tagLoving WivesProstitute

Prostitute

bySelene©

The night was chilly and damp. I wasn't dressed for it but at first I hardly noticed the weather... I stood at a street corner in Chapeltown and, looking at my watch, I could see it was just past ten o'clock. I had a long night ahead of me. The cobbles shone wetly and black, with orange lights and streetsigns reflected in the puddles and mist haloing the streetlamps. I teetered on five-inch heels, to which I was unaccustomed, worried that any false step could send me sprawling into the gutter. I'd tried the shoes on earlier, at home, and seen how they affected the way I stood - forcing me onto tiptoe, my bottom thrust out, my breasts held high, to achieve that precarious balance. It had been hard enough to walk on the smooth surface of my kitchen lino. Now I had maybe six hours or so ahead of me - although of course, I didn't expect to be standing up all that time...

I'd tried on the whole outfit earlier that day for the first time. You'd brought it round, you'd chosen every item, none of which I'd ever seen before. It wasn't the sort of thing I'd ever have worn normally, not even to a party - well, maybe to a tarts and vicars do, but actually I'd probably have gone as a female vicar. The clothes I had on consisted of a tacky black PVC halter-neck top which zipped up the front as far as the plunging neckline; a red lace suspender-belt and seamed black stockings; and over that, a microscopically short black leather miniskirt with a zip all the way up one side - a zip, you'd informed me, which was to remain fully open at all times. Not that it made much difference - the skirt was so short that it cleared my stocking-tops by a couple of inches anyway and little, very little, was left to the imagination.

I had to admit that I rather liked the way the skintight PVC halterneck supported my tits and gave me an impressive cleavage. If it had been made of less cheap material it could have looked quite stunning. As it was, the overall effect of the outfit - finished by those cliff-edge five inch red stilettos - was tawdry, sleazy and cheap. As a rule I didn't wear much make-up but tonight was an exception. If nothing else, it was a mask to hide behind. It was highly unlikely that anyone who knew me would be passing through Chapeltown - and no-one who did would think to recognise the ordinary housewife they knew in the painted whore loitering for a client on the street-corner.

You'd bought me the pitch for the night - otherwise there's no way I'd have been allowed to stand there, plying a trade that was to be my calling for the night - for just one night... You'd even fixed me up a room nearby, so that I could take any clients back who wanted to pay the extra. But you'd warned me that most of my business would take place right there on the street. My instructions were simple. I was to stand there until you came to fetch me and I was to take all comers... Half an hour had passed and apart from one or two other girls further down the street, Chapeltown seemed deserted. Of course it was early yet - the pubs were still full. Come chucking-out time, things would be different.

You'd dropped me off early so that the full enormity of what I was about to undertake would have time to sink in. Earlier it hadn't seemed real - it was just a game. Now the initial adrenaline surge was beginning to wear off and I began to feel the chill of the evening striking into my inadequately-covered flesh. I clasped my arms about me, envying the girl I could see about fifty yards away, in her short but cosy fur coat. You'd smiled slyly when I'd asked what I was to wear over the top of my outfit. 'You'll do as you are', you'd said. 'The cold will give you an incentive to work hard'. When you'd arrived with the clothes and told me what I was to do tonight, I'd felt a thrill of undeniable excitement mixed in with the fear. You knew, of course, because I'd told you, that acting as a prostitute for the night was one of my favourite fantasies and of course we'd acted the scenario out between us many times. But this was different - this was on another level entirely. This was the real thing and it had never occurred to me that I'd ever actually be in the position I was now in.

But here I was, and what was more, I was here with your blessing. More even than that, I was under orders. I couldn't refuse this experience whether I thought I wanted to or not. You'd given me this chance as if conferring a privilege on me - this was a gift from you to me, albeit a gift of a strange kind. I wondered too how you felt about sharing me with any number of strangers. This too was new territory for us. Occasionally, you'd made me perform for various of your friends and acquaintances, but always under your direct control. Tonight I was at the whim of a host of unknowns... I might pick up one or two punters or possibly a legion of them - I had no way of knowing exactly what lay ahead...

I was so busy mulling these thoughts over, turning the implications round and around in my head that I almost missed my first punter altogether. He'd come right up to me and was even now taking hold of my arm and motioning with his head around the corner into the alleyway between the back-to-backs. 'Not seen you around before', he said. 'No, I'm new', I answered and he smiled. 'You'll be busy tonight then, love' he commented, pushing me into a doorway and undoing his flies. 'Ten pounds for a wank, twenty for a blow-job, forty for a fuck', I said, not absolutely sure what the going rates were but not really caring either. He produced a couple of ten-pound notes, which I stuffed down the front of my halter-neck top, and pushed me to my knees on the cobbles.

I had a split-second vision of myself as I must appear to an observer, as I took this unknown man's cock into my mouth. I could hardly believe I was doing it yet in another way it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It was a simple act, after all, and one I'd performed countless times in the past. When you're down there on your knees a cock is just a cock and bar some exceptionally unusual ones, any cock could be attached to any body really... Or so I reasoned in that split-second before I had to stop thinking and concentrate on the job in hand.

Funnily enough, it took much less time than I'd expected. I rather prided myself on the quality of my blow-job technique, but this man wasn't interested in a virtuoso performance. He just wanted to come, and after only a couple of minutes thrusting fairly roughly in and out of my mouth, come he did, grunting as if in pain as he shot a decent load of cum down my throat. Judging by the quantity and the speed of his response, it had been a fair while since his last orgasm. He pulled away from me and did up his flies. With a muttered 'Goodnight, love' he set off back into the main street and I got to my feet, slightly unsteadily and almost light-headed with relief.

I'd just survived my first encounter, it had been a success and I'd lived to tell the tale. In fact it had been relatively easy really. Perhaps I was a natural. Walking gingerly I picked my way back across the cobbles to the main street. I glanced at my watch. The entire incident had lasted barely fifteen minutes. I felt high on adrenaline, I no longer felt cold. I stood on my pitch more confidently, even though I stood alone - the other girls might tolerate me for the night, they knew the score, but I wasn't one of them and they kept their distance. I didn't care. I felt wrapped in my task as if in a protective blanket. I wanted to be alone, so that I could experience it as clearly and cleanly as possible - no distractions...

My second client appeared and again I found myself on my knees on the cobbles. Only my second man yet already I felt as if I'd been doing this for years. This one was less prepossessing than my first - he smelt, he had a huge beergut, his clothes looked like he slept in them. He didn't talk much but held my head so closely as he thrust his cock in and out of my mouth that I was stifled. I wished he'd hurry up and come but he was slower than the first one too. My jaws ached and my temples throbbed with pressure. I was trying to breathe through my nose but what with his body and the way he held me it was difficult. I slipped my fingers between his legs, massaging his balls with one hand while pressing hard, suddenly, on his perineum with the other. This did the trick and brought him to orgasm but he pulled back as he came and shot his cum all over my face.

I wasn't sure what etiquette was in this sort of case. Maybe he even thought he'd done me a favour, not coming in my mouth. He looked down at me, the spunk dripping off my nose and chin, plastered all over my cheek, gleaming orange in the sodium light from the streetlamp down the way. He grinned. 'Lick it', he said and dutifully I put out my tongue and licked off what I could. 'You're a good sport', he said. 'I'll look out for you again'. And with that he vanished into the night. Subdued, I got to my feet, wiping what remained of his cum off my face with the back of my hand. I had nothing with me to repair the damage to my make-up and already I could feel the tightness as his cum dried on my skin. This had somehow been different to the first encounter. It couldn't just be because of the unattractiveness of the man - I hadn't found the first one attractive after all - but this had been different.

Perhaps it was just that it was beginning to dawn on me that I really did have no choice in the matter. No choice... those words were a powerful charm to me. So many times I'd heard them and every time they were uttered by you I felt a rush of juice in my cunt as the charm worked its magic in my mind. Yet almost always the matter in which I had no choice was one in which I didn't want any choice anyway. You took away my freedom in order to free me to do those things that, when I *was* free, I didn't have the nerve to demand. It was a paradox but one we both understood and used to our mutual advantage. Now once again I had no choice but I felt less in control and more worrying, I wasn't sure that *you* were in control either. But I shook my head free of that unworthy thought. Of course you were in control. I hobbled back to my corner, my knees bruised from the cobbles, holes in my stockings. What with that and my face, I was looking somewhat the worse for wear and now, I realised, the streets were suddenly full - the pubs had emptied of their clientele and my night was about to begin in earnest.

The next couple of hours passed in a blur. I lost track of the numbers of men I serviced. Almost every one of them simply wanted a blowjob and I would hardly make it back to the main street, my mouth still full of the taste of the previous client, before the next had hurried me back around the corner and was undoing his flies while I crouched on the cold, wet stones at his feet. The stack of notes in my halter-neck top was growing. I stopped thinking about the men - the job became entirely mechanical at this stage. My face ached as never before, the amount of cum in my stomach made me sick to think of it, any glamour the job had had for me had vanished long ago, round about the time my fourth punter had followed his orgasm - another in-my-face number - with a few swift and hard slaps and harder words.

My eyes had filled with tears but I told myself he was a sad bastard and anyway, he had a very small dick which probably explained everything. I was quite surprised when occasionally a fuck was called-for - then I extricated a condom from a small pouch under my skirt but so far, the one or two men who'd wanted sex had settled for a quick knee-trembler in the alley, pressing me back - or forwards - against a doorway. That had been better than the endless succession of blow-jobs - for a start my legs were protesting at all the time spent on my knees on the unforgiving cobbles - and it made for a break from swallowing jet after jet of come...

Around one there was another lull and I actually made it back onto the street this time without meeting any prospective client on the way. My legs were actually trembling with exhaustion by this time - partly it was all the kneeling and partly it was the strain of those damn heels. I just wasn't used to them and it felt like a heavy task in its own right just trying to balance and walk in them. I knew I must look a mess by now and when the car pulled up beside me, although I didn't recognise it, at first I wondered if it was you come to take me home. I would have gone happily, relieved the night was over. It was perfectly possible that you'd be in a strange car - I assumed you'd been keeping an eye on me all night, one way or another...

But it wasn't you I saw as I stepped up to the wound-down window. The man inside asked me to get in and take him to my room for a fuck. I looked around quickly, trying to see you. Of course I couldn't and you'd prepared for this eventuality so I assumed you'd be watching over me. Nevertheless, getting into that car felt incredibly dangerous and my admiration for the women who made this their daily work increased in leaps and bounds. Once in the car, I relaxed a little, because the man who was driving had an open, friendly sort of face with a distinct twinkle in his eye. 'Where to, love?' he asked and I gave him directions - in fact the room was only a couple of hundred yards away but I had to admit, it was blissful sitting down if only for a few minutes.

I was pleased to be able to take stock at last and start thinking again instead of merely functioning as a physical receptacle for all these men's most basic needs. The man I was about to fuck must have been in his mid-fifties. He was on the stout side but quite powerfully-built - like a man who'd prided himself on his body in his youth but who now had let go rather. He was balding and about the same height as me in my stilettos, so not very tall. But there was something about him - a certain physical ease and confidence. I was glad he'd opted to come back to the room. Something of my initial excitement returned. I led the way upstairs and unlocked the door. The room was simply-furnished to say the least - there was a double bed, spread with a sheet alone; a chair and small chest-of-drawers; a frayed rug on top of old green lino; and a wash-basin; but it was clean and the gas-fire was already on, burning on its lowest setting, so the place was warm and seemed very welcoming, to my cold and weary bones at any rate.

He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots, then looked up at me. 'Let's see you strip then love' he said. Strange, after so many men that night, this was the first time I'd actually had to undress. For a moment I felt like a novice all over again. Then I thought, what the hell, it's warm here and he seems nice enough - the longer he stays with me here, the longer till I have to go back out on the streets... Slowly, I inched the zipper down on the halter-neck top. In fact the zip was more decorative than functional - the way to get out of the top was to release the clips behind my neck and waist - but I was going to make this a show he'd remember... However, I'd forgotten about all the money I'd stuffed down there during the course of the evening. Suddenly, as the zip inched below a critical point, showers of tenners fluttered out and fell all over the floor. The man on the bed roared with laughter and I blushed as I stooped down to pick them all up as quickly as I could. As I bent down, of course my breasts fell out of the top and what had been going to be a slow and elegant strip was dangerously near descending into farce.

My client was now wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Although mortified at first, I couldn't help suddenly seeing the funny side myself and as I shoved all the money into the chest-of-drawers a giggle escaped me too. I sat down suddenly on the bed beside him, too weak in the knees with laughter and weariness for my legs to support me. 'It's clear you're not an expert at this' my client said when he'd regained his composure - although he was still grinning broadly. 'You're right,' I admitted. 'It's the first time I've ever done anything like this really'. 'Why start now?' he asked, clearly intrigued. 'It's a long story, you don't want to hear really' I said. 'Try me' he said. Well, orders are orders... I wasn't about to go into my entire sexual history but I had to come up with something that was as near to the truth as possible. 'OK,' I said. 'if you really want to know - I always fancied having a go at this and... well, my boyfriend dared me... so this is a one-off, tonight. I'm doing it for a dare.'

His eyes widened as he took in what I'd said. Then he expelled his breath in a long slow whistle. 'Well, well, well...' he said. 'I've struck lucky tonight and no mistake. A woman who's doing it for the love of the thing - that's a rare commodity, that is.' He thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knees. 'You'll carry on with the strip and we'll fuck' he said. 'But I'm just going to call a couple of my friends. You've no objection I take it? Come one come all?' I thought for a split-second. This possibility hadn't occurred to me but after all, why not? You'd told me to take all comers and if they came three-at-a-time, what of it? Furthermore.... my mouth curved in a smile. Maybe more than just one of my fantasies was about to be realised tonight...

He asked me the address and I was glad I'd made a mental note of it when you'd shown me the room earlier that day. He made a couple of calls on his mobile and I had visions of men waking blearily in their marital beds and being summoned to an orgy with no prior warning. I couldn't help wondering whether they thought it was a wind-up but my client didn't seem to worry about disturbing them at this late hour. And if he wasn't worried, there was no reason why I should be. He smiled when he put his 'phone away. 'We should have plenty of time to ourselves first,' he commented. 'I'd like to have you all to myself for a bit - but this is something I had to share...'

He jerked his head at me - a clear gesture that told me it was time to get on with the strip. While he'd been speaking on the 'phone I'd pulled my zipper up a bit so that I could start again and make a better attempt at it this time. The earlier fiasco and our subsequent chat had cemented some sort of bond between us. We seemed less like prostitute with client now and more like sexual partners... I hardly knew this man but felt that he was someone who in other circumstances I'd get along well with. I felt relaxed with him now and that showed in my movements as I rose to my feet, sashayed around to stand in front of him and teasingly began to lower my zipper once more.

I kepy my movements slow and seductive, swaying my hips as I balanced in those criminally-high heels, and freed my breasts with a flourish. I tossed the PVC halter-neck onto the chair and caressed my breasts lovingly. It felt good, the air on them after they'd been sweatily bound in plastic for all these hours. I teased my nipples with my fingertips, hardening them... using my hands cupped around my breasts to show them off - after all, they were one of my best features in most men's eyes. My friend - as I had begun to think of him - smiled appreciatively and I leant towards him, offering him them to suck. I only let him have the merest lick before pulling away again and then, holding his gaze with my own, I bent my head and lifted my left breast to my own lips. I sucked the nipple into my mouth and chewed gently on the end. It felt good and I knew he enjoyed seeing me do this. But I was conscious of time slipping away and stepped back again. It was time to get on with the strip.

Next to go was my skirt - all I had to do was unhook the catch that held it in place around my waist - but I held onto the waistband with both hands after I'd undone it, conscious that once I let it fall he'd be able to see my cunt and not wanting to reveal all to him immediately. I turned my back and held the skirt - now one rectangle of leather - wide, and as if it was a towel with which I was drying myself, I rubbed my arse against it. Then I lowered my arms slowly, slowly... inching the skirt down so that more and more of my arse was revealed to him - as was the fact, if he hadn't guessed it already, that I wasn't wearing knickers. Now it was the turn of the skirt to be thrown neatly onto the chair as I stood there clad only in my narrow red suspender-belt, black stockings and red shoes. I knew my back view must be delightful, my round arse framed in red lace and black nylon. My friend certainly seemed to think so - I could hear him clearing his throat.

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bySelene© 0 comments/ 199302 views/ 15 favorites

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