Robot Ponygirls
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Bar Girl Ch. 02 free porn video
Chapter 2. ‘Girlopolis.’
Angeles City, America, and ‘the Girlfriend Experience.’ Talent Spot. Opportunities and city life. Luke, Tyson, and Blen’s first Blow-job. Mr Hirohito.
The story of how Angeles City became a world-renowned hospitality destination is complicated, resulting from the juxtaposition of wealth and poverty – wealthy men and poor girls. This corrupting mix, which usually results in the prostitution of venal women to desperate men, in Angeles spawned the licensed entertainer and, uniquely, the vaunted ‘girlfriend experience’. Colonisation, war, corruption and poverty rarely produce anything of worth, but, exceptionally, in Angeles City, it did.
Following the outbreak of the Spanish American War in 1898, the Philippines Republican government withdrew before the invading Americans along the northern railway, temporarily to Angeles, and then to Tarlac. An army camp was established at Angeles, bringing large numbers of single young men there for first time. These lonely, sexually active young men were exposed to poor, sexually active Filipina girls, and each grew to appreciate the virtues of the other.
In 1917 aircraft hangers were built at the site of the base. In 1919, a dedicated airstrip was laid out, and the 3rd Aero Squadron formed. The airbase became the central pillar for the defence of the Philippines. On the outbreak of WW2 Japanese bombers flying from Taiwan caught all the American aircraft lined up on the ground and destroyed them.
The Japanese occupied Clark Field from 1942 to January 1945 and from nearby Mabalacat operated their Kamikaze squadrons.
After the war, in 1946, the Philippines became independent for the second time. Clark Field however, remained a sovereign American base. The municipality of Angeles became a City, Angeles City, and subsequently expanded to become the city it is today. In 1956, Philippine sovereignty over the air base was acknowledged, but to little effect, owing to Visiting Forces Agreements.
During the Vietnam War, from 1964, Clark Field became an important logistics and support base in for their combat forces.
From this period, Angeles City became a popular rest and recreation facility for the combatants. The many young, single men created a demand for drink and girls, which led to a proliferation of hotels and bars along Perimeter Road, down and around Fields Avenue, along MacArthur Highway, and on to Mabalacat.
The bars became a magnet for girls who wished to meet and marry American men. Angeles City received a major economic impetus from providing services to the base, and, of course, services to the service men. It became a huge centre, dependent on the hospitality industry, and local businesses, politicians and functionaries made comfortable livings from it. As a public health measure a Hygeine department was set up to register hospitality workers and test them weekly for STD’s. Their registered ID could be produced to tourists as an assurance of quality.
Angeles gained notoriety as a resort for single men.
The American’s had required a certain standard of service, quality and price, including the girlfriend experience, and the marriage minded Filipinas had the disposition to provide it. Many Rest and Recreation romances resulted in marriage. This produced a win-win scenario. After Pinatubo, and the closure of Clark Base, the hospitality trade slowly rebuilt itself over the next twenty years, widening its client base to Australia and Europe, then Asia, but preserving its unique ethos. Fun and raucous girly bars have slowly given way to more sophisticated, nightclub venues and value hotels to luxury hotels.
The hospitality industry in Angeles City continues to be a major economic force, providing employment directly and in construction, and channels large amounts of overseas investment into the economy. The girls who entertain in the clubs, and provide the municipally regulated and quality controlled girlfriend experience for the visitor, are as much front line heroes of the Philippine economy as the lauded Overseas Worker, but without the recognition.
For now, much of the fun, the friendly atmosphere, and the opportunity for an advantageous marriage, still survives in venues like Talent Spot.
The twenty-four hour journey by boat and coach proved an exhilarating adventure for girls who had never travelled further than ten miles from their barangay. It was but a small step on the cultural journey which arrival in Angeles City would entail.
For that first night Mama Mutia took them to her own house, telling them that, tomorrow, she would take them to their permanent accommodation. She was anxious to put them to work as soon as possible, and enable them to spend their yet unearned wages.
When rested and refreshed, Mama produced her catalogue and invited the girls to buy toilet essentials, make-up and clothing – on credit. Set free in Aladdin’s Cave, they spent eagerly and foolishly, the anguish of payment being postponed to another day.
A luxuriant shower together followed, a real shower in hot water, with real, scented soap and creamy shampoo that left their hair a lustrous black. When dried off, they spent some time before a mirror, learning how to apply make-up to good effect, and then, less than three hours after they had arrived in Angeles, they were off to Talent Spot, to a new life – a life of work, money and opportunities.
At a time when, before, they had been extinguishing oil lamps and retiring to bed, they were, now, abroad in Angeles club land, which was raucous, garish and bursting with life. The lights, the music, the street life, the foreigners who frequented the pavements, the street bars and cafes were new and utterly fascinating, but intimidating, to the provincial girls.
The building that housed the club was modest, appearing unimposing to its customers, nevertheless, it was the most magnificent the girls had ever entered. Ushered through the bar, they felt they were walking onto a film set. The lighting was crazily colourful but dim, the music loud and upbeat, and the air smoky but mercifully dry from the air-conditioning.
It took a short while for their eyes and ears to adjust. On their left they could see a circle of scantily clad girls, whose reflections appeared in wall and ceiling mirrors in whichever direction they looked, gyrating to the rhythmic music, competing between themselves to catch the attention of the, mostly western, men sat in groups or alone before them. Soon they would join them.
Mama Mutia led them into the cramped changing area, where they changed for the first time into the boots and costumes bought from her on credit. She inspected and adjusted them, then handed each a licence belonging to an absent girl to clip to their costume.
‘Use these tonight. Do not let the customers look at the photo. You will go on with the next set,’ she told the girls. ‘Dance like in the disco, enjoy yourself and smile. Look in the mirrored wall to see your look and your dance.’
Over the babble of voices raised to pierce the wall of music, Blen could hear her heart beat. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, her chest was tight, and she felt dizzy as the minutes to the next set ticked away. Mama Mutia clapped her hands and Blen and her friends, who had attached themselves to end of the line of girls, shuffled on their unaccustomed high heels out to queue at the end of the stage. When the number ended, Mama clapped again, and as the last set filed off at the far end, Blen filed on with the new set, up the steps, onto the stage, into the lights, and across the bridge of no return. She turned, shyly avoided the faces of the couple of customers scrutinising the new line-up, and sought her reflection in the wall mirrors opposite.
Such was the transformation that she could not at first pick herself out, but like a child noting than when she moved, her reflection moved also, she identified herself.
What
she saw in the mirror surprised, delighted, shocked and fascinated her. The shiny knee length boots, with three-inch heels, made her appear tall and slender. Not only did the heels add three inches to her height, but, to balance in the boots and maintain aplomb, she needed to draw herself straight and erect. Her immediate impression was of one of those catwalk models she had seen on Marisol’s TV.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the bar, through her diaphanous camisole she could see that her pert breasts were visible, and that the darted garment accentuated the feminine curve to her flat, exposed waist. From her camisole, suspenders passed vertically down, under the thong clinging tightly to her hips and thighs, to support her black stockings. Around her right thigh clung a red garter.
She could not help but smile with delight at her look. Never had she dreamed she could be so glamorous, appearing to herself the epitome of seduction. Carefully studying the way she danced, she found that moving in half time to the music she was able to maintain her poise and elegance, even in her high-heeled dancing boots. Gradually, she adopted a universally recognised, languorous seductive motion – that stylised courtship display that comes instinctively to teenage girls.
Back in the barangay Blen had felt the impulse to pose and preen when in the company of young men she secretly admired, but had to bottle up the urge. Now, that bottled impulse was uncorked, and she revelled in the freedom, dancing to seek the attention of these desirable foreign men. Absorption in this brief interlude of self-discovery had calmed her jangling nerves, which were smothered by a blanket of elation. Her focus narrowed on the lovely creature she manipulated in the mirror and she exulted in her undulating reflection.
Blen had been on stage only ten minutes when a tap on her leg returned her to the world of nervous confusion.
‘What is your name?’ asked the waitress, and having been told, continued, ‘Well Blen, the customer in the blue shirt like to buy you a drink.’
Blen’s nerves returned with a shudder and the pitch of her voice rose in panic. ‘What do I do?’
The waitress rolled her eyes. ‘Only go and sit at his table and say Hello.’ Her tone was deadpan, that of a person unexpectedly having to state the obvious.
Moving slowly to retain her balance, Blen dismounted from the stage and walked to the table where she sat down and smiled. The waitress placed a glass of cola and ice before her, filled out some vouchers, placed one in the customers tab, and gave the other to Blen. ‘Keep that to claim your commission,’ she explained.
Her customer introduced himself and asked her name.
‘Blen, Siir,’ she replied coyly, then tongue-tied, could only smile and leave her customer to lead the conversation.
He was an Australian, a balding, grey haired man with bright eyes and a direct but pleasant manner. ‘I haven’t seen you before, wer’ve you been?’ he asked.
English was a very second language to Blen, not used much outside her truncated schooling, and she struggled to understand, taken aback also by the rapidity and ebullience of his speech. But she got the drift. ‘Me I am a new girl.’
‘When d’ja start?’
‘Oh, just today Siir, just now.’
‘This dance?’
‘Yes Siir,’ she confirmed.
‘Is that why y’were grinning at y’rself in the mirror?’ he teased.
She giggled, embarrassed that it had been noticed. ‘Yes Siir,’ she repeated.
‘Did y’like what y’saw?’
She giggled again, and drew her shoulders up around her neck, but made no reply.
‘I like what you saw. When you smiled I thought to myself, I’m going to fuck that girl.’
Blen giggled some more, uneasily this time, her smile wan. Such suddenness and frankness shocked her.
Seeing her unease, he changed tack. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just a loud mouth who speaks his mind, but y’are a lovely girl, and I like to fuck lovely girls. Wer’re y’from?’
As he began the slow process of eliciting her story, the waitress who sat nearby, slipped away.
Moments later, Mama Mutia appeared beside the table. ‘Hello Luke, you have met Blen.’
‘Hi Mutia, yeah me and Blen are friends already.’
‘Blen is a cherry girl you know.’
He turned to Blen, ‘A cherry? Is that right?’
She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
‘And so beautiful,’ he added.
‘You can bar-fine her, but no boom-boom,’ Mama Mutia cautioned, ‘unless, you’d like to buy her cherry!’
Luke was dismissively casual. ‘Oh, I can’t afford cherries, and I can’t afford bar-fine with no boom-boom.’
Mutia turned to Blen. ‘Luke’s a regular customer. You will see a lot of him. Take him to the back booth. If you give him a blow-job he will give you a big tip.’ She turned to Luke, adding, ‘Won’t you?’
‘ ‘Strewth, a blow-job from a cherry girl, that’s worth a few dollars.’
Barely were the words spoken than the waitress had lifted the drinks and tab-jar from the table, and was bearing them off to the rear. Luke stood, and followed. For a moment, Blen sat perplexed by what was happening. Mama Mutia took her by the arm and led her after Luke.
In Bisaya she instructed, ‘Give Luke a good time. This is your first customer, and Luke is a good one, do not go too fast, keep him happy and he will tip well.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Just make him happy for half an hour, go under the table and give him a blow-job, but tease him first.’
The waitress seated them in the booth, called out, ‘Party time!’ and pulled the curtains.
Luke sat back in his seat and cocked his head, wide-eyed, ready to admire her unsheathed charms. ‘Let me look at you. Take off your camisole.’
Since reaching puberty at the age of thirteen, and thereby losing the capacity to be both naked and innocent at the same time, Blen had modestly guarded her budding breasts and sparse pubic hair from the eyes of others. She did not feel shame, but she understood her naked body was a billboard, advertising her availability. The camisole was a coy fig-leaf, taming and attenuating the message, but with it removed, her body would brazenly shout its invitation to feast on her.
With heart fluttering and hands quivering, she slipped the shoulder straps of her camisole down her arms and lifted it off. Head bowed and shoulders hunched she sat tensely, staring at her fig-leaf gripped in her hands, pushing away distracting thoughts and mentally preparing herself like an athlete about to compete.
‘Sit up, and show me that lovely smile,’ said Luke.
Blen took a deep breath, embraced her new life, lifted her shoulders, jutted her breasts, raised her chin, and looking Luke in the eyes, dazzled him with her smile.
He beamed lustfully back, and thus rewarded, she relaxed while his admiring eyes made a leisurely pass over her body, the delighted grin on his face telegraphing his satisfaction.
‘Y’know y’have a lovely body. No bullshit. Y’have. In Aus I only see bodies like that, in wank mags.’
She did not quite understand, but she could see and hear that he liked what he saw, and felt flattered. He reached over and stroked her left breast, the touch of his work-hardened fingers unfamiliar against her skin, but not unpleasing. He pulled and milled her nipples in turn. Whatever Blen might have thought, they had a mind of their own and stiffened in response.
‘Do you like that?’
Blen sat silent.
‘Do you like that?’ he insisted.
Her faltering voice returned. ‘Yes Siir … I … I like it.’
‘Come and sit next to me.’
When she settled, he took hold of her hand, placed it on his groin, and began to rub up and down. ‘Do y’know what that is?’
She giggled and nodded. Having consented to touch a few youthful boyfriends in this manner, she was familiar with the feel of manly excitement in her hand.
‘It’s my one eyed monster, his name is Tyson, I named him after my dog, the randy bugger, I’ll introduce you in a minute. This is good … keep rubbing.’
His groin swelled, grew long and hardened under her hand, until his trouser tented so much it filled her hand, and she could feel its length and girth. The same had happened with the two or three boys she had consented to give a hand-job back in the barangay.
‘Tyson wants to come out to play, why don’t you let him out?’
Blen looked puzzled. Luke mimed unzipping and releasing his penis and pointed to his groin. She understood. Pulling down his zip, she reached in, pulled away his shorts, and freed Tyson from the pants. Tyson sprang to a rubbery attention.
‘Do you know how I do that?’
‘How Siir?’ Blen asked.
‘Viagra.’
‘Viagra?’ she echoed, quizzically.
‘Yes Viagra. I’m good for twelve hours and I’m going to use it tonight. It’s Tyson’s birthday and you’re his first present.’
‘First? So, how many presents, Siir?’
‘He’ll be the filling in a Filipina sandwich tonight. I’m taking two girls out. He’ll be like this ’til lunch tomorrow.’
Luke wrapped her hand around Tyson and moved it up and down, then left her to continue. ‘Not too fast, not too hard, just keep him interested, don’t want any accidents.’
The boys at home had wanted her to pump hard and fast, and to bring them to ejaculation as soon as possible, clearly Luke was going to be different kettle of fish.
He told her a little bit about himself, then asked her to sit in his lap.
‘No. Face towards me. Like this.’
He manoeuvred her so she faced him, with his penis threaded up through her thong and held tight against her pussy. For the first time Blen felt the heat of an engorged penis pressed against her pudenda. As Tyson pulsed gently against her soft intimate flesh Blen noted that a new chapter in her life was now truly beginning.
Pulling her thong away from her belly Luke looked down, ‘What’s this? You’ve got hair all over yer pussy. What’s happened there?’
‘It is … just … just normality Siir,’ replied Blen, surprised at his surprise.
‘Oh, I don’t like normality, I like bald … a kalbo kiki. If you came back with me, I’d take me razor to that … OK, now just grip Tyson with your thighs, and grind yer bum.’
Using hand signs, he soon got her in motion, then leaned forward to lick her breasts and suck her nipples. Aroused by this first simultaneous stimulation of her erogenous zones, the friction of Tyson against her pussy induced a reflexive response, her pussy began to weep, and she felt the desire to abandon herself to her partner’s pleasure.
Feeling the dampness, Luke said, ‘You’re enjoying this more than me. You like this don’t you?’
Panting rhythmically, Blen admitted, to herself as well as to Luke, ‘Yes Siir – I like it – of course.’ Of course – of course I like it, it is what I dream when I pleasure myself.
From the other side of the curtain, the waitress called, ‘Next set, ten minutes.’
Luke released Blen from his embrace. ‘OK, time to give Tyson his birthday present.’
Blen now needed to make the leap from being the passive recipient of Luke’s admiration to actively bestowing on him the voluptuous pleasures that were in her gift. It took her a few moments to transition from pleasure receiver to pleasure giver and she unhurriedly disengaged Tyson from her thong, then crouching, slid back under the table and knelt at Luke’s lap, fumbling with Tyson. Her face had never been so close to a penis, close enough to feel its heat on her cheek, and smell beneath the deodorant, that manly, musky, exciting smell. She breathed it in deeply, willing herself to enjoy this new experience, and finding no resistance, welcomed the knowledge that it would become a frequent and important part of her life.
Although, at home there had been much talk of blow-jobs and how to do them, and Blen had listened with interest, she had never had a man in her mouth before, and was not sure how to proceed. She slowly pumped a few times, watching the bell end of Luke’s penis being sheathed and unsheathed. Deciding to start with the soft pink, slightly glistening, skin immediately below the bell, she extended her tongue to gently lick it, her tongue sliding easily over the soft, warm flesh. When she withdrew her tongue into her mouth, she appreciated the slightly salt and savoury taste. Holding him like a cornet, she began to lick around its base, as though eating an ice cream.
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