© Copyright 2003

My weekend guest had arrived early from Pullman and was comfortably ensconced in my dungeon. She was properly bound, but with one hand free to select from the array of sex toys I had placed within reach for her use as she watched a pre-programmed series of porn DVD's. I had promised her she could play with my slave, Amy, when she arrived later, but didn't want her wandering around the house since I was expecting some guys over for poker later that evening.

I was hoping Amy would arrive early so I could get her and her vehicle out of sight before the guys arrived. We live in a small, scattered community where everyone knows everyone else, and while it was no secret that Amy and I were seeing each other, I doubt that anyone would have liked knowing that, in private, she was my slave.

Amy solved that problem for me by calling to tell me she couldn't come - her mother was sick and needed Amy there to take care of her. While I was relieved that I wouldn't have to juggle Amy's arrival with that of the guys, it left me with the problem of what to do with my guest in the dungeon.

I was in my workshop putting a final polish on the custom made wooden dildo I had promised the mayor's wife. It was twelve inches long, quite thick, and a veritable caricature of a male erection. The basic material was ebony and the head was almost half again as wide as the shaft. Dark red veins, made of raised cherrywood inlays created an intricate network around the shaft. Even the attached ball sack, while hairless, seemed to bulge with cum-filled testicles under the crinkled surface of the scrotum. While beautiful to look at, most women would have found this toy somewhat intimidating to use, but the mayor's wife was a big, strapping woman, and I knew she'd have little trouble taking full advantage of it.

As I put the artificial phallus in a locked cabinet to let the waterproof finish dry, Caesar, one of my Timber Wolf - Malamute mix dogs, flowed through the door of the workshop like a big grey ghost and sat at my feet facing the front of the lot where a dirt track came up from the main road. He placed his right paw on my leg to be sure that I knew someone was coming. From his demeanor, I knew it was not a vehicle he'd seen before, so I went through the back door of the house and waited in the shadows of my home's interior to get a first look at the visitor without being seen. I don't have a lot of enemies, but occasionally, one of my guests decides that he or she would rather not know the things I'd shown them about themselves, and comes back to vent their displeasure, so I'm careful.

I didn't recognize the Lexus that pulled into the clearing. It sported a small religious statuette on the dash and a license plate frame from a dealer in Pleasanton, California. Nor did I recognize the trim, well-dressed Filipina who slid out of the driver's door. The car had California plates, and the woman seemed a bit older than my usual "clientele", so I waited in the shadows a bit to see if I could get some idea of what she wanted before confronting her. She checked something on a piece of paper, smoothed the travel wrinkles out of her clothes, adjusted her frameless glasses, and looked nervously about the clearing before squaring her shoulders and climbing the porch stairs to knock on my screen door.

She wore a large diamond ring, diamond pendant, and diamond earrings (for traveling, in the middle of the day!). Her Gucci shoes were a bit dusty from the walk across the clearing. Unless I missed my guess, she wore an Ann Taylor suit from last year's line, and carried a Dooney & Bourke knockoff for a handbag. Her hair was almost boy-cut - short and tapered sharply to her neckline. This was a woman who dressed not to attract men, but to impress other women.

She seemed more nervous than angry, so I came to the door as if I had just heard her knock.

"Can I help you?"

Nervously, she consulted the paper again. "Uh, yes. I'm looking for a Mr. Mike Brenneman?"

"Whom shall I say is calling?"

"Oh! My name is Marietta Jameison."

"How can I help you Mrs. Jameison?" I still hadn't opened the screen.

"I'm not sure... Are you Mr. Brenneman?"

At my nod she looked nervously around the clearing again, and said, "My, ah my daughter, Vanessa, said I should talk to you."

"About what?" I knew Vanessa Jameison, but to the best of my knowledge, she was quite happy with what we did together. I could think of no reason why she would send her mother to visit me.

"It's, ah, it's very hard to say, Mr. Brenneman. She said you might, ah, be able to help me?" she had reached for something in her handbag and started playing with it absent-mindedly.

I smiled as I saw the rosary trailing from her fingers.

I pushed open the screen door, saying "Won't you come inside, Mrs. Jameison? May I get you something to drink? Wine? Soft drink? Cocktail?"

She stepped into the cool interior and said, "Uh, just ice water is ok."

I waved her to a chair in my 'sitting room' and said, "I'll bring ice water if that's what you really want, but if what you came to talk about is so serious as to require a rosary, perhaps a little alcohol will make it easier... ?"

She looked down, and for the first time noticed the glass beads automatically crawling through her fingers in that pre-programmed sequence that lifelong Catholics know by heart.

She gave an embarrassed little giggle, put the rosary away, and nodded her head. "Maybe some white wine, then, if you have some?"

I nodded and left her alone while I went to the kitchen to retrieve our drinks. I had a nice bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator so I opened it and filled a bucket with ice and water, toting the bucket and two glasses into the living room with me.

I poured a taste in her glass and offered it to her. She took a small sip and swallowed, hardly tasting the wine, but nodded affirmatively.

I went ahead and filled the glasses, settling into a chair across from her. I had thought about bringing out a plate of cheeses to snack on, but I wanted her to loosen up a bit, and the wine would do its work more quickly if she didn't have anything in her stomach.

"So how does Vanessa think I can help you, Marietta?"

She fidgeted in the chair and played with the wine glass, finally taking a gulp before answering, "I - I don't really know! We were talking the last time she was home from school, and she said she knew someone that might be able to help me - she didn't say how."

"So you drove all the way up here from the Bay Area to see me? It must be very important!"

She shook her head vigorously, "Oh no! No, no! I came to surprise my daughter at school, but her roommate said she was visiting friends for the weekend, and I thought, since I was already here, maybe I should see if you COULD help!"

"Which brings us back to the original question," I replied, "'How can I help?'"

Marietta was holding something back, and I was guessing, given my reputation at her daughter's school, and her Catholic upbringing, that it had something to do with sex, but it began to look as though I might have to drag it out of her.

"I don't know!" she repeated, frustration showing in her voice, "my daughter didn't say!"

"Well," I tried, "if we can't get to 'how', maybe we can get to what you need help with?"

She drank some more of the wine and tried to avoid looking at me, but her eyes kept darting back to my face, and then away again, so I tried a different tack.

"Perhaps it would help if I knew what you and Vanessa were discussing when she told you about me?"

She stood and started pacing in front of her chair, then turned to face me, as if having made a decision. Her face, already a light shade of brown, turned darker as she softly mumbled, "Sex!"

"Did I understand you correctly?" I asked, "You DID say 'sex' didn't you?"

At her embarrased nod, I continued, "Ah, now we're getting somewhere! What, specifically, about sex were you discussing?"

I could barely hear her reply "I, ah, I have a, ah, problem."

"What kind of problem?" this was like pulling hen's teeth, but patience is a virtue, or so I'm told. I'm more accustomed to dealing with younger, less inhibited folks.

She paced some more, polishing off the wine. I refilled her glass, hoping the wine would start doing away with some of her inhibitions soon.

"What kind of problem?" I repeated.

She drank some more wine and I waited, watching her steel herself for the big one. Finally, she turned to me, saying, "I haven't enjoyed sex since before I was married!"

I didn't change expression. She was on a roll, and I wanted to keep her rolling, so I asked, "You haven't enjoyed it at all, or you haven't had orgasms?"

She flushed again, still pacing, and replied, "Oh, my husband was a nice man, and he tried to make it good for me, but I had to fake it to make him think I was having o-orgasms."

"You speak of your husband in the past tense... ?"

She nodded, "Yes, he died two years ago, but he left Vanessa and me a substantial inheritance."

I thought it interesting that she felt compelled to mention the inheritance.

"Ok, so you never climaxed during sex with your husband. Had you had orgasms before you were married?"

She nodded, and I thought I saw where this was going, but I needed a couple more bits of information to be sure. "With your husband?"

She shook her head, all but confirming my suspicions.

She had little accent, but the occasional 'V' turned into a 'B', and once in a while, an 'F' became 'P', so I was pretty sure she was not born in the States. Combine that with the excessive effort to appear respectable, the fact that in a strict Catholic state like the Philippines she had enjoyed pre-marital sex...

"Did you meet your husband in the Philippines, Marietta?"

She nodded again, staring into the woods over the top of her glass.

"How long did you work in the bar before you met him?"

Marietta turned slowly, her face gone yellow as the blood drained away from it. "How?" she whispered, "How did you know?"

I waved the question away, "It's not important, Marietta. It's not even important that you worked in a bar, except as it pertains to why you're here. You've raised a smart, lovely daughter, who, by the mere fact that she HAS such conversations with you must love you very much. You appear to be doing well here, so the only reason I need to know about what you did before is to try to help you with the problem that brought you here."

A little color came back into her face and she once again drained her glass. "You're right, Mr. Brenneman, I did meet my husband in a bar where I worked as a bar girl. It was my job to talk the men into paying the bar to take me to a hotel room, pay for the room, then pay to have sex with me."

"Is that when you had your orgasms - when you were having sex with the bar patrons?"

She shook her head. "No, that's where I learned to fake them! Once in a while, though, one of the customers would throw a party, and pay several of us girls to come to the party and do whatever the people at the party wanted. Sometimes we'd put on girl-girl shows for them, sometimes we'd do things like sticking beer bottles into ourselves, things like that. Every time, though, we had to let anyone who wanted to, have any kind of sex they wanted. THAT'S when I had my orgasms, sometimes all night long, it seemed!"

"So what was it about these parties that excited you so?" I probed, "was it the fact that you had to do whatever they wanted? Was it that there were so many? Maybe it was the presence of the other women?"

She hid her face in her hands, shaking her head. "I don't know! I think about it all the time and it jumbles up in my head! There was always so much booze and drugs!"

I thought for a moment, and a daring plan edged its way into my devious mind. If she went for it, I could get a little leverage on my poker buddies, AND solve the problem of my downstairs guest, all while helping Marietta figure out how to have orgasms. Hmmm! I felt like stroking an imaginary Van Dyke and twirling the tips of a non-existent waxed mustache.

"Marietta, how would you like to relive some of that experience that excited you so much, and see if we can figure out just what parts of it turned you on?"

She stared at me open-mouthed for a few seconds. "You mean, be a bar girl again?"

I waved my hand to slow her down, "No, no, let me explain! What I propose is that, just for tonight, you PRETEND to be a bar girl who was hired to entertain at a party. I'm having some guys over for poker later, and if you and they agree, you can be their party girl for the evening. It's highly unlikely that any of them will know you or your daughter, so there's no risk to your reputation at home. Furthermore, I know where there's a willing young lady who likes other ladies. We'll keep the two experiences separate - you'll have sex only with the men at the party, first, then I'll introduce you to the young lady, and that way, maybe we can figure out how to get you the pleasure you seek."

"But what if someone recognizes me?"

That was encouraging. At least she wasn't objecting to the idea.

"All of these men are local, Marietta," I replied, placatingly "and I'll give you a chance to see them before they see you. If you recognize any of them, we'll call it off. As for the young lady, I'll see to it that both of you are blindfolded, at least at first, that way neither could possibly recognize the other."

She paced some more and drank some more wine from the glass I refilled as I spoke, then turned sharply.

"I don't have anything sexy to wear!" she said, plaintively "When I was a bar girl, I always dressed in mini-skirts and low-cut tops. I don't have any of those clothes any more!"

I smiled and led her to the guest room, turning on the light in its walk-in closet to reveal hundreds of women's outfits, arranged by size. "I think you might find something suitable in here. Undergarments are in these drawers." I pulled a few out to show her.

Waving toward the back wall, I said "Those racks should have some shoes that will fit you and go with whatever outfit you choose."

I preceded her out of the closet and showed her the bathroom where she could freshen up, then said, "I want you to think about this carefully, Marietta. The only part about tonight that will be pretend will be the part about working in a bar. The sex will be real, and you'll be expected to behave as if you were being paid to do anything the guys ask. I'll be on hand to make sure they don't injure you, but I can't guarantee it won't get a little rough. I'm sure you remember how guys got at the parties you attended before."

She nodded, wide-eyed.

"I'm going to leave you to change, while I take care of some other things. Keep this door closed. You'll hear the guys arrive. You can peek around that corner and get a good look. If you recognize any of them, or just don't like the look of them, just go back in and change back to your own clothes. I'll introduce you as a friend as you return to your car - or you can sleep in this room tonight and no one will know you're here. If you show up dressed for sex, that's what you'll get, ok?"

I started to turn, then remembered something. I went to the jewelry box on the dresser and pulled out something I found on a trip to Bangkok. About 10 inches of silver chain hung between two small, adjustable loops. From the chain hung an ornate, bejeweled, triangular silver net whose long side was the chain and whose point was centered between the two loops about three inches below the chain. I held it up in front of Marietta to show her how it was worn.

Handing it to her, I said, "If you really want to drive the guys wild, wear this. They'll love it."

I went downstairs, fed my guest, and told her that Amy couldn't make it, but, if things worked out, she'd have another beautiful lady to love after the poker party. She wasn't happy about it, but hey, I don't get paid for these services. They have to take what I can provide. I had a hunch she and Marietta would get along just fine.

I had just finished setting things up for the party, with plenty of beer and chips, when my first guest arrived. There were a number of men from the local community who regularly played poker at my house, but tonight was a little unusual - all of them were Sheriff's deputies. I hadn't planned it that way, but that's how it worked out.

Mark Winslow drove his old pickup well into the clearing and parked beside Marietta's Lexus. Mark was in his thirties and unmarried. He was about half a head taller than me and had to turn sideways to get through my front door, but a kinder, gentler, more soft-spoken man you'll never meet. I got him settled, with a beer in his hand just as Randy Packard stepped through the screen door, removing his stetson as he came.

Randy was the quintessential cowboy. He was in his early fifties, thin as a rail, rawhide tough, and with his handlebar mustache and ubiquitous Stetson and cowboy boots, looked as though he'd been born in the saddle. To hear him tell it, though, he'd never even been astride a horse.

Right behind him came Travis Belson. Travis was about as non-descript as they come. Somewhere around forty years old, he never talked much, but his eyes took in everything. I figured if I ever had any trouble with the Sheriffs, Travis would be the one to watch. By the same token, if I ever needed backup in a firefight, he's the one I'd want beside me.

Sam Garner was the last to arrive. Sam was in his late twenties and was a naturally friendly, garrulous person. He also tried to overcompensate for his relative youth with the other deputies by talking too much. Sam stood a bit over six feet and stayed fit by running.

I always invited four people to these games. They played poker while I played host and filled in when someone needed a bathroom break. I made them pony up a percentage of each pot for the house, even though I didn't need it. As the 'house' I resisted all efforts to talk me into joining the game for myself, claiming conflict of interest. This also kept messy gambling debts from coming between me and my guests, and if any of them got in arguments over who owed what, I made sure they were squared away before anyone left.

I got everyone settled, and as Travis dealt the first hand, I saw Marietta peek around the corner of the door. When no one was watching, I raised an eyebrow in her direction, querying her willingness to proceed. She nodded, and I told the assembled players, "Boys, you may not want to get too involved in that game just yet. I've got a special guest tonight, and she'd like your help with something."

At the word 'she' they all folded their cards and turned to look at me. I held out my hand toward Marietta, and said, "Boys, this is Tess. She's asked me to help fulfill a fantasy of hers."

Marietta slinked into the room on spike heels, all swaying hips and come-hither smile. She was wearing fishnet stockings, a black micro-mini, and a red, low-cut halter. The top clung to her bra-less tits, showing off her hardened, half-inch nipples as if it weren't there. I grinned when I saw that she had worn my last minute gift.

Sam, leering openly at her, said "I was wonderin' whose Lexus that was parked out front."

The others, too, were checking her out. Mark watched her from the corner of his eyes, trying not to be noticeable. Randy stared almost as openly as Sam, but without the leer. Travis studied her as he studied everyone, expressionlessly, from under hooded brows.

"Gentlemen, I need to ask a favor of you." I paused until I was certain I had at least part of their attention. "Tess is visiting with me, and has asked my help in fulfilling a fantasy. She grew up in a strict Catholic environment, and has never known what it was like to be a bad girl."

Marietta's eyes swung in my direction, and I thought I detected a hint of gratitude in them.

"Tess was divorced from her American husband a short time ago, and wants to know what it would be like to be party girl - someone paid to entertain men at a party."

Sam and Randy were leaning eagerly forward. Mark's ears had turned red, and he was now focused entirely on Marietta's barely covered tits. Travis alternated between studying her face and mine.

"Now, I understand that one or two of you have girlfriends." I looked around, and Mark nodded. Everyone else, except Travis, looked briefly in his direction. "Those who don't want to be unfaithful to their girlfriends should leave now."

Nobody moved, though Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Ok," I continued, "here's the scenario. Tess, here will pretend that she's been paid to entertain the four of you. No real money has changed hands, so there's nothing illegal going on here. Tess' job for the next three or four hours, is to do ANYTHING you guys want her to do."

Travis was the one who came back with, "Anything?" his eyes still studying Marietta.

It was Marietta, however, who turned toward Travis, and caressing a nearly bare breast replied throatily, "Anything!"

Sam let out a whoop and told me loudly to put on some raunchy music, so Tess could do a strip for us.

I held up both hands for quiet and cautioned, "We'll get to that in minute. There's just one more thing I need to tell you." My voice turned deadly serious, "Let's have fun, you can even get a little rough, but anyone, ANYONE who causes this lady injury, will answer to me."

They got the message, though I think Travis was the only one who really understood it. He met my gaze for a few moments, then gave a short, quick nod. He turned to the others and said quietly, "And me."

That sobered them. They didn't know what I was capable of, and I'd just as soon keep it that way, but they all knew Travis and what he could, and would, do.

I triggered the remote for the sound system and a CD that I had selected in anticipation of someone requesting a strip started blaring through the speakers. There was plenty of brass and an overdone drum track, and Marietta took to it like a duck to water.

Her slender body strutted to the center of the room's open space. She turned her back on the audience, feet spread a foot or so, hands at her sides, and snapped her head around to give them a slow wink over her left shoulder.

I've seen better stripteases but it wasn't bad for a woman who hadn't done one in twenty years. The guys ate it up. Even Travis was leaning forward a bit when she turned, after whipping off her top, and held her tits out for their inspection. Her nipples had hardened to thick, half inch spikes centered on small, chocolate aureolae. The little nooses of the silver chain I had given her held her nipples captive, and the jeweled silver netting hung between her breasts. Each time she moved, the weight of the silver tugged deliciously on the hard little buds.

By the time she was down to her thong, garter belt, and stockings, Sam was whooping and slapping the table. Randy's mouth hung open, and Mark was practically drooling. A tiny hint of a smile curled one corner of Travis' mouth.

When Marietta danced over to him, stuck her ass in his face, and offered him the strap of her thong, Travis proved his humanity by turning red, but didn't hesitate to take the offered strap and slowly pull the thong down her legs. Marietta, fully immersed in Tess' character, did a slow grind as the lacy thing slid down her legs. The others whistled and pounded the table when Travis leaned forward and planted a long kiss right at the top of the valley between her cheeks.

Tess moaned and ground against his mouth, to the utter delight of the others.

She deftly high-stepped away from Travis, leaving him holding the thong. Her next target was Randy. She plopped her ass on his leg and ground her pelvis against his thigh, then stuck a nipple in his open mouth. Mark and Sam were going crazy at this wanton display, especially when Tess threw her head back and cried, "Oh, Yes!", while Randy did his best imitation of a suckling calf.

Tess slid away from Randy and swung a leg over Sam's lap, lifted her hands behind her head, and did a slow bump and grind, while Sam tried to touch every part of her at once.

Spinning away from Sam's over-eager grasp, Tess wound up with her softly rounded belly only inches from Mark's surprised nose. Mark was leaning forward, elbows on knees, and Marietta pushed his face gently lower, until her almost straight pubic hair brushed against his nose as she swayed to the music. Mark's face turned beet red, but he made no move to resist.

When she felt she had tormented the poor guy enough, Tess danced back to the middle of the open area. She humped the air for a while and played with her breasts, squeezing them and pulling them into elongated cones by yanking on the silver chain between her nipples.

When the music came to an end she was standing with her back to the poker table. One hip was outthrust, supporting a slender hand. A slightly breathless Tess looked over her shoulder and started slowly toward the living room, sighing "Coming, boys?"

As she reached the coffee table, she lay on her back, legs spread wide, and said, "Do you boys need all those clothes?"

I could see the moisture seeping from between her labia, and thought to myself, "Maybe it IS just the situation..."

Perhaps not surprisingly, Sam was the first undressed, and he wasted no time getting on his knees between the lovely Filipina mother's thighs. He slid all the way in without apparent difficulty. Marietta's legs wrapped around his skinny white ass as he pounded away with only one goal in mind.

Tess moaned passionately beneath him as Sam churned away at her insides. From the flexing of her abdomen, it appeared that she was doing her best to massage his long slender pole with the velvety flesh of her vagina. Sam, though not very vocal for a change, was apparently suitably impressed, and with a strangled groan, made one last thrust and collapsed on top of Tess. The temporary party girl let out a convincing shriek and went rigid beneath him.

"Well," I thought, "there's another skill from her bar girl days that she hasn't entirely forgotten."

No sooner had Sam collapsed backward than Randy stepped over him and swiftly planted his thicker tool in Tess's well oiled sheath. Travis tilted the attractive Filipina's head back over the edge of the table, and inserted his half-hard rod between her parted lips. With practiced ease, she nursed the fleshy shaft to full erection, then swallowed it as if she had done it every day of her life.

Randy was somewhat less anxious than Sam, and lasted a good ten minutes before letting go in a paroxysm of short, sharp thrusts.

Travis was still enjoying Tess' mouth when Mark practically shoved Randy out of the way. Mark was generally a gentle fellow, but the weapon protruding from his pubic hair could have laid waste to entire armies.

Just to be sure, I placed a hand on his bare shoulder and said "Take it easy, big fella. That's a small woman under you, so go slow and let her get used to you, ok?"

Mark looked embarrassed, but nodded his assent. Turning back to the task at hand, he caught the cautionary glance that Travis threw his way, as well.

Tess had been happily nursing Travis' shaft with her eyes closed, lost in some world of her own. When Mark's enormous cudgel started it's slow inward plunge, her eyes flew open and she desperately shoved Travis away.

Raising her head, she stared transfixed at the huge member making its way into her belly.

"My God!" she cried, "I thought someone was pushing a fist into me! Oooooh, that's big!"

Tess continued to stare as Mark, apparently practiced at getting women adjusted to his size, pushed in a little way, then withdrew a bit before stroking inward again.