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Sister's Pimp
by
Rolf Palsy
Chapter 2
My mother's idea of presentable did not measure up to my expectations. I entered the bedroom to see her spread out, stark naked in all her flabby glory. Worse still she was diddling her fat lipped, hairy cunt with a bullet vibrator, running the tip up and down her slot which was nearly hidden by the wild growth of pubic hair, some of which was showing traces of gray in it, despite the fact that she was just a few years past forty. As I approached her, I took a deep breath and detected a mixture of sweat, pussy slime and an overwhelming odor of unwashed flesh, tinged with the acrid scent of dried piss now being brought back to life by her body's heat. My first reaction was to knock the snot out of this flabby, stinking hunk of unwashed and unwanted cunt. Then I remembered that what I was seeing and smelling was the result of many years of neglect on the part of my deceased father, curse his black heart for leaving me to clean up his mess.
The one who had borne and nurtured me during my formative years gave me a sickly smile and spoke. "I'm sorry sweetie, but I just couldn't wait any longer. I had to get a little taste of what you were going to give me from now on. Hurry up and get naked so you can give me a good fucking; I need your cock in the worse way."
I sighed deeply and replied in as non-threatening a way as I knew how. "Mom this isn't exactly what I meant when I said make yourself presentable. The least you could have done was take a shower. If you were really paying attention you might have also put on some makeup and made sure that rancid cunt was freshly douched. That isn't asking too much, is it? Now you go and climb into the shower and reacquaint yourself with soap and water. Make sure you soap up that hairy snatch and get whatever is living in that nasty jungle the hell out of there. Then I want you to douche a couple of times. In case you've forgotten about douching, use some of the stuff that sis has; at least she's smart enough to make sure her pussy smells right when she takes on one of her rare customers." I thought she was going to start crying. Mom was so surprised at my words that she just lay there with that damned vibrator buzzing away inside her hairy twat. I was so tempted to give her a swat to the head, but I restrained myself, realizing that her present condition wasn't all of her own making.
While my mother cleaned herself up, I thought back to all the women her age and older that I'd serviced over the last few years. There had been a few with hairy cunts, but after a few sessions they got the picture and were rewarded for their discovery of the razor, and in some cases even bikini waxes. The latter clients always got a little extra in appreciation of going the extra mile to make their gigolo a happy camper. Trying my damndest to treat my own mother as just another customer was a strain on the nervous system, especially considering how screwed up things were at the moment. The sooner I could get rid of this obligation, the better for all concerned. My mind started turning over as I reviewed all the options open to me.
In the best of all possible worlds, which this wasn't, I'd develop mom into a whore who specialized in either very young guys with complexes about their mothers, or older men who were looking for a cheap, quick, comfortable fuck and didn't mind a nice clean piece in her early 40s who knew all the tricks and really enjoyed getting them off. Who knows, maybe mom might catch herself another husband this way. At least the guy would know what he was getting into with her.
Another possibility was to team mom up with my lazy, unmotivated sister. There are lots of guys who have a fantasy involving them and a mother-daughter combination. If I played my cards right I could provide this kind of service and deliver the real goods instead of some con job that most pimps tried to pull on the customers. Another more remote possibility would be to develop a stable of young whores like my sister and have mom handle the day to day activities while I did the marketing and protection thing. I decided I'd think about these options a little more carefully while I developed a customer base for yours truly.
It seemed that unlike mom, my former mature clients also knew something about packaging the merchandise. I was treated to see through boleros with ready panties, tight latex or leather corsets, most ending just below their tits and just above their carefully waxed pubic mounds. Some of them gave me the garter and hose look, often with perhaps a sling bra and bikinis, always sheer to show off their cunts and tits.
However my favorite outfit was modeled by a woman in her early sixties who carried a few extra pounds. She would show up for our session wearing foundation garments, that was the way she described her outfit, featuring a sturdy, no-nonsense bra in basic utilitarian white, and black nylons attached by snaps to the confining pinkish colored rubber girdle with leg holes that covered her fleshy upper thighs as well. Beneath the girdle, which took some time and a great deal of effort to peel from her rotund body, she always wore a pair of heavy woolen panties, that had been in place for the better part of the day to provide a very stimulating scent that guaranteed major wood on my part. Now that lady knew just what her gigolo needed to see, smell and touch to make sure he would be in the proper mood to deliver what she needed for the outrageous fees she paid me. In her case I always delivered a lot more than I had originally planned, much to her delight. I hated to admit it, but this was one lady that could have had my services for free, that's how well she understood my little kinks.
When it came to getting me up and keeping me in that state, my senior citizen clientele wrote the book. I was not dealing with airheads with big tits, more than a few man-made, who acted as if they were doing me a great favor by allowing me to stick my cock in their less than moist cunts. The average teen knew little about the fine art of fellatio, having not been challenged by their pimply faced partners or those high rollers who had no idea what a good piece of ass felt like. In my experience, which was considerable, the better lays among partners under let's say twenty-five, were girls who had imperfections such as a lack of tits, a face that was plain as a post or worse, a few extra pounds in the wrong places, and bodies that could easily double as ironing boards.
I still thank my lucky stars that I survived a weekend with a pair of sisters who looked like fugitives from a concentration camp and fucked like sex-crazed minks. They got me up and off over and over, and when I cried uncle, they took turns sitting on my face or feeding me their dripping pussies until I was recharged and ready to go some more. By the time we were finished, I knew what it felt to be hooked up to a pump and sucked totally dry of any form of liquid. I did have my revenge however, enticing them individually into my bed for all day workouts where my stamina, knowledge and large numbers of little blue pills allowed me to ream out each until she was bone dry and hurting. It was at this point that I started to once more make mental plans for writing my autobiography. Shortly thereafter dad died and exploded my daydreams all to hell. Now I faced the prospect of doing a woman who did not appeal to me at all, not to mention one who was related to me by blood.
I'll not bore the reader with the less than thrilling details of my first coupling with mom. I discovered quickly that I was not cut out to be a very good mother fucker. I'm not sure that dear old mom knew the difference between what she got from me and what she could have gotten if she was someone else. Not only someone else, but a woman who perhaps was twenty pounds lighter, took better care of her personal hygiene and appreciated what it took to generate the enthusiasm required to convince my partner that I was indeed delighted to be swapping bodily fluids with her. My favorite clients were women who had no illusions about who they were, but also realized that they were paying some of their hard earned money for the pleasure of my company, and that meant total devotion to the task at hand.
That very same day I sat down and had a heart to heart talk with my little sister. I explained the financial facts of life to the young hooker-to-be, described my thoughts about where she could fit into my organization and then warned her that if she didn't shape up immediately I was going to put the wood to her in more ways than one. Sis made a very bad mistake at that point, telling me she was going to leave and go live with this guy she had met recently.
Now I knew what dear old dad might have done at this point, but I refrained from tearing off her clothes, roping her to a chair and beating her half to death. Currently she was the only pussy that was worth peddling and thus deserved a little coddling. I must admit that the thought of her naked body hanging from a hook in the ceiling of the basement covered from neck to knees on both sides with welts, bruises, cuts, cigarette burns and freshly installed rings in her nipples, cunt lips, navel and clit did flash through my mind. I enjoyed the fantasy while she babbled about her new boyfriend who was on the verge of getting a divorce from his ugly, unfeeling wife. In fact I added some additional characters to my fantasy, namely a gang of motorcycle types who had just paid me two thousand bucks for the use of my sister on this run to Mexico they were making, starting as soon as they finished tattooing their gang name on her ass.
I let her prattle on until she started to repeat herself. It was then that I held out a peace offering, one I was sure she'd happily accept. It was very apparent to me that I was definitely not into incest; thus it was easy for me to guarantee that the relationship between us would be strictly business as long as it lasted. That was something she wasn't expecting, and she jumped on it with both feet. Then she started probing to see what was behind my generosity. So I told her the truth, which made her stop and think for a time. While she was mulling over what she had heard I set the trap.
"How would you like a situation where your customers felt lucky to have you give them the time of day?" That idea really made her mind spin. I followed up with another piece of bait. "Suppose the guys you took on were more your age, maybe only a few years older? Not only that, but you'd be the one calling the shots. They'd be doing what you wanted them to do, not the other away around."
At that point my sister began to think I'd lost my mind. I insisted that I could make everything I'd told her happen, once a few things fell into place. I finished up by asking her to stay with me and trust what I was up to, promising no hankie panky from me. She shrugged and said she'd think about it, which was about as much as I could hope for at this moment. I felt sure that her "boyfriend" was conning her and was probably interested in free teen pussy more than anything else. So I let that situation percolate while I hustled to make my plans happen.
The very next day I got my first break, and it came from mom of all people! It turned out she had a friend who was getting her ashes hauled at the neighborhood ladies gym. She was paying a pretty penny and then some for the attention of a personal trainer who was doing no more than I used to do, but in a different setting. A trip to the gym and a talk with the manager convinced me that one hundred percent of his profit was coming from the personal services, or should I say servicing, many of his clients were receiving from his small stable of gigolos. One thing led to another and he made me an offer that I turned down with thanks. I had a new wrinkle that might cut down the overhead and expand my potential profits. It was my guess that the ladies were not exactly gaining anything from their daily or weekly gym workouts except some aches and pains that were cause for the more personal services that followed.
I talked mom into inviting her friend over for a chat, where I would get a chance to introduce myself to the lady in question. I was determined that by the time we parted company she'd be coming over to my place for her workouts and for a lot less when she factored in the cost of the gym fees, as well as my lower fee for personal services. At this stage of the game I was trying to build up a client base, depending upon my skill in the sack to keep my growing list of lady clients happy and willing to recommend my services to their friends as well. As it turned out, meeting one particular lady was the equivalent of winning the state lottery as far as I was concerned.
( To be continued )
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