Future of Porn

“(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’d just like to say thanks to everyone who voted for Amateur Photographer and made it number 1 in the top lists, even if only for a few days. It’s much appreciated - and there will be more chapters coming soon). ”

“What’s the matter, Kelly?” I asked, placing my tray of food on the table before sitting down to join her for lunch in the company cafeteria. Kelly looked as though she was about to cry. She was just 19 years old, a junior secretary in the large advertising and marketing firm for which we both worked. She was a lovely, bubbly young girl of whom I was quite fond. She had a heart of gold, and unlike many of the other juniors who worked on her floor, she tried very hard and cared about her job and getting the right outcome for the company and the clients. In my much more senior capacity as one of the account executives I had unofficially taken her under my wing in a sort of big sister capacity, helping her through problems when I could. I liked her and I felt that with a bit of guidance she could have a big future ahead of her. So I was a bit concerned about her apparent state of distress, and now she was struggling to hold back her tears. What could be wrong?

“I, I can’t get anyone to help me!” she almost sobbed.

“Help you with what?”

“It’s my boyfriend. There is a car show on this weekend, and I promised to model for him at the show with his car – he is a car racing driver – but there’s supposed to be two of us, and my girlfriend Shona who was going to do it with me just rang my cell phone to say she can’t…”

“That doesn’t sound that bad,” I said. “Why don’t you just do it yourself alone.”

“But Rick wanted two girls, and he’s got this sponsor he’s hoping to get and he’s expecting two girls, and I don’t know anyone else who can do it with me.”

For such a seemingly trivial setback, her forlornness almost seemed comical. But my heart went out to her nonetheless; even though I was so much her senior within the organization – in a roundabout way within the bureaucracy of the firm, I was basically her boss – I counted her as a friend.

“What about hiring professional models?” I asked.

“It’s too expensive. We haven’t got the money. His racing costs a lot, and that’s why it’s so important to put on a good show, because of the sponsor – he really needs that sponsor.”

She’d been looking down at her food most of the time, pushing her braised lamb around the plate with her fork. She seemed at a total loss. Then, with pleading, anguished red eyes, she looked up at me.

“Anne, I, would you help me? You could do it, it’s not much work! Oh, please Anne?”

Me, model in skimpy clothes at a car show? What a suggestion! It was absurd, out of the question, and I had to let her know.

“Kelly, I’d love to help you with this problem, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be proper for someone in my position.”

“Yes, I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, I apologize for asking. It’s just that I’m desperate – it on tomorrow morning!”

“Well,” I said, “maybe something will turn up. Cheer up girl.”

We returned to our meals in an uneasy silence. Now she seemed even more dejected. I didn’t know what was more disappointing to her: my rejection or the fact that she’d been desperate enough to ask in the first place. I felt almost relieved when my pager beeped a message calling me back to the office to attend to some matters that had suddenly arisen.

“Kelly,” I said to her as I got to my feet, “cheer up. Really, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll drop down later and see you before you go home.”

I scurried back to my 13th floor office. As I attended to the drama – a pedantic enquiry about the wording of one of our TV ad campaigns - in the back of my mind the lunchtime encounter with Kelly was troubling me. It hurt me to see her so distressed. But it was more than that. I had to admit that I was also a little ashamed of myself to have so idly dismissed her cry for help with a simple ‘it wouldn’t be proper for someone in my position’. Were I in her position, I thought to myself, I would have taken that comment as a snub, a put down.

What made me so high and mighty? Yet on the other hand, within this firm I in fact was rather ‘high and mighty’ – especially compared with Kelly’s status. I was only 29 years old, but had worked hard for seven years to rise to the position I now held, which included a great degree of authority and autonomy within the firm, as well as a ludicrously large salary. I was the youngest senior account executive, easily the highest ranking woman in the company. I owned my own home, a top floor unit in a fashionable part of town, and with an easily manageable loan I was about to add small rented flat to my property portfolio. And I had done it all on my own. Life was good; I loved my job, and my job gave me all the good things in life that I could want.

But as I stared out of my window-walled office, absent-mindedly scanning the bustling city vista beneath me, I kept thinking about Kelly and her distress. It kept nagging at me. Maybe I could just hire a pro model for her and pay for it myself? It wasn’t as though I couldn’t afford it. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that it wasn’t that I actually wanted to help her at all. Rather it was that I wanted to make myself feel better about having snubbed her, a friend in need. And in any case, while she was my friend, I was also her work superior – there was, I had to admit, something patronizing about throwing money at her that she couldn’t afford and, knowing Kelly, she would forever feel as though she was in my debt.

I felt bad about this, and I felt for Kelly. I couldn’t help but wrack my brain for a solution. That, in fact is my job: my whole working life revolves around problem solving for others. Was there anyone I knew who could do it? Well, no – it wasn’t as though I regularly hung out with bikini models. No one I knew would consider doing such a thing in their wildest dreams.

The more I thought about it this problem, the more it troubled me, the more I kept coming back to the single solution: if she cannot find anyone, I must do it myself. She was in a jam and she asked for my help, because she thought I was her friend. But I snubbed her. So now I must help her. And it wasn’t as though I had major plans for Saturday; it was going to be a relaxing day of cleaning the flat, reading, interspersed with a few hours at the gym. Nothing that couldn’t be put off till another day. Problem solved.

I got Kelly on the phone.

“Hi Kelly, how are you doing?”

“Not bad,” she said.

“Any luck with finding a second model?”

“No,” she sighed. “I just don’t know anyone else. I mean, like anyone I know with the figure that could do it.”

“Kelly, I’ve been thinking. What does this entail? I mean, if I was to do it with you, exactly what is it we have to do?”

“Oh, Anne, it’s not that hard! Not much, really – would you really help me?”

“Just tell me what’s the deal.”

“OK!”

I could almost feel her spirits rising over the phone.

“We just have to model with the car. Really, just stand around, look good and hand out stickers. That’s about all it is.”

“What do we wear?”

“They’ve got a special outfit with the sponsor’s logo on it. All you’d need to bring is a pair of boots. I’ve got these gorgeous knee-high black ones that I’ll be wearing. So something like that.”

“Alright, I’m in,” I said.

“Oh Anne, thank you – thank you so much! You’ve saved my life!”

“No problem, just email the details – I guess if you’ve got the outfits I probably should just meet at your place in the morning. What time?”

She gave me her address and I was to be there at 8am. With that all sorted I went back to my work, tidying up the various loose ends until I left for home later that evening.

Working as a model at a car show, I pondered as I gunned my BMW onto the freeway, heading for home. My parents would be so proud, I chuckled to myself. Actually, that probably wasn’t untrue. Both mom and dad had been actors in the theatre, and they always hoped that I would follow in their footsteps. And they pushed me hard in that direction. From an early age I was enrolled in countless dance classes and kids’ acting workshops, and I even ended up with a part in a TV commercial for a kiddies’ ice cream. In my teens they put me through a couple of modeling courses, and I earned some spare cash by modeling teenage fashion wear in a big department store catalogue magazine.

It was kind of fun, and I did enjoy the rush of performing, being the centre of attention on stage. But for true actors, that feeling is more than just fun; it’s the centre of their universe, their entire being. It’s what they live for. My folks were like that. Acting is like a drug that you either need or don’t, and in the end I found I didn’t need it.

You could say that my parents either stayed true to their convictions or they simply weren’t able to kick the addiction, because neither of them has ever done a day’s conventional work in their lives. But all through my childhood years nor did either of them ever get that Big Break, and that meant that most of the time as a family we were pretty short on even the most basic things in life. I didn’t want to end up that way, and that’s why I studied hard to make something of my life. And I did just that.

And now here I was returning to ’stage’, as it were. In a way I was kind of looking forward to that rush of performing, such as being a car model was going to be. Maybe my parents wouldn’t be that proud…

I slept restlessly that night. I had some strange dreams. In one, I was in a private meeting in our work video room with one of our biggest clients. But instead of the conservative pants suit I normally wore, I was dressed in Victorian era garb, a beautiful, stiffly starched full-length crimson dress and white frilly laced blouse. I looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel. The client, Luca, a swarthy Italian only a few years my senior, sat across from me, staring lustily at my generous cleavage the whole time I delivered my pitch about the media campaign we had devised for his company. It was obvious he wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. I have never liked Luca. With his black hair and dark Mediterranean features he was a physically attractive man, definitely, but I found him rude, over confident and arrogant. I didn’t care for his attitude, but his company was one of our biggest clients. And I mean big - we’re talking a business deal almost in the millions here.

When I finished speaking, he continued to eye off my boobs, saying nothing. Then he suddenly got to his feet, stretched his arms, removed his expensive Italian suit jacket and loosened his tie. The bulge in his trousers was obvious, enormous. He walked over to me and grabbed my hand, gripping it hard. Then he maneuvered my fingers gently onto the zipper of his pants.

“Come on Anne, let’s cut the crap,” he snapped, with an insolent smile as he encouraged my fingers to slide the zipper down. “I think we both know what’s coming. Let’s seal this deal.” He was right. We both knew what was required for a satisfactory conclusion to this business arrangement. I slowly unzipped him and my hand slipped inside his clothing, reaching in to feel the hard outline of erect cock against his expensive silk boxers. I slid them down and released his member. Freed from its confines, it suddenly sprung out and away from his torso to point straight at me, its tip oozing menacingly. It was right in front of my face.

“Suck it, slut,” he commanded.

I hated him. But there before me was that huge, beautiful appendage, mesmerizing in its size, its power. I gently wrapped my hand around it, feeling the texture of the soft skin contrasting against the hardness under the surface when I strengthened my grasp. My mind seemed to spin as conflicting emotions of shame, outrage and desire assaulted my nervous system as I slowly moved my lips closer to the head of the shaft.

“That’s right,” he snarled down at me, “do it, bitch!” Kneeling at his feet as I was, when I looked up at his face he seemed 20 feet tall.

Resigned to my fate, for this was how it had to be, whether I wanted it or not, I knew it, the price that had to be paid in this client/servant relationship, I opened my mouth wide and slid my lips over that huge, warm, wet, glistening Italian cock.

Next morning I rose bleary eyed and wandered out onto the balcony to greet the dawn with my regular morning yoga ritual. But as the rising sun pierced through the gaps between the trees and buildings to spill into the flat to announce the new day, I felt a surge of blood through my body as the full realization suddenly dawned that in a few hours I would, for the entire day, be swapping my identity as a high-powered marketing executive for that of a cheap bikini model at a car show.

Bikini model. But exactly what, it also suddenly occurred to me, did that mean? What exactly would we be wearing? What was the outfit? No doubt it was going to be something skimpy, something sexy; that was the whole point of these things. But how skimpy, how revealing? How could I, as one who prides herself at always being completely across the detail in any dealings in my job, have so readily agreed to this without knowing exactly what it entailed? Very soon I was going to be on display in front of hundreds of leering males wearing… wearing what?

My breath quickened. I felt agitated. Why hadn’t I asked Kelly more questions? What was I thinking? What if someone I know sees me? What if someone from work sees me? A person of my status in business does NOT become a car show model on the weekend! And someone from work – I was DOING this with someone FROM work!

I went inside and made a coffee, trying to rationalize the situation and quell my growing anxiety. Annie, I told myself, you’ve made a commitment, now you’ve got to stick with it. It’s not as though any family members were going to see me – for this promotion within the company I had transferred clean across the country. I had lived in this town for several years, but my social set remained quite small. I did not have a current boyfriend. To a large degree, my work was my life. And anyway, who among anyone I knew would be going to a car show? Pretty much no one. But what if one of our clients was there? Again, who among our clients would be at a car show? None that I could think of. And anyway, I thought to myself: so what? Why I am I so uptight about this? It’s not like I was going to be naked. You agreed to do it, I reminded myself again: just do it.

I arrived at Kelly’s house on time. She greeted me at the door, obviously already wearing the ‘outfit’. She embraced me in a warm hug.

“Morning Anne, and thanks again for this – I really owe you so much!”

“Don’t mention it, Kelly. Now, I presume what you’re wearing there will be what I’m wearing.”

“Yeah, come through and you can get changed.”

I had to admit she looked great. Somewhat sluttish, but great all the same. Kelly was a very cute looking girl, with her blonde bob hair style, slim figure and generous boobs. Little wonder her boyfriend wanted her to be his model.

She had the boots on, as she described. But they were the largest component of the outfit. Essentially it was red bikini bottoms, only they were half bikini, half running shorts, so they only covered half her ass. The top was a red midriff singlet, with the sponsor’s logo across the breasts, but it was rather low cut, showing off a lot more cleavage than your average singlet. She was also wearing a black peaked cap with the sponsor’s logo across the front in red. A weird combination of reds and blacks to this outfit, I thought to myself, but then the focal point of this fashion exercise, one had to concede, was tits and ass, not color coordination.

Kelly and I were of similar build; about the same height, slim, B-cup, so size wise everything looked like it would fit fine as I began to strip off my jeans and t-shirt.

“Here,” Kelly said, rushing into the room just as I was pulling on the top, “the final touch. I thought these would go well.”

It was a pair red rose tinted sun glasses. I put them on and studied my reflection in the mirror.

“Oh Anne, you look great!”

“You think so?”

“Yes! Very hot. You look fantastic!”

I did look fantastic. Whorish, yes, but there was a certain touch of style to the look. And the pants fitted just right, nice and snug. My boobs looked pretty good in the top, with just a moderate amount of cleavage on display. As I studied my reflection, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself: ‘girl, you may be nearly 30, but you’ve still got it!’

But it was more than that. I could hardly reconcile the fact that the image in the mirror was really me. With my long brown hair flowing freely under the cap (at work, I always have my hair tied in a conservative bun), and my eyes shielded under the rose-colored glasses, my facial features further camouflaged under the hat, it actually didn’t look like me at all. I looked, well, I looked just like a car show slut.

We drove out to the show in her car, Kelly wearing nothing but her outfit but me modestly shrouded by the coat I brought along exactly for the purpose. I was glad of that, too, as the poor girl was copping lustful stares from the men in the truck alongside us at the first red traffic light we stopped at. Soon, though, I thought to myself as we drove away on the green, men would be staring at me too.

Thankfully, and just as I suspected, the car show was in one of the outer suburban exhibition halls – a fair way from my trendy city neighborhood. As a relative newcomer to this city, I’d rarely been out to this part of town, so in a way it was though we’d traveled to a whole new metropolis. I felt a bit more at ease, partly for the fact that I had Kelly for support, but also because this all seemed in so many levels a long way out of my real world. It would be like a strange day off from my regular existence, and tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

The car show certainly was some kind of other world. We arrived at about 9am, and things were still being set up. Already there was a scattering of people wandering through, looking at the brightly colored machines and other displays: car seats, music systems and all sorts of electronic car accessories. Music was pumping across the large hall from all directions.

“There they are,” Kelly pointed, “over there.” I spotted the small red sedan bearing ‘our’ logo. Sitting beside the car in a foldup chair was a young man wearing black trousers and a red, short-sleeved shirt, also bearing the sponsor logo. He rose quickly to his feet and Kelly introduced me to Rick, her boyfriend.

“Anne, I’m so pleased to meet you, and I can’t thank you enough for doing this for us,” Rick said.

“Don’t mention it,” I said. “I have to admit, it’s not something I’ve got much experience with, but I’ll do my best.”

Then Rick’s mechanic, Paul, arrived with a tray of coffees.

“Good job Paul,” Rick said. “Coffee, ladies?”

It was comforting to see that these guys were organized. We sat and exchanged small talk while we sipped our coffees. The deal was exactly as Kelly had said: I learned that Rick’s ambition in life was to be a pro auto racer, and it was important that he made a good impression with the potential sponsor - he badly needed this sponsorship deal to make the next step up the racing ladder. Racing was his dream. No wonder she was so distraught at not having that extra model. Rick wasn’t my type of man; a bit rough, rather uncultured, though nice enough, but it impressed me that he was a young guy trying to pursue a goal and putting everything into it. That was something to which I could relate. Already I was feeling better about this. And with us all sitting around together chatting, all dressed in regulation red-and-black colors (although I still had my coat on), I actually felt part of a team trying to achieve a goal.

Suddenly my feet felt wet. I looked down at the floor and saw a small river of sperm building up beneath me, rising in volume with each successive ejaculation. I couldn’t seem to remove my hand from the spouting behemoth, each successive stroke forcing out yet another massive eruption of creamy effluence.

“I can’t make it stop!” I yelled to the crowd.

The Lenore look-a-like didn’t seem to be concerned by the wave of sperm that was now washing over her own feet and that of the other women. She just stood there, like the rest of them, laughing and making rude gestures as my hand pulled furiously on the boy’s cock, which had now grown to enormous proportions.

“Keep pulling on him my dear,” the Lenore look-a-like said. “That’s an order!”

“No, no!” I protested. “Look how much he’s ejaculated! We’re going to drown in cum!”

At this, they all began to howl with laughter, and amidst my futile protestations and warnings, I woke up.

I had been dreaming of course. Looking over at the two lovers, I found them both soundly asleep, as was everyone else on the plane except for the flight attendant and me.

“Are you okay, miss?” she asked me. “I heard you cry out in your sleep.”

“I’m fine. It was just a crazy dream, that’s all.”

I had her bring me a cup of tea and then soon fell back to sleep, awaking only when the plane was approaching the airport.

Angelique’s was the first familiar face I saw after passing through customs. She ran toward me with arms open wide, a joyous expression on her face. Jake followed behind her, holding a bouquet of red roses in his hands.

“Holly!” she exclaimed, practically jumping into my arms.

“I missed you so much!” I said, hugging her close to me.

She kissed me several times on the face and then stood back to look at me.

“You’re as tall as I am!” she observed, checking to see if I was wearing high heels.

“I know. It’s like I grew two inches over the summer!”

“God, you look great. Jake, doesn’t Holly look great?”

“Yes, miss,” Jake replied, poker-faced, as he handed me the bouquet. “It’s nice to see you again Ms. McKenzie.”

“Thank you, Jake,” I replied. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“I have so much to tell you, Holly,” Angelique said, taking my arm. “A lot of things have changed around here.”

Before I could question her further, she led me away toward the parking lot with Jake following close behind us, my suitcase in his hand.

As we drove out of the airport, Angelique told Jake to close the limo’s Plexiglas divider so that she and I could have some privacy. It was just 10:00 AM, and I was still suffering from jet lag, but I was eager to hear her news. Offering me a chilled bottle of spring water, which she withdrew from a small, refrigerated compartment, she began.

“What I tell you stays between us. You can’t tell your parents anything, “especially “your mother.”

“What’s the big secret?”

“Do you swear not to say anything?”

I took a sip of water and nodded my head. “I swear.”

“This is the thing,” she said, as she locked her gaze onto mine. “My mother is running things now at the estate. Dad is out of the picture—not totally, but kind of. Let’s just say that he does his thing and has his mistresses and all that shit, but mom’s the boss at home.”

She said this is such an emotionless way that she might have been talking about perfect strangers.

“Why don’t they get a divorce?”

“Too much hassle,” she replied. “They still love each other, but he needs his women, so he does what he wants and my mom does what she wants. No lawyers, no scandal—nothing.”

“Do you still see him?”

“About once a month. He’s living in Nice now.”

“How is your mother dealing with it?”

“There’s nothing she can do. He’s nobility right? So she pretends everything is okay and goes about her business. Actually, she spends a lot of time with Lenore and her friends.”

At the mention of the older woman’s name, I immediately thought of my aunt’s study and the inopportune way I had insinuated myself upon the unknowing Sisterhood. I wondered how far along my aunt had come within that organization during the year since she was inducted into their exalted ranks.

“Doing what?” I asked.

“All kinds of stuff. Sponsoring charitable events, funding programs for destitute children, providing grants for education…you name it. All of Paris loves her. It’s like she’s become their patron saint.”

I found the thought of my hedonistic aunt performing such acts of charity somewhat amusing.

“My aunt Phoebe—the philanthropist!”

Angelique shook her head. “Not entirely.”

Suddenly, her face took on a somber expression. She leaned in close to me and whispered into my ear.

“I can’t tell you anything now. Wait until we get home.”

That was all she would say about the matter, piquing my curiosity even more.

For the remainder of the ride we spoke about rather mundane things that had happened to both of us during the past year. She never once mentioned Delvin, but I was anxious to learn if our appearing in his next video was still a possibility, so I brought up the subject.

“I haven’t heard a word about it, and I wouldn’t count on that happening,” Angelique said, disparagingly. “He and Maria split up, you know.”

“I read about it in the tabloids. It’s too bad about the video though. It would have been fun.”

“I let some of my girlfriends see “our “video,” she chuckled. You know what I’m talking about.”

“No way! Really?”

“It was an instant hit. And Brittany was the star.”

“Have you heard from her and Megan? They told me they were going to write to you.”

“I got a few e-mails from them, but I don’t correspond with them anymore.”

“Why?”

“My mother’s business demands a lot of my time. You’ll understand soon enough.”

On that enigmatic note, we moved on to discussing my studies and my lack of involvement with boys. She once again reminded me that I could have a successful social life as well as maintain my scholastic record if I would just learn to use my physical assets to take from boys what I wanted without giving them the upper hand. Beyond that, she intimated nothing further.

An hour later and we had passed beyond the outskirts of Paris and were heading west toward the open countryside. The gently sloping hills now gave way to an immense flat plain adorned for miles with the breathtaking sight of cultivated vineyards and apple groves. As we drove beyond the vineyards, we came upon the winemaking facilities of what Angelique called the “chateau Anjou,” a series of single-story, wooden buildings where the wine from her father’s vineyards was processed and stored. We then turned onto a dirt road that rose steadily for the next half mile until we approached the summit of a hill that leveled out onto a sun-lit meadow of cultivated lawns and gardens, in the midst of which sat the most beautiful storybook castle that I could ever have imagined.

Angelique smiled when she saw the awed look on my face, and took a moment to provide me with a brief history of the magnificent structure. She told me that Philippe of Lyon, a powerful nobleman in service to the King, had built it in 1259. Over the centuries it had served as a fortress, a munitions depot, and as a base of operations for the Germans during World War II. After the war, the castle fell into disrepair until my uncle’s father decided to purchase it and the surrounding lands in the early 1950s, and undertook a massive restoration project that lasted several years. The moat and drawbridge had long since disappeared, but the charm and beauty of the grand ivory structure had been faithfully preserved.

“My father never told my mom and I about this castle,” Angelique said, as she stared out the window. “When she threatened to expose his infidelities, he bought her off with this.”

I could do nothing but admire the brilliant jewel that sat atop the dark green lawn like a diamond set amongst emerald begets.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, as the limo stopped to passed through the security gates and then onto the long concourse that ended onto a circular driveway. “This is “your “home?”

“Yup. The deed was signed over to my mother six months ago. She owns it all—the castle, the vineyards, and 100 acres of land. Pretty nice, huh?”

I was speechless. Never had I seen anything remotely similar, with the exception of Cinderella’s castle at Disneyland, and that palled by comparison. As we approached the front entrance to the castle, the car came to a halt and Jake jumped out to open the car door for us.

“When are you going to tell me this big secret of yours?” I asked her.

“Not now,” she replied, as Jake went to retrieve my luggage from the trunk.

As we walked through the front door, I found myself standing in an immense, vaulted foyer whose ceiling reached at least thirty feet above my head. The floor was made of green, travertine marble, and the stone, spiral staircase rising to my left was adorned with a series of spectacular, quasi-religious, stained-glass windows that reminded me of the inside of the church of Notre Dame, which I had visited on a previous trip. And there, standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a simple white skirt and blouse, and bathed in the multicolored reflections of these lovely prisms of light, was my aunt Phoebe, looking as if she belonged to one of the bejeweled panels that so gracefully surrounded her.

“Aunt Phoebe!” I exclaimed, rushing up the stairs.

“Bon jour! Bon jour, my little Holly!” she cried, as she came running down the stairs to greet me, arms wide open.

We met halfway up, and, like two trains colliding together, we fell into each other’s arms, holding on tightly lest the force of our impact should dislodge us from our precarious perch. We held each for a few moments saying nothing, and then she gently pulled away from me and looked me over from head to toe, smiling down upon me as if she were an angel that had just descended from the heavens.

“Look at you!” she said, beaming. “You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you!”

“I’ve missed you so much, aunt Phoebe,” I said, holding onto her hand.

“I’ve missed you!”

She took another long look at me.

“She’s as tall as you are now, Angelique,” she said to her daughter.

“I know, mom,” my cousin replied dryly.

“And quite a young woman!”

Holding my hand, we descended the stairs together.

“Jake,” she said. “Please take Holly’s things to her room.”

“Yes, madame,” he replied, as he took my suitcase in hand and proceeded to ascend the stairs.

“So, how do you like my new home?” my aunt asked me.

“It’s beautiful,” I replied. “And so big!”

“There are over 50 separate rooms in this castle, and I need almost as many servants to keep up with it,” she said cheerily. “But I love it. It’s like living a dream.”

“Angelique told me what happened with uncle Pierre. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just say that I have enough information about his ‘activities’ to cause irreparable damage to his career. This castle was his concession to me. He now has his own life and can do what he wants. I don’t hate him, Holly. In fact, I still love him. But I won’t be taken for a fool. Come, let me take you on a tour.”

Accompanied by my aunt and Angelique, I was shown the entire castle and the surrounding estate. It seemed to me that each successive room within the castle was lovelier than the last, and I couldn’t help but feel that I was walking through the pages of a storybook. At the end of the tour, we found ourselves inside a beautiful, stonewalled courtyard, replete with its own well-manicured garden and fitted with several oak tables and chairs. We sat down and talked for a few minutes, and then my aunt realized that she had been remiss in her duties as hostess.

“How thoughtless of me!” she said. “I was more concerned with showing you the castle than I was taking care of your needs.”

“Don’t worry about it aunt Phoebe,” I said.

“Nonsense,” my aunt replied. “You must be hungry. Angelique, call Marie and tell her that we will take our lunch out here on the courtyard today.”

Angelique dialed her cell phone and gave the instructions to the woman on the other end. Within minutes, several servants appeared bearing trays of sandwiches and other foodstuffs.

“How are your parents?” my aunt asked me.

“Fine,” I said, reaching for a sandwich. “Of course they wanted to come. Especially mom. She calls you the ‘mystery woman.’”

“Your mother—my wonderful sister—is a busy body. Has to get her nose into everything. I just don’t want to dwell upon my personal problems with her. She never approved of my marriage to Pierre and I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’ I think you understand.”

“She can be overbearing sometimes.”

“Let me tell you, Holly, when we were kids she had to know every blessed detail of my comings and goings, because your grandmother, God rest her soul, was always too drunk to give a damn. She still hasn’t broken free of that habit.”

“She’s the same way with me,” I admitted.

“She’s insecure, that’s why she does it. She really can’t help herself.”

“But why did you invite me?” I asked. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you never told me.”

Angelique looked at her mother with a curious stare.

“I invited you, and you alone,” my aunt began with a smile to her daughter, “because I see something special in you. And I want you to have the opportunity to experience life away from your sheltered, little world in LA. Your parents are great people, don’t misunderstand me. But their vision of the world is very limited. I want to give you more.”

“I’m not naïve aunt Phoebe,” I said, as the servants poured all of us a glass of wine. “I’ve seen something of the world.”

“Not nearly as much as I’m going to show you.”

My cousin smiled coyly as she looked at her mother and then me. It seemed to me that they were privy to some secret that I was, as of yet, not allowed to share.

“So what is all this supposed to be?” I asked, pressing for more information. “Holly’s personal, cultural, enrichment program?”

My aunt laughed. “It goes far beyond that, trust me.”

“Mom,” Angelique said in a tone of voice that sounded to me like a warning.

“Oh, yes, yes, don’t worry Angelique. I won’t let the cat out of the bag. Not just yet.”

My aunt noticed my look of dismay and reached out to touch my hand.

“I’m sorry, Holly. I know I’m being evasive, but I promise that I’ll disclose everything to you soon enough. Please be patient.”

“I’ll try,” I said, realizing that it would be useless to force the issue. “I just don’t understand the need for all the secrecy.”

“You will understand, shortly.”

After lunch was over I began to feel very tired and decided to take a nap. My bedroom was spacious, occupying the farthest area of the west wing of the castle. The interior was designed to reflect its medieval heritage, with huge, exotic tapestries displaying various religious motifs, which hung languorously over the gray, marble walls and extended from the rafters to the cool, stone tiles below. Although my queen-sized bed was very comfortable, it took me a long time to get to sleep.

My mind was racing. What exactly did my aunt mean when she said that she wanted to “give me something more?” I felt that she wanted to confide something to me, but held back for reasons she could not presently divulge. Angelique had remained uncharacteristically quiet during lunch, leading me to believe that she was acting under her mother’s orders. Their unwillingness to confess their secret only succeeding in piquing my curiosity even more, leaving me with a huge question mark in my mind.

I finally fell asleep and awoke several hours later feeling refreshed and anxious to talk to Angelique. I took a quick shower and dressed, and then made my way downstairs. One of the maids told me that my cousin was at the stable, so I immediately headed in that direction and found her in one of the stalls grooming a magnificent, black stallion.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked as I approached.

“A little.”

I watched her hand move up and down over the horse’s flank as she brushed him vigorously.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she said.

End of Chapter 2

“I am fucking you, Morgan! Can you not feel me?” he said.

I laughed and said, “You are useless, James; I want those boy’s big cocks because you will never be able to satisfy me with this little boy’s toy.”

He continued to try to make me feel something and eventually he came. But the only one who was satisfied was he. I spread my legs as he stepped back, and he dutifully cleaned his own cum and Bob’s out of my unsatisfied pussy.

When he finished I told him, “That little thing of yours is useless, James. I want these guys to be my bulls for the rest of the school year.”

“That sounds like a great idea, I think it would work out fine. You would have all the sex you need and I would get to watch and service the three of you. Let’s do it!” James agreed.

“Bulls?” Bob questioned.

We explained to them my need to have a real man fulfill me. They agreed and said that they would love to oblige.

We had a drink to seal the deal and I smiled the rest of the evening as we talked and learned about one another. James smiled a lot too. And it is needless to say that one could not begin to erase the grins off of Bob and Charles’ faces.

By the way, they both got a 4.0 last semester. James and I are looking forward to them returning next semester.

It was something about the way she said it… all of a sudden she was a shy Aysha, an unsure Aysha. I could hear her breathing. So I waited. Then a quiet, but stronger voice, like she’d made a decision. ‘Step back more, so I can see you.’ I stepped back a little. The light from the tv made me feel like I was in a spotlight. ‘Were you touching yourself?’ she asked. “Yes,” I admitted, staring at her silhouette. She took a couple more breaths and then whispered ’show me.’ Normally, being an exhibitionist would not have gotten me off. I’d much rather be the voyeur, but knowing that it was getting to her was starting to turn me on. What were we entering into? I wondered. I put down the phone and striped off my shirt. I’m not in great shape any more, but I still have my upper body in okay condition. I turned slightly towards the tv as I dropped my sweats and stood there in my briefs. Then I picked up the phone. The electricity was flowing between us. I could feel it. ‘Your turn,’ I said. She didn’t move, but I could hear her breathing even louder into the phone. I stepped back into the tv light and moved my hand to my crotch, caressing myself slowly and pulling down my briefs a little to put my hand on myself. I started putting on a show for her, stroking up and down, and then stopping to slip my hand back out and then back into my briefs. Then I slide my underwear down over my thighs and let them fall to the floor. Wow, okay.. full monty time. I grabbed myself and stroked up and down slowly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, imagining Aysha on her knees before me, sucking me off. The phone was laying on the bed, but I heard her moan when I did that, and I took a step back to the window, out of the light. She hadn’t moved. Fine. I flicked off the tv and my room went dark. I knew she must’ve been replaying my last pose in her mind and I hoped it turned her on.

‘Step back,’ I whispered into the phone. Aysha came into view as she sat back on her bed. Her robe was open now. ‘Keep your robe on,’ I ordered. ‘If I were with you right now, I would kneel in front of you and slowly trace my fingertips over your body… from your lips to your neck, over your shoulders, along your sides, and over your hips to your toes.” I told her. Her breathing was faster. ‘You’re so beautiful. I watched you when they dimmed the lights at lunch and for a brief second, I fantasized about leaning close to you wrapping my arms around you and kissing your neck.’ She tilted her head back a little and spread her legs a little for balance. ‘I’m touching myself,’ I told her. ‘I’m imagining that it’s you stroking me. I’m standing in front of you, and you’re touching me… my cock is right in front of you.’ I watched her hand drift across her thigh and dip down between her legs and heard her inhale sharply. ‘You can see how excited I am. If I put my hands on your head, would you take me in your mouth?’ God, this was sexy. I couldn’t believe we were doing this. I had to stop stroking myself before I exploded.

‘If I were in front of you,’ I started over, ‘I would take you in my arms and kiss you. I’d kiss you hard until I felt your tongue slip into my mouth. I’d run my hands all over you and pull you into me so you could feel how hard you make me.’ Man, I wished I had those binoculars. ‘Touch yourself, ‘ I urged Aysha, ‘take off your bra.’ With her free hand, Aysha unsnapped her bra… front snaps, good, and I moaned into the phone. She had dark nipples and she moaned too as she cupped one breast with her hand. ‘I want to suck your nipples, Aysha,’ I told her, ‘could I swirl my tongue all over you and suck you?’ Her response was a deep moan. She had leaned back on her bed and was rubbing herself under her panties. Her tits were shaking with her motions and she was moaning longer and louder. Still, she kept the phone by her ear. ‘Aysha,’ I whispered, ‘I want to tie your hands to the bed and take you deeply. I’d spread your legs and thrust in and out of you deep and slow.’ With that, she spread her legs more. ‘Then I’d stop, and tease you with my tongue’ I continued, ‘I’d suck you and lick your pussy until you begged me to fuck you.’

‘Yessss, ohhh’ she moaned. It was so sexy watching her. She was rubbing herself frantically. Her hips would thrust upwards and I’d hear her moan ‘oooh, ohhhh’ into my ear at the same time. I kept urging her closer, telling her how slick my cock was, how hard I was, how I wanted to feel her lips on me, how I wanted to feel her suck my cock deep into her mouth. Suddenly, I was there… I couldn’t stop myself and I gasped into the phone ‘I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…’ and I moaned loudly and came. My cum spurted over my hand and splattered the window sill. I couldn’t stop. Aysha moaned loud and cried out too. I watched her tossing her head back and forth, her hair whipping over her face, before she collapsed on the bed. I had to brace myself against the window. After a few seconds, I caught my breath. Aysha was splayed out on the bed. One arm was over her eyes and her robe was spread wide. Her tits were heaving and her legs were spread and hanging over the edge of the bed. ‘So sexy,’ I whispered to her. ‘Mmmmm,’ she moaned back at me.

‘Aysha?’ I whispered. My dick was still hard. I needed more. I needed her. I didn’t wait for her to respond. ‘Turn off the tv,’ I whispered, ‘I want you to shut the curtains and go take a nice, relaxing shower… and leave your door unlocked.’ I waited to see what she’d do. I could hear her soft breathing. Man, my ear hurt like crazy from holding the phone to my head so long. Slowly, Aysha sat up on the bed. She was still panting a little. She was gorgeous. Then I saw her raise her head and smile towards me. Even from across the street, I could tell exactly what her expression was. It was her mischievous, amused, twinkling smile. She flicked off the tv and her room went dark. Then I saw the curtains slowly close. I hung up the phone. ‘Oh, man…’ I whispered to myself. Where’d I put my sweats?