A Wooden Heart

When Susan stepped out of her slip Peter remained kneeling in front of her. His thumbs hooked themselves inside the waistband of her panties and slowly forced them down. Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the excitement, but as her thick pubic bush - she hadn't trimmed it recently because she hadn't expected anybody else to see it - began to reveal itself she started to feel dizzy. She placed her hands on Peter's shoulders to retain her balance as she took first one stillettoed foot then the other out of the fine lace.

Peter's face buried itself between her legs and when his tongue began to explore the delicate folds she gasped aloud. Nobody had ever done this to her before. His cunnilingual skills made her realise very quickly what she had been missing all these years. She didn't have long to rue this omission however, as she suddenly found herself lifted up off of the floor in a pair of strong masculine arms.

"Where's the bedroom?"

"Upstairs first right," she nodded in the general direction of the stairs.

The bed was single, but a large one. He lay her down gently on top of the duvet and then removed her shoes. Sitting on the bed next to her he leant in close as he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. When his fingertips made contact with her clitoris she screamed and had her first orgasm by a man -- ever. Prior to this she had only managed it by herself. By the time she had stopped panting, her legs were spread and Peter was using his tongue on her again. She knew her mascara would run, but she couldn't prevent a few teardrops escaping from her eyes.

Almost at the point of coming again, Peter finally relented and stood up. He slowly undressed in front of her. She remained in the position he had left her, with her pink pussy lips forming a gash amongst the curls of her pubic hair, drops of saliva mixed with her juices outlining it.

When Peter pulled his trousers down revealing his erection, her eyes went comically wide. "Oh my..." Her hand went to her mouth muffling any further words. She shook her head in disbelief, surely it wasn't real?

As Peter moved up between her legs, she started to become a little afraid. She had used objects on herself before, in fact quite large ones, but this was bigger still.

Peter's face moved level with hers. She realised that his face was soaked with her own come and the thought of kissing him revolted her. But he held her head still and kissed her anyway, Susan struggled momentarily, but then surrendered herself to the passion. She hardly even noticed as the head of his cock began to push at the entrance to her pussy. He kept nudging gently, gradually moving in a little each time. Most of his length was inside before he started the forceful plunging movement.

Susan came twice more while Peter fucked her. Then later, when she had showered, he brought her to yet another orgasm with his mouth.

*****

Chapter 10

By the time that Peter and Susan got back to the hotel meeting room, Councillor Adams had already left.

"I trust that you have been properly entertained while I was away?" asked Joe.

Councillor Petty was back into her business-like stride by now. "Yes thank you. He's been a marvellous escort and kept me thoroughly amused."

"Good. Well, here's the cheque that I promised. I trust that the figure is adequate? Oh, and I've left the payee blank so that you can fill in the charity of your choice."

"That's very generous of you Mr. Cockcroft. The orphanage will be very grateful I'm sure."

The trio of entertainers made their farewells and departed, explaining that they needed to get back for the evening performance. Peter kissed Susan tenderly on the cheek and smiled at her before he walked away.

"Nice touch that, Peter," said Joe when they emerged from the hotel entrance. "I was right about you. It seems that you have the knack with women. It's a very useful talent that we can put to good effect."

If Peter could read Joe's mind, he would realise that he intended to make use of him to draw in vulnerable and susceptible recently-bereaved women who were anxious to make contact with their loved ones 'on the other side'. His use of the young man as a Gigolo would be an added bonus.

Joe's plans didn't start to come into play until the following week, at their next venue. It sounded so stupidly simple that it couldn't possibly work, but then that was its beauty. The fortune teller would watch out for the victim -- people who are likely to believe in mediums will almost certainly believe in horoscopes. Madame Dumont knew how to gently worm information out of them at the same time as planting ideas in their heads. Peter was the archetypal tall, handsome stranger that they were soon to meet. An accidental collision a little later seemed to prove the veracity of her predictions.

The really clever part was that Madame Dumont had suggested to the punter that she would visit a psychic who would give her some welcome news. This is where Joe came in, as a poster was prominently displayed around the site advertising his talents and giving the date and time of the next sitting.

It didn't always work. But on many occasions the hook was taken and the poor soul was suckered into having a private audience. This was where the money could be made. A little information given on the first occasion encouraged the unwitting divulgence of further information that could be used during a second appointment. The short time that Joe would be available in the area usually panicked people into paying over the odds to hear the news they had been waiting for. It was easy money.

The game of renting out Peter's sexual favours was a little more complicated. Joe never revealed how he made contact with the women who were interested in making use of his 'escort' services, but each evening there seemed to be somebody for the young man to take care of.

Peter was learning all of the time, but not necessarily the things he really wanted to learn about. He understood that humans experienced emotions, but this was still a closed book to him. One afternoon, just after he had been told of his evening's assignation, Jenny casually sidled up to him. "Hello Peter. I wanted to talk to you, but this is the first chance that I've had for a while."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"You," she said simply. "I want to ask you if you're happy, because I don't think you are. Are you aware that Joe is taking advantage of you? Don't you mind?"

It hadn't really occurred to Peter. As far as he was concerned he was helping Joe, pleasing him as he did any other person. But that was the trouble. He had no understanding of the concept of good and bad people. Neither did he comprehend the art of lying. Sure, Joe had been paying him, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to the amount he made from him. Jenny began to explain these facts.

Peter said, "So people tell lies in order to make profit from it?"

"People sometimes tell lies just for the hell of it, or to get themselves out of trouble. Any reason really, it's in our make-up. But you're different. I don't think you've ever lied. You trust everybody to be as honest as you, but they aren't. You need to get away and go back to your father."

"But I wanted to go back having earned enough money for my keep."

"Trust me; it's the best place for you to be. I'm sure that your father will be pleased to see you. You can escape before it's too late, not like me."

"Why not you?"

"It's far too late for me, I'm past saving. Nobody would care about me."

Peter didn't reply. If he had been human maybe he would have made some sympathetic sounds. Perhaps he would even have told her that he cared. But he couldn't. He walked away from Jenny aware that his lack of human emotions had left him unable to understand. He just kept walking. Out of the field in which the Circus and its sideshows were erected, onto the road that led to the town. He kept walking, trying to head in a southerly direction, trusting that he would find his way home eventually.

Naturally, Peter didn't need to rest, but he had to stay off of the motorways, and with roads that wound in every direction, he decided it was easier to sit and wait for the morning. It was while he was sitting in an isolated bus shelter that he was discovered by an inebriated man in is early twenties. He sat down at the other end of the bench and spoke some words. His thick accent combined with the slurring made him almost impossible to understand. The drunk got up, walked around the side of the shelter and threw up, before returning to his seat. "Sorry," he mumbled.

The figure slumped against the wall, unconscious. It was a cold night and Peter realised that it wasn't a good idea for the man to stay here. He could become seriously ill, or even die. The book chronicling Captain Scott's adventures in the Antarctic had been useful knowledge.

He picked the man up and began walking along the road. He had gone some distance before he arrived in a built-up area. From a side road two figures weaved their way towards him. "Roddy! What's up with the bugger mate?" said one.

"He passed out in a bus shelter. I thought that he might lay there undiscovered all night and I was concerned that he might get hypothermia."

They stopped, perhaps understanding that they were witnessing a selfless act in the making. "Bring him this way. We'll get him inside." Peter followed them as the walked along a few streets before trailing them up the pathway of a terraced house. Having passed through the front door, he entered a room with a settee, two chairs, a television and not much else. He carefully deposited the inert form on the sofa.

An opened beer bottle appeared in his hand. "Cheers mate. You've done Roddy a real favour there. Have a seat."

It was interesting listening to the two drunks waffling on. Occasionally they would ask Peter a question, but he managed to give non-committal and entirely forgettable answers. Eventually, they too fell into unconsciousness.

Peter could have left at that point, but something made him stay put. He closed his eyes and listened to the varied snoring sounds as he relaxed.

In the morning, the first one to wake was the original drunk that Peter had carried from the shelter. He stood up and swayed, looked at Peter and opened his mouth to speak. A frown crossed his face and then he shut his mouth again and walked out of the room. A tap could be heard running somewhere. The man came back into the room with a glass of water, stared at him and said, "Who are you?"

"You fell asleep in the bus shelter and I carried you home."

"Oh." The man sat back down, drank is water and then nodded off again.

The three friends all came awake within a couple of minutes -- somewhere around 11 o'clock in the morning. The other two recalled the events of the previous night and explained what had happened to Roddy. The taller of the two introduced himself as Stan and indicated that the other was his brother Danny.

"My name's Peter," he told them.

"So, what were you doing in the bus shelter? There're few enough of them during the day let alone in the middle of the night.

"I've been walking, making my way south, but I needed to stop for the night," Peter explained.

"Well, I guess I should thank you for bringing me back. If I'd stayed there I might not have woken up. There's still a bit of frost out there even now," Roddy said, looking out of the window.

"Do you work?"

Peter replied, "I was working with the Circus, but I decided to leave."

"So, you're looking to earn some money?"

Peter still wanted to return home to his father with some money in his pocket, so he said, "Yes."

Roddy looked at the two brothers, "What do you think?"

"He's a bit taller than Johnny," said Stan. "But he looks a lot like him. Get the passport and let's have a look."

Having never seen a passport before, Peter was quite interested to note that this one bore a picture that looked vaguely like him. The biggest anomaly was the height; the holder was clearly six inches shorter than he.

Roddy cocked his head on one side. "Danny, stand next to him for a moment. Can you... sort of... slump down a bit Pete?"

He relaxed and allowed his shoulders to droop and his knees to remain in a slightly bent attitude.

"It might work, you know. If Pete does that and you wear shoes with heels, you'll look roughly the same height -- which is what the passports say you are."

Peter had noticed that the passport he had looked at bore the name of Harry Merchant and not Johhny something, as he had expected. He waited for the explanation, which Roddy eventually gave him later that day after the trio had discussed the possibility for a long time.

"Look Pete, we've got a way of making some good money really quickly, but our mate Johnny came off of his motorbike two days ago and broke his leg. We need four of us for this job and everything was revolving round him. He was supposed to be the Groom."

"The Groom?"

"Yeah, we're going on a Stag Trip to celebrate his getting married."

"But now he can't go?"

"Right, but you look a bit like him and can use the passport."

"But the passport is in a different name."

"Ah, you noticed that," said Roddy. "All of our passports are in different names. You see, we aren't really going on a Stag Trip. We're going to pick up a little bit of... merchandise and bring it home. We'll make a stack of money and have a fun time into the bargain."

Peter still wasn't quite sure what they were planning, but decided not to ask any more questions about 'the job' itself.

"Are you in?"

"How much money?"

Roddy smiled, "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. It's hard to say just how much we're gonna make, but you can bet that it would be above ten grand a piece."

That was, indeed, a considerable amount of money; fifty times what Peter currently had in his pocket. He agreed to go along with their plan.

*****

Chapter 11

It was the following Friday that the group got on two motorbikes and made their way by road to Newcastle Ferry Port, in time for the 5.30pm departure.

The journey was a long one, arriving in Amsterdam at 10am the next morning. The group had booked a four berth cabin, allowing them sleep in beds when they eventually ran out of steam (and booze).

Bleary eyed and more than a little hung over, they then caught the ultra-fast ferry from Ijmuiden to the heart of Amsterdam City. They weren't due to meet a contact until 4pm the next day, but until then they were determined to party hard. Of course, they had to leave their bikes back at the Ferry Terminal. They couldn't afford to be caught drinking and driving, as the local laws were very, very harsh on offenders.

The four men spent the day walking around and trying out different bars. Inevitably they found themselves wandering around the Oude Kerk area -- better known as the red light district. Three of them were continuously ogling the prostitutes, whilst Peter was busy observing the interesting and historic architecture. Eventually, late that evening the group ended up walking into the (in)famous Casa Rosso on Oudezijds Achterburgwal.

It wasn't cheap to enter, but the non-stop live show was everything they had been told it was. When they walked in, two women were laying in a sixty nine position on the raised stage. Both were using their tongue and a dildo on the other, accompanied by loud moans of pleasure.

Drinks were served at their seats and seemed to come lightening fast when ordered. The stage lights dimmed as the two women left and the audience waited for the next act.

When the lights came back up a handsome couple walked out onto the stage to the sound of some soft music. Both were in their mid twenties and stunningly good-looking. The woman was wearing a silk kimono which she soon shed and then knelt down on all fours facing away from the audience. Her pubic hair had been completely removed, allowing the observers to see clearly the pink gash of her pussy. Her partner knelt beside her and began to massage her buttocks. Gradually he drew the cheeks apart, which in turn began to ease the labia apart.

"Fucking hell," breathed Roddy as the man slid a finger down the entrance to the woman's vagina. He drew it backwards and forwards a few times, revealing in the light that she was already very moist. A finger disappeared between the folds and she emitted a long moan. The digit moved in and out repeatedly for a while, then withdrew and traced its way back up between the cheeks. It started to tickle around the woman's anus, before probing deeper using coating of pussy juice to lubricate its passage. While the finger began a fucking motion the other hand returned to her pussy.

After some minutes of this manual stimulation another woman walked onto the stage and placed a large vibrator by the man's knees. He removed his fingers from his partner and picked up the dildo. He switched it on and it emitted and soft buzzing sound. When he touched the plastic to her clitoris, her head flew up and her back arched. The noises she made left nobody in any doubt that she had just achieved an orgasm.

The imitation phallus moved back to the vagina's entrance and the lips seemed to almost open up to suck the device in. He gradually slid the entire eight inch length into her. With a small movement of his hand, the male performer switched the vibrator to a higher setting. She came again.

His teasing of the pussy was over and he moved the head an inch higher to her rectum. A sharp intake of breath was shared by the woman and the audience alike as her partner slid in the entire length in one go. The third climax was reached soon after.

The vibrator was put to one side as the woman, turned her body through ninety degrees and sat back on her haunches. The man stood in front of her and untied the silk belt of his kimono. As the garment fell to the ground the men in the audience almost all thought or muttered something like, "Fuck me!" Whereas, almost all of the women thought, "Oh, fuck me! Please!"

Standing at just over six feet, the performer had a magnificently toned and tanned body. What caused the remarks was the size of his penis; not yet erect, it looked to be twice average length and the thickness wasn't far short of the same ratio. The woman reached out and began to rub the massive cock into life with her right hand. Her left hand started to massage his large testicle sac.

When fully aroused, the penis reached up past his navel. His partner drew the shaft down and bent her head towards it. Most of the audience thought she wouldn't even be able to get the head into her mouth, but they were amazed as the purple dome disappeared between the red lips. She managed to get quite a good amount into her mouth, but then stopped and withdrew it. She stood up and bent at the waist, then opened her mouth again. In this position she was able to keep her mouth and throat in a straight line. The people roared their approval with whistles and applause as she managed to take the entire length into her throat.

She wasn't able to take all of the cock into her pussy -- only about two thirds -- but she opened her arse to take him all. When he was close to coming he withdrew from the woman. She reacted by lying in front of him with her legs wide apart as he rubbed his dick. The spurts began to erupt from the tip, spraying her from face to pussy and back again. The volume of come seemed to match the size of his equipment.

Not long after the show had finished, the 'bachelor party' agreed that they needed to go and get some action themselves and headed off to find some prostitutes. They'd been warned not to go near the German Bridge and made their way to a more reputable area that they had been told of. Finding a brothel, they went in and made payment. They were then invited to select their partner, who would escort them to a private room.