Erotic fiction and short sex stories

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Bar Girl Ch. 08

Chapter 8. 'Meet Miss Ass-fuck.'

The annual cycle. Typhoon Milenyo. Amor meets the Masters of Uranus. Bruno rapes Blen's throat. Blen and Amor's photo-shoot.


In the early days of the following week, a cyclone formed over the Pacific, and moved slowly towards the eastern seaboard of the Philippines. On the rolling news channels the weathermen and girls tracked it, speculating where it would make landfall, and how severe it would be.

Late on Tuesday afternoon, Amor returned to the lady-house having made her first trip to Manila airport to see off a departing lover. She too came with a plastic bag full of gifts, and a roll of 1000p notes stuffed into her bra. Tipping the taxi driver 100p as instructed by Danny, she hurried into the lady-house, out of the rain.

Blen hugged her with genuine warmth, delighted to have her friend back once again, and the house mates gathered around to hear her news.

"He will come for me soon, he will come back at Christmas," Amor told them, breathlessly.

Blen felt an involuntary twinge of jealousy. "Will he marry with you?"

"He does not discuss it yet, but he will talk to me every day." Amor produced from her back pocket a shiny new cell phone. "He have my number, and I have his, and we can call."

To Blen, this sounded familiar. Precious also was a telephone girlfriend to be visited at Christmas, and she wondered whether that might be more convenient for the foreigner than a wife to be welcomed home as an equal and permanent life partner.

The rain continued on Wednesday, and the wind began to gust and drive the rain in under raised umbrellas, making even short journeys outdoors damp and unpleasant.

The Typhoon season profoundly affects the Angeles City hospitality trade. In an annual cycle; beginning in November, when the weather improves and the tourists return, and with the relief of the busy Christmas trade close at hand, understandings are reached between bar managers, from MacArthur Highway all the way up Fields Avenue and Perimeter Road to Friendship Highway, as to the pricing of drinks and bar-fines. New hopefuls enter the bar trade. Closed venues re-open under new names, with new management, the result of a fresh injection of foreign investment, often the retirement savings of the putative Papa-san. There is a flourishing trade in 'Rights', a shell vehicle to operate a bar, sold to naïve Papa-san wannabes, which revert to the shady promoters when business turns down, ready to be marketed again next year. The only 'Right' is the right to underwrite losses, but each year there is a new crop of dupes, hoping to buy the dream.

The wannabes invest in paint and décor, engage a Mama-san and her girls, then open their doors for the Holiday season. They readily agree to fix prices for ladies drinks and bar-fines, and, for the holidays, everyone stiffs the customer. Demand exceeds supply, the stages are stripped of dancers as customers compete to take out their favourite girl, and ladies drinks flow liberally. Christmas passes and the balmy weather continues to attract tourists for several months. But, June comes, and with it the rainy season. Tourism declines. It continues to decline through July and August, when the rain peaks. But, worse is to come. In September and October the typhoons arrive, bringing with them inundations and brownouts. Now tourists are rare.

The bars are supported by the expatriate community, those who know the ropes, the pensioners eking out their pension. Room rates are slashed. Price agreements collapse. The Fields Avenue bars attract most custom, so the satellites up Perimeter Road and beyond cut the cost of bar-fines and ladies drinks. To minimise losses, the cuts are made at the expense of the girls. A customer can negotiate a lower price, but the bar keeps its share and the girl takes the reduction. The best girls gravitate to Fields.

Promotional events are advertised. They compete to be the most raunchy. The more desperate the bar, the raunchier the display. The authorities intervene, some Papa-sans do some jail time while bribes are arranged. Doors close, and are padlocked. Dejected wannabes board flights for home. Rights revert. The promoter looks up the contact details of the new wannabes he cultivated in high season - he gives them a call - he has heard about an opportunity that might interest them.

Daddy Don had learned his trade as a bar manager in the old days; he knew all the important people, and could pull all necessary strings. Mama Mutia had worked in Balibago for twenty-five years, since she was fifteen, the first ten years as dancer - through the Pinatubo irruption - then five years as a supervisor to a Mama-san, where she learned her present trade and met her husband, who financed her to set up in business on her own. For the last decade, she had been a Mama-san in her own right, recruiting and providing a line-up of girls for bars. Still young and active, since her children were away at school she enjoyed the occasional bar-fine and participated in the speciality events that she facilitated as a lucrative sideline. For six years, she had serviced Talent Spot and worked with Daddy Don. They entered upon the low season campaign as well practised veterans. Dirty dancing contests, participation in B.O.W parties and pool parties provided the opportunity to expose their headline girls to the available customer base. Special events, birthday parties, Halloween, any excuse, would be used as a promotional opportunity. It was vital to maintain a reputation as a fun bar through the rainy season.

On 28th September, the 2006 rainy season reached its nadir. Typhoon Milenyo made landfall on the east coast of Luzon, and by ten-am, it was traversing Manila itself. Angeles, 70 km to the north, was swept all day by gusting winds, and inundated by torrential rains, which drummed loudly on corrugated iron roofs. Gutters overflowed, and water spouted from all four corners of every roof. The unmade roads turned into mud or sludge. On open ground, water grew from puddles, to pools, to ponds, to lakes, and eventually formed a boiling surface which covered all level ground. Fast flowing streams rushed down paved inclines, including Fields Avenue. Roofs lifted and blew away. Signs rocked and swayed crazily until they broke free. Poorly rooted trees were ripped out and dropped on their sides. Advertising hoardings rocked, and were slowly collapsed, flattened by the powerful winds. The flotsam of untethered objects, carried by the wind, was deposited, to be washed away by, or eddy on the vast expanse of water.

In the lady-house, the girls closed the jalousies and shut and bolted the door. Cloths were stuffed into the gap under the door to prevent water from being blown in, and anything susceptible to water damage was taken off of the floor. A mop and bucket were ready to mop up seepage. As the rain continued to build on the roof, it found ways in, to drip through the bedroom ceilings. Pots and bowls were found to catch the drips and were frequently emptied. The beds were moved, and covered with plastic bags to protect them. Shortly after eleven-am, the lights and TV flicked abruptly off. A battery radio remained the sole entertainment, and by the light of a petrol lamp, over the sound of the powerful winds scouring and buffeting the lady-house, the girls listened to melodic love songs, interspersed with news of the progress of the typhoon.

At first came the news that President Arroyo, who had been on business in the Clark Economic Zone, was returning to Manila to coordinate the response to the emergency. Later, came the news that her convoy had been unable to negotiate the North Luzon Expressway, one of the finest roads in the country, because of wind born debris, and had returned to Clark.

"Will Talent Spot open today?" asked Precious.

"Talent Spot is open every day," said Anabel, "if you do not go, you do not get pay."

"We will be more comfortable there," suggested Precious.

In mid-afternoon, a group of the girls, covered with plastic bin-bags to protect them from the rain, set off for Talent Spot. With arms linked, and heads bowed, they forced their way forward, the rain stinging their faces when they looked up. Occasionally they would duck in response to a shouted warning, as airborne flotsam flew by.

MacArthur Highway was free of traffic, and water flowed in the roadside cambers, spilling onto the pavement. At the junction with Fields Avenue, the surface water that ran off had started as a rivulet a mile away, up at Friendship, and gathered volume as it rushed down Perimeter Road into Fields Avenue, finally to gush out over MacArthur Highway like a burst water main. The girls were knee deep at times as they crossed, then splashed up through the puddles on the irregular sidewalk of Fields, as the torrent cascaded by in the roadway. No one was about. Some clubs displayed 'Open' signs, tied firmly in place outside, but the doors were closed, and there was no sign of door girls. All other businesses appeared to be closed. They pushed on the door of Talent Spot and it was pulled open a little from inside by the door girls, who hurried them in, before hastily pushing the door shut behind them.

The atmosphere within was very subdued. The standby generator powered the emergency lighting circuit, sound system and the air conditioning system, which was turned down low, but not quite off. Dancers sat about on the stage, and many girls, in their street clothes, sat about the bar. Precious, Blen and the other girls made their way to the changing area to find towels and dry themselves. A radio was tuned to a news channel. After drying as best they could, the girls squatted down, huddled together for warmth, and listened to the radio.

The early reports of deaths and damage were coming in. Manila, a city of fifteen million people, containing one in five of the Philippines population, had taken a direct hit. There had been a brief respite of about an hour as the eye of the cyclone passed across the city, then the battering had resumed. The radio reported that the whole of the Island of Luzon was in brownout; the public electricity supply had totally failed. The weather bureau was speculating that this would be one of the most destructive cyclones the Philippines had experienced.

Milenyo passed over Manila, and made its way west towards Zambales. Angeles remained cloaked in the vortex of dense clouds, but late in the evening the winds began to abate. Two customers did come in towards eleven-pm, determined to barhop despite the typhoon, and told how other bars were faring. Up in some of the small bars on Perimeter Road, lit only by dim oil lamps, and free of the threat of police interference, the girls had taken advantage to engage brazenly with the customers, and were openly giving blow-jobs and being fucked over the tables. For the most part, they found the bars much the same as Talent Spot, the girls reluctantly being whipped into action by Mama-san when the customers entered, then dancing without enthusiasm. They were able to take advantage of the unusually dim lighting to have some in-club fun that would not usually be permissible.

When Blen and the others made their way home, the rain still fell, but the wind had dropped, and the rainwater flowed rather than cascaded in the street. During the night, the lights in the house flicked back on and the TV came back to life as the public electricity supply was restored. The lights and appliances were quickly switched off, and the girls returned to sleep. Next morning, the girls followed the news with great interest. Several hundred Filipinos were dead or missing. The economic loss was estimated in billions of pesos, and Milenyo had achieved a top ten ranking for destructiveness.

The following day, Girlie returned in a taxi, at about four-o'clock. She, like Precious and Amor, had now accompanied a lover to the airport. Girlie had ridden out the typhoon with Belle, in her hotel. The previous day, when Manila airport had closed, Belle had become agitated, fearing her flight might be rescheduled. They had been quite comfortable in the hotel, which had a full power generator, so apart from a blip on the changeover from public supply to generator, power had been maintained, and the kitchen provided hot food, and the bar cold beer. After a lazy evening and night spent making love, and monitoring the TV in the interludes, at six in the morning, two hours earlier than originally arranged, the taxi had picked them up for the airport run. The journey south, on the expressway, was slow. Not all the debris had been cleared, and there were bottlenecks to be negotiated. At times, the raised expressway appeared to be the only visible dry land, as water stretched across the Pampangan plain to the horizon, with only the occasional tree protruding. The congestion, once they hit Manila, was greater than usual. Pools of deep water remained in the streets, further delaying traffic. They had reached the airport at ten, and Belle made her flight.

Girlie then asked the taxi driver to go somewhere to eat, and she had bought him a McDonald's at a mall, then walked around the mall admiring the wares, hoping the street water would meanwhile subside. The return journey was just as slow, as the clear up still continued. It had been a gruelling journey and Girlie was exhausted when she arrived back in the lady-house. Greeting her friends wearily, she immediately excused herself to flop down and get a couple of hours rest before work. Roused at half past six by the others, at seven they were on stage at Talent Spot.

The sun had not broken through the cloud at all that day, the rain had been continuous and a sense of deflation settled over Fields Avenue. Talent Spot was unusually quiet for a Friday night, even a rainy-season Friday night. This suited Girlie, who found it difficult to maintain her energy through her sets, and settled into a seat, eyes closed, between them. When they arrived home, she was first to hit the bed.

On Saturday morning, the grey cloud turned white and the rain let up. By early afternoon, the sun had broken through, and pooled water ebbed away and evaporated. Normality was returning.

Girlie was last up. She slept in until two-pm, but when she came down she was refreshed, and in high spirits.

"Now I feel good," she announced, "I need that long sleep."

"What will happen with Belle?" asked Amor.

"She will come back soon. She will rent a house for me," replied Girlie.

"Did she make you a gift?" asked Blen.

"She give me 10,000 pesos, and a toy."

"What toy is that?"

"It is a vibrator. She take me in Nasty but Nice, and I choose it. When I use it, it is for remembrance of her."

Amor's face brightened with prurient anticipation. "Let us see it."

The girls went back up to the bedroom. Girlie opened her locker, took out her gift, unpacked it, inserted the batteries, switched it on, and it buzzed into life. For half an hour, they played with it, buzzing it against various parts of their bodies, before pressing it, in pretence, against the gussets of their briefs. Eventually the batteries ran down and the fun ceased.

"I will put it on top of my locker. You must buy your own batteries," said Girlie, "and I will call it Belle."

On Saturday, Amor was listless on stage, apprehensive about tomorrow's engagement with The Masters of Uranus. Before they left for home, Mama reminded Amor that she would collect her at midday, and to make sure she was up.

On Sunday morning, Blen rose early and went to mass, to return and sit with Amor and her other bedmates as Amor awaited Mama. At midday, a trike drew up outside and sounded its horn. Amor took a glass of water and swallowed a 'pick-me-up.' Her friends then walked her to the trike, wished her good luck, hugged her, and waved her off as the trike turned into the road. They could now only await her return.

About half-past-seven, between sets, while Blen was sitting with Girlie and Anabel, Mama entered Talent Spot followed by a group of customers, Amor, and some girls they did not know. Seeing her friends, Amor rushed over, her face bright, her smile wide.

Stepping forward in greeting, Blen clutched Amor by her shoulders. "Tell me what happen," she demanded.

"Look," said Amor breathlessly, and turning to the table, she counted out eighteen 1000 peso notes. "That is fourteen guys. It is like a club. And these are some of the guys..." She nodded towards the half dozen guys being shown into seating by Mama. "... and these girls are their regulars..." indicating the girls who accompanied them, "... and, so is ..." she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, "... Mama!"

"Mama?" queried Anabel.

"Mama is one of their regular girls, she does a show."

"What does Mama do?" asked Anabel.

"First," interrupted Blen, "what did you do for your 13,000 pesos?"

"Come with me while I change and I will tell," said Amor, and they went to the changing room and huddled in a confidential circle around her while she put on her costume.

"Well," she began, "first is, we go in the CR. Mama squirt water in our butts, and we relieve ourselves. That is to clean our butts. Then we dress in costumes, Mama has a corset, and long boots right up her legs, and a mask. My costume is just straps, lots of straps, and buckles and a collar for a dog. The guys also have their costume.

"Then there is a pussy show, the girls take things out of their pussy and shoot out balloons from their pussy. Mama give a show. She pick up bottles with her pussy and put a coke tin, and things, in her butt. Then I have a gag in my mouth, and Mama put a dog lead on the collar, and I crawl along, and she take me around the room. Then she tie me over on a chair, my ankles to the back legs and my wrists to the front legs.

"William, the big guy with the long hair and beard - he is really nice - then play with my ass. He slap it and whip it, but it do not hurt. Then he do things to my butt rose to make it open. He rub it, oil it, and lick it, then, he put his finger in. Then, all sorts of things, until I feel it just open. Then he put in a dildo that pump up, and he pump it up until I am stretch wide open. Then he use beads and balls, he push them in and pull them out.

"Then one of them, I do not know who, take my butt-cherry. I do not know who because I cannot see him. That is the end of the show, and then all the guys butt-fuck all the girls. Mama join in too. It is like a party. After I lose my butt-cherry they leave me on the chair so the other guys can enjoy me, they each leave 1000p!"

"Do you hurt?" asked Blen.

"No. William make me relax, then it was easy; but now I am sore, I can feel it is swollen."

"So, did you like it, I mean, in the ass. What is it like?"

"It is not the same, but it is nice. For 1000 pesos I like it," said Amor, in a considered tone, and laughed, "Soon I will be able to pay my credit. And I have another service for my customers."

Amor was now in her costume. Blen could see her backside was bright red and striped.

"And, this is what they give me for my graduation." Amor took a butt plug with a ponytail from her bag. She cocked her hip, turned, slowly pressed the plug into her anus then wagged her tail.

The girls squealed with delight.

"Come, I introduce you."

Amor led her back into the bar. As the two approached the table, side-by-side and holding hands, heads turned towards them. Amor's greeting was a slight variation of their previous routine. "This is Miss Blow-Job; I am Miss Ass-Fuck. Which do you like?"

William invited them to sit up with the group and ordered ladies drinks.

Amor grabbed her tail and held it in view. "I'm just standing, Sir."

William nodded. "I do understand."

Mama took the opportunity to introduce Blen. "This is Blen; you will see her next month. She will be our next cherry-ass girl," and added, "Her cherry-pussy is also available for offers, it is satisfaction guaranteed. All expression of interest is welcome."
Sitting stiffly among the group, was a stony-faced man, wearing metal frame spectacles, with short, neatly trimmed grey hair conventionally parted at the side. He was tall and large, dressed in a white shirt and grey slacks, and wearing sandals over stockinged feet. He looked out of place amongst his raffishly dressed companions.

Lifting his glass of mineral water to his mouth, he took a sip and asked, in an unattractive middle European accent, "How much does the little whore think her cherry is worth?"

Blen face froze, offended at being referred to as "a little whore," as though she was a puta, a street whore, rather than a licensed entertainer.

Mama quickly intervened to lighten the awkward atmosphere which had suddenly descended on the group. "Bruno, this is my freshest and most beautiful flower waiting to be plucked. She is a sweet virgin, not a whore."

"Virgins interest me," said Bruno, "but I have not seen a virgin dressed in this way before ... and what is her name? ... did her friend say, Miss Blow-Job?"

"Blen can dress any way which please you," said Mama, "and her name is just a little joke with her friend. She is cherry-pussy cherry-ass, so, for now, she give only oral service."

"Well tell her to sit with me," said Bruno.

Mama looked imperatively at Blen, who walked round and sat in the seat beside Bruno.

"Open your mouth," were his first directed to her.

He took her chin, tilted her head, peered into her mouth and peeled back her lips.

"You keep your mouth clean?"

It wasn't clear if this was a statement or question.

Blen decided it was a question. "I brush my teeth, and I use my mouthwash after every customer." Indignation tinged her voice.

He reached under her camisole and ran his hand over her small, firm breasts, then addressed Mama, "This girl interests me, but she looks like a slut, I will not pay for a virgin and get a drilled out bar-girl."

"If I can satisfy you she is a virgin, how much will you offer?"

"If you can satisfy me, perhaps 20,000, pussy and ass."

"I already have a good offer for her butt," replied Mama, "you will have to go much higher than that."

"I will not bid for uncertain goods," muttered Bruno.

"Wait, I will be back in just a moment." Mama set off for the rear.

Blen made to dismount from her chair and chase after Mama, but Bruno ordered, "Stay there, I want to inspect you."

She sat back up on the chair.

He was thoughtful. "I can see you in a wedding dress, you would look most charming."

"Do you want to marry me?" Blen's voice rose in surprise.

Bruno laughed harshly. "That would be like marrying a public sewer. No. I mean, when I deflower you, you will bleed until your wedding dress will turn red. You will be a work of art, a ruined whore in a defiled gown. I will enjoy that." His voice was laden with malice.

Blen was confused by Bruno's ambiguous tone. "Do you not like me?"

"You are a slut. I shall enjoy consuming you, like I enjoy consuming my dinner, but my dinner turns into shit, and I will turn you into shit also."

Blen stared at him, tears of rage welling in her eyes, but she dared not speak. This scenario was far from what she had imagined.

At this point, Mama returned with Blen's folder and handed it to Bruno. "Here, these are the witness photos."

He opened it, and perused the contents carefully for several minutes, then glanced at Mama. "So. You own her virginity?"

"That is correct."

"22000 pesos?" Bruno looked quizzical.

"That was my purchase price ... so you must offer a good margin on that."

"And she has assigned to you..." Bruno read from the folder, "... all rights to appoint the time, occasion and means by which my hymen will be breached ..."

"That is the standard agreement."

"I am an artist," Bruno announced, "This agreement opens up all sorts of possibilities."

"Possibilities?" echoed Mama.

"Possibilities for the artistic imagination. There must be many ways to deflower, but, I wonder? What would be a fit way to deflower a slut with a sewer for a mouth?"

"Well, before you let your artistic imagination run away with you, you must first make a bid," said Mama.

"I'll give it careful thought, but for now I'll just avail myself of the slut's oral service."

Mama spoke sternly. "Do not spook the girl with your strange talk." She looked to Blen, "Take him to the booth, and show him what a good girl you are."

"May I keep the folder for the moment?" Bruno asked, and Mama nodded.

Blen led Bruno to the booth, wondering whether he was mad, or weird, or malicious. Her customers came in all varieties, but she did not see their eccentricities. They all had in common, a desperation for a small slice of that joy which she generously supplied to the needy, regardless of age, looks, dress sense or potency. Bruno did not seem to fit into the general currency of customers, and for the first time she entered the booth wishing she did not have to render service.

They sat, and Bruno laid her photos on the table. "If I enjoy you, I will buy your cherry."

Blen paused. "Oh."

"Would you like that?"

"I do not know." She dreaded the thought.

"We shall see. Take off your costume; I want to see your body."

Blen did as she was told.

"Stand up," Bruno directed. "Turn and bend ... show me your ass."

Blen slid her hands down the front of her boots to clasp her ankles whilst peering back round her left knee at him. He peered back, pulling her thong to one side and pulling her ass cheeks apart to inspect her anus, then pressing them together shaping them with his hands and gently pressing with his fingers to test their firmness.

"Good. Now, sit here on the table." He moved her photos to one side.

She perched herself on the table facing him.

Lifting her legs, he then turned her backwards across the table. "Here, hold your legs apart." He wrapped her arms around her legs.

Leaning forward, so his face was no more than two feet from her pubis, he pressed a thumb each side of her pussy and pulled her open, prising apart her labia to expose her hymen. Peering through her knees Blen was relieved to see the anger fade, and his face break into a smile, and she felt her pink parts glisten in welcome at the intruding eyes.

"Very pretty, very pretty indeed." His voice was light and melodic. He looked into her eyes, and flattered she returned his smile.

But, in an instant his face hardened again, his voice harsh and imperious. "You are truly a slut virgin. I shall enjoy destroying your hymen. Now give me a blow-job."

Intimidated, Blen hurriedly slid off, and under the table. With trepidation, she freed Bruno's penis, somehow expecting it to reflect his deformed personality. To her surprise it was normal, a pink and healthy penis, typically rigid with anticipation.

"Now, open your foul sewer, and suck the scum out of me."

Blen took him in her mouth and fixed his eyes with hers, thinking mastery would now shift to her as it had done with all her previous customers.

Bruno gazed back, and wrestled with his instinct to let go, but determined to retain the upper hand. "You have the compelling eyes of a born whore," he growled.

She worked her craft until he approached fulfilment, at which point he grabbed her head. "Now swallow..." He pulled her face hard onto his penis. "... Swallow..." he ordered, "... Swallow."

Blen's nose was pressed into his belly, and she could not breathe. She began to struggle. As she tried to pull back, he pulled her further forward, until the tip of his penis nudged into her throat. "Swallow... " he said, "Swallow, swallow, swallow ... and I'll let you go."

She opened her throat, and the end of his penis entered. She began to choke and coughed convulsively, and tried to pull away, but Bruno pulled her tighter forcing himself further into her throat. He held her there, contorting and convulsing as she struggled to breathe and at the same time expel his penis from her throat. He grunted with contentment as her spasming throat milked his penis, until it in turn spasmed, injecting his come into her. Even when his spasms passed, he continued to hold her, struggling and suffocating, clamped tightly to his groin, in the hope that the exquisite sensations would return.

After half a minute, he gave up hope and let go.

As she pulled her head back, Blen vomited out his penis in a thick froth of saliva and semen, then she threw her head and shoulders back, desperately and noisily sucking in air. Her eyes bulged, her face crimson, with a purple tinge on her lips.

. "You ... fucking ... bastard," she managed, barely able to breathe and speak at the same time. "You ... fucking ... bastard."

She began to sob with rage.

He laughed, ridiculing her protest. "I did enjoy you; you are a good little whore. I shall also enjoy taking your cherry. I will make Mama an offer." The words were dismissive and calculated to torment.

"Fuck you," was all Blen could manage.

"Here..." He placed a 1000p note on the table. "... I show you, I like you."

Blen picked up the note, screwed it into a ball, and threw it at him, spitting her words, "You are ... a fucking asshole ... you will not touch me ... again." Turning, she ran back to the changing room, where she sat and cried with anger and frustration.

This was her first customer who had been in any way abusive, and she did not understand why he wanted to be with her if he did not like her.

While other girls still comforted her, Daddy Don came in. "What do you think you're doing Blen? You've just been rude to a customer. You're not here to drive business away."

"But Daddy he does not like me," she sobbed, "I do not know why he wants to be with me?"

Daddy shrugged. "We don't psychoanalyse here, we just provide service with a smile. Now come and apologise."

"But Daddy..." she began.

"No buts. We're in the hospitality business, the customer is always right, now let's go." His manner was uncompromising, and Blen understood he would not be contradicted.

He led her back to the table. "Now apologise to Bruno."

Tears welled in her swollen red eyes; her voice was flat, and her apology economic. "I am sorry."

Nonetheless, Bruno affected magnanimity. "Your eyes look so pretty now, how could I not forgive you. Now take your tip and we will be friends again." He placed the 1000p note on the table.

She hesitated.

"Pick up your tip and say thank you," said Daddy.

Blen picked up the note. "Thank you." Her voice remained faint, the words forced through her sore throat. She turned and walked briskly off. As she passed the stage, she threw the screwed up note among the dancers, one of whom, recognising the colour before the others understood what had happened, pounced on it.

That evening, Blen with her sore throat, and Amor with her sore bottom, lay on their bed and reflected on the strangeness of foreign men.

"Maybe it is because western women are so strict," ventured Amor, "maybe because they do not show their men love, it all build up inside and they have to imagine."

"Maybe some get angry in their imagination." Blen, was thinking of Bruno. "It is like he try to punish me, but I will give him everything."

"Anyway, for us it is an earning opportunity." Amor adopted Mama's manner of expression. "Already I have a customer tomorrow. His name is Tom. He like my pony tail, so he liked to take me, but my butt is sore, so he paid my advance bar-fine, and he will take me tomorrow."

"What about Danny, will he mind if you have a customer?"

"No. He just ask me to be honest to him, and tell him about my customers."

"Did you tell him about The Masters of Uranus?" asked Blen.

"Yes. He is very interest. He is looking forward to ass-fuck with me now."

"If he loves you, why does it interest him? Does he not feel jealous?"

"No. He like to share my experience with me. It is like phone sex. Then I can do it for both of us," explained Amor.

Blen pondered that for a moment. The love of foreign men did seem strange.

"Do you think Bruno like to hurt me?"

"No, I think he like you very much. Why will he hurt you?" replied Amor.

"He frighten me. Suppose he will buy my cherry."

"Then you will be rich." Amor remained pragmatic.

"But I do not want to lose my cherry with him, I will not enjoy it."

"I did not enjoy to lose my cherry," reminisced Amor. "It was Blueboy. As soon as my ass touch the tree, he pull up the leg of my shorts, and fuck me through the gap. It is like he is doing push ups. He pull out, and cum on my T-shirt, then sit with me and talk about his trouble with his girlfriend. I do not enjoy it, and it do not change my life. Everything is the same as before. No pleasure, no boyfriend, no money. Losing my butt-cherry is so much better. Maybe I did not enjoy it, but I will not remember it with regret. It is fun, in a way, and it free me from my debt. Now I can repay you, and send home money."

"No, do not repay. That is my gift," said Blen, "send your money home."

"And tomorrow we are photo-models," concluded Amor. "One month ago it is impossible in a dream."

On Monday morning, Blen went with Amor, and they were at Hygiene by eleven. Amor, now familiar with the procedure, was out in twenty minutes, and the girls were back at the lady-house by midday. At one there was a call from outside the lady-house. It was their driver, a tall and smartly dressed Filipino in a barong Pilipino and grey trousers, with polished, black, lace up shoes.

"Are you Miss Blen and Miss Amor?"

"Yes, Siir, that is us," said Blen.

"I am Ferdinand, your driver for today. I am to take you to Jordan. Your car is in the street."

He led them out of the courtyard and down the narrow alleyway into the street. There, stood a large, shiny SUV. Ferdinand opened a rear door, and helped the girls into the capacious seats. He closed the door, walked around to the front, got in, leaned over, and showed the girls how to fasten and adjust their seat belts.

"We want you to arrive safely. Are you comfortable?"

Without consideration, they confirmed that they were.

"Is the air-conditioning as you like it? Too much or too little?"

The girls again readily accepted that it was fine. Never before had anyone been so solicitous of their comfort, so they had not developed sensitivity to discomfort.

"Would you like music, do you have a preferred station?"

"Oh, Hot FM. Please, Siir." said Amor.

The driver pulled away, turned up towards, then left onto MacArthur Highway. The traffic moved slowly. For the first time, Blen and Amor passed down the highway in an air-conditioned bubble, comfortably seated, listening to pleasant music, and watching, through tinted glass, the turbulent, hot, dirty and sweaty world pass by, outside. For the first time, they knew what it felt like to be wealthy, and insulated from the hardship of the masses. Journeying down the highway, packed like sardines in a jeepney, they had felt that was something of a luxury. But this was luxury beyond anything they had imagined.

The driver crossed Abacan Bridge, forked left, then turned into an adjacent sub-division weaving his way through the streets, then pulling up outside tall, double gates let into a high wall surrounding a double lot. When he sounded his horn the gates swang open, he drove in and parked under a car-shelter adjacent to the entrance to a three-storied house. Ferdinand got out, came around, and opened the door for Blen and Amor to alight.

The front door of the house opened, and Jordan stood there to welcome them. "Hi Blen. Nice to see you. And great that you could come as well, Amor. It is Amor isn't it?"

Amor confirmed that she was, indeed, Amor.

"Let's just sit down, and have a drink and a chat while we wait for everyone else to be ready," said Jordan, leading them into a large, well appointed sala, "There's a CR through that door if you need it. What would you like to drink?"

Shooters were distributed. Amor slipped into the CR, and washed down a 'pick-me-up' with tap water, then rejoined the group.

The sala was spacious, with several sofas arranged on three sides of a low table, and padded armchairs were distributed strategically around, adjacent to convenience tables. The marbled floor was decorated with colourful rugs, and in the nooks stood, attractive, bush size pot plants. Large, vibrant oil paintings decorated the walls. Blen was awed by the beauty and luxury - more luxurious even than Talent Spot, but brightly lit and spotlessly clean. And, it was for the exclusive occupation of just one family. At home, all her family lived in a dark, low, wooden structure that would cover only one quarter the area of this sala.

"Well, you girls are going to be our princesses, for today," Jordan told them, "If there's anything you want, just ask. We're going to make you look really beautiful, and get some great shots."

Other people began to appear.

"This is Giselle, she will do your make up and costumes," he pointed at one of a pair of billy boys in their thirties, "and this is Candice, she will coach you in modelling."

The two bakla smiled, and gave circular hand waves.

"This is Jerome, he will sort out the lights." He indicated a white guy in his mid twenties. "And these are Arnel and Ray." He waved towards two Filipinos in their early twenties. "They will provide general help."

"We can have a couple more drinks, and you can get to know us all, and when we're all familiar we can start. I'll talk you through what will happen. I have an idea for a few sets, but I'm flexible, so if something is good, we can follow up with it. We will make you look as beautiful as possible, and give you really glamorous costumes. You'll go on set, and I will look through the camera and give instructions. Candice will help you out with the poses, and Jerome will run around getting the light right. Arnel and Ray will move the heavy stuff, and fetch drinks, towels etcetera. Is there anything you would like to ask?"

"What kind of photos do you like, Siir?" asked Blen.

"We like glamorous but sexy. There will be a lot of nudity, a little pink, and a little girl-girl contact, but nothing you wouldn't do in the bar."

"What do you do with these photos, Sir?" Amor wanted to know who would see her

.

"These sets are exclusively for our web site. We run a website called Come2AC.com. It's for people who have been to Angeles, or would like to come here. They pay for their membership, which enables them to access our web site, so we provide them with content they want to see. What they want to see, most of all, are beautiful Filipinas. That's why you're our stars today. You will be our girls of the month. We'll have a couple of hundred photos of you for them to browse. To keep them engaged and coming back, we need to provide variety and interest, so the more imagination we can put into the photos the better. We also sell our videos, like the one we made at Poco Jo's pool party. We've nearly finished editing that, and it'll be on sale soon. If you like, we can put your emails on the galleries, and members who are interested in you can contact you. Maybe they will be a future customer, maybe even a future husband."

"Well, I like a husband, if you can find me a husband," said Blen.

"My boyfriend ask if he can see some photos," said Amor. "Can I have some for him?"

"Sure," said Jordan, "we can arrange that. Do you have his email? We can send him a few photos later."

"Yes, Sir, I have it on my cell phone."

"OK girls, go with Giselle and Candice, and they will get you ready."

The girls were led upstairs by the bakla and shown into a huge bedroom containing a large dressing table with a mirror edged by ball lights, and a large wardrobe with mirror-fronted doors, which Giselle opened to reveal a huge collection of lingerie and costumes - through which she began to search for suitable attire.
"You will need to tone up first," said Candice, "we do not want you drooping in front of the camera. Take off your shirt and shorts and I will take you through some simple exercises."

When the girls had done this, Candice took them through some star jumps, until they were breathless, then some stretching exercises, then some callisthenics. They tensed and relaxed their major muscle groups.

"Stand up straight now. Do your arms and shoulders seem to float? Is there a hook on your head pulling your back straight and your chin up?"

The girls confirmed these sensations. Candice could see their torsos were inflated, and waists drawn in.

"That is how to keep your posture," she advised them, "If you begin to droop, just do a few exercises to bring back your muscle tone.

Now, take a hot shower, let your skin swell, then finish with a cold shower, and give yourselves a good rub with a towel."

The girls went through into the en-suite shower area. Again, the size and luxury astounded them. There were washbasins, and bench seats, and mirrors, and bottles of liquid soaps and scents. Candice allocated them a shower cubicle each, and instructed them how to turn on and adjust the shower.

"These are power showers. You can use the spray head to direct strong jets of water wherever you like, just turn it up hot, and play with it. Use plenty of shampoo on your hair."

The girls enjoyed the pinprick sensation of the hot jets against their skin, and soaped, and rubbed, and jetted the whole of their bodies. Eventually, they doused their hair with shampoo, and lathered it up, then deluged themselves in water from the fixed spray, as hot as they could bear, until they were soap free. Finally, at Candice's biding, they turned the spray to cold, and shrieked as their skin reacted to the rapid change in temperature. When they jumped out of the shower Candice wrapped them in bath sheets, and helped them rub down vigorously. They then towelled the worst of the wet from their hair, and tied it up in the towels.

Candice stood them in front of the mirror. "See how your skin glows ... see ... there are no more seat or clothes marks on your skin. Just do some muscle tensing."

She paused while Blen and Amor went through some of the exercises she had shown them, tensing and relaxing their muscles.

"There, that is how you should look for your shoot, just keep looking in the mirror and make sure you stay like this."

The girls looked at themselves in the mirror. They stood erect, their skin glowing with health, their slender figures drawn up athletically with their teen breasts gently swelling from perfectly formed torsos.

"Now, it is hair and makeup," said Candice, and she led them back into the bedroom.

"Come and sit here," invited Giselle, directing Blen into the chair in front of the dressing table. Amor sat to her left.

"I see you have pubic hair, Blen," said Giselle, "I shall have to ask Jordan what he want done about that. Now, I'm just going to do your hair and make you up." She turned on the mirror lights.

After her eyes adjusted, Blen could see her face illuminated very evenly and brightly in the mirror. She could see slight mottling of her skin, and some small pimples, and every unevenness cast a shadow. It was disconcerting - this was not the reflection she was used to seeing.

"I will make you very friendly to the camera," said Giselle, "you will never look more beautiful".

Giselle set about her work. Blen noticed her skin become even, and the features distinct, her eyes larger and more beguiling. As she worked, Giselle looked over at Amor from time to time. Eventually, she finished Blen's make up and Amor took the seat before the mirror. As Giselle worked her magic on Amor, Blen became aware that she and Amor would have the same face. When Amor's make up was complete, Giselle dried and coiffed her hair. Then Blen's hair was coiffed.

Side by side, in the mirror the two were hard to tell apart, except by the length of their hair.

As Giselle helped them into some clinging, and revealing, lingerie, Jordan came in for a progress check.

"Blen is not shaved," Giselle reported.

"I know. I was thinking of doing some, with and without, shots. We can poll the members on which they prefer. That means we'll have to change back and forth into costumes, so you'll need to keep track of that. We can do the shaving shots in the garden.

"You're looking really lovely girls. Our best yet. Just have one more drink, and we'll be ready to roll."

Arnel brought in a tray of drinks and an ice bowl, and the girls nervously sipped away.

Ten minutes later the party made their way to the ground floor studio. Blen teetered down the stairs in high heeled, shiny, black, plastic boots, tensing her muscles as she went, anxious to project the right image. In the studio, the girls stood before the mirror while Giselle made final adjustments to hair, makeup and costumes, and finally they were ready. Candice led them over to stand before a white background sheet. Jerome moved around adjusting lights and reflectors. At last, they stood there before the camera, looking like twins, dressed only in black corsets with yellow piping, black suspender belts, and black stockings with the high-heeled boots elongating their legs.

"OK. We'll start with some standard shots to loosen up. If you look at the screen at the back of the studio, you'll see what I see through the camera; make sure you see what I'm calling for."

Jordan then began to shoot. Candice conveyed his instructions in Bisaya, and moved in to demonstrate poses, and adjust limbs. Blen and Amor could see their images on the screen. They did look like twins, with the same face, the same height and similar bodies, similarly clad. In contrast to her reflection in the bar, her image on the screen was bright and sharp, and Blen was absorbed by it. She had one ear for Jordan and Candice's instructions, but she posed for her own admiration, seduced by her own appearance.

"Let's have a costume change," called Jordan.

Giselle hurried the girls to one side, and helped them change into something more frilly but less revealing. The backdrop was changed, adjustments made to the lights, and props introduced. When the barefoot girls again appeared before backdrop, they could see an entirely different tableau on the screen. Now, they were fresh faced young girls, rather than sultry vamps. The cycle of posing began again. Blen was really enjoying it. Another costume change, into Christmas wear, and a welter of poses, and the studio shots were completed for the moment.

"Let's get out into the garden. We'll start with the shaving set," said Jordan.

Arnel, Rey and Jerome ran about busily moving props and equipment, Jordan cradled his camera and totted his tripod, Giselle and Candice gathered up costumes and make up boxes. They made their way into the garden, where Jordan selected a spot shaded from direct sun, but which could be illuminated with reflectors. A garden seat was set up and prepared. The girls stripped naked.

"Just stand here and compare your pubes" said Jordan, "point to one another's, and lets have some expressions of curiosity, puzzlement, whatever."

Having established a prelude, Jordan invited Blen to sit in the chair. "The camera needs to see the action, so keep your legs well apart at all times. You won't have a screen to look at here, so keep the camera in mind."

Blen sat in the chair, and laid back. Candice organised her legs as Jordan found his frame.

"Looks good," said Jordan, "bring in Amor."

Blen's legs were spread wide once again, and her pussy was exposed to the view of all. In the background she could see, on the balconies of the house, in one group the housemaids, and in another some foreigners, all paused to watch the proceedings in the garden. Arnel and Rey stood behind the camera, eyes fixed on her, and Jerome knelt a few feet off, intently focusing the warm sunlight onto her pussy, which warmed in response.

Amor was arranged, kneeling before Blen, and the necessary instruments laid out before her on a towel.

"Just pull on a few strands of her pubic hair with your right hand, keep half turned to the left, make a surprised face, a delighted face, a few facial expressions," said Jordan.

So the scene began. Instead of scissors, Amor was provided with an electric razor to shear off Blen's pubic hair. Its friendly buzz tickled Blen, and the delight on her face was captured by the camera. Amor was told to squirt a small amount of gel on Blen's pubis, and massage it into a thin creamy white film, covering all her hairy areas. She then shaved it off, and bathed and dried Blen's groin.

"Use the talcum powder," instructed Jordan, "it'll make for a good contrast. Pull on her pussy lips, and spread them, first."

Amor pulled open Blen's pussy, and pressed her labia back against her groin. She then dusted her vulva with talcum powder, and blew away the excess.

"Now, back where you started, and compare yourselves to one another again," said Jordan, "Looks of satisfaction, and approval please."

Having concluded the shaving scene, they returned to the studio. Blen stood in front of the mirror, and scrutinised the change in her reflection. Her labia stood out like folds of floured pastry on a rolling block. She thought the look very neat and modern, and one which she should keep.

The talcum was quickly cleaned away, and Blen and Amor went through a breathtakingly swift change of the costumes they had worn before, striking just a few poses, selected by Jordan, in each.

"Next we'll use the living room," said Jordan.

Again, the necessaries were quickly relocated. Blen and Amor were costumed in teen clothes, and their hair parted into two bunches. A variety of pastel coloured soft toys were thrown about as props.

"OK. You're a couple of schoolgirls enjoying a little horseplay. You have a little pillow fight, use the soft toys, then you start to pull at one another's clothes. The clothes will come off. Then you take an interest in each other's bodies, then, you get into a little kissing and cuddling. That's the scenario, let's start with the pillow fight," said Jordan.

He gave instructions, and Jerome bustled around with lights. Candice intervened to present the girls to best advantage to the camera. It was the most active scene so far. Soon, tops and knickers were pulled off, and the girls began to inspect, and feel, one another's breasts.

"Now I want you to kiss passionately," instructed Jordan.

Blen and Amor kissed deeply. Though they had known one another since they were two years old, they had never kissed, except in a platonic way. They had never thought of kissing passionately. Blen, however, realised she enjoyed embracing her friend so intimately. She thought of Belle, and the orgasmic experience she had enjoyed with her, and became aroused. In those few moments, she wondered how it would feel that night, when she curled up to sleep with Amor.

"We can move on to a little girl-girl action," said Jordan. "If you lie back Amor, Blen can come in through your legs. Can you just kiss your way down from her waist to her pussy?"

Blen started to kiss at the bottom of Amor's ribs - the moves Belle had taught her, and the excitement, returned, and she slowly went through same sequence, but remaining conscious of the camera, and the need to play to it.

"You're doing fine," said Jordan, "just keep going, do your own thing."

Blen arrived at Amor's pussy. She could smell it, and feel the smoothness of Amor's skin. It was as inviting as Belle's. Blen felt the desire to give Amor pleasure. She firmed her tongue, and entered Amor's vagina, probing and licking, feeling Amor's body heave in positive response. There was now silence, Jordan had ceased giving instructions, but his camera continued to flash and hum. Amor's hips thrust up, and Blen pressed back, tongue on clitoris. Then Amor collapsed back.

"Now nice hug and kiss," said Jordan.

As they hugged, Amor said, "I close my eyes, and it is just like Danny. How did you know to do it?"

"That is what Belle show me," replied Blen.

"I'm sure we're all in the mood for a little more," said Jordan, "let's do the bedroom."

For the bedroom shots, the girls were costumed in basques, and complementary attire.

"We'll continue with the girl-girl theme," Jordan told them, " start off lying on the bed, first cuddling and kissing then, Blen, you will lean over and open the drawer in the bedside table, there's a vibrator in there, take it out show it to Amor, then turn it on, and start to use it."

Candice showed Blen how to operate the vibrator. As she ran it over the back of her hand, the memory of Mama's vibrator playing on her pussy came back to her, and also the delicious fluttering of butterflies in her stomach.

Shooting went well.

Blen leaned over, took out the vibrator, switched it on, and showed it to Amor. First, she applied it to her own breasts, then, she applied it to Amor, starting with her breasts, and working down. She pressed the tip against Amor's clitoris, as Mama had done to her, and she noticed that Amor responded as she had herself.

"Give me a little penetration," called Jordan, "Just slip it in. We'll get a few shots, then, we're finished here."

Candice interpreted into Bisaya for Blen. She slid the squirming vibrator into Amor's vagina. Amor arched with pleasure.

"Tongue on clit," instructed Jordan.

Blen leant forward, and pressed the end of her tongue against Amor's clitoris, moving in small firm circles. Amor writhed. The camera flashed several times.

"Fine, let's do the pool," concluded Jordan.

Outside, the swimming pool, much larger than the one at Poco Jo's, was bathed in sunshine.

"These will be oil and water shots, just group shots," Jordan told them.

Bottles of oil were produced for the girls to rub down. It was heavy, sticky and clear, but pleasantly scented. The girls posed together in various ways, gleaming in the sun, with water spraying over their bodies.

Finally, Jordan said, "Let's do some stack shots. I want to capture your best assets, then, we're finished."

The girls were arranged one on top of the other, Blen sat in Amor's lap with the pair rocked backwards.

"Show me some pink. I want you to open up as wide as possible," instructed Jordan.

Candice conveyed his meaning, and Blen and Amor stretched open their pussies.

"Get some light on Blen's pussy," Jordan directed Jerome, who moved a reflector.

In the strong light, Blen's hymen glinted white against the pinkness of her labia. Jordan took several shots.

"Great. Now the other way up," he said.

The girls were arranged with Blen bent forward, and Amor bent forward over her.

"Now, just pull your ass cheeks apart as far as possible," said Jordan.

The girls did so. In response, Amor's anal rose relaxed, and opened up to gape at the camera. Jordan clicked away.

"That's it. All done," he called, and the shoot was over.

The girls returned to the showers to wash away the oil and make up. They changed back into their own clothes, and emerged from the bedroom, having morphed back once more from princesses into paupers. Jordan scrolled through Amor's cell phone to find Danny's email, and promised he would send him a selection of her best shots.

The girls wished everyone goodbye, and they were ushered back into the SUV. Once again, they traversed MacArthur highway, insulated in luxury, with 1500 pesos each in their pockets, earned for three hours easy work. The SUV turned up Fields Avenue and came to a halt outside Talent Spot. The girls felt very grand as Ferdinand walked round to open the door for them and it thrilled them to dismount from this luxurious vehicle as the door girls looked on. Ferdinand even opened an umbrella to shelter them as they crossed the sidewalk to the door.

"Goodbye ladies," he bade them courteously, and they disappeared inside Talent Spot.

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Sep 15, 2018 in anal

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