Entryway

"Tongue out," he whispered near breathlessly, hips pumping slowly. My eyes watered as I gazed up at him, hands clenched tightly in the neatly pleated folds of his work pants. "Just like I taught you."

I was crouched fully, and although my ankles sang with the pressure my full weight was placing on them, I ignored it. In this line of work, you got used to crouching and bending in unusual positions. The stilettos I wore left my feet slanted at an awkward angle - but I didn't dare take them off. The reason why was in the room on the other side of wall behind him, puttering around in their kitchen.

"Michael," his wife called. "Dinner is almost ready. Are you going to wash up first?"

We met up one night every week and sat in the entryway of his tiny apartment while we listened to his wife dawdle in the kitchen and prep the meal for their date night. This had been the routine for nearly four months, and somehow in all that time, it had never dawned on her to come to the door to figure out exactly why her husband idled for nearly fifteen minutes every Wednesday.

Or maybe they simply got off on this shit. I didn't really give a fuck so long as I got paid.

He pressed his cock further into my aching throat, and when a cough expelled around his girth, he wrapped his fist in my hair and gave a short but vicious yank. It brought even more tears to my eyes, and I clenched his leg in silent apology. Pissing off a John was bound to get any girl a gypped profit.

"I'll wash up in a second, Patty. Just answering a few more emails." Patty; short for Patricia, he'd told me once. I didn't have the guts to tell him his wife sounded like a perfect little pillow princess. Then again, would he need me if she weren't?

His head lolled back, and though he wasn't clenching as hard, he still had quite the grip on my hair, and as he used it to direct me, I swiped my tongue on the underside of his cock, as he'd told me he liked. A soft grunt was the only reward I was given, and as he continued, slowly but mercilessly fucking my throat, giving me very little increments of air, my core began to throb.

I hadn't been in this business for long - maybe six months or so. Sex wasn't as routine for me as it was for the other girls at the escort service that employed me; which meant that my body was still very much in the habit of reacting to certain stimuli. I knew my panties were only getting wetter as we continued; the watch on my wrist told me that it was coming up on 7:15PM - which meant we'd been there, in the entryway, for ten minutes already. Michael was good at pacing himself; he lasted much longer than some of my other Johns, so it didn't altogether surprise me when his tempo increased.

It was a slow crescendo, but as his cadence increased, I gripped his pant legs harder. He was no small fit - his cock was a healthy eight inches, and with just over an inch diameter, that made swallowing his member tough. But certainly not impossible.

Every thrust he gave me, I gripped his thighs, pulling him as deep into my mouth as possible, working my throat around his dick and creating suction when my lips met his hilt. Slaver dribbled down my chin in thin rivulets, and when his pace changed again, I knew he was close.

"Hands," he demanded in a strained breath, and I obliged, steadying my head as he continued his assault on my swollen gullet. I raised my hands, and as he grabbed them, he yanked them up, forcing my back flush against the wall. He clenched both my wrists in one of his hands with ruthless strength, and as his other hand lowered to clench my neck, he set to work.

In the darkness of the entryway, with his wife barely four yards away, Michael was cruel in his assault on my abused throat, fucking my face with such intensity, my own core was sopping wet by the time he bottomed out in my throat.

His hand was clenched in the curls at the nape of my neck as he thrusted with near bruising ferocity, and even though I needed air like I needed the next check coming my way, I didn't flinch when his fist twisted in my hair and forced my head as far on his cock as it would go, forcing me to take him to the hilt.

Involuntary tears streamed freely down my cheeks as I forced my eyes to remain open and watching him as he liked me to. And as he slowly pulled out, watching as his dick departed my throbbing throat - I left my mouth open, waiting for his permission.

He watched me with quiet satisfaction, and as he zipped himself up, he reached into his back pocket, removed a folded hundred dollar bill, and slipped it into my mouth.

"Get out," was all he said as he kicked his shoes off and turned to walk away.