Entry Three: — the club – Donald recruits Hilda

After we’d been intimate for a few days, I realized there was something Hilda was hiding from me. It was something she considered important, but she never thought about it directly while I was reading her. I got many references to a club, but no more. As I now considered her my friend, I tried to avoid snooping, which included asking leading questions. So I was still a little surprised when she explained it to me.

“Karen, have you ever wanted to totally yield your body to a man?”

“You mean, let him use me any way he wants?”

“Yes. I mean like bend over, present him your crotch and wait to be surprised at what he does next. Maybe he’ll stick his finger in your pussy, maybe his dick up your fanny. Maybe he’ll spank you or nibble on your clit.”

“Or maybe all of the above. Hilda, at some point, I let just about every lover have that kind of freedom. Not giving him such freedom is like not giving myself to him. It might still be sex, but hardly love or even lust to just lie there and say, put your dick in my pussy but don’t do anything else without my permission. As much as I don’t like having my tits pawed before I’m ready, I’d rather go through it than have to tell my lover not to touch them. Many girls might stop at anal sex, but that doesn’t bother me much. Not at all if he takes his time. Sometimes I really even like it a lot. So short of causing me an injury, there isn’t much a lover would want to do to a female that I wouldn’t like. Have you ever done bondage?”

“Yes. That’s sort of what I was leading up to. Ok. How about assuming the position, but for a man who wasn’t yet your lover, maybe a man you didn’t even know? How about allowing yourself to be tied up in various compromising positions and not only not knowing how you’d be used but not even by whom or how many men? But gladly accepting any number of pricks anywhere as long as they promised that at least one man would fuck you?”

“Sounds awful dangerous.”

“It could be. But I believe the health issue is not a problem in the club I go to. I guess I should say, work at, since they pay me. They insist on paying, and I don’t have the income you have, so I don’t mind taking money. I guess that makes me a prostitute. Funny, I’ve always known I was a slut. A girl who doesn’t like sex for the fun of it is a prude, in my book. So I guess I’m proud to be a slut. Getting paid just seems to make me think of myself as sort of sexy. Anyway, I didn’t start doing it for the pay but because it sounded like fun.”

“How’s that again?” In answer Hilda began the following story:

————-> Hilda:

Well, I met this guy. I should have known it wouldn’t amount to a romantic interest. He was much too rich and upper class. The only thing I have is looks. No family, not enough education. And I’m not really smart either. I’m not the type of girl Donald would ever take home to meet his parents. But, though he was wearing an expensive suit, I didn’t clue in on his status immediately. We met at a banquet, where I was helping a friend with arrangements. The lady who ran the place told us that they’d had cancellations and had far too few women coming. She needed some more decorative females to mix in. Francine and I had to change into party dresses, but that was no problem. Frankly I thought the idea sounded like fun. At worst I’d have to put up with some dull conversation. I’ve always thought that the way to not sound dull myself was to look stupendous. Make sure the guys are too busy looking down my dress to notice my lack of inspired conversation.

Any way, I was hardly the only girl falling out of her dress. You couldn’t tell which girls were rich from those there just for decoration. Not by looking anyway. The rich girls seemed to welcome the event as an opportunity to more than let their hair down. When Donald singled me out for several dances, at first I was afraid he’d mistaken me for a socialite. He was a perfect gentleman. I even accepted a date with him to go boating later that night. At the time I should have realized that by being there he was probably a multi-millionaire. He wasn’t there to be decorative like myself!

The “boat” was not the twenty footer tied to the dock that was waiting for us. But even that had a skipper so that we only had to sit in the back and cuddle while the man at the controls took us out to the “boat”. My dad says a boat is, according to the navy, anything that can be put on the deck of a battleship. So a 90 foot PT boat is a boat. I’m sure this was much bigger than that. It had three decks and parallel hallways.

You know, when I go out with a guy, I sort of know I’ll make love to him sooner or later, so I never worry about him raping me. But the second I got in the back of the speed boat, the launch, I’d never felt so helpless.