We've Got to Do Something

I nervously got dressed in a blue skin tight dress, ending above the knee but not so much above it that I would easily be recognized as a prostitute. I decided that no undergarments were necessary considering what I was about to do, and so dispensed with them. However, after looking at myself in the mirror I decided that I had to wear a bra -- my tits are too big to get away without one when they stretch out the blue material so that my nipples are obvious.

I redressed, applied enough makeup to look presentable but not enough to be recognized as a call girl, and then selected the right shoes to go along with my dress. While the four inch blue shoes that I picked out weren't exactly the same color as my dress, they were close enough that the difference wouldn't be noticed without close inspection -- and it was unlikely that my "date" would be closely inspecting anything except my body. I removed my engagement and wedding rings as the last thing that I did before exiting my townhouse.

I repeatedly sighed to myself as I drove to the hotel, an infamous place for out of town businessmen to stay in since there was no "nosy staff" or surveillance cameras, and it was miles from the nearest police station. I sighed because I wondered how my life had come to this point -- driving to a hotel to get my pussy stuffed. I actually wanted to call if off, but I was sure that if I tried that my "date" would talk me out of it.

I parked the car with valet service. The pimply-faced valet got a nice treat as I swung my legs out of the car while he held the driver's side open. It was light enough out in the afternoon sun that with my legs positioned as they had to be when I exited the vehicle that he'd see my shaved twat. I didn't really care -- it probably would make his day. I told him that I'd reclaim my car in a couple of hours. He mumbled "Uh...sure...uh," or something to the effect as his eyes were so wide they seemed to have no lids.

I walked through the lobby without too many employees or guests staring at my ass. I knew that it swayed more than was appropriate, but I wasn't really used to these particular heels and I couldn't help it that my ass was hefty (I never got any complaints about its size). The onlookers probably could tell that I had no panties on, but as I said this place was "infamous" and it was unlikely that anyone would challenge me, let alone call the cops.

I needed to double check the room number -- it would be really embarrassing to end up at the wrong room looking like this. The slip of paper in my clutch -- which I probably had looked at many times before it was so rumpled -- said 1107. ""Lucky number," I thought to myself. Well, at least its occupant was sure to "get lucky."

When I knocked on the door it was opened quickly. "You must be Amber," my host said with a grin that was too lecherous for my taste, although not unexpected.

"In the flesh," I fake chuckled. "You must be John," I continued, holding back my desire to say "a John."

"Yes indeed, little lady," he chuckled.

"What's with this 'little lady' shit?" I asked myself, but didn't say anything.

I looked at where he was pointing -- the top of the desk near the entrance to the room. There were a number of crisp hundreds there. I had read the "Call Girl's Bible," which cautions not to touch the money until after business is completed. The "Bible" says that way you can't be arrested for prostitution if the John turns out to be a cop, and real cops won't fuck you (or if they do they can't arrest you without taking the chance of having their career torpedoed); "interesting advice," I snickered to myself.

Next to the crisp hundreds was a sheet of paper that said "Lab Report" on top. It had every appearance of an STD report with all "negatives." I would have to trust that the number of hundreds in the pile was enough to cover the correct market price for "no condom service" in our city.

John was good-looking, had all of his hair, actual muscle tone in his arms, and no belly. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked, holding up his own glass of what looked like bourbon.

"I don't like to drink alcohol when I work," I smiled, "but if you have an unopened can or bottle of soda in your minibar I'll have that." The "Bible" also warned about accepting drinks from containers that you didn't see opened yourself.

"OK, little lady," he grinned as he reached into the minibar, pulled out a can of Sprite, and popped the top.

"I wish that he'd stop with the 'little lady' shit," I thought as I sipped the drink directly from the can with a fake smile on my face. "I'm 5 feet 9 inches tall and weigh 135 pounds with a big ass and C+ boobs; I'm definitely not 'little' and what I'm doing is definitely not 'lady-like!'"

We sat on the bed -- there was little other furniture in Room 1107, at least that didn't have his stuff covering it -- as we chatted. He wasn't slimy, but his eyes sure were lecherous. He was blatantly staring at my thighs which were covered very little by my dress sitting the way that I was. It wasn't appropriate to cover them up, however, given the reason that I was there.

After we sipped and chatted for a while and I was getting tired of small talk he laid his empty drink glass on the desk and removed my ¾ empty Sprite can from my hand and placed it next to it. "You've got really fine legs, and what appears to be a nice ass," he lechered. "I would really appreciate it if you'd get on your hands and knees on the bed."

This dude was about as unpleasantly subtle as beef jerky, but at least he didn't try to kiss me on the mouth -- which the "Bible" says is to be avoided.

With a fake smile, I did as asked. I knew that I would expose my bare pussy in this position, but he apparently was a little surprised by my lack of undergarment because he let out a wolf whistle, which I tried to ignore.

"Wow -- you really do have a fine ass, pussy, and thighs," he said about ten times while stroking my butt with a finger occasionally flitting over my twat. Actually, his hands on my ass felt good, and even though he was only touching my cunt occasionally I could feel myself getting aroused. I wasn't quite ready for it when he shoved two fingers into my moist pussy, however, but the moan from my lips indicated pleasure.

"I wanna fuck that thing with your dress and heels still on," he chuckled as he slowly twisted his fingers in my vagina. He helped me shinny up the bed some so that he could get on his knees behind me, and soon I felt both hands grab my hips quickly followed by his cock burying itself in my pussy in one stroke.

Actually, John was a good fuck. He seemed to sense that I liked ass play as I was getting reamed doggy style, and soon had a thumb buried in my butt while he was pumping like an oil derrick. I do believe that I let out a little scream when he spurted inside me. The "Bible" says that you shouldn't scream, but do other things if you need to fake an orgasm -- but in fact I did have a real orgasm -- imagine that.

John's grunts followed by "Holy Shit" exclamations, indicated that he had really enjoyed himself.

When I came down from my climax he pulled his dick out of my twat, turned me on my back, reached under a pillow on the bed, and pulled out a dildo. This kind of surprised me, especially as he gently inserted the dildo into my vagina. Since I hadn't specifically agreed to toys the "Bible" says that I should have complained -- except that it felt good, giving my pussy a desirable "stuffed" feeling.

"I'll bet you've got a nice set of puppies too," John grinned as he smiled down on me. I got a look at his cock -- it was good sized, all slimy with our juices, and still mostly hard.

"I've never had any complaints," I grinned back.

John apparently still wanted my dress on part way because instead of taking it off, he merely moved the top down to my waist and tried to kiss me as he bent over me to unclasp my bra. I moved my face away. "No kissing John -- you know that call girls don't kiss."

"How about whores?" he chuckled as he removed my bra -- not the nicest comment, but I let it slip since I still had that full feeling at my pussy, and since he quickly followed his comment with another whistle when my tits were exposed.

John made love to my tits. First he kissed and massaged them, paying particular attention to my nipples, which quickly got rock hard. Then he straddled my torso with his legs and started moving his cock between my tits. "Sucky my cock when it touches your lips," he ordered, so on each upstroke I bent my face forward and gave a perfunctory suck or lick when his cock was in range.

He suddenly produced a tube of lube from somewhere and lubed up the valley between my tits and then mumbled "Hold your tits together." I did that, and he started stroking in earnest.

The fucker was really enjoying himself -- and I have to admit that my tits loved it too. I don't really orgasm from a titty fuck like some women do, but I do relish a nice titty fuck. After a good while John got a funny look on his face, shinnied back down the bed, pulled the dildo out of my twat, and stuck his cock back in. It was only a few powerful strokes later when he unleashed another load of jism into my pussy. I didn't have an orgasm, but it really did feel good.

After John lay with his dick inside me, panting, swearing, and saying things like "You're a great fuck Amber; I'm gonna ask for you every time I come into town," he pulled out and re-inserted the dildo. After glancing at the clock he chimed "We've got almost another hour," and then cuddled me.

Since just cuddling was easier for me than fucking and since he was the client, I just put my head on his chest, and closed my eyes. I may have actually fallen asleep, but if I did I was rudely awakened by activity at my crotch. It turned out that that wasn't a dildo up my pussy, but a vibrator, and the bastard had turned it on.

Between the vibrator stimulating my pussy, and the bastard flicking or licking my clit, I soon had a hellacious orgasm. John seemed to be chuckling as I flailed around on the bed, to the extent that one of my high heels went flying off. Mercifully he turned off the vibrator once my shoe went flying, and stopped flicking my clit. He massaged my tits until I came down from my high.

When I came down I looked at the clock. It was twenty three minutes past the two hours he had scheduled me for. "I've got to leave," I groaned.

When I started to put my shoe back on I realized that I still had the vibrator in my pussy. I gently pulled it out, and tossed it at the grinning bastard.

I reached for my bra but he snatched it from the bed. "I want this as a souvenir of my really super-sexed afternoon," he grinned.

I was too wasted to argue with him.

I went into the bathroom, tried to get my face and hair to look human again, rearranged my dress so that it wasn't bunched around my waist but actually covered my twat and tits, and then re-entered John's room. He was still naked on the bed, with my bra looped on his cock. "I put an extra fifty as a tip, Amber," he smiled, pointing to the stack of bills.

I weakly smiled in return, picked up the bills and jammed them into my clutch without counting them, and exited. "I'll call next time I'm in town," I heard John say before the door closed shut.

The pimple faced valet got another good look at my crotch -- which probably was now red. That was apparently enough of a tip for him because he never extended his hand but just stared wide-eyed.

************

I felt wasted, but good, as I entered my townhouse. I saw my wedding and engagement rings sitting at the foyer table, and put them back on. I knew that I needed to shower before my husband got home -- but no douching. I washed thoroughly -- except inside my pussy -- put on makeup and nice casual clothes, and redid my hair. I looked in the mirror -- I looked good, and nothing like a whore.

I was troubled, however. I had to talk with my husband about this afternoon. I had avoided it for several months, but it was now time.

When Jerry entered the house he was all smiles. "How was your day, Cheryl?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

After I gave him a nice kiss on the lips I replied "We have to talk about that, Jerry. Let's sit in the living room."

He looked a little perplexed, but said "OK," and we sat on a couch next to each other.

"There's something I need to get off my chest," I mumbled, looking down at my hands. "Boy, this is hard," I thought to myself. I looked up into his expectant eyes and continued. "I was a good call girl this afternoon, Jerry; but it's not healthy. "

His eyes got really wide. "Wh...what?" he asked.

I responded: "We can't keep spending the money for a hotel room, and your problem of not being to ejaculate so that we can have kids unless I'm realistically pretending to be a whore just isn't working for me. You need professional help, not me following a damn 'Call Girl's Bible..."