Nexus Confessions: Volume Three

by Nexus Confessions- Volume Three [Nexus] (retail) (epub)

  ‘What do think I’ve been trying to do?’

  He rolled his eyes, suggesting a hopeless case. ‘I’m not talking about auditions for jobs you don’t get, or a single advert on telly.’

  ‘The only way is up!’ I know that sounded flippant but on my CV there’s more. ‘Don’t forget my stint as a bunny at that sales promotion. If you had your way I’d be working the strip clubs.’

  ‘I’m just saying that here’s a firm offer – a gig that pays the rent, and gives you some breathing space to look around.’

  Stubbornly I held out.

  ‘And here’s the other plus,’ Gary insisted. ‘You’ll be doing it with me. It’s not as if you’re being tossed into a pack of strangers.’

  Clive leant forwards intently. ‘I’m sorry, Bridie, but supporting you for three months is enough. If you can’t pay your rent you’ll have to move out.’

  I brushed crumbs of biscuit, the remains of lunch, off my scraggy jeans. No rent, tatty clothes, and no proper food. All I have, for a short while, is a bed and a shared bathroom. ‘I’m not experienced in that stuff,’ I grumbled. ‘What makes you think I can do it?’

  ‘Follow my lead,’ Gary answered promptly.

  Where do blokes get their massive confidence? I played for more time. ‘Who is it for?’

  ‘Mr Buchan. He’s way past doing it but enjoys looking. Why not think of it as a drama school production? He’s the talent scout in the audience. You’re straight in, centre stage, do the business, and off you go with cash in hand.’

  ‘I think you need to work on your chat-up line.’

  ‘Bridie …’

  I couldn’t mistake Clive’s warning. They’d closed down every option until, weary of arguing, I caved in. I stood and flounced to the door – as in Lady Windermere’s Fan – and threw back a defiant shot. ‘Just be sure you have a bath. And a shave!’

  ‘Any chance of rehearsal?’

  I slammed the door. On stage the scenery would have rocked.

  The following evening I remember trailing some distance behind, cold and miserable. Those huge houses, divided from the pavement by iron railings, were intimidating. Gary moved along the row inspecting the polished brass numbers on each door. He came to a halt and asked, ‘Still OK?’

  ‘Not really.’ My college ambitions were supposed to work out better than this. I had no idea how to cope with the crippling embarrassment – doing it with one and watched by another, an old wheezy geezer. My tutor, Mr Elliot, used to say: ‘There’s nothing worse than a rainy matinee in Bolton.’ He’d obviously never had a booking like this one.

  As Gary rang the bell I clutched my threadbare coat, huddled like a pathetic waif to the only familiar person in this alien place. When the door opened it cast over us a bright yellow beam. A maid with narrow exotic features and cascading black hair stood in the entrance. She surveyed us with eyes of liquid jet. Her black uniform ended in a short skirt which showed plenty of thigh in black stockings. ‘You … expect.’ I reckoned she came from somewhere in the Middle East. She turned to lead us inside and Gary showed his appreciation by raising his eyebrows and leering at me. In exchange I rudely poked out my tongue.

  The interior – wow! It glowed with warmth, glittering glass and ceramics on polished tables, shiny paintings, ornate lamps with tasselled shades, and a carpet that compressed like a cushion. Immediately I felt right at home. If I could somehow persuade the wheezy geezer to marry me all this could be mine. In a small room the maid said, ‘Ere … dis-robe.’ She pointed to herself, ‘Renata,’ rolling the R, then to a group of bottles at the side, ‘Refresh.’ Spreading five fingers she added, ‘Minute. Then Señora Buchan … er, ready.’

  I rounded furiously on Gary, who flinched. ‘You said it was a man! What kind of woman would pay to watch this?’

  ‘One who wants an eyeful of me,’ he said. ‘Or, if your nasty mind is thinking she’s a dyke, remember the rent.’ He poured a glass of white wine and held it out as a token of peace.

  I drained the glass too quickly, poured a second, and bolted that too. The wine was the best I’d ever tasted. Maybe, I thought woozily, I didn’t care too much if the rent’s paid. Ashamed of my coat I peeled it off and made my protest clear to Gary. He winced at the word WHORE printed across my T-shirt. I turned away to lift it over my head, slid my tattered jeans to the floor, stripped off my cotton bra and dropped my panties. Bare-arsed, I paused for one deep breath then swivelled to face him.

  He looked satisfactorily dazed. ‘Bridie! I had no idea. You look superb.’

  Pleased but tense, I watched his dangling penis which, to a novice, seemed weighty and fat. I wondered how much it would change when fully erect and shuddered with a tremor of fear. Gazing at me must have affected him too because unconsciously he started playing, stroking the length in light well-practised motions. I didn’t realise how sexy it was to see a man rubbing his own dick, and slightly threatening too, preparing himself to take me. But when it grew into a rigid pole it would fill me and make me sore.

  ‘We should warm up.’ Folded in his arms, my breasts flattened onto Gary’s chest and the touch of his skin, plus the push of his cock, affected me. Our impressively deep kiss finally parted at a cough from behind. I turned to the maid, embarrassed at my nakedness in front of her, the first of two women who would look at me.

  ‘Come.’

  As Renata led us along a corridor I tried once again to think myself into the role but with the same result. I had absolutely no idea how to shape my performance. We entered a large sitting room with too much light for comfort where a large tufted rug in the centre of the floor defined our space – a kind of display ring for the public event. At the far end a motionless form sat in a large chair and I briefly noticed a gaunt face, a shawl covering her lap, and bony linked fingers lying on top. She might be perverse and far wealthier than we would ever be, but the shrivelled figure appeared pathetic in contrast to us. We had firm bodies, raw energy and the lust of youth; possessions her money could never buy. Let her look, eaten alive by envy!

  ‘Every nerve is a tingling wire,’ Mr Elliot used to say. ‘Get out in the spotlight, hit your mark and then – project!’ Following his advice I took the initiative by placing Gary’s hand to my breast and drew him into another kiss. Leading through every stage I nurtured his tool with my hand, then in my mouth’s seductive warmth. I had no need to think at all – every stage flowed naturally from sheer instinct. I gave my succulence to his tongue, his roving fingers and later to his erection which speared me to the maximum. In my creamy sleek heat I slowed his first frantic pace, then roused him again, soaking up his relentless power. Judging the moment carefully I began to shriek, writhing and bucking my pelvis while Gary plunged on, gasping and wild-eyed, brutally fierce in the last throes. Heaving out of my cunt he spewed long streaks over my belly, forming a dense pool with heated vapour curling upwards. I heard a dry quivering sob from the chair.

  As he slumped beside me we sank into the afterglow and our strained breathing relaxed. The room remained silent and still. I hadn’t expected spunk on my belly and wondered how to deal with the problem. Mostly I felt smug at passing the test. Opening night is always the worst and that may have been my best performance. Some time later Renata leant over Gary and touched his shoulder, helped him to stand, and led him away. In her place came a smiling figure, not withered or stooped but with handsome features. Though her skin was seamed with the lines of age she had abundant wavy hair of silver-blonde and crystal eyes, wise and wicked, of vibrant blue.

  Mrs Buchan reached for my hand, lifted me up, and led me to a chair at the side where we sat facing each other. The pool started to creep down my belly.

  ‘In a state of nakedness you’re quite magnetic,’ she said. ‘With a little acquired sophistication I can make you beautiful.’

  The sperm began seeping between my thighs. ‘If you don’t let me mop this I’ll be staining your cushion.’

  ‘Call me Allison. And don’t worry about tha
t.’ Leaning forwards she scooped up a thick wad of viscous fluid which drooped in strands between her fingers. She sniffed, tentatively licked a sample and then the whole, and swallowed enthusiastically.

  Stunned, I wondered how she could. Where was the satisfaction in doing that?

  ‘Uhm …! I enjoyed watching the way you encouraged your young man to produce the goods. I believe you have real talent – and he’s certainly given delicious value for money. You, however, are a nasty cheat to fake your orgasm.’

  Thinking I’d blown the rent I muttered nervously, ‘That’s what actresses do, they play a role. Just like you, Miss Haversham!’

  The old girl actually giggled. ‘I thought I did rather well.’

  ‘Anyway, he’s not “my young man”.’

  ‘Excellent. You could do better. Would I offend you by saying how much I admire your bush – it’s glorious, completely untamed. I keep Renata shaved.’ Stunned again, I jerked back. ‘May I –?’

  Allison reached into my soaking hair and fondled the strands. Though her touches were respectful I only just managed to control my reaction.

  ‘And your nipples. I love the way they form the whole front of your breasts. Immensely attractive. I simply must –’

  She cupped and stroked my left, smearing the teat in cold fluid while I clung desperately to the need for her money. ‘I ought to dress now,’ I choked.

  ‘Do you really want to?’

  ‘Gary’s probably waiting.’

  ‘He has already left.’

  I shot up from the chair, my heart pounding. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To make a proposal.’

  ‘Forget it, I’m not a lesbian.’

  ‘Sit down, please. You remind me of myself when a girl. Unfortunately with advancing age I have abandoned many sexual hopes, though regret for lost opportunities remains. Through you I could, in an empathetic sense, experience what I missed.’

  She had me way out of my depth. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Having once had sex for payment, would you object to doing it more? I can offer a regular salary, the best food, and foreign travel. I’ll buy you some clothes and you have a choice of the vacant rooms upstairs.’

  ‘All in exchange for what?’

  ‘Of course, your inexperience is obvious and you would need to be trained.’

  I screeched, ‘For what?’

  ‘Helping me to realise my fantasies.’

  In the right circumstances it doesn’t take long for a person to change. For me it was like returning to drama school and learning a special part, different from anything I’d tried before. I took to the training so naturally it was a part I might have been born to play. I’ve always enjoyed being directed – having parameters set for me – and loved the way Allison positioned me as she wanted. Her intimate touches combined the gentleness of a woman with a man’s assurance.

  I finished brushing my hair, dyed blonde, a colour that flattered me. I had thrown away my old WHORE shirt; a word I never use now, nor any of the similar words that describe my new career. I’m Young Allison, living the fantasies that excite her imagination. On many occasions I share the feeling.

  Leaving my bathroom I started to walk along the landing. On the top floor we’re often naked but I chose to wear a satin slip that barely covered my sex. Split on both sides up to the hips, the front panel flapped loosely and my buttocks bunched and lengthened at each step, disturbing the rear flap. My breasts swayed and my smooth inner thighs lightly caressed each other. I’d become aware of every part of my body and had learnt the ways to use it effectively for provocation.

  With no need to knock on the door I entered to find Allison spread-eagled on the bed and Renata kneeling for the personal daily chore. The maid’s head bobbed up and down, exploring our employer’s labia, and in leaning forwards her uniform’s short skirt lifted high. Against her bare copper skin, red silk panties wedged in her crotch. This view is one of my own favourites and I’m not surprised that visitors request me to adopt the pose. I raised the skirt over Renata’s back, exposing the expanse of her butt, and fondled up and around, to raise her temperature. Moving beneath I cupped the squashed flesh of her labia, a soft warm lump in my palm. Weakening, I took hold of its waistband to drag the tiny garment down her thighs. Her smooth dark genitals above the stretched fabric are another good sight. As the maid continued her duty I took it slowly, first rimming her steamy slit before separating the supple membranes. At last I gave in to what we both wanted and inserted fingers deep in her passage, spreading her groove to a gaping incision. In her soft velvet heat I could thrust easily while the hussy squirmed back against my pressure.

  From Allison’s wavering moans I could tell she was close. But when Renata stopped sucking and collapsed on her belly, gasping convulsively, Allison opened her eyes to plead, ‘Let her finish me first.’

  I contented myself with gently tickling the maid’s clit, keeping her tension high but watching Allison. Renata resumed the task urgently until Allison’s voluptuous shudders and tiny shrieks like a wounded bird tore apart her authority. For a short while she was washed by the hot pulsing waves and eventually she lay back, quietly fulfilled. The maid reached for a brush to comb Allison’s thin pubic hair. The bristles flopped the labia apart and pushed the pliable tissues from side to side. Renata finished by using the handle as a dildo, deep in the humid funnel, bulging Allison’s lips. I’m still not sure if it’s a game when she leaves it sticking out or an act of revenge to make our employer look obscene. When my friend looked around at me, gleaming lubrication coated her mouth and chin. I plugged her vagina a few more times but decided she would not be allowed to come this time. Instead I pulled out, smeared her cream over my lips and drew her into my arms. The poor girl desperately wanted to go all the way, which made our kisses more passionate, sharing and mingling our different flavours. Gazing up from her pillow, Allison enjoyed us performing together and jiggled the brush handle to and fro. ‘Don’t take too long,’ she murmured. ‘It’s nearly time to get ready.’

  Allison’s policy is to launch me into one of her fantasies and see where it leads. She dictates what I wear but never prepares, or warns me, so whatever happens – whether good or bad – I bear the consequences. Mostly I enjoy the game but a few weeks ago I had a different experience. On a quiet evening, almost dark, I walked around the central square of a Cretan village. Around the perimeter the tables outside tavernas were filled with men drinking, arguing, and playing cards but no other women – only me, walking steadily, loud heels striking the cobbles. I wore long black stockings which showed off my pale skin, held by a matching suspender belt. The waistband and long straps down the front of my thighs nicely framed my triangular thatch and my bare breasts bounced at each impact of my heels. As I passed their tables the men stopped talking and stared, unable to believe what they saw. I ignored them all, feeling immense power in strolling magnetically, embracing their attention as my natural right, like a real actress. On my approach I sensed the pressure of lust-filled eyes roaming my face, breasts and pubes, transferred to my swaying rump as I moved on. Sizzling electrically I patrolled one side of the square but then, as I crossed the open space to the opposite side, I began to quiver, not at the cooling air but the silent danger all around. I’ve never felt so alone or exposed but I kept going – what else could I do? – head high and striding evenly. I remembered, with wild animals, the absolute need to show them no fear. The eyes of more men ripped parts off my body, and flooded my mind with images of threatening cocks provoked beyond endurance. But I dared not turn or look as some men stood up, either for a better view, or preparing to pounce. Naked, I had no chance to defend myself and I’m sure that figures moved towards me, unclipping their belts. My heart hammered, I started to sweat, and cursed Allison while calling on St Christopher. Just in time, as darkness cloaked visibility, I reached the corner and left the square. Renata and Allison drew me into a doorway and hustled me up a flight of stairs where, from an unlit room,
we watched the men searching suspiciously. Allison’s huge pleasure did nothing for me and through her usual post-fantasy interrogation I stumbled to explain how it felt. I admitted the gut-wrenching exhilaration but all the while trembled as if in a bath of ice.

  At home in her garden I sunbathe nude with Renata. When I caress her springy breasts the erect nubs rock like stiff springs between my fingers. There, exhibitionism is safe and a great freedom. So now I wondered what kind of fantasy required Allison to dress me in more clothes than I’d worn for weeks.

  After a final check in the mirror I left my room. At the foot of the staircase I approached the much larger room where Gary and I had first performed. I heard the hum of conversation and inside discovered six men grouped around my employer, looking radiant swathed in grey silk. Her hair had been piled on top of her head and her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Renata offered a drink from a tray and the sweet mellow taste relaxed my tension. I started to weigh up the men, making intuitive judgements and waiting for the tingling that occurs in my nipples. It goes without saying that I’m looking for confidence, but also latent animal energy lurking beneath the elegant and courteous exterior. I see the way a man holds himself and the unconscious fluent power when he moves. I often imagine that if he has big expressive hands he will also possess a sizable cock although experience tells me that’s not so. Usually, if I find the right qualities, I decide to fuck him and set about letting him know that I’m interested. I enjoy the game, especially when, caught in a sexual aura that excludes everyone else around, there’s only us, alone and aroused. Tingles confirmed a couple of likely candidates.

  Allison broke off her conversation and came across. ‘You’re up from the country and off to Harrods,’ she murmured. I’d stopped even trying to guess what she meant by remarks like that. Taking my hand she led me to a couch at one end of the room where we settled down. ‘Sit with your knees together. Hands on lap, head up, prim and proper.’ As I followed the instructions the buzz of conversation dwindled and the men focused on us, particularly on me, over-dressed and out of place. ‘Here is my niece,’ Allison announced. ‘I have enticed this shy girl from the solitude of the country where she has been unbearably lonely. She is desperate for company and will agree to almost any polite proposal. Her name is Victoria and like her namesake, the fruity plum, she is brimming with juice. So I want you to rack your brains. What kinds of suggestion would you like to make to my dear Vicky?’