DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM Chapters 1--2 (1 Viewer)

CHAPTER ONE...

The Present...

My client remained motionless above me on locked arms. Only his hips moved, grinding his hard pubic bone against my softer, pussy lips. I heard him groaning in his attempt to press harder, to push his cock as far into me as he could until… A long, rasping moan and the pulsing cock I felt inside me signaled his release as he came. Short, hard thrusts between my legs made me grunt as wind was forced from my lungs. With a final, soft and drawn out, ‘Ohhhhh my God’ the cock inside me stilled except for a few last contractions as he was gifted my pussy with a last offering of squeezed out cum from his shaft. I bent my knees and opened my legs wider to put my ankles on his ass in invitation to rest between my thighs.

My client’s arms lost their strength and he collapsed to lie on me. His hot, sweating body pressed me into the mattress while his labored breathing was loud in my ear. Gradually, harsh, rasping breaths began slowing, softening, returning to normal. I felt him wipe the sweat from his face with a handful of sheets before it appeared over mine. Between short, sloppy kisses, I listened as he complimented me over and over… How pretty I am… How perfect my large tits are… How he loved my young, slender body and tight pussy as hips began moving the cock inside me again in a slow in-and-out motion. These weren’t the strokes of a man looking to come, these were just the slow, measured strokes of a man enjoying the simple pleasure of sliding his dick inside a tight, wet pussy.

Face covered in sweat again, he kissed me and I barely heard his weak, ‘Oh, my God… That was incredible,’ just before he pulled out and groaning, collapsed beside me.

I remained motionless. I was so glad to finally have his heavy, sweaty body off me. But I didn’t want to do or say anything that might transmit that happiness to my client. Instead, turning onto my side, I rose up on my elbow to run my free hand through his sweaty, salt-and-pepper chest hair. “You were pretty incredible yourself, Lover,” I cooed.

Brushing at chest hairs stuck to my boobs, I continued, “I wouldn’t mind a repeat if I had the time.”

I didn’t mean anything I said, but clients love to hear lies like these. Patting his chest as I sat up beside him, I finger-fluffed my long hair off my shoulders to lie down my back. “Unfortunately for both of us, I have to get going,” I said in as much of a sorrowful tone as I could manage.

Circling the condom on his cock with my thumb and forefinger, I milked the rapidly shrinking shaft to let the last drops of cum fill the condom before removing it. Leaning over, I took the now soft shaft between thumb and finger to lift the tip for a last, cleaning suck. The taste of cum mixed with spermicide with just a hint of latex was bitter but I’d known it would be. I continued to slowly nod my head over his groin, milking his cock with my lips. With a last suck and lick, I slid off the bed and grabbed my dress and shoes with my free hand on the way to the bathroom. Behind me I heard a soft, heartfelt, ‘Damn that’s a fine ass,’ from the bed. Closing the door, I tossed the condom into the toilet and gave all the sperm a watery grave.

Wetting a washcloth, I surveyed 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 doggy sex followed, after stripping off the condom, by a blow job that had turned into my being mouth fucked. ‘Just-Call-Me-Jim’ had finished by wanking off with his hand while I kept my mouth open to receive…

Very little cum had ended up in my mouth though. Just-Call-Me-Jim had coated my face with thick cum instead. Fuck! What is it about men that they can’t hit an open mouth two inches from the tip of their dick, I mentally grouched as I wet the washcloth more before wiping several times at a dried cum spot near my left ear until it was gone. I wasn’t really bitching at Just-Call-Me-Jim. I was certain he’d meant to paint my face. I was just bitching at men in general.

I’d asked Just-Call-Me-Jim to help push the cum that had coated my face into my mouth, but he hadn’t gotten all of it I discovered as I found and cleaned another dried cum spot from under my chin. Inspecting my hair, I found one place where the strands were clumped together. Rubbing the area between thumb and fingers, the dried cum flaked into dust to free the strands.

Rinsing out the washcloth, I began cleaning between my legs. Pausing, I pressed the cold, washcloth against my used and abused pussy lips and sighed in relief. My outer pussy lips are thin. Not much cushion for the pushin’ and, for an old guy in his late forties, Just-Call-Me-Jim had been a vigorous lover. Having just come a short while before on my face, Jim had thrust against my pussy lips for a longer than usual time before coming again.

Cleaning until I couldn’t see any more dried spit or cum in the bathroom mirror, I picked one last grey hair still stuck to my boob before getting my hairbrush from my purse/carry-all. After giving my hair a good brushing to break up any stuck together strands I hadn’t noticed, I slipped my dress over my head. I did a quick touch-up of my make-up before I exited the bathroom. Total clean-up time… Five minutes. I’ve had lots of practice, plus I was in a hurry.

My rush to leave stopped just outside the bathroom door. I had to laugh. Jim was standing almost naked beside the bed. Almost naked because he'd found my thong panties from where he’d tossed them while I'd been in the bathroom. My thongs were now dangling from the mostly grey bush around his limp cock. Not for the first time, I had a feeling Just-Call-Me-Jim had lied about his age and was much older than his claim of ‘late forties’.

"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. Hands clasped my ass cheeks through my dress as he whispered into my neck, "Are you sure you need to leave? We can have some drinks… Maybe order some room service to pass the time until I'm ready for Round Three."

If I'd met Jim earlier in the day, I probably would have agreed. The food as well as the extra money for my time would have been nice. But..."I'd like to, Baby. But it's getting late. I need to go." Letting him down gently with a kiss, I reached between us to close my fingers around his soft shaft. After squeezing and slow stroking for a few seconds, I leaned backward until his hands let go of my ass.

Taking my panties with me, I checked that I wouldn't sit in a wet spot before I sat on the bed we'd occupied only a short time before. Jim watched in silence as I slipped them on. Pulling the hem of my dress back down, I snagged my purse and made my way towards the door to the hall. Jim slowed my progress with grasping hands, pulling me to him for last kisses and gropes of my tits and ass cheeks.

As we passed the suite’s mini bar, Jim picked up and handed me an envelope without comment. I slipped the gift into my purse with a quiet, Thank you. Thanking him further, I gave his cock one last squeeze as he kissed me again. "I hope you'll call me if you're in the city again," I said when he opened the door for me.

"I will! I definitely will," Jim promised as I slipped through the door. I added a little more sway to my hips in case he was watching as I made my way to the hotel elevators.

Stopping in the Ladies Room off the hotel's lobby, I checked that our last kisses hadn't smeared my lip gloss. I retrieved and opened the envelope from my purse. I don't count 'Gifts' in front of clients. Four crisp Benjamins. Added to what my first client had gifted to 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. My estimate of his ‘real’ age, any likes and dislikes… Marla would make notes. If he called again, I or another girl would know a bit about him rather than going in cold as I had. I heard the click of a keyboard in the background and Marla informed me that my share of the fee this client had been charged for my time was now deposited into my bank account. Relaxing in the back seat of the taxi, I gave a relieved and satisfied sigh. Another profitable day was over…

*******************
Marla had explained her 'payment plan' when she'd recruited me. She ran a completely cashless business. Money would be transferred to an offshore bank from a client's credit card. A series of bank transfers would automatically occur and from a different offshore bank, my share of the fee would be deposited into my bank account. Marla ran a very exclusive business. Beautiful girls were offered to wealthy clients. 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 fool with.' 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 unless I refused a reasonable request made by a client. I still didn’t know what qualified as a ‘reasonable request’ that would lose me my fee if I turned it down. I hadn’t said No to a client yet except to refuse public sex.

But what made me fuck hard to satisfy my clients were the gifts they gave for great sex. Wealthy clients meant nice gifts. Three-to-four-hundred-dollar gifts were about average. On one very good day, after seeing two clients, I'd gone home with over a thousand dollars in my purse. All in cash and all tax free. The money Marla deposited into my bank account was taxable though, darn it!

Glancing at my watch in the taxi, I knew I was cutting it close, but I should 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. I used a key I’d bribed a resident to let me make a copy of to open the street door. ‘Oh, no! I just moved in and already lost the key! I don’t want to bother the super, can I pay you so I can copy yours?’ Amazing what blonde hair, and a pretty face with a vacant, No-One-At-Home look in your eyes can make the male of the species do. Once inside, I kept walking and exited out the back door.

Taking shortcuts through parking lots, I hoofed it as quickly as I could in four-inch heels 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. Hundred-dollar bills joined other hundreds in the 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 keep the lubricant I’d used with Just-Call-Me-Jim and my own pussy juice from wetting my panties. The tampon went into a baggie, and the baggie went into the trash.

After washing my fingers, I carried my clothes into the bedroom and tossed them into my laundry hamper. Ugh! Just the thought of putting on clothes that I’d worn after having Just-Call-Me-Jim sweating all over me gave me the heebie-jeebies. All the jewelry my mom would never believe I could afford on what I earned as an office temp was put away. My watch was the only indulgence I allowed myself to wear at home. It was exhausting enough to remember to change one set of jewelry for another. Luckily, my parents wouldn't know a four-thousand-dollar Cartier Rose Gold watch from a ten-dollar Swatch from Wal-Mart.

Turning the water on in my shower, I twisted my hair into a bun and pinned it. A quick, soapy wash under the warm water to remove sweat, undiscovered cum and any lingering odor of sex made me feel so much better. I was toweling off when my phone rang. Damn, I'd forgotten to turn it off after calling Marla. As expected, it was my mom. I'd told Mom the plausible lie that employers didn't want to see temp workers on the phone and kept my phone off during the day. It was just after 5pm, so 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. 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. I shook my hair out of the bun and finger-fluffed down my back while giving appropriate responses to Mom. I listened as mom lamented over the rise in prices at the market while giving my hair a last thorough brushing to remove any clinging cum dust. Pleading to have to run for the subway, I hung up.

My Brownstone apartment is in a perfect location. Three short city blocks from the train station and the entrance to the subway was only two blocks away in the other direction. Another thing that made it perfect was the nearby Coffee Clutch I stopped at on the way to the train. Strong coffee and a pastry would keep me going until dinner. I couldn’t resist buying two pastries to eat on the train. I hadn't eaten all day.

The suburb I'd grown up in was barely 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 weren't slender. They were 34 Double-Ds that strained the buttons of any blouse I wore. Big boobs can’t be hidden except under a Winter coat. It had been a rare, warm early Spring day so I just ignored the attention from men my 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 rode my bicycle. A less than forty-minute commute from home to my apartment? Anyone familiar with the city and its traffic would count that as a blessing! 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 and yelled, "I'm home, Mom. What's for supper?"

**************

The next morning, my phone rang as I stepped from the train onto the platform. My commute from the suburbs to the city had ended in its predictable way. A call from Mom to catch up on my life since I'd gone to sleep the night before. Because I was almost always up and away from the house before Mom and Dad were up, morning phone calls took the place of the conversations we used to have over breakfast before school.

The usual pleasantries followed but soon segued into predictable themes, 'When was I going to look for a better job than being an office temp? A job that offered benefits and security. Was I still uninterested in going to college?' Mom had just begun to express wishes that I'd find a guy, 'I'm not getting any younger. Grandkids would be nice to have around while I'm still young enough to enjoy them.' At that point, stating that I was about to enter the subway, I hung up and checked my messages to make certain I had the correct time for my first appointment.

I had plenty of time, so I stopped at the Coffee Clutch for coffee and a sugary pastry to snack on as I slowly walked towards my apartment. An apartment my parents knew nothing about. I've given serious thought to moving out of my parents’ house and to the city. I was almost nineteen and out of high school. Many girls I'd graduated with were finishing their freshman year of college. Others had jobs and were living on their own. A few were already married! Money was no longer an issue, but... But the city was only a short ride by train from our suburb.

If my mom knew I had an apartment she would drop by at all hours of the day, any day of the week. Maybe I’d get a heads-up call after she was already on the train. I'd never be able to keep my secret a secret. For now at least, I considered my apartment as a very large closet where I changed clothes. I live at home in the bedroom which had been mine since I was sleeping in a cradle. Mom and I still rode bikes together. Shopped together. Gardened, talked, and watched weepy-eye Lifetime/Hallmark movies together. To keep Mom happy, I even went out on dates occasionally.

My Dad? Oh, he huffed and puffed and bellowed like an elephant wondering, 'When are you going to leave the damned nest so your mom and I can have some damned peace and quiet around here!' But on Saturday mornings after falling asleep on the couch during a late-night binge of watching the aforementioned weepy-eye movies, I'd wake-up to find a blanket covering me and Dad making a huge breakfast while bellowing, 'Eat you idiot child and put some meat on those skinny bones so you have the energy to find your own damned place and leave me in peace!' Yeah, I've had Daddy figured out and wrapped around my little finger since I took my first steps.

Thinking of steps, I looked at my watch and increased the pace of mine while licking my fingers clean of gooey sugar. I ran the stairs again for cardio and on the third floor landing I met Danny heading down. A senior in college, Danny lived in the apartment below mine. With hair that always needed to be cut and dressed in his usual jeans and wrinkled t-shirt, he still looked delicious in a rumpled, un-made bed, shaggy sad-eyed sheepdog kind of way. I knew he had a little crush on me and wanted to ask me out. Schoolwork, part-time jobs, lack of money, and a bad case of shyness kept him from asking.

Exchanging 'Heys', I was several steps past when I heard him stumble and almost fall. The thud of his dropped bookbag and an exclamatory, Damn it, echoed in the stairwell. Grinning, I tried very hard not to laugh. I just knew he'd turned his head to check out my butt and tripped. I stopped on the landing above his and watched as he fumbled for his dropped bag.

"You okay, Danny?"

"Ahh, yeah. Just clumsy, I guess," he answered while trying to keep a furiously blushing face turned away as much as possible. Danny changed the subject by quickly pointing to my coffee. "You know, Olivia. It'd be cheaper to brew coffee instead of going out to buy one every morning."

I'd made up the story of going to the Coffee Clutch for coffee when Danny had met me coming in as he was going out once too often. "I know. I guess, I just like the taste.

"Hey, Olivia," Danny said as I turned to run the remaining steps to my floor. "Thanks. I know I haven't mentioned this, but having someone as quiet as you above me, I mean, living in the apartment above mine, it's really great. I saw the hardwood floors when I moved in, and I was afraid that I'd be hearing the clump, clump, clump of footsteps at all hours. How someone as big as you can move so quietly… Well, when I'm trying to study it really means a lot."

Since I couldn't explain that the reason I was so quiet at night was because I wasn't in my apartment at night, I just took the compliment with one reservation, "Someone as big as I am?"

"I meant as tall as you are. You're nowhere near fat! You have an incredible... I mean, your body is totally... Ahh..."

The laughter I'd kept in earlier bubbled out, and I took pity on the shy nerd. "It's fine, Danny, and thanks for the stammered-out almost compliment. I gotta run to get to work on time but score an A on a test for me today."

Wow! Was progress being made? Danny liked looking at me, but this was the most he’d talked to me at one time since he’d moved in a five months earlier. I’d tried to start conversations with him a few times when we ran into each other but trying to pry words out of the poor guy had been like trying to pull teeth out. I’d finally begun settling for the occasional, Hey.

Mine was a large corner apartment on the top floor. No clumping footsteps above me to have to put up with. Closing the door behind me, I tossed my bag and keys on the table beside the door and breathed in the sweet smell of privacy. This was my first apartment, and although I didn't spend much time here, it was still mine. All mine!

I could decorate it the way I liked. Paint the walls with the colors I liked. Buy furniture that I liked. I could even run naked through all the rooms. Cook in the nude. Throw caution to the wind and even fry bacon in the nude! Tried that once. Hot bacon grease spattering out of the skillet had me grabbing for an apron very quickly. So, okay, probably wouldn't fry bacon in the nude again, but the important point is, I can if I want to.

Going to the bedroom, I stripped down to bra and panties and tossed all my clothes onto the bed before starting a few necessary chores around the apartment. Cleaning, a breakfast of Pop Tarts with milk and net surfing to watch funny animal vids occupied my morning until it was time to get ready for work. Opening the doors to my closets, I surveyed my choices. The outfits I wore to and from home were for my dad and mom's benefit. The clothes I kept here in my apartment were my real work clothes. Shopping in stores far above what I could have afforded on my pay if I were an office temp had filled my closets with beautiful clothes.

Knowing who I was meeting, I picked out a backless, black dress and held it to my front. Shaking my head, imagining what my dad would say if he saw me headed out the door for a date in a dress showing so much thigh below and boob above, I laid it on the bed. Hose, garter belt, and panties, also black, joined the dress.

My apartment has two bedrooms. Not needing two, I'd paid our building's super to turn my second bedroom into my Shoes-and-Accessories Closet by lining the walls with shelves. My building's super loves me. I pay up-front in cash, keep my refrigerator stocked with the beer he likes and tip him with a large amount of beer afterwards as a reward for a job well done. Also, I always wear a revealing top when I ask for something.

Surveying the choices, I picked my ash-colored Christian Louboutin's. I was the only girl in my high school who exceeded 5’9” and I like being tall. Unless I’ve had a late growth spurt, I’m still just a hair over six foot tall in my bare feet. The heels of my Louboutin's would elevate me to almost 6’5” and the client I was seeing this afternoon liked tall women. Tall women who didn't wear panties… My panties went back into my panty drawer.

Dressed and accessorized with appropriate jewelry and purse, I sat to put on my heels. Putting my hand between fabric and skin, I lifted my boobs up to show more cleavage. My last act in the bedroom was to spritz the air three times with my favorite perfume before walking through the sweet, scented mist. With one last look in the mirror, I grabbed my purse.

In the kitchen, I took some condoms from the tin marked SUGAR and slipped them into a side pocket of my purse. My clients seem to run about 70/30% (pro/con) about asking for condoms and it’s better to have too many than not enough. From the tin for TEA, I grabbed more tampons and put those in my purse. Ready for the day, I locked my door and headed for the stairs. Walking towards the entrance to the subway, I texted Marla that I'd be on time for my first appointment. Time to earn more sweet, sweet money!

I'm sure anyone reading this is pretty confused by now. But there's a simple explanation. You see, some months ago, I was fresh out of high school and working as an office temp. One afternoon as I was walking out of the building where I'd been filing papers all day, a woman approached me, handed me her card and offered me a job...

*********************************
Ten Months Past…

"DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM," I read off the card. "Sounds like you work for the CIA or something," I joked, setting my bookbag down beside a chair to accept the coffee cup Marla offered me.

"Or something," Marla replied with a small smile. She walked behind her desk and sat with perfect posture in a high-backed, leather chair. Sipping from her coffee cup, she smiled, "I've noticed you working in the building this past week. You're a very pretty young lady. Head cheerleader and Prom Queen in high school?"

"Thanks for the compliments." I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. I've never felt comfortable accepting compliments for things I'd been born with. After all, how much credit can you take for being the recipient of a lucky arrangement of bits and pieces of genetic code? "Cheerleader, yes, but not the head cheerleader, and I got enough votes to be a member of the Queen's Court but not the Prom Queen."

Marla laughed, "You were content to be the Queen Bee, weren't you."

"Well..." I shrugged. "It seemed to really mean a lot to one of my girlfriends. It just wasn't worth it to me to split our group into competing factions."

"I thought so. Anyway, about the job offer. You see, twelve years ago, I was sitting in a chair much like the one you are sitting in now and looking across a desk very much like this one. I was being offered the same opportunity I'm offering to you. Different office, different city, of course, but the offer was the same."

"And in just twelve years you worked your way up to being the boss? Or CEO, or whatever your job title is? You must have been very hard-working."

"I was. One might say I worked my ass off to get where I am today. Also, the job I was offered, and I'm now offering to you, has… Sort of, an expiration date. You either move up to management in a few years, or you leave the field entirely. Six months ago, I chose to move here, open my own agency, and move up to management."

"Well, you must be doing something right. I mean, your office decor costs thousands! I measured an office to help order furniture for a new Vice-President of a company I temped at. I saw the magazine they were ordering furniture from, so I know something about how much furniture like these costs." I reached out to run my hand over the smooth surface of her desk. "Solid cherry. Probably cost more than I'll make in a year on my salary."

"Very perceptive. So, in a nutshell, let me make my pitch to you. Out there," Marla began with a graceful, encompassing wave of her hand. "Out there in the city, there are hundreds, thousands, of successful men and women. They became successful because of long hours of hard work. Long hours of hard work which left them exhausted and with few opportunities to truly enjoy the fruits of their hard work.

"They had little time or energy to socialize, to date, to meet new people, to fall in love. Some of them remained single. Some settled for 'good enough'," Marla said, using air quotes. "Most of my target demographic are men in their forties or older. All of them are well off financially and tired of being single. Tired of having settled for good enough.

"They're still relatively young. They're much better off financially, and they're out there looking for the excitement that was denied to them when they were on their way up the corporate ladder and not so well off. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me and perhaps you, a leopard doesn't change its spots so easily. They are still stuck on that corporate treadmill. Long hours of hard work are all they've ever known for so long that getting off that treadmill seems impossible for them."

Marla shrugged her shoulders to express bewilderment at the idea that people would voluntarily work so hard. Rising from her chair, Marla walked from behind her desk to the chair beside mine and sat.

"But... Isn't there always a but? But now they have corner offices and private secretaries. Large bank balances. Nice stock portfolios. Plush homes in gated communities. Luxury cars. They have all the material things they once thought they wanted, and the damned fools are still working eighty hours a week! The idiots just can't stop from working themselves into an early grave.

"But... There's that, but again," Marla said with a laugh. "But humans want excitement, crave intimacy. Since my clients seem incapable of relaxing and taking the time to go out and find that intimacy, I provide them with intimacy. Any type of intimacy they desire, when and where they want. Do you understand?

It took me several seconds, but the light bulb finally lit up over my head. "You're a Madame?!"

Marla smiled and held her hands up and out, "What's in a name? Madame, CEO, Company President, Pimp. Call girl, escort, consort, mistress, hooker, whore... All the same things. A rose by any other name... The only thing which changes is the degree of respectability the public attaches to the name."

Marla sat back in her chair and, over steepled fingers, asked me, "What would you say if I told you that all women become whores at times?"

"I'd say that you're wrong," I replied forcefully. "My mom would never become a whore."

"Really? Give me your definition of a whore?"

"A woman who has sex for money."

"So you agree that if a woman has sex for compensation, she's a whore. But money isn't the only form of compensation there is. So, let’s expand your definition. My definition of a whore would be... A woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment. Are you a virgin, Olivia?"

"Umm, no..." I stammered, taken aback by Marla's bluntness.

"Do you think that you've whored yourself?"

"NO!"

"Really?" There was a tone of satisfaction in Marla's voice. As if she'd already won our argument. "Ever been with a guy out on a date and he's all over you? He's whining about how horny he is. Pawing at your boobs and between your legs? Trying to undo your bra? Your jeans? You don't feel like having sex but to keep the guy happy and calm him down, maybe you’ve thought to yourself, ‘I’ll just give him a blowjob or hand job.’ Maybe you even thought, ‘What the hell?’ and got naked to spread your legs in the back seat? Wouldn't that qualify as having sex not for your enjoyment but for the compensation of stopping his incessant whining? Did you ever feel you were obligated to have sex because he was paying for the date? Haven't you already whored yourself?"

Marla stopped talking and waited for my reply. Remembering some of my dates in high school and what had happened on them… I thought about her definition of a whore as a woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment. I thought about it and... Marla took my continued silence as a yes.

"Olivia, we've just met, but I'd make another bet that our experiences growing up were pretty much the same. Middle-class values. Pretty and popular in school. I was the Prom Queen, by the way. We all whored for something," Marla said. She didn't say it in a gloating voice though, her tone was of someone just stating a fact. "You're tired of his whining so you have sex just to shut the asshole up. Maybe you think it will gain you popularity in school. You're afraid of not having a date for the big dance so you do what it takes to keep the guy who will invite you to Senior Prom. There are so many reasons other than because you wanted to have sex."

Marla reached over and picked up a leather folder off her desk. "What I do is simplify things. I discard all the reasons a woman will have sex except for one. Money." Taking a paper from the folder, she wrote on it before handing it to me. The only thing on the paper was a number.

"That is how much a woman earns every time she meets a client I send her to. If my girl agrees to see a client, she's only obligated to spend two hours doing what the client wants. That number is doubled if the client wants to include someone else. For anything more than a two-hour threesome, the price keeps going up.”

I did the math and was speechless while Marla continued.

"So, let's say my client needs a date, arm candy, for a party. The party lasts three hours, and at the end, he or she has a friend who wants to party on into the night for another two hours."

I tried to do the math again. I doubled the number for the third hour and added it to the first number, then added another number for the third person joining the fun… I gave up.

"Would you like to use my calculator," Marla asked with a laugh.

"Here, I'll make it simple," she continued. Pulling the paper from my hand, she wrote another number down and handed the paper back to me. "That is how much my girl will make for five hours of her time."

Holy Shit!!! I was speechless! A five-hour party with two guys would go a long way to paying for a semester at City College. I'm pretty sure that there are times when each of us will wonder what we'd do for a large sum of money. I took another look at the number Marla had written down. I was tempted to ask for that calculator, so I could calculate the number of days I'd have to work at the temp agency to get to that number.

"Men actually pay this..."

Marla interrupted me with a laugh, "Olivia! This is pocket change for my clients."

My pocket change might buy me a hamburger, I thought ruefully as, with a sigh, I handed the sheet of paper back to Marla, "I live at home. Even if I were tempted I could never 'date'." This time, I used air quotes. "Go out on dates every night and still work to explain how I was making money."

"Who said anything about working for me only at night," Marla asked. She rose and opened the blinds of a window. The city skyline was prominent. "Out there today, I have six girls working. I still had to turn down clients. I'd have to turn down clients if I had ten girls working every day. I brought some girls I worked with to this city when I made my move, but some of my girls are like you. They live in the suburbs and, when they're able, they come to the city and meet with one or two clients, sometimes even three clients a day if I can work the scheduling right.

"There are many successful men and women who are too busy to take the entire day off. Too tired after work for a date. But maybe they can free up an hour during the day for a Nooner. Perhaps he’s here in the city for business. He wants to combine business with some pleasure after an early afternoon meeting and before a business meeting over dinner. I'll get a request for a girl at such-n-such time at a hotel room or maybe just their office. If a girl is available and can make it to the location in time, I send her.

"Some of my girls are proper, suburban married wives and mothers. Maybe they were in the biz before marriage. Maybe it’s her secret what she does in the city. Maybe their husbands don’t mind being cuckolded for some extra money. No children or they've kept their figures after childbirth. Kids are in school or at their grandparents for the day. Husbands are at work. She's bored so she tells everyone she's going to the city to shop and maybe see a movie. She'll let me know the hours she'll be available in advance and I'll have a client lined up for her. Sometimes two clients if she has the time. Before she reaches home, I've deposited money in her private bank account from an offshore bank. Usually? I'll never even see her that day."

Marla sat down and went quiet as I thought over all she'd said. I felt as if an entirely new world was opened to me. I wasn't a virgin. I was even on the pill already because, on some of the dates I went on to satisfy my mom, I also satisfied myself.

"So, I could continue to come into the city as if I was still working at the temp agency? What if a girl has to be on a train at a certain time? Would you pressure her to stay for another client?"

"Never. You are only obligated to stay two hours each time you agree to see a client. All of my clients know this and if you need to leave at the end of two hours? That's it, it's over. I've worked for a Madame who pressured her girls to do, 'just one more'. Pretty soon she had no girls working for her. I don't intend to make that mistake."

"Your girls do anything the client wants? There are, ya know, things I've never done before."

"Yes. You need to go into this with your eyes open. If you agree to meet a client, you are obligated to do anything he or she wants to do for at least two hours. On that point, there is flexibility on only two conditions. Any act that could result in an arrest. So public sex is out! Any act that could result in bodily harm. So, whips and rough BDSM are out. My clients know these conditions.”

Marla closed the blinds and sat down behind her desk before continuing, “Clients, especially those who make appointments during the day for when they might have a break in their schedule, usually want just straight sex for some fun and stress reduction. Clients who want you to dress a certain way or wear a particular color of lingerie or want certain sexual fantasies fulfilled need to tell me so I can tell you in time. If you need to shop for, I don’t know… Clothes, leather collars or lingerie, et cetera, I add the cost to the bill the client pays and deposit the money into your bank with your share of the fee. But if I get a message that one of my girls refused any reasonable request, she doesn't get paid."

"Damn, I could see just one client a day and make way more money than I'd make temping," I mused. "Do your girls, umm, find work every day?"

Marla laughed, "Olivia! Have you looked in the mirror lately? I can’t believe a modeling agency hasn’t snatched you up! You're tall, blonde, eye-catchingly beautiful, and your measurements are... Impressive," Marla finished with a pointed look at my chest. "I can guarantee that within a month, you'll have every day booked with at least one regular client. Many days with two. Ten clients a week."

I did the math again. Added a zero and… That would be close to... Holy shit!

"Doing the math, Olivia?" I nodded, and Marla continued. "Don't forget to add in gifts. Your clients will be wealthy, and though you may never ask for money nor discuss money with them, they will often show their appreciation to my girls for good service in the way of gifts that average between two and three hundred dollars. Often more. Gifts are kept by the girls. I don't get a cut of those."

I had my mouth open to ask the obvious question when Marla anticipated me and answered before I asked. "Think about it before you ask why I don't take a cut. Knowing they get to keep 100% of gifts makes my girls try very hard to satisfy my clients. Satisfied clients keep coming back for more. I make more money from repeat business of well-satisfied clients than I would from any cut from the gifts. Another business lesson I learned from a previous employer."

Damn! Even at the low end of tips, with just ten clients a week, two a day, that would be an extra two thousand dollars. That would boost the weekly total to... Holy fucking shit!

"Tax-free?"

"You can declare as many of your gifts as you want or none. Your salary from me, yes. It's all taxable. No way do I want to cross the IRS. I file taxes just like any other business. As far as the IRS is concerned, I run just another temp agency for models. Pay stubs and info for filing taxes are kept here in the office. I never mail them out where husbands and others might see them. It's your responsibility to come get them if you want them."

I was silent for a long time as amounts kept going round and round my brain. All that money. More money than I'd ever considered I'd be able to make. Even with days off for my menstrual periods... Damn! I'd have enough money to attend college without student loans in no time. No part-time jobs. No bankrupting my parents. I'd join a sorority, of course. Frat parties…

Marla finally broke me out of my daze and led me to the door. Handing me another business card, she told me to think about her offer. "No pressure, Olivia. If you have any further questions, you can return here. If you decide you'd like to try working for me, come back. I'll tell you the rules I have and then schedule you to meet your first client."

Hailing a taxi, I phoned Mom to tell her I'd missed my regular train and would be a little late. At the dinner table, I tried hard to act as if this had just been a normal day when nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Pleading a stressful day, I brushed my teeth and put on one of the many Hello Kitty nightshirts I wore to sleep in before going to bed early. Lying awake in the dark, I kept thinking about what I could do with lots and lots of money...

CHAPTER TWO…
Ten Months Past…

I thought about Marla's offer all week while at home or my temp job at a new office. My boring, brain-numbing temp job where, for eight hours a day, I scanned old paper files from, like, a gazillion years ago into computer memory to free up cabinet space for more paper files. Each hum of the scanner made me think of all that money and what I'd have to do to earn it.

On Monday I started re-organizing the filing room. Except for being boring, it was an easy job. I was told I’d be working here for at least a month. On Wednesday my boss asked if I’d have an early dinner with him to discuss my chance for a permanent position at the firm. Every day I’d caught him leering at my tits and ass. I had a suspicion that the ‘position’ he wanted to offer me involved missionary or doggy. I turned him down politely with a lie about starting at another company at the end of the month. On Thursday he tried to corner me in the file room, but I slipped away. Friday as I was leaving, the asshole said I wouldn't be needed after today. The SOB didn’t even give me advance notice earlier in the day so I could call the temp agency in time for them to arrange a new job! Which meant on Monday I'd have to spend an entire morning in the temp agency's office while they found me a new position. Yet another day without pay!

**********************
That night I went on a date with a guy I'd been seeing off and on for a few weeks. We had dinner before we drove to a No-Tell Motel for sex. Very unsatisfying sex for me, at least. This would be our second time having sex and the only reason I'd agreed to go to the motel was the hope his poor performance the first time was due to just regular issues of having first-time sex with a new partner. It wasn't. His performance in the motel was just terrible. Straight in-and-out, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am missionary sex. Very uninspired. Marriage material, he was not! Contemplating a life of ho-hum sex was unbearable.

As my date drove me home later that night, I couldn't help but think of the money I would have earned if I had done what I had just done with a client Marla sent me to meet. Of course, the client would be a stranger. But... Looking at my date as he drove, I wondered how much I knew about him. Really? Not much and yet I'd just spread my legs for him in a cheap motel room.

My date noticed me looking at him and smiled. Pulling to the side to park on the street just before mine, he leaned over to kiss me. Or rather, as close as he could with the center console in the way. His hand was squeezing my boob even before he spoke. "You don't need to be home yet," he said after kissing me. We engaged in a little wrestling as I tried to pull away. I wanted to go home, and he wanted… Well, what he wanted was pretty obvious as he continued to unbutton my blouse enough to allow his hand to slide inside to fondle my boob through my bra.

We continued in this way until he took my hand in his and placed it on the hard-on in his jeans. "You can take care of this, can't you?" He opened his jeans and pushed my hand under his briefs to rub my hand on his cock. "C'mon, Olivia. You're so good at sucking cock, it'll take just a few more minutes. It's not as if you haven't done it before."

Fuck it… If it gets me home quicker… It flashed through my mind how Marla had defined a whore. I didn't want to suck his dick, but I was going to. It had been a long day, and I just didn't give a damn. I'd already sucked his cock once tonight before letting him fuck me... If one more blow job got me home without an argument or more wrestling…

A streetlight provided enough illumination for me to see as I helped push jeans and underwear down far enough to uncover his already hard cock. My date pushed his seat back as far as it would go from the steering wheel to give me room to bend my head over his lap. The streetlight a few houses away cast enough light to see, but it was still dark enough in the car to hide what I was doing from most eyes. After glancing around to make certain no one was walking their dog on the street, I started sucking him off.

Another strike against this guy was that he was quick out of the gate if you take my meaning. Although, I didn't mind so much this time. He was groaning after only a few minutes of mouth and hand action on his cock. Already close to release. Hands on my neck and the back of my head tried to push my mouth down and hold my mouth around his cock. I knew he was going to come and I've never let a guy come in my mouth. I managed to pull my head away in time to cup one hand over his tip while stroking faster with my other hand.

Having come in me already, he didn't fill my palm with much cum. While he continued to moan out his satisfaction and complimented me on what a great cocksucker I was, I continued to milk his cock until I was pretty sure I'd emptied his shaft. Opening my car door, I leaned out to wipe as much cum onto the grass between the sidewalk and curb as I could. Rubbing my hands to spread out the little bit of cum still on my hands, the residue dried quickly and flaked away. My date didn't know it yet, but this was to be our last date.

I adjusted my boobs in their cups and buttoned my blouse during the short drive to my house. Mom and Dad were watching TV as I walked in. Passing the chess board on my way to the stairs, I saw Dad had made a move. It was not the one I'd expected. It would require more study in the morning before I moved. I spent a few minutes talking to my parents before going upstairs to shower and go to bed.

After several minutes of tossing and turning because I was feeling 'unsatisfied' after my date. I quickly stripped off my nightshirt and panties and retrieved the vibrating dildo I kept carefully hidden in my closet. Lying in bed, I turned the motor on with a twist to screw the base in tighter. My parents were still watching TV on the first floor and my bedroom was on the second. There was no chance they'd hear the quiet, battery-driven huuuummmm of vibrating plastic. Gently playing the tip of my vibrating dildo over and around the protective fold of my outer pussy lips covering my clit, I began satisfying myself.

My nipples were hard as my left hand played with my tits. But not hard from the sex I’d had earlier. They were hard from the fantasy playing out behind my closed eyelids… Usually my fantasies build upon a sexual experience with a former boyfriend on a bed or couch. The beginning of this night’s fantasy began with a man pressing me against a wall. Pinning me, kissing me while my tits and nipples were squeezed and played with.. Just as the fingers of my left hand was doing now to my physical tits. What was also unusual this time, it wasn’t the face of a boy I’d dated or seen who I saw before me. In the shadows, I couldn’t see the face of this man clearly, but I knew I didn’t know him.

I didn’t know who this stranger was whose body pressed mine so tightly to the wall behind me that I could barely move. Whose lips were kissing mine. Whose tongue was in my mouth. Whose hand was under my skirt. Whose fingers were energetically rubbing my pussy through my panties. Pushing the crotch of my panties aside to slide through my wet slit… Touching, circling my clit…

Where fantasy fingers went, my physical fingers followed. Mirroring the touch, the slow circling… Moving down to exert pressure to slide further between my outer lips to rim my hole. Moving to diddle my clit again before I felt fingers, both fantastical and physical, push inside me as I played the tip of the vibrator harder over my clit area.

My breath came in gulps of air as I fought to keep my teeth clamped together… Striving to quiet the moans and high-pitched squeaks of the sounds of my excitement as my stranger’s rough fingers pushed deeper inside me… The sound of the vibrator changed pitch as I pressed it ever harder around my clit.

Thick fantasy fingers stretched my pussy open as I pushed a third finger inside me. A large, strong hand captured both of my wrists… Pressing them against the wall above my head. Imagining myself being finger-fucked against a wall in the classic I Surrender pose, my thighs started quivering as my stomach muscles tightened. I was panting because of a gut that refused to draw a deep breath.

Fantasy fingers fucked me faster and I could hear the wet sounds from between my legs as my physical fingers mirrored the fast action. My gut muscles became tighter, pulling my shoulders up from the mattress as an unfamiliar pressure in my pussy began building and building. Fingers pushed harder, rougher up my pussy and began fucking me faster. Then… And then… Then, I stopped thinking as my orgasm took me while the pressure burst between my thighs as quickly as a ballon popping.

My fingers pushed as far inside my pussy as they could go before I pulled them away and rammed eight inches of hard, vibrating plastic inside me. Vibrator and fingers exchanged places as I fucked my pussy deep and hard with all eight inches of hard plastic while strumming my closed fingers over my clit. I panted and squeaked more high pitched notes through gritted teeth as I fought to quiet my desire to yell out. I was swept up and rode pleasure through one… Two… Three waves of orgasm until I couldn’t take any more. Pulling the vibrator out, I rolled onto my side in a fetal position with both hands between my thighs, pressed protectively over my sensitive clit as I began returning to the world outside my fantasies.

The vibrator was slick from my juices as I tried several times before I successfully twisted it off. ‘Holy shit,’ I muttered in the sudden silence as stomach and thigh muscles still quivered. ‘Motherfucker…’ Orgasms are always pleasurable but this one! WOW! I was limp and exhausted in the aftermath of this one!

My knees were weak as I forced myself to get off the bed to perform my ritual clean-up. I wiped the vibrator clean with the still damp towel from my shower. To prevent a yeast infection, I slathered it with anti-microbial hand sanitizer before tucking it safely back in its hidey-hole. After using the same towel to clean between my thighs, I crawled back between the sheets.

I stopped moving after planting a knee into a cold, wet spot. That wasn’t unexpected. I create a copious amount of pussy juice when excited. But as my hand began measuring the circumference… Shit! The wet spot was huge! What the hell? I’d never created a wet spot this large even after letting a man cum inside me! I remembered the increasing pressure I’d felt as I neared orgasm and then it’s sudden disappearance. Had I squirted? If I had, it had been more of a quick gush rather than a stream like I’d seen in porn vids. Though the spot was too large to be explained by the usual amount of juice I produced, it wasn’t too large so I must not have squirted a huge amount. Feeling again how wet and large the spot was, a quick gush of ejaculate was my only explanation.

I shrugged; I must have been so caught up in orgasm that I hadn’t noticed. Kneeling on the bed, I wondered if this something that would be repeated… There was nothing I could do now and I was too exhausted to think more tonight. Reasoning it would dry by morning, I moved away from the wetness and fell asleep.

Saturday and Sunday were occupied by routine household chores and shopping with Mom. But every night, my faceless mystery stranger would pin me to a wall or a mattress or bend me over a table…

*************

Monday morning, I was sitting in a Coffee Clutch near Marla's office. I could either walk down the street and up two flights, or I could catch the next subway to the temp office. I was weighing my options. The pros vs the cons... The ying vs the yang... Magnum's Ferrari vs ... Well, there was no competition. Magnum's Ferrari beats everything! I've wanted one ever since binge-watching the old series. But I'd never be able to afford one on a temp's salary.

I'd thought about my disappointing Friday night date. How I'd made my date believe he was a fantastic lover who'd rocked my world as he laid on top of me after coming. As I sat on the motel’s toilet to wipe my pussy clean of cum, I continued to tell him how great I felt even as I was secretly hoping he'd just take me home.

Going to the motel could be chalked up to curiosity. Would he really be as bad again as he'd been the first time we'd had sex? But I still felt dirty about how quickly I'd surrendered to giving him a blow job in his car. There was no doubt in my mind that sucking him off in the car was just me being a whore to get the date over with. I wondered if seeing a client could be worse. Probably not, and the reward would be more than a meal and a quickie in a motel room.

Blushing, I then remembered how explosive my orgasms had been over the weekend when fantasizing about a stranger fucking me. Would letting a real stranger fuck me be as exciting as my fantasy stranger had been? I’d never know unless… Decision made, I walked down the street and up two flights. Marla remembered me and seemed delighted to see me again. I turned down her offer of coffee. While she poured herself a cup, I asked if the ‘job’ offer was still open.

"It certainly is, Olivia."

"And I'd be able to, ya know, work every day?"

Marla laughed and answered, "For someone with your looks and body? I can find you clients seven days a week if that's what you want. Is it?"

"No! I mean, I wouldn't be able to explain my trips into the city on the weekends."

"Well, as I said before, with just a little luck as far as scheduling goes, I'm certain you can have one, perhaps two clients a day very soon if you want that much money."

For the next hour, Marla went over her rules. I could turn down requests from clients if there was fear of bodily harm or arrest. Marla said I could also turn down requests for anal sex unless, 'the client requests it in advance so you can get ready.' I'd never let a guy try that! I was curious how a girl got 'ready' for anal sex but was too shy to ask. We decided on my 'working' name, and after answering a few more questions I had, Marla leaned back in her chair and asked if I'd be willing to start today.

"Today!? You mean, like, now!?"

"Certainly. Why not? Viv, if you're going to back out, now's the time to find out. This way, I won't have wasted very much of my time."

I thought for maybe five seconds. After I gave a hesitant okay, Marla called someone and just like that, I had my first appointment with a client scheduled for about an hour from now. Marla made me memorize the client's name and address then added, "If you chicken out, which has happened before with other girls, no hard feelings, just never come to me again. Viv, you're very intelligent, and you have the face and figure to make a lot of money." Marla looked at her watch and concluded, "You now have fifty minutes to decide if you have the courage to follow through with what it takes to earn that money."

I was unsure I had the courage. Very, very unsure. But forty-five minutes later I was in a stranger's office as he expressed his delight while locking his door. "Damn, Marla said she was sending someone who was perfect. Now I believe her. You are everything I hoped for, Viv."

The man glanced at his watch and exclaimed, "Damn! I don't have much time. I wasn't expecting Marla's call back saying she'd found a girl; I scheduled a meeting with my sales reps in... Damn it! Get undressed. Get undressed," I was commanded as he took off his coat and tie.

When he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto a chair, I unbuttoned my blouse and tossed it. When his pants hit the floor, so did my skirt. Boxers and panties dropped at the same time. I still had my bra on, but he reached around behind me to unhook it. In less than a minute, we were both naked. He had my boobs in his hands, fondling their softness and telling me how perfect they were.

“When you walked in, I thought, ‘No way are those real…’ But they are. They surely are,” he said, squeezing my tits hard.

I like to think I have a nice body. One boyfriend said I was a living Barbie Doll. I have long, blond hair and stand a hair over six-foot tall in bare feet. I have a slender frame, 34-23-35, which made my Double-D boobs even more noticeable. I've lost count of the times I've caught men, and even women, staring at the straining buttons of my blouses. Big boobs are hard to hide and are seemingly difficult to ignore. So, I've just gotten used to the stares and have used my boobs to my advantage from time to time. Amazing what vacant, No-One-Home-Here eyes and one or two extra unbuttoned buttons on a blouse will do. Speeding ticket reduced to a warning? Yup! Twice!

This man seemed to be in a hurry, though. After feeling me up for only a few more seconds, he led me to a small couch and sat me down while he remained standing. With the obvious male appendage now at eye level... I didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what was expected.

Of course, I've given blow jobs before. Lots of them. But sucking the cock of a man I've known for less than five minutes was new to me. His penis was pretty much normal as I took it in one hand. Well, average size, at least from what my previous experiences had taught me. He wasn't circumcised, so I used my grip to pull the foreskin down before leaning over to run my tongue lightly around the exposed sensitive bulb before letting more of his penis slip past my lips.

I really wished he practiced penis hygiene a bit more. But he wasn't as bad as... I still shudder when I remember sucking off one football player I had as a boyfriend in high school. He'd barely given a nod to taking a shower after playing a game. His crotch had been pretty ripe. Putting that memory from my mind, I did what was expected and soon had my mouth filled.

Hands moved to hold my head still as his hips began to move. I was no longer sucking his cock; I was being mouth fucked. As his hips moved faster, saliva I couldn't swallow dripped between my legs to wet the carpet. His moans of satisfaction and the gah… gah…gah sounds I made as the head of his penis rammed into the back of my throat continued for maybe a minute or two before the penis in my mouth was pulled away.

"Fuck, that was damned good," the guy exclaimed as he moved away. My knees felt weak, and my legs shook as he pulled me up from the couch and bent me over a nearby table. I was soon in the position he wanted, and, slapping my ass, he exclaimed, "Goddamn, you've got a fine tight ass! I hope your pussy is just as tight!"

I looked over my shoulder as I felt the tip of his penis slide through my slit. Stupid questions clogged my thoughts, 'Was I really going to let a stranger… Just for money? What would I do if he asked for a condom? I don't have any.' That moment passed quickly as he wasted no time in mounting me. With my legs spread I was as open and ready as I could manage, but, God, I was nervous. The first push of his tip inside me made me tense. His penis was wet with my saliva, but I was dry and tight from being nervous. His eager, first thrusts pulled and stretched me enough to cause me to throw my head back and cry out.

Stilling his thrusts, he warned me to be quieter. I gritted my teeth and turned my next cries into squeaking whimpers. I don't know why he asked me not to make noise since the sound of his hips smacking into my ass cheeks soon rose to new heights. Damn! It hurt! But thankfully, it wasn't long before his thrusting cock caused me to moisten. Soon, he was exclaiming at how tight I was as he used me fast and hard.

As for me? My mind was blank. Even as I felt his cock moving inside me, I couldn’t quite process that I was really letting this stranger fuck me in his office. Not long after bending me over his desk, he stiffened and pushed deep with short, hard jabs against my ass cheeks.

I still felt numb, but I could feel his cock pulse as he came inside me. I looked back at him over my shoulder and couldn't even remember his name! Yet, I could feel him filling me with his cum... My God! It had all happened so quickly I hadn't had time to think about what I was doing. What he was doing?

Which was probably a good thing I decided later.

After his cock ceased pulsing, I lowered my head and down between my tits. His cock was wet with our sex as he continued to slowly move inside me. It didn't seem possible that in so short a time I'd gone from being a 'good girl' to becoming a bought and paid for whore. But if there was any doubt of my new status, my client soon dispelled them. He certainly had no doubts. I was a whore and that's how he treated me. Pulling his cock out, he tossed me my panties and told me to put them on quickly.

"I don't want you leaking cum on my couch and carpet," he said. He sat on the couch as soon as I did as I'd been told. Hands pulled on my hips until I was kneeling between his legs. Again, there was no uncertainty about what he expected. Remembering I was to do anything a client wanted, I leaned over to suck his sticky dick.

Cleaning sex from a penis with my mouth was a first for me. I’d never done this with any of the boys I’d had sex with. The taste wasn't what I'd expected. Not as bad as I'd feared when I'd refused to do the same with boyfriends. Of course, his crotch smelled strongly of my pussy. That bothered me more than the taste. But only a little more.

I didn't suck his smelly cock for very long before he was pushing my head away, telling me to hurry and get dressed. Looking at his watch after we were dressed, he muttered another, 'Damn it!' Pulling out his wallet he leafed through the bills before, with a shrug of his shoulders, he added more and pressed them into my hand with further instructions.

"Get better clothes before you come back. Something that will say you belong here if a partner sees you. You look like a damned teenager who wandered in to use the bathroom. And get a Brazilian Wax. I don't like hairy pussies. If I want to fuck a hairy pussy I'll fuck my wife," I was told, even as his hand pushed up my skirt to press the cum wet crotch of my panties around my pussy, smearing his cum over my lips.

He ended our time together with a hurried, sloppy kiss. As he unlocked his office door, he said, "Our next appointment I won't be so pressed for time so I can really enjoy you for longer. But for now, go... go... go... I have that other meeting to get to."

If my sex on Friday night had been wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, this beat it all to hell, I thought as I left his office. As I waited for the elevator, I wondered, Did I really just let that guy fuck me? The sticky, wet crotch of my panties said I had but I still had difficulty wrapping my head around what had happened. On the elevator ride to the lobby, I was sure people were looking at me differently. But they weren't. I was sure I wasn't the only one to smell the sex that was wetting the crotch of my panties. But no one seemed to.

I may have been new at being a whore, but I wasn't new to going home after sex. Mom and Dad never suspected how many times I'd come home from a date with cum wetting my pussy lips and the crotch of my panties. At least, at first until I learned better. I used the lessons I'd learned then to good effect now after getting directions to a Ladies Room from a guard in the lobby. Sitting on a toilet, I used toilet paper to wipe the smeared cum from between my thighs.

While I was the only one in the bathroom, I rinsed the thick cum from the crotch of my panties. I stopped from putting them on and put them in my bookbag instead. Back in the stall, I inserted an emergency tampon from my purse to keep more cum from oozing out and, after reaching up under my skirt for one last good wipe of my pussy lips with damp paper towels, I left the building. Bright sunlight and a cool breeze cleared my head as I began looking for a taxi to flag down.

This time when I entered Marla's office, she came from around her desk to give me a hug. "The client called and said he was very pleased with you."

"I'm not sure why," I replied with some surprise. "It all happened so fast I don't see how he could have enjoyed it."

"One minute or two hours, it all pays the same," Marla replied with a shrug as she leaned against the edge of her desk and crossed her arms under her ample chest. "He did say he wanted you to dress a bit more professionally and less like a teenager next time. Shall I schedule you for a next time? Wait, wait, before you answer, here," Marla said as she picked up an envelope from her desk and handed it to me. "You haven't given me a bank account I can deposit your pay in so that's it in cash this time. Now, tell me, do you want there to be a next time?"

I opened the envelope and looked at the money, then mentally added it to the cash gift I'd counted out while in the taxi coming here. It was more money than I'd ever had in my hands at one time. It exceeded my weekly paycheck from the temp agency. All for undressing and spreading my legs for… What? A total of fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?

Still, it took me some time to think about whether I wanted there to be a next time. Marla was quiet and gave me that time. Looking at the money in my hand, I nodded, "Yes, I want there to be a next time."

"Fine," Marla said with a large smile. She handed me a card. "Here's the name of the client, the address of the hotel and the room number. One of my other girls has a scheduling problem. I was going to call him to cancel but... Do you want the money?"

Just the thought of doubling the amount of money I was putting in my bookbag made me decide quickly. Nodding my head, I said, "I'll do it!"

Window shopping with money in my bookbag was an entirely different experience as I passed the time until my next appointment. I actually found a pair of jeans with legs long enough to fit me! Finding jeans like these are like finding gold! I loved them so much I bought a body shirt to go with them that my mom would make me throw away if she saw me wearing it! I wore them both from the store. Remembering, in another store I also bought a very nice blouse, blazer and skirt that looked more like what a professional woman would wear to an office.

Right on time, I was knocking on my first hotel door. This time, I was surprised when the man who answered my knock looked old enough to be my grandfather. Unlike my first client, he wasn’t pressed for time and I had to stay for the full two hours.

What I learned that afternoon in the hotel room was that the most difficult time spent with a client was the time I had to provide small talk before and after 'getting down to business'. The one time we had sex was pretty simple. After all, been-there-done-that… All that was really required of me was to open my mouth or spread my legs. A few moans and whispered words of enjoyment and, well, Nature does a pretty good job of taking care of things between a man and a woman.

But small talk before and after sex with a stranger? That wasn't something covered during high school Health class while we girls learned how to put a condom onto a banana. But I survived all of it and the gifts both clients had given me plus the money in the envelopes Marla gave me… For barely two-and-a-half hours of ‘work’, I'd made more money than my temp job paid me in a month!

I went back to Marla’s office and she agreed I could store my new clothes in her utility closet. Marla paid me in cash again but insisted I go and open a banking account before the banks closed. I did and phoned to give her the account number where she could deposit my pay from now on. While I was on the phone, Marla asked if I wanted to continue. Thinking about the cash in my bookbag and the amount I’d deposited into my new bank account, I made up my mind quickly. When I replied yes, Marla texted me the name of another client, hotel, room number, and time for tomorrow.

"No reason to come to my office in the morning unless you have more questions. Text or phone me ASAP if, for any reason, you can't make the appointment on time," Marla said. "Call me afterward so I know I can deposit your money. This is a new client so give me a rundown on anything he likes or dislikes so I can text it to you or another of my girls if he calls again. This is a Nooner so… Say you’re out by two…” I could almost hear Marla thinking about schedules and times. “Still leaves enough time for another client before you have to catch your train… Yes, I may have another client lined up for you tomorrow afternoon. I’ll text you in the morning."

Hanging up, I found a diner for something to eat. I was light-headed from nervous hunger and suddenly exhausted from the release of tension. I was still amazed at how quickly I'd become a Call Girl. But sitting in the booth, I counted and recounted the cash in my hands and thought about my new bank balance. I knew I wanted more!

When I got home, I remembered what my first client requested. I don't have a thick bush and I've trimmed between my legs before to wear bikinis during the Summer, but I'd never tried to shave everything. While my parents were downstairs watching TV, I was standing in front of the second-floor bathroom’s sink and mirror. I think I managed to do a fairly decent job of it…

That night I didn’t need my vibrator. Aware of how different it felt as my fingers felt my now bald pussy, I let my hand slip further inside my panties and before I knew it… The stranger fucking me had a face now as my fantasy played out behind my closed eyes. Remembering the smell of my pussy as a cock fucked my mouth while the fingers of one hand manipulated my clit while the fingers of my other hand fucked my pussy and drove me to an incredible orgasm.

‘Oh, my God,’ I thought as I moved my ass away from yet another large wet spot. ‘I’m going to have to buy more sheets!’ I definitely squirted this time as I came. I’d felt that same pressure build and build again before it disappeared and… I’d had enough presence of self to feel the rush of hot ejaculate on my hand this time. It was only a small, short gush, but… ‘Yea. I need to buy more sheets if I keep squirting.’

******************

The next morning I dressed in a nice dress that wasn’t too nice and left the house in time as if I was headed for an 8am temp job. I had the now dry sheets crushed inside my bookbag. I had time before my Nooner to wash them at a laundromat instead of tossing them into the laundry hamper. This way mom wouldn’t wonder why I needed clean sheets so often. I also had time for croissants and coffee at a Coffee Clutch. Not having to rush to get to a job felt wonderful. Though as minutes went by, the closer to the time of the coming Nooner, the more my stomach tied up in knots. But, I also had time to think…

Was I really contemplating a future of selling sex for money? The money was just so damned good! But… Maybe I can quit after building a nest egg? I’d like to have a nest egg! How much money equals a nest egg? Enough to pay for college? Maybe college and a car? Clothes! I’ll need new clothes and shoes for college, too! The more I thought, ‘Rings and necklaces. Bracelets!’, the more items got added to the list of things I’d need for college. Then I thought, ‘I don’t need a nest egg to go to college, to buy a car and to buy shoes and clothes! No! I needed money to buy all of these things in addition to a nest egg!’ I needed a lot of money…

Yesterday I’d been so confused with conflicting thoughts, I’d reacted instead of acted. Today, I was acting instead of reacting. Today, as I went into the Ladies Room off the hotel’s lobby to take off my bra and pulled the straps of my dress off my shoulders. Today, as I rode the elevator. Today, as I walked down the hall to knock on a door. Today, as I accepted a man’s invitation to enter. Today, as we sat close together on a couch. Today, as I returned a strangers kiss while his hands played with my tits. Today, as a man undressed me beside a bed. Today, as I spread my legs to let him move over me. Today, as I took him inside. Today would be the day I counted as the first day of my being a whore…