Virgin Whore
Virgin Whore
An Erotic Tale from Hawaii
By Thomas Henry
Text Copyright © 2012 Thomas Henry
Cover Image Copyright © Shutterstock
All Rights Reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Characters and events are imaginary or are portrayed fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, organizations, events or places is coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are at least 18 years old.
This story is erotica for sale to adults only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language that may be offensive to some readers.
Virgin Whore
I pulled over to the curb, flicked off my lights, and killed the engine, letting my car coast to a stop without stepping on the brakes. I was trying to attract as little attention as possible. I glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching me from the darkness. In the daytime, this back street in Kapalama usually bustled. But now, nearly midnight, it seemed deserted. Sparse lighting. No noise. No traffic. Only a couple of cars and trucks parked in the shadows. I chose this place over the others advertised in the PennySaver because of its seclusion. Most of these “relaxation spas” were in the Keeaumoku Street area. Lots of light. Lots of traffic. Lots of people wandering around. Too much risk of being seen by someone who knew me. Here, I wasn’t concerned about being recognized, but I was a bit nervous about the possibility that the police might have this place staked out.
The building was dark and inconspicuous. Concrete block construction, two stories, narrow and deep, with a glass office door in front and roll-up warehouse doors at ground level on the side. Above the warehouse doors, the second floor windows were black.
I couldn’t see a business name or sign on the building, but I was pretty sure it was the right place. The address matched the newspaper ad. Faint light radiated from the office door. A plastic “OPEN” sign was taped to the inside of the glass.
I sat motionless in the car, moving only my eyes as I scanned my surroundings through the windshield and in my mirrors. I wondered if the police were watching me from the darkness. Were they recording my license number, checking to see who I was? I didn’t see anyone, so I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. I was momentarily lightheaded. Probably the effect of the two drinks I had tossed down at the bar where I stopped on my way over here.
I closed the car door gently. It didn’t latch. I pressed hard against it with my thigh until the click of the latch broke the silence of the street. I locked the door with the key, but opted not to set the alarm so that it wouldn’t chirp and flash the lights.
I forced myself to maintain a normal pace and tried to appear nonchalant as I sauntered up to the front door of the building. I looked through the glass and saw an unoccupied desk straight ahead and a shoji partition to the right. The overhead fluorescent lights were off, but soft, flickering light emanated from behind the partition. It gave the place a cozy feel.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. A fluffy little white dog came bounding from behind the screen. It wagged its stubby tail and sniffed at my shoes as I closed the door behind me. A middle-aged Korean woman appeared from behind the partition. She wore bold, black eyeliner, a long, dark skirt, and a tight white T-shirt that barely concealed her heavy breasts. I could see the dark circles of her areolas through the thin fabric. As she ambled toward me, her pacifier-like nipples traced crazy patterns in the taught fabric. She smiled and nodded toward the dog. “Usually she bark at stranger. She like you.”
I leaned over and let the dog sniff the back of my hand. She seemed friendly, so I stroked her head a couple of times. “Cute little dog.”
The woman’s smile widened, sparkling gold. “She my baby. She keep me company.”
The woman walked toward the unoccupied desk. I followed, glancing behind the partition as I passed it. I saw two sofas facing each other, a floor lamp, and a television playing softly. A young Asian woman was lying on one of the sofas, hugging herself as she slept, her arms hiding her breasts. She had streaks of bright red in her long black hair. Her nails and lips were painted black. Five small gold rings pierced her ear. She wore a skin-tight purple knit dress that had ridden up enough to reveal a spider tattoo high on her inner thigh…and a clit ring. I wondered if she would be the one to “relax” me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. She was reasonably attractive, but I didn’t care much for the strange hair and make-up. And she seemed awfully young to be working in a place like this. I tried not to think about the possibility that she was being forced to work here against her will.
The other woman paused at the desk, still smiling at me. “You come here before?”
“No, first time.”
“First time?” Her smile faded. She looked into my eyes. “What kind job you do?”
“I’m an accountant,” I said. She looked confused, so I said, “I’m a CPA.”
“CPA? Oh…taxes!”
“Uh-huh.” In fact, I wasn’t a tax accountant, but I figured I’d be wasting my time trying to explain the difference.
“You no look like taxes. You look like police man.”
“No, no…I’m really a CPA,” I said. I wondered what it was that always made them think that I looked like a cop. Perhaps my styled hair and fresh clothing.
I looked around. The carpet and paint looked and smelled new. This place hadn’t been open very long. I had a nagging feeling that it might be some kind of sting operation. “Nice place,” I said. “Are you the owner?”
“Oh, no. I only working here. I only receptionist,” she said.
I wondered if she was lying, just in case I turned out to be a cop. But I didn’t care whether or not she was the owner. I was just making conversation, trying to get a sense of the legitimacy of the place.
“You sure you not police man?” she asked, still looking into my eyes, but now with a bit of a frown.
“I’m sure I’m not a policeman.”
She took my right hand, studied it and ran her fingers over my calluses. “You look like police man.”
“Well, I’m not. How can I convince you?”
She squeezed my hand and pressed it against her fleshy breast. She took a deep breath, smiled again, and held out her other hand, palm up. “Forty dollar, please.”
I handed her a fifty. She found a ten in the desk drawer and gave it to me. “Follow me, please,” she said.
She led me across the room and up a flight of stairs. I followed a couple of steps behind her, taking the opportunity to appraise her from behind. She had no waistline and a flat ass. Her long skirt hid her legs. But even from behind, I was mesmerized by her swaying breasts. I wondered if they were natural. In my experience, naturally large breasts weren’t all that unusual among Korean women. But it really didn’t matter if they were natural or enhanced; the effect was the same either way. I wondered if she were going to take care of me herself. That would have been ok with me. I love a woman with big, sagging, swaying tits. I had a vision of her leaning over me, dragging them across my chest. Then I saw her on her hands and knees, breasts swinging freely, surging back and forth as I took her from behind. I blinked and shook my head to clear the vision from my mind.
The little dog bounded up the stairs ahead of us and was waiting, tail wagging, tongue lolling, when we reached the top. Down a short hallway, the woman opened a door and invited me into a small, dimly-lit bedroom. The scent of new carpet and fresh paint lent an air of cleanliness. A clock-radio crooned an old Johnny Mathis song from a small night stand where a table lamp with a red bulb provided the room’s faint illumination. A white bath towel was spread out over the sheet in the middle of a twin bed, and several more folded towels were stacked on one corner. A box of tissue and a bottle of baby oil sat on a corner of the night stand. A robe hung on the wall between a full-length mirror and an air conditioner.
“Too cold?” the woman asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Take off clothes. Put on this,” she said, handing me the robe. “You like bath, yeah?”
I had showered just before leaving home an hour or so earlier. But I figured that the bath was part of the screening process. “Sure, I guess so,” I said.
She smiled. “Take off clothes. Total naked. Put on robe. I bring girl right away. She give bath.” She called to the dog and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.
I undressed to my undershorts and quickly donned the robe. It was too small. I wrapped it around myself as best I could and tied the belt. Then I removed my undershorts and sat down on the corner of the bed. The robe felt clammy. I tried not to imagine how many other men had worn it since it last was washed. I shivered and wondered if the room really was too cold.
I could see my full reflection in the mirror. A middle-aged white guy straining the seams of a tawdry, dragon-emblazoned robe. I looked into my own eyes and had to look away. I hung my head and took a deep breath. I knew I would leave feeling guilty and unfulfilled. But knowing how it would turn out was not enough to quell the need to go ahead.
At least ten minutes passed before I heard someone coming down the hall. The lady had said she would “bring girl,” so I guessed that she wasn’t going to service me herself. Would it be the young woman I had seen sleeping on the couch? Was there someone else I hadn’t yet seen? Another shiver ran through me as I stood up. I tried to wipe my palms on the slick fabric of the robe.
The doorknob turned and the little dog pushed its way in, dancing around as the receptionist led a new woman into the room. “This Miss Yong. She take care you.”
Yong’s eyes met mine for a fleeting moment and then settled on my chest. She offered her hand with a flicker of a smile. Then she turned away, listening and nodding as the receptionist spoke to her in Korean.
While I waited for them to finish, I studied Yong. She was older than the woman I had seen sleeping on the sofa. Probably around thirty. Taller than most Korean women, perhaps 5’ 7” or so. Straight, dark hair that hung to the middle of her back. Moderately attractive face with no makeup. Her eyes were slightly puffy, as if she had been sleeping. Or crying.
I didn’t know what to make of the way she was dressed. Women who work in these places usually wore just slippers and a skimpy one-piece something that they could slip in and out of with ease. Like the young woman I had seen sleeping on the sofa. But Yong seemed dressed for a dinner date. She wasn’t wearing any rings on her fingers, but she wore delicate gold hoops in her pierced ears and three narrow gold bracelets on her right wrist. Her shoulders were bare above a skin-tight top that showcased breasts that seemed unnaturally large for her slim torso. Her hips and legs were concealed by a pleated, ankle-length skirt that hung to the tops of her high heeled shoes.
The receptionist finished talking to Yong and looked at me. “I go now. Have good time. Enjoy.” She flashed a smile as she called to the dog and left the room.
Yong turned to me, eyes lowered to my chest, slim fingers fiddling with her belt buckle, and asked, “What is your name?”
“John,” I said, wondering if she would get my little joke. She gave no indication that she did.
“Nice to meet you, John. My name is Yong,” she said, as if she hadn’t already been introduced. She turned away from me and picked up a folded towel from the foot of the bed. “Come. I will give you a bath.”
A vision of the two of us shoulder-deep in a large bubble bath flashed through my mind.
“Ok. What about my clothes?”
“Leave them here. We will come back after.”
“Um…are you sure it’s safe?”
“Yes. No one will bother.” She opened the door. “Follow me.”
I followed her down the hallway, feeling vulnerable in the scanty robe and my bare feet. What if we ran into another customer? What if it was someone I knew? I was relieved to get to the bathroom without encountering anyone.
The bathroom was about the size of the bedroom, but tiled on the walls and floor. A vinyl-covered platform similar to a doctor’s examination table stood alone in the center of the room. A bright light mounted on the ceiling glared directly down on it. There was a drain in the floor below it. I could see that this wasn’t going to be the candle-lit bubble bath I had imagined.
I waited for Yong to tell me what to do. She stared at the table for a few seconds and then said, “Wait…” She picked up a hand-held shower and fumbled with the controls, adjusting and testing the water temperature. Finally satisfied, she quickly rinsed off the table, rubbing the glossy red vinyl with her free hand. “Take off your robe and lie down here,” she said.
I shrugged off the robe and handed it to her. She hung it on a hook on the tiled wall. I felt self-conscious standing stark-naked in the bright light in front of a fully dressed stranger in high heels. “What about you?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to undress?”
