Usually I accompanied my mother when we dined in the hotel restaurant. All the attention of the diners would be focussed on her as we made our way to our preferred table, my mother is a very attractive woman and men's eyes follow her like hounds on a scent. However this evening mother was in a consultative meeting with an important client and I was entering the dining room alone.
I admit to being slightly nervous, and I paused momentarily to steady my breathing, and to think of my mother. I wondered how the consultation was progressing as it had quickly developed into an animated and noisy meeting, which could have been mistaken for a religious gathering because I heard my mother crying from her bedroom 'Oh My God. Oh My God, ' as I was leaving our suite.
We had been staying at the hotel for two weeks while my mother dealt with a number of her regular patrons. I now considered myself a full member of the family firm as I had taken part in a consultative conference with my mother and two of her clients earlier in the week, receiving a bonus from both of the satisfied customers. I really enjoyed having an input into the family business, and mother had decided it was now time for me to recruit my own clientele. This evening was as good a time to start, and she had already identified a prospective customer for me. He was a rich elderly roué, who my mother had quickly discerned had an eye, and a taste, for young fresh female flesh, and he fell well within my target group.
I took a steadying breath and entered the dining room, walking with my chin up and my bosom out as mother had taught me; a quick glance around the dining room soon spotted the elderly gentleman sitting not far from my table of choice. I swung my hips as I walked across the room, not the exaggerated gyration of a back street harlot or a catwalk model but a movement subtle enough to send the pleats of my skirt swaying, and I knew that many men would be staring at my pert, rounded buttocks as they undulated beneath the skirt. I sat down at my table, and then demurely tugged my skirt to my knees while looking at the menu, but my peripheral vision had noted that my target was gazing at me with rapt attention – he was hooked.
Alfredo the wine waiter approached my table. "Mademoiselle wishes to see the wine list?"
I shook my head. Mother had impressed upon me that the first point of contact with a potential client was for them to send a bottle of wine over to their intended 'victim'. I didn't have long to wait before Raefel, a waiter whom my mother seemed to know quite well – he was always most attentive and always gave us excellent service – came over to ask if a gentleman could buy me a bottle of wine. He indicated the mark – I mean the kind gentleman – sat at a corner table. I replied that I was far too young for a whole bottle of wine but was allowed a small glass of Processo dei Colli Trevigiani. The wine arrived shortly afterwards and I raised the glass to my generous benefactor before taking an appreciative sip. He in turn struggled to his feet and bowed, then likewise raised his glass to me.
The old gentleman probably thought I was a virginal innocent schoolgirl. I certainly looked and dressed the part, and as I was only fourteen years old perhaps I should have possessed at least some of those attributes, but I didn't – nary a one.
My mother believed that virginity was something that should be lost at the earliest opportunity and made sure that mine was taken by a skilled virgin deflowerer when I was ten. He was indeed a master; the exquisite pleasure I felt when penetrated certainly outweighed any pain experienced.
My innocence vanished soon after my virginity. I learned the many and varied ways men and women copulate from watching, through a peep-hole in the ceiling of the room where my mother conducted her liaisons, as she demonstrated her large repertoire of the methods men and women use to conduct conferences and consultations.
I left the schoolroom behind me at twelve. Mother said I had learned enough to read and write adequately, and that the most useful lessons for life were taught outside of school, usually in a bedroom – or bawd room my mother added with a laugh.
That being so I still dressed as a school girl as the quarry for whom I was set up as bait were men attracted to under-age schoolgirls. As my mother said. 'In India they tether a goat to lure tigers; here we tether a kitten to lure old goats!'
My dinner arrived and I set to with gusto, I have a healthy appetite and was famished. The empty plates had just been cleared away from my table, and I was enjoying my wine when the elderly gentleman appeared before me. "Mam'selle, would it be impolite of me to invite myself to your table?"
I looked up at him through lowered lashes. "Oh no sir, please join me. I'm a bit lonely on my own."
He introduced himself – 'The Chevalier Maurice de Champingiron' – then he kissed my hand and lowered himself into a chair before calling Alfredo over to order another bottle of Processo.
"I know that you were only allowed one glass, my dear, but I'm sure your mother would not object if I bought you another – where is the dear lady by the way?"
"She will be in bed as she has a slight fever and is probably exhausted from tossing and turning all afternoon."
The Chevalier expressed his sorrow and then put his hand on my knee in a comforting gesture. "I will ensure you will be well taken care of in her absence."
With that his hand slipped under my skirt, and I parted my knees to allow him unhindered access to my silken smooth inner thigh. The look he gave me when his fingers encountered my underwear told me all I needed to know – he was gagging for it.
From then on I played him like a fish on a line; allowing him to nibble the bait by letting the back of his hand to rest lightly against my cotton covered genitalia, then reeling him in by moving in my chair so that his hand fell off my leg. We had drank the blue bottle of Processo dry and I noticed that he filled my glass every chance he could. I played along with his scheme.
"This wine is delicious, I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind me having just one more glass."
Actually I can hold my liquor quite well as my mother had allowed me to drink gin and vodka from an early age. A bottle of Processo dei Colli Trevigiani was not going to make me lose control of my senses– but of course the Chevalier Maurice de Champingiron wasn't to know that. Even so it amused me to give him the impression that my inhibitions were relaxing with each mouthful I took, licking my lips with the tip of my red wet tongue, looking deep into his eyes and caressing his hand. He would squeeze my hand in return, and then place his other hand on my thigh. I would shuffle my bottom and let him feel the heat from my moist vagina, and when he extended his middle finger and surreptitiously stroked it through the fabric of my panties I would give a little moan and then move my bottom away. The poor old man was beginning to perspire and his face became a vivid shade of puce.
I leaned across the table and spoke in a throaty, breathless tone of voice.
"Oh, Chevalier, you are making me feel quite naughty with your hand and fingers." At the same time I put my hand under the table and stroked his thigh. Feeling his sceptre stir at my touch I gave it a little squeeze, and he uttered a quiet groan.
"Tell me, cherie, would you like to come and be naughty in my suite?" His voice was hoarse with passion.
"I would love to come to your suite, sir, but my mother will be expecting me back from dinner." I then employed the sexy pout that I had practised many times in my mirror – this was the moment of truth. "She won't give me my allowance if I'm not back by nine o'clock."
It was now about a quarter to nine and I knew that the old man would need more than fifteen minutes to fit his key into my lock.
"I will pay your allowance if you'll come with me to my room." He opened his wallet and I saw it was stuffed with $100 bills.
"How much money does your mother give you?" He asked, holding the full wallet and looking at me with unbridled lechery on his face.
"It depends on what work I have done for her. What work would you like me to do for you sir?"
That had him gaffed and netted, and we quickly left the dining room. His breath wheezed as we hurried up the main staircase to his suite. We entered the master bedroom and he asked me my name and how old I was
"Alicia, Alicia Garonne sir, and I'm twelve years old. I'll be thirteen in three months' time".
All lies of course. My mother changed our names each time we arrived in a new area of operations. We seldom stayed longer than three months, always at the best hotel in town where we would hold conferences in our suite until such time as the wealthy clients requiring consultations in the area had attended all the conferences they could afford, and we then moved on to new pastures.
My mother was a highly skilled consultant and her standards were high, and her fees expensive - very expensive. 'I serve the top end of the market and must go to those areas where rich, prestigious, and discreet, men reside and play.' That was the answer she gave me when once I asked why we lived in hotels and moved so often. The longest I can remember staying in one place was 18 months in Dinard. Mother had been the deputy mayor's mistress during this period. However when I started to develop breasts the man wanted to enrol me as his deputy mistress, and enjoy mother and daughter together. My mother had demurred. 'You are far too young for such a lecherous sadistic pervert; time for us to leave.' As for my age I was just fourteen but mother said the sort of clientele that I should appeal to were those men who wanted girls between ten and thirteen. Fortunately I am quite slender and can pass for that age when dressed for the part.
The Chevalier sat down in a large comfortable arm chair and motioned for me to sit on his lap.
"What about my pocket money Daddy?" I asked – mother said that most men, especially older men, have a fantasy of having sexual intercourse with their pre-teen daughters. The Chevalier opened his wallet and peeled off two notes. He was so eager to gain access to my body I don't think he realised that they were $100 notes. I sat on his lap, wriggling my bottom to get more comfortable, and him more eager, and then I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a schoolgirl type of kiss on his lips.
"Thank you Daddy. I'll work very hard for you tonight."
His steel grey eyes narrowed. "I would prefer that you address me as 'Chevalier ' or 'Jacques'. I am not a man who relishes incest."
His voice although quiet had a hard edge. I nodded my agreement, and he gave me a warm smile then tried to put his tongue in my mouth but I diverted him by pushing my breasts into his face. His nimble fingers soon had my blouse unbuttoned and it floated off my shoulders onto the carpet. I need no brassiere, and the Chevalier feasted on my small firm coral tipped breasts. He kissed my nipples then sucked my teats into his hot mouth; his hands slipped under my skirt, which by now was bunched around my waist, and his thumbs rotated over my cotton covered pussy. Pleasure surged through my body and a warm glow started deep within my vagina. I heard the Chevalier groan with delight as my nipples hardened between his lips.
My panties were slid from my thighs by his skilled, hot, hands, although I did help by wriggling, which appeared to further inflame the Chevalier's ardour. He got from the armchair and I took his place in its soft cosy warmth, then he knelt before me, placing my legs over his shoulders. I fell back against the large cushions and my vagina offered itself up to his avid mouth.
Old men have difficulty in getting and maintaining a full erection and so have to rely on their use of fingers and tongues, which need no hydraulics, to pleasure a woman, and the Chevalier soon demonstrated that he was a master in the arts of fingering and cunnilingus. The golden fuzz on my Mound of Venus was stirred, first by his breath and then by the lightest of touches, rather like a butterfly alighting. He stroked, glided would be a better description, his fingers up down and across my outer lips, scarcely touching at all. As in most things less is more, and the soft sensuous feel of fingers gliding up and down my pussy lips and then in and out of my entrance had me opening up like a flower in the rays of the sun.
His tongue was as educated as his fingers as it left a path of saliva, like a snail's trail, from my anus up to my clitoris. Once at my nub of pleasure he licked slowly and tantalizingly, before sucking my blossoming bud into his mouth. I could feel an inexorable building up of my climax. Mother says that I shouldn't reward every client with an orgasm, and while it is quite permissible to fake one to show ones appreciation of a client's work a real, full on, orgasm should not be the norm. However the Chevalier was an expert, and his tongue and fingers were doing such delicious things to me that I knew I would not be able to hold back from bestowing a full, hot wet and sticky, offering in honour of his skills. His fingers were now rotating deep in my pussy and I thrust myself forward to get them further into my pleasure zone. Fluid seeped out of me and his tongue captured a bead of moisture from my pussy lips; he savoured the taste as if it were the finest champagne. My girl-juice flowed, and he lapped it up like a cat at an ever filling bowl of cream.
"Your honey pot produces the sweetest nectar I've ever tasted." He spoke with his face drenched with my secretions. My thighs were slippery with love juice and even the cushions of the chair held the heady scent of a young girl's fresh effusion. A sudden explosion in my vagina sent waves of pleasure shimmying through my body. My legs, which were still draped over the Chevalier's shoulders, spasmed and I cried out. "Yes! Jacques I'm cumming!" I arched my body, and he needed both hands to hold onto my writhing hips as I ground my pussy into his face.
As my twitching body subsided he raised his face from between my thighs, tasty girl- juice still dripping from his chin.