I'd never been this nervous before a hookup. But then again, I'd never been paid for one either. Tom and I had abstained for the week prior in case money was not sufficient motivation for me, so I was wound tight. I wanted to ‘want it’ when the time came to open my legs for business.
William had meticulously plotted this to the last detail. He handpicked my entire wardrobe with a specific vision in mind: a high-class escort, which he knew clashed wildly with my usual style. Typically, I'd wear nothing underneath, ready for quick and easy access to my bits. But my client didn’t want ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ as the cliché goes. He wanted to savor the visuals, to get what he paid for.
We didn’t have much time to remake myself from ‘wife and mother’ to ‘lady of the evening,’ so I got right to it. “What do you think?” I asked as I pulled my yoga pants off to give Tom a glimpse of my perfectly smooth kitty, a concession to boost my price.
During my ‘audition,’ I fingered myself on the video, sharing a splendid view of my dark manicured bush. Neither Tom nor I was a fan of the bald, ‘schoolgirl’ look, but apparently William was.
"Please arrive with a freshly waxed vagina," his message insisted, "a full Brazilian." The clinical precision of his order had made me snicker when I read it, but now it felt different.
I hopped into the shower for a quick rinse before dressing. As I lathered between my legs, the slickness left me acutely aware of my submission, of being his to command before we even met.
When I stepped out, Tom toweled me off, mindful to dry every crevice and curve of my body. Then, from the bathroom door, he watched me dress, stroking himself through his pants with one hand.
Piece by piece, I donned lingerie that a stranger had purchased with the explicit intent of watching me remove it. In a few short hours, he would no longer be a stranger to me, would he? I shivered. Would he insist on unwrapping his purchase himself? Just him and me, in the privacy of his bedroom.
I turned to face Tom, clasped the white lace bra between my breasts, and ran my polished red fingertips beneath hardened pink nipples. I was so excited for what was about to unfold.
As Tom zipped me into the blue cocktail dress, I caught my reflection in the mirror. It was surprisingly conservative, covering everything from my neck to my knees. I dabbed Dior strategically behind each ear and along my inner thighs. Beneath the soft velvet dress, the lacy bra lifted my breasts, silk panties tickled my pussy, and stockings hugged my thighs.
"You look expensive," he said, sniffing the scent at my neck. I felt it too. Not a slut or a whore, but a paid companion. The woman in the mirror wasn’t going to ‘fuck for fun’; she’d ‘make love for money.’
On the drive to the restaurant, my fingers teased under the skirt to work me into the right mind space for when I met William. By the time we arrived, I was breathing shallow and quick, leaving me at the edge I desired.
Before he walked me to the entrance, Tom kissed me lightly, “Have fun, baby,” like I was heading to the movies with the girls. I took a deep breath to center myself and pulled open a heavy wooden door, leaving him with whatever thoughts a husband might have when selling his wife like a prized mare.
The host smiled broadly when I told him who I was meeting. “Oh, we are expecting you, Miss Bea! Please, please follow me back to meet Mr. William.”
The restaurant was quite nice but might have been a warehouse once. They had painted over loading-dock doors, and the floor was smooth-finished concrete. Very chic. A dozen or so nicely dressed patrons occupied an eclectic mix of tables and vintage furniture scattered throughout.
The lighting was low enough that their faces blurred. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt ‘observed’ by furtive glances and wry smiles as we walked to the back, where ceiling-high drapes partitioned off an alcove. On one of the scattered chairs sat a confident, middle-aged man in a dark suit, sipping a glass of wine. Unlike the others, he looked directly at me from the moment I arrived. William, I presumed.
It was surreal to finally meet my ‘John’ in person. I’d posed bare naked for him when negotiating terms, but he was adamant about his own discretion. He was older than Tom and me. A doctor, he told us. Now, I saw he was tall. Perhaps six-two? Barrel-chested. Clean-shaven, sporting longish, wavy grey hair. Certainly, not what I expected. A contrast to the younger black men he read about in my stories and presumably masturbated to?
Setting his glass down, William stood. His smile and blue eyes sparkled. "Bea, I’m so happy you decided to meet me," he declared, welcoming me with a warm hug. He kissed me confidently on the lips, as if I were a former lover rather than a companion he had hired for the evening. He breathed in the scent at my neck, just as my husband had, and released a sigh of approval at his choice of fragrance.
Given all the effort he’d made to get me here, I had pictured someone different. Awkward. Someone who couldn’t manage to bag me any other way. Instead, I melted at the way his voice dropped slightly when he said my name. “Bea.”
With a mild prod, he ushered me toward the curtained nook. As we approached, the lighting allowed me to see clearly inside. There was a single, overstuffed sofa and a coffee table in the center. Once past the gauzy drapes, I realized the lighting created a one-way effect, a deceptive illusion of privacy.
He gestured for me to join him, and we sank into the plush sofa, our hips touching between flexed cushions. Handing me a glass of deep red wine, William told me, “I went ahead and ordered for both of us. I hope that is all right.”
I wasn't here for the meal, but I accepted the glass and sipped. “Perfect.”
Light banter turned to flirtation. My fingertips found their way to his inner thigh, remaining just long enough to be noticed. Each fleeting touch roused me as much as it did him. I shifted on the sofa, deliberately letting my dress ride up to expose the pale skin above my black stocking. He let his finger aimlessly graze the length of my calf and asked about our trip out. “Did Tom find the hotel accommodations suitable?”
“Fantastic,” I assured him, feeling just a little unsettled with the nonchalant mention of my husband while I shamelessly teased. Normally, we met my dates together. But not tonight. I bet Tom is stroking himself in that Escalade out front.
“But no quickie before…?”
I swallowed and felt my face redden. “Of course not,” I confirmed, the last of his stipulations to control me.
“I want your vagina…exclusively, for the night,” he wrote, just before he typed: “DEAL.” For what he was paying me to be here, yeah, that was more than reasonable.
Right then, a waiter emerged beside us, balancing a wooden tray. I let out a quiet breath, feeling the momentary tension break. I guessed he was around forty; lean and dark-haired, with a professional smile. He set two plates on the coffee table; the savory aroma wafted between us. William nodded toward our meal. "Tell us what you've brought, Peter."
The waiter’s eyes flickered briefly over me before returning to William. Did he know about our arrangement?
Both William and I wore wedding bands, but we had clearly just met. Now, the waiter’s leer acknowledged me as not only a call-girl, but also an adulteress. Both those immoralities were central to the experience. I had always taken special delight in the twinge of shame, just before penetration, that I was allowing him to enter my husband’s domain. I ached for that feeling tonight.
“Filet medallions for you, sir and ma’am, served medium rare.” I snapped out of my lustful muse. “They’re resting on wild rice with asparagus and finished with a cabernet reduction.” He gave a slight bow. "Enjoy your meals." Again, before turning, his eyes roamed over me like he was perusing a menu.
Covered from neck to knees, I still felt vulnerable. Even with other restaurant guests just beyond the curtain, his attention reminded me how powerless I was. My husband was close, but very much out of reach. I wished now he had come in too, or had at least waited in the foyer. Dampness between my legs reminded me just what I had leased to this man.
Supper became even more decadent when William pivoted our banal chit-chat to his fascination with the erotica we’d written—the stories that had drawn me here. He recounted the themes my husband had crafted for our readers. I was merely Tom’s muse, so I never grasped the intricacies of the stories. But not William. He had bought into the notion that our tales were biographical. Sure, they were grounded in kernels of my actual exploits, but we always embellished to indulge our kinks while writing.
He quizzed me, wanting to know how certain characters, specifically the black men, felt inside me, how they tasted. “Is Tony your favorite, Bea? Or Mike, because he was your first affair?” It was a bizarre conversation, yet titillating, provoking memories of debauchery—some of it many years in the past.
William, ever the physician, spoke in anatomical terms. When he asked, “Is a very large penis painful or dry during intercourse?” I spun his clinical precision to the raunchiest slang I could summon.
“Of course not, William. Fat black cocks slamming my cunt make me so wet that they simply slip in.” I raised my hem to let him see me shove the edge of the white silk panties aside to reveal swollen red lips. “The taste of cum, sliding into my throat and down my chin, is wondrous.” I giggled and licked my lips as if my face was covered in spunk, the bland stickiness vivid in my memory.
I found myself recounting the most lurid details, just as I did for my husband after returning home with dried semen in my pubes after I had promised to use a condom. These were no longer the stories William had read. These were confessions: actual accounts we had never published. The shock of finding a bright pink ‘plus’ on that stick in the bathroom…and the fallout. I felt myself sweating, while William devoured every word, like a teenager watching his first blue flick.
While his fingertips circled my knee, inexplicably, they never ventured higher. When our lips met, there was no tongue—a tease that heightened my desire to close this deal.
After the waiter had cleared our places, William called him over to ask, “Peter, do we have dessert planned?”
Peter’s face brightened, and he grinned mischievously at me. “Yes, Mr. William, we do.” William then turned to me and, with an upward motion of his fingertips, prompted me to stand.
Odd. I thought dessert was coming. While William remained comfortably on the sofa, legs crossed, I stood and smoothed the hem of the cocktail dress back to my knees.
Peter stepped behind me, and I felt his fingers on the zipper at my neck. "May I?" he asked. Before I could answer, he was drawing it down my back. When the dress slipped from my shoulders, I instinctively clutched the material, my eyes darting from William to the white curtain. Beyond the chiffon, I could see nothing, but the sudden shift in the hushed conversations confirmed an audience. Are we not waiting for the privacy of his home?
William caught my uncertain glances and chuckled at my modesty. He offered a confirming nod and asked, “Wasn’t this your idea, Bea?” cueing me with a wave to let the dress drop. Apparently, this was ‘showtime.’ Though this was not my idea, not entirely anyway, I complied. While the dress was not warm by any means, losing it sent a sensational chill through my body.
Ordinarily, I’m not modest at all. In fact, I love stripping for a new playmate. That’s my ‘thing.’ But I was always in control of those encounters. When and how much I revealed was my choice. Tonight was so different. William was intent on keeping me off balance, from the lingerie he chose to my bare twat to letting Peter unzip me.
The dress fit snugly, so I made a sexy wiggle to push it past my hips to the floor, leaving me only in white and black lingerie. William circled his finger in the air, commanding me to turn. Stepping away from the dress at my feet, I seductively spun to present my round bottom and handful of titties to everyone, seen and unseen. William’s expression never shifted.
Peter, on the other hand, no longer disguised his leer when he bent to retrieve the dress, his face inches from my moist sex. With the back of his middle finger, he grazed the silk hiding my crotch before standing with the blue material flung over his shoulder.
“Go on, Peter,” William instructed, with a theatrical flip of his hand. Still behind me, Peter reached around to release the clasp between my breasts. Rather than simply letting it fall, he slid his hands around to lift it off, deliberately cupping me. I wet my lips, anticipating a kiss while he rolled my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. William continued to recline, relishing the sight, enjoying my obvious reticence. “Thank you,” he said. He accepted the lacy garment from Peter, brought it to his nose, and took another deep, soulful whiff of my essence.
“Bea, please allow Peter to remove your knickers,” William instructed. The dress and bra were simple, but removing panties from under a garter should be a production. I turned toward the curtain, to my anonymous admirers. I wished that I’d paid closer attention when I arrived, to remember who was watching right now. While Tom had screwed me before many horny spectators, the enigma of this group was utterly enthralling.
Butts rustled in their seats as I set my right foot on the sofa, unclipped the garter, and let the stocking slide down my leg. I carefully rolled it off and handed it to Peter. Before doing the same for the other leg, I traced the tan lines left by my bikini, licking my lips for effect. Another hum rose from beyond the drapes.
The initial silence had lifted to a constant murmur, rising and falling with my provocations. I narrowed my stance, raised my hands into the air, and turned my bare breasts toward Peter to remove my panties. He crouched down before me, with his face inches from my unmasked snatch, and lowered the white silk to my ankles. Grabbing the hair behind his head, I held him in place to enjoy his hot breath between my thighs. His tongue delicately separated my lips until I released him to stand again. Wearing only the garter belt and a self-conscious smile, I glanced between William and Peter. What next?
Peter handed the hose back to me. I dropped back to the sofa, leaning on William to reverse the exhibition. Acknowledging my wider audience, I parted my legs to offer a gratuitous view and ran my fingers inside. Presenting my hairless pink labia elicited a new stir ten feet away.
Peter offered his hand to help me up, but I needed to release the tension that had been building since I arrived. Brushing him aside, I lay back on the couch and opened my legs further, planting one heel in William’s crotch. I licked my fingertips and began to masturbate; my eyes shifted from William to my increasingly vocal admirers and then to Peter.
I closed my eyes, hoping to feel William’s face between my legs, eating me, or as he would say, “performing cunnilingus.” But he simply watched.
Just as I was on the verge, that fucker reached down and grasped my wrist, pulling my hands from their task. Peter pushed my knees to the side to expose my bare ass and softly slapped it with a subdued ‘pop.’
William calmly enjoined, “Behave, Bea. Behave.”
“Behave? Make me,” I mocked as I turned around and bent over, hands resting on William’s knees. Glancing over my shoulder, I dared the waiter to take another swat.
Unsure, Peter looked to William. He slapped me again, but this time it was just a ‘thud.’
Unexpectedly, the dynamic had shifted my way. “Come on, Peter,” I chided, “you can do better than that.” I didn’t think this was part of the plan, because the waiter kept looking to William between swats. Another nod, followed by a loud ‘POP.’ This time it was harder, and with the tone I was looking for. “You like spanking women, don’t you?”
With his other hand on my opposite cheek, ‘POP!’ The sting radiated. Then again, switching hands between stinging blows. My bare tits swayed within William’s grasp, but he didn’t take them as any other man would. With one hand on William’s knee and the other ravaging between my thighs, I felt an orgasm well up.
I dropped to my knees, on the carpet between William’s feet, and started to unzip his pants. He shook his head and nudged me back. “No, Bea.”
Ignoring his order with a defiant “YES, William!” I hunted for his cock.
“NO, BEA,” he warned in a dominant tone. “If you want to be paid, do as you are told.”
He was bluffing. The fucker was rock-hard under his pants, so I continued with my rebellion. “Then let the waiter fuck me!”
William looked startled at my demand. Our deal implied that he alone would ride me raw. He considered that for a moment and slouched further down into his seat. “Okay, Peter, go ahead.”
The sound of a zipper came from behind me, followed by the thud of trousers hitting the floor. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Peter working his hand up and down a thick, rigid length. My own fingers dove back between my legs, rubbing in frantic circles now that I knew they’d let me finish. “Let’s have it,” I taunted. He gave a low laugh, then bent behind me, pressed my face into the leather, and spread me open.
He wet his fingers in my pussy, and slapped my ass again, hard, making me wince. Cool and wet, his thumb slipped into my rectum. He rolled it around, lubricating me, preparing to defile me in the nastiest way. I looked up at William, who had finally broken down and was massaging his cock beneath his trousers.
My next sensation was Peter’s head pushing in. Right. Up. My. Ass. I groaned with the pressure. He grabbed both hips and thrust. I clenched around him and shuddered immediately with a climax. He was swelling inside me, about to erupt, when he pulled out to spill his jizz over my reddened cheeks and up the small of my back. The voyeurs behind the curtain could not contain a collective gasp. The din cascaded into unintelligible chatter and a few subdued claps. With open palms, instead of spanking me again, Peter massaged his creamy emulsion into my flesh, easing the sting he had dealt me.
Not satisfied, I turned and collapsed back into the sofa beside William and pulled Peter down with us. I grabbed his face and pressed my lips into his, my body still humming despite my recent release. Peter was about to plunge his filthy cock into my pussy when William's hand settled over my crotch. "No,” he said calmly, and Peter reluctantly withdrew his tongue from my mouth and dismounted.
I nestled between them, catching my breath. "Then, what happens now?" I panted, frustrated.
A mischievous look crossed William's face, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “How about you meet your patrons?” I glanced down at myself—nothing but stockings and a garter belt, with Peter's cum beginning to form a crust on my skin.
"What do you mean? Patrons. Like this?" My voice sounded unnerved. Nothing was going as planned or agreed to.
William confirmed, "Exactly like this," then prodded, “Come on,” pulling me up and nudging me toward the curtain. We emerged to a crowd of perhaps ten or fifteen people, mostly gentlemen in expensive suits standing alone or with female companions in cocktail dresses. As we moved through the crowd, hands took liberties with my naked body. One of them was the host who first ushered me back to William. He slipped a crisp Benjamin into my garter belt in exchange for a kiss and a caress. Others followed suit with various denominations. I searched the faces, but didn’t find Tom among them.
"These generous friends contributed to your California adventure, Bea," William chimed in, gesturing with a flourish of his hands to the group. "Our Orange County Lifestyle community is quite—philanthropic. Peter here," he continued, sweeping his arm to the waiter, "this is his establishment. He was only supposed to unwrap the package, but you were persistent, weren’t you?"
A redhead in an unbuttoned blouse slid behind me, carrying a plush robe. She caught my wrist, turned me toward her, and smeared lipstick across my lips with a wet kiss. She whispered, “You were magnificent, dear,” and helped me slip my arms into the sleeves. "I’m Sherry. My husband is a fantastic lover. Enjoy him tonight.” Her hands slipped beneath the robe, exploring my skin with another lingering kiss. I wasn’t into women, but her tongue…well, it did something to me.
When she pulled away, she turned to William and kissed him possessively, signalling his temporary freedom. I scanned the room for a mattress of some sort where I assumed I would earn my pay. Instead, to my mild disappointment, William said to his wife, “Thank you, Sherry,” then grasped my hand and led me to the front and outside. The last thing I noticed as we departed was Sherry taking Peter in her arms, her blouse completely off her shoulders.
By the time we exited the building, Tom was leaning on the Escalade’s idling hood out front. No one was around, so at the door, I untied the robe to flash my husband with a wiggle of my hips, loving the sensation of being naked outdoors.
Before he opened the rear door, Tom took my waist and kissed me, noticeably eyeing the smear of lipstick Sherry had left on my mouth. While William walked around the SUV to enter on the other side, Tom drew back to check me out. “Wow, babe, you look fucking HOT! I’d pay a grand to fuck you right now!” William hopped in, slid next to me, and finally kissed me too, a not-so-subtle cue to Tom that he owned me.
Husband as chauffeur did kind of crimp the fantasy, but I was glad he was there to see me like this. My mind swirled with everything I'd done. I tried to picture Tom and me in bed, but I could only see William lying next to me, ready for me to earn my pay.
“Finally, we get to meet Tom. William awkwardly offered his hand over the front seat to shake. “Thank you so much for loaning us your charming wife.” He leaned over and kissed my nipple and looked back to Tom. “She has been so… accommodating…”
The way he kept repeating the word “wife” sent a chill through me, emphasizing the taboo of what we were doing.
Tom glanced back at us through the center mirror and asked, “Us. We?”
William’s smile widened, "The arrangements we discussed had certain… “flexibility… right?” He was spreading my legs in the closed space of the back seat, massaging my clit with his thumb, and quickly losing interest in the conversation with Tom. “I’m sure your wife will share the specifics after I return her to you. Midnight still works, yes?"
I presume Tom answered because William was on me as soon as we drove off, his hands sliding up my thigh beneath the robe. Where they'd been restrained before, his lips were very eager now. We twisted against each other like teenagers stealing moments in my parents’ borrowed minivan, giggling until his shaft finally found its mark.
The wine and adrenaline blurred everything into a single, throbbing sensation: the slick, urgent pressure of him inside me, the low hum of the SUV’s engine vibrating up through the leather seats. But catching my husband’s eyes in the mirror as he maneuvered through the heavy Southern California traffic…Yes. That is what truly made me feel like a whore.
