Title: The Fountain of Youth
I knock on the door of the hotel suite.
“Mr. Koschei? I’m Bree, your escort.”
“Come in.” The voice is friendly, but self assured. The voice of someone who is naturally being in charge.
The lavish hotel suite is familiar; I am regularly booked as ‘room service’ for its guests. But I have never seen this customer before. At first glance he seems young; his body and movements suggest regular workouts. But his manner betrays experience. I study his face; his eyes are old. Well, I’m familiar with that.
“Let’s sit down, Bree.” He gestures to the table, where a bottle of champagne is waiting for us. He’s neatly dressed in an expensive tuxedo. I’m wearing my standard working outfit; black cowboy hat, black bra, black thong, black patent leather boots.
We sit down. He opens the bottle and fills both glasses with sparkling fluid.
“To a beautiful lady,” he toasts. I almost blush.
“You’re too kind,” I say.
“I guess your name isn’t really Bree?”
I smile. “There are questions that you do not ask a lady in this business.”
“I reckon the same applies to your age?”
I smile again, saying nothing this time.
“Tell me, how does a beautiful young lady like you end up in this line of work?”
I take a sip of the champagne: “We’re not here to talk.”
“Why not? We could talk all night, if I’m in the mood for talking.” His eyes pierce me. I feel the power in his voice.
“I need you to fuck me,” I whisper. I do not know why I admit this. I never admit to customers that I have to be fucked.
“And if I refuse? If I just pay you for the conversation?”
“Let’s make a deal,” I say. “I’ll tell you why I need you to fuck me. Then you fuck me.”
I’m sorry for this proposal the moment it slips out of my mouth. But Mr. Koschei nods.
“Your name is not Bree, and you’re not 18 years old.” It’s not a question, but a statement of fact.
“No,” I admit. “My real name is Jennifer Howard. And I will celebrate my 81st birthday next month.”
I start telling my story.
I met Myrtle at the lawyer’s office.
My last surgery had been a disaster. My wrinkles hadn’t disappeared, and due to some hypersensitivity reaction my face had swollen like a balloon. I couldn’t display my horrible face in public. I had gone to Schuman & Associates, lawyers specialized in medical malpractice, but Mr. Schuman hadn’t been optimistic:
“Mrs. Howard, you signed all kinds of air- and watertight releases before you put yourself under the scalpel.”
“But he promised me to…”
“I know. I’ve seen many women like you in my office. They were promised eternal youth, and they never read the fine print where that promise is effectively made null and void. You read the documents, and knew the risks, or at least your signature says that you did. And going to court implies drawing a lot of attention. Which, given the state you’re in, you might be unhappy with.”
I left the lawyer’s office feeling utterly depressed. If I was no longer young and beautiful and desirable, my life was over. I collected my coat, and saw a young handsome lady sitting in the waiting room. She dressed for business; jacket, pencil-skirt. She got up and approached me:
“Who’s responsible for this? Mulholland Medical? Or that quack at Sunnyside Clinic?”
“Vernon Park Centre.” I said, barely audible.
The young lady nodded understandingly: “I’ve heard of them. They’re butchers.”
“So what do you want from me? Mr. Schuman assures me that legal action is hopeless.”
“Let’s discuss your issues with a cup of coffee.”
“As long as it isn’t in a public spot,” I said. I introduced myself.
The lady smiled: “My name’s Myrtle. And my office is in this building.”
Myrtle’s office could easily go unnoticed. It was behind an unmarked door, the seventh office at the end of the hallway, on the top floor. But inside it was surprisingly spacious. The main room was hardly business-like; it was decorated like a crossover between a living room and a therapist’s office.
Myrtle gestured me to sit in one of the cozy armchairs and offered me drinks: “Coffee? Or something stronger?”
I settled for a Mojito; it had been a tough day and it was way past lunch time anyway. It seemed to appear out of thin air.
“Jennifer Howard, the name sounds familiar.” Myrtle gently steered towards serious issues. “Weren’t you in Chronicles of the Intrepid?”
“The original one. And I had a cameo in the reboot.”
“That’s quite some time ago.”
“It’s getting more difficult,” I admitted. “Producers want young and fresh faces.”
“So, surgery.”
“Everyone’s doing it. And rationally I knew the risks. I’ve seen others just vanish from the scene after they announced a brief hiatus .” I sighed. “But what could I do? No tight skin means no screen time. I had already slipped down to bit parts instead of supporting roles.”
“Surgery isn’t the solution,” Myrtle said. “What if I could rejuvenate you without any scalpels or needles?”
I started to chuckle: “Now you’re going to sell me some expensive snake oil, right? I fell in that trap already.”
“No cure, no pay. And immediate results.”
I was still laughing: “Where’s the magic potion?”
Myrtle handed me a pocket-mirror: “It was in your wine, take a look.”
I fainted.
It took me several minutes to realize this was for real. It was amazing; my face was that of a teenager again. No, it was better. All wrinkles and bruises had disappeared. My hair was no longer a dull mess of salt’n pepa but a stream of perfect golden blonde curls flowing down to my shoulders.
“It’s magic,” I whispered.
Myrtle smiled, knowingly.
“And it’s not just your face,” she said. “Have you looked at your hands?”
I viewed my hands; they used to be old and discolored; not anymore.
“If you undo your shirt you can see that it’s also your belly.”
I did. My belly was a flat sixpack again; the scars and bruises left by a failed liposuction had disappeared.
“Are you happy with your rejuvenated you?”
“Yes.”
“What would you do to keep it this way forever?”
“Anything...” I sighed.
I sensed Myrtle wanted something in return and it was clearly not money. I could manage that; I was used to auditions ending with a private ‘performance’. And if the casting director happened to be a woman or a saggy old-timer; well, I was an actress.
“Look in my eyes,” Myrtle said. “Jennifer, did you truly mean anything?”
I nodded.
“I offer an exchange: Body for soul.”
Myrtle behaved likes an actress in a cheesy B-movie, and I almost burst into laughter. But I craved what she could provide me; I had to play my part too.
“Yes….”
Her lips met mine. We kissed; Myrtle’s tongue explored the inside of my mouth. She lifted me from the chair, without detaching her lips from mine. Her hands stroked my bare arms, my shoulder, my back.
She felt good, better than any woman I had fucked before. I reciprocated; my hands fumbled to undo Myrtle’s jacket, her shirt, her bra. Somehow we were both topless and she guided me to the other room, while our lips didn’t let go and our tongues continued their exploration.
I unzipped Myrtle skirt and then lowered my pants while walking; I stumbled and fell on the bed when they went down, taking Myrtle with me. Our lips parted but it didn’t stop her; my nipples had become unbearably sensitive but she teased them with her mouth.
I was lying and she was on top of me. Her thighs held my head firm in place, and I had only one option: Lick her. Myrtle was working magic on my pussy; her tongue darted on my clit and then it slid deeply into my cunt; seemingly deeper than any cock had ever been. Then it was so fast pleasuring my clit again, as if her tongue was at two places at the same time. I came, and I wanted her to stop but she was firmly on top of me and she just forced her tongue into my cunt again and her fingers on my clit or it was the other way round and I kept coming and coming and coming…..
I felt totally drained. I could only lie down on the bed and imagine that I would ever regain the strength to get up. Myrtle felt clearly more energetic; she was frolicking around.
Something struck me: “What’s the pentagram doing up there above the bed?”
“It’s magic,” Myrtle said. “Sex is magic. An orgasm releases an enormous amount of manna, magical energy. I channeled some of that manna back to you; it provides the resources to keep you young and fit. The rest I…” She hesitated: “I will put to good use.”
I chuckled: “So sex does keep us young?”
“It does.” Myrtle smirked: “Therefore, we need to have regular mind blowing sex. Is that a problem?”
“Well,” I managed to say. “You’ve worn me down pretty much.”
“In that case, it might be a good idea if you drove to the deli and got us some food.”
I hardly felt strong enough to stand up, but somehow I couldn’t ignore her suggestion.
I left Myrtles office and got in my car. I was still dazed by the experience and my driving was wobbly. No wonder a police car indicated me to pull over.
The cop walked to my window: “Driver’s license please, Miss.”
I gave it to him and he looked incredulously.
“Miss Howard, are you sure this is your license? Or did you take your Mom’s by mistake?” The cop waved the license in front of me. It was my license—but the picture and date of birth no longer matched with me.
“Well, you know…” I stammered. “It is actually my license... But, you know…”
I saw the cop suddenly becoming unsure and I decided to push through:
“This is really my driver’s license.”
“This is really your driver’s license.”
“I am not someone you’re looking for,” I added.
“You’re not someone we’re looking for,” the cop repeated.
“Move along.”
“Move along.”
Mr. Koschei interrupts me: “A kind of Jedi mind trick.”
I nod: “I guess some of Myrtle’s power of persuasion spilled over to me when we became entangled. Not much, but just enough to save me when people start to ask awkward questions.”
I take a sip from the Champaign and continue.
“So I became Myrtle’s slave.” I pause at the thought of the mind-shattering orgasms we shared. “I hardly remember any details; we fucked like minx, I ran errands, the rest is a blur. The errands saved me, by the way.”
I returned after picking up a package from the mail office.
A police car was parked in front of the office building; and two cops were interrogating one of the bums that lived on the contents of the office dumpster.
I eavesdropped on their conversation:
“So you say this lady was kidnapped by three men in a Rolls Royce with license plate 666?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling everyone the whole morning. It was a fancy young lady in a black dress. I’m seeing her daily; I know she works in this office building. ”
“Funny thing is, no one else has seen anything weird happening,” the other cop added. “And no one reported one of their employees missing.”
“I know you think I’m drunk. But I’m sober and I know what I saw.”
I wondered what happened but decided to check with Myrtle first. I took the elevator to the top floor and walked down the hallway—where I could not find Myrtle’s office.
Myrtle’s office was behind the seventh—unmarked- door, but when I counted, there were only six doors. Myrtle’s office had magically disappeared. And so had Myrtle—kidnapped by three men in a Rolls Royce.
I locked myself in my condo and cried for days. I would turn old again.
It took two weeks before I ran out of tears and realized crying wouldn’t do me any good. I looked in the mirror and saw that the first wrinkles had already returned. I had one last chance to enjoy my youth, and I had to grab it. Why fade away if I could go with a bang?
So I went to the Raffles Hotel; a place with a long history as a meeting place for the classy, the decadent and the depraved.
I would be my last change before the decay that goes with old age would finally get me. Who would be interested in fucking an old tart with all these young bodies around? It didn’t take long to pick up some stud; I had little trouble convincing him that he shouldn’t wait for his real date.
We enjoyed a few drinks; he bragged about his job and the people he knew. I kept forgetting his name, although he mentioned it about every other sentence. Who cares about names? I didn’t need to do anything else but smile seductively, and soon we went upstairs and started to make out.
He was lying on his back and I rode him like a cowgirl, when he suddenly blurts out:
“Jenn, what’s happening to you? You look… Like some college girl.”
I pause, surprised:
“What do you mean?”
“When I picked you up, you looked elegant, but—like a milf. And then, when you mounted me, you changed. You grew younger.”
“And that’s basically my story,” I say. “Myrtle’s gone, but part of her magic has stuck. I will be young forever, as long as I have regular sex.”
Mr. Koschei hardly suppresses a little smile: “By becoming a whore you killed two birds with one stone.”
“It’s sex and a living,” I admit. “And it’s a field where discretion is appreciated. It’s surprisingly difficult to avoid nasty questions if you continue looking like a college cheerleader, while acting like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. So now it’s time to keep your part of the bargain; I told you my story, now you fuck me.”
I get out of my chair and stand before Mr. Koschei. I move seductively while I unclasp my bra. Bra and thong fall on the floor.
“I guess the idea that I truly need you, turns you on,” I encourage him.
I unbutton his shirt, and then go on until he is completely nude. If he weren’t a customer, he would be good catch anyway. I gently stroke his cock, I feel horny and fortunate. This promises to be a good orgasm, maybe enough for three days. I tickle his balls with my fingers, then with my lips. My tongue moves up his shaft.
I feel what he wants; he wants submission. I turn around, set my feet apart, and bend over. My ass is fully exposed, my smooth pussy is wide open and dripping wet. He slides his cock right into my cunt.
I immediately know: “Master,” I expel.
Master slips back in his original shape, wings and tail included, after he has taken me.
I am not just some conquered slut. I have submitted voluntarily, and now I am bound to him forever as his servant.
“Myrtle was your minion,” I say.
“Be silent,” he commands. “Suck my dick.”
I comply.
“Before she went astray, Myrtle was one of my apprentices. A very talented witch, although often a bit sloppy in her execution. She was wielding some extremely dangerous dark magic; magic that would open the door to other dimensions. I have reason to believe that she wanted to raise Shub-Niggurath; I am not sure if it was her own idea or that she was already mind controlled by some entity from the Lovecraftian pantheon. It is no longer possible to ask her or to check her former lair; we had to take drastic measures to contain the threat.”
He waves his hand and the door opens. Surprised, I let go of his delicious cock:
“Myrtle!”
“Not anymore,” Master says. “A drone with limited programming. Useful for some simple tasks like serving drinks; or rewarding the ogres after they finished their duties. It mainly serves me as a constant reminder to be careful. And you are forgetting your duty, slave.”
I take his cock in my mouth again.
“I could administer the same treatment to you, but it seems like a waste. I have use for a smart minion, and you’ve shown your aptitude by staying undercover for all those years. I heard persistent rumors about a whore with the body of a girl and the experience of an old lady, but it was difficult to track you down. I had to set this trap to lure you.”
I feel proud.
“Jennifer, do you still want to give everything for eternal youth? Or..?”
I do not wait for the alternative. I nod by sliding down and up his cock, this time without letting go.
“I will give you youth, because you will give me obedience.”
Master squirts and even though I try to swallow his cum is ripping from the corners of my mouth.
“Tidy yourself,” he commands.
I view myself in the full length mirror.
I am beautiful and young. My skin is deeply tanned and flawless. My pussy and armpits are smooth and hairless. My perky boobs point proudly forward. My hair is a waterfall of blonde curls. My lips are full and luscious.
I am now free of all worries. My obedience is a small price for what I’ve always wanted: Master’s cock is the fountain of youth.