The Gift of Girls Read Free Page B

casino having my bum spanked I felt totally and wantonly alive.
    I arched my back and pushed out my breasts. I cupped the back of Sandy’s head and pushed his face into the wet gash of my open pussy. I sighed as the lips of my labia parted and his tongue wormed its way between my legs.
    Sister Benedict had always implied that I had the potential to be wicked, and being wicked, I realised, was liberating. All through my life I had been imprisoned by views and opinions that didn’t belong to me. I was a gymnast. I was a bird. I wanted to be free. I wanted to fly. I had sat through a million exams and now I was in a strange room with a strange man holding the cheeks of my bottom and lapping at my pussy.
    It was so unlike me, so depraved and intimate I would never be able to tell anyone, not even Melissa, who claimed to have done it all by the time she was fourteen. But I was sure she had never done this, never stood boldly naked with a man’s long tongue like a key opening the secrets between her legs, her breasts on fire, her reflection captured in the dark face of the television screen. I was an intern at Roche-Marshall in the City of London and soon I would know
the system
.
    A moment of doubt pricked my mind: I remembered reading in a book by Jean Rhys or Anaïs Nin that a girl should always make sure she is paid before the act, not after. But Sandy Cunningham seemed an honourable type and I was too absorbed to do anything but enjoy the feeling of my own warm juices turning sticky on my thighs, the sharp jolts of pleasure as contractions zipped like electricity through my tummy. I was remotely aware that my sense of shame and embarrassment made the sensation more intense, more thrilling. I was a bad girl, and being bad after always trying to be good was liberating.
    I had an inkling that every woman fantasises about having sex with a stranger, about being taken by accident, by chance, as a prostitute, and then taking the money to perform the service. There is something logical in it all. Why else would prostitution be the oldest profession? Was it really so terrible, so shameful? What is our role, after all, I wondered? What are we supposed to do with this life? I was born with certain assets: I was good at figures and, ironically, I had become a figure, a long slender figure 8, the sign of infinity.
    I took a firmer grip on Sandy’s head and he pumped his tongue like a piston in and out, in and out. I could feel something fiery and mysterious moving through me, something the girls at school talked about like they talked about ghosts when the lights in the dorm were turned off, though, like ghosts, few girls had actually ever seen one, felt its touch. My ghost was coming now and, at that moment, the worst possible moment, he let go of my bottom and just stopped. He stood up. I sighed and, like a deflated balloon, all the air went out of me as he scooped me into his arms and tossed me quite roughly on the bed.
    ‘Was that all right?’ he said, and shamefully I nodded.
    He removed his crumpled suit, his blue polo shirt and his boxer shorts. Only as I gazed at his cock did I realise that I had never actually studied a man’s penis before. Boys always act as if they are late for a train. They whip your knickers down, push up inside you, and just as it’s beginning to feel nice, that’s it, they shoot their milky sperm inside you, or over your stomach, and then go all soft and silly.
    Thank heavens for the pill, I thought, as Sandy Cunningham slid across the bed and pushed his hard cock inside me. I was so wet, there was no pain, no awkwardness, just a feeling of mild relief, a feeling that I had done the right thing. I wanted to learn the system and buying that privilege with the only currency available to me was the sensible thing to do. I thought for a moment of Sister Benedict and forced the image out of my brain.
    My legs rose automatically and I locked them around Sandy’s back, urging him deeper and deeper inside