Bare, White and Rosy

by Penny Birch

  ‘I . . . I can’t, not all of you!’

  ‘Forty-seven?’ Yoshida answered me. ‘Surely that’s not too many for a girl of your experience?’

  I shrugged, lost for words, my head so full of conflicting emotions that I didn’t know what to say or do. All forty-eight of them were looking at me, Rhiannon in shock, Yoshida in cool amusement, the businessmen bobbing their heads and smiling. For a long, hideously embarrassing pause nobody spoke at all, until Yoshida himself broke the silence.

  ‘What are those?’

  ‘I, er . . .’ I began, holding out the pile of shiny red presentation packs I’d made up so carefully, ‘I . . . I thought you might all like a memento. I had some pictures done, of me.’

  There was an immediate buzz of appreciation and more polite nodding from the businessmen. I put the folders down and opened the top one, showing a large glossy print of me kneeling in nothing but a pair of minuscule yellow bikini bottoms with my head bowed and my naked breasts held up for inspection. Again came the buzz of appreciation.

  ‘There won’t be enough to go around, I’m afraid,’ I admitted. ‘I only did twenty. I . . . I thought you said twenty, Mr Yoshida?’

  ‘You proved to be rather more popular than I anticipated,’ Yoshida answered, ‘but never mind, you can have some more folders made up later. Very well then. First of all, gentlemen, there is the matter of payment, for which Natasha has come up with rather a sweet idea. She will dance for us, and you are to tuck your money into her underwear, as if she were a lap dancer in a strip club, as she was for a couple of years before she became a call-girl.’

  It was an outrageous lie and my mouth opened in angry denial, only to close again. I needed to stay in control, or I might as well just leave, in which case it would all have been for nothing and I definitely wouldn’t get a chance to explain to Rhiannon. Instead I smiled and stepped forward to the middle of the carpet, feeling more vulnerable than ever. The view through the huge picture window was of Hyde Park, but it might as well have been another world.

  I bowed, because it seemed the right thing to do, first towards Mr Zhang and the group around him, then to each side of the room. Rhiannon had gone to fetch drinks from the kitchen. The men seemed anonymous and interchangeable, but I couldn’t shake her presence from my mind. I had to do it, though, and do it well, so I simply let my body take over, imagining I was performing for Percy and his friends as I let my coat slip from my shoulders and began to dance.

  It wasn’t hard; it never is. I’ve danced for men often enough to know what they like, plenty of boobs and plenty of bum, peeks of pussy and occasional eye contact, a little bit of tease and a little bit of brazen display. The most important thing is to go all the way, otherwise they feel cheated. Men like to feel they own a girl who’s stripping for them, that they know her every secret. Hold back a little and they get off on your shyness, hold back too much and they feel dissatisfied.

  Not that it mattered this time, as they were guaranteed their satisfaction, all over me, and any clothes I left on were sure to be ruined. Still I did my best, just out of pride, teasing and flirting as I gradually exposed myself, making very sure they all got their fair share and that long before I was finished each and every one of them was familiar with every curve of my waist and hips, every intimate contour of my boobs and bottom, every fold and crease of my shaved pink pussy and the wrinkled brown star between my rear cheeks.

  They loved it, clapping and cheering, exchanging lewd jokes in several languages I didn’t understand, pushing their bundles of money into my underwear while I still had any on and wedging them into my cleavage and between the cheeks of my bottom once I was nude. I didn’t even try to count but just let it all pile up, until the floor was littered with scraps of scarlet material and banknotes of every denomination. All the while Rhiannon distributed beers, whisky and glasses of Champagne, walking among the men with quick, dextrous movements, clearly nervous and fearful of groping hands and pinching fingers. None of them touched her, or not that I saw, and she was able to retreat to the kitchen unmolested while I stood in the centre of the room, as naked as the day I was born, my hands on my head, my feet set apart among my discarded clothes and the money I’d been paid for my services.

  ‘Put your clothes and money over there in the corner, Natasha,’ Yoshida ordered. ‘Then go into the small bedroom’ – he gestured towards a door – ‘and bring the plastic sheet you’ll find in the bathroom. Spread it on the floor.’

  His voice was so calm and authoritative, the atmosphere of male privilege and female submission so strong that I found myself bowing to him by instinct and hurrying to obey. The bedroom he’d sent me to was only small by comparison with a normal hotel, and en suite. I quickly found the sheet and scampered back to spread it on the floor, my heart hammering at what I was about to do.

  The men were joking among themselves, and the more senior ones clustered around me. I knelt, a position that seemed shamefully appropriate to what I was doing, looked up and opened my mouth. They wasted no time, and were far less concerned about exposing themselves than a group of British men would have been. Mr Zhang simply flopped his cock out of his trousers, straight into my mouth. Others had also unzipped and I took a cock in each hand, while one man began to fondle my breasts as he masturbated and another to rub his cock in my hair.

  I was still painfully aware of Rhiannon, who was peeping from the kitchen door with a look of horrified fascination, but I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d had the chance. My instincts had taken over, and yet my mind was still clear enough for me to be astonished by my own behaviour as I tugged and sucked and flaunted myself for their pleasure. One man ducked down to grope my bottom and I found myself wanting to stick it out in the hope of getting an exploratory finger up my pussy. When Mr Zhang pulled his cock free and pressed his balls to my mouth I took in as much of the fat, leathery sack as I could, rolling his balls over my tongue, as dirty and subservient as Yoshida could possibly have wanted me.

  Soon I was surrounded by a forest of hard cocks, fat and thin, long and short, all sticking rudely out of their smart suits, most with their balls bulging out below. The air was thick with male scent and I’d started to juice and squeeze my thighs, while my nipples were sticking up like little corks. When the first man spunked on me it gave me a sharp jolt of pleasure, even though he’d only done it in my hair and across my forehead. I began to suck more eagerly, jammed another man’s cock in beside Mr Zhang’s and set up a fast rhythm with the two in my hands, one of whom came on the instant, erupting spunk down my cheek and over my shoulder and one tit.

  They were laughing at my eagerness, and passing comments in their own languages and English, all utterly indifferent to my feelings. They said I was beautiful and called me a slut. They said I was pretty and how they’d like to spunk in my face. They said I looked nice and laughed as one spunked in my eye and the mascara began to run down my face. They said how big and firm my boobs were and how they’d like to fuck my cleavage. They said I had a fat bottom and pointed out the now faint marks from my caning. They said I had a pretty bumhole and asked me to stick my bum out to show it off.

  I obeyed, lost in my own arousal, wiggling my hips to make my cheeks shake and encourage them to touch. They took the invitation, a finger sliding in up my wet pussy just as Mr Zhang reached his orgasm, holding me by my jaw so that he could wank into my open mouth and let everybody see the pool of spunk he’d laid on my tongue. As soon as he let go I swallowed his mess like a good girl and took another man in. Four, maybe five, had already come on me and the rest were waiting their turn, either standing or seated, with their cocks out ready for my mouth and hands. All except Anton Yoshida.

  He just watched and sipped his Champagne, more amused than aroused as I gave in to the appalling degradation he’d planned for me. I saw him smile when I deliberately gaped wide to let a man spunk in my mouth, but at the same instant I got a load in my other eye, and from then on I couldn’t see at all. Both my eye
s were stinging with sperm, but I got no mercy, only another load splashed over my tightly closed lids. Now utterly helpless, I could only let them take control, guiding my hands to their cocks and twisting my head about by the hair to make me suck.

  I shivered at every splash of sperm on my body. One man did it all over my tits, another down my back and in my hair, a third over my bottom. My pussy was straining to an entire fist, and I was sure I’d be fucked, but it never happened. They did what they’d paid to do and spunked on me, one after another after another, until my face was plastered and my belly had begun to bulge from what I’d swallowed, and I was sure that if just one more did it in my mouth I would be sick. That didn’t stop me wriggling my bottom in the slimy puddle underneath me as soon as the man who’d fisted me had relieved his cock all over my hip. I had to come, but I knew I’d never get enough friction from the splash mat, so the moment they began to slow down a little I stuck a hand between my thighs and began to rub.

  They cheered and clapped as they saw I was masturbating, but that didn’t stop me. Instead it almost got me off, because I knew they were watching and enjoying my reaction. I spread my thighs for them, rubbing hard on my bump, all thoughts of decency forgotten, no longer even caring that Rhiannon was watching me. She could like it or lump it, that was all, I had to come, and come immediately. One man was still in my mouth, another rubbing his cock on my slimy tits, a third tickling my bumhole.

  Spunk splashed in my cleavage, down my belly and on to my hand as well. I rubbed it in, sucking urgently and squirming on the finger that was now a little way into my slippery bumhole, right on the brink of orgasm . . . and then I was there, my whole body jerking and shaking as spasm after spasm ran through me. One of them spunked in my ear, another full in my face, both driving me up to another peak, and at the final, choking, breathless summit of my ecstasy the man in my mouth jammed his cock deep and spunked down my throat.

  It was too much. My belly gave a single huge lurch and I threw up at least a pint of spunk all over the man’s cock, down my own tits and on my legs and cunt. A second lurch and I’d done it on the man between my knees, but they were still around me, still wanking over me, even as I squatted in my own filth, a thick, slimy mat of spunk covering my body, sticking in my hair and running slowly down my face and breasts to soil my belly and thighs, smearing my bum cheeks and my open hole, into which the very last of them had just ejaculated.

  Not that I realised he was the last. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear properly, I could barely breathe. Forty-six men had come on me, most of them not even bothering to use my mouth, but I hadn’t been fucked at all and I’d had only one cock in my bumhole, and that was no more than a finger’s width. My jaw ached, my throat hurt and my tummy felt raw, but that was it: it was over. I felt an odd sense of disappointment as the men backed away, clapping and congratulating me on my performance.

  I managed a smile through my mask of spunk and tried to climb to my feet, only to slip and sit down again in the mess, theirs and mine. That made them laugh, but they did at least help me, moving me and the mat very carefully into the small suite, where I was made to lie down, rolled up in the mat and plonked down in the bath, where I wasted no time in turning on the taps.

  The first thing I did was clean my eyes, to discover that the men who’d helped me had left, except Anton Yoshida. He was in the bedroom, sitting in an armchair he’d positioned so that he could watch me through the open bathroom door. In one hand he held a glass of Champagne, while with the other he was toying with his cock and balls where they hung from his open fly. He nodded when he saw that I was watching, then spoke.

  ‘You were very good, Natasha, really very good. I particularly enjoyed it when you were sick down your chest . . .’

  I could well believe it of him, and forced a rueful smile as he went on.

  ‘. . . although I suspect that Mr Kweon, whose cock you were sucking at the time, and who got a good deal of it on his trousers, was less pleased.’

  ‘I’ll apologise,’ I promised.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re learning. I knew you’d be the girl for this job, Natasha, once I’d brought you out of yourself a little. So, what shall I do with you?’

  ‘You . . . you can do anything you want,’ I told him. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I’m glad you’ve come to understand. It’s the only way for a girl like you, isn’t it, to accept a man as master?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘Very good. Finish cleaning yourself up and come to me, crawling.’

  I nodded and began to soap myself, taking my time as he watched. My entire body was soiled, but the real problem was my hair, which was badly matted and needed to be rinsed and shampooed several times before I was satisfied. He didn’t rush me, but sipped his drink and watched, his eyes drinking in my naked body as I moved in the bath and stood to get under the shower. Finally I was clean, and as I towelled myself dry I was wondering why nothing had happened. It looked as if I would have to suck him off after all.

  There was an assortment of body lotions and powder, courtesy of the hotel, so I made an elaborate show of creaming my skin and powdering my pussy and anus, all in full view. There was even a hair-dryer, but that really was going to take too long, so with my hair still wound up under a towel I got down on my knees. He watched, quite calm but with his eyes and the corners of his mouth betraying the cruelty and arousal I knew he felt.

  I hadn’t meant it to go so far, but I was still turned on and seemed to have little choice. Extending my tongue, I began to lick his balls, making myself his obedient little dog as I knelt naked between his open thighs. I wanted to masturbate again, and for a few seconds my pride held me back before I gave in and began to tease myself. My pussy felt smooth and powdery, just a little wet in the middle, very different from the state I’d been in earlier.

  I took Anton’s cock in my mouth and began to suck in earnest, my arousal rising apace with my humiliation as I gave a willing blowjob on my knees to a man who’d treated me like dirt, a man who got his kicks from seeing me gag on a cock and puke all over my breasts. He really was an utter bastard, and yet there I was, stark naked at his feet, mouthing eagerly on his cock as I masturbated.

  I was going to come too, at any second, certainly before he did. My bum cheeks were already beginning to clench and my pussy to tighten, and I remembered how it had felt to spew up a mixture of spunk and my lunch, hot and slimy on my boobs and tummy, all over my legs, soiling my cunt. On that thought I came, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I got off on what ranked among the filthiest and finest memories of my life.

  ‘Dirty bitch,’ Anton chuckled. He tugged my head hard back by the hair, grabbed his cock and with a few quick jerks tossed himself off in my open mouth.

  All of it went in and I swallowed it quickly, spent a few painful seconds trying to keep it down, then rocked back on my heels.

  ‘May I fetch you another drink, please?’ I asked.

  He held out his glass, not bothering to reply. I got up, still a little unsteady on my feet, and left the bedroom. I was wondering what was going on in the living room, but I needn’t have worried. Mr Zhang and the others were standing in little clusters, all urgently discussing the contents of the folders I’d given them. One or two asked questions, which I did my best to answer as I slipped into my knickers and shoes before gathering up the money and stuffing it into my handbag.

  There was no sign of Rhiannon, and the realisation that she would probably never want to speak to me again took more than a little of the gloss off my pleasure as I pulled on my coat and buckled it tight to make sure I didn’t give anyone an accidental flash in the street. My stockings, suspenders and bra went into one pocket and I was done – as was Anton Yoshida.

  It had seemed reasonable to assume that Mr Zhang and his colleagues had a strong sense of honour, and also that they would object to being cheated. Only the top two sheets of each folder were pictures of me, while the rest was a
very carefully constructed exposure of his corrupt methods, including as much evidence as I’d been able to cite without leaving M. Blanquefort in danger of criminal prosecution. It had been enough, of that I could be sure from the black fury on Mr Zhang’s face as he demanded that Yoshida come out of the bedroom.

  I left the same way I’d come, down by the service lift and out at the back. All the while I was wishing my black mood would lift, but by having Rhiannon witness my submission Yoshida had ruined what should have been a moment of triumph. I’d seen the horror on her face as she watched, and though I’d soon been too far gone to stop myself my bad feelings were flooding back. Worst of all, the state I’d got into while they gave me bukkake was a deep part of me, and something Rhiannon would never have been able to accept. As I came out of the hotel I was biting my lip, close to tears.

  Then I saw her, standing on the other side of the street, her hands folded in her lap, her head lowered. She looked up and I crossed to her, an apology trembling on my lips, only for her to speak first.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. Look, Rhiannon—’

  ‘You are so brave, Natasha! I so wish I was like you.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Like you, to just handle men the way you do, like they were nothing, like you can take them all and come out laughing.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I suppose you could put it like that . . .’

  ‘How else? What did you earn just now?’

  ‘I don’t know, about five thousand, I think.’