tagFetishProfessional Assistance Preferred

Professional Assistance Preferred


My name is Alan. Characters and events of the following story are entirely fictional.

Chapter One

The city of Boston is an odd place for a Midwestern small-towner to transplant into. But I'd done it after achieving a Bachelor's in business Management. Being that one of my hobbies is reading, after eight years of mid-level white-collar job hopping, I'd moved, and bought a house and a usiness space for a moderate bookstore. Just I and one employee had been holding things down and earning comfortably for three years. My employee was in her third year of college, very bright and wanting to be a writer, hence her being drawn to a bookstore and also my decision to hire her.

Home for both of us was two blocks from the store, in opposite directions. I had also converted moderately-sized space above the store to an apartment, though no one was currently renting it.

Today I locked the shop as Dawn, my employee, also got ready to head out and delve into keeping herself afloat in her schoolwork. I set out for home and reached my split-level ranch in twenty minutes. After showering, I put a casserole in the oven and sat down to check e-mail after starting up my laptop. I cleared my junk mail folder and perused my inbox, briefly eyeing a little info from a couple of online retailers I used regularly. These I eventually deleted as well.

One item in my inbox gave me pause. For about three weeks prior to now, I had been researching service providers, of a decidedly sexual nature. I had some outside-the-box interests, and I wanted to know if a professional service of some sort could help. I had hit on a place that was local and had been corresponding about my desires and a timeframe with one of the ladies employed by a place called Open Mind Matters.

It wasn't a brothel or a gentlemen's establishment or a call girl palace or a mistress provider. Employees dealt with all of these things, including paying for conventional sex. All employees were used to a clean, high-end environment that catered to one's tastes. This included the common stuff, fetishes, and mistresses skilled in administering services.

But they also prided themselves on meeting out-of-the-ordinary needs, aside from anything dangerous or simply out of the question. Apparently, as I had discovered over the last week and a half, one of the ladies from open mind felt "rather comfortable" defining a timeframe and helping with my exploration efforts.

Employees made the establishment managers and operators aware of all client requests; clients were required to visit the Open Mind office and detail their needs if they were interested in an extended session--anything more than one day--and also as a way for the business to get a handle on clients to keep service providers out of danger. Off-site appointments were welcome as long as a client met those criteria and also signed a document subjecting them to expedited legal actions if anything happened to the ladies in extended or off-site sessions. Open Mind had acquired a reputation and brooked no flak from anyone in any situation with regard to safety and well being of its providing personnel.

E-mail correspondence was one way to achieve this. If a client e-mailed expressing interest in whatever services were in question, a dialogue was begun with the prospective client; managers and operators were aware of all this dialogue or conversation. It was kind of like a feeling-out process to keep providers from just jumping into a situation with little or no preparation.

Apparently, the lady who had been tending to my concerns and corresponding to get to know me was named Jennifer. Most of the time she preferred Jen. Apparently, my inquiries regarding a handful of specific services weren't as weird as I personally thought. I was assured Jennifer herself was willing to lend her time and talents to my cause.

A five-day session was recommended. Today was Wednesday. I was asked to take care of my on-site clearance appointment tomorrow, Thursday, before five p.m. I answered affirmatively. The session could start by Saturday. Also ok with me. The site of our session would be Jennifer's house; all ladies were single and more than one had equipped space within their homes to service clients, especially in cases where discreetness and privacy were among a client's priorities. They were for me. I also had mentioned prior to now that I did not drive; I could take a bus to a stop a few blocks from Open Mind's office. In most cases service providers were ok assisting with transportation if a need was demonstrated. I could indeed demonstrate during my evaluation appointment. I had already disclosed to Jennifer the 'why' of my transportation needs and was assured it could be handled.

After taking note of all this I sat down to my dinner and watched an NBA double-header on TV until I deemed it time to crash.

On Thursday I left the shop on lunch and journeyed to Open Mind. I checked in, learned the rules, signed documents, and spoke about my desires and requirements in front of Jennifer and a witnessing party. All said and done, I was welcomed aboard, thanked for my cooperation and candor, and told that Jennifer would meet me at the bookstore Saturday morning by 10 a.m. for the ride to her house.

I returned to the shop to finish out the day and let Dawn know of the schedule adjustments for next week through Wednesday. The store's open hours would be only the hours Dawn had free that Monday to Wednesday. If a delivery vendor or customer called with an important concern, I left my cell number. I reminded Dawn Friday would be a normal scheduled day, squared away last-minute stuff, and we exited and locked up.

I went home to a shower, dinner, a movie, and part of another NBA game. Before heading out the next morning, I drafted a listing of the revised temporary hours to put on the door and a couple of spots inside the store. I made the twenty-minute walk and, as usual, Dawn was already there. Seeing no customers yet, I showed her the modified hours I wanted to keep through Wednesday, and asked if she felt able to handle day-to-day stuff in my absence. She said yes, certainly, and I believed her. It being just us, she had much behind-the-scenes knowledge about operations and was naturally well-organized. I told her it would be back to regular business hours the following Thursday.

I went through the remainder of the Friday like any other day, and locked and closed the shop and made the walk home. I repeated my ritual of personal e-mail, cooking dinner, a shower and TV before bed.

Chapter two

Jennifer had left her number, and upon reaching the shop after another shower and packing a bag of necessities, I called to verify she had the address of the store. She did, and mentioned she would be there in about ten minutes. I thanked her and ended the call. Right on time, up rolled a pristine white BMW 335 coupe. The passenger door was at the curb due to her direction of travel. The car stopped, and the door locks popped. I lifted the door latch, pulled, and carefully deposited my bag on the rear seat. I slid into the front, immediately aware of tan leather seats designed for both comfort and serious driving as required.

"Very nice choice of wheels," I remarked as I closed the door and clicked the seatbelt. Jennifer grinned, checked traffic, and we were off. She told me once we were away from the business area of my Boston suburb that the car was the next best option to the M3 coupe she couldn't swing. I mentioned that a nicely equipped regular 3 was cheaper in maintenance, insurance, and got better mileage.

She agreed. "But it ain't slow," she pointed out. And it wasn't, for under the hood rested a three-liter, twin-turbo inline six cylinder motor, spooling 300 horsepower and 330 lb.ft. of torque. Translation: it had serious go. From the shop, we drove about 15 minutes to the outskirts of the suburb. We made a right-hand turn into a paving-stone driveway running about fifteen feet up to a moderately-sized ranch home with a basement.

As we exited the car with our personal stuff, she explained that both the house and car were paid in full due to her personal adherence to financial diligence when making major purchases. I said I was the same way. The interior layout was kitchen inside the entry door, living room to the left, with a hall between the two which had doors to two bedrooms and the main bath. The basement door jutted out of the end of the near wall adjoining the kitchen and living room.

And now on to Jennifer herself. From her personality, attitude and mannerisms, you'd never gather she worked in the women-for hire industry, even at the classiest level. She was attractive, but didn't throw her sex appeal around or manipulate people or circumstances with it.

Attractive was possibly an understatement. For me, she was in the top three to be voted Most Gorgeous Woman I'd Ever Seen. Though I didn't have a woman in my life and hadn't dated regularly. I knew a beautiful woman when I saw one. She was probably six-two, with lengthy legs that I particularly liked. She had brown eyes and dark hair, shoulder-length with bangs. She apparently wound a knot on the top of her head and fastened it, pulling it back from her face and above her ears, highlighting her youthful face. She had meat on her bones, but was in no way overweight. Her chest was a healthy C-cup, maybe a 36. She was reasonably tan. Her ass was ample and rounded, not really wide. I thought of Jennifer Lopez as I snagged a couple of brief looks. Her voice and laughter seemed to be cheerful but not overbearing. Like I said, for my personal tastes, gorgeous.

I removed my shoes upon entering. Jennifer pointed me to the guest bedroom, first door on the left side of the interior hall. The other left-hand door was the main bath. Her room was on the right wall, just down past the bath. I dropped my bag and grabbed toothbrush and shower supplies, which I tucked into the main bath at Jennifer's orders.

The immediate stuff taken care of, Jennifer said she was prepared to at least cook dinner in the evenings while I was there. No problem, I told her. I was also used to cooking regularly for myself.

She sat at the kitchen table and told me to take a seat. I did. "Let's go over some things. Make sure I'm thinking right. First, as far as what you want from the session. I gather bodily functions fetish, golden showers and pooping, along with ass worship. Some facesitting. I've done all of those things. I have serviced two other people, both women, who were into the pee and defecation. Don't worry; it's ok to apply the terms 'shit' and 'piss'. I'm not that much a lady. There was one guy, I worked with, kind of shy and introverted, who was into the same stuff as the ladies. But not a pervert. Very polite and respectful. I enjoyed working his session. No 'toilet slavery' type scenarios for you."

"That about covers it," I confirmed.

"You want to accompany me on my bathroom runs. You're welcome to, unless I feel things will be brief. But I can hold my bladder some and make longer occurrences. My bowels are regular. Every day, usually once a day. I think that explains my willingness to help people who are into that kind of thing. If it's okay with you, by day three, I'd like to poop on you...though I don't consider myself to have a brown fetish, I find taking a dump in someone's lap or on their torso fairly erotic, and so I enjoy it."

I told her that sounded fine with me, but I wasn't sure how fast I just wanted to jump into things.

"Alan, let me share some observations. I've worked with your type before. Not necessarily in terms of your cerebral palsy, but your quiet, and the introversion. Those types have never done this kind of thing before. Many have not had any real-world sexual encounters in their lifetime. Therefore I feel ice-breaking is necessary prior to getting to the heart of matters in any extended session. Before we focus on the erotic bathroom activities, I'll help you get to know me a little. Oral sex, cuddling, touching, that sort of thing. We'll devote two nights and probably four to six daytime hours of those two days to cover the basics. You'll be much more comfortable with me and the things we do later, simply because we took overnights and a few daytime hours to start slow."

"At least it seems you have a plan," I observed.

"Alan honey, I am a professional. No worries. You will enjoy yourself. That's my end of the deal. I believe we had agreed on a fee for the five days? Not putting you on the spot; I think that's the only thing left to cover.'

A thousand bucks for five days. Given the class of Open Mind and their willingness to delve into the unique angles of erotic desire, this was probably reasonable, at the very least. I withdrew my wallet and counted ten one-hundred-dollar bills. I kept a slush fund for miscellaneous things, and this hadn't exhausted much of it. I passed Jennifer the bills. She secreted two in a small clutch. She told me the rest had gone into a secure lockbox after disappearing to her bedroom and returning. "Thank you, Alan. After these five days, I hope you'll be a repeat customer of Open Mind. Probably not regularly, because admittedly we aren't cheap. But we give a client their money's worth. Satisfied customers matter to us, put after very few other directives in the business," she said.

"I'm looking forward to it, if a little unsure what to expect," I said.

"Don't expect anything bad, and you'll be fine. That isn't the point of our business or my work. If a customer has a bad experience, that isn't doing my job. I avoid the full-on sexual mistress thing because I don't believe in it. I personally don't work that way, which is why I'm one of the ground-floor members of Open Mind. We pursue satisfaction in a multitude of ways. That matters to me, even at the relatively young age of thirty-four," Jennifer finished.

"Only a couple years older than I," I said. "You look at least five years younger than thirty-four."

"Thanks. I'm blessed, but I do accept a little flattery. So, you own the store where I picked you up?" Jen asked.

"Yeah, I worked in white-collar business for eight years, then moved out here, bought a house and the business space. I have one employee, minding things while I'm away. We've done well the three years we've been open for business. Paper pages aren't dead yet. If it slows down, I'd like to self-publish a few books," I said.

"Good goals, nothing real complicated, and you'd be doing what you love. That last part has to be in the plan in today's working world."

Yes, it does," I agreed. Conversation continued a little longer and tapered off. Around twelve thirty we had lunch. I delved into a book, something I always traveled with. Jen called Open Mind to verify that her schedule remained clear for the duration of our session. Sometime later I took a walk through the area, something else I did daily even when not at the shop or making the walk to work.

I returned and found Jen vacuuming the house. When she finished, I told her I was no stranger to housework. She replied that the chores got done even when she was doing an in-home session, and in no way should a client feel obligated to pitch in. However, she had a low tolerance for the slovenly type, and would boot folks like that out of the house, even if it made a refund necessary. I assured her I was organized and neat.

The afternoon whiled away, and eventually Jen roasted a chicken for dinner, about six o'clock, with potatoes and bread. She seemed a very decent cook. After cleanup, she settled on the living room couch and found a movie on TV. During an early commercial break, I could feel her watching me. When I glanced over, she used a lazy smile on me and beckoned me over, directing me to the floor at her feet. I obliged. Her legs parted so my back rested on the front of the couch. Then her hands found my shoulders and neck, caressing first, then using a gentle rub and finally a basic massage technique. When that started, I slumped over and groaned, relaxed.

"That's awesome," I said. "No need to stop."

I paid attention as the movie continued, and eventually folded myself onto the couch, letting Jen put my head in her lap. Her hands played gently through my buzz-cut hair as she allowed the movie to pull her in. There had been a few times when women had run their hands through my hair, claiming to like the feel of a buzz-cut, and I had always liked it. Now was no exception, and I said so to Jen. "You're welcome," she replied.

I said, "By the way, I don't care what you plan to do to me. You give me that kinda TLC at some point each day, you can be the Hot Hostess from Hell, and I'll still say "Yes ma'am."

"Now, none of that," she said with a laugh. "As long as time permits, you'll get affection to balance the content of the rest of our session. I always incorporate it into the experience."

"I'll look forward to more," I said. The evening wore on, with Jen absorbing herself in a magazine and me returning to my book until it was time for lights-out. I stripped to boxers and a t-shirt for overnight. Jen opted for loose lounge-wear pajamas with shorts for bottoms. We sat together on the sofa for a bit longer after taking turns with our tooth care.

As we stood to move into the bedrooms, Jen carefully pulled me with her. "Your stuff can camp in the guest room. You can share my bed. Doesn't mean any kind of sex. It's just a really nice place for cuddling, spooning, and fondling. Some of my favorite things, and very appropriate to our situation and my plans."

"Uhhhhhhh.....ok," I agreed. Hmmm. Hot brunette extends invitation, promising activities that would leave me putty in her hands? What was I gonna say? A rookie, yes. But I wasn't stupid. I understood the game. And so I played. In we went. Low lighting came up. The door closed.

Jen uncorked another surprise. I had sat myself on the bed, and she now stood in front of me. She slid her bottoms down...and was sure as hell wearing nothing underneath! Damn! I was dumbstruck; my mouth was definitely hanging open. Embarrassment took hold, and I made an effort to look away. It...didn't work. Shit.

She was now completely nude in front of me. But she was bent on making a serious impression. Quiet and slinky as a house cat, she stepped to me and very carefully settled in my lap. "Hey," she said, "you think I'd bring you in, strip naked and expect you not to look? Come on. You have my permission to gawk all you want."

I was having a little overload on several fronts. One, a smoking brunette was parked, albeit carefully, in my lap. Two, the feeling of her ass across my thighs. Three, she and her heavy breasts were inches from my face. I could feel her body heat radiating from just under her skin. Jen's hands had been resting on my shoulders as I observed all this. One of them moved to cup the back of my head.

Gently, the hand guided my face toward her chest. On autopilot, I carefully pressed my face into her C-cup tits. Hmmm. Very...fleshy. Soft. I moaned, enjoying the physical sensations. I gently rubbed my face along her chest, eventually summoning the courage to use my hands to gently rub, squeeze and fondle them both for several minutes. Of course, my penis was ready for launch, NASA shuttle style.

"Hey, kiss my tits. Give my nipples some tongue action," Jen whispered, letting her arms wrap around me. What?! She just told me to go naughty! I realized. Of course, rookie though I admittedly was, I did my best to comply. I cradled her chest, one breast at a time, and worked my lips up and down for a few minutes with each. Finishing, I shifted gears. Opening my mouth, I pressed my tongue to her nipples, one at a time, and licked over and around them. I could hear Jen breathing deeply.

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