Erotic Tourism

I had yet to discover how they decided who each seat girl was to be, but when the deciding was going on, things became quite enthusiastic. I just sat to one side, fully aware whoever won mattered not. Among those three, I couldn't lose.

"If Momma doesn't take it, I will," Number 4 mumbled.

"Fat chance, 4. Your mother likes that almost better than being 'A' girl for a whole evening."

"Well, you put me down for seconds. Maybe I'll be unwound by then so I can be good for him again. He tastes so wonderful, I just can't believe it!"

"You're telling us?"

Nothing like getting good reviews, I was thinking, but I just let them go on.

Number 4 detached herself from the verbal battle, came over to me, and took my hand.

"You got more for Number 4? Even just barely enough to put yourself in her pussy once more?"

I looked around and figured the argument in progress could just as well be handled in the hall, or kitchen, or a different bedroom.

"Out, everybody. Out!" I motioned toward my bedroom door. "Number 4 and I need quiet in here. Number 1? You about got supper about ready?"

"How long?"

I looked down at Number 4. "What you think?

"Up to you, Master."

"How long?"

"You say. I'll do my best, but I still pretty well fucked out."

"Okay, half hour, then."

"Oooh, I hope I can last that long."

"I think you can. Half hour, Number 1."

"Lucky girl, you are, Number 4. You get your tits nursed empty, then get your pussy fucked until you come so hard we hear you all over the house, then you get a mouthful of his juice that must have been a dandy because you're still drooling, and now you're going to play fuck-me/tease-me with him for a half hour before supper. I wish I were your age."

"Come on, now, Number 1," I said. "You're only twenty-one."

"But that's old."

"Bullshit. You fuck real good. What else matters?"

How could she dispute a complement like that?

"But three years before Number 4 here, loses what you fuck her for, I'll have lost it for sure."

I only shook my head. They both fucked like mink, so why sweat it? I looked over to Number 4's mother. Her calender out-distanced Number 1 by nine years, but I didn't want that thought ever getting in the way of the pleasure Number 3 regularly gave me.

***

Most women come from the factory equipped with two legs (some longer and more beautiful than others), two arms, two hands and ten fingers they learn to use for all sorts of enjoyable purposes, a face (some prettier than others), one mouth that feels absolutely wonderful wrapped around your penis, one pussy that's even better than a good mouth. And one ass that looks great strutting around with a thong string up its cleavage and feels wonderful caressing a man's dick until it squirts up inside her.

Oh, and a brain, of which some, like my ladies, make good use of for learning to make life wonderful for some guy who takes time to appreciate them. I fail to understand how any man can only fuck a woman and not wonder what's going on behind those adoring eyes.

Now I know, not all women are as smart as mine. There are some areas of the world where the average IQ—I assume that number's not just for women—is well down in the un-trainable range: as low as 59 compared with normal being 98 to 100. The modern US Army won't induct anyone testing IQ lower than 80, so there's a benchmark.

But where I lived, I'm sure that wasn't the case for many. I figured with more education, my girls would do all right, even if I got shipped off to Outer Slobbovia to run a construction job and couldn't take them all with me. The take them with me option also held much more promise if they had enough schooling so I could claim they were secretaries, or something else useful to the company.

But where would they get that training in the town where I lived? Most of the local schools were run by some version of church missionary or other, and they weren't about to educate six women who lived in sin with a grown male. Besides, they had students aplenty down in the 6 to 12 age group. Yes, I inquired, but those I tried had an moral agenda incompatible with my lady's situation and mine.

But we did have satellite internet, and I had a connection because the company wanted reliable connection to me, even when I was at home. And besides, my girls had little to do while I was at work. I mean, we had a four bedroom suite with four bathrooms, one large kitchen, a lounging and reading room and a dining room. Number 4 had responsibility for the pool, yard and exterior, but I had her delegate most of that work to an outside crew. So except for keeping them working and earning their fees, she nor any of my girls had a full day's work to do while I was off earning the money that supported all four of us.

So, in each bedroom I set up an obsolete, but entirely adequate computer, and started them working on a canned education program. As such, I became the School Master, the Master of Doug's Basic Education School for Sexy Young Women. The rule was: Except for one hour at noon, they studied from 10:00 to 3:00 every day I worked. No study, no fuck, simple as that. Before I added the no fuck provision, I encountered considerable resistance—from Number 3 most of all—but once I demonstrated I was serious about that, my student body fell right into line with my new policy.

Those hours left them time a-plenty for getting their non-school work done, covered the biological requirements women require which a guy could handle in less than a quarter hour, maybe reading something for fun, once they learned enough English to do so, and getting one of them ready to escort me home from work.

It did, however, add more load to my day. Every afternoon following my arrival home, we had a brief quiz on what they'd studied that day. To my surprise, I found although Number 4 may have been the most beautiful, most graceful and the most ingenious between the sheets, she had come out slightly behind the norm in the brains department. As a dedicated school administrator, I had to give her more sexual attention to keep her other attention on school. Was I getting conned here? Or what? Maybe she was actually smarter than the rest!

One day during my lunch—which I ordered in from a place two blocks down the street, and which was always delivered by an attractive young woman who obviously was bidding for a job on my at-home crew—my alert brain realized these girls of mine had probably seen little of the world around us, other that what they saw on TV or from a city bus as they did whatever errands I assigned them.

And since I paid Turbo Taxi no matter if he drove, sat, or stood waiting, I'd pay him the little extra we'd agreed upon for getting us a van short term. Then every Saturday after lunch, load them all aboard—dressed for sightseeing, not back-seat wresting—and took them for an afternoon joy ride. At first, they saw little use in this; after all, it took time away from bedroom activities. But they soon caught on that the time taken out was low energy time for me, anyway, so perhaps seeing more than only the inside the ten square blocks around my place, might help them better understand what they were learning,

One Saturday, we invaded the city's Zoo. Four hours we spent watching animals, most of which they'd never seen alive before.

A week later, a museum about the city's history. They had little appreciation of many of the photos, but I did my best to give them context.

Several weeks later, an art museum. We had a great argument about whether the paintings' subject matters were real or not. I finally got that discussion off dead center by the experiment of asking them all to tell me what Number 3's skin color was. White, light brown, brown, sort of brown, very White. So, I said, 'You all see something different. That's what artists see and what they put in paintings.'

That led to sculpture and more argument. But by the time I got them out of there, I felt I had made progress in their art appreciation education.

My ladies acquiesced, saying I was getting tired, and they should take me home. At home I got no chance at all to rest. But I did I did give them all something to enjoy in their dreams.

Next weekend, we took a drive into an industrial area, where I knew they made various things my girls would recognize. Packages of snacks, some kind of cloth for clothing, in the building two blocks down, carpeting, in a separate building next door, furniture, and far down in a really modern building, computer keyboards.

We soon exhausted close-in stuff I thought they'd find interesting. So I expanded our horizon.

We had a picnic up in the forested hills north of the city, where they tried to play tennis on a very poorly maintained tennis court. The rackets I brought were nothing to brag on, but they did demonstrate the game's general idea. Number 3 just couldn't resist the opportunity to show me up, so she baited me into a game.

I knew from the way she held her racket, she hadn't much idea what to do with it, but even before the game began, she baited me more.

"Okay," I said. "If I win, you do everything I say for a week. If you win, you say what. Fair enough?"

She nodded, so we spun the racket and I won the serve.

"Okay," I warned, "I serve pretty fast."

"Just hit it to me."

Now, let me say, I was a pretty fair tennis player in college, but in the nine years since I hadn't touched a racket. My first serve went into the net, so did my second.

As a result, Number 3 was having a good time at my expense.

"Love fifteen," I muttered before I crossed to the other side, hit one into the net, and the second into fence high behind her. "What's the score, Master," she said, just to rib me I'm sure.

"Love, thirty."

"What?"

"Love, thirty."

"Love? I like sound of that, but what's it mean?

"Means if you get two more points, you win this game."

"Oooh! Am I that good?"

"I'm just that poor." Okay, I told myself, just whack the ball with good topspin on it and just clear the net.

So I did. It went by her so fast, I don't think she even saw it after it passed the net. All the spectators began ribbing Number 3 instead of me.

"Fifteen thirty," I said.

"What happened to 'Love'?" Number 3 said.

"Only means zero."

"That's dumb! Why would anybody think that?"

By now I'd moved to the other court,

"Ready?" I said.

She nodded and took a very provocative posture. Yeah, show it off, woman!

I swizzled another past her.

"Thirty deuce."

"What that mean?"

"Tied up, two each."

"Oh."

"And if I get two more points in a row, you lose and I get you any way I want for a week."

"Can't have me. I'm going to hit the next one, you just wait." I noticed she'd stepped back past the baseline in anticipation.

I drifted a slow one across to her side, a slow one with so much top spin it almost hopped back over the net at me. Of course she missed it, being way too far back.

The cheering session started in on her, now. "Number 3's gonna get fucked," was their chant's repeated consensus. I wished they'd refine their language. Unlike football, soccer, and rugby, tennis is supposed to be a refined game.

I noticed she once again stood too close. I sizzled another one into the service court, barely inside, almost hitting the service line at her feet.

"Game over!"

"I lose? Just that quick?"

"Only if I don't do my job."

She came toward me, so we met at the net.

"You cheated."

"How you figure?"

"You didn't tell you were so good. You missed lots when you were showing us how to play."

"So? You didn't tell me you were so sexy the first time you fucked me."

"Uh. Did you mind?"

"Nope."

"Then how long we stay here and pretend we tennis players?"

"What would you rather do?"

I'm sure you can guess the answer to that!

Another Saturday afternoon, I took them to a soccer game, where I had one hell of a time keeping the flies away from the girls. My women, on the other hand, knew better and did their own fly shooing, once they realized the potential ramifications.

Two Saturdays later, we visited a fish farm and fed the fishies, but cut that short for a look at pleasure boats—big pleasure boats—in the harbor. Because we made ourselves so obvious, standing around the docks, and asking questions of anybody we thought would answer them, finally a crew member of one of medium-size yachts asked us aboard for a tour. Needless to say the girls were impressed.

"Master? Why you not own big boat, too. We could suntan on deck and fuck you there at night."

"Because you have school work to do during the day, and night work to do in my bedroom."

"Oh. Can't we do both?"

"Maybe. Someday. We'll see. But school comes first."

"You so work hard school master. We never get suntan time."

"You don't like your school master?"

The chorus said, "We like. We like very much, we so much like you."

"Then why change?"

But we did, some. The next week I took them to harness horse races, another opportunity for refined entertainment. I ran into several men who I knew from the airport projects. My girls, though not dressed in the finery a Saturday at the races normally required, I just introduced as members of my Saturday adult education class, and I'd brought them so they could see how the other half lived and how betting worked. One of them, I asked to show us his betting card—if he didn't mind.

Of course, what male of the species could turn that down, even if the women weren't dressed to the hilt. So the girls got a much more detailed description of how to gamble your money away than they'd ever need or want.

As we left, Number 1 said, "Master? Why you never see horse racings?"

I had a good answer, I thought. "Takes money. I want to spend my money on my ladies, not gamble it away on stupid horses. Make sense?" The kiss I got said that was an entirely acceptable answer.

Erotic Tourism - Chapter 2

I firmly believe you'd have to be deaf, blind, and dead from the shoulders up to live with a house full of woman like mine without a clue when something had changed. I had no clue yet what that change was, or how it effected me, but I certainly knew something was afoot.

They sprung it on me one Thursday after supper; I suppose they figured by then I'd be in a receptive mood to enjoy it, and I certainly was. Number 1 had been my suckle girl coming home from work, as well as my 'A' girl when I got home, then Number 4 did table seat duty during supper.

I anticipated Number 3 would serve as 'B' girl after supper, but no. She did lead me to the master bedroom, though, but when she opened the door, there stood Number 2 just as ready to go as she had each turn night before she left to care for her grandmother.

If I reacted with surprise, then I reacted with very pleasant surprise. Number 3 immediately exited stage-right leaving me astounded.

"Well," I stammered.

"Hello, Master," Number 2 said, unusually modest compared with before.

"This is a surprise. A very nice surprise." Yes, and she hadn't lost one bit of her looks except for the bruises on her face and body. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Bad situation at home. Should have left sooner."

"Before your grandmother ... uh ..."

"Died? No. But right after funeral."

"Oh?"

"They decided since grandmother no longer needed my care, and the family needed money, they should sell me off to the local—what you call it in American?—kitty-cat house, is it?"

"Ugh!"

"Yeah, just like that. And since they'd figured out I fuck you, and you keep me, I shouldn't mind fucking everyone for money." Her voice hardened up with the last three words.

"Oh, Master," she said almost as a sigh, "I want so much be your Number 2 woman, not kitty-cat girl."

I hoped so, because I wanted her, too.

"So, how did you get back here? Take the train?" I mean, I figured she likely had no money and it was two hundred miles.

"I didn't fuck anybody, Master, honest I didn't. I knew you not want me to, although I was awful hungry by time I got back here."

"But you got food, since you got here, right?"

She nodded with that expression that says, I'm good, now.

"Train ticket?"

She shook her head. "Take me three days to sneak aboard the train that many times, but I make it. I'd sneak aboard, they'd find me and throw me off at the next stop, then I'd sneak aboard the next train coming through in my direction."

"Wish I had known. I'd have sent you the ticket money."

"That wouldn't have worked. My family would have found it and taken away from me."

"How much would the fare have been?"

"Don't know. Didn't ask."

"Well, tomorrow you and the others find out and I'll give it to you."

"Oh, I couldn't take that!

"Why not?"

"Not fair to the others."

"Oh, I see." Yeah, I saw. I nodded, wondering how I'd show how much I desired her return. Maybe I'd have to give her the train fare, then take them all clothes shopping tomorrow night. No, fuck, that wouldn't work, either, because I'd have to get her some clothes, too. Fairness is so tough to achieve sometimes.

Well, on second thought, maybe it would work. If all she'd escaped home with was what she had on now (which wasn't much), I could squeak by. She needed a house robe, I was pretty certain, and Number 1 had all but worn hers out, too. Then there was the matter of scannities. What she had on almost qualified, but by no means could she get by with only one set. And I seldom ran into resistance on Friday's shopping nights if one of the others ended up with four sets rather than the three she already had.

They all needed new, mid-calf length street coats to tide them over the coming coolish weather. Yes, I'd get them all by, and the results would give me plenty of appreciation. Shoes? Now there was another matter, but I figured since Number 2 was about to walk out of those flats she now wore, no one would begrudge her at least one pair of high heels.

"Number 2?"

"Yes, master?" Now there was adoration if I'd ever heard it!

"You bring anything else back with you?"

"Only bring back I know how good you treat me. I always thought you real nice to me, but now I realize just how nice—how good you treat us all."

"I try, but sometimes I miss out."

"Not by much and not often, Master. Yes, you treat us so great. How you know so well, anyway? You have very good woman friend somewhere earlier?"

I almost blushed. Yes, for real I blushed, but I decided I better change the subject and ask her about her.

"So, Number 2, you don't look so good on the outside. What happened?"

"Oh, Master it horrible. My uncle I didn't know tie me up, load me in his truck and haul me down there, sell me to kitty-cat house for a poor man's month's wages, then drive off without me. They lock me in a room with some food and tell me this coming Saturday I be working, so plan on it."

"Ooh!"

"They not so smart, though. I make a hole in wall and crawl out through it. Worst trouble was outside. Gang on street catch me and decide take me back and see if there is a reward. I got loose from them, too, but only long enough to find the railroad station. I wait three hours for the next train, then sneak on."

"But you didn't get those bruises at the train station, did you?"

"No, the train people caught me and threw me right off. But I got back on, and rode to the next station before they find me again. That's when I get this." She pointed to a bruise and abrasion spot on her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Number 2."

"Not your fault, Master. You never hurt me. Remember when I first came here and somebody come try take me away?"