Loading...I suppose it was just that I hadn’t been around much, sexually that is, until a couple of years ago. It wasn’t until I started posing for amateur photography clubs doing ‘glamour’ stuff, then nude and then, inevitably, more raunchy stuff that I started to notice it.
In the past, when I had a few flings at uni and prior to that in my late teens when I lost my virginity and had a short affair with a thirty five year old bloke who turned out to be a right shit, I hadn’t been that aware of it. Even with DD, the lecturer I seduced at uni and who had been my older lover for the last few years, it hadn’t featured much.
Actually, even as I became more experienced, bolder and more adventurous with my modelling and started posing one on one as opposed to for clubs, it took me some time to realise it. It probably struck me first when I started providing more ‘advanced’ nude posing and it became more obvious when I started offering ‘extras’. It became very obvious, though, when I became an escort.
What had taken all that time and all those experiences to sink in was the fascination so many men have with girls’ bums.
Looking back I realise I should have seen the signs.
“Turn away from the camera Sam.”
“Can we have a few of your bum please,” were the sort of remarks that some of the guys made when I posed for groups at amateur photographic clubs.
Then, as tradition dictates, when they sent me some of the shots they had taken, ostensibly to help with my portfolio, I should have noticed the preponderance of ‘rears’ shots. Tight panties, thongs, knickers pulled halfway down my bum showing my crack and round my thighs. Very, very tight jeans and tights with nothing under them and, as I became more adventurous in the poses I offered, naked shots of my bum from various angles. I must have been so naïve not to have noticed it. But I didn’t.
It started to register, I suppose, once I started posing one on one. This is when a guy hires a studio and a model for an hour or two. He decides the poses and effectively she does what he suggests. He’s like a film director setting the costumes and poses and telling the model what to do, well within reason that is, at least at the beginning.
I suppose being just him and me in a studio, everything that goes on has more significance, and everything is more intimate and personal. Even the phrases add to the often intense atmosphere that builds up.
I don’t care who the model is, how experienced she is and how many times she’s been alone in studio with a cameraman before, the mood will get to her. Sometimes just fleetingly, occasionally for most of the time and often for the entire session. Ok, on the odd occasion that the cameraman is a real jerk, it doesn’t happen, but then few are jerks. Most are exceedingly pleasant guys, with a strong interest in sex and a genuine love of the female body. They simply enjoy the erotic experience of spending a couple of hours in the company of an attractive girl who will take her clothes off for them. And that gets to her as well as him, albeit in a slightly different way.
It was a few sessions after I had started the more lucrative, but more demanding, both physically and with the poses that it struck home to me.
I guess it was the amount of times I was asked:
“Kneel on all fours, side on, away from the camera, your head on the floor.
Put your bum in the air Sam.
Lay flat on your front, legs together, now apart.
Lean against the wall and stick your bum out.
Slide you panties half way down the crease of your bum Sam, please.
Now get them just beneath the cheeks, but tight round your thighs.”
Requests like those certainly brought home to me the interest men have in girls’ bums; they also made me feel excited, how could they not do that to any girl especially when they were accompanied by loads of nice compliments, sighs, moans and groans from the cameraman?
The intensity of the photographers’ fascination with my bum increased even more when I had started posing nude. They just couldn’t seem to get enough of my bare, and though I say it myself, nicely rounded cheeks. Again, there was the, what by now had become, typical requests to ‘touch your toes, cross your legs, bend forward, kneel on all fours and lay flat on your stomach.’
I complied. Partly because that was my job, but also because it excited me. Yes, I used to get a hell of buzz from modelling and a particularly big one from being photographed in those ‘rear view’ poses.
Other then some group sessions with amateur clubs and later, near the end of my modelling career, with some one to one posing with men and women, I didn’t meet that many models; your paths just do not cross that often. With the exception of some older, really past it girls who had become cynical about modelling after ‘flashing their butts’ for twenty years or so, all the girls I met agreed: that modelling was a turn on, they didn’t do it just for the money, they got excited by the poses and by the reaction of the photographers and it was ‘that buzz,’ which kept them going and made them look forward to each session. I was exactly the same, and that came as a massive surprise to me.
But as I posed more and more, I was running into problems and conflicts.
In the portfolio of models from which the photographers chose the girls, there’s a checklist of the type of posing each girl does. I was in the glamour, underwear, undressing and nude categories. I had not checked the touching, advanced, masturbation or open legs categories, and certainly not the with men, other women, both and groups boxes, although the two studios who retained me told me repeatedly I would not continue getting work unless I ‘became more adventurous’ with my posing.
I suppose it was because I did more posing and became more experienced, that I also started to feel more comfortable when alone and naked in a small room with a man. My commitment to him and the studio was that within the realms of what had been initially agreed, I was his to do with as he wished for the time he had bought me. Thus, the photographers can ask their models to do things that in other circumstances would be outrageous, whereas in the situation between them were simply hugely erotic.
“Take your panties off for me Sammi.”
“Slip your boobs out from your bra.”
“Bend over and face away from me.”
“Lay on your back, now your front,” and so on.
The problems and conflicts came about in two ways.
Firstly, when a girl is naked and bends over with straight legs, particularly if she crosses her ankles, then it’s not just her bum that’s on show. Despite not having ticked the open legs box, which stops one flashing your pussy, I knew that from behind and, when lying flat on my back, some or all of it was on show. That brought me to my second conflict.
It hit me hard, one day when I was with John, a very nice forty something year old guy. As he zoomed in and focused his camera he said.
“Sam, it’s no problem to me, but from this angle the camera sees your lips.”
I jumped when he said that, but I tried to remain cool.
“That’s ok John, shoot away.”
A few shots later he was standing over where I lying on the floor, naked apart from black hold ups. He was just beneath my feet. He bent down and said in almost a whisper.
“Do you want to open your legs for me Sam?”
And, amazingly I did. So he got my first open leg, pussy shots and to be totally truthful I loved it.
After the session, I ticked the open legs box on my booking portfolio.
****
So I started doing that sort of stuff; beaver shots some call them. But that was just like for some people when they take a soft drug; the buzz is great, but they know there’s more to be gained; a greater buzz and they want that. That was how I was feeling about posing. I was getting quite adept at flashing my bum and opening my legs in the most provocative of way. I liked doing that; the photographers clearly liked me and from the shots they sent me, so did the camera.
Now of course, by using the euphemism for, ‘I will flash my cunt’ of open legs, there wasn’t much by ways of poses that were off limits. Open legs worked both ways. So they would get me to pose on my back with my legs spread, well the slightly less sophisticated photographers would. That really was rather naff, fairly vulgar and almost a porn shot. What I tried to achieve with the rather more sophisticated guys, was erotic photography. True, there was a narrow line between the two, but my self-esteem felt better when I felt we had created some erotic imagery.
I must admit though, that one evening with an older man than most, he must have been well into his fifties, if not early sixties, I stretched that line between porn and eroticism to its limit.
I had my hair in pigtails and was wearing no make up, all at his direction.
“I want you to look young and pure, I love those freckles,” he’d said as he had gradually had me undress, taking lots of shots of my slowly revealed body.
“Stand with your arms in front of you, your left wrist held in your right hand,” he asked when I was totally nude. “Bend your head slightly forward and look at the camera out of the top of your eyes…………….,” he went on pausing before adding. “A real Princess Di look.” I got what he meant and I knew that such a look did portray innocence. I adopted it and he took a few head and shoulder then waist up shots.
“Mmmmm, great, your tits look fantastic like that Sam, so youthfully firm.”
That made me smile and he knocked off a few more shots.
“Now cross your right leg over your left just by the knee,” he went on taking numerous full length shots as slowly he moved round me until he was behind me.
He took several with me standing up straight.
“Your bum is fantastic, look over your shoulder at me,” he said flicking the zoom lens, obviously focusing right onto me cheeks and crease. It made me shiver.
“Now bend forward, just a little.”
I leaned as he suggested.
“Just a tad more, just enough to get your lips in the shot. Oh that’s great.”
He took several like that then said.
“Ok can you put that other gear on I laid out for you?”
“Sure,” I said walking naked into the small room at the end of the studio that acted as a dressing room.
It was a dark blue, silk basque, edged at the top across my boobs, the nipples of which it just covered, and round the bottom with black lace. It had strips of the black lace also running vertically down the garment a few inches apart and it had black suspenders attached to it, although I noticed they were removable. It had hooks and eyes all the way up the front, which took ages getting together.
“Put the thong under the suspender would you please Sam?” Peter called out making me wonder whether he had been looking for I had just picked up the flimsy black, lace garment. I slipped into it making sure the pouch at the front fitted photogenically tightly across my mound and the slither of material at the back nestled neatly between the cheeks of bum. Inspection in the mirror over, I rolled the dark stockings up my legs, made sure the seams were straight and slipped my feet into the black stilettos I had brought with me on Peter’s instructions. I put the black choker round my neck and slid on the black, silk elbow length gloves, both of which, along with the basque he had supplied.
Ready to go I had a couple of twirls in front of the full length mirror and smiled as I thought to myself, “Where’s my paddle steamer?” I looked just like one of those high class hookers that used to ply their trade up and down the Mississippi.
Peter had explained earlier that he found considerable eroticism in putting together opposites; innocence and wantonness, youth and maturity and so on. He said that with me, he wanted my relatively youthful, freshness, which implied innocence, to be combined with the vampish outfit of a ‘wild west whore.”
As a model, you get used to these sorts of flights of fancies of certain cameramen and learn to just go along with them. So Peter took a load of shots of me in and getting out of the basque; it’s a right bugger when they insist on panties under the suspenders, but supposedly it’s more erotic that way.
At the time, other than being bent over for long periods, both with and without panties, with my upper legs straight and my head resting on my arms, whilst Peter took lot of shots, I didn’t think much about what I was showing.
So, a day or so later when he sent me an e-mail with a dozen or so shots attached, I was, as some say, absolutely gobsmaked. You could see everything and I mean everything. There was one shot in particular that hit me and has stayed in my mind ever since. It’s of my naked bum from directly behind it, filling the screen. I am bent forward. The shot has been cropped so that a few inches of my stocking tops are showing and are held up by the black suspenders, which are snaked round my hips. Right down the middle of the picture is the opened crease of my bum; I would never have imagined it would be that open. It was though and that meant that not only was the darker, puckered skin surrounding my anal opening on show, but even clearer and larger were the lips of my pussy. They appeared to be bloated, maybe engorged with blood sensitising them, and slightly shiny.
As my face was not in it, I felt slightly detached from it and that had the strangest effect on me. I felt myself becoming aroused looking at my own bum and pussy. In fact then, and several time since, I have masturbated looking at it. Now is that vain or what?
I ticked several more boxes on the booking portfolio next time I went to the agency.
****
Now, extremely aware of men’s fascination for girls’ bottoms I guess I sort of built that in to my outlook and attitudes. I found myself wearing tighter jeans, trousers and skirts; only wearing thongs or, occasionally nothing underneath, to emphasise the smooth, roundness of my cheeks. I wiggled more and developed a seductive sway of my hips which accentuated my, as a photographer had called it, ‘Your woman’s ass on a girl’s body;’ I liked that.
I liked being told I was mature, very grown up and adult, a woman. I looked young and was only twenty two at the time, but much preferred the company of older people. My lover DD was forty one and I’d had flings with several men his age and older. The photographers I seemed to relate to the easiest tended to be older; John the one who had first pointed out that I showed my lips with certain poses and Peter who produced that amazing shot of my bum, my anal hole and my lips all in one shot. And then there was Matt, the first client for whom I provided ‘extras;’ he was probably fifty.
This service didn’t require a tick in a box. The studio didn’t really want that sort of data recorded, they just wanted to know so they could up the commission they charged the model, so I told Sandra who owned the studios at which I worked.
“I thought you would soon, Sammi,” she’d said when I told her that I was going to start offering them.
“But only if I am asked and if I fancy him,” I told her rather grandly.
“Yes dear, of course,” she replied patting my arm rather condescendingly. “Just take it easy. How far will you go?”
“Probably just masturbation.”
“What yourself? Or him as well?”
“Dunno.”
“Him masturbating you, the pair doing it together?”
“I hadn’t thought.”
“Well make sure you know what you are comfortable doing and charge appropriately for it.”
“How much should I charge do you think?”
“It really does vary so much Sam.”
I already knew that from some of the other models I had asked. One had said she did BJs for fifty, yet another did them for thirty. Another said.
“I do a sort of fifty quid all in job.”
“And for that, they do what?”
“Pretty much what they wish apart from full sex.”
“And they are happy with that?”
“Most are. They really just want to touch you and stroke, hold you and, particularly kiss you. It’s sort of like being kids again.”
“And if they want full sex?”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no, it depends on how I feel?”
“And how much extra?”
“Again that depends on how I feel. After all, if they have hired the studio and me for two hours they are already in for an awful lot of money and if I like them I would like them to use me again.”
It all began to make sense after that afternoon with Matt and my chats with the other girls and Sandra.
Matt and I had been working for well over an hour. It was enjoyable. He was quick with setting the poses and interesting with describing them.
“I want the series to suggest that your lover is undressing you and then, Sam, if you’ll forgive the phrase, fucking you. Not having sex or making love, but fucking you and I want to capture that in your eyes and on your face.”
He took a load of shots of me slowly revealing more and more of my body, before having me lay on the floor on my back.
“Now Sam show me what you’re like when you are fucked. Tell me what it’s like in your eyes and with your mouth.”
I tried hard. Not only was that my job and I wanted to please my client, but also I liked him and his way of explaining things and the poses he put me in were starting to arouse me.
“Ok let’s take five or ten shall we?” He said after I had simulated, with not that much acting actually, several orgasms. He set his camera to download all the stuff we had taken. “I want to see them on the laptop,” he explained adding. “Just in case we need any reshoots.”
“OK like a cup of tea, while we wait?” I asked slipping into a shorty, red silk robe.
“Come and have a look, Sammi,” he said a few minutes later. I gave him his tea and went and stood close by him to get a straight on view of the small screen.
I had, of course, seen many pictures of myself onscreen when I opened the attachments sent by photographers. However, I had never looked at myself onscreen with anyone else. Even though it was just a few minutes ago that I had been writhing on the floor letting Matt shoot me as I pretended to be fucked and have an orgasm, it seemed as if that had happened to someone else. As if that had been a film, or DVD, not him and me. Now, standing look at the shots of the pleasure, the agony and the ecstasy, the excitement and the arousal that my face portrayed, interspersed by shots of my naked, apart from black hold-ups, body was amazing. Maybe he knew that and that is why he did it. I don’t know. What I do know is that as image after image rolled across that screen I felt myself becoming more and more aroused. He may have been an expert at this, I have no idea, for I never saw him again, but his timing was impeccable.
Standing alongside me, our arms were touching, because we were both trying to get good, straight on views of the screen.
“What do you think?” He asked as a close up of my bum in a shot not that different from the one Peter had taken a few weeks ago, filled the screen.
“They’re good,” I said slightly croakily.
As he responded with “Actually Sam, it’s you that’s so good,” he slipped his arm round my shoulders and left it there.
“Well you take the shots.”
“Yes but shots of you,” he said quietly squeezing my shoulder.
“True,” was all I could mention, not trying to move away or get him to take his arm from my shoulders.
Up until that point, I hadn’t decided whether I would provide extras or not. I also hadn’t thought what I would let them do if I decided to provide them and I had no idea what I would charge. His next words changed all that.
“I hope so much, Sammi that the answer to my next question doesn’t offend and that it is yes.”
Of course I knew what was coming. “Go on.”
“Do you offer extras Sammi?” He asked pulling my shoulder against his chest as my face, with closed eyes and opened mouth, filled the screen.
My simple “Yes,” was hardly audible.
“Thank goodness for that.”
“What do you want?” I asked, somewhat regaining my composure. “I don’t do full sex.”
He smiled “I don’t want that, I can get that at home.”
That made me smile too. “So what is it you can’t get at home that you want from me?”
“I want to hold you, kiss, cuddle and caress you. I want to make you cum and have you do that to me. Is that alright?”
‘He certainly didn’t mince his words’ I thought, as they crashed into my mind arousing even more.
“Yes, yes that’s fine.”
“How much do you charge?”
I remembered what one of the models had said. “I have one price for everything apart from sex, fifty pounds.”
“Then young lady,” he said turning me to face him, pushing the robe off my shoulders and undoing the tie at the waist. It fell open. “Let’s go to the bed.”
Most studios have a bed, which are there ostensibly as a posing prop, but also clearly have other uses as well.
He led me over to it and indicated for me to lie down. I did, right in the middle. With no hint of embarrassment at all, he undressed. He was impressively well built, both with his athletic, tanned body and his thick, dark cock rearing right up his flat stomach.
He laid beside me and held me. We kissed and his hands went all over my body, more and more zeroing in on my bum. He was squeezing it, rubbing it, gently pinching it and running his fingers up and down the crease.
“Oh God Sam, you have a bum to die for, it’s gorgeous.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, other than “Thanks.”
The pressure on my shoulders indicated that he wished me to turn over. I did.
“Just lie like that,” he whispered running his surprisingly soft fingertips and hands over each of my cheeks. He was so gentle and so complimentary, that it sent a little shiver through me. He stroked and massaged, rubbed and caressed each cheek, kneading the pliant, yet firm when I tightened the muscles flesh. All the time he was letting his fingers slide further and further into the crease going deeper and deeper in that crevice, nearer and nearer to that most sensitive, yet also, until recently, taboo hole.
I was laying flat on my front. I had my arms under my face, my forehead was resting on them. My legs were slightly open. I knew that this, almost, stranger could see everything, but I wasn’t at all nervous. After all he’d seen and photographed it all so seeing it again and now touching it seemed hardly anything. It’s amazing how blasé and open one can get about one’s body, one’s nakedness and one’s most intimate parts when one sells photographing them to the highest bidders!
The side of his hand was now blatantly rubbing along the base of that sort of valley between my cheeks. I was gasping and writhing slightly with the unexpected level of pleasure he was giving me. I had never been stimulated in this way before.
“Is it Ok Sam?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I grunted as I felt his fingers slither along my pussy lips then rub my secretions right on my bum hole.
“This?” He croaked as he pressed on it.
“Mmmmm,” was all I could manage.
“Lift up,” he said, pulling on my hips.
He got me onto my knees, my back bent forward my head on the bed, my legs apart. I could feel his eyes burning into my bum, I liked it. Then he touched me again, right there, right on it, right on my anal hole. He pressed and pushed. He was, I suppose posing a question, but I was not ready to answer, not yet. He reached round me with his other hand and found my breasts. He rubbed and squeezed them as he pressed right on my bum hole, probably going slightly, but not far inside it. He kept asking that unsaid question, which I demurred from answering. I was even further from answering that right at that moment for he was making me cum. And making me cum from playing with my bum really. What an initiation into providing extras as a photographic model!
****
Now aware of the fascination men have for girls’ bums, I was not surprised with the poses I was asked to perform. I was also not surprised when I provided extras, that my bum came into play far more and was played with far more.
Somewhere along the way I did answer that unasked, but so clearly indicated question. I can hardly remember who it was that got an answer when they posed the question, when they signified their desire, their wish, their need, maybe. Their whatever it was to shove their finger up my bum and fuck it.
It didn’t matter whose it was. Who owned the finger that took my anal virginity was irrelevant. What was relevant was that a few months later I was lying on my back, my legs were open and pushed up squashing my tits and some guy was inching his finger up and up me. Deeper and deeper into me. Further and further inside me. Yes, a guy I hardly knew was finger fucking my bum and making me cum so strongly I think I may well have passed out.
As I moved on from offering sex as an extra when modelling to selling sex as an escort, so I continued my anal education. I was now becoming used to being anally finger fucked, ‘plated’ at some length, licked and tongued and massaged in that area.
It wasn’t an every client thing. Most played with the cheeks of my bum, but there seemed to be a division, between those who enjoyed that and those that wanted to go further. Those that gained pleasure from the feel and shape of the cheeks of my bum and those who wanted more, those who wanted to get down and dirty as it were.
Was it inevitable, or did I just feel it was yet another stage in my sexual education, well more to the point my anal sex education? I don’t know. I don’t think that way about sex. In my position you can’t. When effectively sex is one’s stock in trade, you can’t think too much about what’s in the warehouse. The sex you have, whether it simply is simulating it as a man photographs you, providing him extras after the session or dispensing with the photography and meeting men in the hotels for sex, is detached from reality. You sort of lock that part away when you are finished and don’t open the cupboard up again until the next time you are in an elevator zooming up to a bedroom or suite in a luxury hotel. You store the memories in a part of your mind that seems able to keep them well in the background and does not keep fast forwarding them so they interfere with ‘normal’ life. Girls who, for whatever reason, are unable to do that, don’t last as either a glamour model or an escort. I am now in my third year!!!
“Do you do anal?” the client asked as I lay in his arms in the huge bed in the Lanesborough Hotel just by Hyde Park in, Mayfair, London.
That was an oft asked question both to me and to the agency that organised the dates. My instruction to the agency was the same as my usual reply to the clients when they asked the question.
“No.”
Just why the hell, then, I heard myself mumbling “It depends” as I sucked on his nipple, I have no idea.
“On what,” he asked squeezing my breast and kissing my hair.
“Oh lots of things” I smiled back, biting his nipple playfully as I turned onto my back and let him run his eyes up and down my naked body, lit just by the dimmed lights from the dressing table and from the living room of the huge suite.
“Such as?” he asked leaning forward and licking my nipple as he ran his hand gently up my thighs and pressed on my wetness.
It was in the early hours of a Friday morning. I had met him in the coffee shop of the hotel at five thirty the previous afternoon. He was a regular, well it was our third time, which is as regular as most escort relationships go. He was possibly Turkish or maybe Lebanese or Jordanian, certainly Eastern Mediterranean. Escort girls learn not to ask too personal questions; if a client wants you to know something, sooner or later they will tell you. Whatever his nationality, he was fantastically good looking in an Imran Khan sort of way, had impeccable manners, great style and oodles of money. He was generous, highly articulate, interesting, fun to be with and a bloody good fuck. When such a number of boxes are ticked by a client, being an escort girl, or if you prefer a whore, ‘why not call a spade a spade’ I often smiled to myself, can be quite pleasant.
When I first started doing escort work I used to wonder why the, generally, super guys with loads of money paid for sex. Why not just get a mistress I thought? Over a time I found the answer. It was two fold. One, mistresses are too risky, ‘No matter what they say at the start, they always want more as it goes on and then that can fuck up everything,’ I was told several times, usually just after sex.
Time was the other reason. ‘It just takes too long to find, get to know and then trust someone,’ one of the guys explained.
The other aspect of my ‘profession’ that I found intriguing was why they did it and what they were after? The clients were all successful in their own spheres, most were happily married with a family, they were usually good looking and sexually, at least pretty proficient. They had plenty of money and opportunity so why ‘buy me?’
Again it was two fold. A reassurance that they could still make it with a young bird and they wanted affection. On the wish list that the agency put to them, kissing and cuddling, was their top priority as part of the sex process.
Amar, the Turk or whatever, was precisely like that. I am quite sure that if I had said I could not do full sex, but would kiss him and hold him all night, giving him the occasional masturbation, then he would have still paid the huge fee and given me the generous presents he did after a four time fuck during a night.
Odd buggers men, but they can be lovely.
I smiled at him. “On what time?”
“Huh?” He asked not understanding my feeble joke.
“That’s one of the things it depends on.”
“How do you mean?”
I had started a sort of joke that was backfiring rapidly, but had no alternative other than to press on with it.
“What time of day and what time you want it?” I weakly explained.
He rolled half on top of me and kissed me. He was a good kisser as, indeed I tried to be.
“The agency has always said you don’t do it Sammi.”
“I don’t really.”
“Then what does the time have to do with it?” he asked after breaking the kiss and staring into my eyes.
“Nothing really, but I have just changed, maybe I need to tell the agency.”
“You really are a crazy girl Sam, I never know how to take you or what you are thinking,” he said as he pinched my nipple and pulled on it.
“I take that as a compliment.”
“You should. So how have you changed?”
“I have decided that I do do anal, but only between the hours of two and four.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s ten after three. What else does it depend on?”
“Well it has to be on a Friday, in Mayfair and only in a suite in the Lanesborough.”
“So, Sammi, is this my lucky day then?”
“Well Amar,” I said quietly and seriously as I reached down and wrapped my hand round his smooth, hot, and very erect dick. “You do seem to be ticking all the boxes, don’t you?”
“Yes, but are you sure?”
“No, not totally, but I think it’s time?”
“Time? Do you mean you have never done it?”
“Yes Amar, I mean exactly that.”
“Oh God Sammi,” he gushed. “You will let me do that, take your anal virginity?”
His mouth covered mine and his arms crushed me to his body.
“Yes Amar, I would like you to, but please be gentle with me.”
Given the potential for the man to seriously hurt the girl by anal penetration with something the size of a twenty centimetre long and five centimetre diameter, hard cock, she has to have a great deal of trust in him. Not just that he will be careful and gentle, but also that he will stop if asked.
Oddly as he was a paying client, I had that level of trust in Amar.
“Yes Sammi, I will be doubly gentle, I promise and just say if you want me to stop.”
“Thank you, so how do want to do this?” I asked feeling strangely nervous.
“I think it is better for the woman from behind.”
I wanted to ask how he knew that and if his wife had told him, but I respected the escort girl’s diplomacy guide and said nothing.
“So lie in your front Sammi.”
I did that.
“Maybe put a pillow or two under your tummy.”
I smiled as I lay there the pillows making my body curved and sticking my bum in the air.
“Let me get some lotion that will make it easier.”
He returned to the bed and squatted beside me. I felt the cool lotion on the cheeks of my bum and between them on the sides of the crease. It trickled downwards, its cool ooziness sending lovely little shivers through me. His fingers rubbing it in and going nearer and nearer to that puckered hole sent even more shivers through me.
I was nervous, slightly scared, but hugely excited and expectant. It was a very strange situation. I was his hooker, his prostitute, his whore. He had bought me; I was his to do with as he wished. That was the deal, we both knew that and we had both bought into it.
We’d met for tea in the coffee shop, but had almost immediately gone to the suite where we’d had sex. Good sex too, including both of us giving oral to the other, before he had fucked me missionary style as we held each tightly in the middle, of the huge bed.
We had snoozed for a while then had gone to Nobu for dinner, had a few bets in the Ritz casino, a couple of drinks in Tramp then back to the Lanesborough. We had slowly and seductively undressed each other before making quite tenderly and lingering love before going off to sleep in each others arms. That sort of arrangement where the escort really becomes the client’s girl for the night is not at all unusual. Where things get fucked up is when one or the other mixes fantasy with reality and starts believing that their ‘stolen night’ is real life. Amar and I had that well in control. We both knew that come what may tonight I would go home mid morning tomorrow with a nice present and good memories. He would go home to his wife having spent a few hours with a young bird who would never pester him. If we met again that was completely at his volition.
So, given the client/escort circumstances it was sligthly unusual for me to be offering him, what in some ways is my most precious sexual gift. It was unusual, probably, for a client to be taking an escort’s anal virginity, it was unheard of certainly for him to be receiving that gift FOC. But that was my relationship with him. Putting the fee and the presents to one side, just as he regarded me as ‘his girl’ for the hours he bought me so I looked on him as my lover when I was with him. Comfortable with the ridiculously high fee the agency charged and my cut, I always tried to put that to one side and forget about it.
So as Amar gently opened my legs and whispered how wonderful it was going to be, he made me feel special. Like a queen bee being looked after by her slave bees.
He laid his length in the crease of my bottom, reached round and, after I lifted up a little, cupped my breast. He was supporting himself and making sure he wasn’t squashing me, by the elbow on the hand that was holding my boob supporting his body. He was holding his cock in his other hand and was rubbing the end of it up and down my crease pausing, inevitably, on the anal hole.
“Are you ready my sweet,” he whispered into my ear.
“Yes, yes I am Amar,” I stammered back the cocktail of emotions and feelings making me feel very different to how I normally felt when about to have sex.
“I will be so gentle, I will go slowly and you stop me whenever you need to,” he said pressing the end of his erection right on my anus.
With the softening effect of the lotion and I guess the finger manipulation of the past, the first level of penetration was ok. I felt myself opening up as the bulbous head eased itself into that restricted passage.
“Ok?” He asked running his fingers up and down my back, presumably leaving his cock stuck in me unattended.
“Yes,” I grunted, feeling little more than when I had been fingered there.
He was clever or skilful and certainly considerate for he didn’t, in more ways than one, push things too quickly or too far too soon come to that. He left himself in me as far as he had entered me with that initial surge, but I didn’t know just how far that was.
When being finger fucked there, I had noticed that I never really knew just how far the finger was up me. It seemed that once it had opened the sphincter and had got to the first knuckle then the feelings were almost the same as when it was fully buried up my bum. But then a finger is only a couple of centimetres in diameter at most and has only minor bulges. The cock that I was about to take was at least six centimetres and had a massive bulge round the knob end of its uncircumcised length. I knew I was not home and dry just yet.
Amar was obviously aware of that for, as I learned later, he had been having anal sex for years with a multitude of women, including his wives. He knew the next manoeuvre was critical. Critical to my pleasure, critical to my withstanding the pain of being stretched, critical to the act itself and thus critical to his own satisfaction.
“This may hurt a little Sam, ok?”
My heart was hammering, I’m such a whimp with pain, I even detest the dentist.
I gripped the bedclothes tightly with both hands as I felt my body tensing up: my opened legs were rigid; the muscles in my bum were as hard as all those hours in the gym could make them when needed, my eyes were clamped shut and my teeth were grinding together. He knew that was the last thing we needed.
“Relax Sammi,” he whispered, “Just try to relax.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s so hard.”
“I know it is, do you want something, a popper perhaps?”
I knew that he meant amyl.
I hardly had to think. “Yes that would be great.”
He had, of course, anticipated my need. He moved his hand from my breast and picked up the capsule that he had, probably, previously laid on the bed. His closed hand slid round my face and covered my mouth and nose. I put my hands on the back of his making a larger mask as he slowly opened his palm. The sweet, slightly sickly smell immediately filled my nostrils, mouth and throat as the relaxant drug rushed into my body. I hadn’t taken it often, but on the occasions I had I knew it worked quickly especially on a woman’s vaginal and anal muscles.
Despite the ‘liquid gold’ the feeling as he slowly eased the bulbous head past the tight sphincter muscle made me gasp. It was sharp and painful and just like, as other women have told me, having a baby.
I grunted and gasped. “Oh fuck.”
“Is it bad?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry it’ll pass,” he said comfortingly gripping my hand, which I really appreciated.
My bum was screaming with pain and seemed to be burning up with heat as he stretched the muscle to what I was sure was its maximum.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, it will I promise, or I will stop.”
He was right. As the A.M. really kicked in so it became less. There was still tremendous warmth, but the tearing, ripping pain had gone.
“Better?” He asked, still holding my hand.
“Yes, it’s fine.”
“Good,” he replied letting go of my hand and moulding his body around my back, both of his hands coming round to my front. One found my breasts, the other my clit. He just lay there for some time not moving and enabling my, now drug relaxed, bum to become accustomed to its welcome but, certainly unusual visitor.
My body was tingling, with both a sort of expectancy and the heat emanating from where he was penetrating me. But that was changing. The warmth that had at first been uncomfortable was now spreading throughout my body. It filled my bum, crept round the front, consumed my pussy and then slid upwards and took over my tits. They seemed to be on fire with an enormous pressure trying to get out through my nipples. It was a new sensation, but a very pleasant and hugely exciting one.
I groaned.
“You sure you’re ok Sammi?” he asked.
“Mmmmm, yes it’s nice,” I sighed back to him.
And then he fucked me, then he had full anal intercourse with me yes, then Amar fucked me up my arse.
He started moving, slowly and surely at first. Not far on each surge, but enough to give me that amazing part pain, part pleasure feeling, which was so new to me and seemed to be so specific to anal sex.
The feelings were different, but so similar to ‘normal’ sex.
He was now surging in longer strokes and I could feel my bum responding with similar moves. I felt his hands on my hips; they were pulling at them, trying to lift me. I went with them and brought my knees up so that I was kneeling, but with my head on the bed, my legs were parted and his cock firmly buried deep into my bum. He pushed hard and stopped.
“Wait,” I said, quite sharply. My curiosity was going mad.
“What?” He asked.
“This,” I said reaching behind me and feeling his cock with my fingertips.
“Oh my God,” I groaned when I felt little of his cock between his pubes and my stretched bum hole.
“Yes Sammi, it’s all the way in,” he whispered stroking my bum as he anticipated my curiosity.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I whispered back knowing that he meant was I ready to be really bum fucked?
Gripping my hips with both hands he struck up a steady rhythm going deeper and deeper each time and pausing when it was buried right up to its hilt.
“Sammi, I’m near.”
“Yes, so am I,” I groaned back as, amazingly the familiar feelings of an impending orgasm started to fill me.
He thrust faster and maybe deeper, but I had no real idea on that. He was grunting and moaning as clearly he started to cum. I was groaning and sighing as my climax broke. And then my legs gave way and I collapsed onto the bed. His cock slid out.
“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” I groaned turning half onto my back.
“Doesn’t matter,” Amar replied grabbing his cock and aiming at me.”
“Ok?” He asked.
“Yes,” I groaned, lifting my face and breasts up, just as his cum spurted from his cock all over me.
So my first anal fuck ended up with my client’s cum all over my eyes, cheeks and face.