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From: JAKE BOSWELL <j.boswell@usa.net>
Subject: The Hots for a Hooker by J BOSWELL
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The Hots for a Hooker
by J BOSWELL
(J.BOSWELL@usa.net)
(c) Copyright November 1998 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except
those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR.
Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only"
site) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any
type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book,
magazine, CD-ROM, etc.), or "subscription/membership" sites
requires the author's explicit permission.
WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults
only. The author has uploaded it only to "Adults,
only" sites, and requests that you exercise the same
discretion. Also, this is fiction -- in real life,
please protect your lover and yourself by practicing
safe sex.
A Story In Three Parts
Part 3 of 3
I was sitting in the lobby when Tiffany reappeared. She was
wearing dark hose and very tall, black highheels. The rest was
covered by a long raincoat. Her make-up was very heavy and she
was wearing large, dangling gold earrings. Her hair was teased
and tousled-looking. We walked to the elevators together.
"This seemed like short notice, Tiffany."
"It was. The bimbo they had booked was a no-show. The
bestman's father owns that office building across the street and
throws a lot of business over here, so the concierge was highly
motivated to find a substitute. He called two services, but they
were booked for a Friday night. He checked with Brian, and here
I am."
"Have you ever done one of these?"
"As a matter of fact, Mike, I haven't. But I don't think
they'll try anything I haven't been trained for."
We both laughed.
"Why tonight?"
She looked pensive for a moment (a nice look on her pretty
face). "Oh, hell, I don't know. I've never done a bachelor
party and at 31, I don't expect to be invited to too many more.
It sounds so raunchy and slutty, doesn't it? The experience, the
money, the challenge of showing the guys a good time. Who knows,
Dear? Just find a seat and watch!"
On the top floor, we walked to the door and I knocked. The
guy who opened the door stepped out into the corridor.
"She the dancer?" he asked me.
"She's it. You have the money?"
He looked at Tiffany. "You're older than the other girl we
hired."
Tiffany smirked, "And where's Miss Coed, now?"
"Okay," the guy said, "but for this kind of money, you
better be damned good!"
Tiffany opened her coat and let it drop to the floor. She
was wearing stockings and a garterbelt. I could see that because
her tight, red spandex skirt was too short to reach the top of
the stockings. Her top was a black tube thing and her bra was
more like two shelves for her big tits spilling over the top.
Mr. Hard-Sell took one look at Tiffany and blurted, "Oh,
shit! Let's get this fucking party started! Now, what's the
deal? What will you do?"
Tiffany walked up next to the guy and grabbed his cock
through his slacks, "Anything your little heart -- and your
little head -- desires, Sweetheart. But, the groom goes first."
He handed me ten one-hundred dollar bills, I picked up
Tiffany's coat, and we walked into the bachelor party.
* * * * *
I had been to bachelor parties, but not for a long time, and
never in a hotel suite. The "living" area was fairly large and
had sofas, chairs, tables, TV and stereo. Off to the side was a
tiny dining table and two straight-back chairs. Music was
playing through the speakers and the ubiquitous bachelor-party
porno flick was on the tube. Eight young guys, including the one
that met us at the door, and an older guy were sitting or
standing around, smoking cigars, drinking booze or beer from the
bottles. The young groom-to-be was obvious in his "Yes, Dear"
t-shirt. They all stopped what they were doing when Tiffany
pranced into the room.
"Oh, no!" she cried in mock horror, "You guys all look
horny! I thought I was going to a Christian Ladies' Prayer
Group. I must be in the wrong room!"
Catcalls and whistles and applause broke out in the room.
These guys were very happy to see their entertainment finally
arrive.
Tiffany strutted over to the groom and wrapped her arms
around his neck, pressed her body into his, and plastered a hot
kiss on his lips. Her skirt hiked up even higher and the groom's
hands were soon filled with Tiffany's ass cheeks. Cameras were
flashing.
She broke the kiss and smiled at the guy, "Wow! That was
some kiss. Are you sure you want to get married, tomorrow?"
Then she turned around and said, "And you guys with the cameras
-- you may not want to take pictures -- they have a way of
getting back to wives and moms and girlfriends."
One guy took a picture of her as she spoke.
"Alright, be that way! Now, what's your name, Honey?" she
asked the groom.
"Steve."
"Okay, Steve, this is your night. I'm here to entertain
*YOU*. Which means you come first -- in more ways than one!"
"And us!" "And his friends!" "Save him for last!" the rest
of the guys yelled.
"Steve, why don't you take a seat?" Tiffany suggested.
Somebody brought one of the straight-back chairs over to the
open area of the floor and Tiffany gently pushed Steve down on to
it.
"This was short notice, Steve, so I don't have a tape to
play, so just make up something in your head as I dance for you."
A guy fooled around at the stereo and the next thing we
heard was ZZTop.
"Perfect!" Tiffany said as she began to move to the beat.
She could really dance. She did her bumps and grinds, but
they weren't that exaggerated stuff that a lot of dancers do and
looks so phony. She looked great, and I knew every guy there was
watching her and thinking that it was their lucky night because
they were going to fuck her.
Tiffany danced around Steve. Soon, she lowered the tube-top
to her waist and almost all of her big tits were on display in
the underwire half-bra she was wearing.
"Let's get right to the fun part!" Tiffany said as she
unclasped her bra and it fell to the floor. Her naked, white
tits were greeted with more catcalls and approval.
As she danced close to Steve, he reached forward and grabbed
both of Tiffany's breasts and filled his mouth with her nipple.
Tiffany let him enjoy her flesh for a few moments, but then
pulled away and said, "Bad boy, Steve! Very bad boy!"
She came over to me, reached in her coat pocket and pulled
out a pair of chrome handcuffs. Everybody was laughing as
Tiffany cuffed Steve's hands behind the chair, as she was rubbing
the back of his head between her tits.
She removed the top from her waist and started dancing,
again. And what a dance! Tiffany danced around the room,
giving each of the guys a long, lingering kiss, while they
grabbed her naked tits and her ass. I swear the temperature in
the room was rising. Cameras continued to flash all over the
room.
"Hey! Don't forget about me!" yelled Steve.
Tiffany stepped back to the groom and started unbuckling his
belt. "Don't worry 'bout that, Steve-honey! You're gonna be
busy!"
She unzipped his slacks and he lifted himself off the chair
enough so Tiffany could lower them and his underwear to his
ankles. Then she bent over at the waist and took Steve's hard
cock into her mouth. As she did this, her skirt rode up over her
ass and we were all looking at her thong panties and garterbelt.
There was a collective moan from the other men as she wiggled her
ass.
After a few more minutes, Tiffany danced away from Steve and
began peeling her red skirt over her hips and ass. Her panties
soon followed and she danced in the center of the room.
I studied her body and it was tremendous. I know I'm
repeating myself, but even though she was relatively short, she
gave the appearance of being in perfect proportion. In the high
heels and stockings, her legs looked long and curvy. Her hips
flared and her butt was tight and round. She had a nice waist
and, although not toned to washboard hardness, her stomach was
almost flat. Her breasts were breathtaking -- I knew her bra
size was 34-D from our shopping trip, but they looked so large on
her petite frame -- high on her chest, round and full, firm, with
only the slightest sag (I guess not having kids helped there)
that made them appear even sexier. And sexy she was. She was
wearing loose, thin gold chains around her neck, waist and left
ankle. Her earrings and bracelets were gold. The tatoo on her
breast was obvious and the one near her pussy peeked out from
behind the garterbelt as she moved. She was quite a package.
Tiffany stepped toward Steve on the beat and spread her legs
to fit around the chair. She produced a condom from somewhere
and rolled it down Steve's hard cock. She posed above Steve's
dick for a moment, then she lowered herself until his head
pierced her pussy-lips and then she dropped down into his lap.
"Oh, Steve-honey, you're gonna make your new bride a happy
woman!"
Steve groaned loudly and looked up at his audience. "Man,
this slut's cunt is tight!" he yelled. "Oh, yea, baby, make it
last. Give me a good long ride!"
Tiffany grabbed his face and pushed it to her chest. "Suck
some tittie, Steve! You talk too much!"
Steve didn't last long. When he was through, Tiffany
unlocked his handcuffs, strutted over to her coat and pulled out
a big box of condoms. She threw them on the coffeetable and then
bent over at the waist, resting her hands on the table. She
wiggled her ass and asked, "Alright, boys, time to line up.
Who's next?"
I looked at her in amazement. She had just invited a room
full of men to fuck her, and if she wasn't enjoying herself, she
was the best actress I've ever seen.
The best man looked at the older guy who waved the best man
to go ahead. He stepped behind Tiffany and let his pants and
shorts drop to the floor. Then he rammed his cock into Tiffany,
balls deep.
"Ooough!" moaned Tiffany. She looked up at her audience, in
various stages of undress, and said, "If you boys don't put your
rubbers on, it's gonna get pretty sloppy, pretty fast."
"Fuck the rubbers!" said the best man.
"No, honey, fuck me!" responded Tiffany as she bounced her
hips back to meet his hips.
The best man finished and was replaced by cock number 3, and
then 4. The best man was standing next to me in just his boxer
shorts. "Christ! She's unbelievable! Who'd believe a cunt that
looks as classy as she does would fuck everybody in the place
like she's doing?"
"She likes her job," I replied.
"I'll say. The no-show bitch said she wouldn't pull a
train, no matter how much we offered. Said she would jack the
groom off and that was it. I'm sure glad she was a no-show and
we got this slut."
I was watching as a couple of the guys were urging a very
young guy to take his place behind Tiffany. Tiffany had cum
oozing out of her pussy and running down both thighs, to her
stocking tops.
"Who's the kid?" I asked the best man.
"Steve's little brother. I think he's only 14 or 15. Who
knows -- this might be his first piece! The old guy is Steve's
dad. Kinky, eh?"
Tiffany turned her head toward the kid. "Don't be scared,
honey, I had all my pussy-teeth pulled. You'll like it, I
promise. Now, you *ARE* 18, aren't you?"
"Uh, um, sure. I'm 18," the boy stammered.
"Well, then stick it in, Sweetheart!"
The kid finished and sat down with glassy eyes. The rest of
the men followed one after another. One guy jumped up on the
table and wagged his erection in Tiffany's face, obviously
wanting her to suck him.
She smiled up at him and said, "Now, don't be rushing me,
Sweetie. I'm not goin' anywheres for a while and I'll take care
of whatever you want. Just get in line and take your turn. This
first round is just to sorta take the edge off, if you know what
I mean."
It was interesting for me to notice that all nine of the men
were about the same size. I had read so many stories, I really
wondered what the truth was. The lengths looked pretty close to
the same, but there were differences in girth and curvature. It
didn't seem to matter to Tiffany.
She finished with the last man and stood up. "Whew! You
boys sure know how to treat a lady! Can somebody fix me a
bourbon while I freshen up?"
When she walked out of the bedroom, she was stark naked,
except for her gold chains, jewelry, and her tatoos. She looked
fantastic. She sat on the sofa between Steve and his little
brother and lit a cigarette and drank her bourbon. Guys were
lighting cigars and joints, filling the suite with powerful
smoke.
Before she finished her drink, both Steve and the kid had
begun fondling her tits and pussy, and were now each sucking on a
nipple. Tiffany put her glass down and grabbed a dick in each
hand. It looked like it was going to start all over again.
And it did.
Tiffany took the two brothers into the bedroom and the three
of them rolled around on the bed. Tiffany gave the kid a lesson
in "d-p," showing him all the ways an enthusiastic girl could
accommodate two hard cocks.
I sat in a chair and watched as the guys came in, did
something with or to Tiffany and drifted out, again. The guys
were obviously getting groggy by the moment, from the booze and
the sex and the smoke and the hour. The party was finally
slowing down and Tiffany had to work a little harder to give the
guys their erections (except for the kid, of course!).
It didn't look like anyone was going to hurt her, so I
drifted out to the living room and put CNN on the TV. After a
while, even watching real fucking can get to you. It's not like
videos -- it's real, it's close, and you don't have tracking
problems with the tape. But, it isn't like your fantasies,
either. It's like being the only sober guy, watching all your
drunk friends make asses of themselves. People are sweating, and
shuffling around to get in good positions -- most of the men
there were happy with the missionary or doggie position.
Everybody's grunting and moaning. Some of the guys were gentle,
but some used really demeaning names for Tiffany, slapping her
ass or her tits as she fucked or sucked them. And the whole
time, Tiffany urged every one of them on, encouraging them,
telling them how big and hard and what good fuckers they were.
Maybe she *HAD* found her vocation. She certainly looked
like she was enjoying the mayhem. She had been enthusiastic with
the groom, patient with the kid, and raunchy with the rest of
them, over and over. It was obvious that there were no
complaints from the partiers and no coyness from her -- she was
what she was, and very matter-of-fact about it.
Just before I left the bedroom, Tiffany was taking it from
the rear and another guy knelt on the bed and began smacking
Tiffany's cheek with his semi-hard cock. She looked up at him
and smiled, "I'll do it now, if you want, but I'm a little
distracted. If you wanna wait until this stud is done reaming my
asshole, I'll give you a blow-job you won't soon forget."
*****
I was drifting off to sleep when someone knocked at the
door. I looked through the peephole and saw that it was the
concierge and not the cops. I opened the door.
"Is the pro still here?"
I nodded.
"Good! Mr. Atwell invited me up after my shift."
"Atwell?"
"The best man. He's running the party, so I figured..."
"Come on in. She won't notice another one. Bedroom. Just
watch that you don't slip and fall in!"
We both chuckled at my feeble joke.
He had what was obviously a quickie with Tiffany and left.
An hour later, the only guys awake were the kid, the guy
with the fat dick, and me. Tiffany had had a few more bourbons
and was a little tipsy, but was still fucking and sucking.
Someone knocked at the door, again. It was the two
bartenders from the lounge. I opened the door, "Bedroom. Hope
you don't mind it stretched and sloppy."
A few minutes later, I got up and walked into the bedroom.
The kid was asleep on the other bed and the bartenders, already
finished their first round with our "superwhore," were sharing a
bottle of Canadian and smoking cigarettes. They stood there,
naked from the waist down, watching the guy with the fat cock
fucking Tiffany's asshole. When he finished, Brian the
bartender, rolled her over and shoved his newly-erect dick up her
pussy. He took a fairly long time to cum and when he rolled off
her, his partner moved right in, burying what was the longest
dick at the party in one fast stroke. I went back out to the
livingroom and had another drink.
About a half-hour later, the two bartenders walked by me and
out the door. I stood at the bedroom door and looked at the
scene. The kid and fat-cock were snoring on the other bed.
Tiffany was on her back on the bed, her eyes closed, and with her
legs spread and her feet touching the floor. Her pretty white
skin was blotchy red in places. She was covered with sweat and
cum. I could see wads in her hair, on her face, her neck,
between her tits. Her pussy was covered with it and it was
seeping from between her pussylips and puddling on the sheet.
What an appropriate end to the two weeks I had known
Tiffany. Filled and covered with the cum of twelve men, and who
knows how many orgasms, she looked exactly like what she said she
was -- a whore. Not just any whore, either, but a slutty,
degenerate whore, a gang-bang whore, a tramp whore. How could a
woman go so low?
I looked at her body. I was disgusted, repulsed. She had
taken strangers in her hands, her mouth, her cunt and her ass.
There wasn't anything a man couldn't do to her, if he had enough
money in his pocket.
As I stood there, I opened my slacks and dropped them and my
underwear to my ankles. I was sickened and aroused. I was going
to add my cum to all the cum already filling her cunt. I
positioned my dick at her entrance and slowly pushed it in. She
was so full of cum, I could feel it squeeze out of her cunt, ooze
around my cock, until it wet my pubic hair. It was disgusting!
It was incredible!
I began humping her and she opened her eyes. "Mike? What
are you doing? Couldn't wait for your freebie, baby?"
I pulled my prick out and rolled her over. I slammed my
slimy cock into her asshole. I wouldn't have minded if I had
hurt her at that moment.
I didn't last long. I had been watching her performing all
night, and was on the edge when I entered her.
I still had my cock buried up her ass when she turned and
said, "Mmmm, you're hot, sweetie. You're the best of the long
night!"
I knew it was whore-talk and she had probably said the same
thing twelve other times that night. I popped my dick out and
grabbed her by the hair. I pulled her around on the bed and
pushed her face against my crotch. "Clean me!"
She looked up into my eyes, looking for something I wasn't
willing to give her at that moment. "Ohh, Mike, it's really
messy and I've had a long, long night."
I pushed her face against my cock, again. "Clean me up, you
disgusting whore!"
"Oh, I get it. My favorite John didn't like watching me
earn my money, and now he's punishing me. Now you want to be a
pig."
"Yeah, that's right, I'm the pig. You just fucked twelve
guys senseless! God, I hate you, you disgusting slut!" I cried.
"And, I hate myself for even putting my dick into your sloppy
cunt and ass!"
She began licking and sucking me. She licked the messy
fluids off my balls and thighs and out of my pubic hair. I
thought I was clean, but she didn't stop. She sucked me until I
was hard again and she kept on sucking me until I came in her
mouth.
She pulled herself up, each nipple burning a path up my
body, and looked at me eye-to-eye.
She spit my cum into my face!
I raised my hand to slap the defiant smile off of her pretty
face, but, instead, I grabbed her hair and pulled her tightly to
me and we kissed a deep, long, angry, exhausted, furious,
passionate kiss.
The kiss eventually ended. When it did, we smiled a sad
smile at each other. I saw her for the debased slut that she
was, and still wanted her with every cell in my body -- and she
knew that.
Tiffany started to get off the bed and said, "I'm
a whore, Mike, and you knew that. I've never lied to you. This
is what I do and I'm good at it. But now it's late and I think
I've earned my money. Let's blow this joint, Mike."
I said, "you already have."
She chuckled and punched me in the arm. "Then let's get out
of here."
I pulled my drawers up and followed Tiffany into the
bathroom.
Back in the livingroom, she pulled her top on and then
tugged her skirt up. "I can't find my bra and panties anywhere."
I shrugged. "Probably someone's trophies."
"Yeah. Hey, before we go, let's pick up all the polaroids
and get the film out of the cameras."
"Are you worried about their wives and moms?"
"Hell, no, I'm worried I'll be plastered all over the
internet by Monday!"
Tiffany collected the polaroids in both rooms and I rewound
and unloaded the two 35mm cameras. What I didn't notice until I
did a final scan, was a camcorder on the stereo shelf. It had
black tape over the red "recording" light and had one full reel
in it and two more next to it. I took them, too.
I helped Tiffany into her coat and we left the suite and
walked to the elevators. She was wobbly and leaned against me
until I opened the door to my room.
"You're really beat. I'm in that bed, Tiffany. Feel free
to take this one."
"Thanks, Mike, but I'm gonna have to soak, first."
I showed Tiffany another wad of money. "Your tips. Not
much. Fifty dollars a cock."
Tiffany sat in the big tub as it was filling. "I don't
remember anyone tipping."
They didn't. I just decided it was a fair tip and collected
it from the concierge and the two bartenders and then lifted it
from the rest, while they slept. Believe me, after a full day of
drinking and that party, none of them will remember what they had
in their wallets."
"You're so sweet, Mike."
* * * * *
SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1996
Saturday Morning.
I awoke the next morning with Tiffany, naked, cuddled
tightly against me. It felt wonderful.
"You really have to go?" she asked in a half-awake voice.
"Yes. All the big bosses are here, today. It is the one
day I can't miss."
"And there isn't anything I can do to change your mind?"
Her warm hand brushed down my chest and grasped my hardening
cock.
"I didn't think you'd be in the mood, after last night."
"I'll probably be a little sore, but I told you I wouldn't
wear it out. C'mon, climb aboard!"
"I don't want to hurt you, Tiffany. And you need some rest.
We can do it when I get back. Okay?"
A light snore was the only sound she made.
* * * * *
She wasn't there when I got back.
I couldn't understand it. When she left, she knew I'd be
leaving soon. It would have been my last chance to see her
before going home. I was disappointed.
I swallowed hard and called Laura. There had been a change
in my plans, anyway. Peter Hymes, a VP, scheduled a breakfast
meeting for Sunday morning with the regional chiefs. We were in
a centrally located town and everybody was flying in for the
face-to-face. I was flattered when he asked me to attend, and
there was no way I was saying no. I explained all of this to
Laura and told her that my Sunday flight home had a two-hour
lay-over in Chicago, and I wouldn't be home until nine o'clock in
the evening. She told me not to worry, good luck at the meeting,
and she'd meet me at the airport. How could I tell Laura that I
didn't want to live with her anymore, that I wanted to live with
a whore -- a whore who excited me and made me feel alive and
happy and lusty? Instead, I said, "I'll see you at the airport,
Honey."
I was just about to go downstairs and begin my search for
Tiffany when my phone rang. Hymes wanted me to join him for
dinner and a drink. At my obsequious best, I gladly accepted his
invitation.
* * * * *
After a nice dinner, Peter suggested a drink in the lounge
before retiring. This was the first time in almost two weeks
when I didn't want to see Tiffany in the lounge. Peter had met
Laura at several company occasions, and I didn't want him to see
that I was on speaking terms with a hooker.
Of course, she was there, sitting at the bar. She saw us
walk in but didn't acknowledge me. I'd have to thank her for
that, later.
Peter and I sat at a table and had a few drinks. Tiffany
went off with one client, but reappeared shortly -- a hand-job or
blow-job, obviously.
Peter and I talked about a lot of things. He is very
conservative and religious. Knowing Laura and I had adopted our
two girls, he said he and his wife were considering the same
thing, and he wanted to know about the process. Finally, we
called it an early night. Peter said he had some figures to go
over in his room for the morning meeting. I went up in the
elevator with him.
I was still tired from the night before, but planned to wait
a few minutes and go back down to see Tiffany.
I woke up at six a.m., still dressed in Saturday's clothes.
SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 1996
I had just enough time to get ready when Peter called from
the lobby. We went to the meeting together and I flew home. All
my thoughts were of Tiffany -- I missed her, already.
* * * * *
I had a lay-over in Chicago. When I finally arrived, Laura
was standing at the luggage pick-up. I almost ran to her. We
kissed passionately and I said, "I like the hair."
"Yes, I do, too. I had stayed a blonde too long. I like
the short length, too. It's fun to play around with."
"How about the tatoos?"
"Gone. They were temporary. But I'm still bald."
I smiled at my wife. "I liked that a lot. Let's keep it
that way for a while."
My luggage had arrived, and we were walking to the car.
"How were your two weeks?" I asked.
My beautiful wife smiled a shy smile. "Michael, I can't
believe how incredible and outrageous they were! And, on top of
all the fun I had, I lost seven pounds and made almost seven
thousand dollars -- even after my payoffs! Of course, I have to
stop smoking all over, again, and re-learn how to speak proper
English! Michael, thank you so much for giving me that kind of
freedom to live out my lifelong fantasy."
"Well, it didn't hurt that it's my lifelong fantasy, too,
you little whore."
* * * * *
EPILOGUE
Yes, I'm sure you already knew -- Laura is Tiffany --
Tiffany is Laura.
This happened in June, 1996. Laura never expected her
fantasy to last for two weeks. She thought that, on the first
night there, she'd turn a trick while I watched the pick-up and
then move into my room for the two weeks, but she didn't see me
anywhere on Monday and Tuesday, and by Wednesday, she discovered
she was having the time of her life -- that she liked being
Tiffany -- a happily married hooker! Who could have predicted
that?
What she said about her youthful whoring was true and we had
role-played the "hooker" scene more than a few times over the
years. What spurred Laura on to actually live the scenario was
the last time we played -- three men approached "Tiffany" before
I did, and offered her a tremendous amount of money to go to
their room. Tiffany reluctantly demurred, but Laura kept
wondering what would have happened. Whenever we made love after
that, she would describe what the three men would have done to
her, until we both had explosive climaxes. Finally, I asked
Laura if she really wanted to try it. She said that she was
toying with the idea and might just be in the right mood,
someday.
I didn't know it at the time, but Laura had arranged for her
mother to watch the kids for the two weeks and she waited at the
airport and took a flight a few hours after mine. When she
didn't see me in the bar by Wednesday night, she made up the
"escort" story and knocked on my door. You know the rest from
then.
* * * * *
Yes, there's a downside. Laura's pictures did eventually
appear on the internet. We must have missed a camera. I kept
doing searches on "Bachelor Party" and, sure enough, we
eventually found the photos. The faces of the men were digitally
blurred, but my wife's face (along with the rest of her body) was
right out there, crystal clear and in living color. Laura
immediately returned to being a blonde and is still letting her
hair grow longer. We just hope none of her students (or their
parents) stumble on to the site.
On the upside, we now have so many stories to talk about
when we make love.
* * * * *
DECEMBER 24, 1996
The familyroom was lit only by the dying fire in the hearth
and we were making soft, slow love on Christmas Eve. I was on my
back and Laura was lowering her slippery pussy down over my rigid
cock. My hands reached up to her heavy tits and I brushed my
fingertips across her nipples.
"Ooooo, nice! I saved a story for you, Dear. I wanted to
give you a special Christmas gift."
"You waited over six months to tell me? This must be a good
story."
"It is. I fucked your boss!"
"My boss?" I had visions of Laura disappearing at the
recent Christmas party, but, other than trips to the ladies'
room, I couldn't remember a time she wasn't in sight.
"Which one? When?"
"Peter Hymes. He was Tiffany's last trick. He returned to
the lounge right after the two of you went upstairs. Made a
bee-line right over to me. He said I reminded him of somebody he
has the hots for! Do you think it's me -- Laura -- he has the
hots for?"
"It must be. He's met you at enough functions, but you had
long blonde hair, then. I wonder what he would have thought at
the Christmas party if you still had the 'Tiffany' hairstyle and
color?"
"Hmmm... an interesting question. He didn't make any
indication that he made a connection."
Laura was torturing me, leaning forward, lifting her pussy
almost all the way off my prick, and then slowly dropping back
down on it. "So, how was he? And you better make it quick!"
"He's very kinky, Dear -- almost scary. When we got back to
his room, he told me he was a deacon at his church, and he
preached to me about Satan and the work I was doing in the name
of Satan. He said I had tempted him and resisting me was a test
from God. He opened his zipper and pulled out a hard dick and
said, 'On your knees, hellwhore! Kiss the flesh of a pure and
Christian man!'"
I was ready to blow. "I'm close, Laura!"
She lifted herself off my dick and squeezed the head with
her fingers. "Not yet, lover! Maybe you should lick some
'hellwhore' pussy while I finish my story."
She continued, "He was mumbling some prayers, or something,
as I sucked him off. He didn't last long. He then yelled at me
for being such a temptress and wailed about the weakness of his
flesh. 'We must continue the test. Strip, whore!' he said.
When he saw my shaved pussy, he went crazy -- kissing it, licking
it, rubbing it with his hands and penis. I guess mine was the
first one he ever saw. Oh, your tongue feels sooo good!"
"And you taste so good. Finish the story!"
"Well, he made me lie down on the bed and he got a black bag
out of his luggage. He put a pentagram on a chain around my
neck, and then painted a big black one on my belly and chest. He
lit two thick candles -- one red, one black. Then he pulled out
a bible and a cross. The real praying started then. He held the
candles over me and dropped the melting wax on my nipples and
pussy. He had done that before, because he knew how to do it
without the wax being too hot when it landed."
"Christ, he should be put away!"
"It gets better. He told me to beg for the lord's mercy. I
played along. He ordered me to get on my hands and knees. Then
he slowly inserted the black candle into my pussy, and the red
one into my ass. It was quite a sight in the mirror!"
"You had to be scared by now."
"I really wasn't. He hadn't hurt me. I would play along
until he did."
"And then?" I asked.
"And then I either leave or renegotiate my price!"
"Whore!"
"For sure! Next, he blew out the candles and removed the
candle from my ass. He moved over behind me and pushed his dick
up my ass as he fucked my pussy with the candle. I surprised
myself by feeling a tremendous climax coming on. The whole
freaky scene had me hot!
"He found the rhythm I liked as I came, stroking me
perfectly. It was a great cum. He continued to fuck my asshole
until, finally, he said, 'I now give you an injection of the
lord's mercy into your defiled whore's body!'
"It's hard to believe, but I came all over again."
Laura rearranged herself over my cock, again. As she
lowered herself, I asked if she left after that.
"No, we fucked and sucked for the next two hours. He was
almost insatiable. He paid extra for some water-sports and
'baptized' me in the tub. He anointed me by spraying his cum all
over my face. I tasted the devil by licking his asshole. And,
finally, he finally 'redeemed' me by fucking me, with a big white
candle shoved up my ass as he plowed away in my pussy. What a
night!"
I was ready to cum and Laura knew it. "C'mon, baby! Cum in
your personal whore's body! Fill me up with your cum, just like
so many other men have -- men who waited in line to take their
turn and paid me to fuck them and suck them and do all the
degrading, disgusting things real whores do. I'm your Christmas
Whore! Fuck me!"
Afterwards, we were cuddled on the floor, wrapped in a
blanket.
"I can't believe Peter didn't know who you were. He's no
dummy and you are a beautiful woman."
"Thank you, Dear, but it was six months ago and I was a
whore in a hotel in a city far away -- it was out of context and
he was looking to get his kinky rocks off."
"Still..." I mused.
"Well, Michael, you may be right. At the Christmas party,
he invited me to join his prayer group on a weekend retreat!' Do
you think he meant..?"
"What did you tell him?"
"With you up for a partnership, I told him I'd be glad to
attend the next one. He said he'd call me with the time and
place."
"This could get complicated."
* * * * *
Laura attended the prayer-group meetings. The first two
were legitimate. Since then, the "group" has met six times, and
included only Peter and Laura, at his mountain cabin for a
weekend. His kinkiness is unbridled with Laura. He loves to
dress her up and act out his "temptation/redemption" scenes. He
always has new props -- crosses, candles, dildoes, plugs, etc.
And, Laura says the closet in the cabin is full of her outfits --
among them, a tart, a choir singer, a young girl, a pilgrim, a
medieval virgin, a nun, a witch, and even Satan, herself! She
always comes home and tells me the kinky goings-on as we make
crazy love.
I've gotten the partnership, and, listening to what the
other partners said, apparently without any help (or hinderance,
for that matter) from Peter, so my wife doesn't do it for that
reason. She does it because she gets off on it. She loves the
feelings of perversity, depravity, and naughtiness these trips
bring her. It floats her boat. And I love hearing about it.
* * * * *
Recently, one night in bed, Laura was asleep beside me and I
was reading a mystery. About sixty pages into the book, one of
the characters says, "What, you don't think prostitutes get
married? Whores get married. They make good wives."
I smiled and looked at my sleeping wife. I'm sure what the
character said was true, but I'd have to add: and, sometimes,
wives make good whores.
* * * * *
END
* * * * *
I was proofing this story when I realized it was merely a
riff on a much better story written by "Dr. Watson" called
JANSLUT5 or "La Puta." Seek out that story -- your efforts will
be rewarded.
************
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