Eva's Education

If you are about to read this, then you probable agree with me. Despite the abundance of pornographic images available on the web, you can't beat the written word for fuelling fantasy. Enjoy!

All people in this story are over 18, and so should you be.

*

In the village where I was born, in the Romanian Danube plains, there were a lot of pigs. Some of them had four legs. One of the others was Goran, my stepfather. He beat my mother into submission, he raped my big sister Maria so many times that she left home, and then he started on me, when I was too young, small and fragile to resist. My best friend, who was also called Maria, gave me excellent advice and practical help. Her father was a chemist, and she got me the pills I needed so that I didn't get pregnant.

'Now just lay back and enjoy it!' she told me – and I did just that.

Before I was nineteen, Goran got himself shot dead in a dispute about some of the four-legged pigs, so that my mother hadn't a hope of keeping the home on what I earned as a waitress in the village's scruffy bar, plus what she herself could make doing a bit of casual sewing and cleaning.

So it was that when a big black car drew up on the village's muddy square one damp April morning, and a man in dark glasses set his gaze on me, I knew that I had to go.

Even then I knew a suave bastard when I saw one, and Sergei, as he asked me to call him, was all of that, promising me a job as a dancer in 'high-class clubs' – because 'he thought I moved gracefully' – yeah! I asked him where and he was vague, saying that it was a nice place, with good audiences. If I had had any options, other than a continued life in that desperate, damp, cold village, I should have told him to go and fuck himself. I told my mother I was going away, collected a few miserable belongings, and climbed into the big sleek car.

I sat beside Sergei in the back, and he, surprisingly, I thought, made no move to touch me – perhaps my ratty old jeans and bomber jacket didn't do a lot to turn him on, I suppose. It was an hour's journey to the city, and we pulled up outside a big block which bore no nameplate, but looked like a hotel or an apartment building. Sergei nodded to a bored-looking guy as we walked through a reception area, then we rode up in a lift to the seventh floor, where he led me out into a carpeted corridor, and through double doors into a huge, sparsely-furnished room. Sat at a big, ornate desk in one corner was a guy in his fifties, distinguished-looking, longish black hair flecked with grey, immaculately dressed in a dark three-piece suit with a red silk tie.

He steepled his hands on top of the desk, and regarded me silently, while Sergei turned, equally silently, and went out the way he had come in.

'Hmmm,' he said at length, 'turn around please.' I did so.

'Yes – and your name?'

'Eva, sir,' I said.

'And I understand you are interested in a change of career?' He said this with a half-smile playing about his handsome features, so that I was more sceptical then ever about where my destiny may lie. Beggars, however, I thought, couldn't be choosers!

'Yes sir,' I confirmed.

'My informant said you may have potential, Eva,' he said, 'we shall have to see.'

He continued to look at me in a disquieting way, while he pressed a buzzer on his desk and waited as a door behind him opened, and in walked an Asian girl about my own age, with beautiful long glossy black hair, dressed in a short white housecoat and sandals, like a nurse.

'Maya,' said the man, 'this is Eva. Please take her and get her prepared. I want to see her in two hours' time.'

'Yes, Mr. Ivanescu,' she said, and ushered me out with her.

We went down a short corridor, and into a big dressing room with lots of cupboards and mirrors, and an en-suite bathroom. Maya told me to undress, and didn't seem in the least inclined to allow me any privacy while I did so. I wasn't used to being watched, but guessed I'd have to get used to a lot of new things, so slipped out of my old jeans and tee shirt, and stood there in my bra and panties while Maya scooped up my old things.

'We'll just get rid of these, shall we?' she said, rhetorically, because she was already stuffing them into a dustbin bag as I opened my mouth to protest at the loss of my only clothes.

She turned to me, smiling prettily, 'Take the rest off, then, while I get the shower warm, Eva.'

I felt oddly shy as I tip-toed naked to the shower, crossing my arms over my breasts, but the water was an unaccustomed joy, silky and warm – we had no hot water in the village, and showers were restricted to once a week at the local gymnasium, if you got there in time! Whilst I was enjoying the caress of the hot cascade of water, I hadn't realised that Maya was climbing into the big cubicle behind me, and it was a shock when she started expertly shampooing my hair, then rinsing it thoroughly with the shower-head. I cooed with pleasure at the sensuous feel of her hands, and, thus encouraged, she gave my shoulders a little gentle massage, and then allowed her long, delicate brown fingers to trail lightly down to my breasts, lingering over my nipples, which responded involuntarily, becoming as hard as rocks, and drawing a deep little moan from somewhere deep down in my throat.

All too soon, she turned off the flow of water, and said, briskly, 'Come on, we'd better get dried off, hadn't we?' She reached two huge white fluffy towels from a shelf, and handed me one. We dried ourselves, and then, having wrapped her own hair in a towel, set about drying mine with a big electric hair-drier, while I relaxed in a recliner, feeling like the Queen of Sheba. Our conversation was extremely limited, as she seemed to have little Romanian, and we shared only minimal English. As she was completing her task, my long blonde hair almost dry, a door opened, and in came another Asian girl, this one more oriental-looking than Maya, and whom she introduced to me as Lily. She was also slight and pretty, and carried a black case, like that of a doctor. She set it down beside me, and opened it up. I couldn't resist a peek: it seemed to contain all kinds of instruments, and I was none the wiser, until she started giving me a thorough manicure and pedicure. She took her time, during which Maya was trimming and brushing my hair expertly, as well as attending carefully to my eye make-up. When Lily had finished with my fingernails, I had been fitted with a set of long, porcelain artificial nails, which looked for all the world natural, varnished a lovely pink.

Next, Lily took a dentist's spreader out of her case, and inserted it in my mouth. I had never been to the dentist's for more than a check-up in my life, so I was confident she would find nothing amiss, but it was not my teeth she was interested in. Deftly, she pulled out my tongue, and put a small clip on its tip to keep it in place, while I made a useless attempt to protest. Equally quickly, she took out a little can of spray, and squirted some onto my tongue, then immediately took up what I knew instantly was a piercing tool, and concentrated briefly on perforating my projected tongue. Smilingly, she waved a tiny silver stud in front of my eyes, and I realised then that her own tongue was pierced too. In no time at all I was the possessor of a silver stud in my tongue, false nails and false eyelashes. When, after she had finished painting my lips, Maya showed me my image in a hand-mirror, and I stuck out my tongue, I could scarcely recognise the sophisticated young woman who looked back. The two of them then started a conversation in a language I didn't understand, pointing at my well-trimmed pubic bush. (I kept it trimmed, for when I wore brief shorts at the gym) Lily giggled, then took a canister from her case and handed it to her colleague. When he sprayed foam all over my mound an around my pussy, I realised what they were going to do, but when Lily took out an old-fashioned straight razor, my eyes opened wide.

'Hey!' I exclaimed, 'what the….'

But it was too late, and Lily was already concentrating expertly on swiftly taking off every vestige of hair from my mound. Then she eased my legs wide apart, gently lifting them over the arms of the chair, so that I was totally exposed for her to work carefully around my labia, right up my crack to my anus and beyond, so that I was completely depilated. Then Maya moved in with a towel, wiping away all the excess foam, and then easing oil onto all the tender newly-exposed flesh. When she smoothed her hand over my mound, down to my clit, and her fingers slid through my inner labia, I let out a little gasp, an she looked at me, with a nice twinkle in her eyes, which seemed to brighten still more as her oily finger continued its slow journey and lingered around the puckered little hole of my anus, just teasing the portals of that secret entrance. Then she moved away.

I tried to ask Maya what it was all about. If I was to be going abroad, why all this? She either didn't understand, or wasn't allowed to comment.

Lily packed up her things, and left, whilst Maya busied herself selecting clothes, presumably for me, from the many wardrobes and cupboards. Some she packed into a big suitcase, whilst she hung a few things on hangers.

'Finished,' she announced, 'you can dress now!' and I got up to see what she had got out for me. Wordlessly, she handed me a hanger, from which trailed a long gown, made of silver-grey silky material, which had a soft, luxurious feel to it.

'What's this?' I demanded.

'My instructions,' said Maya, 'are that you are to wear a long evening dress. Mr Ivanescu is taking you to dinner this evening.'

I looked hard at her to see if she was joking, saw that she was not, and took the dress off her. It was a glamorous, halter-neck creation, completely backless, so that I could wear no bra. I had never in my life worn a long dress before – never even imagined myself in such a garment, and wondered if I should pinch myself to see if I was in a dream.

'Panties?' I asked Maya, and she simply shook her head.

'Mr Ivenescu doesn't like underwear,' she said, with an air of finality.

Shrugging, and thinking to myself that, under a long dress, it would scarcely matter, I slipped the gown over my head, and let the soft silky material slide down over my hips, and fall to the floor. It felt marvellous, the silky material next to my skin, without underwear – and now clean-shaven and vulnerable; it was a brand-new sensation, the sexiest I had ever felt. Another shock awaited me, when Maya handed me the shoes I was to wear.

'I can't wear those,' I said. They were four-inch stilettos, with metal needle heels. I had never before worn high heels.

'I think you're going to have to get used to them,' said Maya, 'you'd better practice.'

I walked around in them, at first tripping over the hem of my dress, and stumbling from the height of the heels.

'It's time,' said Maya, as I was clipping in a pair of big silver hoop ear-rings she had handed me, and, glancing at the clock, I saw that it was, indeed, seven-thirty. Nervously, I allowed her to throw a fur stole round my shoulders and lead me back out down the corridor, through the office where I had so briefly met Mr Ivanescu, now empty, his cigar smoke seeming to linger in the air, out to the lift, and down to the lobby, where he was waiting for me.

He stood back a little and looked at me, then turned to Maya.

'You have done a fine job, my dear – you will be well rewarded,' he said, then, without a further word, he took my arm and led me out to a waiting black Mercedes, with darkened rear windows.

Not normally of a nervous disposition, I was conscious that I shook as I sat on the soft leather seats beside Mr Ivanescu, who I had to admit to myself, looked fantastic in an immaculate tux and white tie.

He made no move to touch me, but said, in his quiet, deep voice, 'Now, my dear, you have, I think, been well prepared?' It wasn't really a question, and before I could respond, he went on, 'Tonight is your trial. Upon it, depends whether we continue on the course we have mapped out for you. You will, of course, understand that what Sergei told you about the dancing is, shall we say, a little economical with the truth. We know you can dance – we have made enquiries, and we are aware of your beauty. What we need to know is…' and he paused, looking deep into my soul, it seemed, with lovely grey eyes, '..is can you make the most of your physical attributes?'

His hand was now on my knee as he said this, the Mercedes gliding along, soft music playing from hidden speakers, and he moved closer, slowly sliding his hand up my thigh, his maleness pervading the atmosphere. I half-closed my eyes as he leaned forward and kissed me, the soreness of my newly pierced tongue forgotten as his own tongue probed between my teeth, and I found myself feeling the front of his trousers, where a nice bulge had developed. I fumbled for a moment with his zipper, while he ran his hands over my breasts, through the thin silky material of my gown. But then I discovered that his dislike of underclothes extended to his own apparel, and his long, slim, circumcised cock sprung out into my hand, just asking to be pumped. I obliged and he groaned with pleasure, but I knew what he really wanted, and took him into my mouth, first just his crown, then infinitely slowly let my lip slide the whole way down his warm, throbbing shaft, fondling his heavy balls as I did so, while he had his hands inside my bodice, and was kneading my breasts, drawing moans from my throat which escaped around his cock. He was soon close to cumming , but I squeezed his cock near the base to try and delay him a little, and he held off for a minute, still gasping hard, but he wasn't to be denied much longer, and I sucked hard, hard as he stiffened and hot his hot load deep into my throat. I made sure to swallow very drop, licking his glans until it was clean, before I tucked him away, and tidied myself up.

'Did I pass?' I wanted to know.

'That was just the first part,' he growled, still recovering, 'you are coming with me to a fine restaurant, where you will have a good meal, and we shall dance. You must be very sexy to everyone. Then we shall go home, and…..well, the rest is for you to discover.'

We arrived at the restaurant, and I remembered what Ivanescu had told me, brushing up against the Maitre d' when he took my wrap, and walking as sexily as I could past all the tables when I went to the toilet, my breasts jiggling under the thin bodice of my gown as I swayed on the perilously high heels. I thought my back view might also be sexy, as my gown was quite backless, right down to the start of the cleavage of my buttocks. I looked over my shoulder, and, sure enough, diners were ogling me as I walked past. When we danced, I had more opportunities to be sensuous, and took them as best I could – Mr Ivanescu seemed to be pleased. Suddenly he announced we were going home, however, and called for our chauffeur.

I was unprepared for the magnificent detached house he took me to, on the city's outskirts, but Mr Ivanescu seemed still to be in the mood for dancing. He turned the lights low, and put on some smoochy music, taking me in his arms. I felt happier than I had in years, and made no objection when I felt him slowly raising the silky skirt of my gown, sliding it lowly up my bare legs, up, up to my thighs, and then to my hips. His hands were on to my buttocks, kneading, parting them, questing.

Then suddenly, I became aware that we were not alone! And in that very moment of awareness, a huge, long, thick prick, longer and thicker than I had known to exist, speared itself brutally unerringly into my unsuspecting cunt. Looking back, the whole evening had made me damp and receptive, and I should have been well prepared to let Mr Ivanescu fuck me, but to be transfixed so suddenly by this huge, strange, weapon was quite unbelievable. It was……rape! The stranger's big, hairy hands were covering my breasts, and he carried me, bodily, impaled on his mighty rod, to a big couch, where he laid me down, almost gently. Mr Ivanescu was nowhere to be seen. I was on my stomach, my dress around my waist, the big young stranger kneeling between my legs as he drove into me ferociously, so that I feared he would tear me. But the events of the evening, coupled with the whole strange day, and my accumulating need, now started to build into what I couldn't, wouldn't deny. I was going to let go, to cum, to cum with the force of an express train – and I just didn't fucking care! 'Eva, you're a five star fucking slut!' was my last thought as I saw all the colours of the kaleidoscope and heard the music of the angels. I screamed, and called him some kind of a bastard.

I slept for a while, I think, and when I awoke, Mr Ivanescu was in a chair opposite, looking at me.

'Did I pass this time?' I asked.

I got on the plane with two other girls, Olga and Petra, at eleven next morning, bound for Madrid. I now knew what we had in store – more or less. Mr Ivanescu had explained the job to me, though I couldn't help wondering if some of what he told me was still a little 'economical with the truth.'

We were working for a company called 'Sexcorts' – and when I had asked him straight out if we were not simply to be high class whores, he smiled and said, 'What, my dear, makes a woman a whore? Marrying for money, as, undoubtedly, did my lady wife, may be construed as prostitution, no? At least we don't try to pass you off as 'escorts' – pretending that you are simply virtuous young girls, there to look pretty. No, you will go with very well-heeled, sometimes famous clients, to high-class destinations, discreet clubs and the like, and they will fuck you, however, and whenever they wish. For this pleasure, they will pay a lot of money, which enables us to install you in a nice apartment, where you will maintain a good wardrobe. During the days, you will have time to learn Spanish and perfect your English. Now, please tell me if you don't want to go, because I must look for a replacement for you.'

'I'll go, Mr Ivanescu,' I had told him. My options were, to say the least, limited – back to my village, to work in the bar, and, eventually, marry a pig-farmer?

I glanced at my companions, sat in the seats beside me. Olga was as dark as I was blonde, with eyes as black as coal, and long, long lashes which gave an exotic appearance to her sharp features, while Petra had short, honey-blonde hair, and was dazzlingly beautiful, with full lips and even fuller breasts. I wondered, not for the first time, whether I matched up to them, then I caught Olga glancing at me, and thought – she's wondering the same thing!

We arrived at Madrid's Barajas airport, passed through the usual controls, and were met by a dapper little guy in a chauffeur's uniform, who ushered us out to a black limo., and whisked us off through busy streets into the city.

The three of us were thankfully to be housed in apartments in the same block, which seemed to be in a decent area of the city, though I hadn't a clue where, and as we none of us spoke the language – any more than we had mugged up from a phrase book on the plane – we should be happy to be able to go out shopping together. Once in my studio apartment alone, however, I had my first chance to see what Maya had packed for me by way of clothes. It was May, and warm in Spain, so I shouldn't need any cold weather gear, but I had been given no more than a cotton print dress and a pair of high heels in which to travel, as had the other two. When I compared notes with them, they both said they had received the same information – underwear was frowned upon, and they should get used to high heels. The feeling of being naked under skimpy outer clothing was starting to appeal to me, I had to admit, though having a permanently moist pussy was a new experience. I had daydreamed a bit at times on the long flight, reliving the pounding I had received from the muscular young man I learned was Nikki, Ivanescu's son. I knew sex was going to be a big part of my life now, and it seemed like a great idea, but I didn't think there were too many like Nikki around.