and cold and with the lights still on, to find £200 on the bedside table. He had assumed that I was a whore! I was very angry, I have no hang-ups about women earning a living in this way, the oldest profession and all that, but why assume that? He could have had me for free. I was even more peeved that he had thought I was only worth £200! I put the £200, four fifties, in the charity collecting tin at reception. Somebody more deserving could benefit from my wages of sin.

I had never had anal sex with my current husband, when I first met him I had been unable to, our relationship blossomed without it, he never suggested it, I could live without.

I have described my husband as current. That's because he is not the first. In fact he is the third, my 'him' number three. Sounds awful, married three times and all failures. My first husband should really be struck from the record, it was he who took my virginity. And got me pregnant at the same time. We rang the bell at first attempt. Both of our parents were livid, we were forced into marriage and were much too young, the whole thing was a monumental mistake. He disappeared without trace before the baby was born, the baby was taken away for adoption immediately, the marriage was annulled and I was back to being single. Strike one husband.

I resumed my interrupted education and found a place at university. It was there that I discovered sex for pleasure, my fucking was for fun. I worked hard and I played hard. I got my degree and found a good , well paid job. And continued my hedonistic life-style. I was different from the others in that I was not looking for a husband, I had done that, been there. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, along came 'him' number two. He was good looking, amusing, very good to be with and fantastic in bed, it was he who introduced me to anal and I loved it. Everybody liked him, I considered myself lucky that he chose me to marry. But I was chosen not as a soul-mate, but as a meal ticket. I earned double his income, he needed mine to fund his hobby, which was fucking any female who would have him. Without my rose-coloured glasses, it was obvious. I dumped him. Strike two.

I went back to playing the field, if anything I was wilder and more easily available than before. I had several long-term relationships, i.e. more than a few days, hundreds of one-nighters and a great many 'quickies' in club toilets, back alleys and even in taxis. This came to an abrupt end with the last of my long-termers. I was attracted to bad boys, jack-the-lads. My last was the worst. Again, spectacular in bed, but when I became pregnant he turned nasty. He accused me of getting pregnant just to trap him, how could I be sure it was his child, I fucked with everybody. (Not true, when I was with a man I was monogamous, it had to be his.) He turned violent, beat me badly and raped me anally, brutally. Without lubrication he hurt me badly. Not sure what to do, I called a girlfriend who took me to hospital where I lost the child.

I was still recovering from the assault when I met 'him' number three. He was different. I found him boring to begin with, and he was already married. He insisted on 'courting' me in a very old fashioned way. He was quiet, gentle and kind. Very funny in a subtle, intellectual way. There was no sex, he seemed content just to be with me and I was off sex, at the time it suited me. When our affair became physical, it was very gentle, he seemed more interested in my pleasure than his own. But he gave me multiple orgasms with his clever tongue, equally clever fingers, and for the first time ever considering my track record, he could make me come when we fucked, just with his lovely cock. When he offered to leave his wife for me, I jumped at the chance.

And now even that apparently special relationship was on the brink of finished. I was dreading it, but I would tell him tomorrow. As if to rubber stamp my decision, I was planning to fuck the brains out of the first man I deemed suitable. But I was not going to pull sitting in a corner un-noticed. I needed to sit at the bar, on a high stool. I had watched as three other women, young and attractive and probably professionals, had sat there and had been quickly taken. Now it was my turn.

olo olo olo olo olo olo olo olo olo olo

By the time I entered the bar area, she was sitting on a high stool at one end of the bar. There was something about her that suggested that she was not the usual bar trade, but seamed stockings hinted otherwise. Surely they were stockings? I know that it is possible to buy seamed tights, but what is the point? Seams indicate the pathway to paradise, why wear them if the gate to paradise is closed? There was a man standing next to her, but even before I took my seat at the opposite end of the bar, she had dismissed him. Several others tried, with the same result. Some of the seats between us were occupied, so I only managed an occasional glance at her profile. Why was I even looking? If she was a pro, I was not interested. If she was not, she would not be interested in me, she had turned away several already.

Eventually it was just her and me at the bar and I got a full, side-on view. I smiled inwardly, the chances of me managing to get between her perfumed thighs was somewhat less than nil. But I would buy her a drink anyway, just to indicate my presence. The barman conveyed my offer, she turned to me and smiled, then gave her order to the barman.

There was little in the way of small-talk, she downed the drink in one, shuddered slightly and suddenly we were in the lift on the way to my room. In the privacy of the room, she placed her arms around my neck and we kissed. A proper kiss. A cock stiffening kiss. She pushed against my erection, I found the tab of her zip and pulled it down. She turned so that I could release the awkward catch at the top of the zip, lifting her hair to make it easy for me. I popped the catch and placed a kiss on the prominent bone at the base of her neck. She turned and stepped away from me, allowing the dress to pool at her feet. Her underwear was eye-popping, there was nothing to it but froth. And yes, they were stockings!

She flipped the dress away with the toe of her shoe and reached behind to remove the bra allowing her lovely tits to spring free. The nipples were stiff, ready for my lips. I took her in my arms again, leaned down showering her tits with kisses, sucking at those perky nipples. She went for my belt, undoing it and my zip, then pushed everything down in a tangle. She knelt at my feet, wrapped her cool hand around my straining cock and sucked the tip between her luscious lips.

She sucked with enthusiasm and great skill, in next to no time I was primed and ready to fire. Reluctantly I pulled her away, I was desperate to fuck her. While I untangled and removed my clothes, she removed the wisp of lace that substituted for knickers, and spread herself on the bed, legs akimbo.

"Lick my cunt," she said simply.

I was exactly what I had in mind, to hear her ask for it was more than I had dared to expect. I buried my face in her sweet centre, lapping like a kitten at cream. She placed her hands gently on my head, did she think that I would try to escape? I hooked my arms under her thighs, raising them to give me access to her treasures. I used the fingers of both hands to spread her cunt-lips wide so that I could push my tongue deep into the warm wet cave of her cunt, then withdrew so that I could suck the stiff bud of her clit. She made little growling sounds as I feasted on her sweet flesh. I lapped around her gape, down to her perineum and tongued the firm flesh there, then I rimmed her delicious arse before plunging my stiffened tongue deep inside, strumming her oily clit with the fingers of one hand and pushing two fingers of the other as far as I could get them into her gaping cunt. She screamed and came, forcing my head against her crutch and bucking against it.

As her spasms subsided and her grip on my head released, I pulled away and crawled up between her damp thighs to position myself for entry. She scrabbled to grasp my cock with both hands and guided it to her sopping entrance. I entered with a single thrust, causing her to cry out again. I started to pull away, thinking that I was hurting her but she prevented me, saying;

"No, don't take it out, just fuck me."

I fucked her alright, nothing less than an earthquake could have stopped me from pounding into her as though it was my last fuck. All too quickly I was ready to come, to blast her insides with my hot tribute. She seemed to sense my closeness and had other ideas.

"Come on my tits," she begged.

I was in an agony of indecision, I was so close to pumping my load into her grasping cunt, but I do so love to see my spunk gleaming on a woman's tits. I withdrew, scrambled astride her body and laid my cock along her breastbone, then lifted and wrapped her fine tits around it like a sheath. I managed only a few thrusts, if I came here my cum would shoot onto her throat, not her tits. I leaned back slightly and took myself in hand. She cupped a tit in each hand, raising them, squeezing then together, offering them as a target. A few vigorous jerks and I exploded onto her, hosing her with a massive load, coating not just her offered tits, but firing past them to streak the side of her face, even managing to shoot onto the headboard. An Olympic standard ejaculation!

I felt proud of myself, but also a little sad, the warm sadness of knowing that I was spent. It was over. Or was it? I had moved back slightly, so that I could enjoy the sight of her spunk sprayed body. Still astride her, I was kneeling so that my weight was not on her. She pushed herself up slightly so that her shoulders were supported by the pillows and raised her head. Her tongue snaked out and she licked my cum from each raised tit in turn, curling her pink tongue lasciviously around each spunky nipple. What she could not reach, she massaged into the flesh of her tits. The vision of Jade doing the same flashed across my mind, this time I would not be denied. I bent down and licked my own semen from each perfect tit until it was clean.

The act had a decidedly beneficial effect on my cock, which rose up ready for more. I was not convinced that there could be any left, I had never shot such a volume, surely my balls would be empty. But my cock was hard and ready to go, I might not be able to come, but I could fuck! She asked if I would like to be sucked again. That would help! She had me lie flat on my back and positioned herself between my thighs as I had between hers. First she licked my cock all over, removing every trace of our combined sex-juices, not forgetting my balls. Then she sucked me into her mouth again for another mind-blowing session of mouth to cock resuscitation. She sucked, she licked, she nibbled and I growled with pleasure as she had when I was doing her. She hooked her hands under my thighs as I had hers and used one hand to wank my shaft as she lifted my balls up with the other to allow her to lick my perineum, she rimmed my arse and finally pushed her stiffened tongue up my arse-hole, fucking me with it. I had never experienced such excruciating pleasure.