Julia Becomes a Whore

Julia felt Mark's cock slip smoothly into her wet pussy and arched her back in response to his thrusts. She wanted it deep in as far as it could go. His breathing quickened as he drove in and out. She could feel him reaching his climax.

"No!" she cried. "Not yet. Keep going. I'm not finished. Keep going."

It was no use. With one final thrust and a small cry, which was more an exhalation of breath, Mark came inside her, filling her cunt with his sperm. His body relaxed and he sank down as his cock quickly rolled itself up, losing all signs of rigidity. He withdrew from her and lay by her side with a sigh of pleasure. Julia remained still, disappointment flooding over her.

The relationship between Mark and Julia was warm and friendly enough, though sex had not played a big part in it. Their increasingly infrequent forays had been OK events with a notable lack of fireworks and an orgasm nothing more than a dream. But Julia persuaded herself that an orgasm wasn't everything and too much was made of it in books and magazines. She enjoyed it when Mark ran his hands over her and kissed her breasts, though she had to admit that he spent little time on foreplay. Quick to harden, he was quick to penetrate and equally quick to finish, leaving Julia with a sense of unfinished business.

She had a good job as an editor in Trends Publications, a leading UK publisher of what are euphemistically called coffee table books. Twenty-eight years old, she could consider herself a success in her career. Dark-haired, long-legged and with a figure that many women envied and men admired, Julia owned an up-market car and lived in a one-bed roomed flat in a luxury block near Regent's Park. She was totally independent yet, for some reason, had a hankering for the responsibility of a home and family.

She and Mark, who was a back-bench MP, had been together for some time. The subject of marriage had been broached on several occasions, but Mark always found an excuse for not committing himself just yet. He invariably pleaded the necessity of putting in a great deal of time and effort on his political work, but Julia was becoming more and more sceptical; after all, many politicians were married and had families, but still carried out their Westminster duties.

"Just give me time to settle in." They were lying in bed after their few minutes of sex and debauchery. "It's all very strange and new. I'm still trying to get my bearings and find my feet."

"I'm beginning to think you don't want to get married."

"Not at all," Mark protested. "It's not something we should rush into, that's all."

"You've been fucking me for a year. That could hardly be called rushing."

"I wish you wouldn't use such language," sighed Mark. "It really sounds most inappropriate coming from the lips of an educated young woman."

Julia swung her legs out of the bed. "God, Mark, you sound such a prig sometimes. In fact, you're becoming like a pale imitation of your bloody Leader!"

She walked naked across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Mark was left open-mouthed at the final insult; not to him, but to his revered boss, the Prime Minister. This was one of the reasons for his hesitancy about marrying her; she had little respect for everything he held dear, often making scathing remarks about politicians in general and the government in particular. Her attitude was a bone of contention between them, though he tried to ignore it as much as possible and refrained from criticising her too often. Still, that put an unwarranted strain on him.

Julia came out of the bathroom and began to put on her clothes.

"I thought you were going to stay the night."

"Not much point, is there?" Julia sounded more sad than angry. "We've made love, dismissed marriage yet again and had a tiff. I don't think there's much left. Do you?"

"Not if you're in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood, as you put it, but I can't help but be disappointed at your refusal to name a day. I don't know why I keep trying, I really don't."

Having pulled on her panties and tights, Julia put both arms through the straps of her bra, tucked her full, round breasts into the cups and fastened the clasps.

Mark was watching every move. "I'm always impressed by the way you make that look so easy."

"Practice."

Anyway, she presumed it was. When she first wore a bra she had as much difficulty as Mark. On the occasions he tried to undo the clasps as part of their love-making, he fumbled and cursed, even though he could see what he was doing and wasn't reaching behind. Heaven knows what he'd be like trying to fasten them; Julia had refrained from asking him. She slipped into her dress.

"I'm going away the day after tomorrow," Mark announced.

"For good?"

He gave her a withering look. "Don't be silly. A few days, that's all. I'm joining a fact finding tour to the States. It's a great privilege for a mere back-bencher and a marvellous opportunity. It could get me onto the first rung of the ladder."

"Where does the ladder go?" Julia quietly asked.

"Up to Number 10."

"Are you serious? You want to be Prime Minister?"

Mark laughed. "That's where the ladder goes. I'm not saying I'll get as high as that, but a few rungs up would be most acceptable."

"I'm pleased for you, darling. What facts are you finding out?"

"Law enforcement."

"I didn't realise you knew much about it."

"I don't, but I'm going to learn. Crime is a serious issue, both in this country and the States. I want to get involved in something important."

Julia came over to the bed. "I'm sure you'll do well." She leaned over and kissed him. "Will I see you when you come back?"

"Of course, if you want. I'd rather got the idea that you'd gone off me."

"I keep trying, lover, but you must have some indefinable charm that keeps me tied to you."

"I'll give you a ring."

Julia crossed to the door in her natural graceful movement, with a slight swing of the hips. He liked the way she walked. She turned.

"Enjoy yourself."

"It's work."

She smiled. "Um." She blew a kiss. "Bye."

A week later Julia returned home from work to find her answer machine flashing its little red light. There was a message on it from Mark telling her he was home, but feeling jet lagged. He would ring again.

His voice sounded tired and strained, almost as if he was reluctant to speak or meet with her. Julia replayed it and consoled herself with thinking it was only weariness. Whilst he had been away she had made the decision to try harder with Mark. All that was needed was to pep up their relationship in bed. They needed to be more adventurous and imaginative when making love.

She told Mark on their first night together after his return. As usual, their sexual passions had hardly set the bedroom on fire; nor Julia.

"You want to do what?" He was incredulous.

"We love each other, don't we?"

"Yes, of course."

"We want to make each happy."

"I'm perfectly happy."

"Don't you think there's something missing?"

"No."

"A sexual frisson."

"You make me hard and I ejaculate. That's enough frisson for me."

"What about me? You ignore my needs."

Mark frowned. "Don't I satisfy you?"

"Not completely."

"I don't know what else I can do or what you expect from me."

"I'm telling you."

Mark jumped out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown; he had a distaste for walking around nude. "I'm not listening to any more of this nonsense."

"It'll be a turn-on."

"Ridiculous."

"Try it. What harm is there in that?"

"Dammit, Julia, I'm an MP struggling to make my way off the back benches. Sleaze is the last thing I want."

"But we're an item, darling. We've been sleeping together for a year."

"Yes," Mark shouted, "but you weren't a prostitute!"

Julia spread her hands. "I won't be tomorrow night."

"Maybe not, but you're proposing to pretend you are. I'm expected to play an elaborate game and for what?"

Julia smiled. "Adventure."

Mark snorted.

"The hell of it."

"Stuff and nonsense."

"There's no harm at all; it's just between you and me. And it could be fun. Oh, please, darling."

It took some doing, but she eventually persuaded him to enter into her little scheme.

The following morning Mark booked a room in a good class central London hotel in the name of John Hancock. He had no intention of identifying himself, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by the whole charade. His was not a well known face and there was little chance of anybody recognising him. His pseudonym was acquired from knowledge gained on his recent trip to America when he learned that a John Hancock was an informal term for a person's signature.

It was Saturday and he had little to do except read the papers, catch up on the mail, meet a fellow MP for lunch and try to possess his soul in patience. He longed for the ridiculous business to be over.

Mr. J. Hancock checked into the hotel just after six and was shown to a fourth floor room furnished in style, but not opulence. There was a drinks tray and he poured himself a stiff whisky to fortify him for the ordeal ahead. He had been instructed to play the part of a client hiring an escort and was supposed to forget that it was Julia on the other end of the phone. He used his mobile.

"Allo."

He had the wrong number! The voice was different and sounded foreign. He cut off and redialed.

"Allo. Theese is Dominique speaking." She was definitely foreign. Mark checked the number on his display; it belonged to Julia. "You wish an escort, oui?"

"Er....yes."

"For tonight?"

"Yes. Eight o'clock." He gave the name of the hotel and his room number.

"And your name, monsieur?"

"Oh...erm....Hancock. John...John Hancock."

"Your little Dominique will be there at eight o'clock."

The phone went dead and Mark stood staring at it in bewilderment. "Dominique? Who the hell is Dominique?" he muttered.

He took another drink. Julia. Of course it had to be. She was playing her part; up to the hilt, by the sound of it. Funnily enough, despite feeling like a prize idiot, there was a small stirring in his loins at the thought of a visit from his 'little Dominique'.

She walked into the lobby at precisely the right time and heads turned. Her dark hair fell around her face in a designer straggle and she wore too much make-up; lips were a vivid scar of red, cheeks rouged, eyelids blackened. She walked on impossibly high heels with swinging hips looking every inch a sex kitten. A long-line, slim fitting jacket was open to reveal the dress beneath, a black and shimmering silver bandeau dress in the same wet look fabric, high on the thigh, low on the bosom.

Remembering how it was done, she walked with total confidence to the row of lifts and pressed the button for the third floor. From there she walked up the stairs and along to Room 405. Pausing outside the door she took a deep breath and knocked.

During the few moments she waited, Dominique failed to notice the lift arrive at the end of the corridor. The doors silently opened and a large man stepped between them, leaning on one side as he studied the girl outside Room 405.

When he answered the knock, Mark was completely floored by the apparition before him.

"My God! What do you look like?" He unceremoniously dragged his visitor inside and slammed the door. "My God!" he repeated. "You've turned yourself into a whore."

"Monsieur!" Dominique was indignant. "Please be careful 'ow you address me. I am an escort."

Mark buried his face in his hands. "I knew this was a big mistake."

"I will go if you wish it, but you still 'ave to pay." She held out her hand. "You take my time and my trouble."

"This is idiotic! Absolutely insane! I refuse to play your game."

Dominique arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Game, monsieur? Of what game do you speak?"

"Dammit, Julia, enough's enough. I'm an MP and you're a perfectly respectable career woman. I don't get any kind of kick out of this sort of behaviour and I want you to drop it. Now!"

Dominique looked at him for a few moments, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. It was Julia who slowly sank down onto a chair.

"You're not even going to try."

"Try what?"

"Behaving as if I was a French prostitute."

"Is that why you had the ridiculous accent?"

Julia sniffed. "I thought it sounded rather good."

"Why would a French prostitute be plying her trade in London?"

"I thought it made her sound more interesting. This has been a total failure, hasn't it?"

"Total. A waste of money."

"You haven't paid me." It was a small voice.

"There's the hotel bill. And what about those clothes? They don't look anything like your usual wardrobe."

"Bought them today. I thought I looked good. And a lot of men thought so, too. I was aware of eyes on me all the time as I walked through the lobby."

"Yes." Mark sounded grim. "I can imagine what they were thinking. I don't need all this. I love you the way you are."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Love me?"

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you."

"But you don't show me." Julia stood up. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For a while, anyway."

Mark reached out to take her in his arms. "Julia. Darling."

She shook her head and evaded him. "I hoped we could work it out, but there's something missing and you don't even want to try and find it."

"God, you talk in riddles sometimes."

"I'm sorry, Mark." Julia put her hand on the doorknob and turned. "I hope you manage to climb a few more rungs of the parliamentary ladder."

Mark stepped towards her. "Julia...." But she was gone.

Julia closed the door and walked along the corridor towards the lift. In front of the doors was a fairly extensive area with seats, large windows and a view across the city. A man in a dark suit was sitting on a small padded seat.

"Good evening."

"Hello." Julia reached out for the button.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes."

The man looked at his watch. "Your stay hasn't been very long, has it?"

"I....er...I'm coming back. I....need some air. The room's a bit stuffy."

"I wouldn't advise it. Never know who you might meet on the streets at this time of night."

"It's not very late."

"All the same...."

"Thanks for the concern, but I'll be all right."

The man gave a leering smile. "I wouldn't like anything to happen to one of our guests. Bad publicity."

"Are you the manager?"

He shook his head. "Hotel detective. Ted Baxter. I'm here to make sure all our guests sleep easily in their beds. And here you are, Miss.....?"

"Mrs." Julia quickly corrected him. "Mrs Fulton." She could have said Hancock and Mark would have corroborated her story, but had no intention of involving him.

Baxter moved towards her. "Here you are venturing out onto the streets all by yourself leaving Mr. Fulton in your room. He is in your room, isn't he?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"And he's not worried about you? I would be. An attractive young woman like you. Fair game for anybody, I'd say." He eyed her up and down.

"We....we had a bit of a quarrel." Julia's nervousness was growing. "I'm going to cool off."

"Did you now? I wonder, Miss - Mrs Fulton, whether you'd mind accompanying me back to your room. I'd like to make sure your husband doesn't mind you wandering about. What number?"

"Well....I'd rather he wasn't bothered."

"Number?" She was silent. "Tell you what I think, Mrs Fulton." There was irony in the way he stressed the name. "Some lonely man in one of these rooms has paid you an excessive amount of money to make him feel good for all too brief a time." He waited, but Julia said nothing. "You didn't slap my face with indignation at my making a whore out of a decent married woman. Do I take that to be an admission?"

"I'm not admitting anything. You've got the wrong end of the stick and that's all I'm saying. Explanations would be useless."

"I'm sure they would," said the detective drily. "The hotel management frown upon your kind of business being conducted on its premises. It's my job to find the guilty and call the police. I don't know whether you've got a record, but you soon will. And prison for the night. And an appearance in court. And a fine. I hate doing that to a nice young woman like you."

"Then let me go." Julia felt a tremble in the pit of her stomach. What had she got herself into now?

"Tt, tt, tt." Baxter shook his head. "Are you suggesting I turn a blind eye and fail to do my job?"

"I...I could pay you." Julia reached into her bag.

"Oh, dear. Compounding the felony with bribery."

They stood looking at each other. Little piggy eyes bored into her and she knew the man was mentally undressing her. So intense was his stare that it almost convinced her she was standing naked in front of him. Julia had a wild thought. Of course, he was very large and hugely unprepossessing; his flabby, florid face was pock marked; thick, black strands of hair had been brushed across the top of his head in a futile attempt to hide his baldness; all the same.....

She relaxed and smiled. "Maybe you and I could do business." After all, she'd started out to play prostitute tonight, so why not? What difference did it make who the client turned out to be?

"I couldn't afford an attractive, sexy woman like you on my pitiful salary."

"You really think I'm sexy?"

Baxter nodded. "A scorcher."

That clinched it. The thought was beginning to make Julia feel damp between her legs.

"I wasn't thinking of money." She slowly ran her finger down his cheek. "More of an exchange of favours."

"Yes. Yes, I see."

"Is there somewhere.....?"

Baxter grinned. "Step this way."

He led her to a door off the fourth floor foyer and unlocked it with a key. Reaching round the jambe he switched on a light to reveal a store room full of linen, bedding and towels.

"Not as good as a bedroom, but it'll suffice. Come in." He ushered her in and closed the door, locking them both in. Julia looked apprehensive, but Baxter grinned. "Don't want to be disturbed, do we?" He perched on the platform of a three-step ladder. "Right. Performance time." He rubbed his hands together and smirked.

The detective lacked subtlety; probably the least of his failings. He sat and stared as Julia slowly removed her coat, unzipped her dress, peeled it down, dropped it onto the floor and stepped out of it in one smooth action. Baxter rubbed his tongue along his lips in anticipation; like a small boy in front of a tray of sweets.

Julia was trembling inside. Nervousness, embarrassment, shame, even lust; she didn't know which. She fumbled with the fastening on her strapless bra. She felt it come undone, but held the bra in front of her breasts, reluctant to bare them before the staring piggy eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea; but there was no getting out of it now. She was committed.

Gradually she lowered the bra. Was she making this too much of a striptease, offering encouragement to the man? That wasn't her intention, but somehow reluctance and nervousness were making her actions slow and deliberate. Anyway, he needed little encouragement; she'd noticed a bulge in his trousers before beginning to strip.

The piggy eyes widened as she dropped the bra. Baxter beckoned to her and she stepped towards him. He gripped her nipples between his fingers; gripped them so hard she cried out. Then he squeezed her breasts, making her wince with pain. His hand slowly ran down her stomach and then into her panties. Fat fingers explored between her thighs, pressing into her vulva. Suddenly Baxter pulled at the flimsy material of her panties and ripped them off.

"Great," he murmured. "Better than I'd imagined." Pudgy fingers pushed further into her vulva, whilst his other hand felt the roundness of her buttocks. "And I've been imagining it since I saw you walk into the hotel. "Turn round."