Dallas Mayo

For women only

CHAPTER ONE

Something was bound to turn up, I figured. And it did. Or rather, she did. Right there in the hotel lobby! Her sidelong glance seemed more furtive thank frank, but I got the impression that she was hoping, too. Hoping for someone like me to happen along. Only she had to be subtle about it, naturally; why publicize a gay pickup? I was sure nobody else could see the interest lurking behind her mask of spurious nonchalance.

Her eyes met mine more boldly as I walked by. I turned my head and stared, inquisitive, quite deliberate now. Then, stepping back toward her, I murmured the trite phrase that would work if my guess was accurate and cause no harm if it wasn't.

"I beg your pardon…" My tone was soft but firm. "You look familiar. Do we know each other from somewhere?"

"Umm, no, I don't think so." She shrugged. And with a roguish smile, "But does it really matter?"

That did it. I smiled back and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Inez, mine Rory. And she was staying here at the hotel; wouldn't I like to come up and chat awhile? An afternoon drink just to get acquainted, perhaps? Just between us girls…

I nodded breathlessly. She swung around and I followed her across the lobby to the elevator, my gaze glued to the swell of undulating hips that slithered and swayed under cover of the tight-fitting tailored skirt. The woman was no great beauty, but even now her body exuded a kind of carnality. My kind of carnality, ah yes, I had found a friend, a timely bosom-companion in my time of need. A sexy stranger to divert my mind, to soothe my flesh, to ease the strain of making those difficult decisions. How I needed her!

Inside the elevator, a closer scrutiny turned out to be mildly disappointing. There was a rough-hewn irregularity to her facial features, too large a nose, too coarse a mouth. And yet that very appearance of coarseness made her seem remarkably sensual. This was a creature designed for bed.

And that was where we were going. To bed. Her bed. So what if she was less than perfect? Whatever a lover might lack in pulchritude, she could make up for in passion. And anyway, what right had I to complain? Alt I wanted was a woman – and she was certainly that, all woman, very much so. I could smell her body fragrance, feminine and faintly musky. No complaints, then. After all, beggars can't be choosers, can they?

In her room, Inez produced a bottle and a couple of clean glasses. "Honey, how much time do you have? I mean, uh, are we in a hurry?"

"No. No hurry. I've got the afternoon free."

"Fine. Me, too. Lucky I bumped into you. I don't usually get much action till after dark. Yeah, I'm sure glad we got together, you know? You're a pretty cute kid. I'm going to enjoy you. That pretty mouth of yours…"

"My-my mouth? Aw, you're putting me on. Everybody says it's too big. How can you call it pretty?"

"Silly girl. Don't listen to them. I like your big mouth and your thick lips. Mmm, all moist and shiny, so pretty. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating."

The compliment helped, even though I had rather expected it. People often reacted to my overly prominent lips that way, responding to an almost blatant natural erotic appeal. But aside from that, well, she hadn't done much to reduce the tension. I puzzled over her manner of speaking, it sounded downright crude now. Even some of the meaning escaped me. Action after dark, for instance; was she trying to drop a hint about the hotel in general? Night-blooming orgies maybe? I knew only that the place had a slightly gay reputation, gay for girls, active but quite discreet. And I wasn't in the mood to ask a lot of questions and advertise my ignorance.

After a stiff drink, I relaxed somewhat. I still couldn't figure my new friend out, but that seemed less important now. We were here, and the door was locked. We had picked each other up for one purpose. It was the only ostensible reason for our even being together. We both knew the score…

Or did we?

By this time we should have been floundering around on the bed and frantically seeking out the hidden joys of our sexually attuned bodies, a cooperative effort. Only we weren't. Inez had made no attempt to come near me as yet, nary a pass – and I just wasn't confident enough to get things started myself.

She rose suddenly and set her glass down. "I ought to grab a quick shower. You won't mind waiting, will you? It won't take me more than a few minutes."

"Go to it. No hurry, we said. Don't worry, I won't start without you."

"Great. Pour yourself another drink meanwhile." Smiling, she ambled off and vanished into the bathroom.

A moment later I heard the noisy gush of the shower. I pictured her standing there under it, pelted by the spray. Naked, of course, although it took some imagination on my part. Naked and glistening! With droplets of water coursing down past the bulges and hollows of that pneumatically fleshed body. It excited me no end. I could hardly wait for her return.

The sound stopped. Then the bathroom door opened a little way, and her head popped into view. "Hey! What kind of perfume do you like? Got any special favorite?"

"P-perfume?" The question seemed a bit odd.

"Uh-huh. To make me smell nice for you. How about it, should I dab on something real spicy?"

"You choose. Anything is all right with me."

Once again I was puzzled. She had evidently wanted me to dictate her choice of scent. But why? What for? Why should the woman go out of her way just to please me? My very presence here in her hotel room should have been enough to quell any doubt. She didn't have to sell me on herself. I was already sold. Eager. Impatient. So why make such a production out of it?

She came out in a shimmery negligee. It looked good on her, its folds rustling, parting, exposing her legs with every swaying stride. She dropped upon the bed carelessly, unconcerned about the cling of the garment. It remained open here and there, quite revealing.

The glass was cold in my hands and yet I could feel my palms sweating. Strong as the liquor was, it had become almost tasteless to me. Because there was another taste I craved. A taste far more tempting. But an awkwardness still prevailed between us, keeping me from my goal. I just couldn't take the initiative.

Casual conversation became my only alternative. "Inez, what was that about the perfume? A fetish of yours?"

"Not exactly. But it might be one of yours. I wanted everything to be nice for you. As perfect as possible. Know what I mean?"

"I-I'm not sure I do."

"Oh hell, it's just one of the things I've got to think twice about. A girl in my business has to keep a close watch over all the little details."

"A girl in…" I gulped and swallowed the rest of my shocked speech. But it was too late. Obviously in shock herself, she must have read my expression of dismay only too accurately.

"I'll be damned. Honey? You mean you didn't know? Down there in the lobby – you really didn't know? Rory?"

"I-I just didn't."

"Hmm. And all this time I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it. What's to be sorry about? I needed the shower anyway. And I don't mind wasting a little perfume."

"Do you want me to leave?" I stood up.

"Leave? If you want to. That's up to you, isn't it? Now that you know, maybe you'd still like to stay awhile."

"Oh. But-but then I'd…"

"As a matter of fact, I think you ought to stay. You look as if you need it. And what the hell, twenty bucks is no great fortune. Bargain rates, because of our misunderstanding. You can afford twenty dollars, can't you?"

"Well… uh…"

"Sweetie, don't be embarrassed. You can't help being what you are, not any more than I can. I'm not that way myself, of course. I don't go for the girl-girl stuff, I mean – at least not for my own personal kicks. But if you're interested, it's okay with me. I'm always glad to turn a trick. So if you like my body and want to get a closer whiff of this nice spicy perfume on especially for you darling…"

Her voice twanged upon my taut nerves. I clutched at my purse and marched into the bathroom. For a long moment I peered at my reflection in the mirror, scowling darkly even as my heart increased the pace of its excited thumping. Always glad to turn a trick. The woman was a whore. Business. Money. A common prostitute. Did I want her? Should I stay?

The scowl softened, turning my expression sexy. No wonder she had noticed my lips; they seemed even thicker than usual, almost lewd now, with the suggestion of a pout. I couldn't bear to look into my smoldering eyes. It was all there, a physical manifestation of the mysteries of my mind, all there in the glass.

I tore my gaze away. The woman's clothes were neatly folded on a hanger. I liked that. She was clean, at least. I liked the fact that she had taken a shower for me. And I remembered how her body had looked downstairs in the lobby – those slithery haunches! – en route to the elevator. I remembered the attractive flesh revealed by her rustling negligee, just out of the bathroom. I remembered the coarseness of her, the coarse sensuality. And the memory gave way to a sudden fierce urge, too strong, too powerful, too much for me to control. I undressed hurriedly, avoiding any further contact with the telltale mirror. Naked now, and still carrying my purse, I went back into the bedroom. I fished out two ten-dollar bills and tossed them on the dresser.

Inez's eyes were bright. "So you decided to stay." She stretched seductively. "I'm glad. I was a little worried when you walked off like that."

I moved toward her. In a hasty maneuver, she slipped her arms out of the negligee sleeves and tugged it free of her body. The fabric billowed, floating to the floor. Then she fell back on the bed again, her big breasts like heaped-up mounds, her heavy limbs lax and inviting. I stood there momentarily, wishing she would show a bit more appreciation. I wanted her to admire me, to notice my body, to say something nice about it. But that wasn't what I was paying her for. And anyway, there was something I wanted even more than compliments…

"Honey?" She reached up for me.

Overwhelmed by my need, I shuddered and sagged to the bed in a surge of lusting desire. Lust dominated me, a lust that I knew to be shameful and yet was too deep-rooted to deny. The woman was a prostitute. I had paid her for this. I felt humiliated, painfully conscious of the disgrace, the degradation, the debauchery – and worst of all, so help me, the thrill! Because I was already wallowing in sensuous excitement, crazed by that alluring flesh and stepped in my own subservient worship of it. Subservience to a whore; was that an added fillip to my self-abasement?

Uh-huh. Only a small part, though, a fragment of the whole, not much of a clue to my true character. No, there were other reasons for my enravished senses, my intoxication – and they lay inside myself, not this paid prostitute. And yet, much as I might feel condescending toward her profession, there was no condescension in me now. In a way, she was actually helping me make my decision. The all-important decision that preyed on my mind. I know what I am now. Well, no, not exactly, I'd still have to think it through later. From the beginning. But right this minute, well, I had other things to stew about. Her thighs were hot against my cheeks, the soft thighs, hot and deliciously inescapable.

The scent caught my nostrils. I breathed deep and drew it into my lungs, the familiar but uniquely exotic smell of woman. Cunt. I lost my head in sweet frenzy, burrowing into the depths, the slimy darkness, letting instinct dictate my movements, the elongated thrust of my tongue. And the gasp that sounded from above came as no great surprise, an expected response to the unexpected force and magnitude of my plunge, my unseen soul-kiss. A gasp and then an ecstatic shriek, the height of sincere flattery…

"Hey, is that your tongue? Impossible. How could a little kid like you have such a big one? I've been deep-tongued by lezzies before, but never like this. Is it for real?"

"Ummm…"

"Big as a stiff prick. Most of 'em, anyway. Oh shit, whatever it is, gimme more. Gimme, gimme. Yeah! Like you're fucking me, you know? Fucking my twat with a tongue-hard cock. Oh, do it, baby, fuck me, fuck the life out of me, fuck me into an early grave – this is one hooker who'll die happy. Talk about getting fucked!"

High praise indeed, and rightly so. I basked in it. Tongue aren't considered objects of beauty, subject to appraisal and measurement like a bouncy pair of tits. No bikini doll ever won any Miss Universe-America crown by sticking out her tongue. At least not up there on the open stage. (Judges are only human; who knows what goes on behind the scenes?) But I've always taken an understandable pride in mine, just the same, certain of its superiority in size and power if not in skill. The extra length, the extra thickness, the extra development that came from hours of dedicated stretch-practice – all worthy of commendation. And I was grateful as well as proud, of course, grateful to my heredity – hot genes and chromosomes! – for having given me such a fine natural advantage. So let her praise my most precious asset, let her praise me to the skies, let her show some appreciation for this soul-stirring performance of mine…

"Some tongue! Some fuckin' tongue! You're a real stud."

Soul-stirring and body-stirring, how about that? Her hips were pumping now, the bedsprings creaking, the mattress rumbling, all echoing the lurid "fuck" phrases that streamed from her babbling lips. Such language! Lovely, lovely as obscene as any ardent lesbian's serenade to her busy bed-bitch. I struggled valiantly to cope with the hot demands. Until, almost abruptly, the overheated peak moment arrived and practically exploded in my mouth. Wet flesh lurched to engulf my face, suffocating me and yet bringing all the scents and taste of sex. I went on kissing. Kiss-fucking. And in the anxious void of my own untouched body, I felt the hoped-for response, an orgasm on the rise, a twisting spiral of intolerable pain turning to infinite pleasure. Helpless as it made me, I continued to lick and suck and swallow nevertheless, a trained cuntlapper to the end, the bittersweet end. Sipping my ration of puss-cream! And waiting, naturally, just waiting around till those deeply buried sensitive membranes of hers would stop twitching and start tingling again. Oh yes, I'd be getting my money's worth this day. Wasn't it a stud she wanted?

There was no shame left, only a languid contentment. Maybe that important decision wouldn't be so tough now. Although I'd still have to think about it, just to play safe. Think it through from the beginning – no short-cuts, no snap judgments. After all, maybe I did have more to offer than just my thick sexy lips and my big long sexy lips and my big long sexy tongue…

CHAPTER TWO

It was my lips that first got me into trouble. And then later, well, it roust have been my tongue. Not its words, just the size of the damned thing. Or the blessed thing, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, I really hadn't meant to be bitchy, coming between husband and wife like that. The blame was mine, of course, but only in a kind of blameless way, strictly a quirk of nature. Oh shit, is it my fault if the boss of the company turns out to be freaky about thick lips?

Freaky about mine, at any rate. The boss, the head man, Mr. Simon Beresford himself, the guy who kept the corporate gears oiled and meshing; what a catch for a kid like me! I was new there, too, a lowly trainee in the Consolidated organization. When it happened – a chance brush-by in the cafeteria corridor – I didn't even know who he was. An executive with a roving eye – married, no doubt – but that couldn't dampen my girlish enthusiasm. I liked his looks. A trifle ancient for me, somewhere in his forties probably, but impressive nonetheless, ruggedly handsome, a manly male under that Ivy League veneer. Better yet, he seemed to like mine – and I had never been the type of charmer who could stop traffic with a rucked-up skirt and a dazzling toothpaste smile. Was the guy really interested in drab little me?

So it appeared. Fascinated by my "kissable" lips and interested to the point of romance. Which would mean just a sneaky affair, I figured – or perhaps only an out-of-town motel weekend – the standard game-plan for a married man. I expected no more than that. And I was ready to give my all, my comparatively inexperienced all, for such a cause. Laid by the boss, imagine! Wouldn't that be a boost up the ladder to success? Besides, after dallying with some of the lower-caste office dullards, I was pretty eager to spread my wings and soar a little. Wasn't that why I had come to the big city in the first place, to try the things I'd never tried before? It would be an experience to savor, something to look back upon in later years. Like a night with a matinee idol. Or a rock star. Or a hit man for the Mafia. Well, something like that. Only this guy, my guy – Simon Beresford, the thick-lips freak – was more important than such lesser mortals. Sexier, too, from what I gathered. Oh yes, I was eager…

And so was he, as it turned out. We made it in my own apartment, of all places, hardly a romantic love-bower. But romance would only have cluttered up our lives at that point – or any point, for that matter – what with so much else on our minds. How that man loved my lips! I was good to him, of course, a little girl with a big mouth, a so-called "generous" mouth, stretching my generosity to encompass his every need. One need, mainly. A bit difficult at first, but a cinch after that, once I got the timing down pat. It was a genuine pleasure after our third or fourth date; how my lips loved that man! I even found a perverse enjoyment in my ability to tease him, to control his excitement, delaying each climax until the last possible instant. And then, glub, it would ail be over for a while and we would relax and talk about ourselves, about our affair, its chances for survival. Good chances, as far as Simon was concerned. He had struck it rich with me, apparently, and was becoming more possessive with every rendezvous.

"You'd make a great mistress, baby. Great for me, that's for sure. Those hot lips of yours…"

"It's not just my lips. I'm learning too, you know. I learn more whenever you come over. I'm still just a beginner."

"Some beginner. I wish my wife could suck cock like that."

"Does she? You know…"

"Huh?"

"Your wife. Does she suck at all?"

"Not any more. We don't even sleep together."

"Too bad. I'm glad, though. I wouldn't want anybody filling in for me, not even your lawful wedded wife. Not that I'm worried, I'll have you know. With the practice I'm getting, I ought to be the world's champion cocksucker pretty soon."

"Rory baby, you're the champ right now. You want to hear something wild? I even bragged about you at home – to Julia, I mean. I told her…"

"No! You didn't. You couldn't have! I thought she didn't know anything about me. You-you told your wife?"

"Not exactly. She found it out herself somehow. It was just last week, maybe the week before. And she's been needling me ever since. So I just needled her back, that's all."

"And that's all you do about it, just needle each other? No fights? Doesn't she get mad? Oh shit, I'll bet she'd like to tear my hair out by the [missing text]."

"Could be. But we're civilized, honey, we'll settle it without violence. In fact, it's already settled. Our marriage has to be preserved for the sake of the business, but aside from that, well, no strings attached. Julia has her friends, I have mine. And as long as we're discreet about it…"

"Oh. So now I'm not a secret any more. And neither is this place, my apartment, it's not so private now. I don't like that, Simon, it makes me uncomfortable."

"Hush now, take it easy. There's a silver lining. The way it's working out, maybe I can pick up your tab for the rent from now on. That ought to cheer you up. A steady deal?"

"You darling man! Just for that… mmm…"

"Hey!"

"Let me, let me."

"So who's stopping you? It's all yours. See? Come on, hot lips, earn your keep."

"Nnngg."

"Little cocksucker…"