Editor’s note: this submission contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.
The pretty receptionist watched me approach her desk as I walked across the posh foyer. She was more feminine than femininity itself. I could see that her professionalism was such that she was weighing me up at every step. As I arrived at her desk she gave me the welcoming smile she had mastered to perfection, and made me feel more gauche than ever.
“Good morning, Sir, can I help you?”
“I’ve come about the job you’re advertising for a male entertainer.” I just about managed to say in one straight sentence; my nervousness shortening my breath.
She had looked me up and down already of course. It seemed that my verbals, short as they were, were enough to confirm her first impressions. She bestowed on me a sweet cherry-red smile and whispered confidentially, “I’m sorry Sir, you need to be gay to work for our organisation. And that job advert is nearly three weeks’ old.”
True, I was a little dishevelled in a sort of classical way. My tweed jacket and cavalry twill trousers were of the best quality, but even I would have to admit they were veering towards being shabby. My all-leather brogues had been re-soled twice to my knowledge but were very expensive in their day too. Nothing physical about me could be described as ‘sharp’ or ‘snappy’. Of that I would have to agree. Relying on purchasing clothes from charity shops was always going to be somewhat of a handicap. But I would pitch my brain, my mind, my intellect, against anyone else of my generation.
To this day I really don’t know what came over me. Normally I am quite rational and calm; willing to turn the other cheek and avoid confrontation. I was content to be in my own skin – not feeling as though I had something to prove to myself or anyone else. Yet that young woman, perhaps because she was so beautiful, so self-assured. set off a series of negative firecrackers inside my brain.
My blue eyes held her blue eyes in a stony stare. “But I am gay.” I had learned to lie convincingly from a very early age.
Her eyes betrayed her disbelief. Her deeply ingrained professionalism took over. “I am most terribly sorry, Sir, How very unprofessional of me. My words just slipped out. I do hope you’ll forgive me?”
Her put-down was a lot easier that I thought it would be and, virtually straight away I felt a wave of guilt at being so churlish. I gave her a weak smile and a nod of the head and turned, intending to leave the building. I did have a couple of other job vacancies I intended to pursue.
“Just a minute, Sir, please don’t go,” I heard the girls call behind me earnestly.
I should have ignored her and made determinedly for the swing doors and back into the street. Perhaps I might have made a half turn and awarded her a friendly wave of farewell; no offence taken. To this very day I don’t know what made me turn completely and give her my full and expectant attention.
She smiled at me. Not a put-on smile but one with some warmth; glad no doubt to be allowed a second chance. “Can I have your name please? Just your first name will suffice.”
I plucked one out of the air. “Francis.” I mentally patted myself for my quick wittedness in selecting a homophone.
“Spelt with an ‘i’ or an ‘e’?”
I was impressed. The girl was quick on the uptake. “Whatever” I said, cheerfully.
“It’s ‘i’ for a boy and ‘e’ for a girl. I’ll write down ‘e’, it might give you an edge if you get to the interview stage. I’ll need to ask you some questions if you are to progress?”
“That O.K. by me. Ask away.”
“My names Ann, without the ‘e’. Just so you know. Where did you hear about the position we are offering?”
I told the truth. “By word of mouth. A friend put your advert under my nose.”
Ann frowned. “That’s not suppose to have happened.”
“What do you mean Ann?”
“The job was advertised through just six specially picked gay clubs throughout the country. The club’s management were suppose to recommend any of their members who filled our strict qualification criteria.”
“Does that mean you’re going to discard me without even testing my qualifications?” I asked pseudo mournfully.
“I should do,” said Ann. sympathy written over her face.
“I might be just what you are looking for,” I suggested. “You might be missing a real opportunity here.” I stopped short of begging.
Ann considered that possibility. He might have a point there. If he wasn’t suitable the first practical test would be bound to find him out. It might be amusing to watch him flounder. It would teach him a lesson not to be so pushy in the future. A lesson he is never likely to forget. “Are you a top or a bottom?”
I wasn’t at all sure what that meant. I had an inkling as to what it could be. I couldn’t admit ignorance as it was obviously a gay term in everyday use. Saying ‘both’ or ‘either’ also was a bit of a cop out. “I prefer bottom” seemed the least risky.”
“Good,” said Ann. Did your connection tell you that?”
“Who told you about the vacancy? asked Ann, turning the question around.
“Just a guy I met in a bar,” hoping she wouldn’t ask me to name the bar. I hadn’t been inside a gay club or bar in my whole life. I hadn’t been in a brothel either come to that.
“How old are you Francis?”
“And how long have you known you are gay?”
That was another tricky one. Were they looking for experience of relative innocence. I came up with, “Not long.”
The perplexity Ann felt showed on her face. She brushed it away. Gay men were notoriously evasive – as a form of self-protection. Getting a straight answer was often virtually impossible.
“You’re not in a relationship and happy to be away from home for long periods?”
“”Yes to both questions.” I was intrigued as to what ‘being away from home’ entailed.
“Being a male escort on one of our cruise ships can be very demanding and needs the right temperament and skills. Our clients vary in age, size, ethnicity and sexual preferences. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I’m sure I can,” I confirmed with some growing anxiety as to what I was getting myself into.
” And perhaps be away for three months at a time? Of course, you’ll have some free time, as and when.”
So that was it. An escort on a cruise ship Forgetting it would be male on male. I could hardly believe my possible good fortune. Such a job would massage my wanderlust nature. I didn’t give any of the other considerations a second thought. “I am positive I can make a good job of it.” A pretty lame answer but my body language was mirroring my enthusiasm.
“And cross-dressing? You O.K. with that?”
“Of course. Love it,” I lied. After all, there’s nothing to it is there? I’d secretly dressed up in my Mum’s clothes as a boy.
“Are you wearing pink, frilly panties now?” Ann asked with an impish grin and a twinkle in her blue eyes.”
If I said ‘yes’ she might ask to see them. It had to be a negative. “Sadly not.”
“Shame. I would have liked to have seen you in them.”
“Maybe next time?”
“Oh Francis, you have all the answers. We’ll put you through the qualifying test right now. If you pass you might well be able to show off your panties to me on another day.” The watch she was wearing on the wrist of her left hand was not a timepiece alone. She held it up to her mouth, her right hand followed, and she spoke to it. “Send Paula up to Reception and prepare the test room, please.”
“So I’m getting past the gatekeeper?” I smiled.
“The gatekeeper?” Then the penny dropped. “Me, you mean?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“This is very unorthodox and I am veering from the rule book, Francis. You are also the most unlikely looking gay escort, but we could do something about that if you have the basic necessities.”
“Basic necessities …?” I interrupted.
Ann frowned a touch of irritation. “A big enough prick for a start,” she said, deliberately crudely. You’ll be doing well if you can pass the qualifier let alone the further test beyond that. Ah, he comes Paula now.”
I turned expecting to find the approach of a woman. By the nature of his gate I would have put Paula down as a gay male any day of the week. I would have probably have been embarrassed to be seen walking with him down a High Street. Perhaps 5’6″ in his Cuban heels, his body shape was slight and his suit (male) sartorial. Ann introduced us and I could see at just a glance that my claim to be gay was not convincing Paula in the very least.
Ann must have picked up on that too. “Meet Francis Paula.” The man nodded in my direction but did not offer a hand. “Take him to the Assessment Suite and set him up for a trial, please.”
Paula turned on his left heel and started across the foyer. Ann indicated to me to follow him with a “best of luck, Francis”. The smile that accompanied those good wishes I would describe as ‘wicked’.
I had to hurry myself in order to keep up with the little man. I was pretty certain this was deliberate on his part. We crossed the foyer to a door which, I found out later, had an iris intelligence unlocking mechanism. Down two corridors and a flight of stairs I was led into a windowless basement room containing a long bench and a row of clothes hooks. “Take all your clothes off except your knickers,” was the order from the little man. Arms folded he made it clear he was going to stand and watch.
Thank goodness I had put on a clean pair of boxers that morning. It was embarrassed enough anyway. Paula’s eyes watched me assiduously, but emotionally and mentally I blanked him out. I had been in some tough situations in my twenty-five years and I was not about to be bettered by a little squirt like Paula. Besides, I was in good shape and quite proud of my body. Being blonde and lightly hairy helped show off my Asian suntan.
“Would you like to use the lavatory first?” asked Paula with somewhat more civility.
I nodded and was shown through one of three doors. I was left alone to urinate and then take a series of deep breaths. I did have some nervousness about what ordeal I was about to face. I was going to try hard not to show it.
I went back out to the cloakroom and then followed Paula through a second door. The adjoining room was brilliantly lit and the contents minimalistic. In the centre was the torso of a well endowed male minus a head and lower legs. Lying on its back, thigh’s open, its erect penis was in the alpha position to receive a blowjob. A padded, free-standing stool afforded the supplicant (me) to change positions and directions blew it off.
I knew that Paula was watching my reaction closely and with fake coolness I walk straight up to the model and squeezed the penis. It was soft and tactile enough to imitate the real thing. Of course, I had only the experience of touching my own penis to go by. Right then it was probably just a couple of inches long and hiding in its wrinkled foreskin. I glanced round and noticed several cameras in the ceiling and some wiring attached to the torso. I guess what I had before me was one very specialist and advanced piece of equipment.
“You want to watch me giving head?” I said to Paula in a measured voice.
“I’ll give you a tip. Imagining it’s the real thing will help you. You’ll need to do an excellent job on it to have any chance of passing this test. Get into position and I’ll start it up,” instructed Paula briskly.
I squatted down, made myself comfortable and placed my lips on the penis’s head. It felt soft and warm – like I imagined the real thing to be. I reckoned it was a little longer than mine; about nine inches. I started with a cheeky little kiss of bravado.
Why was I so confident? I have never been so intimate with a penis before. But like most of my generation I had watched countless professional cocksuckers of the female variety on porn channels. I reckon I could emulate most of their skills except perhaps, deep throating. In one hand I cradled the dummy’s balls and the other I put round the prosthetic’s base so I could line it with my mouth. I went about giving the penis the works. I varied my speed, the strength of my suck, I licked and gently sucked the head squeezing the shaft , wanking it at the same time. All very gently at first but slowly building up in speed and adventure. I can honestly admit I forgot it wasn’t the real thing. Disturbingly I was really enjoying the experience and my own cock was testament to that.
Then I had what came close to the shock of my life. The cock shot a squirt of a salty liquid into my mouth in what I imagined, afterwards, was an imitation of the real thing. For some reason I fought the natural reaction to pull away and spit out the viscous jizz substitute and instead I gave my imagination its freedom. I managed to swallow five or six spurts without spilling any. I had no idea as to how its taste compared with the real thing, but if there were any similarity then I knew I could get to really like it.
I pulled myself up to a sitting position and was deep in contemplation when I felt a hand softly landed on my shoulder. It could only be Paula – and it was. But I could see straight away his attitude to me had changed, There was warmth if not affection in his eyes and perhaps even a little bit of respect. He indicated for me to stand up and follow him back into the changing room.
I was reluctant to do so right at that minute because I was carrying a fearfully hard boner. I was acutely embarrassed at the thought of Paula seeing it. Looking back it seems silly. Perhaps, psychologically, I was afraid Paula might make a pass at me – or me at him. I was that sexed up. What’s more, I think Paula was too.
Eventually, somewhat bent in stature, I stood up and made my way through the cloak room back to the bathroom. I stripped off my pants and ran a coldish shower. I needed to; my erection was not going away completely. I was all sexed up. Ordinarily I would have done something practical about it. I did give it some thought but, with no lock on the door, there were only a few centimetres of plywood between me and Paula.
Eventually I found myself fully dressed, following Paula again back across the floor of the foyer. Paula had a folder in his hand which, I guessed, contained the results of my trial (some trial). The manner in which Ann greeted me suggested she had no prior knowledge of the results. As she took the paper there was no doubt that Paula had a glint in his eye.
“My god,” exclaimed Ann, looking at Paula for confirmation. Finding it she looked straight at me. “You just don’t look the type Frances. These results are fantastic.”
“More than that,” chipped in Paula. “They’re in the top five percent ever. He’s a first rate cocksucker.”
“I can’t wait to see the tapes. I intended to watch live but something came up that needed my urgent attention.”
I couldn’t help feeling proud of myself. I had been given a challenge and I had taken it on, as I always try to do. Up to that point I had no intention in signing up for a job as an escort – and a gay one at that. But the facts of my predicament were I was pretty desperate to earn some money and put ‘choice’ back on the agenda – to be able to have some choice that is.
“Are you free to come back for a formal interview with one of our Vice-presidents tomorrow?” Ann asked me. “I think we can make a special case of you.”
“I am very grateful for the invite Ann, but I don’t see myself working as a gay escort on a cruise ship.”
“Perhaps it won’t come to that. What do you have to lose by taking the interview? We’ll pay all your expenses and give you the equivalent of a day’s wages.”
“How much would that be?” I asked cheekily.
When she told me I let out a low whistle. I had spent the last two years in remote jungle on the other side of the world and had obviously lost track of wage inflation. “I suppose I could be persuaded,” I said with a twinkle in my eye.
“Excellent,” said Ann. Even Paula, standing beside the desk, looked genuinely pleased. Why he should have been I couldn’t guess.
“Do you think you sort of, could be a bit snappier in your choice of dress?” Ann showed her discomfort at having to ask such a personal question.
“I’m afraid, Ann, you’ve got me beat there. I have hardly any choice. The clothes I am standing here in and a few more back at a friend’s flat, are all I possess in the world.”
“How come? You don’t give me the impression you’re a street bum?
“I’m only just back from two years spent in the Cambodian jungle researching for my PhD. I only came back because I ran out of money. I need to make some and go back again.”
“Oh, I see, That explains a lot.” Ann fell silent for a while. I was very surprised at what came next. “I’ll authorise an advance. Enough to go and buy some casual clothes. I can’t give you enough for a suit. Casual will be O.K. for tomorrow. You have no excuse for refusing now Francis. Hang on there with Paula and I go and see the cashier.”
“Alone with Paula I turned to him. “Some girl eh?”
“She sure is.”
“Why is she doing all this for me do you think?”
Paula looked me straight in the eye.”She wants her cock sucking,” he whispered conspiratorially.
I was dossing with an ex-college mate and his girlfriend. I had been with them since I had returned from the East a fortnight prior. That evening I brought “home” with me, besides my new clothes, several bottles of fairly decent wine and a menu for a Chinese Takeaway that made deliveries. At least I was able to show my appreciation in some small way. Nevertheless I was very aware I was coming close to overstaying my welcome and I needed to get from under their feet.
With that particularly in mind I decided to give the interview arranged on the morrow, my best shot. I reckoned that if I could win a place on the training course, I could save up the not inconsiderable salary being offered, and then find a good reason for resigning before being employed as a gay escort. I had no idea, as yet, where their training centre might be located, but I had an inkling it was in the building I had visited that day.
My interview was timed for the unlikely hour of five o’clock in the evening
I probably looked about my age. I had lost the furrowed brow of the academic in my blue denims, checked shirt and virgin white sneakers. I had summoned up the courage to purchase a pack of three, light green panties with frilly white lace edgings. That took quite some doing I can tell you. I would have liked to have gone for pink but I just couldn’t face the cashier on the till without matching the colour with blushes. It was only a sales pitch anyway; me trying to sell myself to the V.P.
I arrived a quarter of an hour early and Paula was manning the Reception Desk. I was really pleased to see him; a familiar and friendly face.
“Hello Frances,” he greeted me. “You look very fresh and desirable.”
I wasn’t entirely sure as to how I should react to that compliment. I smiled a sort of “thank you” and quickly commented, “I’m a bit early Paula”.
“Take a seat over there,” he said pointing to a row of chairs and I’ll send you up to Mr. Hernandez as soon as he rings down for you. He’ll probably keep you waiting, so be warned.”
“No Ann today?” I took the opportunity to ask.
“Oh, she’s around somewhere.” replied Paula matter of factly.
Paula’s words were all too true; I shuffled around on that seat for a good half an hour. I was getting to the stage of wondering whether to hang around some more or make my feelings know. Considering I had been effective paid for time I calmed down and did my best to chill out. Approaching five-thirty I saw Paula making ready to close down the reception area for the day and guessed I would be on the move one way and another. They could hardly leave me in an empty reception hall. could they?
Then I saw Paula take a call, glance across at me, and I guessed I was on the move at last. Paula beckoned me over and gave me my instructions. “See the lifts over there? Press the green button for lift number three. Don’t do anything else other than walk inside. It has been pre-set to where you want to go. Good luck.”
“Will I need it?” I quipped.
“Need what?” asked Paula quizzically.
“No Frances, you’ll be a knockout.”
At least Paula had some faith in me apparently. If keeping me waiting in the foyer was a deliberate ploy then it worked. The apprehension I had when I had walked into the building had slowly eked away. It was like the fear had gone out of me, replaced by compliancy. Probably not a bad way to approach an interview? I should just have to see.
I failed to notice how many floors the lift ascended but what I did know was, it was a lot. I expected it to land me in some sort of hallway or vestibule with, a person standing waiting to greet me. My first shock was it opened up in what could be described as a huge, domestic type lounge. It seemed to be the V,P.’s private apartment. At first impressions I thought the room was empty.
At the far end my eyes converged on the back of what revealed itself to be an opulent swivel chair. . Sure enough, playing silly buggers was to be the name of the game. I moved forward into the centre of the room, prepared to wait. Whoever was the orchestrator knew full well I was there. On a desk was a ten gallon Texan hat.
The chair swivelled round revealing a heavy set man greying at the temples. He had his legs open as wide as his seat would allow and he was shamelessly naked. I could see him studying my first reactions. I believe my face was impassive. I tried hard to make it appear so.
“So, what’s your name, young man?
“Simon Scorrier,” I replied.
“Hmmmm. I’ve got you down as Francis?”
“Ann, your receptionist, invited me to pick any name when I first arrived. You’re the first to ask for my real name ,sir.”
“No, sir, Brittany French. My grandfather.”
“Sourrier? That’s a good name. Our customers will go for that. And you’re gay? Bi or solely gay?”
This could be a trip up question. I hesitated. “Bi, sir.”
“That makes you even more in demand for some of our couples. “Do you suffer from seasickness or any ailment which might render you unsuitable?”
“Let me look at your prick then. Get undressed.”
The order brooked no argument. I set about divesting myself of my clothes; my panties last. I stood up straight my hand by my sides. “A proud African warrior pose” I thought.
“You’re uncut,” observed the man. “Pull back your foreskin.”
Strangely, I was a little bit aroused and there was enough play for me to deliver on the instruction easily.
“You pass muster in that department,” acknowledges the V.P. They say you’re an excellent cocksucker?”
“Apparently so, sir.”
“You need to impress me on that score young man.” He detached himself from his chair and stood before me, his prick half aroused and swinging. He had been circumcised and his was a nice shape, thick and long. he led me to a far corner and there was a bespoke padded couch the design of which I immediately recognised. “You had a trial on one similar to this yesterday,” said the V.P. stating the obvious. “It’s one thing to suck a plastic phallus and quite another to service a real live cock.” He hopped aboard with surprising agility and settled himself in position A. I was to give him a practical demonstration of my cocksucking skills there and then. This was another challenging situation and one which I automatically rose to.
With just finger and thumb I held the tip of his penis in an upright position. That enable me to have full access to his scrotum which I licked all round and beyond with my tongue. I took one, then the other testacies in my mouth making sure not to be too rough. This quickly had him just about rock hard. I then made to lick up and down his penis, sucking the hood like it were a scrumptious lollipop, and returning to his scrotum intermittently. He didn’t know what I was going to do next from one second to another.
I soon had him moaning; putty in my hands. I moaned too, largely for effect and encouragement. I tried deep throating him but I it made me retch. Nevertheless I had him on the edge in no time. What was the right thing to do? Finish him off quickly or slow things right down. I took a middle line and attempted to keep him on the edge. There too I failed and I had his sperm flooding into my mouth all too soon. The taste was salty, a bit fishy and more substantial than the artificial stuff. Like the other time I had to gobble down the first ejaculations so as not to waste any, but a managed to retain a mouthful near the end. I rinsed this round my mouth in order to get the full flavour effect and, cheekily, I raised my head, moved up sharply, and gave the V.P. a spunky kiss.
His immediate reaction was to pull away but I managed to wet his lips. Recovering from the shock, he went to wipe it away with the back of his hand. But before he could do so he stopped, and instead used his tongue experimentally. He appeared to quite like the taste of his own spunk. Maybe that would do my aspirations no harm “Well,” he said at last. “Yesterday’s trial results seem to be accurate; you are the cocksucker they say you are.” Extracting himself from the couch he added, “now let’s see how good you are as a receiver. Follow me.”
He led me into an adjoining room where sat another bespoke designed couch, its purpose nearly as obvious as the first had been. It was a hands and knees job, with straps to anchor my position so as I could neither move or escape. I guessed it was for the V.P. to fuck me from behind. I was dead right about that. I hadn’t bargained for the blindfold though. I couldn’t be more accommodating; chest down, arse in the air. legs sufficiently apart for my balls to be fondled.
During these pre-fuck preparations I made it very clear to the V.P. that I was an anal virgin. This was a coded message “for goodness sake go gently” of course. I received no reply. Perhaps the man had misinterpreted the message or was he ignoring it deliberately? There I was, like a chunk of meat in an abattoir, awaiting my fate with genuine trepidation. The opener was a terrific slap on my bare arse. I yelled out involuntarily. Everything lay still around me. As the waves of pain started to subside there came another smack; a bare hand on my bare arse. There came four more, my arse was stinging unabated and I bet it was as red as a salmon steak.
Then a kind gesture, my arse cheeks and anus were anointed with a cream which went some way to sooth. When the concentration of the massage move to my sphincter I knew I should be prepared for the invasion imminently. At least, I hoped it was to be cock and not something more intrusive or less tactile. It was an immediate relief to feel the warm, soft curve of a real penis nestle up to the entrance to my anus. It stayed there for quite some time, just brushing up against me. The V.P. obviously enjoying the anticipation of deflowering me. Such opportunities could hardly be a daily event.
For me too, I was ashamed to admit, the anticipation was tinged with desire. I had entertained thoughts, from time to time in the past, especially during lonely nights in the Cambodian jungle, as to what it would be like to be taken in the arse, and in very much the position I was currently in. Mind you, I could not have dreamed up the circumstances leading up to my current predicament; not in a hundred years.
Then the movement stopped and the cock head took station, pushing forward, gently at first. The V.P. was apparently in no hurry. For some silly reason it flashed across my mind it may not be the V.P.’s cock at work. He had, after all, spunked copiously into my mouth and, for a man of his age, wasn’t his recovery time exceptional? Perhaps he had delegated. Wasn’t senior management adept at doing so? Delegation that is? Still, I justified, in this situation wasn’t one cock as good as any another?
Whomsoever it was driving the taught muscle, he was in no hurry. Savouring was very much on the agenda and I was grateful for that. Very gradually my anal door-keeper gave way but, instead of pushing on the invader withdrew completely and the area was again heavily lubed. The stuff was cold and slippery and I enjoyed the sensation and the anticipation. The Vice-President seemed to be mixing skill, compassion and erotica in just the right proportions.
Between us we settled down again where we had left off with his penis having to open the door again, although one that was now ajar. I had read extensively about guys being initiated into anal sex and the amount of pain they experience initially; the pain barrier that had to be overcome and the farther the penetration, the more the pain. It did not seem to me that the depth made much difference in the length of the phallus. The cause of my pain was the penis became thicker towards the scrotum and it was that added thickness that caused the extra pain as the invader was pushed in with my sphincter being stretched open wider and wider.
My lover, if I dare call him that, appeared to be canny to this and, having apparently penetrated all the way, pulled out to halfway. I relaxed and the pain diminished. He held me there, and slowly started up fucking me in this half-way position. The hurt was minimal whilst pleasure surged up like a tidal race.
My total concentration was in my anal region and I literally forgot time and place. The mixture of pain and pleasure was made exquisite by the awareness of the intimate and close contact with another human being. That is was a man added a huge amount of spice to what was a brand new experience for me. I drifted into a dream state where time and space seemed to have lost their meaning. Added to all this I was wallowing in debauchery and further exhilarated by that fact.
Suddenly my brain registered that things were about to change. The tempo was changing and the strokes were getting shorter and quicker. I knew what this likely meant and I concentrated on meeting the thrusts with the hope it would pay back the V.P.’s consideration in the manner he took my virginity. He had made the experience memorable and I was grateful for that. He came in floods. I marvelled again as to how he could not only manage two ejaculations in short order but have such a huge reservoir of semen.
He pulled out of me too soon for my liking and I heard him move away; to visit the bathroom no doubt. I was left hanging for several minutes. I felt his jizz start to trickle out of my open anus and trickle down the insides of my thighs. I felt delightedly dirty and sluttish and my cock, having been in a sort of retreat, started to demand attention. I would have wanked myself off there and then had my hands have been free.
Eventually the V.P., dressed in a track suit, returned. First took off my blindfold before releasing my limbs. I re-orientated myself to a standing position and searched for his eyes. I had save up a shy smile especially for him, but his face was impassive.
“The bathroom’s along the corridor through that door,” he said pointing the way. You’ll see a lift opposite. Down to the ground floor and let yourself out. Come back in the morning at nine o’clock and see Ann.”
And that was it; a case of wham, bam, thank-you ma-am.
Actually it wasn’t quite ” it”. As I went to dress in my street clothes my underpants were missing. In their place was a pair of frilly pink panties. I assumed that my green ones had been soiled somewhere along the line. Or were they some sort of medal, or a right of passage? I slipped them up my legs without further ado. A very strange, not at all unpleasant feeling took possession of my body.
Unbeknown to me, of course, whilst I was sitting on the subway making my way to my friend’s flat, Ann and Loredo Hernandez were sitting across from one another, each in a leather easy chair. The V.P. was sipping bourbon whilst Ann’s choice was a margarita They had just both agreed that Francis (Simon) had passed the interview stage with honours.
“I think we need to act quickly if we are going to entice him to join us on a permanent basis,” suggested Ann. “He’s set on getting enough money for him to return to Cambodia. And he assured me he’s not gay. Tonight would have been his first gay experience if he were to be believed.”
“You could have fooled me on that score.,” smiled the V.P. a little whistfully. he’s an ace cocksucker, that’s for sure.”
“And I think he enjoyed being fucked too,” added Ann. “If that were really his first time then he has one hell of a future.”
“All we need to see how he performs as a top rather than a bottom.”
“I think he’s going to be putty in our hands. And versatile with it.”
“That’s a thought, the V,P, agreed “Especially if he could be encouraged into cross-dressing. Many of our lady travellers might be willing to pay for his companionship and services because, from a distance at least, it would appear as just two ladies together. I can see male customers queuing up for what we might call a tranny. I don’t know why we haven’t thought of that before now. What chance of us progressing him into a shemale like you Ann?”
“Progressing – that’s a nice way of describing his descent into sexual debauchery.”
“Hold hard Ann. Debauchery is a big part of our game. Don’t let us forget it pays a good part of our salaries. Best not knock it.”
“Sorry Loredo. I was just was just amused by the irony in your words.”
“Our flagship, the M.V. Aquariums, would be the best place to convert him and train him on, don’t you think? The captain’s heavily into cross dressing and particularly lusts after pretty boys in their twenties. He’d be glad to take Francis under his wing for sure.”
“He’d fuck the lad to death,” replied Ann dubiously.
“Exactly. Just what is needed. If Pedro can’t turn him permanently then nobody I know can.”
“I think I stand a good chance of doing so,” said Ann a little huffily.
“I don’t want him to know you fucked him today and it wasn’t me. Let him think I let him suck me off and then I fucked his arse. Looks good on my C.V.,” he joked. Ann knew all too well when rank was being pulled. I might send you out to the ship with him for a couple of days. Where is it scheduled to be in a week’s time?”
Ann used her phone in order to answer that question.”Mumbai,” was the answer she came back with.
“Let’s see what we can achieve in the next seven days.”
Have I ever let you down when it came to an entrapment, Loredo?” Ann asked earnestly.
“No, not so far,” the V.P. was obliged to admit. “But I don’t want a situation whereby our company can be prosecuted for doing something that could be considered unlawful.”
“I don’t see how that can be,” assured Ann. When Francis appeared in front of the Reception Desk yesterday, after a formal greeting, I specifically said that he needed to be gay to work in our Organisation. And I distinctly remember his reply; “But I am gay.”
Do I, or don’t I allow myself to be shipped out to Mumbai?