Pretty Woman

This and the Full Monty can be read in any order and if you don't enjoy the first, then feel free to ignore the second.

It was 10:45 on a Thursday evening and I (Rachel) was lounging in the Ambassador Suite of the Ranleigh Hotel with half a dozen friends and acquaintances. Though whilst the other girls were all busy gossiping and quaffing prosecco, I had my head buried deep in a book: Geoffrey Jehle's 'Advanced Microeconomic Theory', riveting stuff!

It was advice drummed into me by my father: If you use all those spare half and quarter hours to study, then over the course of a year they'll add up to a distinct advantage over your rivals in business, or in my case the university examinations. Besides, I would have ample to time to drink all the alcohol that I needed before the night was over.

Like most of my classmates I was holding down a part-time job in addition to my studies; indeed two of the other girls with me this evening were also students. Unlike the majority however, I can't claim economic necessity; my parents pick-up the tab for it all: Tuition Fees, accommodation costs and even generous monthly allowances, for both my twin brother Dylan and myself. This job was just another of those homilies that I'd learnt at my father's knee:

'Look to utilise your God-given talents and get out to work at every opportunity, it'll make you more self-sufficient and stand you in good stead when you enter the world of business; even if it's not relevant experience that you gain, it shows potential employers that you're willing and able to meet the demands of a full time job.' That said, Daddy would be mortified if he knew that I was working; he was allowing Dylan and I those allowances specifically to ensure that we would 'concentrate on your studies without any distractions'.

The other variance between myself and my classmates was in my choice of employment, as unlike the majority I'd eschewed the joys of being a barmaid, burger-flipper or barista and instead found work as a party-hostess. Not a whore, a hooker, or even call girl, but a Hostess; an altogether more upmarket and far more expensive creature and as with all things in life, quality costs and you get what you pay for.

Aside from the re-numeration -- you don't need to study economics to work out that the pay is far better than that of a barmaid, burger-flipper or barista -- the working conditions are far superior too. There's a certain... physical threshold, which needs to be achieved, but no formal qualifications are required and any lack of experience can quickly be addressed on the job. I can think of three other girls just on my own course who are sufficiently attractive to make the grade, so I really can't understand why more of my fellow students aren't doing likewise.

My shifts are never at the weekend and I seldom work more than one night each week; I rarely begin before ten-thirty in the evening and I'm usually home in my own bed by three-thirty at the latest. It barely impinges on my studies or social life at all, indeed it's a positive benefit to the latter; those generous and entirely tax-free earnings enable my friends and I to afford tickets to any and every night-club, concert or sporting event that takes our fancy.

My employers provide a door to door taxi service, so no commuting costs or hassles; the firm they use for that give my friends and I a very special rate for limousine hire too, so another plus to the social life. The work's rarely too onerous, as the vast majority of our party guests tend to be middle-aged businessmen. Neither is it dangerous, if someone does get a little... carried away, there's always a Minder on hand to calm things down; people don't argue with Ewan. What's not to like?

So, back to my story: Thursday was just a typical gig, the sort I must've worked at least thirty times before, with more than half of those being in this very suite. The Ranleigh Hotel is close to the city's Exhibition Centre and a major player in whatever field this week's trade-show was in aid of was entertaining their favoured clients and suppliers. Those guests would have been wined, dined, possibly even been taken to a show and would shortly be joining us to round off their night.

Ewan's phone pinged at 10:55, he had a brief and muted conversation, then clapped his hands and announced: "Our guests are on their way, there are fifteen and they will be here in ten minutes; time to freshen-up and put on your game-faces ladies."

I packed my book away safely, then joined a queue for one of the bathrooms, where I checked my make-up and changed my panties; as usual I passed on any offers of happy pills or a line of coke and by 11:04 we'd all reconvened in the suite's main lounge. Two minutes later Ewan answered a knock at the door and ten seconds after that, I had an idea as to what industry this week's trade show related to and realised that tonight was not going to be a 'typical gig':

The Trade Show had to have some connection with Automotive Electronics, as that's my father's business and he was the third man who walked through the door. Daddy saw and recognised me in almost exactly the same moment and I suspect that my own expression was screaming precisely the same message as the look on Dad's face did: 'For Christ sake don't say anything!'

Drinks we're poured and distributed whilst we girls introduced ourselves to our guests. The kiss I bestowed on Daddy was rather less... promising than that which I granted the other men, but I don't think anyone noticed; similarly, Dad's hands where less... exploratory -- with all of the girls! - than those of the other men. Then, with our introductions completed, it was time for the gentlemen to choose their hostess.

Tonight followed a common format with the men Spoofing for who went first; the seven men who won a round, each then selected a girl in turn. I wasn't unduly concerned, as the only way that Daddy and I could be paired-up was if he were the seventh man to win a round; the odds of which were long. With I being the only girl still un-chosen and the odds of that were even longer; the lowest I've ever been picked is third and even that was only the once!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming to be some undiscovered super-model, far from it, but I do hold a particular attraction for many of the middle-aged businessmen to whom we usually cater: Though I'm almost twenty, I can never go out for an evening around the pubs and clubs without at least two pieces of photographic identification; At best I appear to be around sixteen or seventeen and should I make the effort -- as I invariably do when working -- then I look even younger.

This evening was fairly typical: My long fair hair hair was in twin pony tails, very little make-up, a white blouse & short, grey, pleated skirt -- both just a little too small - white knee-length socks and low-heeled sensible shoes. That skirt along with the grey felt hat with its blue & yellow band and the matching tie which completed my outfit were the actual ones that I'd worn during my final year at school and of course my underwear was similarly plain, white and... virginal.

Every inch the fragile, innocent, ingenue a look which was further emphasised by the other girls towering over me in their slinky cocktail dresses and fuck-me heels. I'd even adopted 'Lolita' as my working name, though often the men would call me by a name of their own choosing; presumably one which held some particular significance for them? I never dared enquire as to what that was, though more than a few gave me a clue by also requesting that I address them as 'Uncle whatever' or even 'Daddy'.

My insouciance about the risk of being paired-off with Dad proved well founded, he won the very first round of Spoof; however, that nonchalance was shattered when Daddy promptly selected me anyway!

Having regained my composure, I meekly led Dad to one of the bedrooms with butterflies doing aerobatics in my stomach; I knew the upcoming conversation had to happen, but I'd assumed that it would be with a demand that I return home for the weekend, or at worst by his visiting to my apartment tomorrow. On the upside, the proximity of Daddy's business associates would at least ensure that his ire would have to be expressed in a moderate tone of voice.

Having closed the door behind us Daddy directed me to chair while he sat on the bed's edge a few feet away; initially he was silent, arms resting on his knees, head bowed and shaking slowly, Dad was not a happy bunny. When he finally spoke, it was to enquire if I was "in some sort of financial difficulty, with drugs, gambling... or something like that?"

I was quick to assure him that I wasn't; but rather, like everyone else, a little extra money didn't hurt. Dad also expressed concern about my being 'distracted' from my studies, but I gave him the same argument I mentioned earlier: I hadn't been picked-up until 10:15 that evening, so I wouldn't have been studying even if I'd stayed home; tomorrow was Friday so I'd no lectures or tutorials in the morning and could easily sleep-off my night's exertions and be refreshed for the afternoon.

Dad played the slut-shaming card, telling me how upset and disappointed my mother and with a gesture directed toward my old-school uniform, my one-time Headmistress too would be, should they learn of my fall from grace: "Hardly the behaviour expected of the Head Girl."

That rather annoyed me, so I was rather sharp in pointing out that this was hardly likely to happen: I certainly wasn't going to tell them and that if Daddy were to do so, that would immediately raise a question as to how exactly he'd discovered my secret?

We went around in such circles for ten minutes; Daddy being especially exasperated at his inability to punish me. He worked out for himself that cutting my allowance wouldn't work, I could and my smile and nod told him that I would; simply work an extra night each week. When he suggested that I wasn't too old for a spanking; I laughed outright, telling him that it was: "unlikely to be the only one that I enjoy tonight, but be careful not to get too aggressive as Ewan would be in here like a shot."

When Dad eventually conceded defeat I carelessly and perhaps cruelly told him: "Well, you're the one who's always told me to look to utilise my talents and get out to work, so that's just what I'm doing..." I tossed him a saucy grin before adding: "... and I am... Very talented..." As Daddy's head dropped and began swinging from side to side once again, I concluded: "Check mate; end of conversation."

Daddy sat there for perhaps another ten seconds before his gaze swung upward to mine; his eyes were now bright... fiery! "In that case young lady, get down here on your knees and suck my cock!"

I was stunned... no, shocked; my father had just demanded oral sex! I was so badly thrown I couldn't string a coherent reply together: "I... what... you... I can't... you can't expect... I'm... I'm your daughter for God's sake!"

Dad's mien was serious, every bit the ruthless business executive rather than the father that I usually saw: "It's not Rachel I'm asking. My daughter's already told me that our conversation's at an end, so rather than waste the rest of the evening, I may as well get a cheap whore, to suck my cock. As I've told Rachel often and she apparently heeds what I say: if you accept the pay, then you finish the job, even if you decide that you don't like it; I can't believe that you'd be here if you'd not already been well paid... Lolita."

I was now beyond words, that sentence about seeing the job through was indeed another of dad's edicts; but this... surely not? The answer wasn't long in arriving and it wasn't delivered verbally: Daddy rose from the bed, grabbed me by the left pony tail and jerked me forward as he sank back onto the bed's edge; I stumbled forward to land on my knees at his feet then stared open-mouthed as he unfastened his pants to reveal a very stiff cock.

I couldn't help but note its close resemblance to Dylan's, right down to the slight up-turn in the last inch or so of its shaft; Dylan might've taken after our mother in looks, but he'd certainly inherited dad's cock! I was still contemplating this when Dad again grasped me by the hair, twisting my pony tail as he pulled me forward; my mouth sprang open with the pain and an instant later Daddy's cock filled the gaping void: "Time to earn your pay, Lolita!"

It wouldn't be fair to say that Dad was rough, but he was certainly forceful; it wasn't so much me sucking Daddy's cock as having him fuck my mouth. Daddy penetrated deeply, right into my throat, but having once found my limits, he was careful not to go further, nor tarry there for so long as to choke me. Indeed once we'd coordinated our rhythms I began to enjoy Dad's shameful abuse; pulling him in just a little deeper of my own volition as I looked forward to swallowing his incestuous seed.

Only a few minutes earlier I'd been appalled by Daddy's wicked proposal, but when he unexpectedly stopped and pushed me off his lovely fat cock, I found myself mewling in my frustration; thankfully it wasn't for long: Dad rose from the bed and dropped to his knees behind me, a push between my shoulder-blades and a jerk at my hips saw me now on the bed's edge, face down with Dad frantically dragging my panties aside: "You're dripping wet Lolita; you really do enjoy your work."

Daddy's cock was nudging at my pussy even as he'd spoken, five seconds and two thrusts later it's full length was buried deep inside me as I wailed out a reply: "Oh God yes! Fuck me Daddy, fuck me hard."

Dad spent a few moments fumbling a couple of buttons open on my blouse, before forcing a hand inside my bra to grope at my pert breasts; his other hand meanwhile caught and entwined both of my pony tails. A growled "My pleasure, slut!" accompanied Dad's next and harder penetration, whereafter he fairly pounded into me as I gasped and shrieked in delight and encouragement.

Being taken that way was a favourite, perhaps fortunate as it's a regular occurrence too, but the additional taboo of it being my father who was slamming his hard cock into me made it special beyond measure. I don't think Dad lasted beyond a dozen strokes, but that hardly mattered I was orgasming already and when I felt his come jetting inside of me, that climax spiralled even higher; I enjoy any and every fuck, but this one had been a Worldie!

Daddy released his grip on my hair and I collapsed onto the bed gasping for breath. It must've been a minute or more before I recovered and it was only then that I realised I was alone; Dad hadn't just slipped out of me, he'd slipped out of the room. My annoyance at Dad's stealing away was short lived; what the hell could either of us have said anyway? I'm certainly not au fait with the etiquette applicable to a polite post-coital conversation between a daughter and her father.

As Daddy had so rudely reminded me, I'd been well paid and had a job to fulfil; I quickly freshened myself up, repaired the damage to my make-up and changed my panties, then strode back into the main lounge. I'll concede that my arrival there was far from the calm collected entrance that I might normally achieve; Dad was sat at the bar, our eyes met in the moment I stepped through the doorway and my heart began racing. What now?

I needn't have worried, I'd not taken two strides into the room before I was intercepted by one of the other men and he'd clearly been waiting for me especially. Having caught me by the wrist and addressed me as 'Jessica', he was already leading me back toward the bedroom that I'd just left, introducing himself as we went. Two minutes later I was knelt on the floor not six inches from where I'd been when sucking my father's cock; but now it was Uncle Bernard's shaft between my lips.

It turned into a busy night for me -- Lolita proved very popular - so I saw very little of my father over the next couple of hours, but whenever I did, he was invariably sat on that same bar stool with his eyes locked on me; I suspect that he'd not fucked any of the other girls. The party was drawing to a close and as so often happens, what action there still was had moved from the bedrooms into the main lounge; I suspect that it's a macho thing? Those guys who're still able get it up by then, like to flaunt their virility before those who can't and do so by fucking we girls in full view of them.

I, or at least Jessica, was naked, on her knees astride Uncle Bernard once more, while another man was kneeling beside me so that his 'sugar-babe' could suck on 'Daddy's cock'. I was fully aware of my own father, sitting not ten feet away and watching the show; could it get any worse? Yes - The man with his cock in my mouth (Alan?) called out: "Hey Jack, you've got to have some lead left in your pencil; get yourself over here and we'll get this little Minx airtight." Dad didn't reply, but from the corner of my eye, I saw him climb off his stool and head in our direction.

In the same moment I saw Ewan move and approach rapidly from the other direction; it was toward he that I swung my eyes and held up a hand to check, or at least slow his approach. There were a couple of the girls who did anal as a matter of course and got paid accordingly. A couple more would do so on an ad-hoc basis, provided that they liked the guy, that he wasn't too well endowed and most importantly... that he offered them a little present from his own pocket. The rest of us didn't provide the service, something which Ewan knew and that's why he was about to intervene.

I could already hear Dad behind me unfastening his pants as I pushed myself free from Alan's cock and spoke to Ewan "It's OK Ewan, but I'll need some lube; do you have any?"

Of course he did, Ewan's deep pockets invariably held anything we girls ever called for. That said, he clearly wasn't happy and as he proffered it to Dad, he growled: "Use plenty... and on yourself too... go easy, if you hurt Loli I'll throw you off the fucking balcony."

I sensed Dad hesitate, but I confirmed my decision "It's OK... Jack; just use lots of lube and start slowly... I want you to do it." I couldn't see Dad's expression, but Ewan looked baffled; he must've 'dissuaded' a dozen men who at various times had tried to take my bum. I'd never surrendered my anal virginity, but it had been long promised... that would be another difficult conversation looming on the horizon.

Hesitation over, I felt Dad's fingers part my buttocks and a moment's chill as he lathered the unctuous gloop across my rosebud; he pressed the tube's nozzle through my virgin ring to anoint me inside too. There was a few seconds hiatus -- coating himself presumably? - then the pressure of a slick finger forcing its way inside me; even just that intrusion made me gasp and I realised what a giant step I'd committed to.

As Dad's finger penetrated, I began to gasp and moan, when he introduced a second shortly afterwards those moans became wails, but they weren't entirely from pain. Ewan was looking uncomfortable with proceedings and I suspect Alan's cock re-entering my my mouth was in part his effort to quell my sounds of distress. I became aware of other noises too, the sound of encouraging voices; we were drawing a crowd, the other men were gathering to watch Lolita accommodate three men at once.

This was crazy! I was an anal virgin, but had chosen to surrender that virginity whilst a cock was already buried deep in my pussy; talk about trying to run before you can walk! On the up-side, I had witnessed Katarina at work and she was an expert, a consummate arse-whore; just a moment later she too was knelt beside me, offering advice and instruction to both me and Daddy. Did Dad realise that this would be my first time?

Under Kat's direction Uncle Alan pulled out of my mouth; "let her breathe, Lolita needs to breathe." Next Katarina's hand gently cupped my right buttock and raised me up a little higher on my knees; only an inch or so of Uncle Bernard's cock now remained inside my pussy: "Hold it there liebchen, it can go back in later... you'll know when." Katarina ordered both Alan and Bernard too: "Don't move until Lolita invites you to..." then turning her attention to Dad, Kat concluded: "You need to be strong, but not rough; push, don't stab!" And so it began...