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A brothel for women ( part 1)
A brothel for women ( part 1)
Except that it wouldn’t be a brothel, it would be sexual surrogacy and an emotional health clinic run for women to maximise women's experiences, not biological driving forces. It would be legal. I have checked. I have the venue in mind. It is a former country house hotel with spa and beauty facilities. The basic premise would be that women want sex as much as any man, but not in the same way or to satisfy the same drives. Key to the place is role play and lifestyle choices.
On arrival at the clinic, the youngish, unmarried guest comes to reception, passing strutting peacocks and a walled rose garden. Other guests have other tailored receptions. Behind the reception is a feature, water falling down in a wide, thin sheet, in ripples across a huge metallic wall. The clocks are wrong and don’t seem to be moving. At reception there is a tall, severe, older looking man. He looks sternly at the guest.
“Have you permission to be here?” he asks.
The guest must use the following passwords or will not be allowed in.
“My sexuality is my permission”.
He rises soberly to his feet. The guest realises he is naked from the waist down. He has a stiff penis amid grey pubic hair. He calls for an older, maternal looking woman to guide you to your room. There she advises you of the range of experiences on offer. You settle for the massage.
The massage is in a humid, heavy aired space with a wicker platform and many dripping hot plants. There is a little Cuban salsa music tinkling in the background and a faint smell of black women, musk and cigars. You lie face down and remove the white silk gown with decorations of wild orchids on it that the old woman gave you when you prepared and were bathed before hand. You can’t actually see the masseur when face down, but you can see his white trunks, bulge, and muscled legs. You are sure that you will find him gross and unattractive based on his thick legs. He proceeds to soothingly oil and release stresses in you back and shoulders. Instantly you like the man who made you feel this way. You begin to notice that there is more than one pair of hands on you. A woman’s legs are in front of you and you admire her form, from her bikini pants at crutch level down to her fluffy mules. She smells a bit like you. Still no head to see. You are not sure how many there are in the room, one, two or three. You feel a sudden warm and intensely pleasurable experience. Some cling film or something has been put between your but cheeks and a tongue is rimming your ass hole. You are blindfolded with black silk before you are made to turn over. Now naked and moist, you gasp as you feel reptiles on your body. There is a huge snake slithering up your legs, coiling around them, and coldly edging along your shivering torso. You can move your arms and feel a turtle crawling on one breast and nuzzling on you erect nipple. Its little claws pinch a little. In this heightened state two people are sucking on your breast and clit. Two fingers, then three, curl up to the soft wall behind your pubic bone and slowly apply pressure and all the while a thumb is circling your clit. The owner of the three fingers then rotates their wrist 360 degrees to massage every part of your pussy walls. This has never happened before. Your back arches, a pool of sweat sits in the nape of your neck, you let out a long groan and jacknife, convulsing in a squirting orgasm, unlike any you have had before. You don’t know where you are. When you come round there is only the old woman and the old man looking at you indulgently. The woman hugs you and says, “What rooms do you want to visit for the rest of your day here?”