St. Pauli Girl

"Don't you mean fuck you?"

"Don't say that, make love to me."

"Did you like it when the women at the sex show got fucked?"

"Oh yes, I really did. The tall one, I thought of him as a Viking, was soooo big. And, I told you in the cab that I came when he ate her." She admitted as she stroked his cock to keep it hard and ready.

"Do you want to get fucked?"

Marcy gave up, what difference did it make what you called it. Right now the most important thing was doing it. "Alright, fuck me . . . fuck my brains out."

No matter how many different positions they tried during a session it always started and ended with Marcy on her back and her legs over his shoulders. Though it was difficult, Kevin held off coming as long as he could. After all, she must have orgasmed fifty times already and they were both exhausted. "Oh shit Marce, I'm going to come," he announced.

"Oh, no no not yet baby. I'll stop moving, don't come," she pleaded, "I need more, I'm not finished yet." Marcy didn't know what was happening to her. She couldn't remember ever being more turned on. She was insatiable. While she had always loved sex, tonight she was ravenous and didn't want it to ever end. But it was too late as Kevin stiffened and shot deep inside her which brought her to another intense climax, her last for the night.

Before he drifted off to sleep Kevin couldn't help but reflect on her words and said to himself, I know you need more Marcy, more than any one man could provide. If you trust me I'll help you get more soon.

Chapter 3

It was nearly one in the afternoon when they finished their sumptuous room-service breakfast. While they ate they had recalled the events of their first night in Europe. Kevin was pleased that Marcy didn't have recriminations about where they went and what they saw.

"So, Mr. tour-guide man, what's on the schedule for today?" She called over her shoulder as she walked naked toward the bathroom.

"Really sort of a free day hon." He paused for effect before he continued. "And, what I want to do you probably won't think is a very good idea."

"What . . . tell me." She shouted as she turned on the water to fill the bath tub.

"No, just forget it. It's probably not a very good idea anyway."

She walked back into the bedroom and said, "that's not fair. You can't say you have something in mind but, because you think I won't like it, we can't do it and I don't even know what it is," She turned around and stood before him with her hands on her hips.

"I'm telling you Marcy, it was a bad idea, I shouldn't have mentioned it, just forget it, okay?"

"No, I won't forget it. Now tell me what is it you want to do this afternoon?"

Marcy would never know that he had indeed made plans for the afternoon. The e-mails of the past two weeks had confirmed an appointment for them in just two hours. Would he have to break it he wondered? Well, he would know soon.

"Okay, but remember you asked for it. Here it is, bear with me." He walked to the big upholstered chair and sat down. Marcy followed him and sat in his lap, put her arms around his neck, and waited for him to continue.

"Obviously, we're away from home. What we did last night and what you wore were real turn- ons for me, as if you couldn't tell." She softly chuckled but didn't say anything so he continued. "You looked so hot in that dress. Your boobs, legs and ass must have given every man that saw you a granite-hard erection. Anyway, you know how much I love ‘Penthouse' and ‘Playboy' well, I was thinking I would love to have some centerfold pictures taken of you."

"What! Are you crazy?" Then she thought maybe she misunderstood. "Oh, do you mean you want to take Polaroid pictures of me?"

"No Marcy, that's not what I had in mind. I meant professional photos. A series by a professional photographer."

"I couldn't do that." She saw the look of disappointed and said, "I'm sorry honey, I just couldn't."

"That doesn't surprise me, like I said I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place, forget it."

Marcy knew that he was upset. She felt somewhat guilty because she insisted that he tell her what he wanted all the time knowing that she would refuse. But it was out on the table. Her husband wanted her to pose for a photographer -- a German photographer -- in the nude. What he said was true. He loved the photographs that appeared in "Penthouse" and "Playboy." They both took great care to make certain that none of the copies were left out in the open where the kids or visitors to their home might see them. She stopped fighting with him about bringing those magazines into their home years ago.

Kevin saw that she was troubled. Let her stew he thought. He knew her, in some ways better than she knew herself, and felt certain that the subject wasn't closed.

"What else do you want to do?" She asked after a moment of dead silence.

"Nothing." Was his abrupt response.

"Come on Kevin, don't be like that. What you want seems pretty extreme to me and, of course, you caught me totally by surprise."

"Does that mean that if I had warned you of my idea yesterday we wouldn't have a problem today?"

"Stop it. I didn't say that. Don't twist my words. What I meant was I haven't had time to think about it. I mean, who wants to see nude photographs of a 35 year-old mother, a familiar body that you've seen thousands of times? Listen, I completely understand why a man wants to see those gorgeous young girls in the magazine but not someone like me."

"Marcy, you're much more attractive than any of the girls in the magazine. Your tight body is so much more sexy. It's a woman's body, not a girl's. You can't imagine how hot it would make me." There, let her deal with that thought Kevin.

"Really, you think I'm prettier than those blonde centerfolds?" She wasn't conceited but had worked very hard to keep her body in shape. There weren't many women her age that could boast a five foot seven inch frame that supported her hundred and eighteen pounds with ease. Her waist was smaller than when she got married thanks to her ab wheel and discipline. And her C cup was a size larger than when they were married.

"Hey, the blondes -- in the magazines -- hair color most likely comes out of a bottle. If you want to change your hair color go ahead but I love your brunette color." He laughed and said, "also, I think it's just better if the hair on the top matches the hair on the bottom."

"Oh you," she said playfully. "Seriously, Kevin, how can you want me to do something like that?"

"Baby, we're on vacation. Let's take a vacation from work but also from what other's expect of us. Let's take a vacation from rules. Thinking of you posing nude turns me on." She was listening to every word he said. He had her total attention. "I'm not a shrink, Marcy. I don't know why but the idea turns me on. Hell, what you were wearing last night didn't leave much to the imagination. Also, who knows, I might not be able to find a photographer on short notice. Why don't you take a long hot bath while I try to find a photographer."

"Don't make any commitment," she warned as she walked back into the bathroom.

Kevin went to his travel portfolio and took out the last e-mail from Gart that he had printed. He knew that Gart's studio was a short cab ride from the hotel. In fact, it was Gart who recommended the Kempinski Atlantic Hotel and the restaurant they dined at last night. He called the number and waited. He interrupted Gart's greeting in German, "Gart, it's Kevin from the states."

"Welcome to Hamburg." Gart's English was perfect but with a heavy accent.

"Well, we're here. Marcy's taking a bath."

"Is she cool with this?" Gart wondered. Kevin had explained in detail what he wanted and that Marcy may object.

"I think she's getting comfortable with the idea. I'll call you if we can't be there, for whatever reason, by three o'clock. I think the odds of her doing it are better than fifty-fifty right now. Hope to see you soon."

"Ciao." Was the German photographer's parting.

He walked into the bathroom, looked down at her naked body soaking in the steaming water and said, "Marcy, guess what, I found a photographer who speaks English and can fit us in at three o'clock."

Silence. "So soon? Kevin, are you really sure about this? What if someone saw the photographs? I'd just die. And, how would you feel about another man seeing me naked?"

"I'll make sure that the photos are never seen. They would be only for me. As for the photographer seeing you naked, I'm getting a hard-on just thinking about it."

"Pervert," she said. "What do you want me to wear?"

Everything was going according to plan, he thought. "I'll lay some things out on the bed for you."

It was nearly a quarter to three when she spun around and asked, "how do I look?"

Kevin's imagination hadn't been as good as reality. She had looked terrific in his dreams but even better in the flesh, well the covered flesh. The black dress -- that was more suitable for evening than daytime-- stopped at mid-thigh but was slit on the right thigh. Kevin could see the top of the black stocking that peaked through the slit and just an inch of flesh above the stocking top. On her feet were the black patent pumps--because Kevin hated women to wear sandals with stockings or pantyhose . Also under the dress the black thong but no bra.

"You look like a wet dream."

"Kevin, what a thing to say to your wife." Secretly, she wasn't insulted but flattered.

"Well, it's true."

Not a word was said during the short cab ride. Kevin could tell how nervous she was. Gart's studio was on the second floor of a commercial building. As he climbed the stairs behind her he couldn't help but watch her ass move with each step she took. If things went according to plan it wouldn't be too much longer before the only man other than him would see her bare ass.

Gart greeted them at the top of the landing. He was about fifty, thick grey hair about Kevin's height, six feet, but he must have weighed 250 pounds seventy pounds heavier than Kevin. "Welcome my American friends. Please sit down, sit down be comfortable."

They sat down on a black leather sofa. Gart went to a table and returned carrying a large black leather book. "Let me show you some of my work," he said proudly.

The book he selected was primarily of nudes. They were more artistic than pornographic. The models were all very beautiful and sexy. Marcy turned the pages. It took several minutes before she finished. When she finished Gart said, "I'm so sorry. I'm a terrible host can I get you something to drink?" Neither of them cared for a refreshment. Then Gart said, "shall we get started?"

Marcy softly said, "okay, I guess."

She stood and followed Gart to a set of double doors that were closed. When he opened one Kevin saw a large studio that in New York would have been called a loft. In one corner was a paper roll surrounded by lights. Gart took Kevin aside and said, "I think it would be better if you waited out in the reception area. I promise we will get better results without an audience."

"I don't want to wait out there for two hours." Kevin said.

"I don't blame you. I'm going to take both digital and Polaroids of each set-up. Tell you what, I'll slip the Polaroids under the door after each shot. That way you'll share what's happening with just a few minute delay. We'll take a break after an hour or so. What do you say?"

"If you think it will go better with me out here, that's fine. Do you want to settle the charges now or after the session?"

Gart laughed and said, "after the session. You'll be so pleased you'll give me a big tip." Gart actually took Kevin's arm, walked him back to the reception room and closed the door.

Marcy hadn't expected Kevin to wait while the photos were taken but she actually felt some relief. This seemed like going to the doctor, just her and the professional, no audience.

"Why don't you stand over there on the paper roll?" It really wasn't a question but a direction. He turned on lights and made certain meter readings. Then he was ready. "Okay Marcy turn your left hip towards me. That's great. Put your hand on your hip. Moisten you lips. You're doing just fine. Okay Marcy, you're the queen of the world, throw your head back in a haughty way and give me a million dollar smile." Click, click and the lights flashed.

Kevin could hear the faint sounds of voices, usually Gart's, but he couldn't make out what was being said. After ten minutes he heard a tap on the door. Sure enough a photo had been slipped under the door. This 4 X 5 photo, if enlarged, could have been on the cover of Vogue magazine or placed on their mantel in a frame. Marcy looked like a professional model. The full-length photo showed her with her hand on her hip, her legs two or three feet apart and her head thrown back in a jaunty pose.

The next photo that was slipped under the door five minutes later couldn't have been placed on their mantel next to family portraits. In this photo she had raised the hem of her dress above her stocking tops, her brown eyes seemed to be smoldering.

The pattern continued for the next hour. The dress off her shoulders. From the rear, from the side. Buttons undone from the top and the bottom, finally all the buttons undone but she held the garment to her body with her hands covering her breasts. Gart opened the door and said, "Let's take a break."

Kevin saw that Marcy wasn't in the studio. He assumed she was in the john. "These are great shots Gart but when do we get to the good stuff?"

"She's ready, no since rushing it. She's doing great."

In the bathroom, Marcy felt flushed. The posing hadn't been so bad. Gart must have taken more than two dozen shots. She knew what would come after the break and had mixed feelings about it. Her dress had been completely undone when Gart called the break and now was held together by the two buttons at her waist. Would she remove it when he asked? She wasn't wearing a bra. Would she bare her breasts to his eyes and the camera lens? Would she slip off the tiny thong that barely covered her trimmed pubic hair? Would she spread her legs, her lips? Marcy, you are becoming a slut she thought.

When she joined Kevin and Gart she saw that Gart had opened a bottle of champagne and had poured her a flute. The tiny bubbles tickled her cute nose.

"Marcy, you should become a professional model. You and the camera love each other. You better watch out Kevin, the camera is tough competition," Gart said. When the glasses were empty he asked, "Ready sweetheart." Marcy walked to the posing area as Kevin walked out of the studio to the reception area. The doors were closed once again.

Ten minutes later Kevin picked up another photo. The dress was gone, her bare back was to the camera and she looked over her shoulder flirting with the camera. The thong had disappeared between the cheeks of her ass. The next photo she faced the camera and didn't attempt to cover her pretty breasts. The areola were pebbly, the nipples perky and her face flushed and her skin coated with a sheen of perspiration.

Two photos later the thong was gone. Gart wasn't wasting any time. Kevin heard sounds of things being moved around in studio. When he saw the next photo he understood why. In this photo she was laying on a single brass bed. Her legs were slightly parted and the cleft of her vagina was visible.

Soon the garter belt and stockings were gone but the pumps had been put back on her bare feet. Other than the sky-high shoes she was naked and following the directions of the German photographer. In one shot she was on her hands and knees looking back over her shoulder with her ass high in the air. The cheeks had parted and her wrinkly anus winked at the camera. Kevin doubted that she could possibly know how sexy she looked.

The last shot was of Marcy laying on her back with her legs spread, the heels digging into the rumpled sheet that covered the bed. Her hands were spreading the lips of her vagina as far apart as possible, she seemed to be very wet or her lips and pillowy ass cheeks had been slathered with Vaseline. Her eyes were closed and Kevin thought she looked like she does when she's climaxing.

Ten minutes later a glowing Marcy and triumphant Gart walked into the reception area. Kevin did give Gart a tip and made arrangements to look at proof sheets of the digital shots two days later. When they left the studio, Kevin had fifty polaroid photos of his wife, in his jacket pocket, that he doubted she would ever have posed for back home. He couldn't wait to see the shots that had been taken with the studio camera. Hamburg was doing its part.

Chapter 4

In the cab Kevin held her and whispered, "Do you want to go get something to eat?"

"I want you to eat me. Let's go back to the hotel. I've got to fuck." Marcy didn't know what was coming over her. She couldn't remember ever being more horny. What a slut she was becoming. She didn't need to follow every single direction that Gart gave her but she did, enthusiastically. Now all she could think about was ripping Kevin's clothes off him and screwing him until they both passed out.

It was going even better than Kevin thought it would. Marcy got her way. They did fuck until they both passed out. It was ten o'clock when they left the hotel. Marcy was dressed in the dress she had posed in but had left the thong, the garter-belt and stockings behind. It was chilly so she wore the jacket but not for the sake of modesty, for the sake of warmth.

Another romantic candle-lit dinner. Another bottle of French wine. Marcy didn't object when she heard Kevin tell the taxi driver to take them to the Reeperbahn. She thought he probably wanted to see another sex show which, she realized, would have been just fine with her. That was what Kevin had planned but by the way she had taken to the posing he decided to accelerate the schedule.

They held hands like teenagers and walked down the Reeperbahn. But this time rather than walking to the side street, where the sex show theaters were located, they crossed the street. They were in front of a police station on Davidwache. A block later they turned left and came up to a red metal barrier that blocked the narrow street. The tall barrier, painted bright red, was covered by a photo of a giant pair of legs. A prominent sign read "Fraulein Verbotten." It was obvious that the barricade had been erected to keep cars, children and women out. Neither of them spoke German but understood that women weren't welcome behind the barricade. As they stood there several men came out. Others walked through.

"What's behind the gate?" Marcy asked.

"I don't know, let me find out." Kevin did know. It wasn't by accident that they were there, it was just a day early. Kevin stopped the next man that exited the area. Fortunately he understood and spoke English. He explained, "this is the legalized prostitution area of Hamburg. The girls are registered and it is very safe."

Marcy pulled on the sleeve of Kevin's sport and said, "I'd really like to see it. Maybe there's another entrance."

"Sorry hon, I don't think you are allowed in there." Kevin reminded her. "Isn't it illegal to discriminate against women? I mean, how can they keep women out?" She wanted to know. She didn't get an answer from him. "Well, you go see by yourself then. I'll meet you in that bar across from the police station," she said as she pointed to the small bar on Davidwache.

"Let me get this straight?" Asked Kevin. "You want me to go in there and into one of the brothels? Do you want me to get laid?"

"Of course not. I just want to know what's back there. Won't you please just walk around and then come back and tell me about it?"

She wasn't repulsed. She was curious, as Kevin was so sure she would be. He entered Herbertstrasse having some idea what to expect because he had visited this place on the Internet many times over the past month. But the Internet was no substitute for actually being there. It was a Thursday night but the pedestrian street, just a block long, must have had a hundred men nervously milling about. Kevin saw that on both sides of the street were narrow three and four story buildings that looked something like brownstones in America. The biggest difference, however, wasn't architectural, it was occupational. Sitting behind dozens of windows were dozens of scantily-clad women. Women whose ages must have ranged from 20 to 60. Blondes, brunettes, redheads and even a sallow-cheeked young woman with purple hair. They were fat, skinny and in between. What they did have in common was their attire. Panties and bras, negligees and teddies. Some wore stockings, others didn't. The men slowly walked up and down the street. Every once in a while Kevin noticed shades being lowered and others being opened.