Bar Girl Ch. 08

Sitting stiffly among the group, was a stony-faced man, wearing metal frame spectacles, with short, neatly trimmed grey hair conventionally parted at the side. He was tall and large, dressed in a white shirt and grey slacks, and wearing sandals over stockinged feet. He looked out of place amongst his raffishly dressed companions.

Lifting his glass of mineral water to his mouth, he took a sip and asked, in an unattractive middle European accent, "How much does the little whore think her cherry is worth?"

Blen face froze, offended at being referred to as "a little whore," as though she was a puta, a street whore, rather than a licensed entertainer.

Mama quickly intervened to lighten the awkward atmosphere which had suddenly descended on the group. "Bruno, this is my freshest and most beautiful flower waiting to be plucked. She is a sweet virgin, not a whore."

"Virgins interest me," said Bruno, "but I have not seen a virgin dressed in this way before ... and what is her name? ... did her friend say, Miss Blow-Job?"

"Blen can dress any way which please you," said Mama, "and her name is just a little joke with her friend. She is cherry-pussy cherry-ass, so, for now, she give only oral service."

"Well tell her to sit with me," said Bruno.

Mama looked imperatively at Blen, who walked round and sat in the seat beside Bruno.

"Open your mouth," were his first directed to her.

He took her chin, tilted her head, peered into her mouth and peeled back her lips.

"You keep your mouth clean?"

It wasn't clear if this was a statement or question.

Blen decided it was a question. "I brush my teeth, and I use my mouthwash after every customer." Indignation tinged her voice.

He reached under her camisole and ran his hand over her small, firm breasts, then addressed Mama, "This girl interests me, but she looks like a slut, I will not pay for a virgin and get a drilled out bar-girl."

"If I can satisfy you she is a virgin, how much will you offer?"

"If you can satisfy me, perhaps 20,000, pussy and ass."

"I already have a good offer for her butt," replied Mama, "you will have to go much higher than that."

"I will not bid for uncertain goods," muttered Bruno.

"Wait, I will be back in just a moment." Mama set off for the rear.

Blen made to dismount from her chair and chase after Mama, but Bruno ordered, "Stay there, I want to inspect you."

She sat back up on the chair.

He was thoughtful. "I can see you in a wedding dress, you would look most charming."

"Do you want to marry me?" Blen's voice rose in surprise.

Bruno laughed harshly. "That would be like marrying a public sewer. No. I mean, when I deflower you, you will bleed until your wedding dress will turn red. You will be a work of art, a ruined whore in a defiled gown. I will enjoy that." His voice was laden with malice.

Blen was confused by Bruno's ambiguous tone. "Do you not like me?"

"You are a slut. I shall enjoy consuming you, like I enjoy consuming my dinner, but my dinner turns into shit, and I will turn you into shit also."

Blen stared at him, tears of rage welling in her eyes, but she dared not speak. This scenario was far from what she had imagined.

At this point, Mama returned with Blen's folder and handed it to Bruno. "Here, these are the witness photos."

He opened it, and perused the contents carefully for several minutes, then glanced at Mama. "So. You own her virginity?"

"That is correct."

"22000 pesos?" Bruno looked quizzical.

"That was my purchase price ... so you must offer a good margin on that."

"And she has assigned to you..." Bruno read from the folder, "... all rights to appoint the time, occasion and means by which my hymen will be breached ..."

"That is the standard agreement."

"I am an artist," Bruno announced, "This agreement opens up all sorts of possibilities."

"Possibilities?" echoed Mama.

"Possibilities for the artistic imagination. There must be many ways to deflower, but, I wonder? What would be a fit way to deflower a slut with a sewer for a mouth?"

"Well, before you let your artistic imagination run away with you, you must first make a bid," said Mama.

"I'll give it careful thought, but for now I'll just avail myself of the slut's oral service."

Mama spoke sternly. "Do not spook the girl with your strange talk." She looked to Blen, "Take him to the booth, and show him what a good girl you are."

"May I keep the folder for the moment?" Bruno asked, and Mama nodded.

Blen led Bruno to the booth, wondering whether he was mad, or weird, or malicious. Her customers came in all varieties, but she did not see their eccentricities. They all had in common, a desperation for a small slice of that joy which she generously supplied to the needy, regardless of age, looks, dress sense or potency. Bruno did not seem to fit into the general currency of customers, and for the first time she entered the booth wishing she did not have to render service.

They sat, and Bruno laid her photos on the table. "If I enjoy you, I will buy your cherry."

Blen paused. "Oh."

"Would you like that?"

"I do not know." She dreaded the thought.

"We shall see. Take off your costume; I want to see your body."

Blen did as she was told.

"Stand up," Bruno directed. "Turn and bend ... show me your ass."

Blen slid her hands down the front of her boots to clasp her ankles whilst peering back round her left knee at him. He peered back, pulling her thong to one side and pulling her ass cheeks apart to inspect her anus, then pressing them together shaping them with his hands and gently pressing with his fingers to test their firmness.

"Good. Now, sit here on the table." He moved her photos to one side.

She perched herself on the table facing him.

Lifting her legs, he then turned her backwards across the table. "Here, hold your legs apart." He wrapped her arms around her legs.

Leaning forward, so his face was no more than two feet from her pubis, he pressed a thumb each side of her pussy and pulled her open, prising apart her labia to expose her hymen. Peering through her knees Blen was relieved to see the anger fade, and his face break into a smile, and she felt her pink parts glisten in welcome at the intruding eyes.

"Very pretty, very pretty indeed." His voice was light and melodic. He looked into her eyes, and flattered she returned his smile.

But, in an instant his face hardened again, his voice harsh and imperious. "You are truly a slut virgin. I shall enjoy destroying your hymen. Now give me a blow-job."

Intimidated, Blen hurriedly slid off, and under the table. With trepidation, she freed Bruno's penis, somehow expecting it to reflect his deformed personality. To her surprise it was normal, a pink and healthy penis, typically rigid with anticipation.

"Now, open your foul sewer, and suck the scum out of me."

Blen took him in her mouth and fixed his eyes with hers, thinking mastery would now shift to her as it had done with all her previous customers.

Bruno gazed back, and wrestled with his instinct to let go, but determined to retain the upper hand. "You have the compelling eyes of a born whore," he growled.

She worked her craft until he approached fulfilment, at which point he grabbed her head. "Now swallow..." He pulled her face hard onto his penis. "... Swallow..." he ordered, "... Swallow."

Blen's nose was pressed into his belly, and she could not breathe. She began to struggle. As she tried to pull back, he pulled her further forward, until the tip of his penis nudged into her throat. "Swallow... " he said, "Swallow, swallow, swallow ... and I'll let you go."

She opened her throat, and the end of his penis entered. She began to choke and coughed convulsively, and tried to pull away, but Bruno pulled her tighter forcing himself further into her throat. He held her there, contorting and convulsing as she struggled to breathe and at the same time expel his penis from her throat. He grunted with contentment as her spasming throat milked his penis, until it in turn spasmed, injecting his come into her. Even when his spasms passed, he continued to hold her, struggling and suffocating, clamped tightly to his groin, in the hope that the exquisite sensations would return.

After half a minute, he gave up hope and let go.

As she pulled her head back, Blen vomited out his penis in a thick froth of saliva and semen, then she threw her head and shoulders back, desperately and noisily sucking in air. Her eyes bulged, her face crimson, with a purple tinge on her lips.

. "You ... fucking ... bastard," she managed, barely able to breathe and speak at the same time. "You ... fucking ... bastard."

She began to sob with rage.

He laughed, ridiculing her protest. "I did enjoy you; you are a good little whore. I shall also enjoy taking your cherry. I will make Mama an offer." The words were dismissive and calculated to torment.

"Fuck you," was all Blen could manage.

"Here..." He placed a 1000p note on the table. "... I show you, I like you."

Blen picked up the note, screwed it into a ball, and threw it at him, spitting her words, "You are ... a fucking asshole ... you will not touch me ... again." Turning, she ran back to the changing room, where she sat and cried with anger and frustration.

This was her first customer who had been in any way abusive, and she did not understand why he wanted to be with her if he did not like her.

While other girls still comforted her, Daddy Don came in. "What do you think you're doing Blen? You've just been rude to a customer. You're not here to drive business away."

"But Daddy he does not like me," she sobbed, "I do not know why he wants to be with me?"

Daddy shrugged. "We don't psychoanalyse here, we just provide service with a smile. Now come and apologise."

"But Daddy..." she began.

"No buts. We're in the hospitality business, the customer is always right, now let's go." His manner was uncompromising, and Blen understood he would not be contradicted.

He led her back to the table. "Now apologise to Bruno."

Tears welled in her swollen red eyes; her voice was flat, and her apology economic. "I am sorry."

Nonetheless, Bruno affected magnanimity. "Your eyes look so pretty now, how could I not forgive you. Now take your tip and we will be friends again." He placed the 1000p note on the table.

She hesitated.

"Pick up your tip and say thank you," said Daddy.

Blen picked up the note. "Thank you." Her voice remained faint, the words forced through her sore throat. She turned and walked briskly off. As she passed the stage, she threw the screwed up note among the dancers, one of whom, recognising the colour before the others understood what had happened, pounced on it.

That evening, Blen with her sore throat, and Amor with her sore bottom, lay on their bed and reflected on the strangeness of foreign men.

"Maybe it is because western women are so strict," ventured Amor, "maybe because they do not show their men love, it all build up inside and they have to imagine."

"Maybe some get angry in their imagination." Blen, was thinking of Bruno. "It is like he try to punish me, but I will give him everything."

"Anyway, for us it is an earning opportunity." Amor adopted Mama's manner of expression. "Already I have a customer tomorrow. His name is Tom. He like my pony tail, so he liked to take me, but my butt is sore, so he paid my advance bar-fine, and he will take me tomorrow."

"What about Danny, will he mind if you have a customer?"

"No. He just ask me to be honest to him, and tell him about my customers."

"Did you tell him about The Masters of Uranus?" asked Blen.

"Yes. He is very interest. He is looking forward to ass-fuck with me now."

"If he loves you, why does it interest him? Does he not feel jealous?"

"No. He like to share my experience with me. It is like phone sex. Then I can do it for both of us," explained Amor.

Blen pondered that for a moment. The love of foreign men did seem strange.

"Do you think Bruno like to hurt me?"

"No, I think he like you very much. Why will he hurt you?" replied Amor.

"He frighten me. Suppose he will buy my cherry."

"Then you will be rich." Amor remained pragmatic.

"But I do not want to lose my cherry with him, I will not enjoy it."

"I did not enjoy to lose my cherry," reminisced Amor. "It was Blueboy. As soon as my ass touch the tree, he pull up the leg of my shorts, and fuck me through the gap. It is like he is doing push ups. He pull out, and cum on my T-shirt, then sit with me and talk about his trouble with his girlfriend. I do not enjoy it, and it do not change my life. Everything is the same as before. No pleasure, no boyfriend, no money. Losing my butt-cherry is so much better. Maybe I did not enjoy it, but I will not remember it with regret. It is fun, in a way, and it free me from my debt. Now I can repay you, and send home money."

"No, do not repay. That is my gift," said Blen, "send your money home."

"And tomorrow we are photo-models," concluded Amor. "One month ago it is impossible in a dream."

On Monday morning, Blen went with Amor, and they were at Hygiene by eleven. Amor, now familiar with the procedure, was out in twenty minutes, and the girls were back at the lady-house by midday. At one there was a call from outside the lady-house. It was their driver, a tall and smartly dressed Filipino in a barong Pilipino and grey trousers, with polished, black, lace up shoes.

"Are you Miss Blen and Miss Amor?"

"Yes, Siir, that is us," said Blen.

"I am Ferdinand, your driver for today. I am to take you to Jordan. Your car is in the street."

He led them out of the courtyard and down the narrow alleyway into the street. There, stood a large, shiny SUV. Ferdinand opened a rear door, and helped the girls into the capacious seats. He closed the door, walked around to the front, got in, leaned over, and showed the girls how to fasten and adjust their seat belts.

"We want you to arrive safely. Are you comfortable?"

Without consideration, they confirmed that they were.

"Is the air-conditioning as you like it? Too much or too little?"

The girls again readily accepted that it was fine. Never before had anyone been so solicitous of their comfort, so they had not developed sensitivity to discomfort.

"Would you like music, do you have a preferred station?"

"Oh, Hot FM. Please, Siir." said Amor.

The driver pulled away, turned up towards, then left onto MacArthur Highway. The traffic moved slowly. For the first time, Blen and Amor passed down the highway in an air-conditioned bubble, comfortably seated, listening to pleasant music, and watching, through tinted glass, the turbulent, hot, dirty and sweaty world pass by, outside. For the first time, they knew what it felt like to be wealthy, and insulated from the hardship of the masses. Journeying down the highway, packed like sardines in a jeepney, they had felt that was something of a luxury. But this was luxury beyond anything they had imagined.

The driver crossed Abacan Bridge, forked left, then turned into an adjacent sub-division weaving his way through the streets, then pulling up outside tall, double gates let into a high wall surrounding a double lot. When he sounded his horn the gates swang open, he drove in and parked under a car-shelter adjacent to the entrance to a three-storied house. Ferdinand got out, came around, and opened the door for Blen and Amor to alight.

The front door of the house opened, and Jordan stood there to welcome them. "Hi Blen. Nice to see you. And great that you could come as well, Amor. It is Amor isn't it?"

Amor confirmed that she was, indeed, Amor.

"Let's just sit down, and have a drink and a chat while we wait for everyone else to be ready," said Jordan, leading them into a large, well appointed sala, "There's a CR through that door if you need it. What would you like to drink?"

Shooters were distributed. Amor slipped into the CR, and washed down a 'pick-me-up' with tap water, then rejoined the group.

The sala was spacious, with several sofas arranged on three sides of a low table, and padded armchairs were distributed strategically around, adjacent to convenience tables. The marbled floor was decorated with colourful rugs, and in the nooks stood, attractive, bush size pot plants. Large, vibrant oil paintings decorated the walls. Blen was awed by the beauty and luxury - more luxurious even than Talent Spot, but brightly lit and spotlessly clean. And, it was for the exclusive occupation of just one family. At home, all her family lived in a dark, low, wooden structure that would cover only one quarter the area of this sala.

"Well, you girls are going to be our princesses, for today," Jordan told them, "If there's anything you want, just ask. We're going to make you look really beautiful, and get some great shots."

Other people began to appear.

"This is Giselle, she will do your make up and costumes," he pointed at one of a pair of billy boys in their thirties, "and this is Candice, she will coach you in modelling."

The two bakla smiled, and gave circular hand waves.

"This is Jerome, he will sort out the lights." He indicated a white guy in his mid twenties. "And these are Arnel and Ray." He waved towards two Filipinos in their early twenties. "They will provide general help."

"We can have a couple more drinks, and you can get to know us all, and when we're all familiar we can start. I'll talk you through what will happen. I have an idea for a few sets, but I'm flexible, so if something is good, we can follow up with it. We will make you look as beautiful as possible, and give you really glamorous costumes. You'll go on set, and I will look through the camera and give instructions. Candice will help you out with the poses, and Jerome will run around getting the light right. Arnel and Ray will move the heavy stuff, and fetch drinks, towels etcetera. Is there anything you would like to ask?"

"What kind of photos do you like, Siir?" asked Blen.

"We like glamorous but sexy. There will be a lot of nudity, a little pink, and a little girl-girl contact, but nothing you wouldn't do in the bar."

"What do you do with these photos, Sir?" Amor wanted to know who would see her

.

"These sets are exclusively for our web site. We run a website called Come2AC.com. It's for people who have been to Angeles, or would like to come here. They pay for their membership, which enables them to access our web site, so we provide them with content they want to see. What they want to see, most of all, are beautiful Filipinas. That's why you're our stars today. You will be our girls of the month. We'll have a couple of hundred photos of you for them to browse. To keep them engaged and coming back, we need to provide variety and interest, so the more imagination we can put into the photos the better. We also sell our videos, like the one we made at Poco Jo's pool party. We've nearly finished editing that, and it'll be on sale soon. If you like, we can put your emails on the galleries, and members who are interested in you can contact you. Maybe they will be a future customer, maybe even a future husband."

"Well, I like a husband, if you can find me a husband," said Blen.

"My boyfriend ask if he can see some photos," said Amor. "Can I have some for him?"

"Sure," said Jordan, "we can arrange that. Do you have his email? We can send him a few photos later."

"Yes, Sir, I have it on my cell phone."

"OK girls, go with Giselle and Candice, and they will get you ready."

The girls were led upstairs by the bakla and shown into a huge bedroom containing a large dressing table with a mirror edged by ball lights, and a large wardrobe with mirror-fronted doors, which Giselle opened to reveal a huge collection of lingerie and costumes - through which she began to search for suitable attire.