The man and the young woman were holding hands as they were leisurely walking to the baggage claim area. Many eyes followed them, which was understandable. The man was tall and wide shouldered with just a hint of a distant black relative in his face. Most people would assume him to be about 45 years old, and they would be just one year off. His name was George.
The lady at his side could almost, but not quite, be called petite. She was slim and had the proud bearing of a beauty who is used to admiring glances wherever she went. And a most striking beauty she was, her glossy black hair framing an exotic face with a perpetual slight smile. Her coal black eyes had a trace of almond shape and always seemed to be twinkling in amusement.
When her husband had found her in Hawaii she had told him laughingly that she represented all the immigrants that had come to the Islands in the early days. There was a mix of Hawaiian, Portuguese, Chinese, and even a bit of Dutch coursing through her veins.
Their three-week vacation, I will call it that for the lack of a better word, was at its end. She had taken him along the ‘Romantic Street’ of Germany, strolling through some of these well preserved Middle Age towns. They had even made a long circle walk along the inside of the old wall that had encircled and protected Rothenburg. In the Plaza in front of the Cathedral in Cologne he had marveled at the imposing structure with its skyward stretching twin towers. In Hamburg they ventured to St. Pauli, the official red light district of this harbor city.
They had taken a boat ride on the Rhine river as well as on the Moselle. There they had visited several wineries to sample the superb wines of the region. On their drive through the Black Forest they had stopped to watch wood carvers producing the much coveted Black Forest Cuckoo clock. An exceptional beautiful clock had struck George’s fancy and he bought it as a gift for a special friend he explained to the English speaking proprietor of the business. “I owe this man more than he will ever know,” George added. “Through his unselfish altruism he had made our trip to Germany a reality.”
Jessica had lived in Germany for a number of years after we married and before I emigrated to the US. She loved the old country. Showing it had given her immense pleasure, and he in turn thoroughly enjoyed having a knowledgeable guide. Having a stunning young lady at his side wherever they went was an added bonus.
As they were walking through the airport he turned to her, bent his head to bring his mouth close to her ear, and whispered: “I don’t know how I can ever thank you two people enough. You two have filled me with joy and happiness as I did never believe existed.”
Oblivious to the crowd milling around them they embraced and kissed, still holding on to each other a few more seconds after they broke their kiss.
An older couple seated in the waiting lounge of Gate 38 had watched with a knowing smile. After George released his companion, the wife turned to her husband to remark that this must surely be a couple on their honeymoon, in love to the gills.
She was wrong on all counts. They were not on their honeymoon. They were not husband and wife, and they were not in love with each other. The old couple would have been appalled and shocked had they known the truth.
The truth was that George was Jessica’s pimp. She worked for him as a call girl and prostitute. Even the name Jessica was not her real name, it was her professional name she had selected for herself. Her real name was Liolani. And she was married. She also was madly in love with her husband, – and he in turn was deeply in love with his wife. Without his unwavering love this unique situation could not have come about. You should know this much about the players; now let me tell my story.
After Liolani had started working for George they eventually developed a fondness for each other to the point where George would refer to Jessica as his girlfriend. It was inevitable that I eventually would find out about my wife’s secret. But being a stout believer that a woman should have the right to shape her own life to her liking, I did not intervene. In fact, my sex life had improved. Liolani appeared hornier more often than ever after she had started working for George.
On the fateful evening when I discovered that my wife was working as a prostitute, I happened to sit next to her pimp at the bar and developed a friendship with him. His name was George, and not knowing I was Jessica’s husband, he spilled many details. I heard about George having won a vacation for two to Europe, how much he wanted to take his girlfriend along, and the quandary of getting Jessica’s husband to give his approval. It would mean Jessica’s other life to be divulged.
After I shook their little world by revealing my knowledge of that world, I explained my reason for encouraging Liolani to go on this ‘vacation’. If a man truly loves his wife he should consider her happiness first. And when she is happy it stands to reason he would be also. And so George called me the most altruistic man he had ever met, and our friendship deepened.
The emotions therefore ran high as we three met at the baggage claim carousel. Liolani hugged me and kissed me with an intensity I had never encountered before. George gave me a bear hug and a peck on my cheek. Jessica and George could hardly contain themselves to share their experiences with me, who in turn could hardly wait to hear about their ‘vacation’.
A welcome home dinner was waiting at my home and two chilled bottles of Moselle Spaetlese magically appeared. It was Samantha, George’s nineteen-year old niece who surprised us with Beef Stroganoff, boiled parsley potatoes, cauliflower in a white cream sauce, plus some Chinese lichees for dessert. Samantha was immensely proud of herself, and rightfully so, that everything had come together perfectly. Her Beef Stroganoff was excellent. It was her first Stroganoff and I was impressed again by this young lady. Even her choice of wine impressed me. She obviously had listened when I had been talking about wines in general and German wines in particular.
The four of us retired to the living room after dinner for a glass of after dinner Tawny Port. It was story telling time. Liolani, ever the bubbly conversationalist raced to the front of the conversation with the usual preliminaries, then stopped abruptly and urged George forward, claiming that it was his story, and therefore his to tell. He rendered a day by day account, starting with day one.
“That evening we were absolutely bushed. We fell into bed utterly exhausted, we slept like logs,” he claimed. This was a huge understatement. Sure it was true that they were exhausted, and also true that they fell into bed, and also true that they slept like logs.
But knowing my wife, and knowing George, and knowing how they related to each other, my mind had no trouble filling in the blanks between ‘fell into bed’ and ‘slept like logs’.
The scene flashed before my eyes at once and I saw Jessica and George in a tight embrace that said: FINALLY ALONE. They kissed with tongues outdoing each other as to who could do better. There was no time to gently undress each other. Instead of slow kisses and nibbles along her throat and down the valley between her breasts his mouth hurried to reach her nipple. His tongue lashed out to swipe across it again and again until it was almost painfully hard.
Only then did George open his lips to engulf as much as he could of her pert tit. His right hand had wandered along her spine and finally came to rest on her light ass. Now he could pull her even closer. She wiggled vigorously in an attempt to assist him in this venture. But soon George was eager to undress Jessica and broke the embrace. There was not much to undress. He told her to lift her arms, grabbed the hem of her short dress and with one experienced motion it went up over her head and then landed next to the bed.
Now Jessica went to work. She opened his belt buckle, zipped down his trouser fly and unceremoniously pushed down his pants. She was in a hurry to get at the portion of him with which she had fallen in love. She was so eager that her hands started shaking as she put her thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down to his ankles.
She had hardly freed her object of admiration when she went down on her knees, grabbed his dick in her small hands and guided it to her waiting lips. A short kiss on the tip and then it disappeared in her mouth. She meta morphed into a slut and a whore at that moment and used every trick at her command to hurry him into coming in her mouth. She wanted the edge of his excitement blunted to make him last longer when he finally penetrated her.
After she had succeeded to bring him off he sat down at the edge of the bed to untie his shoes and kick them off. His socks followed the shoes. Now he could finally rid himself of the last two hurdles, his pants and his shorts. By this time he was ready again. His dick was about average size, except wider than most, a feature Jessica cherished, it made her feel filled without stretching. She wanted every pore of her vagina have contact with him.
There was no tender foreplay today, they had no time for preliminaries and he started hammering her as soon as he had entered her fully. Her legs came up and wrapped themselves around his waist as if she was trying to get even more of him into her. Her mewls quickly gave way to shrieks. She was possessed with only one thought, to feel him deep inside her. She bucked under him, trying to meet his thrusts until she finally arched her back and exploded with loud cries of ecstasy. He lasted just long enough to bring her to a second ear shattering climax.
They lay next to each other, holding hands, trying to get their breathing back to normal. After a few minutes George had recovered enough to thank her with little tender kisses all over her body, with caresses in those places that gave her the most enjoyment. His finger tips traced curves and circles on her cheeks, her neck, and her breasts. Then, after a final kiss for the night they drifted off into a deep and well deserved sleep.
My little excursion did not last long; I met up with the two travelers again as George was telling about visiting the Heidelberg castle, about the old Nepomuk bridge.
And the cute little cast monkey at the north end of the bridge. No one had noticed my absence and I again listened to the wonders George had seen. The old church in Craiglingen with the huge intricate altar carvings by Hermann Riemenschneider was one of the highlights, he would never have seen were it not for his knowledgeable guide Jessica.
He finished his story with: “This was just the tip of the iceberg, let’s leave some for later. Now we want to now how the poor lonely deserted husband survived.” Then he added, “at least you got your house cleaned once a week. I am sure you had a wonderful time trying to figure out who stole into your house every Thursday. Well, I will give you the answer to that riddle.
It was my niece Samantha. My Sis came up with the idea to have Samantha do that on the sly every Thursday afternoon while you were at work. And Jessica was part of the conspiracy; she had the extra house key made for Samantha. All of us enjoyed putting one over on you. Sure had you puzzling, I bet, didn’t we?” he asked with a chuckle.
I answered truthfully, that yes, it was a great idea giving me a loneliness puzzle. He didn’t catch that I never said I did not find out. Liolani’s eyes, however, had lit up like a Christmas tree. She had understood my answer and quickly glanced at Samantha to see her reaction. What my wife saw was only a tiny hint of a smile, which was enough for her to know what had happened.
Liolani and George fell into a discussion about something I did not catch because my mind had drifted back to the first Thursday after their departure. I was to leave at four in the morning for a meeting at one of our outlying branches and so took most of the afternoon off. That’s when I surprised Samantha.
She was vacuuming and did not hear me coming in. I stood still just inside the door so as not to scare whoever was cleaning. But when she turned and saw me standing at the door she let out a little shriek. But she had seen pictures of me and recognized my face at once.
She introduced herself and asked me if she could serve me some coffee, or tea, or me, she playfully added. I thought I detected a faint undertone, very, very faint, that the ‘me’ might also be available. I opted for coffee and was treated to the sight of a shapely behind disappearing into the kitchen. Samantha’s graceful movements reminded me of a dancer. I had only a short moment to admire a set of long legs before she was gone.
I collected a few things I would need tomorrow, like my laptop, the digital recorder and some other paraphernalia. When she joined me in the living room with two cups of coffee she seated herself in an easy chair to my right. Again I noticed the sinuous movement of a dancer as she took her place.
“How lonely are you?” she suddenly asked me. Again I thought I detected an unspoken note in her question.
I decided to find out if my intuition was right. “Sure, I am lonely. And thanks for changing that. I guess I will have to close office earlier in the afternoon on Thursdays.”
She giggled and changed the subject. “I want you to know that I greatly admire you. This was a really magnanimous gesture to let your wife accompany Uncle George. Few husbands would consider that, especially under these unusual circumstances.”
“Which unusual circumstances are you taking about,” I wanted to know.
She was quiet for a few seconds. I was sure she was trying to formulate her answer just right. Then she bent forward an inch or two, looked me straight in the eye and said: “It is not often that a woman uses a different name under certain circumstances.”
It was obvious, she knew. But how much, and just which part did she really know? How much was just assumption?? I don’t like half-truths and so decided to tell her the true story. It would be better to hear it from me.
“Why don’t I tell you what happened,” I started. “It will give you a better understanding of the relationships involved in this unlikely triangle.
It was at the Grand Hotel that I accidentally overheard a short exchange of just a few words between a female and a male. She was handing the man her earnings from having turned a trick. I recognized my wife’s voice at once. Wanting to find answers I went to the bar to watch the goings on from there. And there I happened to choose a seat next to your Uncle George who told me about his top girl Jessica. I told him that I would have to leave shortly. We agreed to meet again another afternoon for drinks.
We met again and again and became close friends. I never let on who I was, but he told me about Jessica and how they had met. That they developed great feelings for each other, but not of the marrying kind, he stressed. Eventually they settled on girlfriend and boyfriend.
He also told me about their dilemma regarding the vacation package for two to Germany he had recently won. He so much wanted Jessica to come with him. But how could the husband possibly agree to have his wife share this vacation with George? Anyway, they would have to tell him about Jessica the call girl, and about their relationship.
A few days after he had told me about their problem I decided to cut the Gordian knot. I told Liolani that I knew about her other life; how I had met George and that we had become good friends. I added that I wanted them to go to Europe and enjoy their time together.
After I had told my story I decided to shock Samantha further by telling her how I felt about a woman’s rights to her own life, that her happiness should be my main concern if I truly loved her, plus a few more tidbits of my philosophy.
When I finished she looked at me for a long moment. She then started speaking very slowly at first. “You just rose another 100 points with me if that is possible.” After another long pause she continued at her normal tempo. “A man like you is so rare that a woman will certainly do anything to make him happy.” She paused again and then she almost whispered, “and she doesn’t even have to be married to him.”
There again was this unspoken promise. My mind quickly assessed the situation and told me that here was a young, but mature female; and that at this moment she was just that, ‘female’.
I stood up and moved over to her chair. Standing in front of her I looked down into her eyes. And now I was absolutely sure. Her eyes were shining brightly saying ‘please, please make me yours, I am ready.’ I extended both hands. She seized them without hesitation and stood up. When I released her hands and took her in my arms her hands immediately landed behind my neck even before my lips touched hers. Her body molded itself to mine as perfect as a second skin. We kissed, our tongues dancing with joy.
I led her to my bedroom where I asked her to stand still in the middle of the room so I could step back and admire her. Her black hair hung loosely to her left shoulder exposing her small right ear. The short black simple dress she wore accentuated her slim body.
I could wait no longer. I undressed her in the manner I had learned from George. The unhurried pace of undressing heightened our eagerness to an even higher pitch. After her panties had at last been removed I motioned her to sit on the edge of the bed. Now I could start to free her feet from their shoes, kissing her toes as they became available. She was now shivering, this was not the treatment she had ever received from her prior suitors of her age group.
Her eyes had started to focus again as she kneeled down in front of me. She was surprised when I pulled her up and whispered to her to reserve that treat for dessert. I urged her to lie down on the bed. When she did I stared at her in awe, lasciviously stretched out on the sheets. She had become the Original Eve, ready to surrender herself to the mystery of being loved.
She shuddered uncontrollably as I entered her. Her legs came up to hold me like a vice and at the same time trying to draw me deeper inside her. My dick kept caressing the inside of her pussy for just two minutes or so when she moaned and her feet started to dance a drummer’s dance on my back.
I could feel her pussy starting to constrict as her first climax crashed down on her. She cried out loud enough to let the whole world know what was happening to her. Her back arched and she almost bucked me off as tremors of ecstasy shook her again and again. I stayed still until her last spasm had subsided.
I started again with a slow rhythm to let drift along in the afterglow of her orgasm. But it was not long before her second climax started building. I could feel her tensing as I listened to her squeals. This one was somewhat tamer, only an eight on the Richter scale. After two more shuddering earthquakes I had to stop or there would not be any dessert.
As I rolled off her to calm down a bit before what was to come next she decided to first attack my nipples. She was an expert, I noted, filing this knowledge away for another time. Reluctantly I had to ask her to stop if she wanted to serve dessert. She did so, and then treated me to an amazing performance, interrupted once by her question of how I wanted to finish, in her mouth for her to swallow, or giving her a cream pie.
In the morning she got up when I did and we had a fast breakfast before we both left, she for home, and I for work. But we said good-bye for three or four minutes. During those minutes promises were made.
Coming back from my reverie I found Samantha staring at me. But the stare quickly changed to a smile as she guessed where my thoughts had been.
As I lay awake before drifting off to sleep that night I felt a wave of happiness washing over me, and it occurred to me that the standard issue husband would have felt a terrible loss when finding his wife working as a call girl. Then he would burn up with jealousy while she is away on vacation for three weeks with another male. And finally he would feel guilty for having invited someone else into his bedroom.
But not me. I feel my life enriched in knowing that my loving wife brings happiness to more than one person, that I found a wonderful friend, and that I could share pleasures with a special lady. Yes, life can be a valley of sorrows, or a Paradise on Earth, the choice is yours.
(The next, the last, of the four Jessica stories is titled ‘Jessica Surprises Herself’)
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