The Game Ch. 12

I imagined being in the outfit. The too short skirt hinting at thighs and more that could be bought. The too tight shirt pressed against my bra-less breasts, outlining and imprinting the hardness of my nipples against the silky fabric.

I imagined this woman who was not me, but who also was me walking confidently through a hotel lobby as heads turned to watch the sway of her ass. Part of me envied her. Part of me was her. And a big part of me wanted to put on her clothes and become her.

I smiled at the imagery and steeled my mind against the night that lay ahead. I would do this. I knew I would so there was no point in agonizing over the morality of it. I would become the woman in my mind who was so confident, daring, and sexually aware of herself.

But not yet. First I had to get out of here so that when I was done being the woman I imagined, I could come back and be the woman I was.

I put the note back in the box and began to close it. Then I hesitated a wicked thought occurring to me. I stood up and hiked up my skirt. Below I wore a pair of blue panties (cotton). I peeled them down my legs and stepped out of them. I admired my shaved pussy and touched my clit and then touched the tip of my finger to my lips. I licked it and tasted myself. I grinned and opened the box again and pulled the black g-string panties on.

I smiled to myself and marched confidently out of the bathroom depositing my 'old' panties in the waste bin as I left, not knowing I would regret that decision in a few hours.

At that moment I felt as if I were both the woman I was and the woman I would become. Underneath my skirt I wore her panties and that was a secret I kept from everyone who was around me. Underneath, where no one in this building would ever see, she was there. And I was glad. Tonight would be fun.

* * * * * *

The Palmer House Hilton is an icon in Chicago. The vaulted ceilings ornately decorated along with the hotel staff all screamed sophistication and class. The staff was polite and refined and only business men and women on expense accounts and the financially elite could afford to stay there.

I stepped into the lobby from a side door which was held open for me by a doorman in a red suit. He smiled at me and then dismissed me as one more traveling business woman with a box under her arm.

As I stepped into the main lobby my eyes were drawn to the three story ceiling vaults and intricate paintings that could rival the Cisteen Chapel. It was 5:49 and the place was packed. Business men dressed in expensive suits milled throughout the room drinking single malt scotches from the bar. Service people swarmed the line at the immaculate check in desk frantically sorting and tagging luggage for in room delivery.

My heart was pounding as I contemplated the move I would make next. I checked my watch for the 200th time that hour. I still had over an hour. I decided a drink was in order.

I took my box containing my 'whore-wear' as I thought of it and stepped into the bar. The bar was ¾ full of men drinking expensive drinks and watching a basketball game on ESPN. I looked and found an empty bar stool half way down the bar with no one sitting on either side. That looked like a good spot for some liquid courage a few moments of peace to collect my thoughts.

I sat down and put the box on the chair next to me. The bar tender was there instantly and said, "Yes ma'am. What would you like?"

I smiled at him and said, "Vodka martini."

He nodded and was gone to practice his craft. Three minutes later he returned with a large martini glass with flakes of ice attached to the outside. I took a drink and felt the burn of alcohol go down my throat and warm my stomach.

I took a deep breath and looked around. To my left were a group of business men talking about the long term oil market pricing based on futures traded earlier in the day. I shook my head and wondered how anyone could possibly be interested in that. To my left was a couple engaged in casual conversation that I could not hear. I took another deep breath and wondered if one of the men in this bar would be inside me in less than an hour.

I bit my bottom lip as I scanned the crowd wondering and familiar tingles raced between my nipples and my clit. Jesus this was insane.

Fantasies began playing in my head of what the night would hold. I drank two martinis and left the bar at 6:50pm both excited and terrified.

********* *

I entered the women's room closest to the bank of elevators with my box and went into the handicapped stall at the end. Thankfully I was alone, but there was no guarantee for how long. I quickly stripped off my work clothes and stood on the cold marble floor in bare feet. I was horny as hell and briefly I wondered what would happen if I marched to the elevators and up to my trick's room naked. I shivered with pleasure at the thought, but quickly reeled the fantasy in.

I dressed in my 'whore wear' and packed my day clothes in the box.

A question suddenly flared up in my mind. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? What kind of hooker shows up for a trick with luggage?

I laughed out loud at the imagery, but realized I had a real dilemma. I couldn't leave it here, and I most certainly could not check it at the front desk. What the hell was I supposed to do?

I sighed and looked around for a solution. At the back of the handicapped stall there was an ornately decorated door. I tried the knob and it was locked, but loose in the frame. I presumed this was a maintenance closet.

I opened my purse and found a letter opener I had borrowed from work (for a reason I still do not remember) and attempted to pry the locking mechanism back through the narrow slit in the door. On the third try it opened.

Inside was a mop sink, a mop, and a furnace. I smiled and slid the box into the small room and said a short prayer that no one would find it.

* * * * * * *

I left my stall and stared at the woman in the mirror. I was even more slutty looking than my mind's eye would have predicted. The skirt seemed shorter and the blouse tighter. The heels pointier. I smiled and realized for a split moment I was attracted to the reflection. I giggled wondering what Freud might say about that.

I was also nervous as hell as my alter ego became real before me and Sara was relegated to the back of my mind all the while screaming how insane I was being. I mentally told her (myself) to relax and enjoy the ride and boldly stepped into the hotel lobby.

It was 7:01 when I stepped into the elevator with three men whose eyes bore lustfully into me.

* * * *

At 7:04 I stood in front of a white door on the 8th floor at the end of a long yellow hallway. Black numbers proclaimed that the door in which I stood was number 801. I had the hotel key in my hand and wondered if I should use it or knock.

My hands were sweaty and my heart was pounding. I stared at the door not knowing what to do. Could I do this? I looked down at myself and noticed my nipples were clearly indicating that part of me could.

I knocked.

A moment later the door opened and my heart dropped to my stomach. I was staring dumbfounded at a woman.

The woman was dressed in a robe that had the Hilton logo over the right breast. She had auburn hair and was my height. She looked sophisticated even in a robe and clearly was well to do judging from the diamond ring on her left hand.

My confusion must have registered, but the woman staring back at me smiled and said, "Well do come in."

I started to speak, but no sound came out. The woman extended her hand and said, "Perhaps you expected my husband, Robert." She said and gently took my elbow and guided me inside. "Don't worry, he is here. Why don't we all go inside and have a little chat."

Inside was a suite that was amazing. There was a main living room book ended by a study on the left and a master bedroom on the right. There was an L shaped couch in the center of the room and a plasma screen television hanging on the wall. At the back end was a wet bar stocked with every kind of top shelf liquor you could imagine.

Robert was no where to be seen, but I thought I heard the shower running.

The woman let go of my arm and said, "Perhaps a drink to steady your nerves dear?" I noticed a glass at the end of the bar with an amber liquid in it. "My name is Monica by the way and I have been married to the man you came here to fuck for 15 years."

She said this pleasantly, but underneath her tone was one of cold anger.

I was too stunned to speak and would not trust myself to talk anyway. Monica walked to the end of the bar and selected a high ball glass. "Now would you like a Manhattan young lady?"

I nodded. What else could I do?

Monica poured the drink and began to speak. "So you are understandably confused so allow me to illuminate the situation. You see I was in London shopping since my dear husband Robert had urgent business in Chicago, and a thought occurred to me."

She handed me my drink and I took it reluctantly. I looked in her eyes and saw a cold fury there that scared me and thought, 'woman scorned'.

"I thought, how nice it would be to pop over the pond and see Robert and do some shopping on the Miracle Mile. Oxford street can be such bore comparatively. And since my dear dear Robert was already there perhaps we could dine together at some of your cities fine eateries."

She paused for dramatic effect and appraised me critically. I never had felt so naked as I did under her stare.

"So you can imagine my surprise when I arrived last night to find my husband naked on that very couch with a young woman equally naked who apparently mistook my husband's penis for her personal lollipop."

Monica took another drink of her Manhattan as I stood holding mine in stunned silence. This was not going well, and sensible Sara was screaming in the back of my mind to run like hell. Somehow my feet seemed glued to the floor.

Monica then smiled at me coldly and said, "You look a little pale dear. Are you sure you are alright?"

I bit my bottom lip nervously and then said meekly. "Perhaps I should go."

Monica laughed coldly and said, "Go? But you haven't even seen Robert yet, and besides you have not yet done your job or been paid. No I don't think a young industrious entrepreneur such as yourself should have made this trip all the way here and leave with nothing. Let's see what Robert thinks."

With that she stepped to the bedroom door and said, "Robert, your whore for tonight is here. She is blond also, but at least of legal drinking age. Get your ass out here."

The word 'whore' cut into me like a cold steel blade, but part of me admired the strength of this woman. Yes to her I was a whore, but she was not playing the victim in her husband's infidelity.

"As soon as I dress." a male voice answered. I heard both fear and submission in his voice and thought, 'Dude you are so fucked.'

Monica disappeared into the bedroom and I considered bolting toward the door, but she returned before I could take a step dragging her husband who was wet from a shower and wrapped in only a towel around the waist.

Monica smiled again as Robert stood behind her holding his towel. He did not even look at me, but instead found a spot two feet in front of him on the floor much more interesting. "May I present my husband Robert."

Monica turned to him and said, "Where are your manners Robert, this young lady came all the way here to fuck you, at least you could say hello."

Robert finally looked at me and rolled his eyes and mouthed the word, "Sorry." After his wife had turned back to face me. All in all Robert was attractive. He had a thin waist and was darkly tanned as if from Middle Eastern descent. He had black hair with a fleck of gray at the sides that would have given him a look of sophistication had he been dressed in a suit rather than a towel. There was also a look of defeat about him now, and I almost felt a bit sorry for him.

Monica led her half naked husband to the couch and sat him down and then turned to me and said, "Now why don't we all sit down and get to know each other."

I was shocked, but found myself taking a seat in an overstuffed chair across from Robert and Monica. I was still too stunned to trust myself to speak but I stole a glance at my watch which read, 7:12. Jesus it had been the longest 8 minutes of my life so far.

Monica sat with her drink next to her husband but acted as if he were invisible. Well perhaps not invisible, more like a piece of furniture that was inconsequential to her. I on the other hand was an object of intense focus for her. She leaned forward and her eyes seemed to bore into me. "May I know your name dear or would that be improper? Do you use a pseudonym in your profession?"

I stared at her blankly not fully comprehending her question. "Um. My name is Sara." I said hoping my nerves did not show through in my voice.

"Sara. What a lovely name. And have you met Robert before or was tonight to be your first 'date'." The word date she emphasized coldly as if she had bitten into a rotten piece of fruit. Her voice was thick with contempt for me, but underneath I thought I sensed also genuine curiosity.

"I have never 'dated' Robert before." I said reflecting her contempt with more confidence than I felt. This woman was inches away from a rage she would not be able to contain. This could be dangerous, but I also knew instinctively that to cower to her like her husband would only encourage her further.

She appraised me with those cold brown eyes again, but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. She seemed somewhat amused by my boldness. I knew that she was using me to torture her husband, and part of her was now wondering if I would play along and for how long. I was wondering the same thing. This was not the sexual experience I had imagined in my fantasy, but deep inside me there was something so titillating about being on the edge like this.

Monica smiled and said, "Well tell me, how long have you been a whore?"

I knew she was trying to get a reaction from me. I gave her none, but smiled back at her coldly and said ambiguously, "Not long."

"And do you enjoy your work?"

I shrugged noncommittally.

"Please don't be shy, educate me. I have never known a woman like you. Tell me do you find pleasure in the sex, or is it just something you do for money? Does the attractiveness of the man play into it?"

She was genuinely curious, but was also enjoying watching Robert squirm as he sat silently next to her. I decided to play along for a bit longer to see where this was going. I knew this was probably an irrational decision, but a part of me deep down was enjoying Robert's humiliation. But he had dug his own hole here and Monica intended to make him pay for his transgression.

She was also trying to destroy his fantasy. In a sense she was forcefully taking him behind the scenes of a porno movie forcing him to see the not so arousing side of prostitution.

"Well to be honest, I do enjoy it with the right person. If the man is attractive and treats me well." I said not knowing if that was true at all.

"And do you find my Robert attractive?", she asked.

I looked at Robert who met my eyes. Was there something more than fear there now? I felt his eyes sweep across my body as mine appraised his. I looked back to Monica who was intensely interested in whatever I said next. A bead of sweat had formed on her forehead and for the first time I saw not only anger and curiosity in her eyes, but also longing. What was going on here?

I smiled and said, "Yes, your husband is attractive." Monica took a deep breath and said, "And how much do you charge for your services?"

"I believe the agreed upon rate for this evening is 1000.00 for two hours." I said not knowing if this was too high, too low, or just right.

Monica stood up appraised me and went back to the bar. Robert and I sat silently staring at each other. Robert must be the boldest man I had ever met because even in his predicament, I could see him staring at my breasts with lust. The towel across his lap tented slightly and I wondered what would happen if Monica also noticed his arousal.

Monica returned after rummaging behind the bar and handed me a thick role of 50 dollar bills. I took them but only stared at them.

"You may count it if you like." Monica said misinterpreting my hesitation. "Now you came here to do a job so far be it from me to get in the way of a first date. Go on fuck him."

Her rage was back and she stood to one side of the couch watching us. Niether of us moved. "Well what's wrong? You got your money now go on fuck him." She spat at me.

I was still too stunned for speech. Monica sighed and went to her husband and savagely yanked the towel away from him. Whatever arousal he may have felt was gone instantly and his cock hung limply between his legs.

"Monica you have made your point. Stop this now." Robert spoke for the first time in an English accent.

Monica turned on him like a striking snake. "How dare you even speak to me you cheating bastard. How many whores have there been over the years? Many I am sure. Now don't get all holier than thou with me just because I have decided to play in your decadence. Now you are going to fuck her or I am going to fuck you in divorce court for the rest of your life."

Robert sighed resigned and sat naked on the couch waiting to see what would happen.

Monica turned to me and said, "Do you know the last time he fucked me was 3 months ago. I think I deserve to at least know what he could not find in me. Don't you?".

I was beginning to understand more now than I had. Monica finds out Robert has been cheating on her. Something she probably knew deep down anyway. Wives somehow always deep down know. But there was more to this. She felt inadequate. Behind her toughness and her razor like tongue was a woman who was in the middle of her life feeling like she was not enough for the man she had married.

Deep down she was afraid and hurt, but as much as there was of hurt, there was also self doubt about what could Robert possible see in a whore such as me that she could not provide.

I pitied this woman at this moment and could see that she was on the verge of not rage now, but tears. I went to her slowly and took her hand. She resisted and made to pull away from me, but the effort was weak and half hearted. I led her to the chair in which I had sat and set her down.

I kneeled before her leaned in closely. Her rage melted and was replaced with sadness and hurt. Part of me wanted to hug her, but I didn't. I was not her friend; I was her husband's whore. She looked up at me with both curiosity, self loathing, and confusion.

I could smell her expensive perfume and knew she had stopped breathing. She was not in control here now, I was. And that was good. I didn't know if I could save her marriage, but I could not leave her without at least trying to release her from her own doubt.

I whispered to her a single word, "Watch." I favored her with a grin reserved for two conspiratorial women and for just a moment her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth turned up into a grin. Then it was gone and she did as I asked.

* * * * * * * *

I released her hand and turned toward Robert. She seemed to relax, perhaps relieved not to have to be in control of anything. Robert recoiled slightly and I wondered if he could see the hatred I had for him burning in my eyes. It may have been irrational, but I blamed him completely. Not for using whores, but for making Monica feel as if she were not good enough for him.

I had felt that way often enough in my life. Still felt it sometimes, and I loathed it.

I walked to him slowly. I shed my heels as I walked. Then standing before him and between he and his wife I slowly stripped off my blouse. My breasts came free and I heard a sharp intake of breath from both man and woman whose eyes I could feel on me.