Sex Tourist Ch. 32-33

Chapter 32.

Trevor meets the Slut-Wives.

His trips fell into a regular pattern. In August, the days were interrupted by cloud and rain. Tourists were few, and he could sit alone in a bar and make his leisurely choice. In January, the weather was fine and the tourist season still in full swing. Competition for the best girls was great. The most desirable girls were, by their appearance, easy to spot in the street; they were better dressed and more confident. He learned to intercept them before they arrived at work:

'"Hi, where do you work?"

" ***** "

"I've got your bar-fine here," [produce money,] "I'll pick you up at seven."'

If a girl was pleasing, he would ask for her cell-phone number, and give her his:

'"Let's keep in touch. Give me a call if you have nothing on."

"See how you are. You only like me if I have nothing on."'

On a Friday, he didn't even stop in a bar for a drink. It was the early bird who got the worm, so he would walk in, shortly after opening time, and look over the line-up. As soon as he spotted a girl he would like to take out, he identified her to a waitress and paid her bar-fine, returning later to collect her. There was then, no longer pressure to find a girl for that night.

By midnight he would start receiving calls from girls who had not been bar-fined, asking to come to his hotel. Often, the caller would have a friend who wanted to accompany her, so, for the price of a bar-fine he would have two girls, and the bonus of a lesbian tableau as an hors-d'oeuvre. He learned to play the Horn Dog game, and posted photographic records of his orgiastic vacations to the forums, becoming a notable poster.

The years unfurled sedately, but the three week slices of freedom were over in a blink. As his retirement approached, Trevor lost all interest in work; his mind had already emigrated, and his life was lived through his computer, through the forums. On his vacations, he would live the Horn Dog life, but seek a girl to share his retirement. More 'upmarket' clubs opened, and occasionally he would take a 'model.' This was expensive, but convenient. No questions needed to be asked, no negotiations undertaken, they came equipped with the blow-job lips and elastic arses he so desired, and with no conditions or limits on access to, or use of them.

But, when he penetrated them, like a good Horn Dog should, it was with a sense of commercial entitlement, and their response was efficient and professional. Pleasing though the experience was, with them he could never recreate the excitement and emotional intensity of the first occasion, when he awkwardly, and only partially successfully, penetrated Allyza's anus. However, on each successive holiday, Allyza's memory became evoked less and less often. By his seventh visit, he could sit in La Bamba for hours and not think of her.

On one occasion, he came upon Boxi shopping in the market, dressed very smartly, her arm draped affectionately around her husband's waist. Her open face was primed to smile. In his arms her husband carried a baby to whom he cooed as he walked. Trevor's eyes locked with Boxi's for just a second, and memories flooded back, then they passed and resumed their current lives. Boxi's happiness made him both happy and sad. Happy, because she had found someone to love and cherish, and, by whom to be loved and cherished, but sad, because he had not yet achieved the same.

Over the years, Trevor's network in Angeles grew. Donald introduced his friends to him, and the regulars at Thi-Hi became his intimates. Grant relocated to Angeles and set up home with Alma. Trevor would also meet up with members of the forum who regularly sojourned in Angeles. Amongst those was Wayne, Kim's husband. Wayne and Kim set up home in Diamond Subdivision, where Kim lived, and was visited by Wayne two or three times a year. Trevor closely observed their relationships.

When Toppsy and the children visited Donald, a child-minder was hired, and the couple went bar-hopping with Trevor. Toppsy was vivacious, and prized her spectacular bust. Whatever she wore, she always displayed a long cleavage which bulged from the compression of a hi-lift bra, and sagged under the suction of gravity. When she laughed, her breasts bobbed and rippled delightfully, and on account of that she laughed a lot, pleasuring the eyes drawn, like compass needles, to her magnetic bosom. In the bars, she was at home, reverting to a young girl again, standing next to Donald, her hand on his knee and writhing to the music, she in possession of him, and he in possession of her magnificent, undulating bosom, which was desired by every guy and envied by every girl.

"I'm gonna be busy with the tournament tomorrow. Why don't you take Toppsy bar-hopping; keep her occupied. She's taken quite a shine to you?"

Donald's suggestion took Trevor by surprise.

"Take her back to your hotel, save yourself a bar-fine."

"Well, provided I don't upset anybody ..."

"Jesus! No! When I married her she'd been fucked by half the strength on the base. She was a top girl. There was a lot of competition for her favours I can tell you. No ... It's nice to know she's still fuckable ... that other guys fancy her. When we had the bar she was always near the top in the monthly returns. I think she's as beautiful as ever, but it's nice to be reassured from time to time. You wouldn't deny a friend a little reassurance would you?"

"I don't feel in the least inclined to let you down," said Trevor.

"I like nostalgia tonight. Let's go in Black Pearl," Toppsy had suggested to Trevor. "I work in here for two years before my first child," she told him, as they sipped their first drinks.

"Any faces, you knew, still here?"

"Nomore. It is fourteen years ago now. Nonoy is fourteen."

Trevor looked around. Compared to the present staff, Toppsy was glossier, her hair shinier, her face more at ease, her body more comfortably furnished.

"Life is easier now?" said Trevor.

"I had so many friends here. We had so much fun."

A girl passed their table, leading a customer towards the rear, and Toppsy's eyes followed them.

"I met so many people, it was always exciting," she added. "I was so attractive then, always busy."

Trevor laughed. "You know you're still a very attractive girl. If you went back to work tomorrow you'd still be a busy girl."

"You are so nice," said Toppsy. "Donald is lucky to have a friend like you."

"Oh ... Donald's done me more favours than I've done him."

"Yes. I remember. Your photos. What happened to that girl? She was in love with you."

Trevor's gut wrenched. "It didn't work out in the end. She married another guy."

"And you do not find another girl, or you just like to be a butterfly?"

"Not another girl like her."

"Not like her ... Oh dear ... I am sorry. Never mind. Tonight, close your eyes and imagine you fuck with her."

"That'll be difficult; even with my eyes closed your body's still very distracting."

"I know. When I give the blow-job so many guys close their eyes. I think they imagine, maybe their wife, or girlfriend. But, I do not mind, I have Donald."

"So, why don't you two live together? I don't understand why you're apart?"

"Donald like the girls too much. He like to butterfly. I must look after the kids. It is not a life for the kids, so I live in the province. He is old, so I let him have his happiness."

"And he doesn't mind if you butterfly."

"No. I always come back with him. So, it give him great pleasure. You enjoy, I enjoy and he enjoy. I will tell him how much I enjoy. You must tell him also. He will be very happy."

"And, you do enjoy?"

"Of course. I know that soon, men will not look at me. I enjoy while they still like to fuck me. That is how I want Donald to remember me. As the girl all the guys like to fuck."

They bar-hopped for a few hours, then returned to Trevor's hotel. On entering his room, Toppsy proceeded like almost every girl he had ever bar-fined. She switched on the TV, selected a channel, examined the fridge and took something to drink and snack on, then wrapped a towel around herself and proceeded to extract her clothing from beneath it.

"We shower now?" she invited.

Trevor quickly finished undressing, and she led him into the shower. There, she removed her towel to reveal her body. Her muscle tone was still good and she stood erect, but over her muscle there was a layer of padding which softened the lines into graceful curves. It was an opulent body crowned by her large pendulous breasts, which now, unsupported, hung down with the weight and dignity of those of an earth mother. The hallmarks of fertility were apparent in her suckled nipples and gently rippled belly.

They soaped one another, and Trevor weighed her gravity-encumbered breasts in his hands; then they returned to the bedroom.

"A while," said Toppsy.

She searched in her bag and took out a cord with which she proceeded to bind her breasts. First she squeezed them into taut brown globes, then, bound them together, and finally raised them erect, securing them in place with a loop behind her neck. She shimmied her shoulders, to demonstrate how this improvised breast management, radically changed the dynamic response of her bust.

"You like, like this?" she asked.

Trevor had not seen this done before, and was impressed by the way her prized assets were tamed, harnessed, and recaptured from the haphazard control of gravity.

"Oh yes. Very much."

Toppsy knew from the excitement in his eyes, he was not being polite; his penis had instantly stiffened when she presented herself.

"First, I give you my blow-job."

She gently pushed Trevor's chest and he subsided back to sit on the bed. She knelt before him, took command of his penis, and brought her, many years, of experience to bear. Several times she teased him almost to the point of ejaculation, but skilfully suppressed the spasm only to return his pleasure to that same point of orgasmic intensity a few minutes later. Finally, she pushed him back onto the bed and slid up over him, bathing his body in her soft, hot flesh, imprinting her bulging breasts against his chest and pressing her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

Her body lay, like a blanket of sensual pleasure, enveloping him, and he lay helpless, unwilling to move, enjoying the subtle undulations and frictions between their bodies as they breathed, absorbing her maternal body heat and the rhythmic pulsing of her heart. Their two tongues, tangled and danced, communicating the enthusiasm they felt for one another.

Trevor admired the clever way Toppsy had taken him from a condition in which, without her intervention he would have involuntarily spasmed, to one where, without her intervention, he would lack the will to move.

Toppsy pulled her face from his, and gasped for air. "Now you fuck me."

She lay back and pulled her knees up, inviting Trevor into her. He inserted himself into her vagina and, hands on her knees, began to thrust. Instead of the gentle rippling, whipping movement he was accustomed to see, Toppsy's bound, erect breasts jerked stiffly.

"Like this," said Toppsy, taking hold of her nipples and stretching and milling them between fingers and thumbs.

Trevor took her nipples and began to mill.

"Harder ... harder," she called.

Trevor squeezed harder.

"Pull more, pull more."

Trevor gripped her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and pressed with all his strength, then pulled her nipples until they would stretch no further, but were tugged out of his grip.

"Yes ... yes ... Like that," said Toppsy.

Such was the effort that, soon Trevor was shedding perspiration over her.

Toppsy sensed that he was approaching orgasm.

"On ... my ... sous-sous," she gasped.

Trevor pulled out, stood over her and spent himself on her breasts. They now glistened with perspiration, and were discolouring from the bite of the tourniquets. Bruising from Trevor's pinches was beginning to show around her swollen nipples. Decorated with streaks and pools of white semen they formed a compelling composition.

Trevor breathed effortfully, "Can I ... take ... a photo."

"Of course ... Take some photos for Donald ... He like photos also."

Trevor went through a routine of recreational copulations with her until the early hours of the morning, when she announced, "I must go now. Donald will be waiting. He will like to boom-boom with me now."

Toppsy was an occasional visitor to Angeles, but Alma lived there permanently with Grant. He picked up Trevor from the airport, and as they drove up the expressway Grant said, out of the blue, "You remember we talked about arranging a cluster fuck for our girls onetime?"

"Oh yes. Boxi and Alma. But I don't have a regular girl now."

"Alma's up for it now. We need to get it on now. Boxi did it alone and so can Alma."

"I suppose so. But, why now? What does she have in mind?"

"Life moves on. She doesn't want to be left behind. It'll be a few friends, at our house, I'd like you to be one."

"Will there be free beer and sandwiches?" asked Trevor.

"Just a free fuck."

"Well, you're a friend, I'll come anyway."

Grant lived in a bungalow with garden on all sides, surrounded by a high wall in which was a sheet steel gate. When, on the day of Alma's cluster-fuck, Trevor entered, several guests were already present, and Alma was entertaining as she did in Thi-Hi, clad only in stockings and suspenders.

The stockings and suspenders, however, had an expensive look to them and fitted very precisely. Her high heels, in flawless patent leather, were higher than any she had worn at Thi-Hi and she moved more slowly with a practised, graceful gait. She had had her hair done, and taken great care with her makeup. But the most obvious difference was in the shape of her body. Her belly and breast bulged, and her nipples were dark and enlarged.

Trevor threw open his arms to greet her. "Congratulations! How long?"

"Trevor. Great to see you ... Seven months now ... Due 20th September, a little boy."

She hugged and kissed him, immersed him in her expensive scent, then led him to a seat. Grant had a large well-furnished sala with comfortable seating, and sat holding court with his friends who were telling their birthing stories. Alma sailed about on her high heels, offering food, replenishing drinks and engaging in conversation, the dutiful hostess.

She showed none of the nervous anticipation that Boxi had. When the opportunity arose, Trevor whispered to Grant, "Has she done this before."

"Apparently, at one time she did a lot of corporate events," said Grant.

When everyone was present and comfortable, Alma proceeded to orchestrate the event, moving from lap to lap wiggling her bottom and kissing deeply until she could feel tumescence, then freeing the penis from its garments and moving to the next lap. When all were erect, she again moved quickly from lap to lap, sucking them to rigidity. Grabbing two penises, she led them to the rug in the centre of the sala and knelt before them, alternating between them, sucking their balls and swallowing their dicks right back. When she released their penises she raised her rump and slapped it, inviting their attention to her nether orifices, and simultaneously summoned the next two guests to receive her oral preparation.

Eventually, all the guests were incorporated in a slow moving merry-go-round, circulating from front to back sampling the delights of her mouth, vagina and anus.

As she sucked Trevor's penis one more time, he faced Grant, who was buried between the cheeks of her arse.

"This is how it should be done," said Trevor. "Your wife's as clever as she is beautiful. Boxi's cluster-fuck was a free-for-all."

"It was her intelligence that first attracted me," said Grant.

Alma momentarily released Trevor's penis from her mouth. "Bullsit ... you are balls deep in what first attracted you to me."

"That's what I told you, but I really wanted to fuck your brains out."

He grabbed her round the waist and under the legs. "Out the way guys," he called, and lifting her, carried her to the sofa, where he sat with her arse still impaled on his dick. He gripped her thighs behind her knees and drew her legs apart. "Room for one upstairs and one down," he called.

Grant then watched excitedly, his penis stiffening in her arse as, through the thin septum separating their penises from his, he felt his friends successively labouring inside her, and listened to her snatched breathing after each penis pressed into her throat, causing her to gag. Grant and Alma worked as a team, arranging new positions, ensuring everyone got a go, until Alma was exhausted.

"Time to stroke folks," Grant called, and laid Alma back on the rug.

While she rested, the guest gathered round her and jerked to ejaculation, streaking her swollen belly and breasts with cum. Grant saved himself until everyone else had finished, then laid over her sticky body, and kissing her, fucked her missionary style until he came in her vagina. He then picked her up and dropped her in his lap, where she sat, her arms around his neck; she, disheveled and flecked with sperm; he beaming with pride. They chatted contentedly with their guests until the party broke up.

Kim, like Alma, lived in Angeles, but Wayne was a periodic visitor. Wayne would post photos of her face decorated with sperm, which he had taken when he was there; but he wanted more. He emailed Trevor.

'Hi Trev,

Hope all is well with you and you'll be Angeles next month. I'm tied up and won't be able to make it. I'm going to ask you a big favour. I'd like you to bar-fine Kim. Give her the full treatment and capture it on camera. It would be great to see your photos on the forum. I'd love to see how she looks through her customers eyes, but all I get is her story.

Don't feel obliged, but I'd really love it if you could.

Best wishes,

Wayne.'

This posed a slight problem for Trevor. How could he produce a product of which Wayne would be guaranteed to be proud? He gave it some thought before emailing back:

'Hi Wayne,

How could I refuse to bar-fine Kim. I just hope I don't become addicted. She's that sort of girl, keeps you wanting to come back for more. I'll pack my camera.

Regards,

Trevor.'

Wayne told him to bar-fine her as often as he liked.

When Trevor entered Roadhouse, Kim was on stage. He waved her down. As she sat, the waitress said to her, "He has pay your bar-fine, you can change now."

She looked at Trevor. "You bar-fine me?"

"Yes. I've wanted to bar-fine you for a long time, but what with one thing and another I've not had the opportunity. But now I'm free, and you're free, so it's time we got together."

"Do we need to tell Wayne ... he IS your friend."

"We don't need to tell Wayne. Just relax and treat me like any other customer."

Kim snuggled closer to him and smiled. "You CAN bar-fine me before ... Why you wait so long? ... I am a sexy-girl ... you will like it."

"And you have a sexy costume; bring it with you; I want to take some sexy photos."

"Oh ... We are not allowed to take our costume."

"Here's 2000p. Make a gift to whoever looks after the costumes. Tell her we borrow it only until tomorrow."

"OK ... What sort of sexy photo?"

"I'm going to light up your pussy. You will see."

"Light it up?"

"Yes."

"You do not set fire to my cunt?"

"Well, I hadn't thought about that," said Trevor. "But, I could try."

Back in his hotel room, he went through his routine with Kim. She was a sexy-girl, very responsive, and compliant with all his requests. He held back from ejaculating, saving himself for Wayne's photo. After resting a short while, he set to work on the photo.

"Slip into your Roadhouse costume," he told her.