The Virgin
Jo, T-Girl Goddess, Book 2
(Years ago I watched an adult movie which featured the late Camilla De Castro. I found the way she and her partner made love to each other very erotic. She was simply gorgeous and is the inspiration for my character, Jo, T-Girl Goddess!)
Jo chuckled as the man in the sharp business suit looked hastily away when she looked up and caught him staring at her legs, again. Her ‘Rupaul’ legs as men with a history of watching men dressed as women called them, or her ‘Naomi’ legs as the ‘straighter’ ones told her.
Both divas had fabulous legs; Jo didn’t at all mind being compared to some of the best pins in the celebrity world.
She had never seen the man in the bar before. She would have remembered someone who had stuck out like a sore thumb as he did.
If he had accidentally wandered into The Pink Panther Bar thinking, as some people did, that it was a reference to the movie, he wouldn’t have stayed unless he was curious or looking for some action.
Picking up her glass of Shiraz she sauntered over and introduced herself, “Hey, big boy. I’m Jo.”
“Hi Jo. I’m Alan.” The man flushed as he stood up and pulled out the empty chair at his table to seat her. “You’re probably wondering why I was staring at you earlier. You’re so beautiful I couldn’t help myself. Are you a model?”
“No, I’m a stylist. I work for Ebonée at the moment.”
“You know Ebonée! Wow! She’s a great singer, but so underrated because she’s not good looking. She needs a makeov–,” Alan stopped abruptly as he realized his faux pas. “I mean…”
Jo decided to take pity on the floundering man. “I know what you mean. If she looked like Rihanna or Beyoncé, she would sell ten times as many albums.”
“It shouldn’t matter what she looks like,” Alan replied with passion. “It should be about her voice. Things have changed so much in the last ten years. Actresses model, models act, singers act and model…the world has gone crazy.”
“I admire Ebonée for not changing her look,” Jo defended staunchly, even though she’d had dreams of making the singer into a black Lady Gaga when she had first gotten the job as her stylist. She had soon realized that the singer was not comfortable in anything too fussy or stylish.
Jo had reluctantly accepted the singer’s simple, no-nonsense way of dressing, her dreams of her artistry catching the eyes of even bigger celebrities dying an ignoble death.
“In interviews she comes across as such a lovely person.” Alan still seemed to feel the need to make up for nearly putting his foot in his mouth. “She must be a great employer to work for.”
“She’s a sweetheart!” Jo readily confirmed.
Ebonée was polite and considerate of her staff. Wherever she went she introduced Jo as her stylist–which was sweet but not much of a recommendation.
Often, Jo planned a new outfit for the singer, imagining that she’d finally found something that will accentuate Ebonée’s finer points, only to be disappointed when Ebonée put on the outfit and it lost any semblance of style.
Shorter than average, the singer was neither slim nor overweight. She was straight and flat: her waist almost the same measurement as her narrow hips, her breasts and behind both small.
Jo sometimes wondered in amusement if Ebonée realized that her stylist had a cock. The woman undressed in front of her without embarrassment and Jo sometimes found herself getting hard as she watched the singer’s boyish little body. She often wondered what the young woman would do if she bent her over, whipped her girldick out and gave her the ass fucking of her life.
But Jo would never do anything that stupid; she was well paid and the job was essentially a breeze.
And thank God that Ebonée was not a diva. Jo was known to have her diva moments and two divas in the same room would have been asking for trouble.
“You must meet a lot of celebrities.” Alan’s words were more a statement than a question, but they brought Jo’s thoughts back to the present.
“Not many. Ebonée’s more likely to go to a play, or to the ballet or the opera rather than go clubbing on a Saturday night.”
“I read somewhere that she’d already been accepted at Cambridge when she was discovered. I wondered if it was just a publicity stunt.”
“No, it’s true,” Jo confirmed. “She’d planned to study Art History. She’s an art connoisseur. I could learn a lot from her, if I liked that sort of thing. But my parents are both artists and none of their talent rubbed off on me.”
“So what sort of thing do you like?” Alan queried, his grey eyes lighting up behind the lens of his designer glasses as though he fully expected a naughty answer.
“I like fashion–the glamour, the jewellery, the celebrities, all of it.”
“You look like a celebrity yourself,” Alan complimented. “And I’ve never seen such gorgeous legs on anyone before.”
“Alan, have you ever slept with another man?” Jo asked bluntly.
She knew that she passed as a woman to the untrained eye.
Alan seemed a little naïve; he might have thought that he had stumbled across the only straight woman in the gay bar.
Jo was horny.
She had come to pick up someone for the night.
If Alan wasn’t a possible candidate she didn’t want to waste any more time on him.
Though the thought of turning him out was making her even hornier.
“I’ve been curious for a long time,” Alan admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “I came here tonight just to hang out and get the vibe of the place, but once I saw you….”
“You’ve hung out. Now let’s get a taxi to my place and I’ll show you my vibe,” Jo promised with a suggestive wink.
Alan quickly downed his drink and let her lead him by the hand out of the bar.
They were in luck. Fred, one of the taxi drivers who worked exclusively for the bar, was parked in front waiting.
He was a kindly father figure to the younger guys especially, getting them home safely when they had drunk too much or didn’t have the fare home.
A gay basher had killed his youngest son at the age of twenty, prompting Fred to make the welfare of young gay men his number one concern since his retirement two years ago.
He stepped out of the taxi and scrutinized Alan slowly from head to toe, “Son, do you know this man well enough to be going anywhere with him?”
Jo laughed despite herself.
Even though she was wearing a micro mini and four-inch heels, Fred had called her ‘son’.
It was lucky she hadn’t lied to Alan or Fred would have given the game away.
“Fred, meet Alan, my new friend.”
Fred shook Alan’s hand and Jo smiled secretly as she saw Alan wince.
The older man acted as if all strangers were potential killers of young gay men. His silent, ‘I’ve got my beady eye on you’ warning was enough to put them off. If Alan had planned anything shady, he would be rethinking it right about now.
“So where are you boys off to?” Fred stepped back, assured that Alan had received his message loud and clear.
“We’re going to my flat, Fred,” Jo told him. “Step on the gas!”
Fred gave Alan one more flinty-eyed stare before he unlocked the doors and let them into the taxi.
Alan was so unnerved, when Jo tried to kiss him, he hastily checked to see if the driver was watching them.
“Forget about Fred,” Jo instructed, rubbing her hand over the bulge of Alan’s groin. “He’s paying attention to the road, you pay attention to me.”
Alan relaxed a bit and kissed Jo when she tried again, but she sensed that he wasn’t going to loosen up until they got to the privacy of her flat.
“So, what do you do for a living, Alan?” Jo asked, finally peeling her lips off his.
She was so horny she had hoped to have them both primed by the time they got to her flat, but he was too uptight with Fred in such close proximity.
He’d better be worth her restraint!
“I work for the BBC. I’m one of those photographers behind the scenes who no one ever sees.”
“Wow! That must be exciting!”
“It can be. You get used to it after a while. Well, you get used to most of it. I still get star struck when I meet famous people and effected when people are hurt or killed, especially children.”
“I worked as a stylist for GMTV years ago,” Jo told him. “The money was great, but I only lasted three weeks. The early hours cramped my style. I used to party all night, go home, have a shower and get dressed for work without taking even a nap. I would have been dead if I hadn’t quit that job.”
“Is that how you met Ebonée?”
“No. I was doing hair and makeup for a diva called Manda Trent–you might have heard of her–who got through the second round of X-Factor and started acting like she’d won the season. Her voice wasn’t that special, but she knew how to work the crowd. She would have gone further if she hadn’t sung Hero and forgotten that she wasn’t Mariah! Instead of demonstrating her versatility, the song highlighted her lack of it. Simon loved her because she was a real drama queen and great for the ratings. He would have given her another chance if she had chosen a less popular song to massacre. Ebonée debuted Chrysalis on the show that night and I had to do her makeup because her stylist got caught in a traffic jam on the M25. She loved the ‘nude’ look I gave her after she said that she didn’t want anything fussy. Her old stylist apparently had never turned up on time for anything and Ebonée is a rare, always-punctual celebrity. When the woman finally got there almost an hour late, Ebonée fired her and hired me.”
“I’d love to meet her in person.”
From the eagerness in his voice Jo sensed that Alan truly appreciated Ebonée’s prestigious talent.
She would arrange an introduction, she decided, if Alan proved satisfactory in bed.
“She’s in Antigua at the moment writing songs for her next album, staying at some place called Jumby Bay.” Jo opened the buttons of Alan’s jacket and stroked his chest through his soft, high-quality cotton shirt. “She asked me if I wanted to come out with her, all expenses paid. I agreed until she explained that the hotel is some sort of retreat, cut off from the outside world with no phones or TV. Apparently people use it when they are burned out or need to generate fresh ideas. Not my cup of tea, thank you very much!”
“One of our travel reporters spent a week there last year!” Alan replied, and they smiled at each other at the odd coincidence. “She had a great time, she said, but wouldn’t have wanted to spend any longer or would have gone quietly insane. She said it gave her too much time to think.”
“I would have gone crazy in less than a day!” Jo said with a theatrical shudder. “I can’t stand being idle. Oh, here we are!”
As Fred pulled up to the kerb Jo was pleased to see Alan reach for his wallet. There was nothing she hated more than a tight-fisted man, unless he was using that tight fist to jerk her off.
Smiling, she put her hand over his and prevented him opening the wallet. “I’ll get it.”
She intended to get more than her money’s worth out of him later.
It had been ages since she’d gotten her hands on a ‘virgin’.
Alan stood back awkwardly as she went to the front to give Fred two folded £10 notes and a goodnight kiss on the cheek.
Slipping the notes into his top pocket, Fred warned, “Be careful now,” before driving away.
Jo felt her girldick stir as she turned and looked at Alan standing nervously rooted to the same spot he’d stepped out of the taxi onto.
Closing the gap between them, she took his free hand in hers and promised, “Relax, I’m not going to bite you…too hard.”
Alan laughed and tightened his fingers around hers as they strode up to the entry door of the three-storey, six flat building.
Sometimes when she was exhausted, Jo wished that there was a lift to her top floor flat. Tonight she was glad that using the stairs gave Alan a view of her shapely ass as she mounted the steps ahead of him.
She was rather proud of her back view but too few men took the time to fully appreciate it.
They were usually too busy checking out her legs, or her slanting brown eyes, small nose and full lips.
Her features puzzled most people until she explained that although her parents both had Jamaican ancestry, her father was half-Chinese.
Her paternal grandparents were the unusual pairing of a black woman with a Chinese man.
Intrigued by them, Jo had done some research when she was younger and discovered that decades ago, when Chinese men had migrated to the USA for work and there had been fewer women of their own race available, many had married black women.
As much as Jo adored her grandfather, she couldn’t see herself falling for a Chinese man, unless he was well over six feet tall and swung a huge dick.
Jo’s parents were a somewhat unusual pairing, too.
Growing up she’d always thought that if they weren’t married to each other, she would have thought that her father was gay and her mother a lesbian.
Her mother, a sculptor, and an inch shorter than her husband at five foot five, definitely wore the trousers in the relationship. She looked like Grace Jones circa 1985 with cropped hair, high cheekbones and full lips which Jo had inherited. She worked out regularly and had the kind of physique some men would give their eye teeth for.
Jo’s father, a talented landscape artist when not engaged in the battlefield of the corporate world, was slender, handsome and wore his shoulder-length hair in a glossy ponytail.
They had behaved oddly compared to the other parents Jo knew.
Once she had woken up in the middle of the night and found her father sitting on her mother’s lap as they’d watched a late movie on television.
On another occasion, when her father had laughingly protested that he was too tired to go on a quick grocery shopping trip with them after returning home from work, her mother had lifted him bodily and taken him out to the door, telling him that he spent too much time sitting at his desk and needed the exercise.
Jo had skipped along merrily between them on the way to the supermarket, not realizing until she was much older that it had been yet another instance of her parents bending usual gender roles.
They made a striking, unusual-looking couple and had created an equally striking, unusual-looking child.
If Jo had been born a woman she might have graced the covers of top fashion magazines.
She had done some modelling in her late teens, but had been fired after one of the top female models had objected to sharing a dressing room with her at a fashion show.
Jo hadn’t been interested in the models, not really, but so much naked flesh and lovely pert breasts on display had given her strange stirrings in her nether regions.
The top model had spotted Jo’s hardening girldick and had screamed as though she’d thought it was a snake.
Jo was quite sure that the skinny bitch had seen, and likely had, several hard cocks before.
She had probably just been looking for an excuse to get Jo fired.
With her fierce strut, Jo had been vying with the woman to rock some of the designer’s best outfits down the runway.
The poor man had been gutted.
It had been a bold experiment and the audience at the show had responded incredibly well to Jo and her long, sleekly muscular legs and diva strut.
But, since there had also been three under-sixteen models in the same show, the designer had had no choice but to fire Jo and her unruly teenage hormones.
***
“Right, take off your clothes and let me put it on a hanger so they don’t get creased,” Jo instructed Alan as she opened her front door, turned on the light and punched in the security code into the alarm panel almost simultaneously. “I haven’t had a fuck in ages. I don’t want to beat around the bush.”
By the time she had nipped into her bedroom for a wooden suit hanger, Alan had obediently slipped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.
As soon as he had unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them, Jo draped the suit over the hanger and hooked it onto her coat rack.
Sadly, he wasn’t one of those men who looked sexy in shirttails and socks. His pasty legs looked as though they had never seen the sun and were only lightly covered with fine dark hair.
Jo preferred rugged, hairy alpha males.
But, she admitted with a secret smile, every now and then it was nice to get hold of a beta and have her wicked way with him.
She winked at Alan before moving her blow-dried straight hair off her nape and turning for him to unzip her. She could have done it herself, but she liked being unwrapped like a gift.
As the dress slithered to the floor, Alan surprised her by wrapping his right arm around her waist and pulling her back against him as he reached his left down to stroke her already hardening girldick.
“I can’t wait to suck on this,” he groaned, burying his lips against her neck and covering it with tiny love bites as he humped himself against her.
Jo laughed.
He was a rather eager ‘virgin’.
Perhaps he was going to be more fun than she’d anticipated.
“Then why wait?” she asked, turning around to meet his lips as she moved backwards until she felt the edge of the sofa against her calves.
Breaking the kiss, she lowered herself onto the cool leather and pulled Alan down to his knees in front of her.
His eyes darkened to gunmetal as he stroked her through her black man-thongs.
They weren’t as sexy as many of the others in her lingerie collection, but for comfort and dependability they were hard to beat.
Older and less a slave to fashion now than in her youth, she’d acknowledged that she needed to wear something more substantial than a scrap of lace or silk, if she didn’t want to be constantly running to the ladies on a night out, to slip her spilled girldick and balls back into her drawers.
Alan reached under the soft stretch cotton and Jo groaned appreciatively as his warm, slightly calloused hands closed around her girldick.
He brought it out into the open and it reared between them as he let it go to sit back and admire it for a moment.
“You’re so built,” he said as he clasped it once again.
He caught Jo’s gaze briefly before moistening his lips, lowering his head and taking the tip between his lips.
It was only then that he seemed to remember he was still wearing his glasses. As he reached up to take them off, Jo stopped him. “Leave them on, so that you can see what you’re doing. I like the idea of getting head from a guy with glasses.”
Alan quickly wet his lips again and got back to business, taking more than half the length into his mouth.
Jo sat back, propped up on her elbows, and watched him.
This wasn’t going to be a deep-throat session, she accepted, as Alan moved back up to the tip and ran his tongue over the head, but he was doing better than most of her first timers.
“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” she asked as he gently sucked one of her balls into his mouth a minute later.
“I watch a lot of porn,” he admitted as he gave her balls one last lick and then started to wet two fingers in his mouth.
“Lube’s better,” she told him and reached over the armrest for the tube she’d left by the side of the chair when she had herself been watching porn the night before.
Though she’d watched one of her favourite movies, jerking off had been strangely unsatisfying.
Hence the foray to the bar tonight.
Jo tilted herself upwards as he circled her asshole with two now nicely-lubed fingers teasingly before sliding them inside her.
He must watch some quality porn, she thought. He knows exactly what to do.
“You like that tight ass, don’t you?” she asked him as he started to work his fingers in and out of her with great enthusiasm. “I might let you have some of it later, but for now get back to sucking on my girldick. Let’s see if you’ll like your first taste of cum.”
Alan kept his fingers buried inside her as he slowly ran his tongue up the length of her girldick, starting at the base.
She caught his dilated gaze again before he lowered his head and took her into his mouth.
He was seriously enjoying giving her head!
“That’s deep enough for a start,” she warned and cupping his ears to stop him as he made as if to deep throat her. “Wrap your hand around the base so that you don’t take me too deeply.”
She wasn’t into men vomiting over her. Even if she was, if wouldn’t be in her near pristine flat.
Alan obediently slipped his hand around the base of Jo’s girldick and went straight back to heading it.
“You’re very good for novice, though.” She stroked away a lock of dark brown hair that had fallen across his forehead and he looked up and smiled up at her with his eyes. “In a couple of months you will be sucking girldick like a pro.”
Some men had a problem synchronizing the movements of their own bodies.
Alan thankfully wasn’t one of them.
As he kept slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of Jo’s ass as he gave her head, he soon found a rhythm that had her groaning and clutching the cushions.
When she lifted her hips off the chair and started to frantically fuck his mouth, he kept his hand on the base of her girldick to limit the depth of penetration as she’d instructed, but he relaxed and let her have her way.
Seconds later, he got his promised first taste of cum and seem to like it very much, swallowing what he managed to catch and scooping up stray drops with his fingers and licking them off enthusiastically.
“Did I say a couple of months?” Jo asked lifting her head to smile at him. “You’re going to make an excellent girldick sucker in less than a week at this rate.”
Alan flushed with pleasure at her compliment as he stood up and took off his shirt and glasses.
“Now, let me have a look at you,” Jo sat up and hauled him closer.
Even before she pulled his cock through the fly of his boxers, she was groaning inwardly with disappointment.
She had hoped that he would be one of those nerdy, lanky men with thick glasses and thick cocks to their knees.
Having her ass crammed to overflowing with hard cock later would have been a nice bonus.
Oh well, she thought as she took him into her mouth, at least I’ll pluck his ass cherry.
“Fuck! You’re good,” Alan gasped as she expertly slid his cock between her lips and swallowed the tip into her throat.
Jo didn’t stop to thank him for the compliment.
She was already hard thinking about his little virgin asshole.
There was no time to waste on pleasantries.
***
Jo quickly finished off Alan with her fist. Cum tasted different when it came from sexy men.
Well, it did to her.
“Now for my little virgin, are you ready for a little girldick?”
“I’ve tried to imagine what anal sex would feel like.” Alan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his aristocratic-looking nose and looked nervous.
Truthfully, Alan, it’s a bit like having a shit.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jo promised. “Just turn around and give me that ass!”
He obeyed, tilting himself up without having to be told.
If she’d had the time, she would have shaved around his butthole, but she couldn’t be bothered to pause or waste one of the expensive disposable razors she used to shave her armpits on the task.
She would have worn a condom anyway, but it was necessary to slip one on now to avoid a nasty cut by one of the long hairs.
Alan bucked as if impatient as she rolled the protection on and rubbed some lube over it.
“Patience!”
She gave him a sharp slap across his pale buttocks and a red welt instantly marred their snowy whiteness.
The contrast was such a turn on she was almost tempted to continue until she’d reddened the entire surface of both cheeks.
Instead, she resisted and carefully aimed her girldick at his aperture, holding the spare tufts of hair out of the way.
Emmanuel had once told her that the pencil-shaped tip of her girldick was the perfect shape for initiating a virgin.
He was right.
It slipped easily into Alan’s butthole along with a good few inches of shaft before it got stuck.
“Relax for me,” Jo instructed as she held herself still and waited until he obeyed her request before rotating her hips and getting a further half an inch inside him.
She was glad that she had come earlier and taken the edge off.
She was now at leisure to enjoy Alan’s slow initiation into the ass-fucking community.
He wasn’t as tight as he was nervous, repeatedly clenching his asshole and impeding Jo’s progress.
She didn’t want to tear anything and put him off because she was rather enjoying his moans and groans, and was already contemplating another go at his tight ass before she made him breakfast and sent him on his merry way in the morning.
She had decided against letting him fuck her, though.
Later tomorrow, after a long soak surrounded by scented candles and her favourite music, she would get into bed with Big Willy III, her favourite dildo.
It was a monster and aptly named after the owner of The Pink Panther, Emmanuel Foxton, who had given her first taste of big cock, and had hooked her for life.
He had fucked around plenty, but for a while Jo and her best friend Ricki had been his ‘faves’. Then he’d been tamed by Natalie, a pretty transgender woman, sixteen months younger than Jo and his every fantasy come true, and was now totally committed to her.
There were times when Jo felt the need to be filled as deeply and as satisfyingly as she’d been filled by Emmanuel, but the nearest she got now was Big Willy III.
Going to The Pink Panther as she’d done tonight for the first time in a while always brought back memories of those wild months with the bar owner.
Before she’d noticed Alan, she’d been salivating over Emmanuel on the sly, watching his big hands with their long, meaty fingers and the bulge in his tailored trousers that barely hinted at the size he would grow to when aroused.
She didn’t regret a minute spent in his huge, custom-made bed.
He’d been only her second lover and looking back, she sometimes shuddered convulsively when she thought of the monumental risk she’d taken by letting him anywhere near her near-virgin butthole.
Thankfully, Emmanuel had proven to be not only a patient, skilful lover, he had demonstrated a talent for gaining entry into the tightest of holes.
If Alan’s cock had been a smidgen larger, Jo might have closed her eyes and imagined that he was Emmanuel.
But, it would be too wide a gap for her imagination to leap.
The only thing that could mitigate the hunger that had been slowly building inside her all week was Big Willy III.
“Do you want me to stop?” Jo asked Alan, dismissing thoughts of the dildo and focusing on the welt across the man’s small pale ass cheeks, which like his legs didn’t appear to have ever seen the sun.
“No!” Alan quickly protested, as Jo had known he would.
“Then relax and let me fuck you properly,” she ordered. “Or do you want me to ram my girldick down your throat and give you another mouthful of cum?”
“You’re so big, I’m a little worried,” Alan explained.
“If you relax and let me handle this, I’ll have the full length inside you in minutes.” Jo reached for the tube of lubricant and applied several dollops both to the portion of condom outside Alan and onto his tightly-clenching butthole. “Now relax and let me slide right up inside you like a greased pole.”
Spreading her legs she pressed inwards relentlessly, ignoring his protesting muscles and with several shimmies of her hips she was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck! Oh fuck!” Alan moaned as she withdrew and quickly slid back into him.
“I’m sure you thought you’d be fucking my ass when you got here tonight.” Jo laughed with wicked delight as she hammered him with half a dozen quick thrusts. “If you’d asked the regulars at the bar, they would have warned you not to mess with a chick with a dick.”
More than one guy at the bar had called Jo ‘a freak’ because she dressed as a woman but refused to always throw her legs up or lay facedown with her face squashed into a bed or sofa while they plundered her ass.
There were men, like Emmanuel, with whom Jo acted the total woman. She could never fuck him, even if he begged her to. He was just too big and too male.
But there were others who brought out another side of her character and it often surprised them.
“I like you fucking my tight ass,” Alan groaned and tilted himself higher. “It’s probably going to hurt like hell tomorrow, but right now it feels good.”
“You’ll be as good as new,” she promised, pressing her chest against his back and wrapping one arm around him and reaching for his cock with the other. “I was careful to lube you properly. You’ll be able to sit down with only the smallest amount of discomfort to remind you of me fucking your tight ass tonight.”
The last words sent him into a frenzy.
When he’d uttered similar words moments ago, they had been said with a certain relish and Jo had sensed that he’d found them utterly erotic.
Less than a minute later, he was shooting his load, as Jo had anticipated.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked, pulling herself free, still hard as a rock.
“Sorry, I can’t stay,” he said, getting to his feet and beginning to gather his things hurriedly. “I have to be at work at five in the morning.”
“No problem.” Jo knew firsthand that shifts at television studios often began ridiculously early. “Although it will be a shame not to have another go at your tight ass before you leave.”
Alan flushed but didn’t answer as he fumbled for his glasses.
Something in his manner had abruptly changed.
He seemed more nervous than before and eager to be on his way.
Did he think that she was about to declare her undying love or ask him to marry her since she’d deflowered him?
“Let me call you a cab,” she said briskly.
“It’s okay.” He stuffed his socks into one of his pockets and pushed his bare feet into his shoes. “I’ll get a taxi from outside the Tube station.”
“Okay.”
The next minute, he’d left, shirttails hanging over the waist of his trousers, tie askew.
Eh?
Jo stared at the door as if it could somehow give her a clue to his bizarre behaviour and swift departure.
She wasn’t bothered that he’d left; some men had to be literally pushed out the door.
But what the fuck?
***
After Alan had left without so much as a backward glance, Jo had decided that she needed that luxurious bath she’d promised herself and to spend some time contemplating her life.
Her sex life had become a series of disappointing one-night fucks.
She’d been too busy touring with Ebonée to have a relationship, but if she continued at this rate, she’d end up old and alone with a knackered asshole as the only thing left to show that she’d once been a highly-sought after, desirable woman.
She was missing her friend Ricki desperately.
Although Norman had practically kept her a prisoner, she and Jo had still managed to have fun when he had allowed her to visit Jo bi-monthly.
Jo’s return visits to Ricki hadn’t been as enjoyable because they had been forced to stay at home, but they’d still had some fun. Thankfully Norman had never stuck around the penthouse, telling them that they nattered like ‘old biddies’. If not for the bodyguard Norman had assigned to Ricki, they would have sneaked out and gone partying as they always did when Ricki visited Jo.
Ricki’s tidiness, which bordered on the obsessive, had alerted her to the fact the Norman had brought someone over in her absence. Not content with sleeping with Ricki’s man, the woman had used one of Ricki’s favourite scents but had failed to observe the precise positioning of the bottle before she’d picked it up.
The misaligned perfume bottle had caught Ricki’s eye the minute she’d walked into the room.
She had secretly set up cameras all over and had caught Norman with a transgender blonde.
Jo knew that it had hurt Ricki on so many levels.
He had insisted that his attraction to her was a complete anomaly, that her beauty and femininity had drawn him to her against his will.
Ricki had had to stay at home and watch him parade one blonde after the other on his arm at film premieres and other celebrity events. When she’d questioned why blondes, he’d told her that a man in his position was expected to have a bimbo or two on his arm at these events.
She and Norman had enjoyed the most luxurious takeaways in London, but had never been to a high-end restaurant for a romantic meal together. He had claimed that the paparazzi were everywhere and always hounding him. If they snapped a photo of him and Ricki together, they would soon discover who she was.
Jo had persuaded Ricki when she’d had confided her fears that it wasn’t because she was a black woman that Norman kept her hidden away. Jo had genuinely believed that Norman was more desperate to hide his sexuality than anything else and still did.
Strangely, Ricki had never been jealous of Norman’s female lovers. She’d been convinced that she was special and that he would never be attracted to another transgender woman.
The fact that he had not only slept with one but had done practically all the things he’ hadn’t allowed Ricki to do, with a blue-eyed blonde, had tipped Ricki over the edge.
She had wanted to hurt Norman more than she’d wanted the quarter of a million pounds she’d received for selling a copy of the tape to tabloid magazine Got Ya!
But the money had allowed her to hightail it out of the UK and run to Barbados and the waiting arms of Ian McIntosh, her first lover.
She and Ricki had both held their breaths, expecting fireworks from Norman, but the matter had ended with all the explosive power of a damp squid.
Jo had played her part to perfection, convincing Norman that she had no idea of Ricki’s whereabouts, calling his home several times in the first week of her friend’s departure, crying into her mobile when she told him that she was worried sick because Ricki wasn’t answering her calls.
Norman had brushed her off each time, telling her that Ricki was probably playing one of her stupid games and would be back soon.
Jo had then decided to turn things up a notch, becoming stroppy and threatening to send the police around to Norman’s house if he didn’t put Ricki on the phone.
The threat had worked a charm.
Norman had finally admitted that Ricki had left him and he didn’t have a clue of her location.
Jo had breathed a sigh of relief, sure that she’d done enough to stop him from coming after her in retaliation, but she still hadn’t rested easy.
The magazine had failed to break the story, as promised.
After two weeks, unable to bear the suspense, Jo had hacked into Norman’s computer and discovered that the magazine was as unscrupulous as she and Ricki had feared.
But not as ruthless as they could have been–they had kept Ricki’s name completely out of their dealings with Norman.
They’d anonymously sent him a snippet of the footage, claiming that they had hacked into his high-security system and watched him for weeks. They’d said that most of it was boring: Norman fucking some black tranny. They’d said similar stories had been done and that would bore their readers to death. On the other hand, the footage of him being fucked by the busty blonde tranny would be just the ticket. They’d promised to destroy the footage if Norman paid half a million pounds into the Swiss bank account they’d supplied. If he didn’t comply, they’d threatened to sell it to the highest bidder.
Norman and the sender had exchanged emails back and forth, Norman wanting some guarantee that this would be their first and final demand. They had assured him that it would be, although that guarantee wouldn’t have been worth the paper it was on, if printed.
Norman had paid the money and several thousands more to a new company to upgrade his perfectly good security system.
Jo believed that the sender of the mail had deliberately used the derogatory language to throw any suspicion off Ricki.
So, incredibly, Norman had no idea that she had been the one to tape him. He believed that she’d taken the chance to run, as she’d threatened to do for years, when he’d foolishly left her unguarded while he was out of the country.
He’d always taunted if she ever left him he would search the UK until he found her, drag her back by her hair and beat her to a pulp.
That threat had paralyzed Ricki for years, but it turned out to be issued by a toothless rather than a rabid dog. Jo had found no trace of him hiring anyone to find Ricki.
But, still cautious, Ricki was keeping her head down and taking no chances.
And even though Jo had been confident that she’d done enough to convince Norman that she was as desperate as he was to discover Ricki’s whereabouts, she had still walked around for months, expecting to feel some huge, calloused hand clamp itself on her shoulder and to be bundled into a waiting car with heavily-tinted windows the next minute, and find herself between two hulking thugs who would then take her to Norman.
It had been harder to hack into the magazine’s server, but when Jo had finally breached their firewall, she’d found no trace of the file.
She knew that it didn’t mean the magazine had kept their end of the bargain–they may have kept the original pen drive–but she had been able to feel more at ease about Ricki’s safety.
And her own.
If the magazine owners had kept the footage and were foolhardy enough to keep it on a storage medium that could become easily corrupted without creating a backup…all the better.
***
The next evening Jo sat at the bar, her long bare legs scandalously crossed, chatting to Emmanuel as he helped the suddenly overstretched barmen serve demanding customers trying to get in last orders before the end of the happy hour.
At forty-seven, Emmanuel still looked good enough to eat. He had developed a slight paunch now that he didn’t work out as hard or as regularly as he’d done when Jo had first met him, but according to Natalie, his cock was still as lethal as ever.
Jo looked up to him as something of a father figure now.
He’d advised her on savings and investments almost from the time they’d met ten years ago, though she’d rarely taken his advice, wanting to enjoy the money she earned rather than stash it away for some rainy day that might never come.
He had been the one to give her the deposit when developers working in partnership with the government had converted an old primary school into six luxury flats for first-time buyers.
Jo hadn’t particularly wanted to be burdened with a mortgage at twenty-three, but she could have hardly refused when Emmanuel had not only paid the 10% deposit but told her that he would help if she couldn’t meet her monthly mortgage repayments.
Since Jo had been paying a monthly rent of an amount equal to the mortgage at the time, it would have been utter lunacy for her to turn down his offer.
Though he hadn’t insisted on knowing the full facts, Emmanuel had ‘laundered’ the £50,000 which Ricki had gifted to her before flying off to Barbados to be with her first love.
Knowing how easily it could all slip through her fingers, Jo had taken his advice and used half of it to pay off a good chunk of her flexible mortgage and reduce her monthly repayments.
She’d invested £5,000 in the stocks and shares that Emmanuel had recommended, transferred another five to her depleted savings account and paid off the full balance of the credit card on which she had been blithely paying the minimum each month and racking up a ton of interest. The balance owed on the card had consistently hovered close to the £10,000 limit though she had cut the card up well over two years prior.
The rest of the money had been mostly swallowed up by Jo’s £3,500 overdraft, but now, for the first time in years Jo’s current account consistently showed a credit balance.
Emmanuel had praised her for putting the money to such sensible use.
She nearly hadn’t.
After recovering from the shock of Ricki’s gift, Jo had logged on to Selfridges online to ensure that the black Alexander McQueen Dredge Skull Sandals that she wanted were in stock in her size.
She had then noticed another three must-have pairs by the same designer including a pair of ballet pumps for £325.
She had then needed a dress or six to go with the shoes, especially the red V-neck maxi that literally had her name written all over it.
And then thinking that a girl must have handbags to compliment any outfit, she found that she couldn’t choose between five of the eight bags by yes, the same designer.
It was like he made things with her in mind.
She could walk past Prada, Gucci and other such big name, but Alexander’s stuff stopped her dead in her tracks.
She had cried buckets when she heard that he had committed suicide, her first thought being who was going to dress her when she became rich and famous, or won the lottery.
She had placed one last item in the online shopping basket, a dinky gold skull ring that would go fabulously with the skull shoes, and had proceeded to checkout.
Not that she’d intended buying them online, of course–one had to try before one bought–but to have them totalled so she knew a ball park figure.
The total, twelve thousand, four hundred and fifty-five pounds, had brought her back to her senses.
She’d been once again standing on the edge of financial oppression–she could jump and hope that she had wings, or she could step back and be safe.
For so many years she had hoped and prayed for the chance to wipe away her debt and start afresh.
Ricki had given her a once-in-a-lifetime chance…and Jo had realized that she couldn’t waste it
She had dressed, left the house and put it all in Emmanuel’s safe hands.
Jo had always sensed that he still felt a little guilty for dropping her so abruptly when he’d met Natalie, especially since Jo had been almost a virgin before she had started the threesome games with him and Ricki.
She’d never thought of Emmanuel as being hers exclusively since she’d always shared him with Ricki, but she been a little devastated at being dropped.
She still missed him and the thought of her first time with him still gave her goose bumps.
She was now like a daughter to him, but if not for Natalie, Jo wouldn’t be opposed to giving her ‘daddy’ some ass any day of the week.
Or minute of the day for that matter.
“So, how was he?” Emmanuel teased, bringing Jo a fresh Piña Colada as the rush at the bar abated.
“He?” Jo responded, pretending that she had no idea whom Emmanuel meant.
She didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to know everything that went on in his bar.
He had been talking to a Lib Dem MP, a regular at the bar, when Jo had slipped away the previous night. She had tried unsuccessfully to catch his eye to let him know that she was leaving but he’d seemed too engrossed in conversation to notice her.
“Alan,” Emmanuel supplied.
“You know him?” she asked in surprise.
“He’s been here once or twice before.”
“I’ve never seen him before last night.”
“Simone was laughing her head off when you two left together. She said that she hoped he didn’t pretend to be a virgin again.”
“A virgin?” Jo repeated blankly.
“Apparently he’s married and lives in Chelsea. Simone said that she fucked him in the gents right here one night–I, of course, told her off for lowering the tone of my establishment–and was bragging about it with a couple of friends a few weeks later when one of them said that Alan had been fucked by all the transgender men in the bars of Chelsea and Kensington, so now he had to come slumming in the East End.”
“The sneaky bastard!” Jo laughed.
Alan had managed to fool her, though there had been moments when she’d wondered if he was more experienced than he’d pretended to be.
She hadn’t planned on seeing him again. As a one-off he had been fun, but she had been relieved that he hadn’t asked for her number or a repeat ass-fucking because he really wasn’t her type.
But, if she’d suspected that he’d lied, she would have taken the greatest pleasure in ramming her hard girldick into his ass until it was so sore he would beg her to stop.
Perhaps not, she acknowledged ruefully, but she would have definitely fucked him without restraint, knowing that his ‘virginal’ ass had been plundered by several girldicks before hers.
*****
The End
Jo’s next adventure finds her and her friend, Trisha, running for their lives, pursued by a muscle-bound bully who doesn’t appreciate Trisha’s little ‘t-girl’ surprise. After Jo sorts out Trisha’s problem, she decides to fly to Barbados to see Ricki and have some Fun in the Sun!
Jo blinked as she walked out the dimness of Fire nightclub and onto brightly-lit South Lambeth Road.
It was five thirty in the morning and she’d had a blast.
But, the club hadn’t felt quite the same without Ricki.
They had gone to the club together for years, not as often as they would have liked because Norman had kept Ricki on a tight leash, but whenever they had had the chance they had torn the place up, whether it was a house or a gay night.
It was way, way out of the way for two East End girls, but the club, regarded by most as a cult classic, was as addictive as a drug. To avoid being hit upon by anyone else she and Ricki had danced with each other all night and no one seeing them would have believed that they weren’t a couple.
They had behaved outrageously and no doubt several of the men, if they hadn’t been lucky enough to pull someone that night, would have gone home with bursting cocks and pairs of very blue balls.
Since Ricki had left for Barbados several months ago, Jo had felt the need to come back to the club and enjoy its unique atmosphere and music…and hopefully miss Ricki a little less.
It had worked for several hours as she had gyrated among the regulars and had more fun than she’d had in a while.
But moments ago, the DJ had played one of Ricki’s favourite songs and the emptiness inside Jo had threatened to overwhelm her.
Missing Ricki with a sudden, stomach-clenching intensity, she had needed to get away from the noise and the crowd immediately.
It had been better than staying at home, she conceded, as she filled her lungs with the crisp morning air.
She was glad she had made the effort to come, but she would never come again.
Not alone, certainly.
Now tired and hungry, she needed her comfy, king-sized bed and needed it right now.
When she had left home earlier she had intended to leave the club at six in the morning and take the Tube from Vauxhall Station, returning home the way she had come.
She had a valid monthly Zone 1-4 Travelcard in her purse and wouldn’t pay a penny if she went home that way.
A cab from here to her Wanstead flat would cost her nearly £50, including the tip.
Having freed herself from under the burden of debt with Ricki’s generous and totally unexpected £50,000 gift, Jo had vowed never to let herself be trapped again. She hadn’t realized how much having a huge debt had affected her, until she’d paid it off and felt a weight magically lift off her shoulders.
She was trying to be sensible, trying to live within her means and not spend money unnecessarily.
But the idea of sitting in the back of a warm cab, dozing lightly, as the driver took her straight to her front door was so appealing.
Night buses, filled with drunken club goers, wouldn’t be as comfortable, though they wouldn’t cost her anything.
But she would have to change buses at Trafalgar Square and there would be no guarantee that the bus that would take her two corners from her flat would come before she froze to death.
She would be sensible, she decided…but not this morning.
Soon I’ll be home and in my warm bed, she thought blissfully as she lengthened her stride and headed towards the nearest cab office.
Turning the next corner sharply, she narrowly avoided the punch the burly man in a rage threw at his cowering girlfriend.
Hell no!
Jo didn’t even think twice before wading in and kneeing the man in the groin before he realized her intention.
As he went down clutching his pulverized balls, Jo grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and made a dash for the N87 that had stopped at the nearby stop.
The bus was heading in the direction opposite to the one Jo needed, but getting out of the immediate vicinity was her main priority; she would worry about finding her way home once she had put some distance between her and the woman, and the raging man.
She let the woman proceed her into the bus and stood in the doorway, nervously flexing her thigh muscles as the man’s girlfriend rummaged through her small bag.
“Do you need the fare?” she asked the woman helpfully, trying to curb her impatience.
How could the woman possibly have lost anything in such a tiny bag?
“No, I have a Travelcard,” the woman replied, glancing fearfully over her shoulder instead of into her bag.
“If you have a pass, go on then, love,” the kindly bus driver told the woman.
“Thank you.”
Jo touched her Travelcard to the Oyster card reader and threw the driver a grateful, relieved smile as he closed the doors and pulled away from the bus stop.
Just as the woman’s boyfriend managed to get to his feet and started stumbling slowly towards the bus.
He stopped, cupped his crotch and dropped to his knees again when he realized it was moving off….