Green Tea with Jasmine Pt. 03

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One girl good, two girls better, five girls? Maybe not.
4.1k words
3.82
9.8k
2

Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 10/24/2015
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About a year later in spring

Water runs in the streets and over the curbs after the third day of constant rain has overloaded the storm drains and the river, pregnant with melted snow, offers no relief. I have just closed something I have been working on for a year and a half and I have delighted my co-workers with the number of ways I have been able to cover up what is a colossal deception of our counterparty. I have nothing to do with the rest of my afternoon and nowhere to go. How to celebrate yet another corporate caper?

May I suggest an afternoon of blindingly inappropriate extramarital intimate physical activity culminating in ejaculation and generous tips? I turn to see Gentle dressed up like a waiter in a five-star restaurant, notepad open. Where's Wicked?

He's on personal leave. That thing we did last week that put our company's counterparty into bankruptcy got him noticed at the Home Office and he's gone in to get a commendation or something.

Our counterparty was more gullible than a trailerpark imbecile. As far as accomplishments go, that carries the same amount of difficulty credits as, say, seducing a dead sheep. However, as Gentle reminds me, that IS the sort of thing demons like to put on their resumes. It's just gonna be he and I for today, so let's see what he can come up with. Judging from the way my dick is hanging limp in my trousers, I don't expect much, but I do know whom to call.

The first call is to a little establishment located, by the machinations of the dark celestial forces that oversee this particular city, right next door to my office. Hi, remember me and my terrible accent? Yes, of course. I want to come over in an hour or so with a lady friend, what are the options? Eight hands, full non-intimate contact, costs such and such, you can have privacy after the program. Deal.

The second call is to Jasmine. Hi, great to hear from you, sure I can come to such and such address in an hour, what are we going to do? Okay, I'll trust you...

On the street, coming into the café, she is dressed not to provoke attention. Simple coat, sensible boots, dark skirt, hat covering her hair. She smiles, we have an obligatory cup of coffee, and I explain a little of what is going to happen in hushed tones. She nods in agreement. She shows me that she has brought the scarves. I did not ask her to. Gentle is smsing Wicked "Yes, you were right..."

A two minute walk and we are ringing the doorbell to an unmarked apartment in a nondescript building. The first floor is a shoe store, post office, hardware store and lunch place. The entryway to the apartments is around the back, and then there's a stairwell, dilapidated and redolent of old piss, the same graffiti essentially as in Jasmine's block: Eminem is KOOL, Rap is Dogshit. A girl opens the door and leads us in.

I assume that girls in the industry, even if unacquainted, are fairly capable of spotting each other. Jasmine, of course, as the guest has no trouble understanding what the girls here are and what they do. What I wonder is whether they have her pegged as a pro or just some girlfriend of mine. It turns me on to think that she is so demure and so polite that they don't make her as a colleague.

In this house, the rules of the crew are at work. One of the older girls is called the Mama – either because she has been promoted permanently or because that mama on the train I told you about came to visit for a couple of days. She leads us in to a living room with over-soft furniture, takes our shoes and coats, and tells us that the girls will be coming in two seconds. She claps her hands and about eight girls walk in, dressed in cheap summer resort outfits. They are all different – tall, short, curly hair, straight, one in a crew cut. The busty ones show off their chests as much as possible. The shier ones stand to the side. I introduce myself and Jasmine and ask for their names, and for each one to tell me something about herself. I do this to remember the names:

#1, shy and at the end, emaciated, tells me she likes Martini. Until I moved here, I did not know that vermouth could be drunk straight. Pass.

#2, chubby and smiling, tells me it's her birthday today. Possible.

#3, tall and athletic, strong veined hands, tells me she likes the rain. Possible.

#4, stout and dykey, shoulders like a boxer, tells me she just got back from Egypt and that's why she's tan. Probable.

#5, the curviest and most vivacious, smiles at Jasmine and tells me – still looking at Jasmine -- she thinks I am a very lucky man. Definite.

#6, bookish looking even if dressed in cutoff jeans and a bra, looks at her feet and tells me she's always been afraid of spiders. That makes her more of a pussy than my children, but I like the whole "librarian who has to yank pud to feed her pet birds" look. Possible.

#7 , shy of her big nose, tells me she has been in the capital a year and loves it. I don't believe her on either count. Pass.

#8, at the other end, has small breasts with nipples that push through two layers of clothing. I don't listen to what she says, she's already a Definite.

I ask them to give us a minute and send Mama back in five minutes. Gentle has his own ideas of whom to pick but I ignore him. I turn to Jasmine and ask her. She won't choose. But I held her hand during the cattle call, and watched her out of the corner of my eye. The girl definitely is not gay, but her hand tightened when #5 looked at her, and she ran her thumb over the back of my hand when #3 introduced herself. I also watched her look up and down over the Mama, and the girl with the closest body type to Mama is #8. #4 has the closest skin tone to Jasmine's. I run those numbers by her and she nods in agreement. Mama walks in, gets the names, walks out and two seconds later in walks #5.

Within a crew, there is always a leader, and she is the one who brings you in. The two of us are brought to a room with dimmed lights, a music player, a chair in the corner and a large Ikea bed from the cheap end of the catalogue. 5 asks 3 to take Jasmine for her shower, and when she leaves, she asks me what I want. I've been here before, alone (usually) and so she knows I know the basic no-nos – the guests can touch or lick a girl's breast, any orifice is off limits, sex is forbidden with the girls in the room, the girls will not play with each other unless the guest has specifically purchased that program. That does, however, leave a lot. So I tell her what I'd like to see; she asks me if Jasmine is going to be all right with it and I show her the bag of scarves. She smiles and the other two girls get to work. Jasmine comes back a few minutes later and 8 is sent to give me my shower.

When I get back, Jasmine is naked on the bed, head resting to the side on her folded hands, smiling at me. 3 and 5 are on either side of her back, working her spine down to her butt and 4 is doing the feet and legs. She is gleaming with oil. They are naked as well. 5 invites me to lay down next to them, and 8 with the titanium nipples leads me over, lays me down, and works my shoulders and spine. Jasmine and I are purring.

How are you, Jasmine? I ask.

Excellent, she sighs.

I've told 5 that you are going to do anything you are told to do, that's right isn't it?

Jasmine nods.

They need to hear you say it, darling.

Jasmine smiles. I'll do whatever I am told, 5, she says.

5 smiles. This is a game she knows how to play.

I watch them arouse her. It starts slowly, following whispered clues from 5: part her legs, or fingertip-feather down the arms. Jasmine is patient and she does not buck when 5 sits on her back and holds her hands as 3 leans on her legs and 4 runs one fingertip from the tail bone to the anus and perineum and back; Jasmine only hisses and smiles at me, closing her eyes. Meanwhile 8 is doing the same to me and I am hardening.

5 keeps a watch by the bed and after fifteen minutes have passed, she takes the bandanna I gave her and she blindfolds Jasmine, then tells her to roll over. The scarves are already fixed to the corners of the bed. I watch from the side of the bed, rock hard as four naked girls pull her extremities to the corners and hitch her down simultaneously. They hum in tune to the song on the CD player as they fasten her down. The sexiest part is 5, telegraphing orders to the other three – pass it twice around the wrist before you make the knot, re-tighten the loops around the corner once the ankle is tight – and winking at me, making me wonder who is really providing the service to whom here?

Once Jasmine is spread open, 5 tests her by tickling under her arms and pinching her thighs between her legs. Both times, Jasmine yelps but does not otherwise make a sound. 3, 4 and 8 go where 5 points them. There is a simple semaphore at work here: a few hand signals and they know just what to do. 3 and 8, the strongest pair, each sit on a thigh, rubbing themselves on her, as they gently feather their fingers in a triangle around her pussy without touching the temple of Venus itself. 4 sits above Jasmine's head, makes Jasmine lick her fingers, and begins to work her breasts. Jasmine is sighing, moving, relaxed and at attention at the same time.

5 comes over to me and whispers, any specific instructions? She's rubbing my thigh, on the inside, letting her breast fall on my upper arm, nuzzling my shoulder.

Does she know what you can and cannot do?

We did not tell her.

Can you kiss her?

Not on the mouth or between the legs.

That's a shame. How do you usually make women come like this?

We have toys, we put condoms on them. You want me to get them?

That's what's called a rhetorical question. I shake my head yes. 5 puts on a robe and is back in three minutes. The opening and closing door makes Jasmine gasp.

Gentle is on my shoulder, dressed like a Japanese tourist at Disneyworld with a camcorder. What's this, I ask him. Like we haven't taken girls to the massage parlors before? It's Wicked, he explains. If he gets back from his day off and finds out I didn't take pictures, he'll kill me. He's posting them on his blog.

The Big Guy has Down There wired for internet?

Gentle shrugs. Who do you think invented the fucking thing?

I decide to leave the realm of theo-political humor and return to watching 3 and 4 use one hand apiece to spread Jasmine's pussy wide open. Their other hands, they flutter over, around and through her garden of perdition, never actually touching her. They take turns leaning into the velvet orchid, blowing on the petals, sepals and stamen, droning like hummingbirds. Meanwhile, 8, God bless her, is going to town on Jasmine's nipples. And Jasmine? Jasmine is in durance not totally vile.

5, meanwhile, is laying down next to Jasmine so she can talk to her. In her hands is a vibrating dildo. It's not quite the size of a baseball bat. Well, not the size of a baseball bat they'd use in North America, anyway. She is rolling a condom onto the Ryugasaki Slugger, and I almost feel sorry for the rubber.

A word about 5 voice. She's built like Jennifer Tilly or Victoria Jackson, and she has the same kind of ridiculously high throaty voice that in retrospect you can't believe you fell for when she drops out of it into a low front of the mouth growl that makes you think of women in trailer parks with tattoos and curling irons and an innate understanding of handguns. This is the voice she starts to use with Jasmine:

You can't see what I have, can you, slut? But you'd like to, wouldn't you. Here, let me roll it across your stomach like this, see how long and wide it is? Stop squirming. Be a good slut for auntie, won't you (Jasmine is at least five years older than 5)? Don't make auntie angry, now. Here. Let's turn it on, let you feel it.

5 takes it like a bow and plays it across Jasmine's violet viola, prompting a cry.

Hsst! 5 growls. Bad girl. 3, put a hand over her mouth. Clamp it. If she bites, slap her.

Jasmine makes a stifled squeal, I have not heard this from her before. 5 continues to pass the baton back and forth through Jasmine's lips, over the top of her clit. 3 and 4 are moaning and sucking on Jasmine's breasts, nursing, biting, pinching, their hands teasing her arms and stomach. Jasmine is yanking on the scarfs, trying to turn her head. Is she looking for me?

I'm over here, I say, it will be all right.

5 tells me to shut up. This is her show, that's what I paid for, right? Let her do her job, she says, and let Jasmine do hers. Your job is to lay back and watch your whore get screwed.

For once, I do not know what to say.

Let her see him, 5 commands, and 3 takes the blindfold off. She takes it and holds it between Jasmine's teeth, using her two hands to anchor the ends of the cloth and to hold Jasmine's face straight up.

4, 5 asks. Can I trust you not to come on her face?

4 nods, unsure of herself but sure of who is in charge. She turns from Jasmine's breast and squats over 8's hands and Jasmine's face. 8 pulls her hands away and now the only thing between 4's cunt and Jasmine's face is the untied-but-anchored-by-thighs cloth in Jasmine's mouth. 4 knows what she is doing – Jasmine's breath from her nose is blowing right on her clit.

Meanwhile, 5 is waving the dildo in Jasmine's face. Look at this, baby, she is saying. I can put this anywhere I want to. Would you like that?

Jasmine is blinking, trying to avoid my eyes. If I wanted to stop this, could I? Jasmine can't see around 8, so she has no idea what is going on down there as 5 starts to use the dildo like a club, tapping and thumping against Jasmine's pussy. Our eyes finally meet. She is trying to smile.

I did not have this in mind, I tell Gentle. He's even more petrified than I am. Neither did I. This is really Wicked's territory. What do we do? I give him a withering look. I'll be damned if I have to give my fucking shoulder devil tips on what to tell me to do.

3 and 4 are left with little to do, so they come over to me and lay in my arms. This is simultaneously comforting and entrapment. I'd have to push to get them off me. I don't want to push.

5 continues to taunt Jasmine: I should just ram this in to you like the whore you are. It's more than your man has. It's more than any man has. You don't need a man. You need this. You need me to shove this in you. Don't you? Nobody knows how to fuck a whore like another whore, right?

Jasmine, through cloth and the pelvic apparatus of what is by now a very red faced Vika, clearly screams NO. (It sounds like a cellar door slamming shut in a storm.)

Yes it is. Look at you. You love my little bitch on your face, don't you?

NO!

Well her pussy and yours tells a different fairytale than that, my little bitch. Look at her, her eyes are closed. BITCH she growls at 8 don't you come you little slut. Just rape her face. Jasmine, darling, you want me to fuck you, don't you? I'm pushing it right here at the opening...

NO!

You don't like me? Auntie is going to shove it in like you have never --

NOOOO!

I can't hear you, whore...

And Jasmine goes from NO – a word she has used with me, maybe, twice in bed in what is by now over 24 elapsed hours of fucking – to a language that only women can understand, a childbirth howl of rage and despair and surrender that has three simultaneous effects: one, it makes me try to break free of these two naked nothing girls laying on me; two, it makes 5 pause, and look at me strangely; three, it makes 8 squeak Oh God Oh Mommy Oh No No NO about ten times as she shudders on Jasmine's face.

All is quiet for a second. 5 waves her hand at the girls on me and they roll off. She taps 8 on the shoulder and 8 gets off of Jasmine's face, taking the cloth out of Jasmine's mouth and wiping herself with it. She sits on the side of the bed, never taking her eyes of 5. 5 looks at me and then at Jasmine, who won't look at anyone but the ceiling. 5 hisses at 8, who gets off the bed and goes to a corner to bring towels to the girls.

OK girls, she says. Time to give them some time alone.

They are out in two seconds, wrapped in towels. I crouch over Jasmine. I search for words. Gentle is no help, as usual. She looks at me.

Please, she says. Now. Can you be slow and tender?

I look at the scarves. I can untie...

She nods and I release her. She wraps her arms and legs around me and lets me cover her mouth. I let her bite my hand. She comes in less than a minute, squeaking and squealing. I can't.

We lay there, not saying a word. I hold her and stroke her hair. I have no idea what just happened. Gentle is no help. I look over at him and he is stroking his horns and sticking his tongue out like some lovestruck animated cartoon from the 1940s.

What the fuck is with you? I ask and he turns to me with a Goofy grin and accent. Damn me if he doesn't say Gawrsh, she shore is purty. Who? 5's devil. Then go get her fucking phone number and leave me alone. Without Wicked, you're a fucking disaster. But Gentle is already gone to get some demonic 411.

We stay there, silent, holding each other. I realize I want to apologize, and I realize the apology will make it worse. She wants to cry, I can tell, but she won't. Crying for what I do to her, she knows I can handle. Crying for what I let happen to her, she knows I can't.

A knock at the door and 3 comes in with an actual bathrobe for Jasmine. 3 treats Jasmine like a spa patient, arms around the waist, low voiced cooing compassion. It's clear Jasmine has had her 5 dose for the day. As soon as they have gone, 5 comes in and I go for my wallet.

You can handle that in a minute. Can I say something first? It's not a question, so I nod. She sits down next to me on the bed.

You're welcome back anytime, of course, but do not bring her with you. Do you understand me?

I think so. What did we do wrong?

You did nothing wrong. Jasmine does not like girls, but she was ready to let me rape her to please you. And not because she's at work. Because she likes you. You're a nice guy and she's a sweet whore, but all that means is that you're nice for a stupid clumsy brute and she's sweet for a woman who should know better than to trust men. I can't stop you from breaking each others' hearts, but I can make sure it doesn't happen in this establishment. Do you understand?

I think so, I say after a minute: the only love more impossible than a whore and her john is a dyke and a straight girl.

She put on that smile, the one that says what the locals refer to as "a few brief words of French" and which we call a brief Anglo-Saxon expletive. Then she slipped back into her Jennifer Tilly doll face and voice: I was wrong about you. You're not stupid.

And I'm not all that nice, either.

She nodded and laughed. Look, do yourself a favor, take her out of here, get her a cab, send her home and wait a month to call her. Never mention today again, and you'll get years of fun out of her.

I settled up with her and she took me to the shower, where 8 was waiting. 5 whispered to me that this was on the house and she expected me to honor my agreement. As soon as the door was shut, 8 got on her knees, took my cock in both hands, and started to jerk me off. I grabbed her hair in one hand and pulled her head back to look at me.

You're 5's girl, aren't you.

She nodded, vacantly.

And coming is against the house rules, as is servicing in the shower, right?

Another nod. She couldn't be more than one or two chromosomes away from a Nobel Prize.

So this is on the house, right? I'm your punishment, aren't I?

8 nodded again, dim-witted but honest. I closed my eyes and imagined Jasmine screaming NOOO, but then I reopened them to look down on 8, grimacing in confusion and disgust as I iced her muffin from the hairline to the nipples. I left her there with a towel wrapped around me, to find 5 standing outside the door.

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