by Ray Gordon
My clitoris pulsated within his hot mouth as he fingered my bottom-hole and my orgasm erupted and shook my young body to the core. A second finger forced its way into my contracting rectal duct, heightening my amazing pleasure. I whimpered uncontrollably as my head lolled from side to side and my eyes rolled. John was good, I thought in my sexual delirium. He knew exactly how to please a girl.
My orgasm peaked, sending shock waves of pleasure deep into my young womb, and I knew that I was hooked on crude sex. John had not only brought me incredible pleasure, he’d roused something deep within my mind. I realised that I was all girl, that I had something that men wanted, that I could derive fantastic pleasure from my teenage body . . . John had woken sleeping desires. But where was I going in life?
As my orgasm faded, John slipped his fingers out of my bottom-hole and unzipped his trousers. I’d thought that he was going to drive his solid penis deep into my yearning vagina, but instead he pressed his bulbous knob hard against my anal inlet. Dizzy with alcohol, I slurred incoherent words of protest as his knob glided into my rectal duct and finally embedded itself deep within the heat of my bowels. I felt as if I was going to tear open as he withdrew partially and then rammed into me again. My tight anal tissue rolled back and forth along his veined shaft as his knob repeatedly drove deep into my forbidden hole. I felt my clitoris swell and my vaginal milk flow.
Although I’d sworn not to allow John to push his penis into my bottom-hole, I was amazed by the heavenly sensations that the illicit penetration produced. The inflating and deflating of my pelvic cavity as he fucked me anally sent ripples of illicit sex through my young body. Never had I known that I could derive such pleasure from my rectum, and I opened my legs wide to allow his prick to spear deeper into my once private duct.
Again and again his huge penis thrust hard into my hot sphincter, sending my arousal soaring as he gasped and neared his own orgasm. I really was Ali the slut, I thought happily as John’s swinging balls battered the rounded cheeks of my naked buttocks. His fingers drove deep into my neglected vagina, massaging my hot and very wet inner flesh, and I closed my eyes as my own climax approached. I shook uncontrollably and then my body became rigid. I could feel John’s sperm gushing into my fiery bowels as my clitoris erupted in orgasm against his thrusting fingers.
John lifted my feet high in the air, resting my legs on his shoulders as he fucked my tight bottom-hole and pumped his sperm into my bowels. His cream lubricated our forbidden union, his balls battered my naked buttocks, and he rammed his swollen knob into my rectum again and again. Flopping back and forth like a rag doll, I whimpered and writhed on the sofa in the grip of an orgasm so intense that I thought I’d pass out.
The squelching of sperm resounding around the room, the slapping of flesh meeting flesh filling my ears, I lost myself completely in my breathtaking pleasure. I knew that John would from now on be fucking my bottom every time I went to his house. My mouth, my vagina, my rectal duct . . . He’d be fucking my three holes and filling my young body with spunk every time I called round to see him. And he’d pay me for bringing me amazing pleasure.
‘I said that I’d do your arse good and hard,’ he breathed, finally slowing his thrusting rhythm. ‘I said I’d do it.’
‘That was heaven,’ I gasped, trying to focus on his beaming face. ‘That was absolutely amazing.’
‘I suppose you’ll want more money now,’ he said, chuckling as he slid his deflating penis out of my inflamed anal duct.
‘Of course,’ I replied.
John sat back on his heels and smiled at me. ‘Ali, I don’t suppose . . . Would you move in with me?’
‘What?’ I said, thinking that I must have misheard him.
‘You’re looking for a flat, staying with friends and . . . Live here, with me.’
‘No, I . . . I can’t,’ I stammered. ‘As much as I like you, John, I can’t live with you.’
‘Christ, why ever not?’
‘Because . . . God, I don’t know, just because.’
‘I want you, Ali. All or nothing, that’s the way it is.’
‘All or nothing? You don’t even know who I am, John.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘All or nothing of what? All of me?’
‘Yes, I want all of you. All of you, or nothing.’
‘Bloody hell, John.’
‘OK, it was just a thought.’
‘Look, I’d better be going.’ Leaping to my feet and stuffing my thong into my handbag, I smiled at him. ‘When would you like me to call again?’ I asked him as I moved to the door. ‘Or are you going for nothing now that I’ve turned down all?’
‘Ali, I . . . Tomorrow, if that’s OK?’
‘Yes, that’s OK. Don’t worry about giving me more money. I don’t want to break the bank.’
‘You’re wonderful, Ali.’
‘I’m a dirty slut, and you know it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.’
‘Ali, I just want . . . OK, bye.’
I left John’s bungalow and wandered down the street with sperm oozing from the inflamed eye of my bottom-hole and coursing down my inner thighs. I felt like a whore as I cut through the park. I’d had my mouth fucked – and my vagina and my rectum – I had a wad of cash in my bag . . . I was a whore, I reminded myself as I sat on a bench watching the evening sun sinking behind the trees. Prostitute, dirty money . . . The park was deserted, peaceful, and I relaxed and thought about my future.
Move in with John? I wondered. There was no way I could do that. He was a lovely man, and he had plenty of money, but my real quest was to meet the other Ali, my twin sister. Mulling over the situation, my role-playing games, I thought that it might be best if I didn’t meet her. If she appeared on the scene my games would have to end. There’d be confusion, difficulties. She’d want to meet my mother, she’d want to know who our real mother was and . . . She might not even know that she’d been adopted. It might be best if we never met, I thought again.
Still dizzy with alcohol, I wondered what I was doing sitting in the park with my wet thong in my bag and sperm oozing from my bottom-hole. Was this what I wanted? I had plenty of money, I was meeting new people and having amazing sex but . . . what should I do? I should have been at home. Normally, I’d be in my room studying or watching television with my parents. Now I was sitting in the park, naked beneath my very short skirt with sperm oozing –
‘Hi,’ a middle-aged man said as he approached me from behind. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Oh, er . . . hi,’ I gasped, spinning round.
‘What are you doing here all alone? It’s getting dark.’
‘Just relaxing,’ I replied as he stood in front of me. I reckoned that he was another of Ali’s friends as he looked down at my naked thighs. ‘I might ask you the same question,’ I said.
‘I’ve been to the pub. I’m just on my way home.’
‘Oh, right.’ Wishing that I knew his name, I thought I’d better play things by ear. ‘Were there many people in the pub?’ I asked him.
‘Only a few regulars. I saw you in the pub the other night. I was going to come over and say hello but you were with some man.’
‘I always seem to be with some man or other,’ I said, with a giggle.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘No, I suppose not. Well, it’s getting late. I suppose I’d better be going.’
The man plunged his hand into his trouser pocket. ‘This should be enough to make you stay for a while,’ he said. He passed me a twenty-pound note and he grinned. ‘Is that OK for a quick blow job?’
I stared at the bulge in the crotch of his trousers, wondering how many men the other Ali was playing around with. How well was she known in the area? I’d had no idea that she was a prostitute but she was obviously charging men for sex. This man was about forty and quite good-looking, but . . . He was around the same age as my father. I couldn’t suck his penis. I wanted to pass the money back to him and go home. I’d had more than enough s
ex for one day, but . . . I was getting into the role of Ali the slut and didn’t want to ruin the game. Whoever this man was, he knew Ali. He also paid her for sex.
‘Isn’t it enough?’ he asked me.
‘It’s fine,’ I replied, stuffing the money into my handbag.
‘I was hoping to see you in the pub this evening,’ he said, unzipping his trousers. ‘It’s a bit of luck bumping into you here. Were you looking for punters?’
‘No, I . . . I was about to go home.’
‘You can suck my cock and swallow my spunk before you go home.’ Hauling out his erect penis, he grinned at me. ‘Call it a nightcap.’
I wrapped my fingers around the hard shaft of his penis, pulled his fleshy foreskin back, and gazed at his purple knob. Was he married? I wondered, imagining his wife waiting at home for him. A middle-aged man’s cock, I thought, wondering whether my father had ever been to a prostitute. Cock: I’d never liked the word. Cock, fuck, cunt . . . they were words that Ali the slut used.
I moved forward, sucked his purple knob into my wet mouth and breathed heavily through my nose. I’d had far too much gin, I thought as I tasted his salt. The drink had obviously blurred my thinking. What on earth was I doing? I wondered apprehensively. Sucking a stranger’s knob in the park – Christ, I must have been mad. But he knew the other Ali, he’d hoped to see her in the pub and . . . If I’d turned him down I’d have ruined my games. Why was I so insistent on playing the game? I knew that it would lead to trouble, but I couldn’t help myself.
I wanked his rock-hard shaft and ran my tongue over the velveteen surface of his bulbous knob as he clung to my head and gasped. I was thirsty for sperm, and I waited in anticipation for his cream to flood my gobbling mouth. I was changing beyond belief, I reflected. But this wasn’t the real me. This was Ali the slut. Ali the innocent prude would wake up in the morning and chat to her mother over breakfast and . . . and then, at night, she’d turn into Ali the prostitute.
‘Here it comes,’ the man announced, rocking his hips and fucking my mouth. ‘Swallow it all up like a good little whore.’
‘Mmm,’ I moaned though my nose as his sperm jetted from his throbbing knob. A good little whore. Was that what I was?
‘Yes,’ he gasped, repeatedly driving his orgasming knob to the back of my throat. ‘Suck it hard, you dirty whore.’
I did my best to gulp down his creamy spunk, but my mouth overflowed and his male liquid dribbled down my chin, splattering my blouse and my naked thighs. Swallowing hard, drinking from his swollen knob, I knew that I couldn’t kid myself. This was the real me. There was no point in pretending to be anything other than a filthy slut. I was playing the role of my twin sister, but there was no denying that I was the one who was sucking sperm out of a stranger’s throbbing cock.
‘You’re good,’ the man gasped, finally slipping his penis out of my sperm-flooded mouth. ‘You’re bloody good.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, licking my jism-glossed lips and wiping my chin with the back of my hand.
‘It really was a bit of luck bumping into you. Have you got a mobile-phone number?’
‘Er . . . well, I . . .’
‘I’d like to meet you here again, become a regular customer.’
‘I’m getting a new phone tomorrow. My old one doesn’t work so . . . I’ll give you the number when I next see you.’
‘OK, that’s great. I’m Ian, by the way.’
‘Yes, right . . .’
‘And you are?’
‘I’m Ali,’ I replied, suddenly realising that I’d made a big mistake. ‘When you mentioned seeing me in the pub . . . I thought you knew me?’
‘No, no. I’ve seen you in the pub a couple of times and reckoned that you were on the game, but we’ve never met before. Anyway, I’ll see you here tomorrow. Is the same time OK with you?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I sighed abstractedly as Ian walked away.
I wiped his sperm from my thighs – I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. He’d never met me before, he’d thought that I was on the game and . . . and I’d taken twenty pounds in return for giving him a blow job. As I walked home, I hoped that my parents weren’t still awake. My hair was dishevelled, my blouse was stained with sperm – I looked like a common tart. I couldn’t carry on like this, I knew as I opened the front door and crept into the hall. I wouldn’t play Ali the slut again, and I’d have to keep away from the pub. The game was over.
I could hear the sound of the television coming from the sitting room so I realised that my parents were still up. There was spunk oozing from my bum, seeping from my pussy, splattered down the front of my blouse . . . Did I smell of sex? I wondered as I crept up the stairs. The lounge door opened and my father looked up at me. He stared at my short skirt, my naked thighs, and frowned.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked me.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I replied, hoping that he wouldn’t see my naked pussy if he happened to look up my skirt.
‘It’s unlike you to stay out late. Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been in the pub. I met a couple of friends and we got talking.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he persisted. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.’
‘I’m tired, that’s all.’
‘Come and have a cup of tea,’ my mother said, appearing in the lounge doorway.
‘No, I think I’ll –’
‘A man from the DIY store phoned earlier, Ali. Come and have some tea.’
I went back down the stairs and I followed my mother into the kitchen as my father went back into the lounge. Who the hell had phoned? I wondered, brushing my fingers through my long blonde hair as my mother filled the kettle. More to the point, what had they said? My mother took the milk from the fridge, turned and looked me up and down. I said nothing as she poured the tea. What could I say? I looked like a tramp.
‘So you’ve left the store?’ she finally said.
‘Yes, I have another job,’ I breathed. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you until –’
‘What is this new job? Where is it?’
‘Working for a . . . I’m going to work as a secretary. The money’s a lot better.’
‘That’s good, Ali. For a moment, I thought that you . . . well, I wondered what on earth you were up to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Going out in that short skirt and looking like a . . . I just wondered what you were doing.’
‘Jackie gave me the skirt,’ I lied. ‘What did you think I was doing, mum?’
‘Nothing, I . . . I just thought it was odd that you should leave your job without telling us, and then go out dressed like that. You never stay out this late, Ali. And you’ve never dressed like that before.’
‘The skirt is rather short. I didn’t realise just how short it was when I put it on. I won’t be wearing it again.’
‘That’s very wise. You don’t want people thinking things.’
‘What things, mum?’
‘We’ve been worrying about you, Ali. You went out in that skirt, then we got the phone call, and you stayed out late. We were worried.’
‘There’s no need to worry, mum. I’m fine, honestly. I met some friends in the pub and we got talking and I didn’t realise what the time was.’
‘You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course I would.’
‘Have you met that other girl yet? The one who looks like you?’
‘No, no, I haven’t. I’ll take my tea up to my room.’
‘All right. Sleep well.’
I sat down on my bed and sighed. My mother was obviously suspicious, which didn’t surprise me. I’d gone out dressed like a slut so it was no wonder that she was uneasy. At least she knew now that I wasn’t working at the DIY store. But why hadn’t she asked me more about my new job? I was going to have to change my life, I decided. No more games, no more short skirt and thong . . . No more Ali the slut.
Four
I WENT INTO town early the following morning and bought a new mobile phone. Although I told myself I wasn’t going to prostitute my body, I did want to see John now and then and thought it best to give him my number. I needed the money but, apart from that, I enjoyed sex with him. He was good company, and I liked the way he satisfied me sexually. It was prostitution, I couldn’t deny that. But I wouldn’t be going with a lot of other men, and certainly not with strangers in the park.
I called into the clothes shop beneath the flat where the other Ali had lived and asked the woman behind the counter whether she knew where Ali was living. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. She seemed cagey, and I reckoned that she knew where Ali was but didn’t want to tell me. Why was the girl so elusive, always in hiding? I wondered. I wasn’t going to learn anything so I left the premises.
I passed a chemist’s shop, stopped, retraced my steps, went inside and bought a tube of hair-removing cream. I didn’t want a bald pussy, and I had no intention of using the cream. Why had I bought it? I asked myself as I wandered along the high street. What was happening to my thinking? John had asked me to shave my pubic hairs, but . . . well, I didn’t want to look like a schoolgirl.
I felt that I was in a daze as I sat at a table in a café and ordered a cup of coffee. My life was a mess, going nowhere, and I couldn’t seem to get myself back on track. I didn’t want to go back to university, but I didn’t want to take some mundane job and work from nine till five every day. What did I want to do? I mused, gazing through the café window and watching the people walking by. I leapt to my feet and held my hand to my mouth as I saw a girl walk past. It was Ali, the other Ali – my twin sister.
I dashed out of the café and looked down the street but I couldn’t see her. She might have gone into a shop or . . . I ran along the street, not knowing where she might have gone. I checked the shops but she’d disappeared into thin air. This was ridiculous, I thought as I gave up and walked to the park. No one knew where Ali lived, no one knew her phone number . . . At least I’d seen her, I reflected as I wandered through the park. Although I’d only had a glimpse of her, she looked just like me. A twin sister living in the same town? I found the whole thing uncanny. Would I ever meet her? I wondered. Someone was sure to tell her about me. As I toyed with my new phone, I decided to give my number to everyone. Don, Barry, John . . . someone was bound to meet Ali and tell her about me, and give her my number.