by James Grey
She caught my eye as she said this.
And now, since I was dumb enough to sit in the front row, I’m going first. Wilfred has let himself out, and I can feel the eyes of the class on me. Apparently I’m the teacher’s pet now. Lunch over oysters seemed to prove Sarah right – as far as I could tell, my list of ‘skills and aptitudes’ was longer than anybody’s.
Still, it didn’t have this level of detail on it. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to be learning the art of swallowing. I’m not a complete stranger to the sensation, though it’s been a while. I just didn’t expect it in a glass.
I look up at her as I take the vessel in my fingers. She’s smiling encouragement, but silent.
Okay, here goes. I can almost hear the sweat pouring out of me. But let’s pull this bloody trigger.
If memory serves, this isn’t going to flow like water. So I lean my head right back – rather like we’re back at the oyster table, in fact – and tip the glass upside down.
The liquid dribbles heavily onto my tongue and then back onto my throat. It’s cool; I think it’s been refrigerated. I fear my stomach might turn, so try not to think about what it is as I swallow once, then twice, then a third time. It’s impossible not to think about what it is. Holy fuck. I am a naughty girl!
Hooray, though…my stomach doesn’t flip at all. I handle it. It’s…soothing. The taste is familiar, but more abundant and salty and powerful than I’ve known before. I’ve never had this kind of quantity, this much to go on. I even find myself swishing the last mouthful around like mouthwash, before letting it slide down inside me.
I think somebody notices, because I hear murmurings and then, finally, the sound of clapping. I turn around to see Latifa and Alyssia leading the applause, and I smile bashfully as I wipe my mouth and replace my glass.
Not everyone joins in the ovation, of course.
All the girls pass the seed tasting session…although I’m not sure about Jane. I’m getting a better feel for the characters in our class, and I’m less and less convinced she’s cut out for this. She can’t help herself screwing up her nose when she’s halfway through, and she coughs at the end. Like everyone, there’s a round of applause, but some rounds of applause are warmer than others. This one isn’t a ringing endorsement, and I see Miss Littlefair make a longer note for Jane than she made for the rest of us.
“Well done, ladies,” she says, resuming her strut around the front of the room as Wilfred clears the glasses away. “Now which of you absolutely loved that?”
Latifa and Alyssia don’t hesitate sticking up their hands. So, to my surprise, does Carol, the naughty little thing. Though it was quite arousing in a vaguely submissive kind of way, I’m not sure I’d go quite so far as to say I loved it. So I keep my hand down with all the rest. I suppose yes is the right answer, but then again, I don’t want to be too much of a teacher’s pet.
“A good prostitute is greedy for semen,” says Miss Littlefair. “She picks the right moment to show that greed of hers, but doesn’t rush her client before that moment has come. So to speak.
“I want to help you develop the taste this week. It helps when you’re giving a blow-job. Obviously having a man – maybe two – in your mouth is terrific. But knowing that something extra nice is coming for you will help you do the necessary to take your client all the way.
“It may be that your client prefers to let go on your face or on your breasts, perhaps even more unusual places. You will all hopefully reach the point where you’ll want to scoop some of it up and put it on your tongue. And though our clients have many and varied tastes, it’s safe to say none of them will object to this.
“It’s rather difficult for us to source you a glassful every day, but your watchword for this week is to taste and swallow at every opportunity. This week we are here to teach and guide, not to force things or test you, so I suggest you take that responsibility. For the reasons I’ve just outlined, it is in your very best interests. Any questions?”
Nobody speaks. The air is thick with anticipation.
“An excellent start, ladies. Let’s break for a glass of water, and return here in ten minutes. For the rest of this afternoon, we’ll teach you the art of sucking.”
Chapter XVI
Miss Littlefair flicks a switch, and the projector sprays a diagram onto the screen. On it, the unmistakable likeness of a man’s penis. At the top is a flaccid one, beneath that, a drawing of one that’s most definitely aroused. It’s getting more classroom by the minute in here. I’m getting flashbacks to sex education.
A couple of giggles ripple around the room, which seems silly. Looking at a harmless drawing from an anatomy textbook is far and away the tamest thing we’ve been asked to do on our sojourn in this house. Somehow, though, the more formal school-like setting makes it all seem a little outrageous. I can sense the embarrassment welling up inside
me already.
“Ladies, this is where you come into your own. Your intimate, specialist knowledge of one of these, and how it works, is what will set you apart from a regular woman. Looks will only get you so far in this business. And there’s not much you can bring to the party when you’ve actually got your client thrusting inside you. If there is one thing that affects your stock more than anything, it’s your abilities with one of these.
“Women think it is easy. Maybe you think it’s easy. Get on your knees and suck, right?” She stops, looks around the room, and shakes her head. “Get that out of your minds, young ladies. Most girls simply have no idea. I hate to tell you this, but you’ve probably all given mediocre oral sex in your lives. Just because a man is hard doesn’t mean you’ve sent him to heaven.
“When I started in this business, there wasn’t a school like this to help me. I actually had some complaints about my technique. I really didn’t have a clue. I took that as a challenge, asked a lot of questions and did a lot of practice. By the end of my career I was taking 750 Pound bookings for blow jobs only.”
The end of her career? The woman only looks about twenty-eight! She seems friendly, and I want to stick up my hand and ask her if she really meant that.
But Alyssia beats me to it.
“Miss, did you just say your career is over?” asks the Aussie, her tone of voice curious and hopeful.
“Indeed I did. You see, I’ve retired. Three or four years of high-class prostitution were enough for financial independence. There were days when I made upwards of twenty thousand Pounds.”
My brain freezes. It’s a while since I’ve thought about the money, but this incomprehensible piece of information has me completely dumbstruck. Visions of an endless, carefree trip around South America, funded by the interest in my bank account, swarm into my head. They sit there and ripen, like heavy air brewing a firecracker Amazonian thunderstorm.
Her voice shakes me back into the room, which is now thick with promise and competition: “I like to give a little something back, so I was delighted to say yes when I was asked to help out as fellatio expert here for a few days each year. But this teaching is about the only work I do nowadays. I want you girls to have the same opportunity I did. Which is why you need to pay attention to this!”
She swipes at the penis on the screen with her pointer stick. “This, dear girls, is your cash cow. And what’s more, it’s a great deal more fun to play with than a keyboard and a mouse. Once you’re hooked on a regular diet, believe me it’s really hard to give it up. Fortunately I have a wonderful boyfriend now, and he’s always ready to indulge my greedy mouth. Life is good when you love cock.”
“Amen to that,” cackles Alyssia. “Tell us everything we need to know, Miss!”
I wish I could be that forthcoming. All this talk is making me feel closer than ever to being a prostitute. I still don’t know if I like the thought. But it looks like I’ve got the week to get used to it. And…what she said about the keyboard and mouse! An excited little shiver runs right up me, from my toes to my ears, as I think about entertaining a client at
my old desk. Right in front of her. Wow, that would be poetic.
I sit upright and clear my throat, all attention now, as she launches into technicalities.
She talks us through the internal workings of the penis, then takes us to our work surface. Nerve endings and epicentres and sensitive bits. I’ve never heard of half of these places. She teaches us how to find them without fail, even though there are so many shapes and sizes out there.
I think it’s safe to say we’re fascinated. I can’t believe any of us knew quite what a complex device a penis could be. It sure doesn’t look easy. Suddenly I feel a little empathy with those boys who kept falling off my clit.
“This may look intimidating, ladies, but with intent, imagination and spirit you are halfway there. Remember, your client’s needs come first, but within that framework, it’s your own enjoyment that really shines through. Pick your spots with him in mind, but take joy in tasting each of them.”
She looks around the room, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I guess she’s seen all the notes our mentors made on us last week, and I wonder if she’s talking to some of us more than others. Petra looks stony-faced.
How much do I like it? Come to think of it, I only took one man in my mouth the whole of last week, out by the pool in the sunshine. I’m not sure I let myself enjoy it, mainly because of the audience. But I’ve gotten into the sucking thing in the past. I’m sure I can again.
Then Miss Littlefair thrusts into detail about how it’s not just sucking. It’s slurping and it’s licking and it’s kissing. She passes giant boiled sweets around the class and gives us three minutes to suck them to oblivion.
“No biting or chewing, ladies, I want your saliva glands to do this job. Wrap your tongues around the sweet. Swirl it into your cheeks. It’ll keep the moisture flowing. Hear that swish. Let all those slurps and sloshes out. He will almost invariably love the sound, and the wetness that goes with it.”
I look around the room as I take on the furious challenge of making the sweet go away in one hundred and eighty seconds. I laugh at Latifa and grin at Simone. It’s kind of sexy to be doing something so innocent, yet which represents something so filthy and devilish – you could practice this on a bus and nobody would have the faintest idea! Petra’s looking out of the window as she works her sweet. What a funny assignment!
“One minute to go!” cries Miss Littlefair. “Remember what I said, no teeth! And it’s exactly the same with your man, by the way. Only the kinky ones want your choppers scratching them. So work on doing this with your mouth as wide as can be inside.”
Her words sound strange, but make perfect sense with the sweet inside my mouth. I roll it around and around, keeping my teeth apart and consciously using all of the space available. I think I might just be getting stimulated by this…who knew boiled sweet could be this erotic? Latifa, who is just across the aisle from me, points between her legs and makes a face. Guess it’s not just me then.
None of us quite hit the deadline first time, but Miss Littlefair is unperturbed. “It took me a long time to get that right. It doesn’t really matter too much, it’s just about teaching you to make the right moves. Still, it’s a fun challenge for you girls to work on this week. You’ll get one of these after lunch and dinner each day, so have some fun with them!”
Then she returns to her diagram, and explains how to take long, deep draws on a length without irritating the often-sensitive tip. We should only work our lips up and down in the area beneath the base of the tip, and only activate our tongues once we’re travelling lower. The sensation of depth, she says, comes from how far down the shaft our lips travel, and how we suck when we get there. Not from maximum up and down movement.
I never knew there was this much to think about. Wow. Do we really live in a world where getting this stuff right is worth as much as she says it is. Craziness!
She teaches us tricks and spots with the balls, impressing on us the need to give this area plenty of attention.
“Most girls forget them completely,” she says, shaking her head, as if ruing the youth of today. “Don’t let me see you fall into that trap. Even some men don’t have the imagination to want you down there, and even lower, where his balls meet the perineum, but then it’s your job to show them that there’s another level of pleasure, isn’t it?”
Most of us nod energetically, thoroughly captivated by her style. Like all the teachers here, she could probably do rather well at leading a dictatorship if it took her fancy. But she’s sticking to what she knows for now.
“As a very general rule, save the serious sucking for the end. You’ll need to read your client (and any pre-notes, if you’re given them) to know what to do. Talk to him, even. Much depends on when he is hoping to come. They may not want to overdo your oral sex work if he only sees it as foreplay. The strategy is quite different if he does. In that respect, common sense will be your guide.
“Now, your mouth has one very important ally in all this. Who wants to tell us what it is?”
To my surprise, Lilia and Petra both answer this one. “Hand,” they say, in a flat, almost impatient tone. It sounds like they’re rolling their eyes as they say it, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But they do flash each other a little smile after answering in unison.
“Correct, you two,” says Miss Littlefair. She holds up her palms to the classroom and wiggles them. “Hands! It’s rarely a good idea to waste them! Amateurs do exactly that. You’re going to know better. You’re going to stroke his balls while you work the shaft. Or you’re going to gently stimulate the base while you’re moving up and down.”
She teaches us how a well-worked hand can push a guy over the edge. How it can only add to the stimulation down there. And then she adds something I never thought of.
“Don’t depend on being able to use hands every time. A lot of clients are going to want your hands tied behind your backs. You can imagine how arousing it is for them to watch, can’t you? We’ll practice that.”
On whom? When?
She impresses on us the need to read the situation and follow feedback from the guy. Our ears, she tells us, are our most important source of information. We should listen out for the little increases in noise and breathing that tell us we’re doing something he likes. And each time, she says, we should file it away. If we enjoy giving that pleasure, she stresses, it won’t seem a chore.
Read situations. Enjoy giving pleasure. Sounds like my report card. I’m starting to hanker for the chance to prove myself. Will there be a practical exercise? It certainly sounded like she had one in mind.
Miss Littlefair rounds off the lecture with some wise words on the sixty-nine, the mere mention of which makes me go red. It’s seriously indulgent, utterly naughty; but the reason I blush is because I can’t deny I like it. Actually, come to think of it, I haven’t even had one this week!
“A lot of clients aren’t going to want to lick you down there,” she informs us. “They might think you’re not safe, although of course at your level nothing could be further from the truth. Good agencies will have their full-time doctor inspect you at least once a week.”
Inspect. Oh, fuck, how has a simple word like that become so damn sexy? All this talk has made my world a high-voltage place. And it feels as though I might trip.
“When you get the chance of a sixty-nine, grab it! No matter how rubbish a performer your client may be – though a lot of them are surprisingly skilled, believe it or not – you’re getting extra pleasure whilst you work. Channel that pleasure into what you’re doing, and it’ll be more fun than ever for both of you.”
After a little more technical talk about how the challenges of angle posed by a sixty-nine, she fixes us with a glare that’s almost stern. It looks like she’s daring us to argue with what she’s about to say.
“Girls, you will be amongst extremely few women in the world who can have their pussies licked and call it work. Stop and think about it!”
True to her word, she
stops. There are a couple of chuckles behind me, but I do actually stop and think about it. Yes, she is right. In fact, she’s hit a nerve, because I used to have a little fantasy about James from ads doing exactly that under my desk while I typed emails. But that’s the thing – it would only happen in fantasy. Until now.
And if last week taught me one thing, it’s that in this surreal new world of mine, I don’t need to count on fantasy. I can have reality. And never worry about money again. I start to feel a little woozy as desires and moisture and images sweep my soul and body. I’m aware of my lips dropping open like a dopey idiot.
Not for the first time, Miss Littlefair brings me back into the room with a sharp bark. “Enough talk, girls! It’s action time!” My heart seems to stop for a moment. “I’m sure you’re all a little hot under the collar, so let’s break into groups and try out what you’ve learned.”
Chapter XVII
Four men sit in front of me. One of them is Rupert. Another of them is George, and he’s every bit as massive as he was last week. I don’t know the names of the other two, but recognise them from around the house. I think they look okay, but my eye is more interested in the impatient-looking bulges in their underwear.
They’re all wearing just shirts and boxers. Though George’s pair isn’t quite able to contain his excitement, some of which peeps out over the elastic. The men sit on reclining chairs that look comfort personified.
We’re in another of the stately suites, the McDonald Room, having been told to strip down to our underwear and leave our clothing in the classroom. Inevitably, Petra is in my group. We’re joined by Carol and Simone, who towers above me to my left.