Chapter 31: Carrot and Stick

Well, I definitely got that coveted blowjob as soon as Lydia and I had cooled off after the sauna and had taken a swim in the in large pool in Esther’s tropical hall. We commandeered one of the huts and she blew me to just short of passing out. Always trying to be a gentleman, I did of course return the favour and licked and nibbled her to a howling orgasm.

“Did Lydia leave anything in there for me?” Esther asked and gently squeezed my balls when I had shown up at her apartment to spend the night.

“There’s always something in there for you,” I said. “But please tell me you’re going to do the work. I have muscles aching in places I didn’t even know I had any.”

“Right, on your back then,” Esther said with a giggle and pushed me onto the bed. She mounted me and did indeed all the work.

After I had given Esther what she so obviously craved, and a rather tactile encore in the shower, Sofia’s sister excused herself for a late evening check on how her final test of the facilities was going.

I used that time to call Ira and tell her about the day’s events. That I had been set up with Lydia was of course no news to her, as she had come up with that scheme herself, but when I told her about my talk to Oksana in the car, to my utter surprise, she began to cry. She practically begged me to take that girl Lyuba somewhere private and show her a good time. But that request also came with the warning that I had to dial the gentleness up to eleven and that I should not be alarmed if Lyuba would end up crying through most of the experience. How did I always manage to end up in situations like that?

The hotel restaurant was the one place that required clothing to be worn, for hygienic reasons, so Esther had ordered our breakfast to be brought to her apartment the next morning, which meant we could stay as naked as we had been since I had arrived.

I told her that I was going to take care of Lyuba. Esther herself was needed in the office and Lydia and I had agreed to meet in the gym at eleven. She kissed me and expressed her confidence that I was the right man for the job.

That stuck in my craw a bit. Was it really ‘a job’? I was already not terribly convinced by the idea of ‘healing’ a former sex worker, who had been traumatized by being forced to have sex, by having sex with her. For want of a better idea, I called Mark. Perhaps he had an idea.

“Bloody hell, mate, they’ve given you quite a task,” he said after I had given him the details on Lyuba’s story.

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I’m not really sure this is such a good idea to begin with. You can’t heal involuntary sex by having sex. It sounds ridiculous.”

“You can in a way,” Mark said. “But you have to pull out all the stops. You and Sofia were at that place where Jenny and I were conceived when you had your vacation last year, weren’t you?”

“Sure,” I said with confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Regina got knocked up there. The result is Jenny, and it was a rather unpleasant experience. Seven years ago she asked me to take her there and make love to her, so she could finally supersede those memories with a pleasant experience.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “I think I have an idea.”

“Good luck,” Mark said. “You can do it, mate. If in doubt, ask Lydia for help.”

With two hours to go until my next torture session with Lydia, I strolled into the hall with the artificial tropical environment and made my way to the ‘Tiki Bar’. To my shame I had to admit that I had expected Lyuba to be a rather tired individual, showing signs of the ordeal she had gone through, but the girl I saw behind the counter was a beautiful young woman whose slender frame and almost ridiculously firm small boobs reminded me of Lucya.

My heart ached. If that girl had worked in a run-down, sleazy harbour brothel, she must have been the favourite ride for whatever seamen had frequented that joint. I cursed myself for my prejudice. In absence of any clothing, and therefore any option to fasten a name tag, she had her name drawn on her skin, just above her right breast.

“Hi Lyuba,” I said. “Can you fix me a coffee?”

“Sure,” she said, with just a hint of a Russian or Ukrainian accent. Ira would probably have been able to tell them apart, but I was not as adept at differentiating between those languages.