Vice Versa

Chapter one. -- The Oldest Profession.

It took me a long time to adjust to civilian life. After nine years in the army, it was to be expected. I was stupid, I refused all the 'rehabilitation' training. I needed to put army life behind me, the idea that I was still connected in any way was just not acceptable. But I could not have imagined that I would fuck my way back to normality.

I had joined at eighteen and had loved it from the start. Once basic training was over, it was obvious that this was the life for me. I survived Northern Ireland, took a Taliban bullet in 'Operation Enduring Freedom' and could not wait to get back to Afghanistan. So what changed after nine happy years? One word -- Iraq.

I was there for six months and never did find out why. We were simply not welcome, all Iraqis resented our presence. The thought of being sent back gave me nightmares, I convinced myself that I would not survive a second tour. So I got out.

That was when my real problems started.

At first, I had no trouble getting a job, but could not stick to anything for long. Army life is nomadic and I missed the variety. Jobs became harder to find and they were increasingly dead-end. My last proper job was stacking supermarket shelves on the night shift. But it paid well enough provided I put in enough hours.

I can see now that part of my problem was loneliness. I had little in common with my colleagues, most of whom were straight-from-school misfits. Available females were much younger than me and were more interested in their own age group. Women of my age seemed to be married. Mostly anyway, there were a few divorcees and a few career girls who had shunned domesticity. These became my target group.

I found that if I hung around Hotel bars on weekday evenings, (Which was mostly when my nights off fell.) there was often a woman, away from home on business, looking for 'entertainment'. It became a sort of hobby. I suppose I scored about once a week on average. This was how I met Karen.

Along with all the other men, I watched her enter the room and park her elegant arse on a bar stool. I was away from the bar, at a table from where I could watch comings and goings. She put her handbag on the stool next to her, as if to reserve it. So I just watched. She was gorgeous. Tall, brunette and voluptuous. She wore an expensive looking cocktail dress which accentuated all the right parts.

After a few minutes it became obvious that if she was meeting someone, they were either late or not coming. She was eventually approached by a man, but dismissed him with a shake of the head. Another tried, then another. Same response.

Not hooking then. I decided to risk a refusal. She was worth it.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked politely.

She quickly appraised me and moved her bag, which I took as an invitation.

"Top up?" I asked, indicating her almost empty glass.

Again those brown eyes assessed me. She nodded. I waved to the barman, who I knew quite well. She spoke for the first time, to order her drink. I added my choice and the barman, Trevor, incurably gay, swayed off to get our drinks.

I introduced myself. "I'm Adrian."

"Karen." She offered, almost reluctantly.

Close up, she had rather a hard look, used to getting her own way perhaps. She was about forty I guessed. But she was built for fucking. An hour later, she had my life story, including my present, no future, future. We were getting on like old friends. I had scored. Three days worth of saved up semen were going to find a new home.

Or so I thought.

"Look," she said, "if you are expecting to get into my knickers tonight, you're out of luck."

My disappointment must have been obvious. She went on:

"What are you doing on Saturday morning?"

"Nothing." I replied.

She wrote her name on the back of a coaster and handed it to me.

"Ten o'clock. Here. Ask for me at the desk." Then she was gone.

I scanned the room. I could see no further prospects, so I left too. I lay in bed wondering what Saturday would bring. I could not get Karen out of my mind. The more I thought of her, the harder my prick became. Eventually, she did make me come, as the inspiration for a very satisfying wank.

I was back at the hotel at ten to ten on Saturday, having finished my shift with enough time for a shower and shave. As instructed, I presented myself at reception.

I was told to go to the top floor. Room 507. I tapped on the door and Karen answered. She was wearing a well tailored suit and a white, high necked blouse. The room was in fact, a suite. We entered a small lounge, with two sofas facing each other and a coffee table between. On the table was a tray with two cups and a Thermos jug of coffee. Karen waved me to a seat on one of the sofas and sat down opposite. She poured coffee for both of us then leaned back. The suit jacket could not hide the thrust of what I suspected were spectacular tits.

"So," she began, "you're looking for more challenging employment? I might be able to help. Have you ever been to a brothel or 'massage parlour'?"

I choked slightly on the coffee. Where was this leading? I decided to be completely honest and own up. I nodded my affirmation.

"Why?" She asked.

Strange question. "To get fucked." I replied.

"Yes, but why a brothel, why not a girl friend?"

"Various reasons, the first time was with a group of squaddies in Germany. It's what soldiers do on days off, a pub crawl, then a shag."

"And subsequently?"

"I suppose because it's 'no strings' sex. Sometimes you want to be sure of what you're going to get, rather than the hit and miss of picking someone up."

"Like Thursday night? You spent half the evening scouting, the rest buying me drinks and still didn't get what you hoped for. A professional will always come up with the goods.

I nodded. "Something like that."

She went on. "Are you aware that women sometimes feel that way, that they might just want a good fucking with no strings?"

"A woman on her own doesn't stay that way for long, there is usually someone like me to give her what she wants."

"But no guarantee that it's the way she likes it. And bar pick-ups often can't perform at all, because of the drink."

I was still not sure where this was going, but I had the beginnings of a hard-on.

Karen delivered the punch line. "I run a massage parlour for women. Does that shock you?"

"Nothing much shocks me. And if what you say about women is true, it does not surprise me either. But..."

She interrupted. "You're wondering what sort of woman would pay for sex? You would be surprised at that."

"Surprise me then." I countered.

"The fact is that most women are not satisfied with their sex-lives. Once a woman has experienced really good sex, it's what she wants all the time. In marriage it becomes routine, a woman wants variety, a bit of spice. Then there are women who are away from home, looking for illicit, one night stands, but are usually disappointed. If they pay for it, they can call the shots. And it can be as dirty as they want. No recriminations."

She poured another coffee for herself, mine was hardly touched.

"Interested?" She asked.

"In being a male prostitute? I had never even thought of it." I replied.

She corrected me. "Not a prostitute, a male companion."

"Go on, tell me about it." I picked up my coffee and leaned back in the seat.

"The client comes to my premises selects her companion, pays up front and is shown to the massage room. There is a shower and a massage table. She is left alone to undress, shower and relax ready for her treatment. The companion knocks on the door and when invited, joins her. He asks her to lie face down on the table and massages her back. Then he asks her to turn over and does the front, concentrating on the obvious erogenous zones. When he judges her to be ready, he concentrates on the genital area, finally her clit and, well, wanks her off.

"That is what the basic charge of £50 covers, any extras are between the two of them, but there is an unofficial scale of charges. If she wants licking off, that's £25 If she wants to be fucked, £25. What she does not get, is his spunk. That is expensive. You might think otherwise, but most men can only expect to come once a day on a regular basis and once you've spent it, you may as well go home for the rest of the day. That's why the come shot in blue movies is called the money shot. It's precious stuff. If a woman is prepared to pay that much, she is entitled to see a good one, another reason for the 'once a day rule'. There is no point in him coming inside her cunt either, she won't get to see it except perhaps in the condom afterwards, which incidentally, he must wear whether he fucks her in the cunt or the arse. He can come in her mouth, if that's what she wants, or just give her a show with his hand or hers. For your spunk, she will expect to pay £50. More coffee?"

I closed my mouth, which had been hanging open for several minutes. I nodded yes to the coffee.

"How do you get your customers?" I asked.

"Various ways." She explained. "I advertise in certain women's magazines, but mainly by recommendation. I run a beauty parlour from the same address, hairdressing, manicure, various other therapies. A woman can even get a 'normal' massage. In relaxed, comfortable surroundings, a woman will often tell a hairdresser, for example, how they are not getting enough. Even a male hairdresser. My people simply guide them to the 'Sensual massage for ladies, by men.' Part of the business. Interested?"

I nodded.

"Get your clothes off," she ordered, "let's see what you've got."

I drained the coffee cup, stood up and stripped. I was painfully erect, my prick became tangled in my pants. Eventually I stood naked in front of her. She had me turn slowly round' peering at me as though I was on sale. Which, I suppose, I was.

"Good." She said. "Now for the practical exam. She stood. She pointed to a doorway behind her. "Give me five minutes, then follow me. Put these on."

She handed me a white tee shirt and tight white boxer shorts, then disappeared into the bedroom. My cock was under control when I knocked tentatively on the bedroom door.

"Come in." She invited.

She was on the bed, propped up on the pillows wearing only perfume. She was truly magnificent. She had the body of a glamour model twenty years her junior, her fine, brown nippled tits jutted proudly, self supporting, like delicious fruits. I approached the bed.

I remembered what she'd said. "Would you like to turn over, so that I can do your back?"

She rolled on to her front, revealing an equally splendid back view. I started at her neck and moved down. I don't know how to massage, but I know how to caress. I allowed my fingers to stroke the sides of her squashed out breasts, she squirmed ever so slightly. I moved on down to her glorious arse and feasted my eyes and my hands on her fine buttocks. Her legs parted slightly and I dipped my fingers into the crevice, just brushing her arsehole and the rearmost part of her shaved outer lips.

I put my mouth close to her ear and whispered, "Turn over."

She rolled onto her back, her nipples were now stiff and she seemed slightly flushed. Was I getting to her? Massaging her front was no hardship, except for my tortured prick, trapped in the shorts. I revelled in the feel of her firm tits, teasing the stiff nipples gently. The down, down. Over her smooth, flat belly past her groin and onto her thighs, ankles and even her toes, before retracing the path to paradise. She spread her legs and raised them, displaying swollen, wet sex lips. With the fingers of my left hand I pressed the gaping lips closed and rubbed them together. I supported my weight on my right elbow and leaned down to take one hard nipple between my lips. Then I spread her lower lips, easily found her prominent clitoris, and quickly strummed it until she came.

When she came down from her crisis, I asked gently; "Will there be anything else madam?"

"Fuck me you bastard." Was the curt reply. "Lie on the bed, let me ride you."

She skilfully rolled a condom, (Where she had it hidden, I will never know.) onto my boner and without letting go of it, mounted me and began to fuck me! I knew that I would not last long under the onslaught and tried to think of England on a drizzly day. I think that she realised my plight. She pulled off me, shuffled up the bed and lowered her juicy cunt onto my mouth. My prick still acted like a flagpole, but now with a little white rubber flag, waving surrender. I reached up for those glorious tits and massaged them while my tongue massaged the inside of her cunt. She came again, bearing down hard on me and squealing out her release.

She shuffled down again, avoiding re-penetration on my spike, but pressing her wet, gaping hole hard against my balls, almost engulfing them. She pulled off the ridiculous rubber and began gave me a vigorous, two handed wank. It was a compelling sight, it looked as though she had a prick sprouting from the base of her belly and she was wanking herself. She soon had me spurting, splashing onto my face and the bed head beyond.

"When can you start? She asked.

She disappeared into the bathroom and returned wearing a white bath robe while I cleaned myself up with tissues. She told me what the hours would be and that I would get £10 of the basic fee. Any extras were all mine. I would buy my own condoms, massage oil and anything else in the way of 'tools'. She also ran an escort service, which could be highly lucrative, but she would only let me do that during my week off. She would take a 25% finders fee.

"Now fuck off, I have others to interview. And no, I did not pick them up in bars. I ran an ad' in a lad's mag, 'Why wank when you can get paid for fucking?' I had plenty of takers."

I went to the hotel bar and bought myself a beer. I needed it. I went to sit down but then had a better idea, I walked into the lobby and sat down there, watching to see if the next interviewee would show up. After about ten minutes, the receptionist came over to a skinny young man, no more than twenty and said;

"Mrs Robinson will see you now, room 507, top floor."

I could not help a grin at the homage to "The Graduate". I watched him go and decided to stay to see how long she kept him. Would he get through the interview?

About half an hour later he came down looking hot and bothered. If he'd got that far, he had just had the best fuck of his life so far! I drained the remains of my second drink and left.

Several days later I rang the bell and was admitted to "Pampers, whole body beauty care". The place was actually closed, I was there to be shown around by Karen herself. Reception was a small, but luxuriously appointed shop with a desk and a two seat sofa. Lots of expensive beauty products were on display and for sale. There were several doors leading from reception, which I learned led to a hair salon, a tanning room, a nail parlour, a sauna/steam room and a genuine massage room. Plus of course, the cock for rent department.

Karen showed me into the waiting room. Again, well furnished and decorated. The morning shift was nine until three and the afternoon shift was two until seven. The rota was three weeks of seven mornings, alternating with seven afternoons then seven days off. Karen would not tolerate lateness, I was to use the rear entrance in future. This particular department had it's own receptionist, all the others shared the front reception.

I started my life in the sex industry the following Saturday. It was 1 o'clock. An hour before my five hour shift began. Shifts overlapped by an hour, to allow a leisurely changeover. Karen was waiting. I was introduced to Shelly, the receptionist. Karen then rang a bell and my new colleague entered the room. Karen introduced us. He was Hugo. Not his real name of course, his real name was unpronounceable anyway. He was African. Very very black. Tall, lean, shaven head. His skin shone. He looked like a trapped animal, not scared, but defiant. Challenging. I thought that his hard looks made him almost ugly, but Karen had told me that he was very popular with her ladies. I later found out that he had a prick like a battering ram. Which probably helped.

I changed into my working clothes. On the right breast of the tee shirt was a small embroidered "K". When I got back to the waiting room, Hugo was showing a client to his 'workshop'. Karen explained that the two morning shift 'companions' were both engaged and would not be finished until after two o'clock, hence the overlapping shifts. Eventually the morning shift appeared, one by one, fully dressed, and were introduced. They were Dick and, believe it or not, John Thomas. Their clients had left by another door. It was very slick, arranged so that the clients would never have to meet. In addition to the three I had met, there were two more studs, Peter and Willy, they worked fewer and less regular hours, covering holidays etc., so that there were always two men on duty.

Hugo was back in the waiting room before the next client arrived. She chose me.

I showed her to 'my' room and left her for ten minutes, as instructed. My heart was beating like a drum when I went back to service her. She was a rather plain woman in her thirties. Mousy hair, tits too small and bum too big. Standard English pear-shape. No make-up. She was lying naked, pink from the shower, on the massage table. Which was much wider than a normal massage table. It was height adjustable, so that I did not have to bend my back to rub someone lying on it. It was leather covered, but over that was a fitted white sheet, which I had to change after each session.

"Would you like to turn over? Oil, talc, or just hands?" I asked.

She chose oil. I poured a liberal amount into one hand and gently applied it to her upper back. I was quite generous with the oil, I love to see oily female flesh. She decided when to turn over and I started on her front. Her small nipples were now like pebbles and her eyes had a sort of smoky look. She was ready for it.

I repeated what I had done with Karen, with the nipple sucking. I found that I could slip my right arm under her neck and reach round to gently pinch the right teat while I suckled the left. She parted her legs as far as she could while I polished the oily bud of her clit until she came. Noisily.

"Will there be anything else madam?" I asked, wiping my hands on a paper towel.

"No. Not today. Thank you, that was just right."

No profit from this one then, I thought. As I had been instructed, I stayed with her while she showered away the oil and dressed. Then I showed her to the exit door. She gave me a light kiss on the lips.

"Bye," she said, see you soon. And my first ever punter was gone

My second customer did the same. £20 in two hours? Perhaps I should have stuck to stacking shelves? It paid more.

My third, and another 'Jane Smith', was different. A good looking older woman who knew exactly what she wanted. After her massage, just with hands, no oil, I had my finger on her bud, preparing it, when she husked, "Lick it. Suck me off." I did so with pleasure, bringing her to a slowly accelerating tidal wave of orgasm. She paid her 'extras' fee without being asked and even added a £10 tip.

"Nice one." She said. What shift are you on next month?"

I suggested that she 'phoned first if she wanted me again. I had been warned that the hours could be irregular.

Number four was a plump, no, fat young woman with tits you could get lost in. There was a lot to massage. She allowed me to bring her off with my fingers, wanting two hands on her cunt, one poking and one rubbing. She squirted when she came. The first time that I had experienced female ejaculation. After the massage, she had me fuck her from behind, standing. She kept her legs tight shut after I had entered her. I had to stand feet apart to achieve depth of penetration. She was incredibly tight in this position, causing maximum friction on the tool of my new trade.