Vice Versa Ch. 04byAbelard7©
Chapter 4 -- 'O' level sex education.
There can only be a few really life changing experiences in a lifetime. Jenny was one of mine.
It had been a very slow day. A rainy Wednesday. It was almost six p.m. Nearly time to go home. Then the buzzer went. Hugo and I left the room so that Karen, (Shelly was on her day off.) could do the business. When Karen asked us to come back to be introduced, the client chose me. The client was dressed in a well tailored business suit. Dark grey pin-stripe. She wore thick rimmed glasses, which did not conceal a delicate face with fine bone structure. Rather younger than our usual customers, I thought. I took her to the room, asked if she wished to shower, then left her to it.
When I got back to her, she was sitting on the chair, wrapped in a towel. She stood up, holding the towel protectively. I invited her to lie on the massage couch, which she did, but kept the towel firmly in place.
"A shy one." I thought.
But unusually good looking. The glasses were gone, revealing a perfectly formed, heart shaped face. Fine, pale, almost luminous skin, dark brown hair, deep brown eyes. A real 'English rose'. So good looking that I forgot to take off my tee shirt.
I asked her to lie on her front, removed my tee shirt and shorts, then gently peeled away the towel. From the back, she was breathtaking, slender, long, well shaped legs and an arse to die for. She must have been no more than twenty years old. Think 'Katie Green' and you will be on the right track.
"What should I call you?" I asked.
"Jenny. Call me Jenny."
(I would call her 'stunning'.)
"Would you prefer oil or talc' Jenny? Or just hands?"
She chose hands and I reverently began to caress her exquisite skin. She jumped when I first laid my hands on her. So did my prick. It was a delight to stroke her firm young flesh. My hands seemed to tingle at the touch. I took my time, denying myself the pleasure of massaging her front. My prick banged against the underside of the couch. I willed it down to a more respectable semi, then, with bated breath asked her to turn over.
She did so to be confronted with my naked body. She flinched.
"What are you doing?" She screamed. "I don't...I'm not..."
She seemed to regain control.
"Please put your clothes on." She said, shakily.
She reached for the towel and covered herself, but not before I had had time to drink in the beauty that to her front presented to me. She was quite staggeringly beautiful. What was a woman like this doing in a massage parlour?
"I'm sorry." She said. "I've made a mistake. Will you leave please so that I can get dressed."
I picked up my discarded garments and left sheepishly. I stood on the landing and dressed, then waited for her to come out. I led her back downstairs and she left without another word.
"That was quick." Commented Karen.
I agreed. "Yes. I think perhaps she bottled it. She seemed fine until she rolled over and saw me nude." I suppose she knew the type of service we provide?.
"She knew. You win some, you lose some." Shrugged Karen.
She was right. It was not the first time that a woman had changed her mind about the 'sensual' part of the massage, but usually only when she was asked to spread her legs. We locked up and went home.
I could not get this astonishing woman out of my mind. Even the name sounded beautiful to me. "Jenny. Jenny. Jenny." It ran across the front of my mind like skywriting.
The next day was much busier. Six punters, six sucks, six fucks. No ejaculations though. At a quarter to six, the buzzer went. It was her. Jenny. She chose me again. Up in the room, she apologised for the day before. She was not prepared for me to be nude. Yes, she knew what she was there for, but could I keep my clothes on please?
I left her alone for the requisite ten minutes. When I tapped on the door, she said:
"Come in." Clearly and positively.
She was lying on her back, no towel this time. She was an absolute vision. Firm, high tits, pert brown nipples, flat belly ending in a neatly trimmed bush. And those enless legs. I began to tent my shorts instantly.
She rolled onto her front.
"Oil, I think."
She seemed to be fully in control today.
I began my pleasant task, caressing every delectable curve or her wonderful rear. Then, fearful of a repeat performance, I asked her to turn. Oh bliss! My heart was pounding as I gently cupped her breasts. She stretched like a cat and placed her hands behind her head, so that her gravity defying tits were lifted. Down, down, across her belly to the promised land. She spread her thighs without being asked and I gave her my most loving hand job.
When she had her climax, she frightened me with it's intensity. First she gave a strangled cry and went rigid, pressing my hand against her mound, then passed into what I can only describe as a state of convusion. She came for ages, I supported her spasming body to prevent her from falling off the couch.
She allowed me to stay in the room while she dressed, she now seemed completely at ease with me.
"I'm in town again in two weeks time." She said. "Will you be available?"
"Telephone first to make sure." I replied.
I was longing to ask why she thought she had to pay for sex, but resisted.
I was available. It was another Thursday. She came in at about five-thirty. I had been looking forward to it having been told by Shelly that I had; "A client called Jenny at 5:30 p.m." Her tranformation from severe business clothes to ravishing nude beauty, was like seeing a caterpillar become a butterfly.
In the room, she said;
"After the massage thing, can we do...you know, sex? And the tongue thing?"
Could we? I almost came there and then.
"I might have to take my shorts off." I replied.
She smiled and said; "Touché."
I gave me my most attentive wank, to be treated yet again to her thrashing orgasm. How would she be with my tongue on her clit? When she had come down from cloud nine, I asked her how she liked 'it'. She thought for a minute.
"Can I get on top?"
I rolled on the rubber hat and we changed places, me on my back. She climbed gracefully astride me and guided me into her pleasure pit. She seemed somehow inexperienced. I thrust up into her, gradually increasing speed until, without warning, she came again. When it was over, I asked if she would like another position.
"No. I'd like you to..."
"Suck your clit?"
"Yes. Suck my... clit."
"Climb up, sit on my face."
She looked surprised, but obeyed, lowering her moist, sweet tasting lower lips onto my mouth. I gave her my best, but did not want it to stop. Eventually, she exploded again. And this time she did fall off. She got up again, laughing.
"Did you enjoy that?" I asked.
"Oh yes. It was... spectacular."
I was still lying on the couch, propped up on my elbows. I reached down and pulled the condom off my still hard stalk.
"You're still hard." She sounded surprised.
"Yes." I replied. "I haven't come."
She reached out her left hand and gently wrapped her long, slim fingers around my erection. She seemed to be assessing it, measuring it.
"Wonderful thing," she said, from small and wrinkled, to this, this... club. Can I suck it?"
I replied; "Go on. Make my day."
She bent down, holding back her shoulder length hair, and cautiously engulfed my tip. She moved only slightly, holding the thing in her mouth. She pulled away.
"Does this come back?" Indicating my foreskin.
I nodded. She gently peeled me back, revealing the angry purple head, then re-applied her lips. This time, she sucked. And she was very, very good.
I placed my hand on her head.
Careful," I said, "unless you want a mouthfull of cream."
She shook her head. "Not this time." She said, but I would like to see it spurt. Is that permitted?"
I told her that it was , but it would cost her to see it and I explained why. She was happy to pay. She took it in her left hand again and began to jerk at it.
"Whoa, that hurts." I protested.
She tried again, but could neither get the pressure or the stroke right. For an expert felatrice, she was a rubbish wanktress.
"I'm not good at this am I? She said.
Perhaps if you used your right hand? I ventured.
"But I'm left handed. You do it. I just want to see it shoot out."
So I wanked for her. I could not help but come very quickly. When 'it' did 'shoot out', it was powerful and prolonged, fueled by Jenny's beauty. Seven or eight big spurts fired over my left shoulder to splash onto the white sheet above my head, as well as streaking me from groin to shoulder. Jenny squealed as the cannon fired.
"So much!" She said in apparent wonderment.
Where had this woman been? With her looks, men must have been prematurely ejaculating wherever she went. I cleaned up the mess while she dressed. What a change in her since our first, disastrous meeting.
The next week was my week off, which coincided nicely with a wedding which I had to attend. I don't like weddings much, but this was Ian, an old school friend, who had moved years ago from our home town, Manchester, to Leeds, on the other side of the Pennines. I did not see him often, but we were firm friends.
I was surprised to find that it was a very 'high church' wedding. C of E, but rather old fashioned. The vicar was a bit of a bore. Slight Scottish accent, pompous and with that sing-song incantation which is now not fashionable. The bride wore white and the groom and the other main protagonists wore morning suits. I was glad to get out of the church and to the reception, which was at a nearby hotel. It was a lovely day, so after the wedding breakfast, guests gravitated to the extensive gardens of the luxury hotel, sipping chapagne. (Not, unfortunately, Bollinger RD!) I noticed that the vicar had been invited. I had not seen him in the meal marquee, but he was making his presence felt in the garden, pontificating. I moved around trying to avoid him.
I had just found a rather attractive young woman who seemed to enjoy my company, when a voice behind me said;
"Adrian. I'd like you to meet the vicar and his wife."
My heart sank. I turned to face Kim, the radiant bride, who had spoken. At her side was Vicar McBore. At his side was... Jenny!
The silence could be almost felt. I recovered, but my shock must have registered. I stuck out my hand for shaking, first to Jenny, then to the vicar from hell. Her husband!
Fortunately, Kim whisked both of them away. I decided that a tactical retreat was in order, and looked for Ian, to say good bye.
It took me some time to find him, Kim and her cohort had also disapeared. I was about to leave anyway, when a familiar female voice said;
Jenny held the plate to me. I took one of the offered tit-bits, not knowing what to say.
"Thank you for not recognising me." Said Jenny.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" I countered.
She smiled and turned to walk away. She was wearing a pretty, floral print cocktail dress, which accentuated her lovely arse to perfection. I felt sad as she swayed sexily away and, so I thought, probably out of my life.
A month went by. Jenny did not show up again at the parlour. Life went on. Then, during my next week off, I had a call at home summoning me to a large hotel for an outcall, the next evening. Seven o'clock. For dinner. The client, a Mrs McAdam, would meet me in the bar. She would recognise me.
I was in place early. At dead on seven, as I was sipping my orange juice. A voice behind me said;
I turned to find a familiar face smiling at me.
"I'm Mrs McAdam."
It was Jenny.
I almost wept. She looked stunning.
"Would you like a drink?" I asked.
"No. We'll go straight in. I've booked a table. You're my husband by the way."
"What shall I call you?" I asked.
"Jenny of course. It's my name."
We went through into the restaurant. Jenny had thoughtfully booked a secluded table, where we were unlikely to be seen or overheard.
Seated, I opened the conversation.
"I thought that I would never see you again."
"So did I. I thought long and hard, but I think. I hope, that you are the right man for what I have in mind."
During the meal, she told me her life story. She had been born in South Africa, of English parents. Her father was a mining engineer. Her mother had been a teacher, which was to prove crucial. Jenny's, (Her full name was Genevieve, even more beautiful than Jenny.) Jenny's early years had been almost idylic, endless good weather, servants and no school. Mum did the educating. Then at the age of eleven, disaster struck. Jenny contracted an illness which, to this day, has not been identified, exept that was viral. This nasty bug had constantly drained her energy, to the extent that she was frequently confined to a wheelchair. She stopped developing as a woman, remaining as a girl. She did not have her first period until the age of twenty-one! By this time the virus was pretty much under control by experimenting with various drug cocktails. All of this was of course, very expensive, and Jenny and her mother returned to England. They moved to a small house near Oxford when Jenny was fifteen. Father stayed in Africa.
If the bug had halted physical development, her brain seemed to go into overdrive to compensate. She was a prodigy. She passed eleven 'O' levels and four 'A' levels, all with distinction. Oxford accepted her with a scholarship and she began to study law.
She had qualified with honours, but, still frail, had gone to work for a small company in Oxford, rather than risk the rough and tumble of the large London practices, for which she had been regularly head-hunted. She was an expert in company law.
Father eventually came back to England, but with only a small pension. Not much demand for mining engineers in the UK at that time. Mother was now quite ill herself. She had devoted herself to her daughter, and it had taken it's toll. Both parents were church goers and when an eligible batchelor vicar came on the scene, a marriage was arranged. He had low libido, had been promised his own church when he married and seemed to be perfect for the fragile Jenny.
The 'church of his own' turned out to be in Leeds. Jenny had played the devoted wife for three years, then as her fragility melted away, aparently of it's own accord, she began to experience the hormonal overdose which most girls have as teenagers. She was by now twenty five. She put the hormone rush into good use, by contacting one of London's finest law firms, who were about to open a Leeds office and was snapped up for the company law department. That had been four years ago.
She had a regular meeting with an associated company in Manchester, every other Thursday morning. She spent the previous Wednesday nights here.
Alex, Mr, or rather, The Reverend, McAdam, 'made love to her' as she put it, only once a week. And always in the missionary position. At least until about a year ago. Now he never touched her. She had orgasms aplenty, but only with her fingers or with a vibrator which she kept well hidden. We are surrounded by sexual references, sex sells. And her female colleagues seemed to talk about little else. As did the women at the excusive health club where she exersised.
"They use all the dirty words too." She said
So she decided to find out what she was missing. At Pampers. Which she had found in a women's magazine.
"But you must have men drooling after you all the time." I said.
"I don't want affairs, they seems to always end in tears, if my colleagues are any guide."
"Then leave him, find a more suitable husband."
That would kill my parents. Besides, Alex is a good, attentive husband. Except in bed."
I shook my head. "A woman like you should not have to pay for sex."
"It's better this way. No strings. And money is the least of my problems."
She drained the last of her coffee, by now the meal was over. She pierced me with those deep brown eyes and said;
"Will you be my private tutor?"
I stood up.
"Take me to bed." I replied.
In the room, there was that awkward moment, always there, in spite of the knowledge that we were there to fuck. I took off my jacket, placing a pack of condoms on the side table. Usually an ice-breaker. Jenny watched.
"Must you use those? I'm pretty sure that I'm 'clean'."
I wanted nothing more than to enter this lovely woman 'bareback'.
"The risk would be yours, I see a lot of women. You choose."
She picked up the pack inspected it and handed them back to me. She gave me a light kiss on the lips.
"I want to feel you properly, like lovers. Besides, what makes you think that three is enough?"
She turned her back to me, looked over her shoulder and said;
I undid the catch and slid down the zip, lifted her hair and kissed her neck. She shuddered slightly. She stepped away from me, out of the dress. I whistled softly. At Pampers, she had always worn sensible, plain underwear. She now stood before me garnished by the finest, 'come and fuck me' lingerie, complete with stockings and suspenders. She did a little striptease, slowly revealing her luscious body until she was nude.
"I don't believe that you have never done this before." I said.
"I know what to do, I've just never done it." She replied.
I quickly stripped off my own clothes, took her hand and led her to the bed. No foreplay was needed, just being together was enough. I just wanted to get inside her. I positioned myself above her, forgetting that this was her 'marital', position, she opened her legs wide. My cock found her opening without assistance and I slipped full length ito her. She was as wet as I was hard.
"Wrap your legs around me." I instructed.
She did so, gripping me with her thighs, making movement difficult, but not impossible. We fucked like lovers of long standing. We fucked, not, 'I fucked her'. It seemed to be a perfect coupling, slow and passionate. As much as I wanted to make it last , my balls had ideas of their own. Very sooon I was spurting powerfully, deep, deep inside her. She must have felt the same, she came with me in that rarest of things, a mutual orgasm. As our juices mixed inside her, I knew that I was in love with her.
I rolled onto my side, taking her with me, still held tight in her cuntal clasp, still hard. I showered her face and breasts with kisses.
"That was fantastic." I said.
"That is the first time that I have climaxed during sex. If it was good for you, how do you think I feel?" She replied. "I do know the positions by the way. I know about wrapping my legs around. As I said, I know what to do."
"How do you know?" I countered.
She turned her face away, embarrased.
"I bought some videos." She said softly.
"Then you will know the words." I said. "What you said downstairs about 'dirty words', they're not dirty, except in the minds of ignorant people. Don't use them as swear words, I never do. How can something as beautiful as filling your cunt with spunk be considered dirty?"
She nodded. "Teach me more." She demanded. "Teach me how to... wank you."
So I did. She was a fast learner, she had me at boiling point in no time. I had to stop her.
"Teach me how to suck your, what do you call it?"
"My prick? That's what I prefer, cock is good too. But you don't need lessons in cock sucking, you're a natural. Just do it."
She went down the bed and took my boner into her delightful mouth, I thought that I was in heaven. Her mouth was made for my prick. I had to stop her. I turned her round so that I could lick her cunt as she sucked me, that should provide a distraction. She came again, that wild, thrashing climax that I had witnessed at Pampers. When she was calm again, I pointed out that her half of our mutual climax had not beeen so wild.