MY INHERITANCE
Chapter 10
San Francisco, Here I Cum
We took a 747 from New York to San Francisco, went directly to the Mark Hopkins
hotel to rest and overcome jet lag. All right, we checked in early to fuck, if
you must know everything. Andy was asleep on the bed, prettier than a
centerfold, as I sat in the arm chair watching her, sipping on a Coke and
thinking about my situation.
While I certainly was enjoying the two women and all the plans and activities
Uncle Bert (as I continued to call my natural father) laid out for me, I was
dissatisfied with my knowledge of how the programming had been done and the
accumulation of information necessary to duplicate the formula.
And, I was missing Mary. I wanted to fuck her and I wanted to fuck her now.
Strange, isn't it? I had just finished fucking every man's wet dream, my cock
still damp with her juices, her fragrance still heavy in my nose. Already, I
was thinking about another woman. Her mother, yet. But, I felt those stirrings
between my legs. I decided not to dwell on the ethical and moral ramifications
of that dilemma. Rather, I decided to call Mary and order her to the coast.
"Bert wants me to stay here, Davy. He wants this time to be just for Andy and
you. I will be here, ready for you when you get back."
"How do you know what Bert wants?"
"He told me before he died. He told me many things, Davy."
"Tell me what he told you."
"I cannot discuss it over the phone, Davy."
"You know you are programmed?"
"Yes. I am not sure how much I know. I mean, I do not think I know everything,
but I know some things, a lot, really."
"I command you to come to San Francisco and tell me your programming."
"I cannot. And, do not come home yet. Do it the way your father wants, Davy."
"You know that, too?"
"Yes, Davy. I do. Please, ask me no more until we are together. I am
programmed not to tell you and I am programmed to obey you. This is creating a
great conflict for me. I...."
"Mary! Relax! It is okay. Forget about this until we return home. "
"Thank you," she said gratefully.
"Now . . . " Our conversation trailed off into mundane matters, but my mind
was spinning. Apparently, the mind control formula was so strong, the subject
could know she was programmed and happily obey anyway. Maybe, it was in the
programming. Once again, I wished Uncle Bert had let me participate in
programming before he died.
"Baby, please come back to bed."
Andy was on her side, her long golden hair modestly covering her breasts, her
top leg crossed to hide her pussy. Her big, blue eyes were sexy and sweet. Who
could tell her no? Not me.
The next morning we contacted Madam Delilah.
While Diana in New York was fetish training, Delilah in San Francisco was
mainline sex: flirting, sucking, fucking, caressing, massage, all the regular
stuff. I was surprised how much fun it was and how much I learned. Andy
learned even more than I did.
Madam Delilah ran a string of ten to fifteen women and five to eight men in a
very high priced call girl (and guy) shop. While Heidi Fleiss in LA was getting
a thousand a night for her girls, Delilah often got three to five thousand for
hers. She assigned us Rebecca. If I did not have Andy and Mary, I would have
pleaded with Rebecca to come be with me permanently.
Rebecca was beautiful. She was about thirty-five, six feet tall in her heels,
34C - 21 - 35 (I asked her), with the longest, most beautiful legs in the world
(sorry, Andy, even better than yours) and a wonderful ass (here you beat her,
Andy). Her face was impeccable: flawless skin, high cheekbones, marvelous lips,
big green eyes huge and bright like emeralds under long black lashes. Her coal
black hair fell to her shoulders.
Most important, Rebecca had a class . . . an air . . . about her. It was an
aura which said, "I am the most perfect woman ever. I am unavailable, but I will
coolly evaluate you, and . . . and, if you are the man who lights my fire, I
will be the wildest, hottest slut whoever lived."
It was that classy, cool, princess-like demeanor with the promise of a hot,
slutty wild woman underneath which made men quiver with desire. I know I
quivered.
Rebecca, Andy and I went to dinner at San Francisco's finest restaurant. Both of
the women wore black, floor length, form fitting cocktail dresses. Andy's dress
had a high, square neck in front and was backless. Rebecca's dress had spaghetti
straps, a deep V to the navel in front and was backless. Both of them were
tastefully adorned in jewelry and makeup. The restaurant had that noisy but
pleasant sound of quality restaurants when we entered. I told the maitre d' to
escort the ladies to our table. I wanted to watch the room when they walked
through it.
Slowly, elegantly, the two ladies floated toward the table, like goddesses
visiting us mortals here on earth. The noise level lowered significantly as they
progressed, heads, male and female, turning to observe them. At several tables,
the women berated their male companions for obviously staring. As they sat, the
room began to return to normal. I joined them. By the time I got there, and it
was not a minute, two different men had sent champagne.
"May I join you ladies?" I asked.
"Certainly," Rebecca said. That woman could have made millions doing voice overs
on commercials.
So, you ask, what did you learn from Rebecca? I learned she had not been
programmed by Uncle Bert. (See! He did screw up once in a while. Where was that
damn formula when I needed it?) I learned there was another woman besides Mary
and Andy in this world who made me hard the entire time I was with her. I was
glad Uncle Bert programmed me. I finally told my prick "down boy" just so I
could sit comfortably.
It was what Andy learned that was important. At eighteen, Andy was a
magnificent diamond but a diamond in the rough. Rebecca polished her by letting
Andy observe her. Andy learned to be a classy but sensual lady. And, Andy
learned more about the subtle feminine art of sexual teasing and flirting from
Rebecca than I could have believed possible. It is an art too few women know.
For example, one night, as part of our training, we met Rebecca at her home,
which was in a high rise condo in an expensive part of town.
"We are going to play a game," she said. "David, Andy, I want you to sit here
(she indicated a love seat which allowed a clear view of her bedroom). I will
be a woman coming home from a date. Do not speak or participate until it is
time. Just watch."
We made ourselves comfortable, sitting side by side, holding hands like two
teenagers in our parent's living room.
Rebecca left the room. In a moment, we heard the front door open and close. We
heard her humming and the sound of the refrigerator opening. Then, the click
clack of her high heels on the hall floor. Entering the room, she casually threw
her wrap on a chair. She walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we
could hear, but not see. We heard the distinct sound of a woman peeing and a
toilet flush. She was setting the stage.
The evening was a long, slow, delicious strip tease, with her acting as though
she were alone, letting us be the voyeurs watching her. Softly humming a
romantic number, she began by observing herself in her mirror, turning, hands
smoothing her dress, a small smile creeping across her lips.
"Not bad," she whispered. It took a long time for her to remove her ear rings.
All the time she was moving seductively, like dancing by herself in rhythm with
the music she hummed. Then, she sat, pulling the skirt up to her thighs to
remove her shoes. She did not just take her shoes off. That woman could remove a
high heel more erotically than most women remove their panties.
Everything was done slowly. An actor will tell you timing is everything. It is
in seduction also. The movements must be natural but slow, arousing but sensual,
allowing the voyeur to build in desire. She started detaching her stockings
from the garter belt she wore, each movement appearing to be only what was
required to undress, but really designed to maximize our arousal. Andy shifted
in her seat. Her eyes were hot. Since I was programmed to act naturally, you
know what I was like.
Rebecca rolled her stockings down her legs, caressing those long, silky, limbs
erotically as she did. Her panties were clearly visible as she moved. She lay
the stockings on her dressing table. The stockings were rolled, reminding me of
a nylon condom for a giant. She stretched and yawned which thrust her breasts
against her dress and made us all think about getting in bed. She patted
barefooted into the kitchen, swaying seductively as she walked. We heard the
refrigerator open.
Rebecca returned with a glass of champagne and a bowl of strawberries. She would
dip a strawberry in the champagne, slowly bring it to her lips to suck the
champagne off and nibble at the berry.
After treating us to a slowly done play of a woman at her dressing table,
suddenly, she stood, quickly unzipped her dress and dropped it to the floor. The
motion was so quick, and smooth, it was a shock to us watching, from both the
change of pace in her activities and the disrobing. Her garter belt was gone in
a flash, leaving her in a bra and very sexy panties.
My heart was thumping. I thought, "Oh, yeah. Now the action heats up!"
But, it did not.
Fifteen minutes later she was still in a bra and panties, sitting at her
dressing table, combing her long hair. The humming and the strawberry-champagne
had continued throughout at a slow and leisurely pace.
She reached behind herself to unfasten her bra. I had been wanting to see her
beautiful breasts since I laid eyes on her and I thought this was it. She
turned her back to us as the bra fluttered to the floor. Immediately, my tension
increased. I wanted to see her tits! She began massaging her breasts. At least,
that is what it looked like from behind her. Andy touched my leg and pointed. I
could see the front of her in the reflection in the mirror.
Oh, this woman was good!
By now, we were going nuts trying to watch both her and her in the mirror. Back
still to us, she stood, slipped off her panties and sat down. It was done so
quickly even the mirror gave me no hint as to what her sweet flower looked like.
Now, naked she looked down at her pussy as if checking it. She stood and looked
at herself in the mirror, our view being of her back and what flashes the mirror
gave us. With that ass and those legs, our view was superb, but it was not
frontal, which is what I wanted.
She moved to the bed, laying down, her right side to us. Her right leg came up,
blocking our view of her sex. Her right hand moved to cup her breast as her left
hand moved between her legs. She started to slowly masturbate. Andy whimpered as
she raised her skirt and slipped her hand in her panties. She was masturbating
along with Rebecca.
Rebecca was moaning, cooing, as she masturbated. The sweat broke out on her
breasts. I could smell the wonderful odor of pussy although I could not tell if
that was Rebecca or Andy (I did not care which). My cock was about to burst and
a tear rolled down my cheek.
After masturbating for some time, letting us all build in desire, Rebecca acted
as if she could not cum. (Andy did not have that problem. I knew she had come
once and was building again). Rebecca was talking to herself, soft, low:
"please, please" as her hand was now flying on her still unseen pussy. Her
nipples were hard as she roughly played with her breasts, squirming on the bed,
a woman in great heat. Suddenly, she looked right at me. A look of amazement
appeared on her face. She shrieked and covered herself with her hands.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?"
She sounded frightened. Silence, as we stared at each other, not even
breathing.
Rebecca groaned. "I don't care who you are. I need a cock in me. Please . . .
fuck me," she whimpered. She turned to face us, lay back and brought her legs
up, open and wide. I was looking directly into that pussy she had hidden from me
all evening. It was plump, lips full, hairless, with honey dew glistening on it
and her upper thighs.
I ruined the trousers on an eight-hundred-dollar suit getting undressed. When I
buried my cock in her, she shrieked and came . . . or, she was really a damn
good actress.
I had programmed myself to act natural. Like any guy, I fought it and then
came, pumping her quivering cunt full of my cum as her legs held me tightly and
she crooned in my ear. As I lay gasping, softening in her, I felt Andy's hands
gently push me away. I plopped out as Andy knelt between Rebecca's legs.
Lying on my side, my cock soft and damp with girl juices mixed with mine, I was
watching a beautiful blonde greedily and happily eat my cum from the freshly
fucked pussy of an equally beautiful brunette. Rebecca's long fingers, with
their pointed and painted nails, were wrapped in Andy's golden hair. I could
hear the slurp of Andy's mouth lapping Rebecca's pussy. I could hear Rebecca's
tender, passionate moans of encouragement. It was absolutely delightful.
Besides the enjoyment though, my mind dredged up the question of whether Andy
was so sex-crazed she would do anything right now, or, liked to eat pussy, or,
was doing it because she was crazy about my cum and wanted all she could get,
or, because she was programmed that way.
That is the bad part about the programming. Motivational questions were always
in the back of my mind. Now, let us not get too high brow and holy with this. I
would rather have it this way, and wonder, than not have it at all.
I never claimed to be a saint. I was no saint as I watched Rebecca come again
as Andy ate her, or, as I fucked Andy doggy style with her face still in
Rebecca's pussy. Or, as I watched Rebecca eat my cum from Andy's pussy. Or, as
I then fucked Rebecca . . . you get the idea. The three of us fell asleep in a
pile, exhausted, sweat soaked and delirious with pleasure.
That was not all Rebecca taught us. Andy was an eager learner and that is what
really turned me on.
Delilah assigned Monica to us the next day. Monica was a physical therapist by
day and high-priced call girl by night. She taught us the art of sensual
massage. Fortunately for me, Andy was athletic which meant her arms, shoulders
and hands were stronger than most women. We both learned to give massages. Andy
said she enjoyed giving me one as much as I enjoyed receiving it. Well, maybe
almost as much.
Then, Delilah took over our training herself. We did game playing:
master-slave, whore- john, teacher-student, and any other thing we wanted.
One night, Delilah and Andy went to a very high-class bar. They were dressed as
you would expect very high-class society women out to be picked up to dress.
They pretended not to know me when I came on to them. Part of this game is that
I was not the only one trying to corral these two beautiful babes. There was a
line forming behind me and the bar had to assign one bartender full time just to
bring them all the free drinks. If they had consumed all those drinks they were
given, they would have died of alcohol poisoning.
One key to the game is that the woman (women, in this case) cannot get carried
away by all the attention from all the men. Part of the game is for the woman to
be sexually aroused by all the attention. But, part is for the man to be
aroused by being the "winner," the super stud selected by such a hot and
desirable woman. I am sure the game is sometimes played other ways by other
couples, but this is the way I wanted Andy and me to do it. And, I knew I would
make damn sure she was programmed to play it my way.
Delilah and Andy tantalized and teased me (and every other single man in the
bar) for two hours before they agreed to go to my hotel room for a threesome.
Even though we all knew how it would end, playing the game was very exciting and
delightful. Again, Andy and another woman did a girl on girl for my enjoyment.
And, I wondered.
One night, Andy dressed as a whore. Not a call girl, a street whore. With that
body, she was a knock out. She wore a black wig over her blonde hair, bright red
lipstick, too much makeup. She chewed gum like only a street whore would do.
She had on a little tank top, a skirt which barely covered her pussy and thigh
high stockings that ended two inches below the skirt. She wore six inch heels.
She was prancing and dancing street side. Then, a car pulled up.
It was a limo with a major movie star in it. I will not say whom but Andy and I
were both impressed.
"How much, honey?" he asked.
"You a cop?" she said, popping her gum. He looked surprised, then angry.
"Everyone knows who I am!" he replied pompously. Andy was shifting her weight
from one foot to her next which thrust her hips back and forth sensuously.
"I don't remember faces, honey," she said, "but, I never forget a cock."
"I will give you five hundred." She laughed at him.
"A thousand!"
I had been watching from the shadows. I stepped out and said, "Two thousand."
Andy gave a slutty wiggle and said, "Come on, boys. This sweet pussy is worth
more than that."
"Three thousand," he said.
"I get that for a blow job," Andy replied.
"Thirty-five hundred," I said.
She laughed and said, "Cheapskate!"
The bidding got to ninety-five hundred. By that time, Andy was wild and I was
getting frustrated.
"Honey," the star said. "I will get you into the movies."
She squealed and jumped up and down. She turned to me. "What can you do for me,
buster?" she said.
"I can love and marry you."
WHAT! I could not believe I said it.
"Don't tease me like that, Davy. That is not part of our game," she said softly.
She had tears in her eyes, making her inch thick mascara start to run.
My brain was whirring. With my natural inclination to non-commitment like all
men my age and the programing from Uncle Bert requiring me to think and analyze
clearly, I realized that if I said it, I really meant it from so deep down, it
was in my soul.
"I am not teasing. Will you marry me?"
She giggled. "Sure, buster, but you have to tell me your name." Then, she
leaped on me, burying me in kisses. The star looked at me in amazement.
"Fellow, that is a high price to pay for a whore."
"Not this one," I replied.
To be continued. . . .
Please! Give me your comments.
