MyInhert10 San Francisco Here I Cum (MC)

MY INHERITANCE

Chapter 10

San Francisco, Here I Cum

We took a 747 from New York to San Francisco, went directly to the
Mark Hopkins hotel to rest and overcome jet lag.  All right, we
checked in early to fuck, if you must know everything.  Andy was
asleep on the bed, prettier than a centerfold, as I sat in the arm
chair watching her, sipping on a Coke and thinking about my situation. 

While I certainly was enjoying the two women and all the plans and
activities Uncle Bert (as I continued to call my natural father) laid
out for me, I was dissatisfied with my knowledge of how the
programming had been done and the accumulation of information
necessary to duplicate the formula. 

And, I was missing Mary.  I wanted to fuck her and I wanted to fuck
her now.  Strange, isn't it?  I had just finished fucking every man's
wet dream, my cock still damp with her juices, her fragrance still
heavy in my nose.  Already, I was thinking about another woman. Her
mother, yet.  But, I felt those stirrings between my legs.  I decided
not to dwell on the ethical and moral ramifications of that dilemma.
Rather, I decided to call Mary and order her to the coast.

"Bert wants me to stay here, Davy.  He wants this time to be just for
Andy and you.  I will be here, ready for you when you get back."  

"How do you know what Bert wants?"

"He told me before he died.  He told me many things, Davy."

"Tell me what he told you."

"I cannot discuss it over the phone, Davy."
  "You know you are programmed?"

"Yes. I am not sure how much I know. I mean, I do not think I know
everything, but I know some things, a lot, really."

"I command you to come to San Francisco and tell me your programming."

"I cannot. And, do not come home yet.  Do it the way your father
wants, Davy."

"You know that, too?"

"Yes, Davy.  I do.  Please, ask me no more until we are together. I am
programmed not to tell you and I am programmed to obey you. This is
creating a great conflict for me.  I...."

"Mary!  Relax!  It is okay.  Forget about this until we return home. "

"Thank you," she said gratefully. 

"Now . . . "   Our conversation trailed off into mundane matters, but
my mind was spinning.  Apparently, the mind control formula was so
strong, the subject could know she was programmed and happily obey
anyway. Maybe, it was in the programming.  Once again,  I wished Uncle
Bert had let me participate in programming before he died.

"Baby, please come back to bed."

Andy was on her side, her long golden hair modestly covering her
breasts, her top leg crossed to hide her pussy.  Her big, blue eyes
were sexy and sweet.  Who could tell her no?  Not me.

The next morning we contacted Madam Delilah.

While Diana in New York was fetish training, Delilah in San Francisco
was mainline sex: flirting, sucking, fucking, caressing, massage, all
the regular stuff.  I was surprised how much fun it was and how much I
learned.  Andy learned even more than I did. 

Madam Delilah ran a string of ten to fifteen women and five to eight
men in a very high priced call girl (and guy) shop. While Heidi Fleiss
in LA was getting a thousand a night for her girls, Delilah often got
three to five thousand for hers.  She assigned us Rebecca.   If I did
not have Andy and Mary, I would have pleaded with Rebecca to come be
with me permanently. 

Rebecca was beautiful.  She was about thirty-five, six feet tall in
her heels, 34C - 21 - 35 (I asked her), with the longest, most
beautiful legs in the world (sorry, Andy, even better than yours) and
a wonderful ass (here you beat her, Andy).  Her face was impeccable:
flawless skin, high cheekbones, marvelous lips, big green eyes huge
and bright like emeralds under long black lashes. Her coal black hair
fell to her shoulders.

Most important, Rebecca had a class . . .  an air . . .  about her.
It was an aura which said, "I am the most perfect woman ever. I am
unavailable, but I will coolly evaluate you, and . . .  and, if you
are the man who lights my fire, I will be the wildest, hottest slut
whoever lived." 

It was that classy, cool, princess-like demeanor with the promise of a
hot, slutty wild woman underneath which made men quiver with desire.
I know I quivered. 

Rebecca, Andy and I went to dinner at San Francisco's finest
restaurant. Both of the women wore black, floor length, form fitting
cocktail dresses.  Andy's dress had a high, square neck in front and
was backless. Rebecca's dress had spaghetti straps, a deep V to the
navel in front and was backless. Both of them were tastefully adorned
in jewelry and makeup.  The restaurant had that noisy but pleasant
sound of quality restaurants when we entered.  I told the maitre d' to
escort the ladies to our table.  I wanted to watch the room when they
walked through it.

Slowly, elegantly, the two ladies floated toward the table, like
goddesses visiting us mortals here on earth. The noise level lowered
significantly as they progressed, heads, male and female, turning to
observe them.  At several tables, the women berated their male
companions for obviously staring. As they sat, the room began to
return to normal.  I joined them.  By the time I got there, and it was
not a minute, two different men had sent champagne. 

"May I join you ladies?" I asked.  

"Certainly," Rebecca said. That woman could have made millions doing
voice overs on commercials.  

So, you ask, what did you learn from Rebecca?  I learned she had not
been programmed by Uncle Bert. (See! He did screw up once in a while.
Where was that damn formula when I needed it?)  I learned there was
another woman besides Mary and Andy in this world who made me hard the
entire time I was with her.  I was glad Uncle Bert programmed me.  I
finally told my prick "down boy" just so I could sit comfortably. 

It was what Andy learned that was important.  At eighteen, Andy was a
magnificent diamond but a diamond in the rough.  Rebecca polished her
by letting Andy observe her.   Andy learned to be a classy but sensual
lady.   And, Andy learned more about the subtle feminine art of sexual
teasing and flirting from Rebecca than I could have believed possible.
It is an art too few women know.

For example, one night, as part of our training, we met Rebecca at her
home, which was in a high rise condo in an expensive part of town.  

"We are going to play a game," she said.  "David, Andy, I want you to
sit here (she indicated a love seat which allowed a clear view of her
bedroom).  I will be a woman coming home from a date. Do not speak or
participate until it is time. Just watch."  

We made ourselves comfortable, sitting side by side, holding hands
like two teenagers in our parent's living room.

Rebecca left the room. In a moment, we heard the front door open and
close. We heard her humming and the sound of the refrigerator opening.
Then, the click clack of her high heels on the hall floor. Entering
the room, she casually threw her wrap on a chair. She walked into the
bathroom, leaving the door open so we could hear, but not see.  We
heard the distinct sound of a woman peeing and a toilet flush. She was
setting the stage.

The evening was a long, slow, delicious strip tease, with her acting
as though she were alone, letting us be the voyeurs watching her.
Softly humming a romantic number, she began by observing herself in
her mirror, turning, hands smoothing her dress, a small smile creeping
across her lips.  

"Not bad," she whispered.  It took a long time for her to remove her
ear rings.  All the time she was moving seductively, like dancing by
herself in rhythm with the music she hummed.  Then, she sat, pulling
the skirt up to her thighs to remove her shoes. She did not just take
her shoes off. That woman could remove a high heel more erotically
than most women remove their panties.  

Everything was done slowly.  An actor will tell you timing is
everything. It is in seduction also. The movements must be natural but
slow, arousing but sensual, allowing the voyeur to build in desire.
She started detaching her stockings from the garter belt she wore,
each movement appearing to be only what was required to undress, but
really designed to maximize our arousal.  Andy shifted in her seat.
Her eyes were hot. Since I was programmed to act naturally, you know
what I was like. 

Rebecca rolled her stockings down her legs, caressing those long,
silky, limbs erotically as she did. Her panties were clearly visible
as she moved.  She lay the stockings on her dressing table. The
stockings were rolled, reminding me of a nylon condom for a giant.
She stretched and yawned which thrust her breasts against her dress
and made us all think about getting in bed. She patted barefooted into
the kitchen, swaying seductively as she walked.  We heard the
refrigerator open.  

Rebecca returned with a glass of champagne and a bowl of strawberries.
She would dip a strawberry in the champagne, slowly bring it to her
lips to suck the champagne off and nibble at the berry. 

After treating us to a slowly done play of a woman at her dressing
table, suddenly, she stood, quickly unzipped her dress and dropped it
to the floor. The motion was so quick, and smooth, it was a shock to
us watching, from both the change of pace in her activities and the
disrobing. Her garter belt was gone in a flash, leaving her in a bra
and very sexy panties.  

My heart was thumping. I thought, "Oh, yeah. Now the action heats up!"  

But, it did not.

Fifteen minutes later she was still in a bra and panties, sitting at
her dressing table, combing her long hair. The humming and the
strawberry-champagne had continued throughout at a slow and leisurely
pace.  

She reached behind herself to unfasten her bra.  I had been wanting to
see her beautiful breasts since I laid eyes on her and I thought this
was it.  She turned her back to us as the bra fluttered to the floor.
Immediately, my tension increased. I wanted to see her tits!   She
began massaging her breasts. At least, that is what it looked like
from behind her.  Andy touched my leg and pointed.  I could see the
front of her in the reflection in the mirror. 

Oh, this woman was good!

By now, we were going nuts trying to watch both her and her in the
mirror.  Back still to us, she stood, slipped off her panties and sat
down.  It was done so quickly even the mirror gave me no hint as to
what her sweet flower looked like. Now, naked she looked down at her
pussy as if checking it.  She stood and looked at herself in the
mirror, our view being of her back and what flashes the mirror gave
us.  With that ass and those legs, our view was superb, but it was not
frontal, which is what I wanted.

She moved to the bed, laying down, her right side to us. Her right leg
came up, blocking our view of her sex. Her right hand moved to cup her
breast as her left hand moved between her legs. She started to slowly
masturbate. Andy whimpered as she raised her skirt and slipped her
hand in her panties. She was masturbating along with Rebecca.

Rebecca was moaning, cooing, as she masturbated. The sweat broke out
on her breasts.   I could smell the wonderful odor of pussy although I
could not tell if that was Rebecca or Andy (I did not care which). My
cock was about to burst and a tear rolled down my cheek. 

After masturbating for some time, letting us all build in desire,
Rebecca acted as if she could not cum. (Andy did not have that
problem.  I knew she had come once and was building again).  Rebecca
was talking to herself, soft, low: "please, please" as her hand was
now flying on her still unseen pussy.  Her nipples were hard as she
roughly played with her breasts, squirming on the bed, a woman in
great heat. Suddenly, she looked right at me. A look of amazement
appeared on her face.  She shrieked and covered herself with her
hands.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?" 

She sounded frightened.  Silence, as we stared at each other, not even
breathing.  

Rebecca groaned.   "I don't care who you are. I need a cock in me.
Please . . .  fuck me," she whimpered. She turned to face us, lay back
and brought her legs up, open and wide.   I was looking directly into
that pussy she had hidden from me all evening. It was plump, lips
full, hairless, with honey dew glistening on it and her upper thighs. 

I ruined the trousers on an eight-hundred-dollar suit getting
undressed. When I buried my cock in her, she shrieked and came . . .
or, she was really a damn good actress. 

I had programmed myself to act natural.  Like any guy, I fought it and
then came, pumping her quivering cunt full of my cum as her legs held
me tightly and she crooned in my ear. As I lay gasping, softening in
her, I felt Andy's hands gently push me away. I plopped out as Andy
knelt between Rebecca's legs.  

Lying on my side, my cock soft and damp with girl juices mixed with
mine, I was watching a beautiful blonde greedily and happily eat my
cum from the freshly fucked pussy of an equally beautiful brunette.
Rebecca's long fingers, with their pointed and painted nails, were
wrapped in Andy's golden hair. I could hear the slurp of Andy's mouth
lapping Rebecca's pussy.  I could hear Rebecca's tender, passionate
moans of encouragement.  It was absolutely delightful.

Besides the enjoyment though, my mind dredged up the question of
whether Andy was so sex-crazed she would do anything right now, or,
liked to eat pussy, or, was doing it because she was crazy about my
cum and wanted all she could get, or, because she was programmed that
way.

That is the bad part about the programming.  Motivational questions
were always in the back of my mind.  Now, let us not get too high brow
and holy with this. I would rather have it this way, and wonder, than
not have it at all.  

I never claimed to be a saint.  I was no saint as I watched Rebecca
come again as Andy ate her, or, as I fucked Andy doggy style with her
face still in Rebecca's pussy.  Or, as I watched Rebecca eat my cum
from Andy's pussy. Or, as I then fucked Rebecca . . .  you get the
idea.  The three of us fell asleep in a pile, exhausted, sweat soaked
and delirious with pleasure. 

That was not all Rebecca taught us.  Andy was an eager learner and
that is what really turned me on.

Delilah assigned Monica to us the next day.  Monica was a physical
therapist by day and high-priced call girl by night. She taught us the
art of sensual massage. Fortunately for me, Andy was athletic which
meant her arms, shoulders and hands were stronger than most women.  We
both learned to give massages. Andy said she enjoyed giving me one as
much as I enjoyed receiving it.  Well, maybe almost as much.  
 Then, Delilah took over our training herself.  We did game playing:
master-slave, whore- john, teacher-student, and any other thing we
wanted.  

One night, Delilah and Andy went to a very high-class bar.  They were
dressed as you would expect very high-class society women out to be
picked up to dress.  They pretended not to know me when I came on to
them.  Part of this game is that I was not the only one trying to
corral these two beautiful babes. There was a line forming behind me
and the bar had to assign one bartender full time just to bring them
all the free drinks.  If they had consumed all those drinks they were
given, they would have died of alcohol poisoning. 

One key to the game is that the woman (women, in this case) cannot get
carried away by all the attention from all the men. Part of the game
is for the woman to be sexually aroused by all the attention.  But,
part is for the man to be aroused by being the "winner," the super
stud selected by such a hot and desirable woman. I am sure the game is
sometimes played other ways by other couples, but this is the way I
wanted Andy and me to do it.  And, I knew I would make damn sure she
was programmed to play it my way. 

Delilah and Andy tantalized and teased me (and every other single man
in the bar) for two hours before they agreed to go to my hotel room
for a threesome.  Even though we all knew how it would end, playing
the game was very exciting and delightful.  Again, Andy and another
woman did a girl on girl for my enjoyment.  And, I wondered.

One night, Andy dressed as a whore. Not a call girl, a street whore.
With that body, she was a knock out. She wore a black wig over her
blonde hair, bright red lipstick, too much makeup. She chewed gum like
only a street whore would do.  She had on a little tank top, a skirt
which barely covered her pussy and thigh high stockings that ended two
inches below the skirt. She wore six inch heels. She was prancing and
dancing street side.  Then, a car pulled up. 

It was a limo with a major movie star in it. I will not say whom but
Andy and I were both impressed.

"How much, honey?" he asked.  

"You a cop?" she said, popping her gum. He looked surprised, then
angry. 

"Everyone knows who I am!" he replied pompously. Andy was shifting her
weight from one foot to her next which thrust her hips back and forth
sensuously.

"I don't remember faces, honey," she said, "but, I never forget a
cock."  

"I will give you five hundred."  She laughed at him.  

"A thousand!"  

I had been watching from the shadows. I stepped out and said,  "Two
thousand."  

Andy gave a slutty wiggle and said, "Come on, boys. This sweet pussy
is worth more than that."  

"Three thousand," he said. 

"I get that for a blow job," Andy replied.  

"Thirty-five hundred," I said. 

She laughed and said, "Cheapskate!"   

The bidding got to ninety-five hundred. By that time, Andy was wild
and I was getting frustrated.   

"Honey," the star said. "I will get you into the movies."  

She squealed and jumped up and down. She turned to me.  "What can you
do for me, buster?" she said.  

"I can love and marry you."

WHAT! I could not believe I said it. 

"Don't tease me like that, Davy. That is not part of our game," she
said softly.  She had tears in her eyes, making her inch thick mascara
start to run. 

My brain was whirring.  With my natural inclination to non-commitment
like all men my age and the programing from Uncle Bert requiring me to
think and analyze clearly, I realized that if I said it, I really
meant it from so deep down, it was in my soul.  

"I am not teasing. Will you marry me?"  

She giggled. "Sure, buster, but you have to tell me your name."  Then,
she leaped on me, burying me in kisses.  The star looked at me in
amazement. 

"Fellow, that is a high price to pay for a whore."  

"Not this one," I replied.