Erotic Tourism

Yes, I remembered. That didn't succeed and would never would.

"Were you barefoot most of the way down here?"

"Well, sort of. I lost my shoes at the third station. You can't run fast in heels."

I reckoned not.

"Next day I found these flats. I run lots faster now. Who cares they didn't match? In them I outrun the most of train people. Hope you don't care they don't match." Her tone of voice said she'd be crushed if I did care.

I shook my head and chuckled.

"So, here I am, banged up from being thrown off the train fourteen times, but I'm where I want to be. You want me to stay? I hope you do, and others, too."

"I sure do. Never you doubt it!"

"Good. Now, come here and let's make love, okay? Sorry I look so not good, Master. But I'll heal up, and once I'm all better, I'll be your 'A' girl every time you want. In fact since I want you so bad now, probably lots of times you don't want me!"

I reached toward her, but she beat me to it. In a split second she ran at me and crashed into me, throwing her arms around me, and practically climbing up my chest to give me a kiss.

"Oh, Master, I'm so glad I got no more grandmothers I gotta leave you for take care of. I'm never telling my family where I am, down here with you. No family who sell me deserve me. You'd never sell me, so you deserve me, I certain of it."

If I sold her, it would be because she wanted out, because that was the only situation that would make me turn her loose. And her price would be a $1 Billion, US—which she'd get.

***

The following morning I arrived at TWSI, Asia five minutes early. It wasn't Number 2's fault, really. It was Turbo Taxi's fault. We left my home five minutes late because I knew Number 2 would be short on milk anyway—if she had any at all after her ordeal escaping from her family. But Turbo Taxi rushed because Number 2's situation never dawned on him, so we arrived early. Of course, Number 2 made it tough to say goodby for the morning, but finally Turbo did his hold his car's door open thing for me right on time.

"She is fine woman," he mumbled as he closed the door behind me.

"Take good care of her, okay? She's had a rough couple days."

"Yes, Sir. Anything else I should do before I later pick you up?"

"No, I think we're good."

"Okay, see you at the regular time?"

"Yeah, good. See you. I'll call if that changes."

With that, I headed for our office block's main door, and a day of figuring out why things seldom go smoothly on a construction job and what to do about it, why the right materials and quantity never arrive when they're supposed to, and why the accounting department wouldn't pay the subcontractors on time.

A prime example of late payment was Gulfstream Construction. They were a small company, with all the cash-flow problems inherent to a small company. From my viewpoint, the situation came down to this: Gulfstream did damned good work, on schedule, and with all the paperwork completed perfectly and on schedule to support their billings. I swear someone at TWSI took great pleasure of fouling Gulfstream up so they didn't have the money to pay their people and their suppliers, so they couldn't get their work done on schedule. Maybe whoever the hold-up was, was trying to set up a default situation to get a chunk of money out of Gulfstream's bonding company, but I was having none of that on my job!

So my first action of the day was to confront our accounting department to get payment for Gulfstream's latest billing. Gulfstream's top manager had called me at close of business yesterday to report that payment was two weeks past due (again), and if they didn't see money very soon, they'd be shutting down my job. He put it more gently than that, but I understood the situation.

I think the head accountant for my job should have been named Shirley Lately instead of Shirley Gately. I don't know if she was the cause of Gulfstream's late payment problem, but she certainly had plenty of excuses why it should be that way. We'd been through that at least a half dozen times before, and company policies-or-not be damned, I knew what our contract with Gulfstream said, and I'd had enough Business Law classes to know what those words meant.

The Accounting Department's receptionist must have recognized me from my previous visits up there. The moment I came through the glass doors, she was on the phone, with those looks in her eyes that says trouble's here again.

"May I see Shirley Gately, please".

"Do you have an appointment, Sir?"

"No, not today, not last month, nor the month before."

"Well, she's pretty busy today."

"Look, Miss. You've got five minutes to get me an appointment with her. I'm Doug Walters, Project Manager on the Runway and Landing Access Upgrade job. Tell Miss Gately that Gulfstream's payment is two weeks overdue again, and they're threatening to shut down my job."

"Well, I'll have to see if she's in the building."

"I"ll look right along with you. Come on." Unless she'd moved, I knew exactly where Gately's office was located.

Now, I would have more enjoyed my stroll behind this 'flapper' if she'd been an eye pleaser. But she wasn't. She had an ass big enough for four of my Number 3s, and let me say my Number 3, being thirty, was a very attractive but fully developed woman.

The flapper tried playing the I can't find her ploy, but I herded her down the hall to the offices with windows on two sides. There sat Miss Gately, buried, it appeared, behind a stack of papers that were probably other payments, also overdue.

"Good morning, Miss Gately," I said in my best, fake, cordial greeting.

"Yes, Mr. Walters?"

The flapper elbowed her way between us. "I tried to stop him, Miss Gately, but he forced his way in."

"Gulfstream's payment is two weeks late again, just like last month, and they are threatening to shut down my job. So if you'll make out and sign a check for $368,289 dollars, I'll hand deliver it to their office so there's no question about payment—again, like last month. I know you have the billing paperwork because I delivered it up here three weeks ago. But I have a separate copy right here if you need it."

"Can't. We write all our checks for the previous month's billings on the twenty-ninth."

"Which makes them all a month late. We went through all this last month, and the month before."

"Well, it's our policy."

"It may be your policy, but if you're not careful, you'll end up in court and I'll have a project shut-down lawsuit in the courtroom next door to that court. Now, just write out the check, sign it, and I'll hand deliver it."

I got a pseudo, disgusted Huuh for that, but she did dig out one of those big company checkbooks that have check blanks with lines long enough to hold a number big enough to cover Gulfstream's payment.

I thanked her when she handed the check to me. Her manner was that of a guy in a tux handing two-bits to a drunk in a gutter.

So much for that. I strolled back to my office—it was one with windows on only one side—and called Turbo Taxi to drive me to Gulfstream's office out at the Airport.

He picked right up on the possibilities.

"That's an hour round trip, you know, Sir. Want some company? I'm at your home, right now. I bet I can get you some companionship."

Yeah, probably four varieties of companionship!

"Sure, see who wants to come—but only one."

"Only one," he said, "if I can narrow it down that much!"

I liked Turbo Taxi. He understood. Yes, he understood! And I tipped him well, at the end of every month.

Turbo Taxi didn't follow my instructions perfectly, but then I understand how those things can go awry when women are involved. He showed up with Number 1 in the back seat, and Number 3 in the front seat. The humorous part was that Number 3 critiqued Number 1 all the way out, and the reverse went on all the way back. And me? I got wonderful servings of milk coming and going. One of them turned out to be my 'A' girl for my afternoon after the ride home, and the other my seat girl under the supper table.

***

Being Friday night and the first opportunity to really celebrate Number 2's homecoming, they had it all worked out we were going shopping after supper. I'd have just as soon stayed home—I mean how much energy does a guy have remaining after fucking his 5:30 girl after her teasing him all the way home, and then ... having his supper-seat girl at the dinner table suck any start of a climax he might have had out of him while he ate his supper?

But, I was going shopping with them, and they left no question.

The moment Turbo Taxi dropped us at the mall—yes, they had malls in this town, emulating one of the lesser value traits of American cities—and disappeared with the rental van he had some kind of a deal on, the girl's shop was on.

You know? Most guys won't go in a clothing store with another man. But women, you bet they will with another woman—or women. One, two, or three

There must be a talent women learn for visualizing how those scanty things that just droop as they hang on the store's display hooks will look when draped instead over a female body. The girls headed straight for that section, dragging me along and insisting I contribute to the choosing process. Hell, I didn't know! I guess it's a guy thing, but without a woman inside them, they all looked like bits of cloth held together by pieces of string—very small bits of cloth held together by almost invisible pieces of string.

And you'd think things as scanty as those—inferred from the amount of cloth in them—would have required next to no time to select, try on, evaluate, discuss, and kid each other about. But Number 2's first scanty selection took at least a half hour from start to finish. The second, another half hour, and the third and fourth at least an hour combined. Then we—meaning they—moved on to one each for Number 1, Number 3, and Number 4.

From there, they led me to the house-robes department, where it took an hour to choose the style Number 2 and Number 1 would lead off the newest version of house robes they'd all be wearing once the other two wore their old ones out. I liked what they chose, but kept my mouth shut. I tried not to drool when they paraded in front of me. Yeah, I liked them, but I knew expressing my opinion could easily extend this shopping trip into next week—women being women.

After that, came jeans, only one pair, those being for Number 2, to make up for those she'd ripped beyond use in 200 miles of train-hopping, followed by a quite talkative journey to their favorite shoe store two blocks on down.

If you're a guy, don't ever take your woman shoe shopping, let alone your four women. If scanties take a long time, shoes take a lifetime. Luckily, only Number 2 needed shoes, or we might still be there. We'd stepped into the Capital City Mall at 7:10, but didn't finish clothes shopping until 10:30. All I'd thought about for the last two and a half hours was how much I wanted to get back home and into bed with one of those pairs of shoes, one of those sets of scanties, that pair of jeans, or at least into the bedroom so I could strip one of those house robes off my girl's body!

I did have my own move to play, but held that off until we got home. I'd sent our office receptionist (Lindee) next door to buy a small jewelry something-or-other for Number 2 to make up for her having to jump ship—or train, I guess you'd call it—fourteen times to get home to me. The price to be determined by what her 200 mile train ticket from her family up in the hills would have cost. Due to scheduling complications, I had yet to see the result prior to giving it to Number 2. But Lindee always looked sharp, and had I been less encumbered and she not recently married to a really nice guy in the Materials Import/Export Department, I'd have been proud to take her out. She didn't let me down on this gift buying duty.

After us five returned from the mall, the girls were, I guess you'd understate by saying: still really wound up. Only Number 3 was trying to settle them down, and failed miserably because we all knew she only wanted to get me into bed. But I did my best to cut it short.

"Okay, everybody," I said.

I guess they knew I had something up my sleeve, because the enduring jocularity transferred to me as its object. But then again, I'd lived with—and slept with—Number 1 and Number 2 for three years plus, Number 3 for four years and shagged her daughter since she turned eighteen a year ago. They had me pretty well figured out, so they were ready for whatever it was I held back. I reached into my pocket, fumbled on purpose, and took it out.

"I suppose, Number 2, you don't really need this, you being so beautiful and all, but hopefully this will help all your scratches and bruises heal faster. Hope you like it, 'cause I sure like you."

The wrapping paper flew off the small jeweler's box, almost before I fully handed it to her. The lid popped open, and among the silky cloth inside lay two very small diamond ear studs.

"Are they diamonds?" she whispered, almost as if she'd be unable to believe they were, and if they weren't, that was just fine, too.

"Don't know," I said. "But they'll look great in your ears, don't you think?"

She turned them around, looking at them, the dining room's lights sparkling as they should if from diamonds. As soon as the new had worn off ever so slightly, she whispered to me, "Master?"

"Yes?"

"Must I put them in my ears?"

"Don't you like them?"

"Oh, I love them. I love them so much! But if I put them in my lips instead, you'll see them both every time just before I kiss you. That way you'll know just much I love them."

"But won't they hurt if I kiss you hard? You know? Maybe pinch you?"

"They might, but if they do—even if they hurt really bad—it will be worth it."

"Number 2, how about this. You put 'em in your ears. And always, just before we kiss, I'll specially look just to see how beautiful they look. And best part will be I'll never pinch you with them."

"Master, I know you'll never hurt me. Ever."

"So, put 'em in your ears and let's see how they look."

"Yeah," several others said. "Let's see how they look!"

There must be something in a woman's physiology that makes it easy to install or deinstall piercings into their ears. I don't think it took Number 2 five seconds. Just that quick I was looking at a Don't you just love me smile, and I was trying to get a clear look at those ear studs now in place. Before I got beyond that, she nailed me with a kiss that rammed her tongue clear down to my Adams apple so I coughed.

"Come on, Master," Number 4 said. "Enough of that. I'm your 'A' girl for the rest of the night, and if you want, I'll go put my earrings in and we can go play fuck me clear into Saturday morning. How's that sound?"

"Number 2?"

"You better go, Master. I already had you a whole night to myself already. I don't want anybody here hating me because I'm hogging you."

"Yeah, take him, Number 4," the others said. "Wear him to a frazzle. And have fun doing so."

***

I think it was two weeks later the next big shift came—or maybe three weeks. Number 1 had something up her sleeve, and it wasn't anything I'd heard about. She didn't give me a hint what it was, although she nursed me all the way home from work. She only smiled at me with a knowing look, that coy grin on her face leading me on, but telling me nothing.

We went through the usual after work drill: Number 4 just about screwed my lights out as my "A' girl, and Number 3 under the table all but sucked me inside out, but still nothing. When Number 2 sprang it on me, I knew I should have tumbled to it being something from her.

"Master?" she said as Number 3 finished me up.

I'll tell you, my concentration lacked a bit of concentrating on what Number 2 might say. Number 3 had talent for that!

"Yeah?" I said as with difficulty I dragged myself back to reality.

"Something here I want you to see."

In my house? Better than with four near-naked women flirting with mostly naked me?

"Come on, Number 3. Haven't you finished him off yet?" one woman said.

She slipped my penis out of her mouth and finished off her suction with a put-on 'slurp'.

"Come on, Master. Up out of your favorite chair."

Now, let me tell you, that chair may be my favorite, but getting out of it in my relaxed condition wasn't all that easy. But my ladies came to my rescue, so by leaning a bit on the table, I made it.

"He's weak from pleasure, I think," Number 4 said. She was right about that!

"Come on, Master. You'll recover just as fast when you see my surprise than if you just loaf around here."

So, could I staunch that? No. I followed obediently, my strength not up to resisting.

Behind the door to her bedroom stood a girl I didn't recognize. I doubt I'd have recognized her had she not looked like she'd endured a hundred beatings, either.

"Master, please meet my younger sister."

The name she followed this with, like that of my present four women was unpronounceable to me. I faked it, just took her hand, gave her a welcoming smile, and said, "Pleased to meet you."

Number 2 filled in for the fact her sister spoke little or no English. But the sister forced on a timid smile, just the same.

"My sister come from family, too. She not want to be kitty-cat girl no longer."

So, knowing what Number 2 went through getting back to me, I easily guessed how the girl got herself so beat up.

"How long?

"She be kitty-cat girl since age twelve."

"Ooh."

"But she come here, now. She not want be kitty-cat girl. More, never."

I nodded. Poor kid had been beat lots. Not only had she fresh bruises and abrasions, but also many well healed scars and a slight limp.

"She know how old she is now?"

"She three years younger than me, so she eighteen or nineteen."

My quick brain calculated she'd likely been whored for seven years, give or take a year.

"Well, she needs clothes, and shoes, and a coat. You see to that tomorrow, Number 2. And take her to the clinic and get her tested for everything she might have caught in seven years working as kitty-cat girl, Right?"

Number 2 said quite a few things in their language that I understood no better than before. The girl replied a short sentence.

My translator said in her stunted English, "She say she not making a baby. Can't make baby now, since one time she start make baby and they make stop. Now never make baby. She very sad not make baby if you want, but can't."

"Tell her I don't want babies, so that's just fine.'

However that translated, I hadn't a clue what Number 2 said, but it must have been close to what I said because the girl put on a weak smile.

"But you take her to the clinic tomorrow, okay? No fail?"

"No fail, Master. You say, Number 2 do." With that she translated something to the newcomer, who went shy, so I wondered just what that was all about.

"She never been to clinic except for abortion. Hurt awful bad, she say."

"Well, tell her this won't hurt much, but will make sure she's healthy inside."

More translation followed, then Number 2 looked up to me.

"I tell her what you say, and that you are wonderful man so not to worry."

Well, when they finished drawing blood and giving her shots, she might not agree that I was so wonderful, but what the hell. I wasn't about to bring disease into my house, into the life of my girls, and to myself, so if this waif didn't want to play by my rules, she could take her chances on the street.

As I finished convincing myself I was doing the right thing all around, I looked up to find the newcomer looking up at me, a hopeful smile toying at the corners fo her mouth