By Gregg Dean( JULY 99)
I don't go with prostitutes.
I told Hamilton that and it's something he's understood for a long time.
I resent parting with cash for something I've always got for free.
I'm also aware of health risks.
At fifteen, I saw one of those VD leaflets in the health centre with pictures of a range of penises in a selection of fantastic colours.
The woman in the next seat in the waiting room asked if she could have the leaflet after me, pointing to one of the sick soldiers paraded on the page.
The penis in question was a sickly shade of yellow, suffering from a form of advanced non-specific helmet grot.
"I want my house that colour." She said decisively.
I moved two seats away.
I felt I might not be safe sitting next to a woman who thought that a public health leaflet was a Dulux colour chart and wanted to live in a house the colour of a diseased dick.
After being scared shitless by pictures of diseased truncheons, I decided that future encounters would be confined to either virgins or the odd hand job after lights out.
When it was apparent that most of my mates were on a crusade to stamp out virginity and my palms began growing hair, I had to review my parameters.
But prostitutes were still off the agenda. So when on a short break to Toulouse in France, Hamilton said he would find us both a cheap but reputable woman, I said I'd have to think about it.
"Don't worry Gregg, I'll front the cash. French whores are great - and very clean."
I wasn't that happy with the arrangement but we set about looking for a whorehouse in Toulouse.
On the basis that the constabulary have always been the nemesis of the oldest profession in the world, asking a Gendarme where we could pick up a pro didn't seem a good idea.
Hamilton assured me he could manage it and stopped a passing patrol car.
The officer inside the car listened carefully as Hamilton made known our requirements in adequate French.
I listened carefully but I didn't hear the words "cheap" or "free of knob-rot" used.
After a lot of gesticulating the Gendarme invited us into his car.
"Are you sure you haven't just got us arrested, Ham."
"Nope. He's giving us a lift."
Man. Those French fuzz are the cat's arse. Not only will they direct you a whore house, but they'll also give you a ride.
We climbed in the rear of the car and were treated to white knuckle ride by a lunatic froggy copper through the narrow back streets of Toulouse.
The man, supposedly an upholder of traffic regulations, clearly had no regard for them himself.
"So what do we know about this woman?" I asked Hamilton.
"Her name's Maria?" He said, his eyes shut.
"Maria? Isn't that Italian?" I conjured up an image of a pasta serving mama with a moustache fit for a walrus.
"Supposed to be good." Hamilton informed me.
"Looks like Sigourney Weaver apparently."
"Sigourney Weaver's a babe. Is she clean, Ham?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Pierre has informed me reliably." Pointing to our maniac chauffeur.
"Does he use her himself?"
Hamilton wrinkled his nose.
"Don't be a sick bastard - it's his sister!"
Pierre pulled up outside an apartment block and honked his horn.
He tapped irritably on the steering wheel then told us to go upstairs to the second floor.
A few neighbours came out to rubber-neck at the English pussy-hunters then after exchanging low intelligible grunts returned to peeling onions. Upstairs we found Pierre's sister, Maria.
She was in her late twenties, nice figure, nice tits, pretty face.
There was a rapid exchange of French between them and Hamilton nodded.
"We've got to wait a minute or two."
Her room was clean and bright with a vast range of outfits: school-girl, nurse, German nazi interrogator etc.
There also hung a number of frightening weapons on the walls with jagged parts, spikes and chains.
"What the hell is this?" I picked up a five foot pole with a viscous hook on the end.
"I suppose she shoves it up your arse and pulls out your entrails."
Hamilton asked her what it was for.
By way of demonstration she took the weapon in her hands.
I backed off ten paces and held onto the waistband of my trousers.
Raising the hooked end, Maria undid the louvres on the large window.
Maria was still dressed up in a little French Maid's outfit which I found strangely erotic.
With little or no effort, it was possible to see under her little black skirt and her flimsy white panties every time she reached up to tidy the selection of outfits.
I could see a tasty little luscious Venus mound straining against the white fabric when this happened.
Hamilton asked where the toilet was and left the room.
During his absence I decided to go first.
The maid outfit was giving me the raging horn. I tried to convey my desire to Maria.
"Je veux un shag, Mademoiselle." I accompanied my pidgin French with graphic gestures and a pelvic thrust.
Catching my drift, she grinned and led me by the hand into the bedroom.
We stood for several moments in the centre of the room as she began a slow strip.
Her tan was punctuated by only her bikini bottoms.
Her pussy was shaved bare and her rose bud clitoris was clearly visible.
Still standing, Maria bent over the bed and inserted a finger deep into her pussy parting the soft pink lips.
Withdrawing her finger she placed it under my nose.
I duly smelled the finger assuming it to be a French hospitality thing.
I conjured up images of business men inviting their bosses home for dinner.
"Take off your coat. Let me get you a glass of vino.
Would you like a whiff of my wife's cunt before we have dinner?"
The effect was surprisingly erotic however and my cock was soon busting out of its prison.
She opened my trousers and dropped them round my ankles.
She took my proud weapon in her hands and rubbed it in firm even strokes.
She sat on the edge of the bed and lowered her mouth on the tip of my cock.
Her tongue ran around the edge and I shuddered violently.
With a slick skilled movement she moved her mouth up and down on my manhood, her tongue dancing its own rhythm as she did this. Maria moved her mouth away and without breaking stride she carried on with her hand, pulling my face into her chest.
I greedily took one of her soft breasts in my mouth, feeling the nipples harden and grow beneath my tongue.
Did I hear her groan with pleasure.
I doubt it. Guys coming in and out all day - so to speak - must make my efforts fairly routine.
Maria lay back on the bed, encouraging me to move down to her moist quim.
I parted those lips and pushed my tongue deep inside her hole. She wriggled - yes she actually writhed - as I moved my tongue around inside her.
I ran it carefully over her clit which was now large and swollen.
Now she really moaned, not a fake bit of drama to excite the punter but a genuine piece of enjoyment.
Suddenly she sighed and clamped her thighs around my head and I was shocked to realised she had come.
I wondered if I would now get a discount.
She knelt up on the bed and spread open her pussy.
I knelt behind her and ran my stiff member over her creamy buttocks.
I ran my hands up her thighs to her fleshy mound, sliding my fingers inside her.
I gently worked my fingers in her moist cavity, and she moved herself in time to my movements.
I removed my fingers and ran the head of my cock along her labia, pressing the tip against her clitoris at each stroke.
As it met with her clit Maria shivered with ecstasy.
Placing the head of my cock in the entrance to her pussy, I slowly pushed it home, savouring those first moments of coupling.
When her sweet hole had taken the length of my hardness, I began slow rhythmic strokes.
Maria sighed and almost fell forward.
I couldn't believe that she was enjoying this as well.
I was going to have charge.
Maria now knelt up keeping me inside her. Moving her hands behind her head she touched my face, running her fingers over my lips and neck.
She made circular hip movements and my cock responded to the strange sensation.
I moved my hands around and cupped her titties, kneading the firm flesh as I did so.
She sighed and moved her own hand down between her legs.
I could feel her finger rotating on her clitoris.
I continued thrusting and I realised that the thought that I was having sex with a stranger for which I had just paid, somehow thrilling.
My balls twitched with excitement and I felt an orgasm rise inside me.
As I felt I was about to come she stopped and pushed my onto my back.
She leaned forward, wrapping her breasts around my cock stimulating it in delicious strokes.
As my penis went forward between her breasts she met the tip with her mouth and played with the end with her tongue.
As her breasts became wet, my cock slid more easily and the pleasure heightened until my mouth was dry with desire and longing for release.
Maria moved over me.
Using her fingers to pry open the mouth of her pussy, she lowered her love passage over my eager cock.
With a long deliberate grinding motion, she moved her hips. I sat up and took her tits in my mouth but she pushed me back on the bed.
She moved her mouth onto my neck, my shoulders, my chest taking small bites, nibbling my flesh.
The effect was electric.
My orgasm rose inside me again and I allowed myself the luxury of a long drawn out moan of pleasure.
"You like?" She asked, panting heavily.
"I like. You good fuck."
She moved faster now, moving muscles in her vagina I didn't know existed.
The effect was a titanic orgasm which I thought would take the roof of my head off.
At the same time she closed her eyes, and screamed softly, digging her nails into my shoulders as she climaxed.
Finally I lay back, sweating and spent.
I must have fallen asleep for a minute as when I awoke Maria was getting dressed again.
I raised my self onto my elbow and watched her as she bent over to pick up her discarded underwear.
Once again, her pussy open slightly and my cock stirred.
Without warning the door opened and Hamilton came in.
"If you wanted to watch you're too late." I informed him.
A woman in her late fifties entered.
She was built like a battleship and had a face that had obviously been made from pastry by a three-year old locked in a dark cupboard.
She had looks that could stun a herd of wildebeest from a hundred yards.
There was a quick exchange between her and Hamilton.
Hamilton shrugged and turned to me.
"Maria wants to know if you still you want sex?"
"She wants to know if you can manage it again?"
Bloody hell, was this value for money or what?
"I'm not sure what you mean." I confessed.
"Maria wants to know. Now you've fucked her maid, did you want sex with her."
"So this isn't Maria?" I pointed to the maid.
"But the outfit. I thought . . ?"
My voice trailed off as I realised my mistake. I looked long and hard at the real Maria.
"Hell's bells Hamilton. You're not going to give it a go are you?"
"I admit she doesn't look like Sigourney Weaver." He said defensively.
"She looks more like the alien," I pointed out. "or one of the Gorillas in the Mist."
He shrugged and began to undress as did Maria.
So Hamilton spent the afternoon with Maria and I went out for coffee with Maria's maid.
I sighed from a sense of profound well-being and pleasure.
I just had a shag ranking as one of the all-time greats without resorting to sleeping with a prostitute.
The Toulouse sunshine was warm and soporific and I was going for an al fresco coffee with a very sexy French maid.
Could life get any better I asked myself.
We entered a cafe and the girl took me through to the back.
She gestured to the stairwell and speaking in broken English she explained that she had an apartment upstairs.
She grinned and took my hand again.
Life was just about to get better.
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