Fucking for Money

The pleasure of knowing my nudes in a sex club next to photos of other hot women motivated me to take two more poster-sized shots of myself to the club. The new adult shop was a discrete as it was before. Video, toys, and more read a sign above the entrance. At first glance, one could think it was a video and book store for adults, with some toys to buy.

Anyway, I entered and saw a familiar face at once, the guy who had sucked my tits devotedly, Tom who runs the shop. He greeted me heartily, kissed a cheek, and said he would love to show me around.

The whole place had the air of a private club. Tom stated proudly, the concept works well, the increasing numbers of customers would speak for themselves. The old fashion peep show booths for watching discreetly girls were gone. Instead, they got a small cinema, which can be converted to a stage for live shows. Separated from the shop, he opened a door and let me in. Maybe twenty people could be seated, a layout like a jazz club in the 1920s, cozy chairs around five or six round tables. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.

Black and white pictures of erotic women covered the walls. My heart jumped when I spotted between all the great-looking women two pictures of me. Tom said he had left a space for more pics since I fit in here perfectly. I know self-praise is not noble, yet he was right. Paul, my husband and photographer, did a great job as well.

The low light, candles on the tables made the room relaxing. A small bar with a few chairs in front completed the arrangement.

'The stage seems small to me,' I said. Tom shook the head, stated it would be twice as big as the old turning table in the other club, and let me to the scene. He pushed a button, and the wall with a screen for watching movies spun around and revealed a spacious, stylish bed, the silk sheets in dark red.

A moment I thought he wanted me here. Maybe to satisfy an idea or fantasy of his, or more likely, to see my reactions. And I got one. A strange tingling sensation filled my body. He seemed to notice and said smiling, 'Look around, I will be back in a minute.'

With him gone, I tried to imagine what it would feel like, me on the stage, undress, fucked by a guy or gal, strangers watching me. I sat down on the bed and felt the dark red silk covers in my hands. They were cold and soft, and I imagined myself buried the face deep in the sheets, on all fours, a guy fucking me so hard that I would feel his dick in my throat.

The steady murmur from the store next to the club was mutedly audible. I got up, put the purse on the bed, and started to dance to imaginary music. I needed the physical experience, movements like dance, to conceive what it would be. I smelt the place, but I needed to touch it, feel it under my feet, hear my steps, my breath. I kicked the shoes off, danced faster, felt the restrictions in movement by the blazer, took it off like an erotic dancer or what I thought she would do, and spun around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom, who had taken a seat.

I stopped and glanced at my watch. A meeting at the office was scheduled later that day, purely routine. Concerning my part, I was well prepared. In short, I could kill a good two hours. Curious what Tom had in mind, I jumped off the stage and had a closer look. He said he saw me dancing and thought a classy woman like me should keep her secrets. The audience has to ask themselves, who is she, who is the mysterious enchantress. A mask would do it. He handed one to me and adjusted the straps. Instantly I felt fine and, strange enough, confident. Tom responded with a plethora of compliments and asked me to try a wig cap. I donned it and hid the hair underneath. Finally, he gave me a wig with long curly blond hair.

The reflections in a mirror made me think the person I see can't be me. Tom wanted me to hop back on stage, and so I did. Minutes before, when I thought of the meeting, my mind was razor-sharp. Now, on the boards, I felt like in an erotic dream, a kind of trance, unreal.

Tom played music of the 1980s. The blouse made it to the bed. I took the bra to a test, shook the boobs, bent like a flexible young girl, opened the hooks slowly, and threw the cotton prison to my fan. The trousers flew on the bed. Finally, I pushed a hand in the pants, massaged the clit, stuck a finger in the vagina, and licked off the coated juice hedonistic. I had not to look; the pants were cum stained. I pulled them down, revealed my bold pussy, and did the splits in front of Tom, standing on one foot. I can't tell how often I did a strip at home, for Paul, for ex-lovers, and most of all for myself. Now I stood on a stage.

Tom was puzzled. He babbled some words, something like he didn't expect me to go that far, an appointment with representatives of a supply chain. The sight of me, my pussy, cum dripping out, was too much for him. He jumped on the stage, got on the knees, and ate me out. His warm wet tongue circling my clit drove me to sexual heaven. That moment I wished Paul would be with me. We had talked about a situation like this one over and over. Eventually, Paul gave his thumbs-up to fuck another guy without him on the condition I have to tell him. I got back on both feet and said, 'that's enough for today. Where is the ladies' room?'

Tom told me and insisted on casting when we both got more time. On the spur of the moment, I said yes. He blew me a kiss and left.

All of a sudden, I was alone. Or that's what I believed. Somewhere out of the dark, a male voice said, 'you are an adventurous woman, seeking an extra thrill here and there. I love that, breaking up rules. You are so gorgeous, stunning, shouldn't be difficult to get what you want.'

'You are right about me but wrong to get what I want,' I replied and reached for the undies.

'You don't look like you have ever fucked for money,' he said.

'Is it a question or a statement?' I asked and continued, 'nope. I'm toying with the idea of paying a guy for professional massage and fucking. That's what people like you do, just the other way around because I'm like you.'

'Do you think poor of the guy you pay for fucking?' he asked.

'I don't know what you do for a living,' I replied. 'Yet I'm positive your boss and your customers fuck you daily on a different level. Do you feel poor when you give away a part of your life for money, just because of a fancy title or position?'

He laughed and said, 'looks like we're cut from the same cloth. Make my day, and I make yours. Let me fuck you, and I pay you 400. What do you think?'

I looked at him. He was tall, slim, muscular, cultured. A guy who does his daily workout program with the precision of a clock, presumably. I said, 'your vision of the world must be easy. Money buys everything. Besides, there is a health issue, and I'm short on time.'

'Let me suck your tits. I would love to feel their weight.'

I ignored him and picked up the bra. The guy came closer. He was handsome, in his early forties, bald shaved, educated, and perhaps a successful business guy. I would be lying if I said half-naked in front of him did not excite me, spiced by the exotic place and my strange mask and wig. He introduced himself as Glenn, spoke about IT business, and making money.

I said, 'good for you, but don't think money impresses me. You made me a lousy offer. 400 for a woman you worship, a woman who never had fucked for money. Don't be ridiculous.' Even later, I could not say what was on my mind when I stated this.

He opened the wallet, pulled out all the paper money, and counted it on the stage. '1850,' he said. 'I came across a very few women like you. Let me eat you out, and the money is yours.'

The money talks were a joke in my eyes, a flirtation game. And yet, I have to confess I believed Glenn. Maybe I wanted to believe him, a well-calculated flattering remark that did not miss its effect.

'You don't look like a guy who has to pay for fun. Why me?' I asked, gaining some time.

'I am glad you ask. Most women see my profession, my money. I'm good enough to pay, a little sex here and there to keep me motivated. Look at today's celebrities like Bezo or Depp. I'm a midget compared to these guys, a grain of sand. I'm a happy single and check out women who don't fit into the classic prudish society picture, pay, and go home. Women like you turn me on.'

I've to confess, he hit the button in my soul, labeled Ruth's weakness. His voice, his begging brown eyes, and most of all his words made me believe him. It was still wearing the mask and wig for a good reason, as he had no chance to recognize me, and I was curious how far I could go. And last but not least, I stood topless on a stage in a club and seriously considered fucking here in front of an audience. I felt the heart in the carotid arteries with each passing second, sensed twitches in my lower belly, as I experience just before an orgasm.

'Get on stage,' I replied, 'make it quick.' I dropped the pants again and set down on the edge of the bed eagle spread. He almost fell on the knees and circled my little bud with the tongue. I don't know what he did; spasms rushed thru me. He pulled me close to his face, put my legs on his shoulders, grabbed my ass cheeks, kneaded them, sucked my clit, and I exploded pretty fast, squirted as much as I could. Juice covered his lower chin and nose. I had one of my fastest orgasms and most likely the least romantic.

'That was hot and quick,' he said, smiling, 'too bad, you had to go. I think I'll be as quick as you.'

'Which has to be proofed,' I said, took my briefs, and wiped off the mess between the legs. I didn't look at Glenn. When I raised the head, a perfect hard, straight-shaped dick pointed at me. Not as strong as Paul's, but longer.

'Pay you 1850 on top to fuck you. We can go to the bank.'

'I don't fuck for money,' I stated, 'keep it.'

'Nothing less I had expected,' he went on. 'I need to fuck you right now. What's your price?'

'A magic word,' I said stupidly, in the vague hope to puzzle him. His dick was amazingly strong erected, almost unnaturally, like a strap-on my cousin loves to play with.

'Please,' he answered instantly.

I knelt and blew him, made a few strokes, massaged his balls when I felt spasms in his dick, pulled it out of my mouth, and made him spray his hot loads on my tits.

I got up and said, 'you got hot memorabilia on your face, I on the tits. I can't go back to the office like that. Slather your cum on my boobs.'

One of the reasons I like physical stuff is people's passion, the desire for the first time. It is the experience of discovering something new. He grabbed both tits firmly and massaged what he had in hands. Between his spread fingers, my nipples aroused, and so the areolas. He closed the fingers and pulled. I thought hard, Paul's words popped up, go for it, experience.

I said, 'I just made 1800. Right? You look like a strong guy. Get a condom, and fuck me properly, pay you 200. Satisfy me, and you get a tip.'

He almost jumped to a bedside table, pulled it open, and held a package of condoms in hand. 'Tom told me where to find some,' Glenn explained. He undressed quickly, wrapped a condom open, fingered my coochie, and coated his cock.

I put the arms around his strong neck. He grabbed my upper legs and lifted me just like that. I raised the upper body, made sure to get his face between my boobs, and kissed his head. In response, he grabbed my ass cheeks, turned from sissy to pounding me brutally. 'Yeah!' I puffed.

His hands wandered to my other hole and massaged it with the middle fingers.

'Suck the tits,' I groaned 'cum with me.' He fucked me faster. I felt first spasms in both of us. He bit a nipple when I went straight to orgasmic heaven. So did he, and pumped his cum in me.

The more I fuck outside the marriage, the more I enjoyed an almost new fun, a guy ejaculating deep inside of me. It's the rhythm of pumping his stuff in my tube.

'You are certainly worth the two hundred,' I said. 'How do you feel fucking for money the first time?'

Breathing heavily, he said, 'like a newborn who needs more of the stuff.'

'That's an addict,' I replied smiling, slid down his sweaty body, got on the feet, and looked at him. He was as wet as I was. His sweat inspired me, a kind of testosterone men in the best age radiate, to make women fuck them.

Our screaming and shouting weren't unnoticed by Tom. When we fell silent, he peeked in and said we had just passed the audition. A closer look and he stumbled, 'Ruth, you just have pleased our best customer. Well done. Take a shower.'

Glenn and I took our belongings. The mask was almost clued to the face; sweat ran down the forehead, the cheeks. I grabbed a few of the condoms that were spread over my clothes and went to the bath downstairs.

My fuckbuddy caught his breath, talked about swapping business cards, seeing me again.

I couldn't help but laugh and said, 'okay, we have to close a deal. No word about our encounter, I pay you 400 for fucking me while standing on one leg.'

'What?' he said and took a condom from my hand.

I didn't answer, got close to him, raised the right leg over our heads, put the arms around him, and held me tight.

He fumbled with his dick, didn't know how to penetrate me. 'Easy,' I said, very pleased with my good investment, and kissed him on the mouth's corner. 'Just slid your dick in, that's it,' I whispered and nibbled an ear.

My eager pussy sucked his horny dick that we both were surprised by the forceful stroke we came together.

'Forget the 400,' he said. 'You're the most flexible and truly horniest woman I ever came across. Let's fuck the brains out as much as we can. The whole nine yards, licking, kissing, and so on. Tell me your price, and I pay you or forget all the chitchat and fuck.'

I like to end the story here. I set the alarm on the phone and said to Glenn, lets fuck as much as we can. We did pure sports fucking on top-notch. A test of stamina. Glenn fucked me four times in a row, a long wish of him, with the help of a blue pill he had taken that morning because he had hoped to fuck Liz, a pro of the club.

He insisted on taking the money, even asked for my bank account. I took 1400, left him 400, put bra, briefs, and blouse next to it, and said 'look what you just have bought.'

I got rid of the mask, the wig, and the cap, took a quick shower, pulled on blazer and jeans, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered 'thank you.'

He saw my face, started a cascade of compliments. I cut him off and went straight to a fashion shop. Exhausted, the jeans strained, I felt like a happy hooker super empowered.

A shop assistant was at my side as soon as I entered. She helped me with a blouse, a long dress, and a fancy blazer. I wore no bra, no pants, mainly because they didn't sell ordinary stuff, and went back to the office in time. My boss noticed my new outfit, dropped a few compliments, and we did what the company pays us for.

Later I drove home blouse and blazer unbuttoned, boobs visible at red traffic lights. Back home, I undressed, pulled on a tight jogging suit only, cameltoe and nipples visible, and ran in the woods. Deeply satisfied, I returned and felt like a normal girl.

Paul got home late that day. He had to deal with a stubborn customer, so I didn't tell him. The next day he got surprisingly good news from his' die-hard' client. I grabbed the opportunity, fulfilled the promise I made and recounted what happened in the adult store. Unlike on my other adventures, he reacted very calmly, almost a touch of anger. He kept gazing at the money in disbelief, looked at me, and tried to imagine the situation. Pretty unemotionally, he said, another item crossed off the list and asked what I want to do with the money. In short, we framed it.

It took Paul a few days to let the story sink in. The more time passed by, the prouder and more excited he was. He must have read this story five times. We fucked very ambitious that upcoming weekend when Paul suggested, not too bad to have some possible money on two legs around. He should buy a book, something like 'how to be a successful pimp?' 'You can do that,' I picked up his joke, 'but don't underestimate self-employed women.'

Days later, a parcel stood in front of the apartment door, no consignor. I opened it, inside a magic wand, a vibrator, and a card written by Tom, 'have fun. I need to see you on stage.'

Fucking for money the way I did? Anytime!