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The smile on my face must have gone from ear to ear.
We lay on top of the duvet, both panting in the aftermath. He’d started by turning me to face the wall, pushing me against it, pulling up my dress, going down on his knees and burying his face between my widely splayed legs, licking upward.

Eventually we made it as far as the bed, where he hurriedly stripped off his clothes, while I quickly slipped out of my dress, and then he laid me down on the bottom of the bed, got down on his knees on the floor again, and went back to tonguing my vagina. I had been so turned on, it didn’t take long for my first orgasm to overtake me.

Afterward he lay down on the bed while I straddled him top to tail, sixty nine wise. My second orgasm came after about ten minutes, and my third after another ten, while his was still hard as iron. Only one other man I’d ever met could hold out as long as the Canadian. He’d once told me that he could only ever manage to come once in twenty four hours, so he’d trained his muscles to hold out for a long time.

He rang down to reception and ordered a meal of lobster and a bottle of champagne to be sent up.

“I think I could pick your vagina out of a line-up, even if I was blind-folded,” he said leaning back against a pillow and smiling down at me, laid flat out on the bed.
“Really.”
“Oh yeah. Yours has a very special taste.”
“Thanks….. I think.”

He laughed and patted me on the thigh. “By special sweetheart, I mean delicious.”
“Okay. I won’t ask how many vaginas you’ve feasted on.”
“Oh, I don’t mind telling you. There have been one hundred and twenty seven. I had the first when I was fifteen; my Ma’s friend from Connecticut. She came to stay with us for a few months, after her marriage went south.”
“You were under age.”

“Barely, the age of consent is sixteen in Canada; I was a month shy of my sixtieth birthday, and I was an early developer. I’d already fucked two girls by then. It hadn’t occurred to me to lick their pussies though. It was this older woman who taught me how to do it properly. Hers tasted like sweet nectar, just like yours.”
“That’s why you are so good at it,” I said jokingly. “You’ve had private tuition, and you’ve done a lot of practice.”

“I don’t eat all the women I make love to; only the special ones.”
There was a knock on the door. He put on a dressing gown, went out of the bedroom. I heard the waiter wheel the trolley into the room. I was grateful that he’d booked a suit and not just a room; I was in no state to receive visitors.

I slipped off the bed, pulled on the other gown and walked barefoot into the outer room.
“Dinner is served,” he said, lifting the shiny silver lids.

Once we were seated at the table with a bright red lobster on each plate, he poured the champagne.

“Now tell me about your journey,” he said. “I want to know all the details.”
We carried on eating while I recounted the story.
“You forgot the bit about nearly flagging down a taxi cab,” he said, when I had finished.
“What…how did you know about….you were following me…..where…I didn’t see you…?”

“Right from the start; I was with you all the way through the underground, watching you sweat in that heavy coat; seeing the men look at you, pressing against you.”
“But you couldn’t have been. I would’ve seen you.”
“Oh, I find it very easy to blend into the background. I kept at least three people between us. And the fake tan, dark glasses and ridiculous wig helped.”
“Not the orange wig?” I gasped.

“The same.”
“But I saw you on the train. I didn’t recognise you. That man walked with a stoop, and had a white stick.”
“People tend to take very little notice of blind men, until they fall over them. I followed you along the road and watched you collect the parcel from the desk. I waited until you had gone into the ladies before I entered. Then I came here, showered and changed and waited.”

“Very cloak-and-dagger; did you get your training from the CIA?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“The walk through the city with just a coat on, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“In a way, I suppose I did.”
“And the note and the men.”

“The note was very inventive and mysterious – as for the men, I’ve never met three more pompous, privately educated prigs in all my life. And believe me I have met a few in my job-” I stopped suddenly.
He laughed.
“Sorry,” I said.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t mind if want to keep who you really are a secret. It’s part of the fun. Anyway tell me about the gentlemen. What did they say?”

“They offered to put me up in a house and come to town and fuck me on the weekends,” I said.
“All three together?”
“No – one at a time; but I had the feeling that their leader would have been up for some serious kink.”
“Leader?”
“The youngest, and better looking one; he was more self assured and cockier that the other two. He gave the impression that he’d had his wicked way with every woman between sixteen and sixty who’d crossed his path.”

“Man, that’s amazing. But tell me everything, just as it happened.”
When I’d finished he whistled softly. “What a story that would make for the tabloids. Three gentlemen propose a love-nest to a little lady.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “They didn’t think I was a lady, just some tramp who could be bought for a few thousand pounds and a whole load of empty promises.”
“You were dressed, or should I say undressed like a tramp,” he pointed out gently.

“That was your fault, and your intention, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was, and things went far better than even I dreamt. Were you even a little tempted to take them up on their fairly generous offer? I’m sure you could have screwed them for a great deal more than they were offering.”
“No, I wasn’t tempted, but I did find the whole situation very exciting. I was more surprised at how fast it all happened. I wouldn’t have thought things like that really happened, except on the television. They are expecting me to contact them tomorrow to arrange delivery of the body and exchange of contracts.”

“A purely business arrangement then.”
“That’s how it sounded to me. I fuck their balls of, and they gibe me money. Prostitution, pure and simple. But I don’t really thing the arrangement would have lasted long.”
“Why is that?”
“Jealousy. Number one is likely to try to monopolise my time; number two would fall in love with me after the first encounter, and number three would disgust me, even though he’d probably turn out to be the most generous. After a while they’d start to wonder just how much more of me the others are getting than they are. Then they’d want to know what sort of things the others did to me. It would all end up as one big fucking competition. I’d be just getting off my back with one, when the next would arrive. I’d be fucked to death inside six months.”

“But just imagine how much you could blackmail them for. From what you say they are all married men with money, important families, reputations – that’s got to be worth a hundred thousand at least, each.”
“Blackmail is illegal in this country.”
“Only if you get caught, sweetheart. And I have a feeling these three stooges have too much to lose, to go to the cops.”
“It’s a good thing I know you are kidding.”

“Only slightly, honey. I’m rich, so I don’t need the money, I’d be in it for the excitement. I don’t really know how you are fixed. I am guessing you have a fairly good job somewhere in the city – it pays well, but not the sort of money these jokers splash around. It’s not inconceivable that they might pay to have exclusive access to your pussy, but they will pay a darn-sight more to keep the story out of the papers and away from their nice tidy lives.”
“As I said, blackmail is illegal.”
“What they are suggesting is immoral.”

“You can’t get jailed for immorality, but you can for blackmail.”
“It’s such a shame you aren’t a gold-digger.”
“You wouldn’t like me if I were.”
“True enough. However, I have something for you.”

He stood up, walked across to an attaché case on one of the chairs, and came back with a small box.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open it.”

I flipped the lid slowly. Inside was a string of pearls. I pulled them out of their velvet cushion. They were beautiful. I put them back in the box and handed the box to him.
“I don’t accept presents,” I said, feeling a pang of regret even as I said it.
“But why? Don’t you like pearls?”
“I love pearls, but expensive trinkets can be traced. And how am I going to explain a thing like that? Please take them away, before I change my mind.”

“Okay sweetheart, but I do have something else for you.”
“What’s that?”
He pushed the tip of his tongue out between his teeth.”
“What? Again?”
“Desert,” he said. “Something sweet; and I can’t think of anything sweeter that your beautiful wet vagina.”
“Now that’s’ the sort of present I can accept,” I said.

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