FIONA COMES OF AGE

By Jacqueline1608

I grew up in Riebeek Kasteel. If you use a magnifying glass, you could discover it on a large-scale map, if you know more or less where to look. It is between dingus and whatsisname. I was conceived towards the end of my mother’s professional career in Cape Town. By then she had accumulated enough of the green stuff to retire to the platteland. She continued with her profession on a more leisurely scale, entertaining the pillars of society such as the mayor, the dominee, the pastor of a house church in Riebeek West, and a couple of well-heeled farmers and businessmen who appreciated her very special service.

We moved from Gardens in Cape Town to the fair town of R.K. when I was ten years old to ‘retire’ she said, adding, ‘I’ve seen quite a lot of blue sky in my life, now I’m gonna enjoy the scenery.’ Naturally I asked about the sky, and she answered, ‘That’s all you get to see when you lie on your back, dearie.’ Then she used to tell the story of the honeymoon couple who went to a Drakensberg resort for the happy time. The bride’s mother phoned after a week and asked, ‘How do you like the mountains?’ The daughter asked, ‘Are there mountains here?’

Now my mom had at all times been kind of protective towards me. When I turned eighteen, she said, ‘Fiona, honey, there’s honey and money in your cunny. Let the boys touch and lick it, but don’t let them dip their wick in the comb just yet. I know in bygone days girls your age were already nursing babies, but their life expectancy was maybe thirty or forty, and many young ones died giving birth, which is why they tried to get in as many fucks as efficient. You stay your hand a bit and you can enjoy your fucks and still do so in your old age.’

It was about then that she explained some more great values to me. Grandma worked the docks and would drains balls all night and sleep all day, large turnover and small profits, corroded by regular visits to the medic to keep her healthy and functional. Mom set her sights higher. She went on and did her matric and then did an on-line course as private secretary. Her chance came at a big ball the boss of their firm gave to a number of businessmen and -women he wanted to impress. Mom danced the MD of a big corporation into her bedroom; he set her up in the nice flat in Gardens to be handy when he flies in from Joh’burg once a month. She continued working as an executive secretary for a couple more years, giving blowjobs and fucks as and when required for advancement, by which time she had a dozen regular clients and then ‘turned professional’.

She explained that to me. ‘You see, honey, gran’ma was a common whore. Nothing wrong with it. Prostitution is, after all, the oldest profession in the world, but in most cases it deteriorated into hard fucking labour. Girls were reduced to fucking machines, like worker ants slaving away for a fat queen – the madam or the pimp – with no joy in life. You snatch drinks, eats and slumbers in between spreading your legs for a semen pump. That’s no life! That’s barely an existence! I decided to be a professional prostitute, a call-girl with a fixed clientele.

‘Now let me explain something else. A common streetwalker can’t afford to enjoy her sex because an orgasm saps your energy, which is why whores are told not to climax. That became the hallmark of a whore: she does not climax, but she is allowed to fake it should she judge that the client would like it. It’s a bit of psychology, I reckon. The guy can not get it right with his missus, so he has an inferiority complex when he goes to a whore; she makes a big production out of it and the prick goes away with the idea that he is Don Juan. It may even advantage his wife, so there could be a double positive spinoff.

‘The professional prostitute goes for quality, not quantity. It’s the difference between selling hundreds of cheap shirts from Taiwan at a small profit, or tailormade suits from Kiton or Caruso in Italy with a large profit on each sale. She knows her customer and she is tailormade for him. It makes him feel good. Remember, his life is full of stress, he has to battle to get through the traffic to his office every day; he gets home and he’s tired and his performance in bed is below par; his batting average drops and he starts to think that his libido has emigrated to the North Pole. He starts fucking around for reassurance, principally because eating stolen fruit tastes better than those come by honestly. His wife starts looking elsewhere for her sex satisfaction and now her performance with him deteriorates; that coolness is the paving to the divorce court.

‘Now you take him in hand. You don’t fuck him the moment you meet! No, you begin chatting to him. An uptight man can’t enjoy a good fuck, so you get him to relax. Give him a tot of his favourite drink. Loosen his tie, take off his shoes, massage his feet. Chat. A man is but a boy at heart and likes to be pampered. Understand his tastes in clothes, music and sport, and only then you begin on what he likes in women, what turns him on, what gives him maximum satisfaction. You may only fuck him once during the evening, or three times during the night, but you make every one of them special. There is only one way to do that, dearie, and that is by entering into his life and into his fantasy wholeheartedly. For you he becomes Prince Charming, and you become his Cinderella or Snow White or Alice in Wonderland or whatever his fantasy demands. And you enjoy that sex. Your orgasms are all for real. That is the mark of a true professional, who thoroughly enjoys what he or she does every single day of their lives. He can only really enjoy it if you enjoy it too. A Taiwan shirt looks no different on you than on the clothes hanger, but you fill out a tailormade Italian suit: it’s neat hanging in the cupboard, but you give it life. When he shoves his dick into your pussy, he steps into a tailormade suit. And that is the difference.’

It was good advice.

The gossipers of Riebeek Kasteel had a field day with us. Mom was shunned in public as the ‘town whore’ – that word spread after the dominee preached against harlotry, just before he fucked my mom. The schoolboys all tried their luck on me, so I petted, but I at all times drew the line at screwing. I learnt a lot in my junior matric year – that was just after I had turned eighteen, because I had failed the previous year. One boy paid ten Rand to watch me piss; the next time he paid twenty so I would piss on him. Poor kid. His dad at all times made him feel like shit, so he stole the money – that was his weird revenge!

I talked to mom about it and she said, ‘That’s human nature, honey. The dog returns to its own vomit. He goes through that shit and the humiliation for the sake of feeling good at the end. As far as I could gather, people like that have a lot of stress in their lives, which makes them revert to childhood with its punishment, which is often worse than what he currently goes through. It’s a catharsis. It’s very much like the guy in the madhouse who kept hammering his head against the wall. When they asked him why he does it, he said it’s so nice when he stops.’

Then there was the town under-21 rugby captain who was on steroids and couldn’t get a boner. Fortunately mom heard him raving and kicked his arse. She told him straight. ‘You want Fiona to toss you, then drop that steroid shit. You can not have both.’ As it turned out, he was gay, so he found his sex niche, which was fine.

Of course there were those who snubbed me, especially the religious freaks, because Mom and I didn’t belong to any church. One of those Jesus kids fell pregnant through fucking ignorance, which goes to show that not even Jesus can kill the instinct to fuck.

But to come to my story.

The mayor of the town had a sailboat which he glorified by the name of a Bermuda yacht and which was kept at the northern end of the Voëlvlei Dam, about 40 km away. It had a small cabin towards the stern which served as lounge and ‘stateroom’, with a tiny bathroom next to the cockpit. One of mom’s perks in fucking him was that she could use the boat from time to time to give a customer a good rock. It at all times made her nostalgic, she said, fucking on a boat because of all the semen she’d collected from he-men.

It was a month after I had turned eighteen when she went to stay on the boat for a few days while she was feeling a bit down, and I dropped out of college for the same few days to nurse her. The Tuesday evening – Mom was in the cabin and I was sitting on the boom, swinging myself back and forth – I heard someone walking on the wooden jetty. There was a new moon, hence it was quite dark, except for the lamps along the side of the jetty. The person stopped at our gangplank and tried to read the name of the boat, but couldn’t do so in the dark, so he called. ‘Is this the Celeste?’

I answer, ‘Yes!’

‘Can I come aboard?’

‘Who are you?’ I call back.

There’s a brief silence then the answer comes, ‘Timothy Paulson.’

I didn’t know anybody by that name, so I ask, ‘What’s your company?’

His voice drops to a near-whisper. ‘It’s private. I’m looking for Quinta.’

I had a good idea what that ‘private’ meant, but wondered I’d better hear more, so I say, ‘Come aboard.’

Well, he embarks, as the expression is, I leave my perch on the boom and we meet next to the cockpit. I recognise him, and it certainly isn’t anybody like Timothy Paulson, but he doesn’t recognise me because the mast light is behind and far above me.

‘Private company with Quinta?’

‘Yes.’

‘Full house?’

‘You mean the boat is full?’

‘No, do you want a full house?’

‘God, woman, my wife walked out on me this morning and took the kids! My house is empty!’

I was beginning to figure out. ‘You want a full house service because your wife has left you?’

‘What is this “full house” you keep talking about?’ He sounds rather agitated.

‘A tuck, a suck and a fuck. That’s a full house. You want to be tied up and spanked as well? The arse is extra, if you want to lick or fuck it.’

‘How much?’

‘How much have you got?’

‘Two thousand.’

‘Cash?’

‘Yes, in cash.’ He sounds quite anxious by now, the kind of ‘I-wanna-wank-off-now-anxiety’ I’ve seen so often in momma’s customers.

‘You can get a full house for that, spanking included, unless you want to get real kinky, the piss and shit stuff.’ I am bleeding the bastard now!

‘Will you tie me up and spank me?’

‘Yup, we can do that. You want to be tied to the mast or you want it in the cockpit?’

‘No, I want my cock in a cunt, not a pit!’ He sounds horrified.

I click my tongue at him. ‘The cockpit is this hole next to us, mister.’

‘Oh, is that the cockpit?’

I laugh lightly. ‘Well, a cunt can also be called a cockpit. Now where do you want it? Up on the deck or down in the cockpit.

‘Here in the open?’

‘The mast would be, but not the cockpit. I can not take the fucking mast indoors, you know. And the stateroom does not have any stakes I can tie you to, if you want to be tied down.’

‘Does it stay this dark?’

‘This week, yes. It’s new moon.’

‘Okay, then. If it is all that dark.’

‘Righto. I’ll go and fetch the necessary,’ meaning the safeties, etcetera. ‘Go and wait in the cockpit down there,’ I say, again pointing him towards it. ‘I’ll switch off the mast light so we can do this in the dark. I can bring a flashlight if you want to look at my cunt first.’

I took his grunt as ‘yes’.

I go to the cabin – grandiloquently termed the ‘stateroom’ -and discover mom on the john, groaning. I love my mom and can not see her suffer like that with the shits, but I have to tell her. ‘We’ve got a customer, mom. Loaded and fucking desperate.’

‘Balls or wallet?’

‘I think both.’

‘How much?’

‘Two thou.’

‘Jesus K. Christ! All of it? That’s some desperate guy.’

‘Yeah, he sounds it. What shall we do?’

‘It’s a lot of money! But I can not, honey. You wanna take him on? You’re old enough now, unless he has a monster prick like a stallion.’

‘No, I guess he’s typical size, maybe smaller. Yeah, I’ll do it, if you say so. Keep a low user account, though, because he thinks it’s you.’

‘Remember the safeties, my girl!’

‘Will do, mom!’

I take a handful of condoms from the box, a pair of surgical gloves, discover mom’s slingbag, the torch and the swish, and go to the deck. Mom’s special ‘block and tackle’ is in the cockpit. My customer is standing around swearing under his breath.

‘Okay, pappy-guy, let’s see the colour of your money first.’

He pops out a wallet and counts out ten orange ones. I pop it into mom’s slingbag and pop that safely into the cabin. We’re in company.

‘Right, let’s get down to company. Take off your pants and underpants and leave them on the deck and you stay in the cockpit.’

I shine the torch on him and watch him strip and then direct him to the steps down into the cockpit with the light beam. I’ve watched Mom tie up men so I don’t have to figure it out myself. There’s a dog collar which goes around the neck and the other end is looped over a stanchion and tied fast. A rope goes twice around his body just under the arms and pulled tight.

‘Down on your knees!’ I command. Two more dog collars are clipped around each leg just below the knee and fastened to eyebolts on the floor of the cockpit. The mayor also likes being tied up like that, you see. This way the client can not rise up when the beating starts. Finally, two more dog collars are clipped around his wrists and tied to the same stanchion as the one around his neck; this means that he can not touch his cock, a punishment initially developed for boys caught jacking off.

He’s trussed up like a chicken now, his head against the cockpit wall and his arse nicely presented for the swish. It is made of rattan which has been split into nine thin strands. I lean over to fetch his underpants from the deck; it smells of cum and piss. I take that garment and pull it through my arse, then over his head, with the smelly part in his face. Of course he thinks it’s my panties and it kickstarts his cock.

The spanking starts slow because every blow must count. The thin rattan strings bite into his flesh and I know he’s pissing himself. While beating him, I talk to him.

‘You have been very naughty, Timothy! You have masturbated and soiled your pants. Mommy can not wash your pants every day, you know, and the Bible teaches us that masturbation is a sin against Jehovah and the Lord Almighty Jesus H. Christ, who sees everything that you do. You looked at dirty pictures, didn’t you, Timothy? Did you?’ He groans and confesses. ‘You look up girls’ dresses, don’t you?’ He confesses that too. ‘And you slide your hand up a girl’s legs, if you get a chance, don’t you, you naughty boy. Then you jerk off! That’s a sin, Timothy, and the Lord is chastising you for that sin. And you fuck some of the girls, hey? Your sins are like scarlet, you fucking pervert! No wonder your wife walked out of you!’

I shine the torch on his arse to make sure I cover all of it with the swish and I’m glad when I see it turns red. Once in a while a strand hits his balls and then he yells in pain, which earns him another hard blow. He’s whimpering like a puppy after five minutes, but I give him value for his money and whip him for ten minutes. He shits himself and I know he’s now desperate to wank.

I can now put my hand in between his spread thighs and massage his balls. That’s a trick to get even an old man to give you a standing ovation. I draw the surgical glove over my right hand and begin massaging his balls; I reach around his body with the other arm and begin playing with his cock. It’s wet because of his piss, so I don’t have to wet my fingers with spittle. I run my fingers up and down the shaft while the middle finger of my right hand works towards his arse and then slowly into it. He starts pissing again, which is a reflex action when you massage the prostate. His cock is hard. He likes that and groans his pleasure. I grip his cock and begin tossing him slowly while the middle finger is up his arse, rubbing in a circle to excite the rectal ring muscle. He’s gasping for breath and his cock has thickened in my hand, so I speed up the motions of both hands.

Now he starts talking. ‘O Jesus, this is so fucking amazing! O fuck! O god! Oh oh oh!’ and then, suddenly, he starts jerking on the leather ties while he unloads and paints the cockpit white.

I pull my finger out of his arse and smear the bits of shit over his upper lip. He sniffs and grunts. I have a roll of toilet paper handy, which I now use to wipe his prick clean. I pull off the glove and throw it in a corner.

‘You wanna lick my cunt?’ I ask.

‘Yes, I wanna do that!’ he says, very willing.

‘You have to lick my arse clean first, pappy-guy. Do you figure out? It’s a rare privilege accorded to only selected customers. Because you’re special, I won’t charge you extra for it. Agreed?’

‘Yes, yes, but how are you going to do that?’

‘I’m first gonna give you some slack on the hog-tie so you can stand on your knees and your head is above the deck. I’m gonna kneel on the deck, on the edge of the cockpit, so you can kiss my arse. No funny company, figure out, otherwise the deal is off and you forfeit your five hundred smackers.’

He grunts his assent and I give some slack on the ties and check that his mouth will be just above the deck. No need to take off my knickers because I’m not wearing any. When he is in the proper position, I kneel down with my arse in his face. He has to move a bit forward to get his tongue working in the cleft. In the beginning I push my bum down so he can not get to my cunt and I push to force a bit of shit through my arse to make it smell. God, he likes that! He’s lapping my arse like a dog and I can hear him panting. When I reckon his hard-on is about chafed through on the side of the cockpit, I lean forward and let him lick my cunt. He’s humping the cockpit wall now, crazy mad randy!

I just love that when a boy or a man is about to die just to get his tongue to my clit! Make no mistake: I enjoy everything about sex, according to my mom’s good advice, and I get so fucking randy at times I want to fuck the hell out of a customer! I honour him by having a glorious orgasm and I spray him full of cunt juice, which has him gasping for breath.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I join him in the cockpit.

‘Okay, pappy-guy, you’ve earned it. I’m gonna slip a screw-bag on your dick and then you can fuck me from behind, like a dog and a bitch. I’ll untie your hands, because you have to go down on all fours. Sniff my cunt to smell if the bitch is on heat. Lick my arse, all over.’

I untie all the dog collars, except the one around his neck, which I now control.

By now my first orgasm has gone but I’m tingling, because I’m gonna be fucked for the very first time in my life. I begin flexing and relaxing the vaginal muscles, as mom has taught me. My dog sniffs and licks, licks and sniffs, and the bitch’s heat is rising fast, so I begin panting.

‘Come fuck me, if you wanna fuck me, but you have to howl like a dog fucking a bitch!’

‘I wanna fuck you!’ he shouts and then I feel his dick searching, so I reach back and guide it into my quim. He starts howling like a randy jackal.

Jeez, I like that! I begin wiggling my arse and he grabs me around the middle so as to keep contact and he pumps and I pump. It takes quite a while because he’s already cum twice within the hour, but after about fifteen minutes of shoving and grunting, he starts roaring and his thrusts get faster and faster till he finally comes and collapses half on me.

Now there is one last service. I slip out from under him and turn him over, take off the fuck tube and throw it apart, then take his cock in my mouth. It’s pretty limp now, but I work his balls and his arse again. My tongue is working around his dickhead and it picks up slowly, like a dog after a lazy afternoon in the sun. It’s slow work but I get him hard again, slip an FL on that boner and then his dick becomes a piston in my mouth as I blow him. I begin slow, but I don’t break off like you would do (mom’s advice) with a young guy who has ten squirts in his gun. I take him right to the end, rolling that dick around in my mouth while my hand works the shaft and he’s almost shitting himself because it is so nice! It’s not much of a load, but it is there and he seems to be as pleased as a cat which has just serviced ten tabbies on a tin roof.