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From: M.T.Head <mthead@nym.alias.net>
Subject: RP by req: Hots for a Hooker, by J. Boswell (complete)
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I didn't write this story; the author is J. Boswell <j.boswell@usa.net>.
Please send him your comments.
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.
(Many thanks for the comments and suggestions from Tina, a real
professional.)
11/18/98
A Story In Three Parts
Part 1 of 3
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19, 1996
Wednesday night. Class was over, dinner was done. The only
thing left to do was lie on the bed and surf through the channels
until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Another boring night
in my hotel room. I loved my job, but, God, I hated these trips.
I was a year, maybe two, from partnership, handling
administrative and training projects, and some PR, for a major
chain of restaurants. It was a great job. But three or four
times a year, when we opened a new restaurant, I had to go out to
the site for two weeks, training managers, assistant managers,
accountants, chefs, waiters and waitresses, hostesses and all the
other employees. I taught the company policy, procedures and
requirements -- a "PPR" trip. I had flown in on Sunday and would
be here for another week and a half.
I wasn't opposed to going out and having a little fun, but
the subject matter for the first week was the more strenuous and
structured, and I preferred holding the fun off to the second
week. Besides, I was happily married and "partying" consisted of
just having a few drinks with some of the new (and anxious)
employees, but it beat sitting alone in a hotel room,
channel-surfing. Oh, there was always any number of "sweet young
things" among my students, but I was no Tom Cruise, and none of
the young women ever appealed to me the way my wife did.
Besides, what kind of example would I be setting -- I taught the
sexual harassment awareness course!
My wife, Laura... Now that was a nice thought. I let my
mind drift...
Happily married almost thirteen years and the passion
between us was still so strong.
My wife and I had made sweet love most of Sunday, until it
was time for me to go to the airport. The kids were at Granma's
for the weekend and I woke up Sunday morning with Laura curled in
my arm, her long blond hair splashed across my chest. She
smelled so good. I turned enough to bring my other hand around
and I cupped her warm breast -- the skin was taut and the nipple
began to wrinkle and harden. Without saying a word, Laura's hand
found its way to my hardening cock and began stroking it slowly.
I was rock-hard in seconds. I nibbled on her ear and brought my
other hand down to her thick patch of curly light-brown pussy
hair, caressing her clit with my finger. Laura let out a long,
low moan. She gripped my cock a little tighter and---
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
I was shocked out of my sexy reverie! Someone was at the
door and I had no idea who it could be. Maybe it was
housekeeping to deliver the mint for my pillow.
I was a little embarrassed with the tent in my pants, so I
stood behind the door and put my face at the opening.
"Yes?" Expecting a maid, the woman standing at my door was
anything but. "What are you doing here?"
"Hi, I'm Tiffany."
"Tiffany" was one hot looking woman. She was short --
couldn't have been over 5'3" but was well-rounded. I don't mean
fat -- she had all her curves where they belonged -- large, round
breasts, nice hips and breathtaking legs. She was wearing black
highheels and a shiny black dress that buttoned from the neck to
the hem, with more than a button or two open on both ends. The
neckline was open enough to reveal a generous show of creamy,
white cleavage, and the hem was just high enough to show an
interesting amount of thigh. She was very cute -- not beautiful,
but very, very cute. Her short hair was that popular artificial
color that's not quite red, brown or maroon, and softly spiked
Her lipstick and lightly-applied eyeshadow matched the hair. All
and all, quite an attractive -- and very sexy -- young lady.
I must have been standing there with my dumb look on as I
studied her.
She tilted her head to the side, slightly (and charmingly).
"Tiffany? From the TipTop Escort Service?"
"Yes? And you want me?"
She smiled a bright white smile -- beautiful white teeth
framed by that dark lipstick on her sexy, full lips. "I thought
*YOU* wanted *ME*! Didn't you call the service?"
My brain wasn't working and I was having no trouble
maintaining my blank look.
She tried again, very slow and gentle. "You're not Steve,
are you?"
I knew the answer to that one. "No. Mike."
"This is room 332, right?"
Another one I knew! "Uh, yeah, 332." I was on a roll.
Tiffany had a little puzzled expression on her pretty face.
"Can I use your phone for a sec?" she asked.
I opened the door and pointed to the phone. If she had
asked me to pay for the pleasure of watching her walk to the
phone, I would have. She dialed a number and talked for a few
minutes. As she stood there, I had to again admire the way she
was put together -- she had an exquisite body. All the better
when I looked at her face and saw that she may not have been as
young as she first appeared. I had no idea about "escorts" but
from TV drama shows I assumed they were mostly poor college girls
or bored housewives, and from the "reality" shows, they looked
like skanky old whores. Tiffany looked like she was definitely
out of school and not bored and she was as far as you could get
from skanky. She was a sexy, attractive, desirable woman.
She hung up, looked at me and said, "Idiot!"
"Problem?"
"Yeah, sorry for the trouble. It's room 323. Thanks for
letting me use the phone."
"Sure."
She walked that walk to the door and was just about to
close it when my mouth began talking without any input from my
brain. "Ah, Tiffany?"
"Yeah?" She stopped and turned around. She had a hand on
her hip and her hip cocked to the side. She had this wry kind of
smile on her painted lips. Her dress was open at her legs and
her chest was sticking out. God, she was hot!
My mouth kept on going. "Ah, um, you said escort service?"
She smiled again.
I knew I was out of my league and I began to feel like a
canary at a cat convention.
"Yeah, I work for an escort service."
"Does that mean you, ah..." I was quite the cool dude.
"That's what it means, babe. You ain't a cop, are you?" I
shook my head. "I didn't think so. What would be the odds of me
coming to the wrong room and there being a cop there? So,
anyways, you interested in a little party, Mike?"
Was I? Married almost thirteen years, I had never "partied"
with anyone. Was I ready to step over the line after all those
years, because this sexy, little prostitute happened to hit all
my "turn-on" buttons at once?
"Mike? You want to party? It's as easy as 1-2-3. A super
massage is a hundred. Great french is two, and anything you want
is three an hour. Two and three are with condom, only. Tips are
graciously accepted. What do you say? I gotta be down the hall
soon -- Steve's waiting -- so you'll have to decide quick."
"Okay." Did I really say that? Was I going through with
it? I guess I was. I knew I had less than two hundred in my
wallet, so my choice was easy. "I'll take the massage."
"Good choice, Mike. Gimme the hundred and then strip off
your clothes and lay on the bed. You won't be sorry."
I counted out four twenties and two tens, then I stripped
off my undershirt, socks, slacks and boxers as Tiffany watched.
I was embarrassed undressing in front of a woman who was holding
my cash in her hand, but, at the same time, I was kind of proud
of my erection -- I couldn't remember being harder than I was at
that moment.
Once on the bed, Tiffany sat down beside me and gently
wrapped her fingers around my hard dick. Her dark nail polish
made the sight even that much more sexy.
"Ooo... I see you're all nice and hard for me, already!"
"Um... are you staying dressed?" I asked her.
"Well, maybe I can open a few more buttons, or, for another
twenty, I'll take the dress off."
"I'll pay." And I was glad I did. She stood and opened the
rest of the buttons and took the dress off. She stood there in
her heels, thigh-high stockings with a dark band at the top, a
small, lacy pair of black panties, and a matching bra, with her
boobs bursting out of the top. It was a vision I would have in
my head in my dying moment.
She knelt on the bed, with her hand on my cock and her
cleavage towards my face. She was cooing in her low, deep voice,
talking dirty. I loved it.
"Ohh... You have such a nice cock, Mike. It's so hard and
hot. Umm... So smooth and thick. Did I make it like this? Do
you like looking at my big tits, Mike? Do you like what my hand
is doing?"
I could only moan.
I knew I wasn't going to last long. Tiffany stopped jerking
me off and reached behind her on the bed. She looked like she
was ripping open a little squeeze pack of ketchup -- like you get
at a carry-out -- but it wasn't ketchup, it was K-Y. She
squeezed the contents into the palm of her hand and then she
wrapped that hand around my cock. I almost screamed with the
pleasure. I was quickly building up to a major orgasm, and her
warm, lubricated hand had me there in seconds.
"Oh, yeah, baby. Come for Tiffany. Tiffany loves to see
your cum shooting out of your pretty cock..." on and on she
talked, until I melted into the bed.
She got off the bed and went into the bathroom. I heard her
wash in the sink and then she brought a fresh towel and cleaned
me up. Had I been a little younger, I would have had another
erection as I watched her breasts jiggle as she bent over me.
I managed to sit up as she dressed. I reached my wallet and
pulled out two more tens. "For your dress. It was worth it."
"I aim to please, Mike."
"You do. Where are you going?"
"I told you. I have a client waiting for me, down the
hall."
"You really do?"
She smiled and nodded, "I really do."
"But that was over so fast!"
She laughed out loud. "What am I supposed to do about
that?"
"Um... Nothing, I guess. I just really enjoyed it and... I
donno... Maybe I could call the escort service?"
"Sure, but how long will you be in town?"
"Ten more days, why?"
"'Cause I'll be freelancing this hotel on my own for a
couple of weeks. Tomorrow, a convention for doctors starts and
runs through the weekend. And next week will be engineers from
all over the country. So I'll be around. Look for me in the
lounge -- that's where I'll be when I'm not busy. And, here,
it's my number, in case of emergency."
"Oh," I knew what she meant by 'busy,' and it kind of took
me aback for a moment. "Really? You'll be working the hotel's
lounge?"
"That's right. Can you think of a reason not to?"
"Well... No, I guess not."
"Well, I'm off to poor Steve in room 323. I sure hope he
wasn't in a hurry!"
"Wait." I took my last ten and my last three fives and
handed them to her. "You deserve a tip."
"Thanks, sweetie." She pocketed the money and gave me a
little wave over her shoulder as she walked out the door. I
opened the door and watched her walk down the long hall and
wished I had more cash on me.
* * * * *
When Tiffany left, I collapsed on the bed and slept until
the alarm woke me. I thought I'd be up all night, unable to
sleep, thinking about what I had just done <'had I really paid
for sex?'>, but I fell asleep immediately.
THURSDAY, JUNE 20, 1996
Thinking about Tiffany stroking me and then casually running
off to "service" another client, I stroked myself to orgasm in
the shower in the morning. All day, I had fleeting thoughts of
Tiffany on the bed, her tits swaying, cooing her sexy talk and
stroking me off. To say I was distracted was an understatement.
Of course, I was blocking out the other side of this whole
Tiffany business -- its possible affect on my marriage.
During one of my breaks in class, I ran to a bank and got a
five hundred dollar advance on my travel money and another three
hundred from my own account. I wasn't going to be caught
cash-short, again. Damn the consequences, I wanted this woman
again!
That evening, back at the hotel, I grabbed a burger at the
short-order cafe, showered, changed into my best suit, and took
the elevator back down to the lounge.
The lounge was small but it was "happy hour" and the place
was packed. The bar and the tables were full. I didn't see
Tiffany anywhere. Maybe I was too early.
I got a drink by squeezing between two guys at the bar and
found a spot against a wall and watched the room. The doctors
were in town. The ages ranged from ancient to looking too young
to be in med school. There were men in suits, but even more in
polos and khakis. There was just a sprinkling of women
throughout the room, and none of them was alone. The snatches of
conversation I heard were more often about the stock market and
golf than medicine.
I finished that drink and fought for another. I was getting
nervous that I wouldn't see Tiffany while I still had the nerve
to approach her.
I could understand why she was "freelancing the hotel." It
was full of men with money. I began to wonder how much money she
would make during the week; and, then, my mind moved to how she
would earn that money. How many hand-jobs, blow-jobs, fucks?
How many men? And, why did I want to be one of them so badly?
Happy hour ended and dinner time arrived. The lounge began
emptying out. I took a seat at a small table and indulged in one
of my favorite hobbies -- people watching. I began wondering if
all the women were doctors or wives, or were some of them hookers
like Tiffany? Almost all of them were attractive and
well-dressed, obviously enjoying all the attention the men with
them were showing them. Occasionally, the whole table would rise
and leave the lounge, headed for dinner (or a gangbang? my mind
inquired).
By nine o'clock I had had my fill of scotch and my fill of
listening to the red-faced, bull-necked doctor sitting at the
bar. He was loud and very much in love with himself, repeatedly
telling his two companions that he was a genius in the operating
room and a better golfer than the club pro; how he made better
stock choices than his broker, and how he's nailed every nurse in
two hospitals. What an ass.
Tired, a little buzzed, and a lot disappointed, I was just
about to stand to leave.
"Ah... There she is." It was the braggart and he was
looking at the entrance.
Tiffany stood there in an emerald green dress that didn't
just hug every curve, but made love to every curve of her body.
Her make-up was more subdued than the night before. She was in
lower heels and nude stockings. She exuded a professional air,
but was still so sexy, you know she couldn't hold a job too long
without the boss begging to fuck her.
The asshole raised his voice, even louder, "Tiffany."
Tiffany saw him, smiled and gave him a little wave as she
walked towards him.
"You're late," said the asshole, as Tiffany walked up to
him.
"You said nine o'clock."
"It's nine-fifteen."
Tiffany batted her eyelids and let her hand stroke his arm
from the elbow up. "Gosh, I didn't know you meant boy-time. I'm
on girl-time. I better adjust my watch. How will I ever be able
to make that up to you?"
Even the asshole was charmed, "Eh, ha ha... I'll think of
something."
Tiffany smiled a brilliant smile at him, "Hmm... I bet you
will!"
The asshole put his arm around Tiffany's waist. I didn't
miss his hand dropping down to squeeze her ass cheek. "Well,
gentlemen, it looks like I have some important business to take
care of, so, until tomorrow..."
The asshole and Tiffany turned towards the door. I got up
and stepped past a couple of tables; and, as they passed me, I
smiled at Tiffany and said, "Uh, hi, Tiffany."
She gave me a smile and a brief glance, "Hello." And she
and the asshole were by me. His hand now rested on Tiffany's
ass, obviously squeezing it as they walked to the elevators. She
was leaning against him and I heard her laugh. She was going to
fuck that asshole!
God, she was such a slut!
What was I saying, she was a whore! Did I think she acted
like Mother Teresa when she wasn't in my bed? What a rube I was!
* * * * *
I had a fitful night of sleep. The night before, I had
acted like some hormone-crazed teenager when I got back to my
room, jerking-off into the sheets.
FRIDAY, JUNE 21, 1996
That last glimpse of Tiffany leaning close to the asshole as
he grabbed his hand full of her ass... It was enough to get me
hot in the morning, and I jerked-off in the shower, again.
I went through the rest of the day by rote. I knew my
teacher evaluation marks were going down the drain, but I didn't
care. I let the class out early, it being Friday afternoon, and
I rushed back to the hotel.
I showered and dressed in record time. I walked into the
lounge before happy hour -- it was empty. She wasn't there. The
bartender came out of a door behind the bar and asked for my
order.
Before I was half finished, Tiffany stepped out of the
women's room and walked to the bar. My throat tightened. She
was so pretty and so sexy.
She was wearing a blue pin-striped suit with a white silk
blouse, low, dark heels, white hose, subtle make-up, and a string
of pearls. The bartender brought her a drink without her asking
for it. She looked at me across the bar and smiled.
I almost spilled the scotch out of a half-empty glass as I
rushed around the bar to sit next to her. "Hi, Tiffany."
"Hello, how are you?"
"Good. I... ugh... I was hoping I'd see you, again."
"Again?"
Shit! She didn't even remember what we had done! How many
dicks were there after mine? What was I doing? Why didn't I
drain my scotch and walk away?
"It's not important, but, yes, we have, ah... met."
She looked so innocent as she pursed her full lips and said
"Ohh, I remember -- room 332. I like repeat clients."
"Just so you know I know. So, like we won't have to figure
out who everybody is. You know?" I sounded like the village
idiot's dumb brother.
Tiffany smiled and nodded. Her hand reached out and patted
mine, "Relax, ah..?"
"Michael."
"Sure... Mike. I knew that. Well, relax, Mike, I'm not
gonna bite you... unless you want me to."
I smiled. I was calming down. Yeah, right -- I wanted to
fuck her right there on top of the bar!
If they had replaced my blood with freon, I could not have
acted cool at that moment. "Ah, Tiffany? I'd like to see you,
again -- now, as a matter of fact."
"Okay, Mike." She chuckled softly as she took my hand, "I
can see where you might be in need of some relief."
I threw more than enough money on the bar for the two drinks
and we walked to the elevators. The ride up was slower and the
corridor to my room was longer than I remembered. Finally we
were there.
Inside the room, I handed Tiffany three mint-crisp hundreds.
"Anything I want, right?"
She smiled and slipped the money into her small purse.
"Well, maybe not 'ANYthing.' We may have to negotiate on some
things."
I was already taking my shirt off. "Like what?"
She had kicked off her shoes and was hanging her jacket in
the closet. Her white blouse had a demur, high-necked front but
was open down the sides and in the back. The profile of her
large, bra-less tits was obvious.
"Well, I'm not all that fond of watersports -- they're
extra. Same with spanking or getting a little rough. It's okay
to play tie-up for the regular price, though."
I unzipped my trousers. "You do all those things?"
"Everything has a price."
She stepped out of her skirt and placed it carefully on a
chair. She was wearing her half-a-blouse, white lace panties, a
matching garterbelt and white stockings. I could have shot my
load just looking at her and talking to her. I have never seen a
sexier woman in my life!
I dropped my underwear.
She stood there with her hands on her hips. "How much more
do you want me to take off? A lot of guys like the heels,
stockings and garterbelt look."
That was easy to answer. "I want you as naked as the day
you were born!"
She laughed a good, loud laugh. She undid the blouse and
let it fall. Her tits were magnificent -- high, firm and round!
As she bent over to unhook the garters and lower her garterbelt
and panties, her tits hung down and jiggled with her movement. I
had to grab my dick and pinch it closed.
"Forget the stockings -- leave them on!"
She laughed again. Then she did a sexy pose for me. She
was a fantastic tease. She moved her shoulders as she walked
toward me and her breasts jiggled. On her right tit she had a
red and black rose tatooed a fraction of an inch above the
areola. When she dropped her panties I could see that her pussy
was completely shaved and I was amazed to see that she had a
matching tatoo there, too, just above and to the right of her
pussylips.
It was a night of firsts for me. Other than videos, I had
never seen a woman with a shaved-naked snatch and never saw one
tatooed where she was tatooed and it only added to my sensory
overload. I was afraid I was going to shoot before she even
touched me and I'd get nothing for my three hundred.
She knelt between my legs and wrapped that sexy mouth around
my cock.
"I thought you said condom, Tiffany."
She looked up, but continued to stroke my hardness. "Let's
just say that my intuition says you don't do this a lot. I don't
think I'm going too far out on a limb to say you're safe. Are
you safe, Mike? Do you fuck around a lot on your wife?" And she
lowered her mouth around me, again.
"I've never cheated on my wife, Tiffany. I swear. Thirteen
years. I never cheated on Laura. Ohh! Ohh! Ohhhhhhhhh!
Ahhhhh!"
Her hand and mouth milked my cock until I was dry. She
didn't lose a drop.
She climbed up on the bed beside me. "Okay, now with that
out of the way, maybe we can enjoy your three hundred."
And we did.
* * * * *
Tiffany removed the condom and tied the top off.
"Why did we use a condom to do this, but not before?"
"Because it makes my clean-up so much simpler.
Unfortunately, the hour's up. I have to get back to work!"
"Tiffany, what would it cost to have you spend the night?"
She rolled close and gently kissed my chin. "It's a
convention weekend, Mike. More than you have."
"Yeah, I guess. Don't you take a break? Need a rest?"
She laughed a warm, throaty laugh. "Are you worried about
me, Mike? Afraid I'll wear my pussy out?"
"You could do a lot of other things, Tiffany. You're
beautiful and smart and charming. Why are you doing this?"
"Whoa, Mike! You're getting the dreaded, and all too common
'John's disease.' You want to make an honest woman out of me.
Been there, done that. I like what I'm doing, for right now.
I'll work this hotel for a while and then I'll take a well
deserved rest. But there's money to be made between now and
then. That's why I better get dressed."
I felt like a fool, but I couldn't stop talking, and I
couldn't take the pathetic whine out of my voice. "You like
fucking assholes?"
"You play with the cards dealt, Mike. I'm an equal
opportunity hooker. Anyone in particular that you characterize
as an 'asshole?'"
"That guy last night."
"Which one?"
"Oh, shit!"
She chuckled. "I'm teasing you. Of course I know which one
was the asshole. For him, I adjusted my prices up. He wasn't so
terrific -- except he was a pretty good pussy-eater! -- but he
paid me an outrageous amount in cash. Of course, what he was
really paying me for was hearing a pro, who's been with hundreds
of men, tell him that he's the best she ever had. Now, I have to
get dressed, happy hour will be over before I get there."
"Did you tell him he was the best?"
"Of course!"
"Did you mean it?"
"Mike, I'm a hooker. Lying is in the job description."
She used the bathroom to freshen up and then dressed. I was
sorry to see that tight little, bald pussy and those wonderful
tits disappear behind her clothes. As she was leaving, I handed
her another hundred.
"Thanks, Mike. You're very generous."
"You're worth it. I don't trust myself to go near my
checkbook until you're out of the room."
She smiled and stood on her tiptoes and gave me a soft, dry
kiss on my lips. "Bye, Mike. You're sweet."
Did I feel guilty? I guess I did. What would it do to
Laura if she ever found out that during the last hour, I just had
the hottest sex in my life?
* * * * *
After Tiffany left, I showered and dressed as quickly as I
could. She was at the bar, talking to an older man when I got
there. I took a seat nearby and watched them. I realized that I
was beginning to obsess on this woman -- a hooker! God help me!
She was so damned pretty. She talked and laughed, and I
could tell she was making the guy think he was the only man in
the room. They took their drinks to a dark booth and sat close
together. There was some kissing and a lot of shoulder and arm
rubbing going on. At one point, the guy pulled his head away and
listened to something Tiffany was saying. When she stopped
talking, the man was still for a moment and then nodded. My
guess was that she had just explained that his charm alone wasn't
going to get her into bed. Sure enough, they finished their
drinks and made their way out of the lounge and toward the
elevator.
My stomach did a little flip as I watched the elevator doors
close on the happy couple. She was a 'working girl,' and I was
just another roll in the sheets, but I was jealous of the men
with her. I had a lovely, loving wife, who was the mother of our
children and a respected high school English teacher, and I was
getting jealous of the men a whore in a hotel lounge was fucking.
How's that for weird?
Another scotch settled my stomach, and another soothed my
brain. People were in and out in the lounge. It was Friday
night and everybody looked happy. The D-J was keeping the music
pretty mellow and low enough not to discourage talking. I had
another scotch.
A little after ten, Tiffany walked into the lounge. She had
spent well over an hour with me and two hours with her last
'client,' and she looked as fresh and as sexy as ever. She sat
at the bar and the bartender brought her a drink and said a few
words to her. She nodded and the bartender jerked his head in
the direction of a small man, sitting alone at the end of the
bar. Tiffany nodded again and the bartender walked over to the
sad-looking guy and said a few words to him. The guy looked at
Tiffany and nodded enthusiastically. Within minutes, Tiffany and
the guy were going up in the elevator.
Fuming to myself, I went up to my room and crawled into bed.
* * * * *
SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1996
It was Saturday. I slept late and took my time getting
going in the morning. I checked in with a call to Laura -- I
needed to tell her I loved her. To no one's surprise, Tiffany
didn't come up in the conversation. So, after I checked on the
family, I had the day to myself, with no obligations.
I was hungry, so I went to the hotel cafe for the breakfast
buffet. The place was empty -- all the classes and seminars and
demos and tee times for the conventioneers were already in full
swing. I breezed through the paper over coffee and was on my
third cup when I heard a woman ask, "Mike? Do you mind if I sit
here with you?"
It was Tiffany! She was standing there with her full
platter, waiting for my answer. I stood and pulled the chair out
for her. As usual, she looked terrific. She was wearing one of
those curve-fitting cotton, flowered dresses. Hers came down to
almost her ankles, and she was wearing little white socks and
sneakers. Her hair was short and a pretty chestnut -- I guess
she had washed the red/purple/maroon out. She looked like she
was the Pastor's young wife!
She smiled and sat down and signaled the waiter for coffee.
"Thanks, I prefer not to eat alone. Are you a talker in the
morning, or should I keep quiet?"
"I like to talk. I especially like to talk to you."
We talked about the weather and the hotel and the town --
nothing personal. I told her how my classes were going and she
seemed impressed, but I knew she had a talent for that.
She got up and came back with a second full platter. "I've
really been burning up the calories. I need a recharge."
I knew how those calories had been burned.
After breakfast, she returned to the table with a plate of
strawberries and a scoop of whipped cream. I commented that they
looked good (her biting into the red berry looked very, very
good!) and she reached over to feed me one. I picked one up and
dragged it through the cream and held it close to her lips. She
locked her eyes into mine and watched me as she licked the
whipped cream off, before biting the strawberry.
Wow! Was she so seductive in everything she did? Who was
this exquisitely sexy creature?
A few more berries and we were both laughing. I felt that
it was a real moment between us.
Tiffany got her things together and was about to leave.
"Ah, can you wait a minute or two?" I asked.
She leaned across the table conspiratorially, "Why?"
"Because I don't want to stand up, right now!"
She laughed that deep laugh of hers. "I know a cure for
that!"
"I'll be here for another week. I don't think I can afford
the 'cure,' today." I wanted her to say, "Let's just go to your
room for the fun of it!" but she didn't.
"Just as well, Mike, I'm in the mood to shop."
Crestfallen, I quickly decided that I didn't want her to
disappear for the day. "Want company?"
"Do you like to shop?"
"Well, I haven't picked-up any souvenirs for my wife and
kids, yet. Maybe you can show me the good spots."
That was one of the happiest days of my life.
We shopped and walked and talked and lunched; and, the whole
time, I had this beautiful, sexy, vivacious woman at my side.
She drew stares from every man we were near. I think just to
tease me, we went into a fancy lingerie shop and she bought a
couple hundred dollars worth of sexy underthings, asking me what
I thought of each of them.
It was a pretty, early-Summer day, and before we headed back
to the hotel, we decided to take a boatride on the river. The
crowd was sparse and we had the back of the boat to ourselves.
Tiffany leaned her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her.
It was cooler on the water, and we were cuddled together under a
blanket.
"This has been really nice, Mike. You made shopping for
lingerie a lot more fun than it is alone."
"Glad I could help, Tiffany. It was fun for me, too."
"After you got into it."
"Yeah, I was a little embarrassed, at first."
"If you want to get together this week, let me know in
advance, and I'll wear your favorites."
"That would be nice, but I don't remember them being on long
the last time."
She laughed. "Maybe I should make you keep your hands
behind your back and you undress me with your teeth. That way
you could appreciate the undies. You know, now that I think of
it, I should be allowed to deduct the costs for them as 'work'
clothes on my tax form."
I looked her deeply in her gray eyes, "You're very casual
about it."
She held my hand. "It's what I do. Don't get all bent over
it, I don't."
"I know, Tiffany, but when I look at you, I see a woman who
should be doing something else... something you could be really
good at."
She shook her head, "I'm really good at fuckin'. You said
so yourself."
"I know, I know. It's none of my business. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
We were quiet for a while. The boat turned around. Our
perfect day was soon to end.
I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to pry. I didn't
want to piss her off, but I couldn't help it. "How... how did
you get started, Tiffany?"
"Oh, no! The most-asked 'John's disease' question. But, in
my case, that's a good story, Mike. Do you like good stories?"
"Sure. Of course."
Under the blanket, her hand expertly lowered my zipper and
disappeared inside my pants. Everyone else on the boat was up
front, looking at the approaching city.
"Well, actually, it was my decision. I hit puberty pretty
early, so I had a nice body from a young age. When I was twelve,
I had an unbearable crush on my cousin, who was in college -- he
was twenty. On Christmas break, I let him seduce me. He was
sweet and patient and considerate, and I loved sex from that
first time. We fucked whenever we could for years -- even after
he married."
My dick was hard and sticking out of my fly and Tiffany was
stroking it very slowly.
"I got on the pill, and there was a lot of regular boy-girl
sex over the next few years."
"A lot?"
"Yeah, a lot! Other girls my age were still giggling about
sex or experimenting with hand-jobs -- I had been taught by a
wonderful lover, and the word soon got around. When I was
fifteen, my best friend's father propositioned me. He said he
would give me one hundred dollars every time we had sex. Money
at that time wasn't really an issue for me, but I got really
turned-on by the idea of being paid to have sex with an older
man. What could be more depraved and naughty than that?"
My breathing had changed and Tiffany noticed it, squeezing
my cock as she continued.
"Not yet, Mike!
"Anyway, I thought about it for a day or so -- I didn't want
to seem like a slut! -- but, of course I agreed to do it. My
friend's daddy was very happy. He loved my body. We screwed as
much as he could afford. A few weeks after we started, he told
me he was going out of town for a few weeks, then asked me if I
would mind if he gave my number to a friend or two of his. I
said, 'no, I wouldn't mind.'
"By the time I was ready to go off to college a coupla years
later, I had a shoebox filled with one hundred dollar bills and
knew almost every man at my father's country club on an intimate
basis. What I know now, though, is that I shoulda charged those
horny old men a lot more for my underage pussy!"
She knew what she was doing. Her grip tightened and her
stroke increased. I was ready to blow.
To my surprise, Tiffany lifted the blanket and dove her head
under it! It made me so excited, she almost didn't make it. I
started shooting my cum just as she wrapped her lips over the
head of my dick.
When I regained a little composure, I smiled at Tiffany.
"That was unbelievable! You tell one hell of a story! I
especially liked the special effects!"
She laughed as I zippered up. "You couldn't get off the
boat with cum all over your lap."
I looked at her. "I don't have that kind of cash on me,
Tiffany. I can get it back at the hotel."
She patted my cheek, "That's okay. I had a nice day. It
was my idea, anyway. You'll just owe me."
As we disembarked, I asked, "What happened after you went
away to college?"
She shrugged, "Just college stuff. Then I met a guy and we
got married young. No pregnancies. No more hooking until
recently. Now, no more questions."
We took a cab from the dock, and it dropped me off at the
hotel. I bent down to pay the fare, with enough to pay for
Tiffany.
"I had a really great time, Mike. Thanks for the company."
"My pleasure. I had fun, too."
She smiled that wicked smile of hers, "I hope so! Well, see
you around." And the cab pulled away from the curb. I watched
as it made a left at the next street.
* * * * *
Back in my room, I showered and dressed and turned the TV
on. I didn't feel like sitting in the room, so I went down to
the lounge. It was empty. I sat at the bar and ordered a beer.
I was watching a game on the TV and the two bartenders were
talking when Tiffany walked in.
She was definitely dressed for a Saturday night on the town.
She was wearing black highheels, dark stockings and a black
leather mini-skirt. On top of that was a gray, silky blouse and
a small black vest. Her hair had that punky look and color,
again, and her make-up was heavy (but flattering). She may as
well have tatooed "FUCK ME" on her forehead, because that was the
only thing a man could think about when he looked at her.
One of the bartenders disappeared into the back. Tiffany
walked down the corridor where the rest rooms were situated.
Twenty minutes later, the bartender reappeared and the other
one went through the door at the back of the bar. He came out
fifteen minutes later and gave the other bartender a discrete
high-five. A few minutes later, Tiffany walked over to the bar.
The first bartender had a drink waiting for her.
"Thanks, Brian," she smiled.
I picked up my beer and walked around to sit next to
Tiffany. "I just wanted to thank you, again, for such a nice
day, Tiffany."
Tiffany lit a cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke
-- I almost wished I smoked, again -- Laura and I had quit
smoking on our honeymoon.
"I had fun, too, Mike, and I don't want to hurt your
feelings, but that was off the clock and now I'm on the clock. I
don't want you sittin' here and we're gabbin' like two old
friends. It would give the wrong impression. So, unless you're
makin' me an offer I can't refuse, I'll see you later."
"Sure, Tiffany, I wasn't thinking." As I was about to
leave, I noticed something glinting between Tiffany's breasts.
Her blouse was sheer, but nowhere near see-through, but there was
something gleaming under there.
Tiffany saw me staring and laughed. "Haven't you ever seen
tit jewelry before?"
Stupidly, I shook my head.
Tiffany opened one button and pulled out a fine gold chain.
"Do you know what holds it up, Mike?" I shook my head. "My
nipples. An end tightens over each nipple. It's very erotic, if
you're in the mood."
Just then, four guys, obviously just off the golf course,
walked into the lounge and ordered single malt scotches.
I looked at Tiffany again, and walked over to a small table,
to nurse my beer. Within ten minutes, Tiffany had been invited
over to the table with the four golfers. She joined them,
laughing and drinking.
The lounge filled up slowly. Two of the men at Tiffany's
table left and I was making a mental bet on which of the
remaining two would go upstairs with Tiffany. I would have been
wrong either way. The three of them left the lounge and went up
in the elevator together!
I could feel the stab of cold jealousy in my chest. Why did
I care what, or who, or how many whos she did? Why did I care
about a woman who repeatedly proved to me she was the slutiest of
whores?
I left the lounge and went for a walk. I stopped in a dark,
little tavern and had a burger. I spent two hours wandering
around one of the super bookstores. And the whole time, Tiffany
was never out of my mind.
Later in the lounge, the band was playing slow numbers and I
was finishing another beer and was about to settle-up when
Tiffany walked into the room. There was a good crowd, but it
wasn't crowded. There were a lot of couples. I guessed most of
the doctors had already caught flights out. The weekend crowd
looked like locals and tourists. I was curious if Tiffany could
lure another victim from the relatively few unattached men in the
place. I ordered another beer and sat down to watch. Maybe in
the back of my mind I had the fleeting thought that if she
couldn't drum up any more business for the night, I'd have a
chance of a nightcap with her.
I shouldn't have worried about her ability to lure men. A
guy at the bar lit her cigarette and they talked. He asked her
to dance. She stood up and removed her vest. As she walked to
the small dance floor, it was obvious this woman had a set of big
tits, and at that moment they were bra-free. Dancing only
emphasized that point.
They returned to the bar and another man asked her to dance.
Then another. Finally, after a slow number, the original dance
partner and Tiffany walked out of the lounge and toward the
elevators. I had to get out of there!
* * * * *
continued in PART 2 of 3
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 2 of 3
SUNDAY, JUNE 23, 1996
Sunday morning. I called Laura. There was no answer.
Maybe she was at church.
I was too late for the buffet, so I was sitting in the
coffee shop, reading the paper and eating a cinnamon bun when she
walked in.
"Hi, Mike."
She was radiant. She had washed the "punk" color out of her
hair, and it was back to the chestnut color and she had a bright
red Polo shirt on with a pair of sharply-creased khakis, red
belt, purse, and shoes. Class.
"Hi, Tiffany."
"So, you were too late for the buffet, too?"
"Yeah, I slept in, today."
"Me, too. I was up until after four!"
"Wow. With the guy you were dancing with?"
"No, the horn-player in the band playing across the street.
Fuckin' musicians are nocturnal. I shouda known. Say, you're
keeping a pretty close eye on me, aren't you?"
I could feel myself blush. "Well, ah... you're the best
thing to look at around here, and I don't have much else to do at
night."
"Thanks. 'Nother coffee?"
"I'll get it."
"Thanks, Mike. Cream, no sugar."
She was so casual. I knew what she was and she knew I knew,
and she was absolutely casual about how she was earning her
living. No sign of shame, embarrassment, or pain. No expression
of guilt. Nothing. I couldn't believe it. If she showed
anything about being a whore, it was enthusiasm.
After we finished coffee, Tiffany wiped her mouth and
reapplied her red lipstick. Then she smiled brightly at me and
asked, "So, what are we going to do today, Mike?"
We had another great day. We walked in the bright, clear
air. We went to the movies and shared a popcorn and a soda. We
shopped for CDs. We had an early dinner in a restaurant
overlooking the river. And then the day was over and she left.
* * * * *
As usual, I was the first customer in the lounge. I took a
seat at the empty bar and waited for her. I watched the two
bartenders disappear one at a time behind the door in the back of
the bar. Then I watched Tiffany walk into the bar in her emerald
dress. By now, I had a pretty good guess what was going on
behind that door.
The Sunday night crowd was light. People drifted in and
out. The tourists and doctors were gone. A few engineers were
checking-in a day early. New hotel guests stood at the doorway
and stepped in or turned away. There was a D-J, but he kept it
mostly to mellow oldies and nobody was dancing.
Tiffany sat at the bar. Men came and went. A man lit her
cigarette and bought her a drink before he left. Finally, she
was surrounded -- a guy on each side and one behind her. There
was a lot of laughing and flirting. One of the men wrote
something on a napkin and then each of the other two did the
same. Tiffany tore the napkin into pieces. She cupped the
pieces and then pulled them out, one at a time. The men were
joking back and forth as she did it, and then she left with one
of the men. After another round, the other two left. I went up
to my room at midnight. I hadn't seen Tiffany again.
* * * * *
MONDAY, JUNE 24, 1996
Monday morning. I felt like hell. I had switched from beer
to scotch waiting for Tiffany to re-appear, but she never did and
I drank too much. Hungover, already away from home for a week
and another week to go, another week of classes to teach -- no
wonder I was depressed.
Bullshit! I was depressed because of Tiffany. I was
depressed because I had such strong feelings for a whore, a
hooker, a slut. In my life, I had never felt the excitement, the
lust I felt for Tiffany. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to
tell her, "Stop this! Quit right now! I'll take care of you!"
But she would laugh at me. And what would I tell Laura -- that
Tiffany excites me more than her? There goes my marriage.
I showered, dressed and dragged myself to work.
The lounge was already open when I got there. Brian was
behind the bar, but Tiffany was not in sight. Probably on her
first fuck of the evening!
After one drink, I went into the restaurant for dinner.
When I got back to the lounge, Tiffany was at a table with a
couple. They were acting like they were life-long friends. They
talked and drank and smoked for almost an hour. I was wondering
why Tiffany was taking herself off the market for so long,
especially with all the new conventioneers in town. Finally, the
three of them stood and made their way out of the lounge
together. Was something kinky going to happen, or was it my
overactive imagination?
It was almost midnight when Tiffany returned to the bar.
There were only a few open seats and she sat next to me, but
didn't acknowledge me. Brian walked over with her drink.
"I think I want a real drink, Brian."
He poured orange juice over cubes and vodka. "Extra tough
duty?"
She exhaled a large plume of smoke, "Get this... I was his
birthday present! He's always wanted two women at the same
time."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "How did it go?"
"Well the first twenty minutes were swell, but after that, I
was doing things I haven't done since I was twelve at an
all-girls summer camp. I began to wonder whose idea it really
was. I can tell you which of them got their money's worth, and
it wasn't him!"
Brian laughed along with Tiffany. My boner was threatening
to rip my trousers.
"You done for the night?" Brian asked.
Tiffany took a sip of her screwdriver, "Why? You gonna take
me away from all this?"
"I made you that offer last week, Tiff. It's still on the
table, whenever you want to take me up on it."
"I know, Brian. You're sweet and I'm givin' you a hard
time. Well, it's late, but I wouldn't mine catching a nightcap."
Brian nodded. "Well, the guy in the blue suit on the other
side of the bar asked me if I knew any girls that he didn't have
to impress all night."
Tiffany looked across the bar. "He doesn't look like a cop.
Bring me another screwdriver over there, Brian. Thanks."
Within ten minutes, Tiffany and the blue suit were going up
in the elevator. I went to my room and fell asleep still
dressed.
* * * * *
TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1996
Tuesday afternoon. The happy hour crowd was filling the
lounge when I got there. Tiffany was at the bar in a deep
conversation with "Brian the Bartender." She looked upset. I
couldn't tell if she was angry or scared. Brian stopped talking
and looked toward the doorway. I turned around and saw a large,
older man standing there in a dark shirt and suit. Brian nodded
to him and Tiffany looked at him and stubbed out her cigarette.
She made her way through the crowd and walked up to the dark man.
Was Brian pimping for Tiffany, I wondered. Last week he had
introduced Tiffany to the little geeky guy, and last night to the
blue suit, so maybe he was.
At the doorway, the dark man grabbed Tiffany by the arm and
quickly led her away. It was obvious he wasn't a client. I
followed as fast as I could, but by the time I reached the lobby,
they were gone. Strange. Had she been arrested?
Back in my room, with a bottle of scotch and a local college
ballgame on the tv, I fell asleep before the fourth inning.
* * * * *
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 26, 1996
Wednesday afternoon. Everything looked normal in the
lounge. I was the first customer, Brian was behind the bar and
soon after he returned from a short disappearance, Tiffany made
her entrance. She was wearing the blue-pinstripe suit with that
half-blouse thing under it. To my surprise, she sat down next to
me.
"Hi, Mike. How's it hangin'?"
"Hi, Tiffany. I'm fine, but it doesn't do too much
'hangin'' when you're around."
"You're a sweet guy, Mike. Are you saving your pennies for
me?"
"Yeah, I have enough for an hour. I'd like to make it later
in the week."
"Whenever you want. Hey, how about this? You hang around
late and if you're my last... ah... date of the evening, I can
stay longer -- off the clock, of course."
"Gee, that's really nice of you."
"Hey, anything for a buddy."
We sat and drank our drinks. The bar was still empty. It
was nice sitting with her, being quiet.
"Tiffany, can I ask you something?"
"As long as I don't have to answer, if I don't wanna."
"Sure, of course. I was just wondering what the whole
routine with the bartenders is everyday."
She looked at me and smiled, then leaned close and whispered
into my ear, "And what do you think the routine is?"
I moved my head around and whispered in her ear, "I think
you 'service' the bartenders before you work the lounge. I hope
it's for more than free drinks."
"It better be for more than a couple a' club sodas. You
have to spend money to make money, Mike. Brian gets a blow-job
and a hundred dollar bill, every day, so I can work the lounge.
On the weekends, the extra bartender gets a b-j, too. It was a
good deal, even with the money. Sometimes, bartenders will go
for just the head or just the money, but Brian's smart and he's
been around too long. My problems started last night. I was
busted by hotel security."
"The guy in black?"
"You saw? Yeah, he's the head man and he was on vacation
last week, but Brian warned me he's sharp and knows his job.
Apparently, he was doing a routine review of some security tapes
and saw me enough times here in the lounge and with some clients
up in the halls and knew what I was up to."
"But you're back here, working."
"Yeah, Brian's right, he is smart. What's the benefit to
him if he calls the cops? I'm not hurtin' his business in here
-- I look good and I act discretely. He just wanted a piece of
the action, too. I'm not the only girl working this hotel, and
they pay, too."
I was having trouble taking deep breaths. "Sex?"
She exhaled her smoke and shook her head. "I wish just sex.
He got a thousand for the week and then he and his night manager
buddy bent me over his desk and... um... had their way with me.
Nasty bastards."
"Did they hurt you?"
"No, not hurt. They just liked manhandling and humiliating
me, to let me know who was in charge. Now, I have to be in his
office every night at seven for a repeat performance, before he
goes home to the wife and kids. You know... for a girl that
makes her living the way I do, I sure seem to be the one paying a
lot of money to men to have sex with them."
"Can you afford it, Tiffany?"
"Well, I've worked cheaper places than this lounge, but the
action is good and there's a pretty high level of clients, here.
Tips have been good. Yeah, it's been worth it."
"But Brian and the Security guy, it sounds like extortion --
blackmail -- to me."
Tiffany patted my upper arm, "Relax, Mike, it's just
business."
People were beginning to come into the lounge. Someone
plugged in the juke box. The seats at the bar were beginning to
fill up.
Tiffany stood up. "No offense, Mike, but I'd like to get a
session in before seven. That bastard's messing up my evening
routine. See ya soon, Sweetie."
And off she went.
I stayed for a while, watching Tiffany and wondering how
many miles of cock has she sucked and fucked.
It took a while -- I don't think the engineers were as
aggressive as the doctors -- but Tiffany finally paired off with
a guy. I saw him order another drink as Tiffany shook her head
as she glanced at her watch -- it was 6:30, already. They sat
there and talked a few minutes, and then Tiffany leaned in close
and whispered in his ear. He reacted to what she said with a
shocked look and then a nod. The two of them rose and made their
way to the restroom corridor. I waited a few minutes and
followed.
As I washed my hands in the men's room, I saw that the happy
couple was in the handicap stall. Tiffany was sitting and the
client was standing facing her. No doubt from the sound being
made by both of them, she was sucking his brains out through his
dick. I was still drying my hands under the air dryer when the
stall opened and Tiffany casually walked out, flashing me a
hundred and two twenties. The client was now parked on the
throne trying to catch his breath, and Tiffany would be in time
for her seven o'clock appointment.
I left the hotel and had a great meal at a little Italian
restaurant. I think I had had my fill of the lounge -- I knew
what went on there with Tiffany. I went back to my room and fell
asleep early.
* * * * *
THURSDAY, JUNE 27, 1996
Thursday evening. I had kept the class a little later that
day, to make sure we could get out early on Friday. By the time
I had eaten, showered and dressed, it was almost nine o'clock
when I walked into the lounge.
Brian brought me a scotch and said, "She told me to tell you
to have a drink on her and wait. She's been upstairs for a
while. She'll probably be back down, soon."
I thanked him and wondered what he was thinking about
Tiffany. She was obviously a whore, yet he had invited her back
to his place more than once.
A little before ten, Tiffany appeared at my shoulder.
"Well, hello, Mike. Where have you been?"
"I might ask you the same thing."
She laughed. She was wearing a short, tight skirt, low
heels, nude stockings and a silky white blouse -- as usual, she
looked fresh and terrific. "Big deal, you know where I've been
and what I've been doing. With whom and in what room number are
unnecessary facts. Are we on for later tonight?"
"I'm game if you're game."
"Okay, it's a date. Let me sit down here for a while and if
nothing happens, we'll go up to your room. If something does
come up -- oops, did I say that? -- I'll come to your room after
I'm done. Deal?"
"It's a plan."
She took a seat across the bar from me and lit a cigarette.
She hadn't finished her club soda before she was approached by a
guy who looked like he was in his fifties. They conducted their
business quickly and started for the door. As she passed me,
Tiffany pointed up with her finger. I went to my room to wait
for her.
* * * * *
It seemed to take forever, but eventually, there was a soft
knock on the door.
"Hi, Tiffany. I was beginning to think you forgot me."
"Busy, busy night, Mike. Sorry to keep you waiting. Do you
have any booze here?"
"Scotch, and I can call room service for anything else."
"No, scotch is fine. On the rocks."
We sat and had a drank. We didn't talk. Tiffany would sway
one of her legs to the side, and her tight little skirt would
rise farther up her thigh, each time. In no time, the tops of
her stockings were exposed, then the white flesh above that. I
was getting hot, and I knew from the smile on her face, she knew
it.
"Mike, don't you think it's a shame that pantyhose are so
damned practical? From my own unscientific research, I would say
about one hundred percent of men prefer stockings!"
She spread her leg, again. "How about you, Mike?"
"Ahem... I think I'd like to start, Tiffany."
She started to unbutton her blouse, exposing a black lace
bra. Her skirt was under her butt and I could see she had
matching panties on. "All right, but I haven't finished my drink
and we have all night." Her fingers played with the bra clasp
before it popped open. She stood up and walked towards me, the
bra cups moving and almost -- but not quite -- exposing her
breasts.
I was gone! I grabbed her and threw her on the bed. I
dropped my slacks and underwear. My cock was engorged and
throbbing. I pulled her panties aside enough to let me penetrate
her, and then I was in to my balls. I was fucking her like some
kind of animal, and she was fucking me right back. I moved the
bra cups aside and attacked her breasts with my hands and my
mouth. Her cunt was tight and warm and wet and I could feel her
muscles squeezing my dick. She was too much!
I came with a loud moan and spurted my cum into her over and
over and over again. It was over too soon!
After a while, Tiffany stood up and undressed and went into
the bathroom. When she came out she freshened our drinks and
then got into bed with me.
"You were hot, Mike."
"You make me that way."
"It's funny. Last time you wanted me naked as a jay-bird,
and, tonight, we did it almost fully clothed. You were horny."
"Yeah, I was." I paused. I told myself to keep my mouth
closed, but I couldn't do it. "Do you get horny, Tiffany?"
"Sure I do. I'm human. I usually like what I'm doin'."
We laid there side-by-side, quietly, cuddling and drinking.
Tiffany had a couple of cigarettes -- I didn't bother telling her
it was a 'no smoking' room. It was a nice, warm moment. But
instead of focusing on keeping us in that mood, I had to open my
trap, again.
"How busy was your 'busy night,' Tiffany?"
"You just love talkin' 'bout my career, don't you, Mike?"
"I guess I'm just curious. I told you, I've never done this
kind of stuff before."
"Okay, Mike, I'll tell you, but it better give you the
desired effect -- I'm not through with you, yet.
"Okay, you want to know how many guys I fucked and sucked
tonight, right? How many guys? Or how many times? Oh, hell,
I'll just tell you everything that happened."
I think I was blushing as I nodded. Her hand slipped under
the blanket and cradled my soft dick.
"Well, first there was Brian. I thought he'd give me the
day off because I spent the night with him at his place, but he
wanted his b-j in the backroom as soon as he got here, this
afternoon.
"Then I picked-up an engineer in the bar. A fuck in his
room. Then I rushed down to the security office for their
'nightly' d-p."
"A d-p, Tiffany? What's a d-p?"
"Double penetration, Mike. Two guys, two holes filled. Any
combo of ass, mouth or pussy. Tonight was mouth and pussy. Then
Mr. Security felt energetic, so I had to suck him hard again, so
he could fuck my ass as the other guy watched.
"Back in the lounge, I met another engineer who wanted head.
Then another quick head-only date. Then the older guy you saw
with me -- he ate me like a man who loved it and gave me a very
nice fuck. And now you."
Her hand was gripping my now hard cock. "Ooo... I think we
have company, Mike." She threw the covers off and knelt on the
bed in front of me. "Wanna do it doggie-style? C'mon, let's do
it this way."
I knelt behind her and inched my cock forward. She reached
under her tummy and gently grasped the head of my penis, guiding
it to her warm slit.
"Wait!" she said.
"What? Why?"
"Does my ass look good from back there?"
"Sure. It looks terrific."
"Then fuck me in the ass, Mike. Have you ever butt-fucked a
woman?"
"No... I... I never tried it before."
"You've never fucked your wife in the ass?"
"No."
"Then fuck me there, Mike. I want to be your first
butt-fuck!"
I didn't have to be asked twice. Tiffany put some lubricant
on the head of my cock and I adjusted my aim and pressed my head
against her anus. It was tight. I pressed harder and I could
see her anus begin to open and my penis start to go in. My god!
I thought her pussy was tight!
I was soon in all the way and almost out of control. She
was so tight and hot and her muscles gripped and loosened around
me. She reached under herself and grasped my balls. She always
got me to where I didn't care about lasting long, or worry about
her pleasure. I guess that's what she did -- she was a whore!
I don't think I had cum twice in an hour in years, but I did
that night. But it took its toll -- I collapsed on the bed,
exhausted.
Tiffany got up and went into the bathroom. After a few
minutes, she returned with a warm washcloth and a towel, and
gently cleaned me.
"Is this TLC in the job description?" I asked.
"Sure, and it beats lickin' it clean."
I looked at her, "You do that?"
"Well, it's not my favorite thing, but some guys who like to
fuck me in the ass are in it to humiliate the woman and, so, they
like me to clean them up with my mouth. It's not a taste you
ever get used to, but you can do it once in a while. Only the
real pigs ask for it."
"Have you had to do it this week?"
"Hmmm... Let me think... Yeah, there was a little nerdy
guy, earlier in the week, I think. He was into me giving head,
spanking me, butt-fucking, and calling me disgusting names for
doin' what he was tellin' and payin' me to do. He wasn't the
easiest buck I ever made. Oh, yeah, when I was leavin', he asked
me if I had a little girl's school uniform for the next time.
What a creep. I think two, maybe three, others tried it. It's
hard to keep track."
What was strange was that I wasn't tired, anymore. We laid
in bed and talked. We called room service and ordered ice cream
sundaes. We kissed and cuddled and touched each other's bodies.
"Tiffany, how do you get the stamina to work the schedule
you do? This week, you must have had at least three clients a
night -- not counting the bartender and the security guy."
"And the night manager -- what a weasel!
"You're right, Mike. Four or five clients a night is about
average. Guys who want head are usually pretty quick tricks.
Most of the guys who pay for an hour or more want more than sex."
I was surprised to hear that. "What is there more than
sex?"
She laughed. "I think, most of all, they want another
person's intimate company. Somebody to touch and will touch them
and someone to talk to. I spend a lot more time talking than I
do fuckin'. Of course, everybody wants the sex, too. That's
what they're paying for. Some want what they like, but a lot of
men want what their wives don't (or won't) give them -- oral and
anal, mostly. I have a lot of men tell me their wives of ten or
twenty or thirty years will only do it in the missionary position
in the dark. That's sad. Wouldn't these wives rather indulge
their husbands than have them blowing good money, and good sex,
on a hooker?"
"You would think," I said, remembering I had just enjoyed
anal sex for the first time in my life. "I know what I wanted to
ask you... one night this week, you met three guys at the bar.
It looked like you drew straws to decide who to leave with."
"Well, sort of. I made it with all three. What they were
determining was in what order. That was a late night! Tell me
about your sexlife, Mike. Is it good?"
"I thought it was terrific until I met you. We both have a
good, healthy attitude. My wife is certainly not a prude. We've
experimented, played little games."
"Like what?"
"Well, we've tried a little light bondage. Not bad if
you're in the mood, but definitely not a steady diet. We've done
some role-playing -- cop and speeder, teacher/student,
boss/secretary. Some were fun. What I really like is that Laura
can really flirt, and at parties, that really turns me on. I
watch her and we fuck like minks when we get home."
"Any rape fantasy?"
"Sure."
"How 'bout a hooker fantasy?"
"Oh, yeah, we do do that. Mostly at home, but we have done
it at bars. It turns both of us on."
"Since you were married, she ever do anybody besides you?"
"If she has, she never told me about it. Until last
Wednesday, I hadn't."
"Well, that sounds like a nice sexlife, Mike. What are you
doing in a hotel room with a prostitute?"
"I wish I knew, Tiffany."
There was a knock at the door -- room service. I got out of
bed and put on a robe. When I opened the door and the bellhop
wheeled the cart in, Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and stood
in the bedroom -- stark ass naked! The bellboy was fumbling with
the cart and couldn't take his eyes off her. (Shit, I couldn't
either!) I signed for the service and then ushered the boy out
of the room.
We started out, eating our sundaes with gusto, but we were
soon on the bed, laughing and eating the mess from each other's
body. I licked ice cream and syrup from Tiffany's nipples. I
sucked the maraschino cherries out of her cunt. She licked the
syrup off my dick. We showered and fucked again.
Drowsy, we cuddled in bed. I wasn't sure I could get
another erection, I was so wasted. I must have drifted off,
because I woke up to the wonderful feeling of someone sucking and
licking my dick. I was wrong -- I could get another erection!
* * * * *
FRIDAY, JUNE 28, 1996
Friday morning. Of course, I overslept in the morning. I
told Tiffany she could stay as long as she liked, even order room
service if she wanted. I rushed through a shave and shower and
as I was getting dressed, Tiffany made a big production of
getting out of bed, finally bending over the side and wiggling
her butt at me.
She looked over her shoulder and asked, coyly, "You're
already late. Want a goodbye fuck, Mike?"
Of course I did!
* * * * *
Class was over at noon. The only thing left was the diploma
and award ceremony on Saturday, when the bigwigs came into town
to see the operation. I would fly home on Sunday morning.
Normally, I couldn't wait to get home, but this trip was
different. I had risked the happiness of my marriage enjoying
the stellar pleasures of a whore. I didn't want the week to end,
yet. I couldn't really believe the last ten days and nights. I
knew I'd have to return to my real life. But, at the same time,
I didn't want Tiffany to disappear out of my life! What was I
going to do? I didn't know.
* * * * *
Friday evening. After a long nap, I had dinner in the cafe
and made my way into the lounge. Brian nodded 'hi,' as I ordered
a drink. Tiffany wasn't in sight. There were two bartenders and
it was after seven, so my guess was that she was already in the
midst of a busy night.
As I scanned the room, it was obvious that the engineers
were out having their last blast of the week. No wonder Tiffany
was so busy, there didn't seem to be too many female engineers (I
hoped, as the father of two girls who are very good in math, that
that would change by the time they were getting out of college.).
There were some couples and in a corner, a group of young
guys, obviously starting (or continuing) a bachelor party in the
lounge. They looked in their mid- to late-twenties, and several
were already loaded. The groom-to-be was wearing a red t-shirt
with "Yes, Dear" stenciled on the front.
Tiffany appeared at my elbow. She looked gorgeous. She was
wearing a very classy black cocktail dress with dark stockings
and black high heels.
"So, how's it hangin', Mike?"
"Doesn't hang too well when you're in the same room,
Tiffany. How are you doing?"
"Great," She nodded thanks to Brain as he brought her a
club soda. "Good crowd in here, tonight -- a lot of
horny-lookin' engineers."
A man approached her from the other side and she turned to
talk to him. They soon left and I went back to watching the
room. People came and went. Couples danced, groups laughed.
Everyone seemed in a good mood, no one sitting morosely nursing
their drinks. It was Friday night!
The bachelor party had gotten loud, but they soon settled up
and made their way out of the lounge.
Brian refilled my beer and I commented, "I hope those boys
are using a limo. They all looked a little plastered."
Brian nodded. "They have suites, upstairs. I would have
stopped serving a few of them if they didn't. They've been
partying all over town since noon. There's going to be a few
hurtin' heads, tomorrow."
"The wedding here?"
"Yeah, the reception, anyway. I'm working one of the bars.
All top-notch booze." He walked away to service the other
customers.
A little while later, I saw the concierge come in and talk
to Brian. Brian shook his head, 'no,' but the concierge wasn't
taking that for an answer. Finally, Brian nodded and looked at
his watch. He nodded again and the concierge walked back to the
lobby.
When Tiffany walked into the lounge and came over to the
bar, Brian motioned her to follow him to the back end of the bar.
Brian talked and then Tiffany shook her head, 'no.' They talked
some more. Brian picked up the house phone and the concierge
soon joined them, and Brian went back to work. After another
discussion, the concierge used the phone, again. He spoke to the
person on the other end and then handed the phone to Tiffany.
They talked. Tiffany hung up and nodded to the concierge. The
concierge headed back to the lobby and Tiffany looked around the
bar -- stopping when she saw me.
She walked around the bar and stopped at my shoulder. "Hi,
Mike, I need a favor."
"Sure. If I can, you got it."
"I've just been invited to be the entertainment at a
bachelor party, upstairs."
"Yeah, I saw them down here, just a little while ago. Most
of them were pretty shit-faced."
"Yeah, that's what I picked up from Brian and the concierge.
That's why I need you, Mike. I don't want to walk into a room
full of drunk good ol' buddies and frat brothers all by myself.
I just need you to go with me, to let them know I'm not alone.
It'll help keep things in control. But, I have to warn you,
you'll probably see me get pretty raunchy. You can say no, if
that's not your bag."
I wasn't all that sure I wanted to see Tiffany as the
"entertainment" at a bachelor party with a gang of plastered
assholes, but I wasn't sure I didn't want to see her as the
raunchy "entertainment" at a bachelor party, either. "No
problem, Tiffany. I'll do it."
"Great! Thanks, Mike. Listen, I'm gonna run back to my
place and change. Give me about a half hour and then I'll meet
you in the lobby. Oh, yeah, these guys are payin' through the
nose, so I can pay you cash or..." She smiled and winked at me,
"give you a freebie for helping me out -- your choice."
I know I was blushing when I answered. "That's no choice,
Tiffany. But you don't owe me anything."
"Okay. We'll work something out -- or in! I gotta run.
See you in about a half-hour."
* * * * *
Concluded in Part 3 of 3
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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