Her eyes tracked the server's tight little butt as he strode away with the order. That was one of the attractions of this place, the handsome young studs who waited tables ... and their unusual uniforms. Domino masks covered their eyes (conjuring up thoughts of the Lone Ranger). They wore formal tuxedos, complete with cummerbund and top hat, but the pants were form-fitting -- very much so -- and the entire seat was cut away to expose the buttocks. Naked, finely-muscled buttocks. A very suggestive rear view.
Eileen had a sudden desire to summon him back and ask him upstairs. But no, the evening was still young and there were so many others to choose from. The rooms at the top of the stairs cost $500 per hour, not counting a tip for the chosen escort. But, damn, he had buns to die for. Maybe later...
Half an hour later they were upstairs in the small room. Jason was lying on the narrow bed, facedown. He still wore his mask, but nothing else. From the crack of his hind cheeks there protruded a slim rubber hose leading to an old-fashioned red rubber enema bag suspended from a rusting coat hook. Eileen needed him immaculate both outside and in for what she had in mind. Even the simple act of inserting the nozzle into him had left her flushed and excited.
Girl, this better be worth it, she thought as she buckled on her harness, then secured the oversize chrome-steel dildo in the retaining ring. This little evening outing at the Plunder Club was going to plunder her savings for more than she could afford. Quite a bit more.
I deserve life's little pleasures. Damned if I don't! Haven't I had to fight for everything as long as I can remember?
I was the first one in the family ever to attend college. Years of grunt work as a typist, receptionist, secretary, and general office slave. Got my first real break when the VP of production chose me as his assistant. I'm finally pulling down a halfway decent wage, but at what cost? Working long hours, going to night school to get my grad degree, giving up any pretense of a social life.
Relationships? No time. Romance? That exists only in pulp novels and the movies. Sex? Empty-headed idiots clumsily pawing my body. Now it's my turn. This one's for me.
The gurgle of the commode in the adjoining bathroom signaled that Jason had finished flushing away the enema solution and assorted other contents of his bowels. Good -- nice and neat. Squeaky clean right where it counted. Eileen was very much into strapons and anal sex, but she just hated the little surprises -- the messes and the stenches -- that all too often accompanied it.
She remembered the first time. Her initiation into anal. It was the summer after graduation, and she had just turned 18. She was working as a camp counselor. On a dare from one of her friends, she had impulsively jumped into a shower stall with the director. He was hung like a horse, according to rumor. "He'll screw anything on two legs," they said. Eileen had to have him.
He just laughed, and took her arm. She let him turn her around and bend her over. "Reach back and spread your cheeks," he said. What? "Spread 'em, little girl. I can get pussy any time. It's your ass I want."
This wasn't quite what she had in mind, but ... she had fantasized about that sort of thing. Those of her girlfriends who had tried it either found it disgustingly dirty or raved about how utterly fantastic it was.
"Come on, baby. I know what I'm doing. You'll enjoy it as much as I will, maybe even more. I'm not gonna force you, but make up your mind. Either open up your ass for me or get the hell out of here."
She had to choose. Now. She hesitated, then bent over.
It stung a little going in. He had "lubed" himself up with soap, and it felt like a rather large cucumber sliding in and out of her. In and out of her rear passage. It was actually starting to arouse her by the time he came. He scrubbed her back and helped towel her dry. Very considerate.
Later, she had a bout of diarrhea. The soap must have irritated her gut. And yet the memory of it haunted her...
His eyes widened momentarily as he entered the room. She already had on her equipment belt and her tool was ready and waiting. Most clients liked kisses, caresses, and a little foreplay before the going got hot and heavy. This woman obviously didn't need any preliminaries.
She pointed at the bed. Bend over, her abrupt hand motion indicated. Talking wasn't part of the protocol here, and it just got in the way of the action anyhow.
He had already lubed himself as part of the bathroom routine, but she wanted to make doubly sure. Or maybe she just needed an excuse to grope around inside his butthole. No matter. This was included in the basic services the clients paid for. He bent over the bed.
.... There is more of this story ...