The Present...
When you think of call girls, do you think of the movie Pretty Woman? A woman getting paid to have sex with a rich, handsome guy? Where's the downside? Well, the downside is that 95% of rich handsome guys don't need to pay for sex. Some days I meet one of those remaining 5% that pay for company. Some days... Today wasn't one of those days...
Seldom used muscles hidden beneath the fat of the man between my thighs tensed and flexed as he began driving his cock into me with more energy. Oh my God, I hoped my client was finally close to coming! To help push him over the edge, I spread my legs wider and twerked my hips upwards to meet his thrusting cock.
"Do it... Come in me! Do it. It feels so good! Harder! Do it, Baby. Fuck me harder," I grunted out in time with his thrusts.
This is the first time this particular client has used our service. Marla hadn't had any notes from previous girls on his likes/dislikes to pass on to me before I showed up at his hotel room. But he'd seemed to respond earlier to 'dirty talk' while I'd been sucking and licking his cock. Some men did and some men didn't. I could tell this old guy did. I continued to 'talk dirty' hoping to push him over the edge.
"You feel so good inside me. Soooo deep... So fucking deep in my cunt..." Ah-ha! He'd responded to the C-Word. "That's it, Baby. Fuck my cunt! My tight, wet cunt is made to be fucked... Can you tell how wet my cunt is for you? Just like that, Baby. Fuck my cunt just like that."
My words were having their desired effect. My client's eyes scrunched closed tighter. Wheezing breaths and grunts came faster. The deep, red blush on the client's face spread down his neck. I twerked my hips upwards harder, fucking my client as much as he was fucking me.
C'mon... C'mon, you old fart! Come already! My hips are getting tired...
"Yea, Baby. Me and you, we both know it," I continued in a confiding whisper. "Everyone knows, but I'm the only one who'll admit it. All women are just cunts. Walking, talking cunts wanting to be fucked... Tight, wet cunts begging to be fucked..."
I was relieved as my continued 'dirty talk' finally had the desired effect. The thrusts between my thighs came harder and stronger. Gasping for breath, the man above me was sweating profusely, his face an alarming hue of red... It seemed our sex was becoming a race between the old guy coming inside me or having a heart attack on top of me. I breathed out a sigh of relief when he groaned and coming inside me won the race as...
Thighs drove his cock into me in slow, hard thrusts; accompanied with deep grunts of release. Thrusts changed into grinding motions against my soft labia in a male's primal urge to leave his seed as deep inside a female's cunt as possible. I could imagine thick streams of cum filling my pussy, trickling down to only a few last drops as my client finished with a final series of short, hard lunges. Fucking grunts of release changed into a long, drawn-out groan of completion.
I felt the cock inside me pulse weakly one last time as my client rested more of his weight on me to trail kisses over my neck. I was so glad the sex was over that I didn't even mind wrapping my arms and legs around the sweaty bulk crushing me into the mattress. Well, at least not too much.
"Oh, my God. Don't pull out. Yes, Baby. That's it... That's it.... Fuck, I loved feeling you fill me with cum. Don’t pull out. Stay inside me. I love it. I love feeling your cock in my cunt," I breathed into his ear. I didn't mean it, of course. For one thing, he was wearing a condom. For another, I was glad the heavy, slick with sweat bulk would soon move off me.
Damn, I'm such a good liar/actress. My fake orgasms are worthy of Academy Awards.
The heavy body of my client remained on top of me for about a minute as he gulped for air between sweaty kisses to my neck. I turned my sigh of relief into what I hoped would sound like a moan of pleasure when most of the weight of my client's heavy body finally lifted off me.
He (Dammit! What the fuck is this guy’s name!?) rested on locked arms above me, I kept my smile natural. A smile that said I was sexually satisfied and not that I was thankful that our sex and time together was over. I even tried not to mind the sweat that dripped from his chin and nose onto my tits.
"Oh, my God… That was incredible,” he whispered as his breathing became less labored though his face remained an alarming red. Still hoping the old guy (Dammit! What the fuck was the name he'd given me?!) wouldn’t have a heart attack on top of me, I whispered back how good he felt inside me.
Thinking to add to 'our' pleasure, his hips began moving his softening cock in a slow in-and-out motion. I closed my eyes and moaned, telling him again how good his cock felt moving inside me just before his now shrunken and completely soft shaft slipped from my pussy.
Well, at least he’d tried...
As he continued to hover above me, his gaze left my face and trailed down my body as if trying to commit every detail of my large breasts, narrow waist and hairless pussy mound to memory. Dipping his head, he took his time sucking on each of my nipples before, with a drawn-out sigh, he finally moved from between my legs and collapsed beside me.
"My God, you're beautiful," he sighed.
Turning onto my side, I rose up on my elbow to run my free hand through his sweaty, salt-and-pepper, mostly salt, chest hair.
"You're pretty incredible yourself,” I cooed.
"Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter," was the response. "I'm a fat old man staring down the barrel of mandatory retirement."
'Ah-ha! So that's why his motor began revving when I described women as cunts.' If we were playing poker, I'd go all-in betting that it was a woman, a walking/talking cunt, leading the charge to retire him.
"Can you stay longer," I was asked. "We can have some drinks, order room service. Who knows? Maybe go for Round Three after I rest?"
"If I had more time, I'd love a repeat,” I lied. I sure as fuck didn’t mean it about the repeat. “But I can’t stay longer today, Jim.”
That's his name! JIM! He'd introduced himself as Just-Call-Me-Jim!!
"Unfortunately for both of us, I have to get going,” I continued.
Feeling relieved that I'd remembered Just-Call-Me-Jim's name, I patted his chest as I sat up beside him. Just-Call-Me-Jim watched my large tits sway as I reached up to finger-fluff my hair out of my face to lay down my back. I was used to men looking at my big tits. I gave my hair a few extra finger-fluffs to give him a good, long look.
Remembering that time was passing by, I reached to circle the condom on Just-Call-Me-Jim's cock with my thumb and forefinger. I milked the small, soft shaft to let the last bit of cum join what was already in the condom before removing it. Leaning over, I pulled as much shrunken shaft from Just-Call-Me-Jim's thick crotch hair as I could.
The fragrance of my pussy from the crotch hair tickling my nose was strong as I sucked limp cock between my lips. My tongue moved Just-Call-Me-Jim's much softer and smaller cock around my mouth while I sucked it clean. The mixed taste of cum, latex and spermicide would never make it as an ice cream flavor, but it no longer bothered me.
'Wow, just look at me now,' I thought as I sucked as hard as I could before lifting my head to let limp cock slip from my lips. The girl who only a few months ago wouldn't even consider letting a boyfriend come in her mouth.'
After a last suck and lick, I slid off the bed and walked to the bathroom. I tossed the condom into the toilet and decided to give Just-Call-Me-Jim my own little sign of approval to take his mind off his pending retirement. My handbag was on the sink counter and I retrieved my lipstick from a side pocket. Leaning closer to the mirror, I applied a thick coating of red to my lips.
I walked back into the bedroom where Jim was still resting. With a shit eating grin but without a word of explanation, I took his limp shaft in my hand and pressed my lips hard against head of his cock. Satisfied with the bright, red kiss emoji I’d made, I walked back to the bathroom.
"What's that for," Jim laughed curiously.
"You've heard of wounded soldiers receiving the Purple Heart? I just awarded you the Red Dick. It's what I give to men who gave me a good fuck."
Honestly? It hadn't been a good fuck. Just-Call-Me-Jim wasn't a good lover, but I gave him bonus points for effort and enthusiasm.
I have no idea why I started gifting a red kiss onto the cocks of men who’d pleased me. But it became 'my thing' when I noticed that men who'd received it began requesting me more often. Spending more time with men I liked meant spending less time with men I didn't like. Recipients of The Red Dick also seemed to give me larger cash gifts, too. A trifecta of wins for me! Judging from the penthouse I was in, Just-Call-Me-Jim's net worth had to be large. I wanted to see if his wealth would translate into a large gift for me!
Just-Call-Me-Jim's eyes followed me to admire the view of my nakedness as I walked past the bed to go to the mini-bar. He traveled with his own special brand of scotch. A brand I'd never heard of. I poured two-fingers of scotch neat into both glasses and put ice in mine. Sitting on the side of the bed, I handed one glass to my client.
"Pussy," Just-Call-Me-Jim labeled me, looking pointedly at the ice in my glass. "Only pussies drinks scotch over ice."
"Yea, well. In case you haven't noticed yet, I have a pussy," I whispered back before leaning over to slide my tits over his chest before sharing a scotch flavored kiss. Almost like magic, a hand appeared seemingly from nowhere to grasp and fondle one of my tits. I let my boob be played with while we shared kisses between sips of scotch. I drank mine quicker than I usually do and rattled the ice in my glass as I pulled away to stand up.
"Want more," I asked as I held my glass up.
"Definitely," Just-Call-Me-Jim answered, though his eyes were on me and not my glass. "Spend the night with me."
Wow! That was quite an offer. Marla charged different rates for her girls. I knew what she charged a client for me to show up for a couple of hours. What she would charge for an entire night of my time wouldn't be cheap! Maybe it would be pocket change to Just-Call-Me-Jim, but to me... But I shook my head to dispel the vision of what my bank balance would be if I agreed. I couldn't think of one solid reason my mom would accept for me spending the night in the city...
Instead, I took our glasses back to the mini-bar. I poured me another finger and topped off Just-Call-Me-Jim's drink. Smiling, I handed him his glass. I used my thumb to spread the tiny traces of lipstick I'd left on Just-Call-Me-Jim's lips into invisibility before carrying my drink into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I wiped off the lipstick on my lips with tissue. Tossing the tissue into the toilet, I gave tissue and condom a watery grave.
"Ahh, c'mon," Just-Call-Me-Jim's plea followed me. "Spend the night with me. I'll keep you warm all night."
"I'd love to," I lied, raising my voice over the sound of the water running. "But I'm still gonna say no to spending the night. Wanna know why?"
"Why?"
"Because you're a businessman. All your life you've scrambled and scrapped for more money. So I already know what will happen," I answered while surveying the damage in the mirror. My makeup was ruined. There was dried spit and cum on my cheeks, chin and tits.
Our missionary sex had been the second time my client had come. The first had been after a blow job that had turned into my being on my knees beside the suite’s couch while being mouthfucked. Just-call-Me-Jim had covered my face with rope after rope of thick cum. I swear the old guy must've saved up his cum for a year to have that much in his balls! He'd used his thumb to move most of the cum left on my chin and cheeks into my mouth for me to eat. He'd fed me most but looking in the mirror I could see where he'd missed some.
"And what do you think will happen?"
'Shit! What is it about men that they can’t hit an open mouth two inches from their fucking dick,' I mentally groused as I used the damp washcloth to begin cleaning dried saliva and cum from my face and tits.
"You're tired because you've just had sex. You'll order a lot of food from room service. You'll keep sucking down scotch," I continued while rinsing out the washcloth. I began cleaning my stomach, thighs and pussy mound of sweat and cum. "You'll fall asleep soon after dinner. You'll sleep until... Oh, probably near dawn. Then you'll wake up and I'll suck you off."
"Sounds good to me so far!"
Adjusting the temperature of the water I pressed the now cold washcloth against my used and slightly swollen pussy lips. My thin outer lips don't provide a lot of cushioning. Just-Call-Me-Jim had been an unexpected add-on fuck today. I was in the hotel room's bathroom of the man I'd thought would be my only client of the day when Marla had texted asking if I wanted to earn more money before returning to my home in the suburbs. I thought of time and distance and texted back, 'I got this. Arrival 10 minutes.'
Sometimes the scheduling just works out perfect. The man was upstairs in the same hotel I was already in and looking for company ASAP. I did the bare minimum of clean-up and was still smelling of sex when I knocked on the door of my second client.
The lingering odor of sex must've had an unconscious, subliminal effect. I hadn't even had a chance to sit down before Just-Call-Me-Jim had been groping my tits and fingering my pussy. His fingers had been rough, making me glad I had the added lubrication of the first man's cum still inside me before going to the room. Being roughly fingerfucked for several minutes while we kissed made me squirm in discomfort, but I said and did nothing to stop the assault. I was here to satisfy my client. A little discomfort could be endured.
For an old guy he'd been a vigorous lover, too. He was also NOT a Two-Pump Chump. Having coated my face with his cum less than an hour before, I’d had to suck and stroke his cock for a long time to revive it. But once I’d gotten him hard, he’d fucked me longer than what most men lasted before coming again. Having two men fuck me in a day wasn't a record but the added rough fingering had left me feeling well used between my legs. The cool washcloth felt good on my puffy pussy lips.
"Of course it sounds good to you now..."
I started running water in the shower. Pinning my long hair into a bun, I stepped under the spray to soap from my neck to between my legs and ass crack to remove any last traces of cum and sweat.
Stepping out, I checked once more in the mirror to make certain I couldn't find any cum on my face and chest in the bathroom mirror. I rested my foot on the sink counter to swipe between my pussy lips again before inserting a tampon. Just-Call-Me-Jim had used a condom, but my first client hadn't. I didn't want any lingering cum to spot my panties.
I stepped to lean against the door jamb where Just-Call-Me-Jim could watch me brush out my hair. If cum had been left in my hair it would be dry by now. Cum-dust would flake away under the strokes of my hairbrush.
"I'll suck you off. I'll let you watch me swallow. I'll feed you more scotch," I continued while brushing my hair. "You'll sleep until morning. Meanwhile, I'll be binge watching one of my Netflix shows."
Back in front of the mirror, I fluffed my hair out and did a quick touch-up of my make-up before slipping my dress over my head. Straightening my dress, I exited the bathroom and had to laugh. Just-Call-Me-Jim was standing almost naked beside the bed. Almost naked because he'd found my thong panties while I'd been in the bathroom. My thong was now dangling from the thick bush around his limp cock.
"Thank you for finding those for me," I managed after stilling my laughter. Closing the distance between us, I was reaching for the panties when Jim pulled me close.
"Are you sure you need to leave," Just-Call-Me-Jim asked as his hands kneaded my ass through my dress. "We can have some drinks… Order that room service..."
Damn. Except for being four inches shorter than me and two-hundred pounds heavier, Just-Call-Me-Jim hadn’t been an entirely unpleasant fuck. He certainly had stamina as long as he didn't have a heart attack. Besides, the kitchen in this hotel made wonderful food. But I shook my head slowly.
"No. I told you I know how it will end. Sometime tomorrow you'll check your credit card. Yes, it won't be much more than pocket change to you, but you'll still mull over it. You'll end up getting angry thinking about how much I ripped you off for just one more blow job."
Letting him down gently with a kiss, I reached between us to close my fingers around a very used shaft that wasn’t showing even the smallest signs of life. After squeezing and slow stroking for a few seconds, I moved backwards until hands reluctantly let go of my ass.
Taking my panties with me, I checked first that I wouldn't sit in a wet spot. Sitting on the edge of the bed we'd occupied only a short time before; I lifted one foot and then the other to carefully slip my panties past my stiletto heels and up to my knees. Standing up, Jim watched in silence as I pulled them up and adjusted the fit until the tiny triangle of silk covered my pussy. Pulling the hem of my dress back down, I snagged my handbag and began making my way towards the door to the hall. With my hand on the door, I had one of my 'What the fuck moments'.
"Tell you what, I'll make you a deal," I said jauntily, turning to face Just-Call-Me-Jim. With my heels on I was almost eight inches taller than he was and the extra height gave me more confidence. I patted his well-rounded stomach. "Instead of me charging you a lot of money just to watch you sleep, I'll spend an hour with you for every two pounds you lose between now and the next time we meet. You gotta be honest though."
"Do I still have to pay you for those hours?"
"Fuck yes! I may be easy but I ain't cheap! But at least you'll be going into the deal with your eyes open. You won't go away thinking I ripped you off. You agree not to return to my city until you've lost twenty pounds, and I'll spend the night," I stuck out my hip and let my hand outline my body from chest to hips. "For losing twenty pounds, you get to pay for ten hours of this."
"Wait. Wait, let me understand this," Just-Call-Me-Jim laughed. "I have to go on a diet. I have to fly back here. I have to pay you..."
"Double my regular rate," I interrupted.
"Double?"
"Damn straight, Skippy. I think this is what you businessmen call 'negotiating'. If you can afford to fly here for a booty call, you can afford to pay me double."
"Deal," Just-Call-Me-Jim answered and slapped the envelope he'd had in his hand all this time into my hand. I put it in my handbag without comment.
"Deal," I agreed, shaking the hand that had handed me the envelope. I was pleased I'd probably earn a shitload of money while making the guy a little healthier. "Now, go home. Go to a doctor. Go on a healthy diet and return after losing twenty pounds."
"I diet. I fly. I pay double... Seems like I'm doing all of the heavy lifting," Jim complained jokingly as his hands grasped my ass cheeks to pull me closer. "And you'll make it all worthwhile?"
"You do all that and for ten hours..." I leaned in close until my lips were fluttering softly on his ear as I whispered in what I called my Triple S Voice - Soft, Sultry and Suggestive. "For ten hours I will suck you, fuck you and Rock... Your... World in ways you've only dreamed about."
I pulled away. Opening the door, I turned and blew him a kiss.
"A safe, healthy diet or deals off! Don't even think about returning for at least two months," I said before slipping through the door. I added a little extra sway to my hips as I made my way to the hotel elevators in case he was watching.
Stopping in the Ladies' Room off the hotel's lobby, I checked that our last kisses hadn't smeared my lip gloss before retrieving Just-Call-Me-Jim’s envelope from my purse. I don't count 'Gifts' in front of clients. Seven crisp Benjamins. Very nice! Added to what my first client had gifted me earlier in the day, plus my share of the fee Marla charged each client for my time... The Louis Vuitton purse and matching shoes I've been wanting were soon to be mine!
Giving Marla a call as I waited for the doorman to flag down a taxi, I gave her a quick run-down on our service's newest client. His likes and dislikes, etc. Marla would make notes. She got a hearty laugh at the deal I'd made with Just-Call-Me-Jim.
"Ten hours of your time at double what I normally charge? Love it," Marla's delighted voice said over the clickety-click of a keyboard in the background. Soon, Marla told me that my share of the fee this client had been charged for my time was now deposited into my bank account. Another very profitable day was over. Relaxing in the back seat of the taxi, I gave a relieved and satisfied sigh.
I won’t say I’m proud to be a Call Girl, but since I was, I was glad I worked for Marla. She ran a small, very exclusive business out of an office downtown where beautiful girls were discreetly offered to very wealthy clients. I've been one of her girls since a few weeks after graduating from high school.
Marla ran a completely cashless business. Money would be transferred to an offshore bank from a client's credit card. As she'd once told me, 'If their credit card doesn't have a high enough limit to pay my fee then they're not wealthy enough for me to waste my time on.'
A series of bank transfers would automatically occur and upon receiving word that my meeting with a client was successfully completed, my share of the fee would be transferred into my banking account from a different offshore bank. I never had to discuss money with clients. If I was sent by Marla, it meant my time was already paid for. I had my share of the fee no matter what as long as I followed the rules.
But what made me try hard to satisfy my clients were the nice gifts they gave for great sex. Wealthy clients meant large gifts. For two hours of my time, gifts averaged three-to-four-hundred-dollars. On one very good day, after seeing two clients, I'd gone home with over a thousand gifted dollars in my purse: all cash and tax-free. The money Marla deposited into my bank account was taxable though. Damned IRS!
Glancing at my watch in the taxi I knew I was cutting it close, but I would make it on time to catch the train to the suburbs. I had the driver drop me two blocks from my Brownstone. I've had clients try to track me down outside of work and now I take precautions. Just in case a client ever went through my purse, I only carried a fake ID with a fictitious address.
There was this popular British TV show about a call girl starring that pretty blonde from Dr Who. It was well written and entertaining with soft-core sex tossed in. But one thing the writers got WRONG!! NO ONE I knew in the sex industry would ever meet a client at her apartment. I sure as fuck! didn't want drunk or bored clients showing up at my door wanting a quickie. I liked treating getting fucked for money as my job. A job I left behind me once I'd left a client, just as a secretary left her job behind her once she'd left the office.
I unlocked the street door and went inside the apartment building I was dropped off in front of. I walked through the building and exited out the door to the parking lot in back. Taking shortcuts through parking areas, I hoofed it as quickly as I could in four-inch stilettos to my building. Inside, I took off my heels, checked my mailbox (empty) and ran the stairs to the top floor as my nod to cardio.
Locking my door behind me, I stripped off my 'Work Clothes'. Clothes my parents would never have approved of me wearing in public. Hundreds joined other hundreds in the large, decorative tin marked FLOUR on my kitchen counter. Smaller denominations and loose change got tossed into a pretty lacquered box I’d found in an antique shop.
From a small drawer beside my stove, I pulled out an even smaller baggie. I'd fucked two clients today. Questing between my legs I found the string and pulled out the tampon I'd inserted to stop lubricant and cum from wetting my panties. The tampon went into the baggie. The baggie went into the trash.
After washing my fingers, I carried my clothes into the bedroom. My dress went into the Dry Cleaning Only hamper. My thongs went into the Regular Cleaning hamper. All the jewelry my mom would never believe I could afford on what I could've earned as an office temp was left on my dresser. My watch was the only indulgence I allowed myself to wear at home. It was exhausting enough to remember to change my earrings. Luckily, my parents wouldn't know a four-thousand-dollar Cartier Rose Gold watch from a watch bought at Wal-Mart.
Turning the water on in my shower, I twisted my hair into a bun and pinned it. I brushed my teeth until my mouth smelled minty fresh. I had a quick but thorough wash under the warm water to remove sweat, any undiscovered cum and any lingering smell of sex... My mom has the nose of a bloodhound.
I was toweling off when my phone rang. Damn, I'd forgotten to turn it off after calling Marla. As expected, it was Mom. I'd told her the plausible lie that employers didn't want to see temp workers on the phone and kept my phone turned off during the day. It was after 5 pm. I couldn't plead work to not answer.
There was no reason for Mom's call except to be sure I was going to be on time for supper. But my mom is a talker. Having the nose of a bloodhound is just one of Mom's superpowers. Another is, she can talk forever about nothing. I put my phone on conference call and placed the phone on my bed as I dressed in the 'Suburban Clothes' I'd worn as I left the house this morning.
Dressed, I freed my long, blonde hair from its bun and finger-fluffed it down my back. I carefully checked in the mirror that no cum was clumped in my hair as I vigorously applied my brush again. All the while I was giving appropriate responses to Mom. She was happily telling me a story about something I had no interest in that was happening to no one I knew. Dressed and ready, I pleaded having to run for the train and hung up.
The clothes I put on were the same that I'd worn when I left the house this morning. Just regular clothes you'd expect a temp office worker wear. A bit more casual today though. Mom believed my office temp job this month consisted of working in a dusty room organizing files. Jeans and a t-shirt were appropriate, and it was nice to dress casually.
Ny Brownstone apartment is in a perfect location. Three short city blocks from the train station in one direction. Two blocks the other way is an entrance to the subway. Another thing that made it perfect was the nearby Coffee Clutch I stopped at on the way to the train station. Strong coffee and a pastry would keep me going until dinner. My stomach argued with me and I lost. I bought two pastries. I hadn't eaten all day.
The house and suburb I'd grown up in was only a thirty-minute trip by train. I used the time to relax and to ignore the admiring looks from the same old guy I saw on the train many evenings. I'm six-foot tall with long, blonde hair and a slender build. Except for my boobs. They aren't slender. They're 34DDs that strain the buttons on any blouse I wear.
Big boobs can rarely be hidden except under a Winter coat. It was a warm Fall so I just tried to ignore the attention from men that my looks, height and big boobs drew. I've had four years to practice 'ignoring' since my fourteenth birthday when my boobs finally stopped growing.
It’s an easy ten-minute jog from the station to our home. On nice days I ride my bicycle. Today was a nice day and soon I was coasting to a stop in our garage. Entering the house, I tossed my bookbag on a chair.
"I'm home, Mom,” I yelled. “What's for supper?"
When you think of call girls, do you think of the movie Pretty Woman? A woman getting paid to have sex with a rich, handsome guy? Where's the downside? Well, the downside is that 95% of rich handsome guys don't need to pay for sex. Some days I meet one of those remaining 5% that pay for company. Some days... Today wasn't one of those days...
Seldom used muscles hidden beneath the fat of the man between my thighs tensed and flexed as he began driving his cock into me with more energy. Oh my God, I hoped my client was finally close to coming! To help push him over the edge, I spread my legs wider and twerked my hips upwards to meet his thrusting cock.
"Do it... Come in me! Do it. It feels so good! Harder! Do it, Baby. Fuck me harder," I grunted out in time with his thrusts.
This is the first time this particular client has used our service. Marla hadn't had any notes from previous girls on his likes/dislikes to pass on to me before I showed up at his hotel room. But he'd seemed to respond earlier to 'dirty talk' while I'd been sucking and licking his cock. Some men did and some men didn't. I could tell this old guy did. I continued to 'talk dirty' hoping to push him over the edge.
"You feel so good inside me. Soooo deep... So fucking deep in my cunt..." Ah-ha! He'd responded to the C-Word. "That's it, Baby. Fuck my cunt! My tight, wet cunt is made to be fucked... Can you tell how wet my cunt is for you? Just like that, Baby. Fuck my cunt just like that."
My words were having their desired effect. My client's eyes scrunched closed tighter. Wheezing breaths and grunts came faster. The deep, red blush on the client's face spread down his neck. I twerked my hips upwards harder, fucking my client as much as he was fucking me.
C'mon... C'mon, you old fart! Come already! My hips are getting tired...
"Yea, Baby. Me and you, we both know it," I continued in a confiding whisper. "Everyone knows, but I'm the only one who'll admit it. All women are just cunts. Walking, talking cunts wanting to be fucked... Tight, wet cunts begging to be fucked..."
I was relieved as my continued 'dirty talk' finally had the desired effect. The thrusts between my thighs came harder and stronger. Gasping for breath, the man above me was sweating profusely, his face an alarming hue of red... It seemed our sex was becoming a race between the old guy coming inside me or having a heart attack on top of me. I breathed out a sigh of relief when he groaned and coming inside me won the race as...
Thighs drove his cock into me in slow, hard thrusts; accompanied with deep grunts of release. Thrusts changed into grinding motions against my soft labia in a male's primal urge to leave his seed as deep inside a female's cunt as possible. I could imagine thick streams of cum filling my pussy, trickling down to only a few last drops as my client finished with a final series of short, hard lunges. Fucking grunts of release changed into a long, drawn-out groan of completion.
I felt the cock inside me pulse weakly one last time as my client rested more of his weight on me to trail kisses over my neck. I was so glad the sex was over that I didn't even mind wrapping my arms and legs around the sweaty bulk crushing me into the mattress. Well, at least not too much.
"Oh, my God. Don't pull out. Yes, Baby. That's it... That's it.... Fuck, I loved feeling you fill me with cum. Don’t pull out. Stay inside me. I love it. I love feeling your cock in my cunt," I breathed into his ear. I didn't mean it, of course. For one thing, he was wearing a condom. For another, I was glad the heavy, slick with sweat bulk would soon move off me.
Damn, I'm such a good liar/actress. My fake orgasms are worthy of Academy Awards.
The heavy body of my client remained on top of me for about a minute as he gulped for air between sweaty kisses to my neck. I turned my sigh of relief into what I hoped would sound like a moan of pleasure when most of the weight of my client's heavy body finally lifted off me.
He (Dammit! What the fuck is this guy’s name!?) rested on locked arms above me, I kept my smile natural. A smile that said I was sexually satisfied and not that I was thankful that our sex and time together was over. I even tried not to mind the sweat that dripped from his chin and nose onto my tits.
"Oh, my God… That was incredible,” he whispered as his breathing became less labored though his face remained an alarming red. Still hoping the old guy (Dammit! What the fuck was the name he'd given me?!) wouldn’t have a heart attack on top of me, I whispered back how good he felt inside me.
Thinking to add to 'our' pleasure, his hips began moving his softening cock in a slow in-and-out motion. I closed my eyes and moaned, telling him again how good his cock felt moving inside me just before his now shrunken and completely soft shaft slipped from my pussy.
Well, at least he’d tried...
As he continued to hover above me, his gaze left my face and trailed down my body as if trying to commit every detail of my large breasts, narrow waist and hairless pussy mound to memory. Dipping his head, he took his time sucking on each of my nipples before, with a drawn-out sigh, he finally moved from between my legs and collapsed beside me.
"My God, you're beautiful," he sighed.
Turning onto my side, I rose up on my elbow to run my free hand through his sweaty, salt-and-pepper, mostly salt, chest hair.
"You're pretty incredible yourself,” I cooed.
"Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter," was the response. "I'm a fat old man staring down the barrel of mandatory retirement."
'Ah-ha! So that's why his motor began revving when I described women as cunts.' If we were playing poker, I'd go all-in betting that it was a woman, a walking/talking cunt, leading the charge to retire him.
"Can you stay longer," I was asked. "We can have some drinks, order room service. Who knows? Maybe go for Round Three after I rest?"
"If I had more time, I'd love a repeat,” I lied. I sure as fuck didn’t mean it about the repeat. “But I can’t stay longer today, Jim.”
That's his name! JIM! He'd introduced himself as Just-Call-Me-Jim!!
"Unfortunately for both of us, I have to get going,” I continued.
Feeling relieved that I'd remembered Just-Call-Me-Jim's name, I patted his chest as I sat up beside him. Just-Call-Me-Jim watched my large tits sway as I reached up to finger-fluff my hair out of my face to lay down my back. I was used to men looking at my big tits. I gave my hair a few extra finger-fluffs to give him a good, long look.
Remembering that time was passing by, I reached to circle the condom on Just-Call-Me-Jim's cock with my thumb and forefinger. I milked the small, soft shaft to let the last bit of cum join what was already in the condom before removing it. Leaning over, I pulled as much shrunken shaft from Just-Call-Me-Jim's thick crotch hair as I could.
The fragrance of my pussy from the crotch hair tickling my nose was strong as I sucked limp cock between my lips. My tongue moved Just-Call-Me-Jim's much softer and smaller cock around my mouth while I sucked it clean. The mixed taste of cum, latex and spermicide would never make it as an ice cream flavor, but it no longer bothered me.
'Wow, just look at me now,' I thought as I sucked as hard as I could before lifting my head to let limp cock slip from my lips. The girl who only a few months ago wouldn't even consider letting a boyfriend come in her mouth.'
After a last suck and lick, I slid off the bed and walked to the bathroom. I tossed the condom into the toilet and decided to give Just-Call-Me-Jim my own little sign of approval to take his mind off his pending retirement. My handbag was on the sink counter and I retrieved my lipstick from a side pocket. Leaning closer to the mirror, I applied a thick coating of red to my lips.
I walked back into the bedroom where Jim was still resting. With a shit eating grin but without a word of explanation, I took his limp shaft in my hand and pressed my lips hard against head of his cock. Satisfied with the bright, red kiss emoji I’d made, I walked back to the bathroom.
"What's that for," Jim laughed curiously.
"You've heard of wounded soldiers receiving the Purple Heart? I just awarded you the Red Dick. It's what I give to men who gave me a good fuck."
Honestly? It hadn't been a good fuck. Just-Call-Me-Jim wasn't a good lover, but I gave him bonus points for effort and enthusiasm.
I have no idea why I started gifting a red kiss onto the cocks of men who’d pleased me. But it became 'my thing' when I noticed that men who'd received it began requesting me more often. Spending more time with men I liked meant spending less time with men I didn't like. Recipients of The Red Dick also seemed to give me larger cash gifts, too. A trifecta of wins for me! Judging from the penthouse I was in, Just-Call-Me-Jim's net worth had to be large. I wanted to see if his wealth would translate into a large gift for me!
Just-Call-Me-Jim's eyes followed me to admire the view of my nakedness as I walked past the bed to go to the mini-bar. He traveled with his own special brand of scotch. A brand I'd never heard of. I poured two-fingers of scotch neat into both glasses and put ice in mine. Sitting on the side of the bed, I handed one glass to my client.
"Pussy," Just-Call-Me-Jim labeled me, looking pointedly at the ice in my glass. "Only pussies drinks scotch over ice."
"Yea, well. In case you haven't noticed yet, I have a pussy," I whispered back before leaning over to slide my tits over his chest before sharing a scotch flavored kiss. Almost like magic, a hand appeared seemingly from nowhere to grasp and fondle one of my tits. I let my boob be played with while we shared kisses between sips of scotch. I drank mine quicker than I usually do and rattled the ice in my glass as I pulled away to stand up.
"Want more," I asked as I held my glass up.
"Definitely," Just-Call-Me-Jim answered, though his eyes were on me and not my glass. "Spend the night with me."
Wow! That was quite an offer. Marla charged different rates for her girls. I knew what she charged a client for me to show up for a couple of hours. What she would charge for an entire night of my time wouldn't be cheap! Maybe it would be pocket change to Just-Call-Me-Jim, but to me... But I shook my head to dispel the vision of what my bank balance would be if I agreed. I couldn't think of one solid reason my mom would accept for me spending the night in the city...
Instead, I took our glasses back to the mini-bar. I poured me another finger and topped off Just-Call-Me-Jim's drink. Smiling, I handed him his glass. I used my thumb to spread the tiny traces of lipstick I'd left on Just-Call-Me-Jim's lips into invisibility before carrying my drink into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I wiped off the lipstick on my lips with tissue. Tossing the tissue into the toilet, I gave tissue and condom a watery grave.
"Ahh, c'mon," Just-Call-Me-Jim's plea followed me. "Spend the night with me. I'll keep you warm all night."
"I'd love to," I lied, raising my voice over the sound of the water running. "But I'm still gonna say no to spending the night. Wanna know why?"
"Why?"
"Because you're a businessman. All your life you've scrambled and scrapped for more money. So I already know what will happen," I answered while surveying the damage in the mirror. My makeup was ruined. There was dried spit and cum on my cheeks, chin and tits.
Our missionary sex had been the second time my client had come. The first had been after a blow job that had turned into my being on my knees beside the suite’s couch while being mouthfucked. Just-call-Me-Jim had covered my face with rope after rope of thick cum. I swear the old guy must've saved up his cum for a year to have that much in his balls! He'd used his thumb to move most of the cum left on my chin and cheeks into my mouth for me to eat. He'd fed me most but looking in the mirror I could see where he'd missed some.
"And what do you think will happen?"
'Shit! What is it about men that they can’t hit an open mouth two inches from their fucking dick,' I mentally groused as I used the damp washcloth to begin cleaning dried saliva and cum from my face and tits.
"You're tired because you've just had sex. You'll order a lot of food from room service. You'll keep sucking down scotch," I continued while rinsing out the washcloth. I began cleaning my stomach, thighs and pussy mound of sweat and cum. "You'll fall asleep soon after dinner. You'll sleep until... Oh, probably near dawn. Then you'll wake up and I'll suck you off."
"Sounds good to me so far!"
Adjusting the temperature of the water I pressed the now cold washcloth against my used and slightly swollen pussy lips. My thin outer lips don't provide a lot of cushioning. Just-Call-Me-Jim had been an unexpected add-on fuck today. I was in the hotel room's bathroom of the man I'd thought would be my only client of the day when Marla had texted asking if I wanted to earn more money before returning to my home in the suburbs. I thought of time and distance and texted back, 'I got this. Arrival 10 minutes.'
Sometimes the scheduling just works out perfect. The man was upstairs in the same hotel I was already in and looking for company ASAP. I did the bare minimum of clean-up and was still smelling of sex when I knocked on the door of my second client.
The lingering odor of sex must've had an unconscious, subliminal effect. I hadn't even had a chance to sit down before Just-Call-Me-Jim had been groping my tits and fingering my pussy. His fingers had been rough, making me glad I had the added lubrication of the first man's cum still inside me before going to the room. Being roughly fingerfucked for several minutes while we kissed made me squirm in discomfort, but I said and did nothing to stop the assault. I was here to satisfy my client. A little discomfort could be endured.
For an old guy he'd been a vigorous lover, too. He was also NOT a Two-Pump Chump. Having coated my face with his cum less than an hour before, I’d had to suck and stroke his cock for a long time to revive it. But once I’d gotten him hard, he’d fucked me longer than what most men lasted before coming again. Having two men fuck me in a day wasn't a record but the added rough fingering had left me feeling well used between my legs. The cool washcloth felt good on my puffy pussy lips.
"Of course it sounds good to you now..."
I started running water in the shower. Pinning my long hair into a bun, I stepped under the spray to soap from my neck to between my legs and ass crack to remove any last traces of cum and sweat.
Stepping out, I checked once more in the mirror to make certain I couldn't find any cum on my face and chest in the bathroom mirror. I rested my foot on the sink counter to swipe between my pussy lips again before inserting a tampon. Just-Call-Me-Jim had used a condom, but my first client hadn't. I didn't want any lingering cum to spot my panties.
I stepped to lean against the door jamb where Just-Call-Me-Jim could watch me brush out my hair. If cum had been left in my hair it would be dry by now. Cum-dust would flake away under the strokes of my hairbrush.
"I'll suck you off. I'll let you watch me swallow. I'll feed you more scotch," I continued while brushing my hair. "You'll sleep until morning. Meanwhile, I'll be binge watching one of my Netflix shows."
Back in front of the mirror, I fluffed my hair out and did a quick touch-up of my make-up before slipping my dress over my head. Straightening my dress, I exited the bathroom and had to laugh. Just-Call-Me-Jim was standing almost naked beside the bed. Almost naked because he'd found my thong panties while I'd been in the bathroom. My thong was now dangling from the thick bush around his limp cock.
"Thank you for finding those for me," I managed after stilling my laughter. Closing the distance between us, I was reaching for the panties when Jim pulled me close.
"Are you sure you need to leave," Just-Call-Me-Jim asked as his hands kneaded my ass through my dress. "We can have some drinks… Order that room service..."
Damn. Except for being four inches shorter than me and two-hundred pounds heavier, Just-Call-Me-Jim hadn’t been an entirely unpleasant fuck. He certainly had stamina as long as he didn't have a heart attack. Besides, the kitchen in this hotel made wonderful food. But I shook my head slowly.
"No. I told you I know how it will end. Sometime tomorrow you'll check your credit card. Yes, it won't be much more than pocket change to you, but you'll still mull over it. You'll end up getting angry thinking about how much I ripped you off for just one more blow job."
Letting him down gently with a kiss, I reached between us to close my fingers around a very used shaft that wasn’t showing even the smallest signs of life. After squeezing and slow stroking for a few seconds, I moved backwards until hands reluctantly let go of my ass.
Taking my panties with me, I checked first that I wouldn't sit in a wet spot. Sitting on the edge of the bed we'd occupied only a short time before; I lifted one foot and then the other to carefully slip my panties past my stiletto heels and up to my knees. Standing up, Jim watched in silence as I pulled them up and adjusted the fit until the tiny triangle of silk covered my pussy. Pulling the hem of my dress back down, I snagged my handbag and began making my way towards the door to the hall. With my hand on the door, I had one of my 'What the fuck moments'.
"Tell you what, I'll make you a deal," I said jauntily, turning to face Just-Call-Me-Jim. With my heels on I was almost eight inches taller than he was and the extra height gave me more confidence. I patted his well-rounded stomach. "Instead of me charging you a lot of money just to watch you sleep, I'll spend an hour with you for every two pounds you lose between now and the next time we meet. You gotta be honest though."
"Do I still have to pay you for those hours?"
"Fuck yes! I may be easy but I ain't cheap! But at least you'll be going into the deal with your eyes open. You won't go away thinking I ripped you off. You agree not to return to my city until you've lost twenty pounds, and I'll spend the night," I stuck out my hip and let my hand outline my body from chest to hips. "For losing twenty pounds, you get to pay for ten hours of this."
"Wait. Wait, let me understand this," Just-Call-Me-Jim laughed. "I have to go on a diet. I have to fly back here. I have to pay you..."
"Double my regular rate," I interrupted.
"Double?"
"Damn straight, Skippy. I think this is what you businessmen call 'negotiating'. If you can afford to fly here for a booty call, you can afford to pay me double."
"Deal," Just-Call-Me-Jim answered and slapped the envelope he'd had in his hand all this time into my hand. I put it in my handbag without comment.
"Deal," I agreed, shaking the hand that had handed me the envelope. I was pleased I'd probably earn a shitload of money while making the guy a little healthier. "Now, go home. Go to a doctor. Go on a healthy diet and return after losing twenty pounds."
"I diet. I fly. I pay double... Seems like I'm doing all of the heavy lifting," Jim complained jokingly as his hands grasped my ass cheeks to pull me closer. "And you'll make it all worthwhile?"
"You do all that and for ten hours..." I leaned in close until my lips were fluttering softly on his ear as I whispered in what I called my Triple S Voice - Soft, Sultry and Suggestive. "For ten hours I will suck you, fuck you and Rock... Your... World in ways you've only dreamed about."
I pulled away. Opening the door, I turned and blew him a kiss.
"A safe, healthy diet or deals off! Don't even think about returning for at least two months," I said before slipping through the door. I added a little extra sway to my hips as I made my way to the hotel elevators in case he was watching.
Stopping in the Ladies' Room off the hotel's lobby, I checked that our last kisses hadn't smeared my lip gloss before retrieving Just-Call-Me-Jim’s envelope from my purse. I don't count 'Gifts' in front of clients. Seven crisp Benjamins. Very nice! Added to what my first client had gifted me earlier in the day, plus my share of the fee Marla charged each client for my time... The Louis Vuitton purse and matching shoes I've been wanting were soon to be mine!
Giving Marla a call as I waited for the doorman to flag down a taxi, I gave her a quick run-down on our service's newest client. His likes and dislikes, etc. Marla would make notes. She got a hearty laugh at the deal I'd made with Just-Call-Me-Jim.
"Ten hours of your time at double what I normally charge? Love it," Marla's delighted voice said over the clickety-click of a keyboard in the background. Soon, Marla told me that my share of the fee this client had been charged for my time was now deposited into my bank account. Another very profitable day was over. Relaxing in the back seat of the taxi, I gave a relieved and satisfied sigh.
I won’t say I’m proud to be a Call Girl, but since I was, I was glad I worked for Marla. She ran a small, very exclusive business out of an office downtown where beautiful girls were discreetly offered to very wealthy clients. I've been one of her girls since a few weeks after graduating from high school.
Marla ran a completely cashless business. Money would be transferred to an offshore bank from a client's credit card. As she'd once told me, 'If their credit card doesn't have a high enough limit to pay my fee then they're not wealthy enough for me to waste my time on.'
A series of bank transfers would automatically occur and upon receiving word that my meeting with a client was successfully completed, my share of the fee would be transferred into my banking account from a different offshore bank. I never had to discuss money with clients. If I was sent by Marla, it meant my time was already paid for. I had my share of the fee no matter what as long as I followed the rules.
But what made me try hard to satisfy my clients were the nice gifts they gave for great sex. Wealthy clients meant large gifts. For two hours of my time, gifts averaged three-to-four-hundred-dollars. On one very good day, after seeing two clients, I'd gone home with over a thousand gifted dollars in my purse: all cash and tax-free. The money Marla deposited into my bank account was taxable though. Damned IRS!
Glancing at my watch in the taxi I knew I was cutting it close, but I would make it on time to catch the train to the suburbs. I had the driver drop me two blocks from my Brownstone. I've had clients try to track me down outside of work and now I take precautions. Just in case a client ever went through my purse, I only carried a fake ID with a fictitious address.
There was this popular British TV show about a call girl starring that pretty blonde from Dr Who. It was well written and entertaining with soft-core sex tossed in. But one thing the writers got WRONG!! NO ONE I knew in the sex industry would ever meet a client at her apartment. I sure as fuck! didn't want drunk or bored clients showing up at my door wanting a quickie. I liked treating getting fucked for money as my job. A job I left behind me once I'd left a client, just as a secretary left her job behind her once she'd left the office.
I unlocked the street door and went inside the apartment building I was dropped off in front of. I walked through the building and exited out the door to the parking lot in back. Taking shortcuts through parking areas, I hoofed it as quickly as I could in four-inch stilettos to my building. Inside, I took off my heels, checked my mailbox (empty) and ran the stairs to the top floor as my nod to cardio.
Locking my door behind me, I stripped off my 'Work Clothes'. Clothes my parents would never have approved of me wearing in public. Hundreds joined other hundreds in the large, decorative tin marked FLOUR on my kitchen counter. Smaller denominations and loose change got tossed into a pretty lacquered box I’d found in an antique shop.
From a small drawer beside my stove, I pulled out an even smaller baggie. I'd fucked two clients today. Questing between my legs I found the string and pulled out the tampon I'd inserted to stop lubricant and cum from wetting my panties. The tampon went into the baggie. The baggie went into the trash.
After washing my fingers, I carried my clothes into the bedroom. My dress went into the Dry Cleaning Only hamper. My thongs went into the Regular Cleaning hamper. All the jewelry my mom would never believe I could afford on what I could've earned as an office temp was left on my dresser. My watch was the only indulgence I allowed myself to wear at home. It was exhausting enough to remember to change my earrings. Luckily, my parents wouldn't know a four-thousand-dollar Cartier Rose Gold watch from a watch bought at Wal-Mart.
Turning the water on in my shower, I twisted my hair into a bun and pinned it. I brushed my teeth until my mouth smelled minty fresh. I had a quick but thorough wash under the warm water to remove sweat, any undiscovered cum and any lingering smell of sex... My mom has the nose of a bloodhound.
I was toweling off when my phone rang. Damn, I'd forgotten to turn it off after calling Marla. As expected, it was Mom. I'd told her the plausible lie that employers didn't want to see temp workers on the phone and kept my phone turned off during the day. It was after 5 pm. I couldn't plead work to not answer.
There was no reason for Mom's call except to be sure I was going to be on time for supper. But my mom is a talker. Having the nose of a bloodhound is just one of Mom's superpowers. Another is, she can talk forever about nothing. I put my phone on conference call and placed the phone on my bed as I dressed in the 'Suburban Clothes' I'd worn as I left the house this morning.
Dressed, I freed my long, blonde hair from its bun and finger-fluffed it down my back. I carefully checked in the mirror that no cum was clumped in my hair as I vigorously applied my brush again. All the while I was giving appropriate responses to Mom. She was happily telling me a story about something I had no interest in that was happening to no one I knew. Dressed and ready, I pleaded having to run for the train and hung up.
The clothes I put on were the same that I'd worn when I left the house this morning. Just regular clothes you'd expect a temp office worker wear. A bit more casual today though. Mom believed my office temp job this month consisted of working in a dusty room organizing files. Jeans and a t-shirt were appropriate, and it was nice to dress casually.
Ny Brownstone apartment is in a perfect location. Three short city blocks from the train station in one direction. Two blocks the other way is an entrance to the subway. Another thing that made it perfect was the nearby Coffee Clutch I stopped at on the way to the train station. Strong coffee and a pastry would keep me going until dinner. My stomach argued with me and I lost. I bought two pastries. I hadn't eaten all day.
The house and suburb I'd grown up in was only a thirty-minute trip by train. I used the time to relax and to ignore the admiring looks from the same old guy I saw on the train many evenings. I'm six-foot tall with long, blonde hair and a slender build. Except for my boobs. They aren't slender. They're 34DDs that strain the buttons on any blouse I wear.
Big boobs can rarely be hidden except under a Winter coat. It was a warm Fall so I just tried to ignore the attention from men that my looks, height and big boobs drew. I've had four years to practice 'ignoring' since my fourteenth birthday when my boobs finally stopped growing.
It’s an easy ten-minute jog from the station to our home. On nice days I ride my bicycle. Today was a nice day and soon I was coasting to a stop in our garage. Entering the house, I tossed my bookbag on a chair.
"I'm home, Mom,” I yelled. “What's for supper?"
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