“I wonder how much they were prepared to pay us”.

Lisa and I were having breakfast in the college restaurant.

“I’ve no idea”, I replied. “It’s probably good money; these guys don’t seem to have any regard to cost… you little Jezebel! You’re not thinking of going with it?”

“No, no, I was just wondering…”

“Well, you can find out if you want: Remember you have agreed to speak to His Most Excellent Excellency’s agent?”

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten about that…”, Lisa paused. I knew how she spoke when she was going to broach a subject and wasn’t sure how I’d react.

“I know you’ve history here… but would you do it?” I knew from the question that she was serious, so I paused and thought…

“Remember that story of the guy, George Bernard Shaw or Oscar Wilde or somebody, who asked a woman if she’d go to bed with him for a million pounds?”

“I know the story… ‘we’re only negotiating the price’ is the punch line.”

I lowered my voice… “Well, I suppose that’s where I’m at. Remember I lived with working girls for over 3 months. They weren’t ogresses, or even immoral. They were in a situation and doing what they had to do to survive. Remember that most of them were there voluntarily, at least in some sense.”

“Anyway”, I continued, “I don’t think that I want to have sex with men. I’m not even sure that I could.”

“Lie back and think of England, or in you’re case, Ireland”, Lisa joked.

“You wouldn’t get away with that. From what I’ve seen and heard from the girls, courtesans have to be very proactive. The worst thing was if the man couldn’t perform; he’d say that the girl didn’t do her job well enough! She might even get a spanking!”

“Did they do that?”

“Only ritually, to make the man feel better. It didn’t really hurt too much; Mastar could not afford to have his livelihood marked or damaged.”

“Do you ever think of the girls?”

“Survivors guilt I suppose. Mayda had clearly been brought there by force, I saw shackle marks on her ankles, and I often wonder how she got on. She was very pretty so she was likely bought out by some rich guy who just wanted a young woman”.

“Were you fond of her?”

Careful how I answer this!

“Of course, she was like a sister to me! She looked after me as best she could in the circumstances.”

Right answer; Lisa looked a bit relieved.

“But back to the issue; I don’t fancy sleeping with men! I’ve never done it, never thought of it, and am only attracted to girls, or at least one in particular”.

Lisa grinned at my recovery… only attracted to her… and responded,

“You’re describing me as well there you know!”

“Not quite, you slept with me when I was a boy”.

“As I recall, you had, at least temporarily, become a girl at that stage, with one important addition!”

“But when you were growing up”, I answered, “before you knew for sure, did you ever fancy boys?”

“Did you see ‘Gone with the Wind’?”

“Yes”.

“When we saw that, and Clark Gable was kissing Vivien Leigh, all my friends wanted to be Vivien Leigh. I wanted to be kissing Vivien Leigh! I knew then that I was different, but I didn’t dare to tell anyone at the time.”

A bit of a pause in our conversation…

“So, what’ll we do about His Most Randy Excellency’s agent?”, I asked eventually.

“I thought that you were completely against this; you didn’t even want to hear the restaurant manager out?”.

“Let’s say I’m getting more curious”. Actually at this stage I wasn’t sure how I felt.

“Will we hear him out?”, Lisa was obviously curious too

“OK, let’s do that. In the meantime, let’s get some work done!”.

And back to the library for more tedium. I’ve always wondered why exams are held in Summer, when study robs us of time in the sun enjoying both the warmth and bonhomie that sunny weather generates in the cold islands off the Northwest coast of Europe. But, we were both serious students and determined to get the best results we could.

After a few days, a note on the dorm notice board gave us a number to call and we arranged to meet the agent in a London hotel. We decided to make this a day of rest from study and to have lunch in town. We got dolled up for the day. Lisa had a little strappy mini sundress; I still did not have the boobs (only ‘A’ cup at this stage) for strappy dresses so settled for a flared, cap sleeved, button up minidress. I was still conscious that my hip to waist ratio was not that of a typical girl and always tried to go for skirts and dresses which disguised this. The weather was too warm for tights and a little fake tan was needed to take the white look off both of us! I simply ignored people when they stared at the tattoos on my legs.

We met at 11am in a comfortable meeting room with a sofa, coffee table and armchairs. I had been rather expecting a heavy-set swarthy Arabic gentleman and was rather surprised to be greeted by a young, debonair, slight, fair-haired English ‘chap’ who had an almost stereotypical Eton/Oxbridge accent. We introduced ourselves and all sat down, Lisa and I at either end of the sofa, Jeremy, as was his name, opposite us on an armchair. He poured coffee, sat back, looked openly at my legs for a minute.

“Xania?”

So he read Arabic; of course he would!

“My stage name”.

“And you had that tattooed on your legs? Hmmm… Never mind. Can I ask, what experience you girls have?”

We described our dancing careers to date…

“And where did you learn to dance?”

“I learned in Egypt and taught Lisa, then we started the classes… to keep us in money in college.”

“Learned in Egypt…hmmm… tell me, have you girls any experience of being ‘entertainers’?”

“No; we’ve been strictly dancers”.

“So why are you interested in broadening your careers?”

Euphemisms preserve dignity.

“Because we were invited to meet you and told that we could retire on the takings of one season.”

I was smiling as I said it and he reciprocated. He had a lovely open face and smiled easily. Both of us were beginning to warm to him.

“Maybe you’ll need to do two seasons to get to retire. Can I ask if you girls currently have any serious boyfriends?”

“No, neither of us…”

“Have had?”

“If you’re asking us if we’re virgins, no. If we were, our expectations would be even higher!”

“You like to be direct!”

“Only when I think that the man I’m talking to won’t mind. Can I ask you a question? Who are we likely to be asked to entertain?”

He explained that the job generally involved entertaining groups of both Gulf and European men who joined the yacht, or rather SuperYacht, for varying periods, coming and going, staying in port or cruising to no very fixed timetable. The general age profile was thirties to fifties; the Prince himself was in his mid-fifties. Sometimes the men were accompanied, more often by mistresses than wives. Prince was a somewhat inaccurate title but worked well enough in the West for someone who had been the son and was now the brother of a Sheik. There would be two other ‘hostesses’ on board, separate from the normal stewards who looked after standard service. They were unlikely to be belly-dancers and most likely French.

“So how is pay calculated?” Lisa asked.

Jeremy named a monthly figure, over four times what we could expect to make after graduation. At this rate, twelve weeks work would see us right for the year!

“And, of course, it’s tax free. The SuperYacht is registered in the Gulf to technically you’re on Gulf terms”.

“What if we want to leave the SuperYacht?” Lisa was beginning to nail down the details.

“Just walk ashore when you’re in port, although you won’t get paid other that the per-diem allowance that you’ve already received and will have to make your own way home.”

“This type work isn’t always safe for girls; how do we know that we won’t end up in a harem back in the Gulf?”

“This isn’t a Beirut club back in the 70’s”, Jeremy responded looking at Lisa, then continued, looking at me, “or in Egypt in the 80’s. I’ve placed girls on this Superyacht for the last 3 years, mostly students like you. They just fly home rich and go back to college at the end of their gig. Normally I select the girls myself; the Prince liked you both as dancing girls so I don’t get to do much research this year”.

“I suppose the research is very hard work”, Lisa was now flirting with him.

“It has its compensations.”

“At least you know how good the girls are when you hire them!”. Where was she going with this?

“Yes; it’s important to be sure I only send the best entertainers to the SuperYacht. So when you girls have decided… we can do some practicals…”

“Maybe we should do the practicals after lunch, so no one is disappointed later on”.

“A splendid idea; why don’t we dine here and take it from there.”

We headed for the dining room and, on the way, I excused myself to ‘powder my nose’. Lisa came with me.

“What are you up to?” I asked, rather abruptly, when we got into the ladies’ room.

“You like him, don’t you? We both do, so if we can’t manage to shag him, we won’t be very good entertainers!”

She caught my head in her hands and leaned her head against mine.

“We can walk away right now, no harm done, if you’re not Ok with this?”

“No; let’s do it!”

Jeremy was an excellent host and we had a great lunch, sharing an good bottle of Chablis. He linked us both as we retired upstairs to his room, opened the door, and ushered us both in. Lisa went in first, then I was guided in by a hand on my ass. Jeremy had ordered a bottle of champagne with three glasses which was duly delivered and we all had a little sip. Jeremy took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie and, as he was doing this, Lisa slid in behind me, hugged me from behind, and started to massage my boobs. Jeremy sat on the bed, slipped off his shoes, and sat back to enjoy the spectacle. I went to turn around to Lisa but she held me facing Jeremy then started to unbutton the top buttons of my dress and slipped her hands in, under my bra, and continued to gently massage for a minute or so. I was definitely getting warmed up and had reached my hands back on both sides to catch her by the hips and then around to hold her ass. Jeremy was getting visibly moved and was undressing as Lisa continued to unbutton the rest of my dress and slide it off my shoulders. I took my hands off her hips and she moved back a little to let the dress fall to the floor. As it did, Lisa caught it with her foot and flicked it towards Jeremy who caught it, buried his face in it to get my smell, then dropped it on the back of a chair beside the bed. Lisa waited until he was looking back at me, then slipped my bra straps off my shoulders, gently pulled down the cups of my bra, and went back to playing with my nipples.

At this stage, Jeremy was stripped to his shorts and came in front of me, pressing into me and reached behind my back to open my bra strap. He removed the bra, again buried his face in it and dropped it on top of my dress. He held me tightly up against him, his hands on my ass. Lisa’s hands were gone and my boobs were pressing into his chest. I saw her dress and bra sail through the air and onto the chair – good throw.

Lisa must have indicated to Jeremy from behind me as I was suddenly, I won’t say dragged, but rather deposited on the bed, the wrong way around with my head at the foot. I guessed why when Jeremy caught both my arms and passed them to Lisa who pinned them down on the bed whilst she bent over me and started to lick my left nipple. Of course, that put her breast right in my face, so I could reciprocate. Jeremy’s mouth was on my other breast with my legs wrapped around his torso. It was like pure unadulterated pleasure, almost pain. Jeremy pulled back, pulled off my knickers and started to rub himself against me, then in, I lifted my ass up to get the angle right, my legs still wrapped around him…

So what was so special about this penetration? After all, I did it every day to myself with a dilator, or Lisa played with me with a toy. It’s texture, smell, context, the feeling that the man doing this to you is getting almost as much pleasure as you… I had to take my mouth off Lisa’s boob as I was afraid that I might accidentally bite her… I was obviously making too much noise as she stuffed a bra into my mouth… and then it’s all over… I’m still moaning a little… Jeremy is panting… he climbs off to clean up in the bathroom… Lisa takes the bra out of my mouth and looks right into my face… we’re both upside down to each other… looks right into my eyes and winks, then starts to lick my mouth…

Jeremy comes out of the bathroom to take in his second Lesbian show of the day… eventually I pull away and head to the bathroom to clean up. When I come out, Jeremy is lying on his back on the bed and Lisa is straddling him. I climb up behind Lisa and reach my hands around her to work on her boobs… her turn to get a hot and bothered…

As we’re getting dressed to leave, and Jeremy is lying back on the bed, he asks if we can do a private, paid, show for himself and the Prince’s son, who lives in London part time, the following Thursday night. This is putting us under pressure as we really need to study, but we agree on the basis of no more entertaining work until we’ve finished our exams. We agree that we’ll bring the music on tape, he’ll arrange the player, we could get changed in the suite, we’ll be picked up and returned back to the college the following morning, we’ll be paid in cash before we leave.

“How was that for you?” Lisa was having a bit of fun asking me the reputed typical male post-coital question as we strolled back towards the college.

“Smart ass!, about the same as for you, albeit I got the first pick of the cherry. He was probably a bit worn out when he got around to you! Seriously though, it was a clever way of introducing me to how to have sex with a guy.”

“Are you still a lesbian or has he converted you?” Lisa must have been feeling vulnerable.

I slipped an arm around her waist. “You won’t get rid of me that easily! Again, being serious, I now know that I can tolerate guys, but only for business. I’m sticking with girls; one in particular. How about you?”

“I’m with you on that!”

And back to study. We had to quit at lunchtime on Thursday to get ready for that night’s gig. We did our make-up and actually got fully dressed in the dorm, then took off our gear and put it on our bags. That way we wouldn’t forget anything. Lisa went to put in the high-cut thong knickers that we both wore dancing. I looked at her and shook my head; she threw them in anyway and I followed suit. They weren’t exactly a weight to carry. We had already sewn small pockets into our skirt waistbands for condoms, like we did in Egypt. We weren’t sure if we would be allowed to use them, Lisa would use a diaphragm just in case.

I was nervous, but excited, the type of excitement that comes from knowing that one is going to do something illicit. Eventually it was time to go and meet the car just off campus. It was there, waiting, a large green Jaguar. The driver scrutinised us in the mirror; doubtless he had picked up a lot of girls in similar circumstances. He dropped us off and we followed our instructions to go to a specific room on the seventh floor. We got our first surprise; this was not the suite itself, it was a security room for the suite. The two close-cropped security men reminded me of the goons in the brothel. They went through our bags, taking care to ostentatiously examine our knickers, condoms and Lisa’s diaphragm box. Then it was our turn: We had to take off our dresses and bras and were given the option of taking off our knickers or being patted. We both opted to take them off. We had to lean our hands against the wall and lift our feet to show that there was nothing taped to the soles of our feet and they even ruffled through our hair to see if we had anything hidden there. Eventually we were allowed to dress and were escorted to the suite itself. A maid answered the door and escorted us to a small room with a table, some chairs, and a hanging rail.

“Assholes!”, Lisa hissed when we were on our own. She was seething at the treatment we had received from the security men.

“We’ve got to get used to this”, I cautioned. “We’re only hookers to them. At least they didn’t get the rubber gloves out! Like you advised me; just stand there and think of England!”

“OK…”, she was calming down…

We got into our dancing gear and waited… the maid came and asked us for the music tape. We heard our music start, volume was adjusted, then a pause. Rewinding the tape… then the intro music started and the maid returned and indicated that it was time to go. This wasn’t ideal, as we had had no opportunity to get our bearings. Oh, well, just get on with it. We followed the maid into a large room with a dining table. Jeremy and his friend had obviously just finished dinner and were having their coffee and brandy. The music was playing, volume was ok, there was plenty of room so on with the show. We had decided to include our non-traditional element in the show; it involved us scooping our hair back over our heads, turning our backs, or rather backsides, towards the audience and doing a rapid hip movement. Nowadays, it would be regarded as a vigorous form of twerking. Turn around, back to traditional movements, music gets rapid, then slows down again. Jeremy and his friend had now turned their chairs out from the table, towards us, both looking pleased with themselves. The friend raised his right hand and waved me in with slow movements of his fingers. I move close, he indicates closer, I’m right in front of him now, still moving with the now sedate music. He indicates closer again, my legs are now either side of his, almost straddling him. My skirt had a long panel down the front with slits either side up to the waist band. It gave plenty of leg exposure when dancing, but hid the vital areas. To get in that close, I had to scoop up the panel and drop it to the side over his legs, like I’d seen the girls doing back in the brothel. I was still reasonably covered from the front and anyway, was almost too close for him to get an eyeful. He slid his hands inside the slits and pulled me in more, fondling my ass. I had not worn the knickers; would have been pointless. The top I was wearing opened at the front, like a little bolero jacket, closed with a bow. He took one hand off my ass and opened to bow, I slid the top down my arms and threw it away on the floor. He pulled me in, kissed both my boobs, then caught my waist and gently pushed me away. I backed off, caught up with the music, and now danced topless. His eyes never left me, I did the coy look bit, catching his eye, and smiling. Lisa joined me, also topless; Jeremy had been looking after her as his friend was stripping me. We did our twerking routine again, back to traditional, vigorous, slow down, all determined by the music. I’m beckoned in again, this time, as I drape my skirt panel over his leg, he catches the waistband of my skirt and pulls me down on him. Time to get down to business, he’s kissing my boobs and I wrap my arms loosely around his head and start to lick his ear. His hands are back under my skirt, wandering around, this time everywhere. Eventually, he takes my hand, pushes me off, gets up, and leads me towards a door. Into a palatial bedroom. I start to undress him, plenty of rubbing his body in the process.

We’re on the bed before I remove my skirt. Partial nudity is often more sexually alluring than being fully naked. He’s lying back on the bed, I’m straddling him. I have taken a condom out of my skirt and go to slip it on him. He shakes his head; we’re going bareback. Halfway through, he pulls me down, rolls on top of me and we finish it off like good missionaries. I slide out of the bed to the bathroom to clean up. As I come back to the bed he’s lying there, just looking at me. I’m still wearing all my jewellery, heavy necklace like a collar with a lot of beads hanging in a “V” between my boobs, matching dangling earrings, rings, belly ring. I’ve left the nipple rings out; too much opportunity to get hurt unless your partner is real careful. I’m conscious of my small boobs and narrow hips, but otherwise I’m feeling really good. I’m enjoying watching him looking at me; it excites me to feel that he wants me. We’ve barely spoken to each other.

He gets out, goes to the bathroom; now my turn to lie in the bed. I don’t get turned on looking at him. I’m just acting, faking it, and hopefully doing a good job of it. He comes out of the bathroom, doesn’t come directly to the bed, goes to a closet, turns around. He’s holding a wrapped narrow red rope in his left hand, about as thick as my little finger. He beckons me over to him; I climb out of the bed, a little nervous, and come to him.

He stands me in front of a large mirror, turns me to look into it, and stands behind me. He raises my arms and puts my hands on top of my head. He brings the doubled-up rope around my body, under my arms, above my boobs. He holds this behind my back, uses his other hand to bring my hands down, one at a time. He brings the rope around me again, this time over the top of my arms. I feel him fiddling with the rope behind my back, then he brings it back around the opposite direction, this time under my boobs. More fiddling at my back, then he brings the rope over one shoulder and under the ropes going above and below by boobs. He loops this around these ropes again and pulls this loop tight, pulling the ropes together and squeezing my boobs. He’s very gentle, I’m relaxing and starting to enjoy this. He brings the rope back up over the opposite shoulder and I feel more fiddling around my back. Then he splits the doubled-up rope , pokes one end under my arm, and loops it around the ropes going above and below my boobs, tightens this loop, again further squeezing my them, and ties off the loose end. He does the same with the other side and stands behind me again. My arms are pinned to my sides above my elbows, free below that. My boobs are being squeezed on either side, not painful, but quite emphasised. My nipples are hard; I’m into this. He reaches around from behind and starts to play with them; I can tell he’s getting ready for Round 2.

He brings me back to the bed, I’m lying on my back, he’s kneeling, my legs are around him, and he keeps massaging me. I’m starting to get noisy again; he seems to like that. He’s taking his time, enjoying seeing me squirm, and eventually he slides down on top of me and brings the matter to a finale. By this stage, I’m almost whimpering… He leaves me on the bed and goes away to clean up again. I’m still tied up, even though my hands are free I cannot reach the knots. He comes out of the bathroom and half lifted me out of the bed. He doesn’t untie me so I wander into the bathroom and use the bidet. I can just about manage to dry myself off., again he’s looking at me as I approach. I turn my back to him, expecting that he’ll untie me, but he just pulls me down on the bed beside him and keeps me tied up for the night. I don’t mind.

I wake before him and slide out of the bed to go to the bathroom. It’s a bit tricky with my arms pinned to my sides, but I manage. I walk back to the bed; I can tell from chinks of light coming in past the curtain that the sun is well up. He wakes up as I climb onto the bed, kneel on it and shuffle over beside him. He steadies me as I climb on top and sit on him, then holds me as I rise a little on my knees to let him get busy…

Eventually it’s time to surface from the bedroom. He unties me and I slip my skirt on. Breakfast has been pre-ordered for 8am, this time for four people. The maids have already been in and Lisa and my discarded tops are missing. I feel a bit self-conscious as I walk across the room, topless, hoping that no one walks in, but I get to our dressing room to find our tops on the hanging rail with our other clothes. Lisa comes in as I’m about to put on my bra and sees the rope marks around my body.

“Ch****, are you OK?”

“Yes, and I have spent the night tied up, before you ask… and it wasn’t rough… and I’m fine”.

We all have breakfast together. Jeremy was talkative, his friend not so much. I don’t think we exchanged more than a few words in all our time together. They both kissed us both goodbye as the car was announced to collect us. Jeremy gave us two envelopes outside the door, patted us both on the ass and said goodbye again. We didn’t speak much in the car; the driver was all ears and we had no intention of giving him an audio show. He dropped us off with a smirk. We dropped our gear off in the dorm and headed for the college restaurant to compare notes. Lisa had had an energetic if conventional night; she was still concerned about the rope marks. Given that I had been tied up for real and for an extended period when I was kidnapped, how come I hadn’t ‘freaked’ when I was tied up again.

“I don’t know; I was nervous at first, but he was very gentle. When I was kidnapped, it was rough, different. Then the men just grabbed and forced me into shackles or whatever. When I was tied with rope just after I was actually grabbed,I could barely move and it really hurt. This was just different and because you and Jeremy were nearby, I didn’t feel threatened.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to practice that with you”. Lisa was imagining new bedroom games.

“Maybe I’ll introduce you to it. Who knows, you might turn out to be a real rope bunny”.

Time for all that later. Now we had to study, then the exams. When the exams were almost over, Jeremy made contact. We met him just outside the campus as we could not afford to take time off from college and he passed us an envelope. Inside was some cash and air tickets; we were to join the SuperYacht in Cannes.